Read Online The Ethical Engineer by Harry Harrison - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Harrison
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came near the
spot where Jason lay.
Five slaves pointed silently at Jason.
*
Cursing their betrayal Jason sprang up and ran from the whistling
club. He had the sharpened horn in his hand but knew better than to
try and stand up to Ch'aka in open combat; there had to be another
way. He looked back quickly to see his enemy still following and
narrowly missed tripping over the outstretched leg of a slave. They
were all against him! They were all against each other and no man was
safe from any other man's hand. He ran free of the slaves and
scrambled to the top of a shifting dune, pulling himself up the steep
slope by clutching at the coarse grass on the summit. He turned at the
top and kicked sand into Ch'aka's face, trying to blind him, but had
to run when the slaver swung down his crossbow and notched a steel
quarrel. Ch'aka chased him again, panting heavily.
Jason was tiring now and he knew this was the best time to launch a
counterattack. The slaves were out of sight and it would be a battle
only between the two of them. Scrambling up a slope of broken rock he
reversed himself suddenly and leaped back down. Ch'aka was taken by
surprise and had his club only half-raised when Jason was upon him,
and he swung wildly. Jason ducked under the blow and used Ch'aka's
momentum to help throw him as he grabbed the club arm and pulled. Face
down the armored man crashed against the stones and Jason was
straddling his back even as he fell, clutching for his chin. He
lacerated his fingers on a jagged tooth necklace then grasped the
man's thick beard and pulled back. For a single long instant, before
he could writhe free and roll over, Ch'aka's head was stretched back,
and in that instant Jason plunged the sharp horn deep into the soft
flesh of the throat. Hot blood burst over his hand and Ch'aka
shuddered horribly under him and died.
Jason climbed wearily to his feet, suddenly exhausted. He was alone
with his victim. The cold wind swept about them carrying the rustling
grains of sand, chilling the sweat on his body. Sighing once he wiped
his bloody hands on the sand and began to strip the corpse. Thick
straps held the shell helmet over the dead man's head and when he
unknotted them and pulled it away he saw that Ch'aka was well past
middle age. There was some gray in his beard, but his scraggly hair
was completely gray, his face and balding head pallid white from being
concealed under the helmet. It took a long time to get the wrappings
and armor off and retie them over himself, but it was finally done.
Under the skin and claw wrappings on Ch'aka's feet were Jason's boots,
filthy but undamaged, and Jason drew them on happily. When at last,
after scouring it out with sand, he had strapped on the helmet, Ch'aka
was reborn. The corpse on the sand was just another dead slave. Jason
scraped a shallow grave, interred and covered it. Then, slung about
with weapons, bags and crossbow, the club in his hand, he stalked back
to the waiting slaves. As soon as he appeared they scrambled to their
feet and formed a line. Jason saw Ijale looking at him worriedly,
trying to discover who had won the battle.
"Score one for the visiting team," he called out, and she gave him a
small, frightened smile and turned away. "About face all and head back
the way we came. There is a new day dawning for you slaves. I know you
don't believe this yet, but there are some big changes in store."
He whistled while he strolled after the line and chewed happily on the
first
krenoj
that was found.
VI
*
That evening they built a fire on the beach and Jason sat with his
back to the safety of the sea. He took his helmet off, the thing was
giving him a headache, and called Ijale over to him.
"I hear Ch'aka. I obey."
She ran hurriedly over to him and flopped onto the sand.
"I want to talk to you," Jason said. "And my name is Jason, not
Ch'aka."
"Yes, Ch'aka," she said, darting a quick glance at his exposed face,
then turning away. He grumbled and pushed the basket
spot where Jason lay.
Five slaves pointed silently at Jason.
*
Cursing their betrayal Jason sprang up and ran from the whistling
club. He had the sharpened horn in his hand but knew better than to
try and stand up to Ch'aka in open combat; there had to be another
way. He looked back quickly to see his enemy still following and
narrowly missed tripping over the outstretched leg of a slave. They
were all against him! They were all against each other and no man was
safe from any other man's hand. He ran free of the slaves and
scrambled to the top of a shifting dune, pulling himself up the steep
slope by clutching at the coarse grass on the summit. He turned at the
top and kicked sand into Ch'aka's face, trying to blind him, but had
to run when the slaver swung down his crossbow and notched a steel
quarrel. Ch'aka chased him again, panting heavily.
Jason was tiring now and he knew this was the best time to launch a
counterattack. The slaves were out of sight and it would be a battle
only between the two of them. Scrambling up a slope of broken rock he
reversed himself suddenly and leaped back down. Ch'aka was taken by
surprise and had his club only half-raised when Jason was upon him,
and he swung wildly. Jason ducked under the blow and used Ch'aka's
momentum to help throw him as he grabbed the club arm and pulled. Face
down the armored man crashed against the stones and Jason was
straddling his back even as he fell, clutching for his chin. He
lacerated his fingers on a jagged tooth necklace then grasped the
man's thick beard and pulled back. For a single long instant, before
he could writhe free and roll over, Ch'aka's head was stretched back,
and in that instant Jason plunged the sharp horn deep into the soft
flesh of the throat. Hot blood burst over his hand and Ch'aka
shuddered horribly under him and died.
Jason climbed wearily to his feet, suddenly exhausted. He was alone
with his victim. The cold wind swept about them carrying the rustling
grains of sand, chilling the sweat on his body. Sighing once he wiped
his bloody hands on the sand and began to strip the corpse. Thick
straps held the shell helmet over the dead man's head and when he
unknotted them and pulled it away he saw that Ch'aka was well past
middle age. There was some gray in his beard, but his scraggly hair
was completely gray, his face and balding head pallid white from being
concealed under the helmet. It took a long time to get the wrappings
and armor off and retie them over himself, but it was finally done.
Under the skin and claw wrappings on Ch'aka's feet were Jason's boots,
filthy but undamaged, and Jason drew them on happily. When at last,
after scouring it out with sand, he had strapped on the helmet, Ch'aka
was reborn. The corpse on the sand was just another dead slave. Jason
scraped a shallow grave, interred and covered it. Then, slung about
with weapons, bags and crossbow, the club in his hand, he stalked back
to the waiting slaves. As soon as he appeared they scrambled to their
feet and formed a line. Jason saw Ijale looking at him worriedly,
trying to discover who had won the battle.
"Score one for the visiting team," he called out, and she gave him a
small, frightened smile and turned away. "About face all and head back
the way we came. There is a new day dawning for you slaves. I know you
don't believe this yet, but there are some big changes in store."
He whistled while he strolled after the line and chewed happily on the
first
krenoj
that was found.
VI
*
That evening they built a fire on the beach and Jason sat with his
back to the safety of the sea. He took his helmet off, the thing was
giving him a headache, and called Ijale over to him.
"I hear Ch'aka. I obey."
She ran hurriedly over to him and flopped onto the sand.
"I want to talk to you," Jason said. "And my name is Jason, not
Ch'aka."
"Yes, Ch'aka," she said, darting a quick glance at his exposed face,
then turning away. He grumbled and pushed the basket
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