Harry Harrison - Deathworld 2

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Deathworld 2

Harry Harrison

For JOHN W. CAMPBELL without whose aid this book- and a good percentage of

modern science fiction- would never have been written.

All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;

All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see;

All Discord, Harmony not understood;

All partial Evil, universal Good:

And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,

One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

-"An Essay on Man"

"Just a moment," Jason said into the phone, then turned away for a

moment and shot an attacking horndevil. "No, I'm not doing anything important.

I'll come over now and maybe I can help."

He switched off the phone and the radio operator's image faded from the

screen. When he passed the gutted horndevil it stirred with a last spark of

vicious life, and its horn clattered on his flexible metal boot; he kicked the

body off the wall into the jungle below.

It was dark in the perimeter guard turret; the only illumination came

from the flickering lights of the defense screen controls. Meta looked up

swiftly at him and smiled, then turned her full attention back to the alarm

board.

"I'm going over to the spaceport radio tower," Jason told her. "There is

a spacer in orbit, trying to make contact in an unknown language. Maybe I can

help."

"Hurry back," Meta said and, after a rapid check that all her alarms

were in the green, she turned in the chair and reached up to him. Her arms

held him, slim-muscled and as strong as a man's, but her lips were warm,

feminine. He returned the kiss, though she broke away as suddenly as she had

begun, turning her attention back to the alarm and defense system.

"That's the trouble with Pyrrus," Jason said. "Too much efficiency." He

bent over and gave her a small bite on the nape of the neck and she laughed

and slapped at him playfully without taking her eyes from the alarms. He

moved-but not fast enough-and went out rubbing his bruised ear. "Lady weight-

lifter!" he muttered under his breath.

The radio operator was alone in the spaceport tower, a teen-age boy who

had never been offplanet, and therefore knew only Pyrran, while Jason, after

his career as a professional gambler, spoke or had nodding acquaintance with

most of the galactic languages.

"It's orbiting out of range now," the operator said. "Be back in a

moment. Talks something different." He turned the gain up, and above the

crackle of atmospherics a voice slowly grew.

"jeg kan ikke forsta°. . . Pyrrus, kan dig hØr mig". . .

"No trouble with that," Jason said, reaching for the microphone. "It's

Nytdansk-they speak it on most of the planets in the Polaris area." He thumbed

the switch on.

"Pyrrus til ruin fartskib, over," he said, and opened the switch. The

answer came back in the same language.

"Request landing permission. What are your coordinates?"

"Permission denied, and the suggestion strongly presented that you find

a healthier planet."

"That is impossible, since I have a message for Jason dinAlt and I have

information that he is here."

Jason looked at the crackling loudspeaker with new interest. "Your

information is correct: dinAlt speaking. What is the message?"

"It cannot be delivered over a public circuit. I am now following your

radio beam down. Will you give me instructions?"

"You do realize that you are probably committing suicide? This is the

deadliest planet in the galaxy, and all the life forms, from the bacteria up

to the clawhawks-which are as big as the ship you're flying- are inimical to

man. There is a truce of sorts going now, but it is still certain death for an

outworlder like you. Can you hear me?"

There was no answer. Jason shrugged and looked at the approach radar.

"Well, it's your life. But don't say with your dying breath that you

weren't warned. I'll bring you in-but only if you agree to stay in your ship.

I'll come out to you; that way you have a fifty-fifty chance that the

decontamination cycling in your spacelock will kill the local microscopic

life."

"That is agreeable," came the answer, "since I have no wish to die-only

to deliver my message."

Jason guided the ship in, watched it emerge from the low-lying clouds,

hover, then drop stern first with a grating crash. The shock absorbers took up

most of the blow, but the ship had bent a support and stood at a decided

angle.

"Terrible landing," the radio operator grunted, and turned back to his

controls, uninterested in the stranger. Pyrrans have no casual curiosity.

Jason was the direct opposite. Curiosity had brought him to Pyrrus,

involved him in the planet-wide war, and almost killed him. Now curiosity

drove him towards the ship. He hesitated a moment as he realized that the

radio operator had not understood his conversation with the strange pilot, and

could not know that he planned to enter the ship. If he was walking into

trouble he could expect no help.

"I can take care of myself," he said to himself with a laugh, and when

he raised his hand his gun leaped out of the power holster strapped to the

inside of his wrist and slammed into his hand. His index finger was already

contracted, and when the guardless trigger hit it a single shot banged out,

blasting the distant dartweed he had aimed at.

He was good, and he knew it. He would never be as good as the native

Pyrrans, born and raised on this deadly planet, with its doubled gravity, but

he was faster and more deadly than any offworlder could possibly be. He could

handle any trouble that might develop-and he expected trouble. In the past he

had had many differences of opinion with the police and various other

planetary authorities, though he could think of none of them who would bother

to send police across interstellar space to arrest him.

Why had this ship come?

There was an identification number painted on the space/s stern, and a

rather familiar heraldic device. Where had he seen that before?

His attention was distracted by the opening of the outer door of the

airlock and he stepped inside. Once it had sealed behind him, he closed his

eyes while the supersonics and ultraviolet of the decon cycle did their best

to eliminate the various minor life forms that had come in on his clothes.

They finally finished, and when the inner door began to open he pressed tight

against it, ready to jump through as soon as it had opened wide enough. If

there were any surprises he wanted them to be his.

When he went through the door he realized he was falling. His gun sprang

into his hand and he had it half raised towards the man in the spacesuit who

sat in the control chair.

"Gas . . ." was all he managed to say, and he was out before he hit the

metal deck.

Consciousness returned, accompanied by a thudding headache that made

Jason wince when he moved, and when he opened his eyes the pain of the light

made him screw them shut again. Whatever the drug was that had knocked him

out, it was fast-working, and seemed to be oxidized just as quickly. The

headache faded to a dull throb, and he could open his eyes without feeling

that needles were being driven into them.

He was seated in a standard space-chair that had been equipped with

wrist and ankle locks, which were now well secured. A man sat in the chair

next to him, intent on the spaceship's controls; the ship was in flight and

well into space. The stranger was working the computer, cutting a tape to

control their flight in jump space.

Jason took the opportunity to study the man. He seemed to be a little

old for a policeman, though on second thought it was really hard to be sure of

his age. His hair was grey and cropped so short it was like a skullcap, but

the wrinkles in his leathery skin seemed to have been caused more by exposure

than by advanced years. Tall and firmly erect, he appeared underweight at

first glance, until Jason realized this effect was caused by the total absence

of any excess flesh. It was as though he had been cooked by the sun and

leached by the rain until only bone, tendon, and muscle were left. When he

moved his head the muscles stood out like cables under the skin of his neck

and his hands at the controls were like the browned talons of some bird. A

hard finger pressed the switch that activated the jump control, and he turned

away from the board to face Jason.

"I see you are awake. It was a mild gas. I did not enjoy using it, but

it was the safest way."

When he talked his jaw opened and shut with the no-nonsense seriousness

of a bank vault. His deepset, cold blue eyes stared fixedly from under thick

dark brows. There was not the slightest element of humor in his expression or

in his words.

"Not a very friendly thing to do," Jason said, while he quietly tested

the restraining bands. They were locked and tight. "If I had any idea that

your important personal message was going to be a dose of knockout gas I might

have thought twice about guiding you in for a landing."

'Deceit for the deceitful," the snapping-turtle mouth bit out. "Had

there been any other way to capture you, I would have used it. But considering

your reputation as a ruthless killer, and the undoubted fact that you have

friends on Pyrrus, I took you in the only manner possible."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure." Jason was getting angry at the other's

uncompromising self-righteousness. "The end justifies the means and all that-

not exactly an original argument. But I walked in with my eyes open and I'm

not complaining." Not much, he thought bitterly. The next best thing to

kicking this crumb around the block would be kicking himself for being so

stupid. "But if it's not asking too much, would you mind telling me who you

are and just why you have gone to all this trouble to obtain my undernourished

body."

"I am Mikah Samon. I am returning you to Cassylia for trial and

sentencing."

"Cassylia-I thought I recognized the identification on this ship. I

suppose I shouldn't be surprised to hear that they are still interested in

finding me. But you ought to know that there is very little remaining of the

three billion, seventeen million credits that I won from your casino."

"Cassylia does not want the money back," Mikah said as he locked the

controls and swung about in his chair. "They do not want you back either since

you are their planetary hero now. When you escaped with your ill-gotten gains

they realized that they would never see the money again. So they put their

propaganda mills to work and you are now known throughout all the adjoining

star systems as 'Jason ThreeBillion,' the living proof of the honesty of their

dishonest games, and a lure for all the weak in spirit. You tempt them into

gambling for money instead of working honestly for it."

"Pardon me for being slow-witted today," Jason said, shaking his head

rapidly to loosen up the stuck synapses. "I'm having a little difficulty in

following you. What kind of a policeman are you, to arrest me for trial after

the charges have been dropped?"

"I am not a policeman," Mikah said sternly, his long fingers woven

tightly together before him, his eyes wide and penetrating. "I am a believer

in Truth-nothing more. The corrupt politicians who control Cassylia have

placed you on a pedestal of honor. Honoring you, another and-if possible-a

more corrupt man, and behind your image they have waxed fat. But I am going to

use the Truth to destroy that image, and when I destroy the image I shall

destroy the evil that produced it."

"That's a tall order for one man," Jason said calmly-more calmly than he

really felt. "Do you have a cigarette?"

"There is of course no tobacco or spirits on this ship. And I am more

than one man-I have followers. The Truth Party is already a power to be

reckoned with. We have spent much time and energy in tracking you down, but it

was worth it. We have followed your dishonest trail into the past, to Mahaut's

Planet, to the Nebula Casino on Galipto, through a series of sordid crimes

that turn an honest man's stomach. We have warrants for your arrest from each

of these places, in some cases even the results of trials and your death

sentence."

"I suppose it doesn't bother your sense of legality that those trials

were all held in my absence?" Jason asked. "Or that I have only fleeced

casinos and gamblers-who make their living by fleecing suckers?"

Mikah Samon wiped away this consideration with a wave of his hand. "You

have been proved guilty of a number of crimes. No amount of wriggling on the

hook can change that. You should be thankful that your revolting record will

have a good use in the end. It will be the lever with which we shall topple

the grafting government of Cassylia."

"I'm going to have to do something about that curiosity of mine," Jason

said. "Look at me now"- He rattled his wrists in their restraining bands and

the servo motors whined a bit as the detector unit came to life and tightened

the grasp of the cuffs, limiting his movement. "A little while ago I was

enjoying my health and freedom when they called me to talk to you on the

radio. Then, instead of letting you plow into the side of a hill, I guide you

in for a landing, and can't resist the impulse to poke my stupid head into

your baited trap. I'm going to have to learn to fight those impulses."

"If that is supposed to be a plea for mercy, it is sickening," Mikah

said. "I have never taken favors, nor do I owe anything to men of your type.

Nor will I ever."

"Ever, like never, is a long rime," Jason said very quietly. "I wish I

had your peace of mind about the sure order of things."

"Your remark shows that there might be hope for you yet. You might be

able to recognize the Truth before you die. I will help you, talk to you, and

explain."

"Better the execution," Jason said chokingly.

"Are you going to feed me by hand-or unlock my wrists while I eat?"

Jason asked. Mikah stood over him with the tray, undecided. Jason gave a

verbal prod, very gently, because whatever else he was, Mikah was not stupid.

"I would prefer you to feed me, of course-you'd make an excellent body

servant."

"You are capable of eating by yourself," Mikah responded instantly,

sliding the tray into the slots of Jason's chair. "But you will have to do it

with only one hand, since if you were freed you would only cause trouble." He

touched the control on the back of the chair and the right wrist lock snapped

open. Jason stretched his cramped fingers and picked up the fork.

While he ate, Jason's eyes were busy. Not obviously, for a gambler's

attention is never obvious, but many things can be seen if you keep your eyes

open and your attention apparently elsewhere: a sudden glimpse of someone's

cards, the slight change of expression that reveals a player's strength. Item

by item, his seemingly random glance touched the contents of the cabin.

Control console, screens, computer, chart screen, jump control, chart case,

bookshelf. Everything was observed, considered, and remembered. Some

combination of them would fit into the plan.

So far, all he had was the beginning and the end of an idea. Beginning:

He was a prisoner in this ship, on his way back to Cassylia. End: He was not

going to remain a prisoner-nor return to Cassylia. Now all that was missing

was the vital middle. The end seemed impossible at the moment, but Jason never

considered that it couldn't be done. He operated on the principle that you

made your own luck. You kept your eyes open as things evolved, and at the

right moment you acted. If you acted fast enough, that was good luck. If you

worried over the possibilities until the moment had passed, that was bad luck.

He pushed the empty plate away and stirred sugar into his cup. Mikah had

eaten sparingly and was now starting on his second cup of tea. His eyes were

fixed, unfocused in thought as he drank. He started slightly when Jason spoke

to him.

"Since you don't stock cigarettes on this ship, how about letting me

smoke my own? You'll have to dig them out for me, since I can't reach the

pocket while I'm chained to this chair."

"I cannot help you," Mikah said, not moving. "Tobacco is an irritant, a

drug, and a carcinogen. If I gave you a cigarette I would be giving you

cancer."

"Don't be a hypocrite!" Jason snapped, inwardly pleased at the rewarding

flush in the other's neck. "They've taken the cancer-producing agents out of

tobacco for centuries now. And if they hadn't-how does that affect this

situation? You're taking me to Cassylia to certain death. So why should you

concern yourself with the state of my lungs in the future?"

"I had not considered it that way. It is just that there are certain

rules of life-"

"Are there?" Jason broke in, keeping the initiative and the advantage.

"Not as many as you like to think. And you people who are always dreaming up

the rules never carry your thinking far enough. You are against drugs. Which

drugs? What about the tannic acid in that tea you're drinking? Or the caffeine

in it? It's loaded with caffeine-a drug that is both a strong stimulant and a

diuretic. That's why you won't find tea in spacesuit canteens. That's a case

of a drug forbidden for a good reason. Can you justify your cigarette ban the

same way?"

Mikah was about to speak, then thought for a moment. "Perhaps you are

right. I am tired, and it is not important." He warily took the cigarette case

from Jason's pocket and dropped it onto the tray. Jason didn't attempt to

interfere. Mikah poured himself a third cup of tea with a slightly apologetic

air.

"You must excuse me, Jason, for attempting to make you conform to my own

standards. When you are in pursuit of the big Truths, you sometimes let the

little Truths slip. I am not intolerant, but I do tend to expect everyone else

to live up to certain criteria I have met for myself. Humility is something we

should never forget, and I thank you for reminding me of it. The search for

Truth is hard."

"There is no Truth," Jason told him, the anger and insult gone now from

his voice, since he wanted to keep his captor involved in the conversation.

Involved enough to forget about the free wrist for a while. He raised the cup

to his lips and let the tea touch his lips without drinking any. The half-full

cup supplied an unconsidered reason for his free hand.

"No Truth?" Mikah weighed the thought. "You can't possibly mean that.

The galaxy is filled with Truth; it's the touchstone of Life itself. It's the

thing that separates Mankind from the animals."

"There is no Truth, no Life, no Mankind. At least not the way you spell

them-with capital letters. They don't exist."

Mikah's taut skin contracted into a furrow of concentration. "You will

have to explain yourself," he said. "For you are not being clear."

"I'm afraid it's you who aren't being clear. You're making a reality

where none exists. Truth-with a small t-is a description, a relationship. A

way to describe a statement. A semantic tool. But Truth with a capital T is an

imaginary word, a noise with no meaning. It pretends to be a noun, but it has

no referent. It stands for nothing. It means nothing. When you say, 'I believe

in Truth,' you are really saying, 'I believe in nothing."

"You are incredibly wrong!" Mikah said, leaning forward, stabbing with

his finger. "Truth is a philosophical abstraction, one of the tools that our

minds have used to raise us above the beasts-the proof that we are not beasts

ourselves, but a higher order of creation. Beasts can be true-but they cannot

know Truth. Beasts can see, but they cannot see Beauty."

"Arrgh!" Jason growled. "It's impossible to talk to you, much less enjoy

any comprehensible exchange of ideas. We aren't even speaking the same

language. Forgetting for the moment who is right and who is wrong, we should

go back to basics and at least agree on the meaning of the terms that we are

using. To begin with-can you define the difference between ethics and ethos?"

"Of course," Mikah snapped, a glint of pleasure in his eyes at the

thought of a good rousing round of hairsplitting. "Ethics is the discipline

dealing with what is good or bad, or right and wrong-or with moral duty and

obligation; Ethos means the guiding beliefs, standards, or ideals that

characterize a group or community."

"Very good. I can see that you have been spending the long spaceship

nights with your nose buried in the books. Now make sure the difference

between those two terms is very clear, because it is the heart of the little

communication problem we have here. Ethos is inextricably linked with a single

society and cannot be separated from it, or it loses all meaning. Do you

agree?"

"Well. .

"Come, come-you have to agree on the terms of your own definition. The

ethos of a group is just a catch-all term for the ways in which the members of

a group rub against each other. Bight?"

Mikah reluctantly gave a nod of acquiescence.

"Now that we agree about that, we can push on one step further. Ethics,

again by your definition, must deal with any number of societies or groups. If

there are any absolute laws of ethics, they must be so inclusive that they can

be applied to any society. A law of ethics must be as universal of

application, as is the law of gravity."

"I don't follow you. . . ."

"I didn't think you would when I got to this point. You people who

prattle about your Universal Laws never really consider the exact meaning of

the term. My knowledge of the history of science is a little vague, but I'm

willing to bet that the first Law of Gravity ever dreamed up stated that

things fell at such and such a speed, and accelerated at such and such a rate.

That's not a law, but an observation that isn't even complete until you add

'on this planet.' On a planet with a different mass there will be a different

observation. The law of gravity is the formula:

and this can be used to compute the force of gravity between any two bodies

anywhere. This is a way of expressing fundamental and unalterable principles

that apply in all circumstances. If you are going to have any real ethical

laws they will have to have this same universality. They will have to work on

Cassylia or Pyrrus, or on any planet or in any society you can find. Which

brings us back to you. What you so grandly call-with capital letters and a

flourish of trumpets-'Laws of Ethics' aren't laws at all, but are simply

little chunks of tribal ethos, aboriginal observations made by a gang of

desert sheepherders to keep order in the house-or tent. These rules aren't

capable of any universal application; even you must see that. Just think of

the different planets that you have been on, and the number of weird and

wonderful ways people have of reacting to each other-then try and visualize

ten rules of conduct that would be applicable in all these societies. An

impossible task. Yet I'll bet that you have ten rules you want me to obey, and

if one of them is wasted on an injunction against saying prayers to carved

idols, I can imagine just how universal the other nine are. You aren't being

ethical if you try to apply them wherever you go-you're just finding a

particularly fancy way to commit suicide!"

"You are being insulting!"

"I hope so. If I can't reach you in any other way, perhaps insult will

jar you out of your state of moral smugness. How dare you even consider having

me tried for stealing money from the Cassylia casino, when all I was doing was

conforming to their own code of ethics! They run crooked gambling games, so

the law under their local ethos must be that crooked gambling is the norm. So

I cheated them, conforming to their norm. If they have also passed a law that

says cheating at gambling is illegal, the law is unethical, not the cheating.

If you are bringing me back to be tried by that law you are unethical, and I

am the helpless victim of an evil man."

"Limb of Satan!" Mikah shouted, leaping to his feet and pacing back and

forth before Jason, clasping and unclasping his hands with agitation. "You

seek to confuse me with your semantics and so-called ethics, which are simply

opportunism and greed. There is a Higher Law that cannot be argued-"

"That is an impossible statement-and I can prove it." Jason pointed at

the books on the wall. "I can prove it with your own books, some of that light

reading on the shelf there. Not the Aquinas-too thick. But the little volume

with 'Lull' on the spine. Is that Ramon Lull's The Booke of the Ordre of

Chyvalry?"

Mikah's eyes widened. "You know the book? You're acquainted with Lull's

writing?"

"Of course," Jason said, with an offhandedness he did not feel, since

this was the only book in the collection he could remember reading; the odd

title had stuck in his head. "Now let me see it, and I shall prove to you what

I mean." There was no way to tell from the unchanged naturalness of his words

that this was the moment he had been working carefully towards. He sipped the

tea, none of his tenseness showing.

Mikah Samon took the book down and handed it to him.

Jason flipped through the pages while he talked. "Yes. . . yes, this is

perfect. An almost ideal example of your kind of thinking. Do you like to read

Lull?"

"Inspirational!" Mikah answered, his eyes shining. "There is beauty in

every line, and Truths that we have forgotten in the rush of modern life. A

reconciliation and proof of the interrelationship between the Mystical and the

Concrete. By manipulation of symbols, he explains everything by absolute

logic."

"He proves nothing about nothing," Jason said emphatically. "He plays

word games. He takes a word, gives it an abstract and unreal value, then

proves this value by relating it to other words with the same sort of nebulous

antecedents. His facts aren't facts-they're just meaningless sounds. This is

the key point, where your universe and mine differ. You live in this world of

meaningless facts that have no existence. My world contains facts that can be

weighed, tested, proven related to other facts in a logical manner. My facts

are unshakeable and unarguable. They exist."

"Show me one of your unshakeable facts," Mikah said, voice calmer now

than Jason's.

"Over there," Jason said. "The large green book over the console. It

contains facts that even you will agree are true-I'll eat every page if you

don't. Hand it to me." He sounded angry, making overly bold statements, and

Mikah fell right into the trap. He handed the volume to Jason, using both

hands, for it was very thick, metal-bound, and heavy.

"Now listen closely and try and understand, even if it is difficult for

you," Jason said, opening the book. Mikah smiled wryly at this assumption of

his ignorance. "This is a stellar ephemeris, just as packed with facts as an

egg is with meat. In some ways it is a history of mankind. Now look at the

jump screen there on the control console and you will see what I mean. Do you

see the horizontal green line? Well, that's our course."

"Since this is my ship and I am piloting it, I am aware of that," Mikah

said. "Proceed with your proof."

"Bear with me," Jason told him. "I'll try to keep it simple. Now, the

red dot on the green line is our ship's position. The number above the screen

is our next navigational point, the spot where a star's gravitational field is

strong enough to be detected in jump space. The number is the star's code

listing. BD89-o46-229. I look it up in the book"-he quickly flipped the pages-

"and find its listing. No name. A row of code symbols, though, that tells a

lot about it. This little symbol means that there is a planet or planets

suitable for man to live on. It doesn't say, though, if any people are there."

"Where does this all lead to?" Mikah asked.

"Patience-you'll see in a moment. Now look at the screen. The green dot

approaching on the course line is the PMP-Point of Maximum Proximity. When the

red dot and green dot coincide. . ."

"Give me that book," Mikah ordered, stepping forward, aware suddenly

that something was wrong. He was just an instant too late.

"Here's your proof," Jason said, and hurled the heavy book through the

jump screen into the delicate circuits behind. Before it hit, he had thrown

the second book. There was a tinkling crash, a flare of light, and the crackle

of shorted circuits.

The floor gave a tremendous heave as the relays snapped open, dropping

the ship through into normal space.

Mikah grunted in pain, clubbed to the floor by the suddenness of the

transition. Locked in the chair, Jason fought the heaving of his stomach and

the blackness before his eyes. As Mikah dragged himself to his feet, Jason

took careful aim and sent the tray and dishes hurtling into the smoking ruin

of the jump computer.

"There's your fact," he said in cheerful triumph. "Your

incontrovertible, gold-plated, uranium-cored fact.

'We're not going to Cassylia any more!"

"You have killed us both," Mikah said, his face strained and white, but

his voice under control.

"Not quite," Jason told him cheerily. "But I have killed the jump

control so we can't get to another star. However, there's nothing wrong with

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Deathworld2HarryHarrisonForJOHNW.CAMPBELLwithoutwhoseaidthisbook-andagoodpercentageofmodernsciencefiction-wouldneverhavebeenwritten.AllNatureisbutArt,unknowntothee;AllChance,Direction,whichthoucanstnotsee;AllDiscord,Harmonynotunderstood;AllpartialEvil,universalGood:And,spiteofPride,inerringReason'ss...

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Harry Harrison - Deathworld 2

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