Harry Harrison - Deathworld 3

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Deathworld 3
Harry Harrison
For
Kingsley and Jane
-gratefully
1
Guard Lieutenant Talenc lowered the electronic binoculars and twisted a
knob on their controls, turning up the intensity to compensate for the failing
light. The glaring white sun dropped behind a thick stratum of clouds, and
evening was close, yet the image intensifier in the binoculars presented a
harshly clear black-and-white image of the undulating plain. Talenc cursed
under his breath and swept the heavy instrument back and forth. Grass, a sea
of wind-stirred, frostcoated grass. Nothing.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't see it, sir," the sentry said reluctantly.
"It's always just the same out there."
"Well I saw it-and that's good enough. Something moved and I'm going to
find out what it is." He lowered the binoculars and glanced at his watch. "An
hour and a half until it gets dark, plenty of time. Tell the officer of the
day where I've gone."
The sentry opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.
One did not give advice to Guard Lieutenant Talenc. When the gate in the
charged wire fence opened, Talenc swung up his laser rifle, settled the
grenade case firmly on his belt, and strode forth-a man secure in his own
strength, a one time unarmed-combat champion and veteran of uncounted brawls.
Positive that there was nothing in this vacant expanse of plain that he could
not take care of.
He had seen a movement, he was sure of that, a flicker of motion that
had drawn his eye. It could have been an animal; it could have been anything.
His decision to investigate was prompted as much by the boredom of the guard
routine as by curiosity. Or duty. He stamped solidly through the crackling
grass and turned only once to look back at the wire-girt camp. A handful of
low buildings and tents, with the skeleton of the drill tower rising above
them, while the cliff like bulk of the spaceship shadowed it all. Talenc was
not a sensitive man, yet even he was aware of the minuteness of this lonely
encampment, set into the horizon-reaching plains of emptiness. He snorted and
turned away. If there was something out here, he was going to kill it.
A hundred meters from the fence there was a slight dip, followed by a
rising billow, an irregularity in the ground that could not be seen from the
camp. Talenc trudged to the top of the hillock and gaped down at the group of
mounted men who were concealed behind it.
He sprang back instantly, but not fast enough. The nearest rider thrust
his long lance through Talenc's calf, twisted the barbed point in the wound
and dragged him over the edge of the embankment. Talenc pulled up his gun as
he fell, but another lance drove it from his hand and pierced his palm,
pinning it to the ground. It was all over very quickly, one second, two
seconds, and the shock of pain was just striking him when he tried to reach
for his radio. A third lance through his wrist pinioned that arm.
Spread-eagled, wounded, and dazed by shock, Guard Lieutenant Talenc
opened his mouth to cry aloud, but even this was denied him. The nearest rider
leaned over casually and thrust a short saber between Talenc's teeth, deep
into the roof of his mouth, and his voice was stilled forever. His leg jerked
as he died, rustling a clump of grass, and that was the only sound that marked
his passing. The riders gazed down upon him silently, then turned away with
complete lack of interest. Their mounts, though they stirred uneasily, were
just as silent.
"What is all this about?" the officer of the guard asked, buttoning on
his weapon belt.
"It's Lieutenant Talenc, sir. He went out there. Said he saw something,
and then went over a rise. I haven't seen him since, maybe ten, fifteen
minutes now, and I can't raise him on the radio."
"I don't see how he can get into any trouble out there," the officer
said, looking out at the darkening plain. "Still-we had better bring him in.
Sergeant." The man stepped forward and saluted. "Take a squad out and find
Lieutenant Talenc."
They were professionals, signed on for thirty years with John Company,
and they expected only trouble from a newly opened planet. They spread out as
skirmishers and moved warily away across the plain.
"Anything wrong?" the metallurgist asked, coming out of the drill hut
with an ore sample on a tray.
"I don't know . . ." the officer said, just as the riders swept out of
the concealed gully and around both sides of the knoll.
It was shocking. The guardsmen, trained, deadly and well-armed, were
overrun and destroyed. Some shots were fired, but the riders swung low on
their long-necked mounts, keeping the animals' thick bodies between themselves
and the guns. There was the twang of suddenly released bowstrings and the
lances dipped and killed. The riders rolled over the guardsmen and rode on,
leaving nine twisted bodies behind them.
"They're coming this way!" the metallurgist shouted, dropping the tray
and turning to run. The alarm siren began to shriek and the guards poured out
of their tents.
The attackers hit the encampment with the sudden shock of an earthquake.
There was no time to prepare for it, and the men near the fence died without
lifting their weapons. The attackers' mounts clawed at the ground with pillar-
like legs and hurled themselves forward; one moment a distant threat, the next
an overwhelming presence. The leader hit the fence, its weight tearing it down
even as electricity arced brightly and killed it, its long thick neck crashing
to the ground just before the guard officer. He stared at it, horrified, for
just an instant before the creature's rider planted an arrow in his eye socket
and he died.
Murder, whistling death. They hit once and were gone, sweeping close to
the fence, leaping the body of the dead beast, arrows pouring in a dark stream
from their short, laminated bows. Even in the half darkness, from the backs of
their thundering, heaving mounts, their aim was excellent. Men died, or
dropped, wounded. One arrow even tore into the gaping mouth of the siren so
that it rattled and moaned down into silence.
As quickly as they had struck they vanished, out of sight in the ravine
behind the shadowed rise, and, in the stunned silence that followed, the moans
of the wounded were shockingly loud.
The light was almost gone from the sky now and the darkness added to the
confusion. When the glow tubes sprang on, the camp became a pool of bloody
murder set in the surrounding night. Order was restored only slightly when
Bardovy, the expedition's commander, began bellowing instructions over the
bullhorn. While the medics separated the dying from the dead, mortars were
rushed out and set up. One of the sentries shouted a warning and the big
battlelamp was turned on and revealed the dark mass of riders gathering again
on the ridge.
"Mortars, fire!" the commander shouted with wild anger. "Hit them hard!"
His voice was drowned out as the first shells hit, round after round
poured in until the dust and smoke boiled high and the explosions rolled like
thunder.
They did not yet realize that the first charge had been only a feint and
that the main attack was hitting them from the opposite side of the camp. Only
when the beasts were in among them and they began to die did they know what
had happened. Then it was too late.
"Qose the ports!" the duty pilot shouted from the safety of the spacer's
control room high above, banging the airlock switches as he spoke. He could
see the waves of attackers sweeping by, and he knew how lethargic was the low-
geared motion of the ponderous outer doors. He kept pushing at the already
closed switches.
In a wave of shrieking brute flesh, the attackers rolled over the
charged fence. The leading ones died and were trampled down by the beasts
behind, who climbed their bodies, thick claws biting deep to take hold. Some
of the riders died as well, and they appeared to be as dispensable as their
mounts, for the others kept on coming in endless waves. They overwhelmed the
encampment, filled it, destroyed it.
"This is Second Officer Weiks," the pilot said, activating all the
speakers in the ship. "Is there any officer aboard who ranks me?" He listened
to the growing silence and, when he spoke again, his voice was choked and
unclear.
"Sound off in rotation, officers and men, from the Engine Room north.
Sparks, take it down."
Hesitantly, one by one, the voices checked in, while Weiks activated the
hull scanners and looked at the milling fury below.
"Seventeen-that's all," the radio operator said with shocked unbelief,
his hand over the microphone. He passed the list to the Second Officer, who
looked at it bleakly, then slowly reached for the microphone.
"This is the bridge," he said. "I am taking command. Run the engines up
to ready."
"Aren't we going to help them?" a voice broke in. "We can't just leave
them out there."
"There is no one out there to leave," Weiks said slowly. "I've checked
on all the screens and there is nothing visible down there except these
attackers and their beasts. Even if there were, I doubt if there is anything
we could do to help. It would be suicide to leave the ship. And we have only a
bare skeleton flight crew aboard as it is."
The frame of the ship shivered as if to add punctuation to his words.
"One of the screens is out-there goes another-they hit it with something. And
they're fixing lines to the landing legs. I don't know if they can pull us
over-and I don't want to find out. Secure to blast in sixty-five seconds."
"They'll burn in our jets, everything, everyone down there," the radio
operator said, snapping' his harness tight.
"Our people won't feel it," the pilot said grimly, "and-let's see how
many of the others we can get."
When the spacer rose, spouting fire, it left a smoking, humped circle
of death below it. But, as soon as the ground was cool enough, the waiting
riders pressed in and trampled through the ash. More and more of them,
appearing out of the darkness. There seemed no end to their teeming numbers.
2
"Pretty stupid to get hit by a sawbird," Brucco said, helping Jason
dinAlt to pull the ripped metalcloth jacket off over his head.
"Pretty stupid to try and eat a peaceful meal on this planet!" Jason
snapped back, his words muffled by the heavy cloth. He pulled the jacket free
and winced as sharp pain cut into his side. "I was just trying to enjoy some
soup, and the bowl got in the way when I had to fire."
"Only a superficial wound," Brucco said, looking at the red gash on
Jason's side. "The saw bounced off the ribs without breaking them. Very
lucky."
"You mean lucky I didn't get killed. Whoever heard of a sawbird in the
mess hall?"
"Always expect the unexpected on Pyrrus. Even the children know that."
Brucco sloshed on antiseptic and Jason ground his teeth together tightly. The
phone pinged and Meta's worried face appeared on the Screen.
"Jason-I heard you were hurt," she said.
"Dying," he told her.
Brucco sniffed loudly. "Nonsense. Superficial wound, fourteen
centimeters in length, no toxins."
"Is that all?" Meta said, and the screen went dark.
"Yes, that's all," Jason said bitterly. "A liter of blood and a kilo of
flesh, nothing more bothersome than a hangnail. What do I have to do to get
some sympathy around here-lose a leg?"
"If you lost a leg in combat, there might be sympathy," Brucco said
coldly, pressing an adhesive bandage into place. "But if you lost a limb to a
sawbird in the mess hall, you would expect only contempt."
"Enough!" Jason said sharply, pulling his jacket back on. "Don't take me
so literally and, yes, I know all about the sweet consideration I can expect
from you friendly Pyrrans. I don't think I'll ever miss this planet, not for
five minutes."
"You're leaving?" Brucco asked, brightening up. "Is that what the
meeting is about?"
"Don't sound so wildly depressed at the thought. Try to control your
impatience until 1500 hours, when the others will be here. I play no
favorites. Except myself, that is," he added, walking out stiffly, trying to
move his side as little as possible.
It was time for a change, he thought, looking out of a high window
across the perimeter wall to the deadly jungle beyond. Some lightsensitive
cells must have caught the motion because a tree branch whipped forward and a
sudden flurry of thorndarts rattled against the transparent metal of the
window. His reflexes were so well trained by now that he did not move a
muscle.
Past time for a change. Every day on Pyrrus was another spin of the
wheel. Winning was just staying even, and when your number came up, it was
certain death. How many people had died since he first came here? He was
beginning to lose track, to become as indifferent to death as any Pyrran.
If there were going to be any changes made, he was the one who would
have to make them. He had thought once that he had solved this planet's deadly
problems, when he had proved to them that the relentless, endless war was
their own doing. Yet it still went on. Knowledge of the truth does not always
mean acceptance of it. The Pyrrans who were capable of accepting the reality
of existence here had left the city and had gone far enough away to escape the
pressure of physical and mental hatred that still engulfed it. Although the
remaining Pyrrans might give lip-service to the concept that their own
emotions were keeping the war going, they did not really believe that this was
true. And each time they looked out at the world that they hated, the enemy
gained fresh strength and pressed the attack anew. When Jason thought of the
only possible end for the city, he grew depressed. There were so many of the
people left who would not accept the change-or help of any kind. They were as
much a part of this war and as adapted to the war as the hyperspecialized life
forms outside, molded in the same way by the same generations of mixed hatred
and fear.
There was one more change coming. He wondered how many of them would
accept it.
It was many hours before Jason made his appearance in Kerk's office. he
had been delayed by a last-minute exchange of messages on the jump-space
communicator. Everyone in the room shared the same expression, cold anger.
Pyrrans had very little patience and even less tolerance for a puzzle or a
mystery. They were so alike-yet so different.
Kerk, gray-haired and stolid, able to control his .expression better
than the others. Practice, undoubtedly, from dealing so much with offworlders.
This was the man whom it was most important to convince because, if the
slapdash, militaristic Pyrran society had any leader at all, he was the one.
Brucco, hawk-faced and lean, his features set in a perpetual expression
of suspicion. The expression was justified. As physician, researcher and
ecologist, he was the single authority on Pyrran life forms. He had to be
suspicious. Though at least there was one thing in his favor: he was scientist
enough to be convinced by reasoned fact.
And Rhes, leader of the outsiders, the people who had adapted
successfully to this deadly planet. He was not possessed by the reflex hatred
that filled the others, and Jason counted upon him for help.
Mets, sweet and lovely, stronger than most men, whose graceful arms
could clasp with passion-or break bones. Does your coldly practical mind-
hidden in that beautiful female body-know what love is? Or is it just pride of
possession you feel toward the offworlder Jason DinAlt? Tell him sometime; he
would like to know. But not right now. You look just as impatient and
dangerous as the others.
Jason closed the door behind him and smiled insincerely.
"Hello there, everybody," he said. "I hope you didn't mind my keeping
you waiting?" He went on quickly, ignoring the angry growls from all sides.
"I'm sure that you will all be pleased to hear that I am broke,
financially wiped out, and sunk."
Their expressions cleared as they considered the statement. One thought
at a time-that was the Pyrran way.
"You have millions in the bank," Kerk said, "and no way of gambling and
losing them."
"When I gamble, I win," Jason informed him with calm dignity. "I am
broke because I have spent every last credit. I have purchased a spaceship,
and it is on its way here now."
"Why?" Meta asked, speaking the question that was foremost in all their
minds.
"Because I am leaving this planet and I'm taking you-and as many others
as possible-with me."
Jason could read their mixed feelings easily. For better or for worse
and it was certainly worse than any other planet in the known galaxy this was
their home. Deadly and dangerous, but still theirs. He had to make his idea
attractive, to gain their enthusiasm and make them forget any second thoughts
that they might have. The appeal to their intelligence would come later; first
he must appeal to their emotions. He knew well this single chink in their
armor.
"I've discovered a planet that is far more deadly than Pyrrus."
Brucco laughed with cold disbelief, and they all nodded in agreement
with him.
"Is that supposed to be attractive?" Pdies asked, the only Pyrran
present who had been born outside the city and was therefore immune to their
love of violence. Jason gave him a long, slow wink to ponder over while he
went on to convince the others.
"I mean deadly because it contains the most dangerous life form ever
discovered. Faster than a stingwing, more vicious than a horndevil, more
tenacious than a clawhawk-there's no end to the list. I have found the planet
where these creatures abide."
"You are talking about men, aren't you?" Kerk said, quicker to
understand than the others, as usual.
"I am. Men who are more deadly than the ones here, because Pyrrans have
been bred by natural selection to defend themselves against any dangers.
Defend. What would you think of a world where men have been bred for some
thousands of years to attack, to kill and destroy, without any thought of the
consequences? What do you think the survivors of this genocidal conflict would
be like?"
They considered it and, from their expressions, they did not think very
much of the idea. They had taken sides, united against a common enemy in their
thoughts, and Jason hurried on while he had them in agreement.
"I'm talking about a planet named 'Felicity,' apparently called this to
sucker in the settlers, or for the same reason that big men are called Tiny.'
I read about it some months back in a newsfax, just a small item about an
entire mining settlement being wiped out. This is a hard thing to do. Mining-
operation teams are tough and ready for trouble- and the John & John Minerals
Company's are the toughest. Also-and equally important-John Company does not
play for small stakes. So I got in touch with some friends and sent them some
money to spread around, and they managed to contact one of the survivors. It
cost me a good deal more to get accurate information from him, but it was well
worth it. Here it is." He paused for dramatic effect and held up a sheet of
paper.
"Well, read it. Don't just wave it at us," Brucco said, tapping the
table irritably.
"Have patience," Jason told him. "This is an engineer's report, and it
is very enthusiastic in a restrained engineering way. Apparently Felicity has
a wealth of heavy elements, near the surface and confined to a relatively
restricted area. Opencut mining should be possible and, from the way this
engineer talks, the uranium ore sounds like it is rich enough to run a reactor
without any refining."
"That's impossible," Mets broke in. "Uranium ore in a free state could
not be so radioactive that-"
"Please," Jason said, holding both hands in the air. "I was just making
a small exaggeration to emphasize a point. The ore is rich, let it go at that.
The important thing now is that, in spite of the quality of the ore, John
Company is not returning to Felicity. They had their fingers burned once,
badly, and there are plenty of other planets they can mine with a lot less
effort. Without having to face dragon-riding barbarians who appear suddenly
out of the ground and attack in endless waves, destroying everything they come
near."
"What is all that last bit supposed to mean?" Kerk asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine. This is the way the survivors described
the massacre. The only thing we can be sure about it is that they were
attacked by mounted men, and that they were licked."
"And this is the planet you wish us to go to," Kerk said. "It does not
sound attractive. We can stay here and work our own mines."
"You've been working your mines for centuries, until some of the shafts
axe five kilometers deep and producing only second-rate ore- but that's not
the point. I'm thinking about the people here and what is going to happen to
them. Life on this planet has been irreversibly changed. The Pyrrans who were
capable of making an adjustment to the new conditions have done so. Now-what
about the others?"
Their only answer was a protracted silence.
"It's a good question, isn't it? And a pertinent one. I'll tell you
what's going to happen to the people left in this city. And when I tell you,
try not to shoot me. I think you have all outgrown that kind of instant reflex
to a difference of opinion. At least I hope that everyone in this room has. I
wouldn't tell this to the people out there in the city. They would probably
kill me rather than hear the truth. They don't want to find out that they are
all condemned to certain death by this planet."
There was the thin whine of an electric motor as Mets's gun sprang
halfway out of its power holster, then slipped back. Jason smiled at her and
waggled his finger; she turned away coldly. The others controlled their
trigger reflexes better.
"That is not true," Kerk said. "People are still leaving the city-"
"And returning in about the same numbers. Argument invalid. The ones who
were able to leave have done so; only the hard core is left."
"There are other possible solutions," Brucco said. "Another city could
be constructed-"
The rumble of an earthquake interrupted him. They had been feeling
tremors for some time, so commonplace on Pyrrus that they were scarcely aware
of them, but this one was much stronger. The building moved under them and a
jagged crack appeared in the wall, showering cement dust. The crack
intersected the window frame and, although the single pane was made of
armorglass, it fractured under the strain and crashed out in jagged fragments.
As though on cue, a stingwing dived at the opening, ripping through the
protective netting inside. It dissolved in a burst of flame as their guns
surged from their power holsters and four shots fired as one.
"I'll watch the window," Kerk said, shifting his chair so he could face
the opening. "Go on."
The interruption, the reminder of what life in this city was really
like, had thrown Brucco off his pace. He hesitated a moment, then continued.
"Yes . . . well, what I was saying-other solutions are possible. A
second city, quite distant from here, could be constructed, perhaps at one of
the mine sites. Only around this city are the life forms so deadly. This city
could be abandoned and-"
"And the new city would recapitulate all the sins of the old. The hatred
of the remaining Pyrrans would recreate the same situation. You know them
better than I do, Brucco, isn't that what would happen?"
Jason waited until Brucco had nodded a reluctant yes.
"We've been over this ground before and there is only one possible
solution. Get those people off Pyrrus and to a world where they can survive
without a constant, decimating war. Any place would be an improvement over
Pyrrus. You people are so close to it that you seem to have forgotten what a
hell this planet really is. I know that it's all that you have and that you're
adjusted to it, but it is really not very much. I've proved to you that all of
the life forms here are telepathic to a degree and that your hatred of them
keeps them warring upon you. Mutating and changing and constantly getting more
vicious and deadly. You have admitted that. But it doesn't change the
situation. There are still enough of you Pyrrans hating away to keep the wax
going. Sanity save me but you are a pigheaded people! If I had any brains, I
would be well away from here and leave you to your deadly destiny. But I'm
involved, like it or not. I've kept you alive and you've kept me alive and our
futures run on the same track. Besides that, I like your girls."
Meta's sniff was loud in the listening silence.
"So-jokes and arguments aside, we have a problem. If your people stay
here, they eventually die. All of them. To save them, you are going to have to
get them away from here, to a more friendly world. Habitable planets with good
natural resources are not always easy to find, but I've found one. There may
be some differences of opinion with the natives, the original settlers, but I
think that should make the idea more interesting to Pyrrans rather than the
other way around. Transportation and equipment are on the way. Now who is in
with me? Kerk? They look to you for leadership. Now-lead!"
Kerk squinted his eyes dangerously at Jason and tightened his lips with
distaste. "You always seem to be talking me into doing things I do not really
want to do."
"A measure of maturity," Jason said blandly. "The ego rising triumphant
over the id. Does that mean that you will help?"
"It does. I do not want to go to another planet and I do not enjoy the
thought. Yet I can see no other way to save the people in the city from
certain extinction."
"Good. And you, Brucco? We'll need a surgeon."
"Find another one. My assistant, Teca, will do. My studies of the Pyrran
life forms are far from complete. I am staying in the city as long as it is
here."
"It could mean your life."
"It probably will. However, my records and observations axe
indestructible."
No one doubted that he meant it-or attempted to argue with him. Jason
turned to Mets.
"We'll need you to pilot the ship after the ferry crew has been
returned."
"I'm needed here to operate our Pyrran ship."
"There are other pilots. You've trained them yourself. And if you stay
here, I'll have to get myself another woman."
"I'll kill her if you do. I'll pilot the ship."
Jason smiled and blew her a kiss that she pretended to ignore. "That
does it then," he said. "Brucco will stay here, and I guess Rhes will also
stay to supervise the settling of the city Pyrrans with his people."
"You have guessed wrong," Rhes told him. "The settlements are now
handled by a committee and going as smoothly as can be expected. I have no
desire to remain-what is the word?-a backwoods rube for the rest of my life.
This new planet sounds very interesting and I am looking forward to the
experience."
"That is the best news I have heard today. Now let's get down to facts.
The ship will be here in about two weeks, so if we organize things now, we
should be able to get the supplies and people aboard and lift soon after she
arrives. I'll write up an announcement that loads the dice as much as possible
in favor of this operation, and we can spring it on the populace. Get
volunteers. There are about 20,000 people left in the city, but we can't get
more than about 2,000 into the ship it's a demothballed armored troop carrier
called the Pugnacious, left over from one of the Rim Wars-so we can pick and
choose the best. Establish the settlement and come back for the others. We're
on our way."
Jason was stunned, but no one else seemed surprised.
"One hundred and sixty-eight volunteers-including Grif, a nine-year-old
boy-out of how many thousand? It just isn't possible."
"It is possible on Pyrrus," Kerk said.
"Yes, it's possible on Pyrrus, but only on Pyrrus." Jason paced the
room, with a frustrating, dragging step in the doubled gravity, smacking his
摘要：

Deathworld3HarryHarrisonForKingsleyandJane-gratefully1GuardLieutenantTalencloweredtheelectronicbinocularsandtwistedaknobontheircontrols,turninguptheintensitytocompensateforthefailinglight.Theglaringwhitesundroppedbehindathickstratumofclouds,andeveningwasclose,yettheimageintensifierinthebinocularspre...

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