22 Jason stood to one side and watched the deadly cargo being loaded into the hold of the ship. The pyrons were in good humour as they stowed away riot guns, grenades, and gas bombs. When the backpack atom bomb was put aboard, one of them broke into a marching song, and the others picked it up. Maybe they were happy, but the approaching carnage only filled Jason with an intense gloom. He felt that somehow he was a traitor to life. Perhaps the life form he had found needed destroying, and perhaps it didn't. Without making the slightest attempt at conciliation, destruction would be plain murder. Kirk came out of the operations building and the starter pumps could be heard whining inside the ship. They would leave within minutes. Jason forced himself into a foot-dragging rush and met Kirk halfway to the ship. I'm coming with you, Kirk. You owe me at least that much for finding them. Kirk hesitated, not liking the idea. This is an operational mission, he said, no room for observers and the extra weight. And it's too late to stop us, Jason. You know that. The pyrons are the worst liars in the universe, Jason said. We both know that ship can lift ten times the amount it's carrying today. Now, do you let me come, or forbid me, without reason at all? Get aboard, Kirk said, but keep out of the way or you'll get trampled. This time, with a definite destination ahead, the flight was much faster. Metta took the ship into the stratosphere in a high ballistic arc that ended at the islands. Kirk was in the co-pilot's seat. Jason sat behind them where he could watch the screens. The landing party, twenty-five volunteers, were in the hold now with the weapons. All the screens in the ship were switched to the forward viewer. They watched the green island appear and swell, then vanish behind the flames of the breaking rockets. Jockeying the ship carefully, Metta brought it down on a flat shelf near the cave mouth. Jason was ready this time for the blast of mental hatred, but it still hurt. The gunners laughed and killed gleefully as every animal on the island closed in on the ship. They were slaughtered by the thousands and still more came. Do you have to do this, Jason asked? It's murder, carnage, just butchering those beasts like that. Self-defense, Kirk said. They attack us and they get killed. What could be simpler?  It was a half an hour before the gunfire slackened. Animals still attack them, but the mass assault seemed to be over. Kirk spoke into the intercom. Landing party away. And watch your step. They know we're here and will make it as hot as they can. Take the bomb into that cave and see how far back it runs. We can always blast them from the air, but it'll do no good if they're dug into solid rock. Keep your screen open. Leave the bomb and pull back at once if I tell you to. Now move. The men swarmed down the ladders and formed into open battle formation. They were soon under attack, but the beasts were picked off before they could get close. It didn't take long for the man at point to reach the cave. He had his pickup trained in front of him and the watchers in the ship followed the advance. Big cave, Kirk grunted, slants back and down when I was afraid of. Bomb dropped on that would just close it up with no guarantee that anything sealed in it couldn't eventually get out. We'll have to see how far down it goes. There was enough heat in the cave now to use the infrared filters. The rock walls stood out harshly black and white as the advance continued. No signs of life since entering the cave, the officer reported. Nod bones at the entrance and some back droppings. It looks like a natural cave so far. Step by step the advance continued, slowing as it went. Insensitive as the pirates were to sigh pressure, even they were aware of the blast of hatred being continuously leveled at them. Jason back in the ship had a headache that slowly grew worse instead of better. Watch out, Kirk shouted, staring at the screen with horror. The cave was filled from wall to wall with pallid, eyeless animals. They poured from tiny side passages and seemed to literally emerge from the ground. Their front ranks dissolved in flame, but more kept pressing in. On the screen the watchers in the ship saw the cave spin dizzily as the operator fell. Pale bodies washed up and concealed the lens. Closed ranks, flamethrowers and gas, Kirk bellowed into the mic. Less than half of the men were alive after that first attack. The survivors protected by the flamethrowers set off the gas grenades. Their sealed battle armor protected them while the section of cave filled with gas. Someone dug through the bodies of their attackers and found the pickup. Leave the bomb there and withdraw, Kirk ordered. We've had enough losses already. A different man stared out of the screen. The officer was dead. Sorry, sir, he said, but it will be just as easy to push ahead as back as long as the gas grenades hold out. We're too close to pull back now. That's an order, Kirk shouted, but the man was gone from the screen and the advance continued. Jason's fingers hurt where he had them clamped to the chair arm. He pulled them loose and massaged them. On the screen the black and white cave flowed steadily towards them. Minute after minute went by this way. Each time the animals attacked again a few more gas grenades were used up. Something ahead looks different. The panting voice cracked from the speaker. The narrow cave slowly opened out into a gigantic chamber. So large the roof and far walls were lost in the distance. What are those, Kirk asked, to get a search light over to the right there. The picture on the screen was fuzzy and hard to see now, dimmed by the layers of rock in between. Details couldn't be made out clearly, but it was obvious this was something unusual. Never saw anything quite like them before, the speaker said.  Yet they're moving. Those branches, tentacles, or whatever they are, keep pointing towards us and I get the darkest feeling in my head. Blast one. See what happens, Kirk said. The gun fired and at the same instant an intensified wave of mental hatred rolled over the men dropping them to the ground. They rolled in pain, blacked out and unable to think or fight the underground beasts that poured over them in a renewed attack. In the ship, far above, Jason felt the shock to his mind and wondered how the men below could have lived through it. The others in the control room had been hit by it as well. Kirk pounded on the frame of the screen and shouted to the unhearing men below. Pull back! Come back! It was too late. The men only stirred slightly as the victorious Pyrene animals washed over them, clawing for the joints in their armor.  He stumbled a few feet and bent over the writhing mass below him.  The man was dead, but his shoulder-pack was still strapped to his back. Many fingers fumbled at the pack. Then both men were washed back under the wave of death. That was the bomb, Kirk shouted to Metta. If he didn't change the setting, it's still on ten-second minimum. Get out of here! Jason had just time to fall back on the acceleration couch before the rockets blasted. The pressure leaned on him and kept mounting. Vision blacked out, but he didn't lose consciousness. Air screamed across the hull, then the sound stopped as they left the atmosphere behind. Does Metta cut the power a glare of white light burst from the screens? They turned black instantly as the hull pickups burned out. She switched filters into place, then pressed the button that rotated new pickups into position. Far below in the boiling sea a climbing cloud of mushroom-shaped flame filled the spot where the island had been seconds before. The three of them looked at it silently and unmoving. Kirk recovered first. Head for home, Metta, and get operations on the screen. Twenty-five men dead, but they did their job. They knocked out those beasts, whatever they were, and ended the war. I can't think of a better way for a man to die. Metta set the orbit, then called operations. Trouble getting through, she said. I have a robot landing beam response, but no one is answering the call. A man appeared on the empty screen. He was beaded with sweat and had a harried look in his eyes. Kirk, he said, is that you? Get the ship back here at once. We need her firepower at the perimeter. All blazes broke loose a minute ago. A general attack from every side, worse than I've ever seen. What do you mean, Kirk stammered in unbelief. The war is over. We blasted them, destroyed their headquarters completely. The war was going like it has never gone before, the other snapped back. I don't know what you did, but it stirred up a stoopot of hell here. Now stop talking and get the ship back. Kirk turned slowly to face Jason. His face pulled back in a look of raw animal savagery. You. You did this. I should have killed you the first time I saw you. I wanted to. Now I know I was right. You've been like a plague since you came here, sewing death in every direction. I knew you were wrong, yet I let your twisted words convince me. And look what has happened. First you killed Wealth, then you murdered those men in the cave. Now this attack on the perimeter.  Kirk advanced on Jason. Step by slow step, hatred twisting his features. Jason backed away until he could retreat no further, his shoulders against the chartcase. Kirk's hand lashed out, not a fighting blow, but an open slap. Though Jason rolled with it, it still battered him and stretched him full length on the floor. His arm was against the chartcase, his fingers near the sealed tubes that held the jump matrices. Jason seized one of the heavy tubes with both hands and pulled it out. He swung it with all his strength into Kirk's face. It broke the skin on his cheekbone and forehead and blood ran from the cuts, but it didn't slow or stop the big man in the slightest. His smile held no mercy as he reached down and dragged Jason to his feet. Fight back, he said.  He drew back the ground at fist that would tear Jason's head from his shoulders. Go ahead, Jason said, and stop struggling. Kill me. You can do it easily. Only don't call it justice. Wealth died to save me, but the men on the island died because of your stupidity. I wanted peace and you wanted war. Now you have it. Kill me to soothe your conscience because the truth is something you can't face up to. With a bellow of rage, Kirk drove the pile-driver fist down. Metta grabbed the arm in both her hands and hung on, pulling it aside before the blow could land. The three of them fell together, half crushing Jason. Don't do it, she screamed. Jason didn't want those men to go down there. That was your idea. You can't kill him for that. Kirk, exploding with rage, was past hearing. He turned his attention to Metta, tearing her from him. She was a woman and her supple strength was meager compared to his great muscles, but she was a pyrin woman and she did what no off-worlder could do. She slowed him for a moment, stopped the fury of his attack until he could rip her hands loose and throw her aside. It didn't take him long to do this, but it was just enough time for Jason to get to the door. Jason stumbled through and jammed shut the lock behind him. A split second after he had driven the bolt home, Kirk's weight plunged into the door. The metal screamed and bent, giving way. One hinge was torn loose and the other held by a shred of metal. It would go down on the next blow. Jason wasn't waiting for that. He hadn't stayed to see if the door would stop the raging pyrin. No door on the ship could stop him. Fast as possible, Jason went down the gangway. There was no safety on the ship, which meant he had to get off it. The lifeboat deck was just ahead. Ever since first seeing them, he had given a lot of thought to the lifeboats. Though he hadn't looked ahead to this situation, he knew a time might come when he would need transportation of his own. The lifeboats had seemed to be the best bet, except that Metta had told him they had no fuel. She had been right in one thing. The boat he had been in had empty tanks. He had checked. There were five other boats, though, that he hadn't examined. He had wondered about the idea of useless lifeboats and come to what he hoped was a correct conclusion. This spaceship was the only one the pyrins had. Metta had told him once that they always had planned to buy another ship, but never did. Some other necessary war expense managed to come up first. The ship was really enough for their uses. The only difficulty lay in the fact they had to keep that ship in operation or the pyrin city was dead. Without supplies they would be wiped out in a few months. Therefore, the ship's crew couldn't conceive of abandoning their ship. No matter what kind of trouble she got into, they couldn't leave her. When the ship died, so did their world. With this kind of thinking, there was no need to keep the lifeboats fueled. Not all of them, at least. Though it stood to reason at least one of them held fuel for short flights that would have been wasteful for the parent ship. At this point Jason's chain of logic grew weak. Too many ifs. If they used the lifeboats at all, one of them should be fueled. If they did, it would be fueled now. And if it were fueled, which one of the six would it be? Jason had no time to go looking. He had to be right the first time. His reasoning had supplied him with an answer. The last of a long line of suppositions. If a boat were fueled, it should be the one nearest to the control cabin, the one he was diving towards now. His life depended on this string of guesses. Behind him the door went down with a crash. Kirk bellowed and leaped. Jason hurled himself through the lifeboat port with the nearest thing to a run he could manage under the doubled gravity. With both hands he grabbed the emergency launching handle and pulled down. An alarm bell rang and the port slammed shut, literally in Kirk's face. Only his pyrin reflexes saved him from being smashed by it. Solid fuel launchers exploded and blasted the lifeboat clear of the parent ship. Their brief acceleration slammed Jason to the deck. Then he floated as the boat went into freefall. The main drive rockets didn't fire. In that moment Jason learned what it was like to know he was dead. Without fuel the boat would drop into the jungle below, falling like a rock and blasting apart when it hit. There was no way out. Then the rockets caught, roared, and he dropped to the deck, bruising his nose. He sat up rubbing it and grinning. There was fuel in the tanks. The delay in starting had only been part of the launching cycle, giving the lifeboat time to fall clear of the ship. Now to get it under control. He pulled himself into the pilot's seat. The altimeter had fed information to the autopilot, leveling the boat off parallel to the ground. Like all lifeboat controls these were childishly simple, designed to be used by novices in an emergency. The autopilot could not be shut off. It rode along with the manual controls, tempering foolish piloting. Jason hauled the control wheel into a tight turn and the autopilot gentled it into a soft curve. Through the port he could see the big ship blaring fire in a much tighter turn. Jason didn't know who was flying it or what they had in mind. He took no chances. Jamming the wheel forward into a dive he cursed as they eased into a gentle drop. The larger ship had no such restrictions. It changed course the violent maneuver and dived on him. The forward turret fired and an explosion at the stern rocked the little boat. This either knocked out the autopilot or shocked it into submission.   Thundering rockets and cracking trees ended in a great splash. Silence followed and the smoke drifted away. High above the spaceship circled hesitantly, dropping a bit as if wanting to go down and investigate then rising again as the urgent message for aid came from the city. Loyalty won and she turned and spewed fire towards home. CHAPTER XXIII. Tree branches had broken the lifeboat's fall. The bow rockets had burned out in emergency blast and the swamp had cushioned the landing a bit. It was still a crash. The battered cylinders sank slowly into the stagnant water and thin mud of the swamp. The bow was well under before Jason managed to kick open the emergency hatch in the waste. There was no way of knowing how long it would take for the boat to go under and Jason was in no condition to ponder the situation.  Waiting and falling he made his way to firmer land sitting down heavily as soon as he found something that would support him. Behind him the lifeboat burbled and sank under the water. Bubbles of trapped air kept rising for a while, then stopped. The water stilled and except for the broken branches and trees there was no sign that a ship had ever come this way. Insects whined across the swamp and the only sound that broke the quiet of the woods beyond was the cruel scream of an animal pulling down its dinner. When that had echoed away in tiny waves of sound, everything was silent. Jason pulled himself out of the half trance with an effort. His body felt like it had been through a meat grinder and it was almost impossible to think with the fog in his head. After minutes of deliberation he figured out that the med kit was what he needed. The easy off snap was very difficult and the button release didn't work. He finally twisted his arm around until it was under the orifice and pressed the entire unit down. It buzzed industriously though he couldn't feel the needles he guessed it had worked. His sight spun dizzily for a while then cleared. Pain killers went to work and he slowly came out of the dark cloud that had enveloped his brain since the crash. Reason returned and loneliness rode with it. He was without food, friendless, surrounded by the hostile forces of an alien planet. There was a rising panic that started deep inside him that took concentrated effort to hold down. Think, Jason. Don't emote. He said it aloud to reassure himself, but was instantly sorry because his voice sounded weak in the emptiness with the ragged edge of hysteria to it. Something caught in his throat and he coughed to clear it, spitting out blood. Looking at the red stain he was suddenly angry, hating this deadly planet and the incredible stupidity of the people who lived on it. Cursing out loud was better and his voice didn't sound as weak now. He ended up shouting and shaking his fist at nothing in particular, but it helped. The anger washed away the fear and brought him back to reality. Sitting on the ground felt good now. The sun was warm and when he leaned back he could almost forget the unending burden of doubled gravity. Anger had carried away fear, rest, eased fatigue. From somewhere in the back of his mind there popped up the old platitude, where there's life, hope. He grimaced at the triteness of the words at the same time realizing that a basic truth lurked there. Count his assets. Well battered, but still alive. None of the bruises seemed very important and no bones were broken. His gun was still working. It dipped in and out of the power holster as he thought about it. Pirans made rugged equipment. The med kit was operating as well. If he kept his senses, managed to walk in a fairly straight line and could live off the land, there was a fair chance he might make it back to the city. What kind of a reception would be waiting for him there was a different matter altogether. He would find that out after he arrived. Getting there had first priority. On the debit side there stood the planet Pyrus, strength sapping gravity, murderous weather, and violent animals. Could he survive? As if to add emphasis to his thoughts the sky darkened over and rain hissed into the forest marching towards him. Jason scrambled to his feet and took a bearing before the rain closed down visibility. A jagged chain of mountains stood dimly on the horizon. He remembered crossing them on the flight out. They would do as a first goal. After he had reached them, he would worry about the next leg of the journey. Leaves and dirt flew before the wind in quick gusts, then the rain washed over him. Soaked, chilled, already bone-tired, he pitted the tottering strength of his legs against the planet of death. When nightfall came it was still raining. There was no way of being sure of the direction and no point in going on. If that wasn't enough, Jason was on the ragged edge of exhaustion. It was going to be a wet night. All the trees were thick, bold, and slippery. He couldn't have climbed them on a 1-G world. The sheltered spots that he investigated under fallen trees and beneath thick pushes were just as wet as the rest of the forest. In the end he curled up on the leeward side of a tree and fell asleep, shivering, with the water dripping off him. The rain stopped around midnight and the temperature fell sharply. Jason woke sluggishly from a dream in which he was being frozen to death, to find it was almost true. Fine snow was sifting through the trees, powdering the ground and drifting against him. The cold bit into his flesh and when he sneezed it hurt his chest. His aching and numb body only wanted to rest, but the spark of reason that remained in him forced him to his feet. If he lay down now he would die. Holding one hand against the tree so he wouldn't fall he began to trudge around it. Step after shuffling step, around and around until the terrible cold eased a bit and he could stop shivering. Fatigue crawled up him like a muffling gray blanket. He kept on walking half the time with his eyes closed, opening them only when he fell and had to climb painfully to his feet again. The sun burned away the snow clouds at dawn. Jason leaned against his tree and blinked up at the sky with sore eyes. The ground was white in all directions except around the tree where his stumbling feet had churned a circle of black mud. His back against the smooth trunk Jason sank slowly down to the ground letting the sun soak into him. Exhaustion had him lightheaded and his lips were cracked from thirst. Almost continuous coughing tore at his chest with fingers of fire. Though the sun was still low it was hot already, burning his skin dry, dry and hot. It wasn't right. This thought kept nagging at his brain until he admitted it, turned it over and over and looked at it from all sides. What wasn't right? The way he felt. Nimonia. He had all the symptoms. His dry lips cracked and blood moistened them when he smiled. He had avoided all the animal perils of pyrus, all the big carnivores and poisonous reptiles, only to be laid low by the smallest beast of them all. Well, he had the remedy for this one too. Rolling up his sleeve with shaking fingers he pressed the mouth of the med kit to his bare arm. It clicked and began to drone an angry wine. That meant something he knew but he just couldn't remember what. Holding it up he saw that one of the hypodermics was projecting halfway from its socket. Of course. It was empty of whatever antibiotic the analyzer had called for. It needed refilling. Jason hurled the thing away with a curse and it splashed into a pool and was gone. End of medicine, end of med kit, end of Jason Den Ault. Single-handed battler against the perils of Death World. Strong-hearted stranger who could do as well as the natives. It had taken him all of one day to get his own death warrant signed. A choking growl echoed behind him. He turned, dropped and fired in the same motion. It was all over before his conscious mind was aware it had happened. Pyron training had conditioned his reflexes on the pre-cortical level. Jason gaped at the ugly beast dying not a meter from him and realized he had been trained well. His first reaction was unhappiness that he had killed one of the grubber dogs. When he looked closer he realized this animal was slightly different in markings, size and temper. Though most of its forequarters were blown away, blood pumping out and dying spurts, it kept trying to reach Jason.  It wasn't quite a grubber dog, though chances were it was a wild relative, bearing the same relation as dog to wolf. He wondered if there were any other resemblances between wolves and this dead beast. Did they hunt in packs, too? As soon as the thought hit him he looked up, not a moment too soon. The great forms were drifting through the trees closing in on him. When he shot, too, the others snarled with rage and sank back into the forest. They didn't leave. Instead of being frightened by the deaths, they grew even more enraged. Jason sat with his back to the tree and waited until they came close before he picked them off. With each shot and dying scream the outraged survivors howled the louder. Some of them fought when they met, venting their rage. One stood on his behind legs and raked great strips of bark from a tree. Jason aimed a shot at it, but he was too far away to hit. There were advantages to having a fever, he realized. Logically he knew he would live only until sunset or until his gun was empty. Yet the fact didn't bother him greatly. Nothing really mattered. He slumped, relaxed completely, only raising his arm to fire, then letting it drop again.  He wished dimly that he were leaning against a smaller tree, but it wasn't worth the effort to go to one. Sometime in the afternoon he fired his last shot. It killed an animal he had allowed to get close. He had noticed he was missing the longer shots. The beast snarled and dropped. The others that were close pulled back and howled in sympathy. One of them exposed himself and Jason pulled the trigger. There was only a slight click. He tried again in case it was just a misfire, but there was still only a click. The gun was empty, as was the spare clip pouch at his belt. There were vague memories of reloading, though he couldn't remember how many times he had done it. This then was the end. They had all been right. Pyrus was a match for him. Though they shouldn't talk, it would kill them all in the end, too. Pyrans never died in bed. Old Pyrans never died. They just got ate. Now that he didn't have to force himself to stay alert and hold the gun the fever took hold. He wanted to sleep, and he knew it would be a long sleep. His eyes were almost closed as he watched the wary carnivores slip closer to him. The first one crept close enough to spring. He could see the muscles tensing in the leg. It leaped, whirling in mid-air and falling before it reached him.  The two men walked out of the brush and looked down at him. Their mere presence seemed to have been enough for the carnivores because they all vanished. Grubbers. He had been in such a hurry to reach the city that he had forgotten about the Grubbers. It was good that they were here, and Jason was very glad they had come. He couldn't talk very well, so he smiled to thank them, but this hurt his lips too much, so he went to sleep. End of Chapter 23 of Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 24 For a strange length of time after that there were only hazy patches of memory that impressed themselves on Jason. A sense of movement and large beasts around him—walls, wood smoke, the murmur of voices—none of it meant very much, and he was too tired to care. It was much easier, much better, just to let go. About time, Reese said, a couple more days lying there like that, and we would have buried you even if you were still breathing. Jason blinked at him, trying to focus the face that swam above him. He finally recognized Reese and wanted to answer him, but talking only brought on a spell of body racking coughing. Someone held a cup to his lips, and sweet fluid trickled down his throat. He rested, then tried again. How long have I been here? The voice was thin and sounded far away. Jason had trouble recognizing it for his own. Eight days, and why didn't you listen when I talked to you, Reese said? You should have stayed near the ship when you crashed. Didn't you remember what I said about coming down anywhere on this continent? No matter. Too late to worry about that. Next time listen to what I say. Our people moved fast, and reached the site of the wreck before dark. They found the broken trees and the spot where the ship had sunk, and at first they thought whoever had been in it had drowned. Then one of the dogs found your trail, but lost it again in the swamp storing the night. They had a fine time with the mud and the snow, and didn't have any luck at all in finding the spore again. By the next afternoon they were ready to send for more help when they heard your firing. Just made it from what I hear. Lucky one of them was a talker, and we could tell the wild dogs to clear out. We would have to have had killed all of them otherwise, and that's not healthy. Thanks for saving my neck, Jason said. That was closer than I liked to come. What happened after? I was sure I was done for. I remember that much. Diagnosed all the symptoms of pneumonia, guaranteed fatal in my condition without treatment. Looks like you were wrong when you said most of your remedies were useless. They seemed to work well on me.  Jason looked around and saw Naxa and another man. They had the same deeply unhappy expression as Reese. What is it, Jason asked, feeling the trouble? If your remedies didn't work, what did? Not my med-kit. That was empty. I remember losing it or throwing it away. You were dying, Reese said slowly. We couldn't cure you. Only a junkman medicine machine could do that. We got one from the driver of the food truck. But how, Jason asked dazed.  He couldn't give you his own med-kit, not unless he was… Reese nodded and finished the sentence. Dead. Of course, he was dead. I killed him myself, with a great deal of pleasure. This hit Jason hard. He sagged against the pillows and thought of all those who had died since he had come to Pyrus. The man who had died to save him, died so he could live, died because of his ideas. It was a burden of guilt that he couldn't bear to think about. Would it stop with Cranon or would the city people try to avenge his death? Don't you realize what that means? He gasped out the words, Cranon's death will turn the city against you. There'll be no more supplies. They'll attack you when they can. Kill your people. Of course we know that, Reese leaned forward, his voice hoarse and intense. It wasn't an easy decision to come to. We have always had a trading agreement with the junkmen. The trading trucks were inviolate. This was our last and only link to the galaxy outside and eventual hope of contacting them. Yet you broke that link to save me. Why? Only you can answer that question completely. There was a great attack on the city and we saw their walls broken. They had to be moved back at one place. At the same time, the spaceship was over the ocean, dropping bombs of some kind. The flash was reported. Then the ship returned and you left it in a smaller ship.  The little ship wasn't destroyed either. We are starting to raise it now. What does it all mean? We had no way of telling. We only knew it was something vitally important.  The small ship might be repaired to fly. Perhaps that was your plan and that is why you stole it for us. We couldn't let you die, not even if it meant all out war with the city. The situation was explained to all our people who could be reached by screen and they voted to save you. I killed the junkman for his medicine, then rode two dorms to death to get here in time. Now tell us, what does it mean? What is your plan? How will it help us? Gil leaned on Jason and stifled his mouth. A fragment of ancient legend cut across his mind about the Jonah who wrecked the space or so all in it died, yet he lived. Was that he? Had he wrecked a world?  The three pyrons leaned forward, waiting for his words. Jason closed his eyes so he couldn't see their faces. What could he tell them? If he admitted the truth, they would undoubtedly kill him on the spot, considering it only justice. He wasn't fearful for his own life anymore, but if he died, the other deaths would have all been in vain and there still was a way to end this planetary war. All the facts were available now. It was just a matter of putting them together if only he wasn't so tired. He could see the solution. It was right there, lurking around a corner in his brain, waiting to be dragged out. Whatever he did, he couldn't admit the truth now. If he died, all hope died. He had to lie to gain time and then find the true solution as soon as he was able. That was all he could do. You were right, Jason said, haltingly. The small ship has an interstellar drive in it. Perhaps it can still be saved. Even if it can't, there is another way. I can't explain now, but I will tell you when I am rested. Don't worry. The fight is almost over. They laughed and pounded each other on the back when they came to shake his hand as well. He closed his eyes and made believe he was asleep. It is very hard to be a hypocrite if you aren't trained for it. Rhys woke him early the next morning. Do you feel well enough to travel, he asked? Depends what you mean by travel, Jason told him. If you mean under my own power, I doubt if I could get as far as the door. You'll be carried. Rhys broke in. We have a litter swung between two doorms. Not too comfortable, but you'll get there. But only if you think you are well enough to move. We called all the people within riding distance and they are beginning to gather. By this afternoon we will have enough men and doorms to pull the ship out of the swamp. I'll come, Jason said, pushing himself to a sitting position. The effort exhausted him, bringing a wave of nausea. Only by leaning his full weight against the wall could he keep from falling back. He sat, propped there, until he heard shouts and the stamping of heavy feet outside and they came to carry him out. The trip drained away his small store of energy and he fell into an exhausted sleep. When he opened his eyes the doorms were standing knee-deep in the swamp and the salvage operation had begun. Ropes vanished out of sight in the water while lines of struggling animals and men hauled at them. The beasts bellowed. The men cursed as they slipped and fell. All the pyrons tugging on the lines weren't male. Women were there as well. Shorter on the average than the men, they were just as brawny. Their clothing was varied and many colored. The first touch of decoration Jason had seen on this planet. Getting the ship up was a heartbreaking job. The mud sucked at it and underwater routes caught on the veins. Divers plunged time and time again into the brown water to cut them free. Progress was incredibly slow but the work never stopped. Jason's brain was working even slower. The ship would be hauled up eventually. What would he do then? He had to have a new plan by that time but thinking was impossible work. His thoughts corkscrewed and he had to fight down the rising feeling of panic. The sun was low when the ship's nose finally appeared above the water. A ragged cheer broke out at first sight of that battered cone of metal and they went ahead with new energy. Jason was the first one who noticed the doorme weaving towards them. The dogs saw it of course and ran out and sniffed. The rider shouted to the dogs and kicked angrily at the sides of his mount. Even at this distance Jason could see the beast's heaving sides and yellow foam flecked hide. It was barely able to stagger now and the man jumped down running ahead on foot. He was shouting something as he ran that couldn't be heard above the noise. There was a single moment when the sound slacked a bit and the running man's voice could be heard. He was calling the same word over and over again. It sounded like wait. But Jason couldn't be sure. Others had heard him though and the result was instantaneous. They stopped, unmoving, where they were. Many of those holding the ropes let go of them. Only the quick action of the anchorman kept the ship from sliding back under dragging the harnessed doorms with it. A wave of silence washed across the swamp. In the wake of the running man's shouts, they could be heard clearly now. Quake! Quake on the way! South! Only safe way is south! One by one the ropes dropped back into the water and the pyrons turned to wade to solid land. Before they were well started, Reese's voice cracked out. Stay at work.  It's our only hope now. I'll talk to Harnanus. Find out how much time we have. These solitary people were unused to orders. They stopped and milled about. Reason fighting with the urgent desire to run. One by one they stepped back to the ropes as they worked out the sense of Reese's words. As soon as it was clear the work would continue, he turned away. What is it? What's happening, Jason called to him as he ran by? It's Harnanus, Reese said, stopping by the litter, waiting for the newcomer to reach him. He's a quake man. They know when quakes are coming, before they happen. Harnanus ran up, panting and tired. He was a short man built like a barrel on stubby legs. A great white beard covering his neck and the top of his chest. Another time, Jason might have laughed at his incongruous waddle, but not now. There was a charged difference in the air since the little man had arrived. Why didn't you have somebody near a plate? I called all over this area without an answer. Finally had to come myself. How much time do we have, Reese cut in? We have to get that ship up before we pull out. Time? Who knows about time, the great beard cursed?  Calm down, Han, Reese said in a quieter voice taking the oldster's arms in both hands. You know what we're doing here and how much depends on getting the ship up. Now how does it feel? This going to be a fast one or a slow one? Fast. Faster than anything I felt in a long time. She's starting far away, though. If you had a plate here, I bet Mock or someone else up near the firelands would be reporting new eruptions. It's on the way, and if we don't get out soon, we're not getting out at all. There was a burble of water as the ship was hauled out a bit farther. No one talked now, and there was a fierce urgency in the movements. Jason still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. Don't shoot me for a foreigner, he said, but just what is wrong? Are you expecting earthquakes here? Are you sure? Sure, Hanannus screeched. Of course I'm sure. If I wasn't sure I wouldn't be a quake man. It's on the way. There's no doubt of that, Reese added. I don't know how you can tell on your planet when quakes or volcanisms are going to start. Machines, maybe. We have nothing like that, but quake men like Hanannus here always know about them before they happen. If the word can be passed fast enough, we get away. The quake is coming all right. The only thing in doubt now is how much time we have. The work went on, and there was a good chance they would die long before it was finished. All for nothing. The only way Jason could get them to stop would be to admit the ship was useless. He would be killed then, and the grubber chances would die with him. He chewed his lip as the sun set and the work continued by torchlight. Hanannus paced around, grumbling under his breath, halting only to glance at the northern horizon. The people felt his restlessness and transmitted it to their animals. Dogfights broke out, and the dorams pulled reluctantly at their harnesses. With each passing second their chances grew slimmer, and Jason searched desperately for a way out of the trap of his own constructing. Look! Someone said, and they all turned. The sky to the north was lit with red light. There was a rumble in the ground that was felt more than heard. The surface of the water blurred then broke into patterns of tiny waves. Jason turned away from the light, looking at the water and the ship. It was higher now. The top of the stern exposed. There was a gaping hole here blasted through the metal by the spaceship's guns. Reese, he called. His words jammed together in a rush to get them out. Look at the ship!  I landed on the rockets and didn't know how badly she was hit, but the guns hit the star drive! Reese gaped at him, unbelievingly, as he went on, improvising, playing by ear, trying to manufacture lies that rang of truth. I watched them install the drive. It's an auxiliary to the other engine. It was bolted to the hull right there.  The boat will never leave this planet much less go to another star. He couldn't look Reese in the eyes after that. He sank back into the furs that had been propped behind him, feeling the weakness even more. Reese was silent, and Jason couldn't tell if his story had been believed. Only when the pirate bent and slashed the nearest rope did he know he had won. The word passed from man to man, and the ropes were cut silently. Behind them, the ship they had labored so hard over, sank back into the water. None of them watched. Each was locked in his own world of thought as they formed up to leave. As soon as the dorms were saddled and packed, they started out, Hananas leading the way. Within minutes they were all moving a single file that vanished into the darkness. Jason's litter had to be left behind. It would have been smashed to pieces in the night march. Reese pulled him up into the saddle before him, locking his body into place with a steel-hard arm. The trek continued. When they left the swamp, they changed directions sharply. A little later Jason knew why when the southern sky exploded. Flames lit the scene brightly. Ashes sifted down, and hot lumps of rock crashed into the trees. They steamed when they hit, and if it hadn't been for the earlier rain, they would have been faced with a forest fire as well. Something large loomed up next to the line of march, and when they crossed an open space, Jason looked at it in the reflected light from the sky. Reese, he choked pointing. Reese looked at the great beast moving next to them, shaggy body and twisted horns as high as their shoulders. Then looked away. He wasn't frightened or apparently interested. Jason looked around then and began to understand. All of the fleeing animals made no sound. That's why he hadn't noticed them before. But on both sides dark forms ran between the trees. Some he recognized. Most of them he didn't. For a few minutes a pack of wild dogs ran near them, even mingling with the domesticated dogs. No notice was taken. Flying things flapped overhead. Under the great threat of the volcanoes, all other battles were forgotten. Life respected life. A herd of fat pig-like beasts with curling tusks blundered through the line. The dorams slowed, picking their steps carefully so that they wouldn't step on them. Smaller animals sometimes clung to the backs of bigger ones riding untouched a while before they leaped off. Pounded mercilessly by the saddle, Jason fell wearily into a light sleep. It was shot through with dreams of the rushing animals harrying on forever in silence. With his eyes open or shut, he saw the same endless stream of beasts. It all meant something, and he frowned as he tried to think what. Animals running. Pyrene animals. He sat bolt upright suddenly, wide awake, staring down in comprehension. What is it, Reese asked? Go on, Jason said, get us out of this and get us out safely. I told you a lifeboat wasn't the only answer. I know how your people can get what they want. End the war now. There is a way, and I know how it can be done. End of Chapter 24 of Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 25 of Death World by Harry Harrison This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Greg Marguerite. Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 25 There were few coherent memories of the ride. Some things stood out sharply like the spaceship-sized lump of burning scoria that had plunged into a lake near them, showering the line with hot drops of water. But mostly it was just a seemingly endless ride, with Jason still too weak to care much about it. By dawn the danger area was behind them, and the march had slowed to a walk. The animals had vanished as the quake was left behind, going their own ways, still in silent armistice. The piece of mutually shared danger was over. Jason found that out when they stopped to rest and eat. He and Reese went to sit on the soft grass near a fallen tree. A wild dog had arrived there first. It lay under the log, muscles tensed, the ruddy morning light striking a red glint from its eyes. Reese faced it not three meters away without moving a muscle. He made no attempt to reach one of his weapons or to call for help. Jason stood still as well, hoping the pirate knew what he was doing. With no warning at all the dogs sprang straight at them. Jason fell backwards as Reese pushed him aside. The pirate dropped at the same time, only now his hand held a long knife, yanked from the sheath strapped to his thigh. With unseen speed the knife came up. The dog twisted in midair trying to bite it. Instead it sank behind the dog's forelegs, the beast's own weight tearing a deadly gaping wound the length of its body. It was still alive when it hit the ground but Reese was astride it, pulling back the bony plated head to cut the soft throat underneath. The pirate carefully cleaned his knife on the dead animal's fur then returned it to the sheath. There are usually no trouble, he said quietly, but it was excited. Probably lost the rest of the pack in the quake. His actions were the direct opposite of the city pirates. He had not looked for trouble nor started the fight. Instead he had avoided it as long as he could, but when the beast charged it had been neatly and efficiently dispatched. Now instead of gloating over his victory, he seemed troubled by an unnecessary death. It made sense. Everything on Pyrrhus made sense. Now he knew how the deadly planetary battle had started and he knew how it could be ended. All the deaths had not been in vain. Each one had helped him along the road a little more towards the final destination. There was just one final thing to be done. Reese was watching him now and he knew they shared the same thoughts. Explain yourself, Reese said. What did you mean when you said we could wipe out the junkman and get our freedom? Jason didn't bother to correct the misquote. It was best they consider him a hundred percent on their side. Get the others together and I'll tell you, I particularly want to see Naxa and any other talkers who are here. They gathered quickly when the word was passed. All of them knew that the junkman had been killed to save this off-worlder, that their hope of salvation lie with him. Jason looked at the crowd of faces turned towards him and reached for the right words to tell them what had to be done. It didn't help to know that many of them would be killed doing it. The small starship can't be used, he said. You all saw that it was ruined beyond repair. But that was the easy way out. The hard way is still left, though some of you may die in the long run. It will be the best solution. We're going to invade the city. Break through the perimeter. I know how it can be done. A mutter of sound spread across the crowd. Some of them looked excited, happy with the thought of killing their hereditary enemies. Others stared at Jason as if he were mad. A few were dazed at the magnitude of the thought, this carrying of the battle to the stronghold of the heavily armed enemy. They quieted when Jason raised his hand. I know, it sounds impossible, he said, but let me explain. Something must be done and now is the time to do it. The situation can only get worse from now on. The city pirate—the junkman can get along without your food. Their concentrates taste awful, but they sustain life. But they are going to turn against you in every way they can. No more medals for your tools or replacements for your electronic equipment. Their hatred will probably make them seek out your farms and destroy them from the ship. All of this won't be comfortable, and there will be worse to come. In the city, they are losing their war against this planet. Each year there are less of them, and someday they will all be dead.  How can we stop them? Someone called out. By hitting now, Jason answered, I know all the details of the city, and I know how the defenses are set up. Their perimeter is designed to protect them from animal life, but we could break through if we're really determined. What good would that do? Resnapped, we cracked the perimeter, and they draw back, then counter-attack and force. How can we stand against their weapons? We won't have to. Their spaceport touches the perimeter, and I know the exact spot where the ship stands. That is the place where we will break through. There is no formal guard on the ship, and only a few people in the area. We will capture the ship. Whether we can fly it or not is unimportant. Who controls the ship controls pyrus. Once there, we threaten to destroy it if they don't meet our terms. They have the choice of mass suicide or cooperation. I hope they have the brains to cooperate. His words shocked them into silence for an instant, then they surged into a wave of sound.  Quiet, he shouted. Wait until Jason finishes before you decide. We still haven't heard how this proposed invasion is to be accomplished. The plan I have depends on the talkers, Jason said. Is Naxa there? He waited until the fur-wrapped man had pushed to the front. I want to know more about the talkers, Naxa. I know you can speak to the doorms and the dogs here, but what about the wild animals? Can you make them do what you want? They're animals. Of course we can talk to them. The more talkers, the more power. Make them do just what we want. Then the attack will work, Jason said excitedly. Could you get your talkers all on one side of the city, the opposite side from the spaceport, and stir the animals up? Make them attack the perimeter? Could we, Naxa shouted, carried away by the idea? We'd bring in animals from all over, start the biggest attack they ever saw. Then that's it. Your talkers will launch the attack on the far side of the perimeter. If you keep out of sight, the guards will have no idea that it is anything more than an animal attack. I've seen how they work. As an attack mounts, they call for reserves inside the city and drain men away from the other parts of the perimeter. At the height of the battle, when they have all their forces committed across the city, I'll lead the attack that will break through and capture the ship. That's the plan, and it's going to work. Jason sat down then, half fell down, drained of strength. He lay enlistened as the debate went back and forth, Reese ordering it and keeping it going. Difficulties were raised and eliminated. No one could find a basic fault with the plan. There were plenty of flaws in it, things that might go wrong, but Jason didn't mention them. These people wanted his idea to work, and they were going to make it work. It finally broke up and they moved away. Reese came over to Jason. The basics are settled, he said. All here are in agreement. They are spreading the word by messenger to all the talkers. The talkers are the heart of the attack, and the more we have, the better it will go off. We don't dare use the screens to call them. There is a good chance that the junkmen can intercept our messages. It will take five days before we are ready to go ahead. I'll need all that time if I'm to be any good, Jason said. Now, let's get some rest. End of Chapter 25 of Death World by Harry Harrison. Chapter 26 of Death World by Harry Harrison. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Greg Marguerite. Death World by Harry Harrison. Chapter 26. It's a strange feeling, Jason said. I've never really seen the perimeter from this side before. Ugly is about the only word for it. He lay on his stomach next to Reese looking through a screen of leaves downhill towards the perimeter. They were both wrapped in heavy furs in spite of the midday heat with thick leggings and leather gauntlets to protect their hands. The gravity and the heat were already making Jason dizzy, but he forced himself to ignore this. Ahead on the far side of a burnt corridor stood the perimeter. A high wall of varying height and texture seemingly made of everything in the world. It was impossible to tell what it had originally been constructed of. Generations of attackers had bruised, broken, and undermined it. Repairs had been quickly made. Patches thrust roughly into place and fixed there. Crude masonry crumbled and gave way to a rat's nest of woven timbers. This overlapped a length of pitted metal, large plates riveted together. Even this metal had been eaten through and bursting sandbags spilled out of a jagged hole. Over the surface of the wall, detector wires and charged cables looped and hung. At odd intervals, automatic flamethrowers thrust their nozzles over the wall above and swept the base of the wall clear of any life that might have come close. Those flame things can cause us trouble, Reese said. That one covers the area where you want to break in. It'll be no problem, Jason assured him. It may look like it's firing a random pattern, but it's really not. It varies a simple sweep just enough to fool an animal, but was never meant to keep men out. Look for yourself. It fires at regular, repeated two, four, three, and one-minute intervals. They crawled back to the hollow where Naxa and the others waited for them. There were only thirty men in the party. What they had to do could only be done with a fast, light force. Their strongest weapon was surprise. Once that was gone, their other weapons wouldn't hold out for seconds against the city guns. Everyone looked uncomfortable in the fur and leather wrappings, and some of the men had loosened them to cool off. Wrap up, Jason ordered. None of you have been this close to the perimeter before, and you don't understand how deadly it is here. Naxa is keeping the larger animals away, and you all can handle the smaller ones. That isn't the danger. Every thorn is poisoned, and even the blades of grass carry a deadly sting. Watch out for insects of any kind, and once we start moving, breathe only through the wet cloths. He's right, Naxa snorted. Never been closer than this myself. Death. Death up by that wall. Do like he says. They could only wait then, honing down already needle sharp crossbow bolts and glancing up at the slowly moving sun. Only Naxa didn't share the unrest. He sat eyes unfocused, feeling the movement of animal life in the jungle around him. On the way, he said, Biggest thing I ever heard. Not a beast tween here in the mountains ain't howl in its lungs out runnin' towards the city. Jason was aware of part of it. Attention in the air and a wave of intensified anger and hatred. It would work, he knew, if they could only keep the attack confined to a small area. The talkers had seemed sure of it. They had stalked out quietly that morning, a thin line of ragged men moving out in a mental sweep that would round up the pirate life and send it charging against the city. They hit, Naxa said suddenly. The men were on their feet now, staring in the direction of the city. Jason had felt the twist as the attack had been driven home and knew that this was it. There was the sound of shots and a heavy booming far away. Thin streamers of smoke began to blow above the treetops. Let's get into position, Rhys said. Around them the jungle howled with an echo of hatred. The half sentient plants writhed and the air was thick with small flying things. Naxa sweated and mumbled as he turned back the animals that crashed towards them. By the time they reached the last screen of foliage before the burned out area they had lost four men. One had been stung by an insect.  The other three were bitten or scratched and treatment came too late. Their swollen twisted bodies were left behind on the trail.  Not yet, Rhys said, we wait for the signal. One of the men carried the radio. He sat it down carefully, then threw the aerial over a branch. The set was shielded, so no radiation leaked out to give them away. It was turned on, but only a hiss of atmospheric static came from the speaker. We could have timed it, Rhys said. No, we couldn't, Jason told him. Not accurately. We want to hit that wall at the height of the attack when our chances are best. Even if they hear the message it won't mean a thing to them, and a few minutes later it won't matter. The sound from the speaker changed.  Bring me three barrels of flour. Let's go, resurged, as he started forward. Wait, Jason said, taking him by the arm. I'm timing the flamethrower. It's due in—there!  We have four minutes to the next one. We hit the long period. They ran, stumbling in the soft ashes, tripping over charred bones and rusted metal. Two men grabbed Jason under the arm and half carried him across the ground. It hadn't been planned that way, but it saved precious seconds. They dropped him against the wall, and he fumbled out the bombs he had made. The charges from Cranon's gun taken when he was killed had been hooked together with a firing circuit. All the moves had been rehearsed carefully, and they went smoothly now. Jason had picked the metal wall as being the best spot to break in. It offered the most resistance to the native life so that chances were it wouldn't be reinforced with sandbags or fill the way the other parts of the wall were. If he was wrong, they were all dead. The first men had slapped their wads of sticky congealed sap against the wall. Jason pressed the charges into them, and they stuck a roughly rectangular pattern as high as a man. While he did this, the detonating wire was run out to its length, and the raiders pressed back against the base of the wall. Jason stumbled through the ashes to the detonator, fell on it, and pressed the switch at the same time. Behind him a thundering bang shook the wall, and red flame burst out. Rhys was the first one there, pulling at the twisted and smoking metal with his gloved hands. Others grabbed on and bent the jagged pieces aside. The hole was filled with smoke and nothing was visible through it. Jason dived into the opening, rolled on a heap of rubble, and smacked into something solid. When he blinked the smoke from his eyes, he looked around him. He was inside the city. The others poured through now, picking him up as they charged in so he wouldn't be trampled underfoot. Someone spotted the spaceship, and they ran that way. A man ran around the corner of a building towards them. His pyrin reflexes sent him springing into the safety of a doorway the same moment he saw the invaders. But they were pyrins, too. The man slumped slowly back onto the street, three metal bolts sticking out of his body. They ran on without stopping, running between the low storehouses. The ship stood ahead. Someone had reached it ahead of them. They could see the outer hatch slowly grinding shut. A hail of bolts from the bows crashed into it with no effect. Keep going, Jason shouted. Get next to the hull before he reaches the guns. This time three men didn't make it. The rest of them were under the belly of the ship when every gun let go at once. Most of them were aimed away from the ship. Still, the screaming of shells and electric discharges was ear-shattering. The three men still in the open dissolved under the fire. Whoever was inside the ship had hit all the gun-trips at once, both to knock out the attackers and summon aid. He would be on the screen now calling for help. Their time was running out. Jason reached up and tried to open the hatch while the others watched. It was locked from the inside. One of the men brushed him aside and pulled at the inset handle. It broke off in his hand, but the hatch remained closed. The big guns had stopped now and they could hear again. Did anyone get the gun from that dead man, he asked? It would blow this thing open. No, Rhys said. We didn't stop. Before the words were out of his mouth, two men were running back towards the buildings angling away from each other. The ship's guns roared again, a string of explosions cut across one man. Before they could change direction and find the other man, he had reached the buildings. He returned quickly, darting into the open to throw the gun to them. Before he could dive back to safety, the shells caught him. Jason grabbed up the gun as it skidded almost to his feet. They heard the sound of wide open truck turbines screaming towards them as he blasted the lock. The mechanism sighed and the hatch sagged open. They were all through the airlock before the first truck appeared. Naxa stayed behind with the gun to hold the lock until they could take the control room. Everyone climbed faster than Jason once he had pointed them the way, so the battle was over when he got there. The single city pyrin looked like a pincushion. One of the techs had found the gun controls and was shooting wildly, the sheer quantity of his fire driving the trucks back. Someone get on the radio and tell the talkers to call off the attack, Jason said. He found the communication screen and snapped it on. Kirk's wide-eyed face stared at him from the screen.  Yes, it's me, Jason answered. He talked without looking up while his hands were busy at the control board. Listen to me, Kirk, and don't doubt anything I say. I may not know how to fly one of these ships, but I do know how to blow them up. Do you hear that sound? He flipped over a switch and the faraway wine of a pump droned faintly. That's the main fuel pump. If I let it run, which I won't right now, it could quickly fill the drive chamber with raw fuel. Pour in so much that it would run out of the stern tubes. Then what do you think would happen to your one and only spacer if I press the firing button? I'm not asking you what would happen to me, since you don't care. But you need this ship the way you need life itself. There was only silence in the cabin now. The men who had won the ship turned to face him. Kirk's voice graded loudly through the room. What do you want, Jason? What are you trying to do? Why did you lead those animals in here? His voice cracked and broke as anger choked him and spilled over. Watch your tongue, Kirk, Jason said with soft menace.  If you want them to share it with you, you had better learn to talk nicely. Now, come over here at once and bring Brucko and Metta. Jason looked at the older man's florid and swollen face and felt a measure of sympathy. Don't look so unhappy. It's not the end of the world. In fact, it might be the beginning of one. And another thing. Leave this channel open when you go. Have it hooked into every screen in the city so everyone can see what happens here. Make sure it's taped, too, for replay. Kirk started to say something but changed his mind before he did. He left the screen but the set stayed alive, carrying the scene in the control room to the entire city. The fight was over. It had ended so quickly the fact hadn't really sunk in yet. Reese rubbed his hand against the gleaming metal of the control console, letting the reality of touch convince him. The other men milled about, looking out through the view screens or soaking in the mechanical strangeness of the room. Jason was physically exhausted but he couldn't let it show. He opened the pilot's med box and dug through it until he found the stimulants. Three of the little gold pills washed the fatigue from his body and he could think clearly again. Listen to me, he shouted. The fight's not over yet. They'll try anything to take this ship back and we have to be ready. I want one of the techs to go over these boards until he finds the lock controls. Make sure all the airlocks and ports are sealed. Send men to check them if necessary. Turn on all the screens to scan in every direction so no one can get near the ship. We'll need a guard in the engine room. My control could be cut off if they broke in there. And there had better be a room by room search of the ship in case someone else is locked in with us. The men had something to do now and felt relieved. Reese split them up into groups and set them to work. Jason stayed at the controls, his hand next to the pump switch. The battle wasn't over yet. There's a truck coming, Reese called, going slow. Should I blast it? The man at the gun controls asked. Hold your fire, Jason said, until we can see who it is. If it's the people I sent for, let them through. As the truck came on slowly the gunner tracked it with his sights. There was a driver and three passengers. Jason waited until he was positive who they were. Those are the ones, he said. Stop them at the lock. Reese, make them come in, one at a time. Take their guns as they enter, then strip them of all their equipment. There was no way of telling what could be a concealed weapon. Be specially careful of Brucho. He's the thin one with a face like an axe edge. Make sure you strip him clean. He's a specialist in weapons and survival. And bring the driver too. We don't want him reporting back about the broken airlock or the state of our guns. Waiting was hard. His hand stayed next to the pump switch, even though he knew he could never use it. Just as long as the others thought he would. There were stampings and muttered curses in the corridor. The prisoners were pushed in. Jason had one look at their deadly expressions and clenched fists before he called to Reese. Keep them against the wall and watch them. Bowman, keep your weapons up. He looked at the people who had once been his friends and who now swam in hatred for him. Metta, Kirk, Brucho. The driver was Scop. The man Kirk once had appointed to guard him. He looked ready to explode now that the roles had been reversed. Pay close attention, Jason said, because your lives depend upon it. Keep your backs to the wall and don't attempt to come any closer to me than you are now. If you do, you will be shot instantly. If we were alone, any one of you could undoubtedly reach me before I threw this switch. But we're not. You have firing reflexes and muscles, but so do the Bowman. Don't gamble. Because it won't be a gamble. It will be suicide. I'm telling you this for your own protection so we can talk peacefully without one of you losing his temper and suddenly getting shot. There is no way out of this.  You can't escape or kill me. The war is over. And we lost. And all because of you, you traitor! Metta snarled. Wrong on both counts, Jason said, Blandly. I'm not a traitor because I owe my allegiance to all men on this planet, both inside the perimeter and out. I never pretended differently. As to losing, why, you haven't lost anything. In fact, you've won. Won your war against this planet if you will only hear me out. He turned to Reese, who was frowning in angry puzzlement. Of course, your people have won also, Reese. No more war with the city. You'll get medicine, off-planet contact, everything you want. Pardon me for being cynical, Reese said, but you're promising the best of all possible worlds for everyone. That will be a little hard to deliver when our interests are opposed so. You strike through to the heart of the matter, Jason said. Thank you. This mess will be settled by seeing that everyone's interests are not opposed. Peace between the city and farms with an end to the useless war you've been fighting. Peace between mankind and the Pyrene lifeforms because that particular war is at the bottom of all your troubles. The man's mad, Kirk said. Perhaps you'll judge that after you hear me out. I'm going to tell you the history of this planet because that is where both the trouble and the solution lie. When the settlers landed on Pyrus three hundred years ago, they missed the one important thing about this planet, the factor that makes it different from any other planet in the galaxy. They can't be blamed for the oversight. They had enough other things to worry about. The gravity was the only thing familiar to them. The rest of the environment was a shocking change from the climate controlled industrial world they had left. Storms, volcanism, floods, earthquakes, it was enough to drive them insane and I'm sure many of them did go mad. The animal and insect life was a constant annoyance. Nothing at all like the few harmless and protected species they had known. I'm sure they never realized that the Pyrene life was telepathic as well. That again, Bruko snapped, true or not, it is of no importance. I was tempted to agree with your theory of psionic controlled attack on us, but the deadly fiasco you staged proved that theory wrong. I agree, Jason answered. I was completely mistaken when I thought some outside agency directed the attack on the city with psionic control. It seemed a logical theory at the time and the evidence pointed that way. The expedition to the island was a deadly fiasco, only don't forget that attack was the direct opposite of what I wanted to have done. If I had gone into the cave myself, none of the deaths would have been necessary. I think it would have been discovered that the plant creatures were nothing more than an advanced life form with unusual sigh ability. They simply resonated strongly to the psionic attack on the city. I had the idea backwards thinking they instigated the battle. We'll never know the truth though because they're destroyed, but their deaths did prove one thing. It allows us to find the real culprits, the creatures who are leading, directing and inspiring the war against the city. Who? Kirk breathed the question rather than spoke it. Why, you, of course, Jason told him, not you alone, but all of your people in the city. Perhaps you don't like this war, however you are responsible for it and keep it going. Jason had to force back a smile as he looked at their dumbfounded expressions. He had to prove his point quickly before even his allies began to think him insane. Here is how it works. I said Pyrene life was telepathic, and I meant all life. Every single insect, plant, and animal. At one time in this planet's violent history, these psionic mutations proved to be survival types. They existed when other species died, and in the end, I'm sure they cooperated in wiping out the last survivors of the non-sized strains. Cooperation is the key word here, because while they still competed against each other under normal conditions, they worked together against anything that threatened them as a whole. When a natural upheaval or a tidal wave threatened them, they fled from it in harmony. You can see a milder form of this same behavior on any planet that is subject to forest fires, but here, mutual survival was carried to an extreme because of the violent conditions. Perhaps some of the life forms even developed precognition like the human quake men. With this advance warning, the larger beasts fled. The smaller ones developed seeds or burrs or eggs that could be carried to safety by the wind or in the animal's fur, thus ensuring racial survival. I know this is true, because I watched it myself when we were escaping a quake. Admitted. All your points admitted, Brucho shouted, but what does it have to do with us? So all the animals run away together. What does that have to do with the war? They do more than run away together, Jason told him. They work together against any natural disaster that threatens them all. Someday, I'm sure ecologists will go into raptures over the complex adjustments that occur here in the advent of blizzards, floods, fires, and other disasters. There is only one reaction we really care about now, though. That's the one directed towards the city people. Don't you realize yet? They treat you all as another natural disaster. We'll never know exactly how it came about, though there is a clue in that diary I found dating from the first days on this planet. It said that a forest fire seemed to have driven new species toward the settlers. Those weren't new beasts at all, just old ones with new attitudes. Can't you just imagine how those protected over-civilized settlers acted when faced with a forest fire? They panicked, of course. If the settlers were in the path of the fire, the animals must have rushed right through their camp. Their reaction would undoubtedly have been to shoot the fleeing creatures down. When they did that, they classified themselves as a natural disaster. Disasters take any form, bipeds with guns could easily be included in the category. The pyrene animals attacked were shot and the war began. The survivors kept attacking and informed all the life forms what the fight was about. The radioactivity of this planet must cause plenty of mutations, and the favorable survival mutation was now one that was deadly to man. I'll hazard a guess that the sci function even instigates mutations. Some of the deadlier types are just too one-sided to have come about naturally in a brief three hundred years. The settlers, of course, fought back and kept their status as a natural disaster intact. Through the centuries they improved their killing methods. Not that it did the slightest good, as you know. You city people, their descendants are heirs to this heritage of hatred. You fight and are slowly being defeated. How can you possibly win against the biologic reserves of a planet that can recreate itself each time to meet any new attack? Silence followed Jason's words. Kirk and Metta stood white-faced as the impact of the disclosure sunk in. Brucko mumbled and checked points off on his fingers searching for weak spots in the chain of reason. The Fourth City Pirate, Scop, ignored all these foolish words that he couldn't understand or want to understand and would have killed Jason in an instant if there had been the slightest chance of success. It was Rhys who broke the silence. His quick mind had taken in the factors and sorted them out. There's one thing wrong, he said. What about us? We live on the surface of pyrus without perimeters or guns. Why aren't we attacked as well? We're human, descended from the same people as the junkmen. You're not attacked, Jason told him, because you don't identify yourself as a natural disaster. Animals can live on the slopes of a dormant volcano fighting and dying in natural competition, but they'll flee together when the volcano erupts. That eruption is what makes the mountain a natural disaster. In the case of human beings, it is their thoughts that identify them as life form or disaster. Mountain or volcano. In the city, everyone radiates suspicion and death. They enjoy killing. Think about killing and planning for killing. This is natural selection, too. You realize these are the survival traits that work best in the city. Outside the city, men think differently. If they are threatened individually, they fight as will any other creature. Under more general survival threats, they cooperate completely with the rules for universal survival that the city people break. How did it begin, this separation, I mean, between the two groups, re-sasked? We'll probably never know, Jason said. I think your people must have originally been farmers or psionic sensitives who were not with the others during some natural disaster. They would, of course, act correctly by pirate standards and survive. This would cause a difference of opinion with the city people who saw killing as the answer. It's obvious, whatever the reason that two separate communities were established early and soon separated except for the limited amount of barter that benefited both. I still can't believe it, Kirk mumbled. It makes a terrible kind of truth every step of the way, but I still find it hard to accept there must be another explanation. Jason shook his head slowly. None. This is the only one that works. We've eliminated the other ones, remember? I can't blame you for finding it hard to believe since it is in direct opposition to everything you've understood to be true in the past. It's like altering a natural law as if I gave you proof that gravity didn't really exist, that it was a force altogether different from the immutable one we know, one you could get around when you understood how. You'd want more proof than words. Probably want to see someone walking on air. Which isn't such a bad idea, he added, turning to Naxa. Do you hear any animals around the ship now?  Places crawling with them, Naxa said, just looking for something to kill. Could you capture one, Jason asked, without getting yourself killed, I mean? Naxa snorted contempt as he turned to leave. Beasts not born yet that'll hurt me. They stood quietly, each one wrapped tightly around by his own thoughts while they waited for Naxa to return. Jason had nothing more to say. He would do one more thing and try to convince them of the facts. After that it would be up to each of them to reach a conclusion. The talker returned quickly with a sting-wing tied by one leg to a length of leather. It flapped and shrieked as he carried it in. In the middle of the room, away from everybody, Jason told him, Can you get that beast to sit on something and not flap around? My hand good enough, he asked, flipping the creature up so it clung to the back of his gauntlet. That's how I caught it. Does anyone doubt that this is a real sting-wing, Jason asked? I want to make sure you all believe there is no trickery here. The thing is real, Brucco said. I can smell the poison in the wing-claws from here. He pointed to the dark marks on the leather where the liquid had dripped. If that eats through the gloves, he's a dead man. Then we agree. It's real, Jason said. Real and deadly. And the only test of the theory will be if you people from the city can approach it like Naxa here. They drew back automatically when he said it because they knew that sting-wing was synonymous with death, past, present, and future. You don't change a natural law. Metta spoke for them all. We can't. This man lives in the jungle like an animal himself. Somehow he's learned to get near them, but you can't expect us to. Jason spoke quickly before the stalker could react to the insult. Of course I expect you to. That's the whole idea.  Think of it as a creature from a different planet, something harmless. I can't, she said. It's a sting-wing. As they talked, Brucco stepped forward. His eyes fixed steadily on the creature perched on the glove. Jason signaled the bowman to hold their fire. Brucco stopped at a safe distance and kept looking steadily at the sting-wing. It rustled its leathery wings uneasily and hissed. A drop of poison formed at the tip of each great poison claw on its wings. The control room was filled with a deadly silence. Slowly he raised his hand, carefully putting it out over the animal. The hand dropped a little, rubbed the sting-wing's head once, then fell back to his side. The animal did nothing except stir slightly under the touch. There was a concerted sigh as those who had been unknowingly holding their breath. Breathed again. How did you do it? Meta asked in a hushed voice. Hmm, what? Brucco said apparently snapping out of a daze. Oh, touching the thing? Simple, really. I just pretended it was one of the training aids I use, a realistic and harmless duplicate. I kept my mind on that single thought, and it worked. He looked down at his hand, then back to the sting-wing. His voice quieter now as if he spoke from a distance. It's not a training aid, you know. It's real, deadly. The off-worlder is right. He's right about everything he said. With Brucco's success as an example, Kirk came close to the animal. He walked stiffly as if on the way to his execution and runnels of sweat poured down his rigid face. But he believed and kept his thoughts directed away from the sting-wing, and he could touch it, unharmed. Meta tried, but couldn't fight down the horror it raised when she came close. I am trying, she said, and I do believe you now, but I just can't do it. Scops screamed when they all looked at him, shouted it was all a trick, and had to be clubbed unconscious when he attacked the bowman. Understanding had come to Pyrus. End of Chapter 27 of Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 28 of Death World by Harry Harrison This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Greg Marguerite Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 28 What do we do now? Meta asked. Her voice was troubled, questioning. She voiced the thoughts of all the pirates in the room and the thousands who watched in their screens. What will we do? They turned to Jason waiting for an answer. After the moment their differences were forgotten. The people from the city were staring expectantly at him as were the crossbowmen with half-lowered weapons. This stranger had confused and changed the old world they had known and presented them with a newer and stranger one with alien problems. Hold on, he said, raising his hand. I'm no doctor of social ills.  I've just squeezed through up until now, and by the law of averages I should be ten times dead. Even if all you say is true, Jason Meta said, you are still the only person who can help us. What will the future be like? Suddenly weary Jason slumped into the pilot's chair. He glanced around at the circle of people. They seemed sincere. None of them even appeared to have noticed that he no longer had his hand on the pump switch. For the moment at least, the war between the city and farm was forgotten. I'll give you my conclusions, Jason said, twisting in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position for his aching bones. I've been doing a lot of thinking the last day or two, searching for the answer. The very first thing I realized was that the perfect and logical solution wouldn't do at all. I'm afraid the old ideal of the lion lying down with the lamb doesn't work out in practice. About all it does is make a fast lunch for the lion. Ideally, now that you all know the real cause of your trouble, you should tear down the perimeter and have the city and forest people mingle in brotherly love. Makes just as pretty a picture as the one of the lion and lamb, and would undoubtedly have the same result.  The fight would spread and the victors would be eaten by the wildlife that swarmed over the undefended perimeter. No. The answer isn't that easy. As the pyrons listened to him, they realized where they were and glanced around uneasily. The guards raised their crossbows again and the prisoners stepped back to the wall and looked surly. See what I mean, Jason asked? Didn't take long, did it? They all looked a little sheepish at their unthinking reactions. If we're going to find a decent plan for the future, we'll have to take inertia into consideration. Mental inertia for one. Just because you know a thing is true in theory doesn't make it true in fact. The barbaric religions of primitive worlds hold not a germ of scientific fact, though they claim to explain it all. Yet if one of these savages has all the logical ground for his beliefs taken away, he doesn't stop believing. He then calls his mistaken beliefs faith, because he knows they are right, and he knows they are right because he has faith. This is an unbreakable circle of false logic that can't be touched. In reality, it is plain mental inertia. A case of thinking what always was, will also always be, and not wanting to blast the thinking patterns out of the old rut. Mental inertia alone is not going to cause trouble. There is cultural inertia too. Some of you in this room believe my conclusions and would like to change. But will all your people change? The unthinking ones, the habit-ridden reflex-formed people who know what is now, will always be.  Then it's useless. There is no hope for our world, re-sasked. I didn't say that, Jason answered.  I see three courses open for the future, and the chances are that all three will be going on at the same time. First, and best, will be the rejoining of city and farm pyrons into the single human group they came from. Each is incomplete now, and has something the other one needs. In the city here you have science and contact with the rest of the galaxy. You also have a deadly war. Out there in the jungle your first cousins live at peace with the world, but lack medicine and the other benefits of scientific knowledge as well as any kind of cultural contact with the rest of mankind. You'll both have to join together and benefit from the exchange. At the same time you'll have to forget the superstitious hatred you have of each other. This will only be done outside of the city, away from the war. Every one of you who is capable should go out voluntarily, bringing some fraction of the knowledge that needs sharing. You won't be harmed if you go in good faith, and you will learn how to live with this planet, rather than against it. Eventually you'll have civilized communities that won't be either grubber or junkman. They'll be pyrone. But what about our city here, Kirk asked? It'll stay right here, and probably won't change in the slightest. In the beginning you'll need your perimeter and defenses to stay alive while the people are leaving. And after that it will keep going because there are going to be any number of people here who you won't convince.  Perhaps you will be able to do a better job in educating their children. What the eventual end of the city will be, I have no idea. They were silent as they thought about the future. On the floor Scop grown but did not move. Those are two ways, Matt has said. What is the third? The third possibility is my own pet scheme, Jason smiled, and I hope I can find enough people to go along with me. I'm going to take my money and spend it all on outfitting the best and most modern spacer with every weapon and piece of scientific equipment I can get my hands on. Then I'm going to ask for pyrone volunteers to go with me. What in the world for, Metafround? Not for charity. I expect to make my investment back and more. You see, after these past few months I can't possibly return to my old occupation. Not only do I have enough money now to make it a waste of time, but I think it would be an unending bore. One thing about pyrus, if you live, is that it spoils you for the quieter places. So I'd like to take this ship that I mentioned and go into the business of opening up new worlds. There are thousands of planets where men would like to settle, only getting a foothold on them is too rough or rugged for the usual settlers. Can you imagine a planet a pyrone couldn't lick after the training you've had here? And enjoy doing it? There would be more than pleasure involved, though. In the city your lives have been geared for continual deadly warfare. Now you're faced with the choice of a fairly peaceful future or stay in the city to fight an unnecessary and foolish war. I offer the third alternative of the occupation you know best that would let you accomplish something constructive at the same time. Those are the choices.  Before anyone could answer livid pain circled Jason's throat. Scop had regained consciousness and surged up from the floor. He pulled Jason from the chair with a single motion, holding him by the neck, throttling him. Kirk, meta! Scop shouted hoarsely. Grab guns! Open the locks! Our people will be here! Kill the grubbers and their lies! Jason tore at the fingers that were choking the life out of him, but it was like pulling at bent steel bars. He couldn't talk and the blood hammered in his ears. Metta hurdled forward like an uncoiled spring in the crossbows twanged. One bolt caught her in the leg, the other transfixed her upper arm, but she had been shot as she jumped, and her inertia carried her across the room to her fellow pyrin and the dying off-worlder. She raised her good arm and chopped down with the edge of her hand. It caught Scop a hard blow on the biceps, and his arm jumped spasmodically, his hand leaping from Jason's throat. What are you doing, he shouted in strange terror to the wounded girl who fell against him. He pushed her away, still clutching Jason with his other hand. She didn't answer. Instead, she chopped again, hard and true, the edge of her hand catching Scop across the windpipe crushing it. He dropped Jason and fell to the floor, wretching and gasping. Jason watched the end through a haze barely conscious. Scop struggled to his feet, turned pain-filled eyes to his friends. You're wrong, Kirk said. Don't do it. The sound the wounded man made was more animal than human when he dived towards the guns on the far side of the room the crossbows twanged like harps of death. When Bruco went over to help Metta, no one interfered. Jason gasped air back into his lungs, breathing in life, though watching glass eye of the viewer carried the scene to everyone in the city. Thanks, Metta, for understanding as well as helping. Jason had to force the words out. Scop was wrong and you were right, Jason, she said. Her voice broke for a second as Bruco snapped off the feathered end of the steel bolt with his fingers and pulled the shaft out of her arm. I can't stay in the city. Only people who feel as Scop did will be able to do that, and I'm afraid I can't go into the forest you saw what luck I had with the sting-wing. If it's all right, I'd like to come with you. I'd like to very much. It hurt when he talked, so Jason could only smile, but she knew what he meant. Kirk looked down in unhappiness at the body of the dead man. He was wrong, but I know how he felt. I can't leave the city. Not yet. Someone will have to keep things in hand while the changes are taking place. Your ship is a good idea, Jason. You'll have no shortage of volunteers, though I doubt if you'll get Bruco to go with you. Of course not, Bruco snapped, not looking up from the compression bandage he was tying.  Probably have every ecologist in the galaxy visiting here. Kirk walked slowly to the screen overlooking the city. No one attempted to stop him. He looked out at the buildings, the smoke still curling up from the perimeter and the limitless sweep of green jungle beyond. You've changed it all, Jason, he said. We can't see it now, but Pyrus will never be the way it was before you came, better or worse. Better, Jason croaked and rubbed his aching throat. Now get together and end this war so people will really believe it. Reese turned and after an instant's hesitation extended his hand to Kirk. The gray-haired Pyron felt the same repugnance himself about touching a grubber. They shook hands, then, because they were both strong men. Chapter 28 of Death World by Harry Harrison


She left me with this, she left me with this, a rippled Afghan mismatched colors fighting, row upon row neon green against sharp industrial orange against hot pink against electric blue against dull mustard against white dingy from wear. She made it to replace one more perfect with coordinated colors that I'd used to cover a boy laid out on asphalt next to his motorcycle engine whining wheels spinning pulling blood around his head. She made one Afghan for each child and grandchild. Needless cotton rows she hold to earn enough for the small portion of fried potatoes and biscuits on our plate. She crocheted this one colors loud and uncoordinated like jazz, like life using scrap yarn left over for many other things she made. I hid it in the back of the closet after she left. After she died I found it again. I wrapped those warring blues, greens, mustards, oranges, pinks, rippled waves of color around me. I grieved. And this? Fire. Fire dances laser red, smoke roars, floats on ravenous winds, curling flame, pull near. I've danced with fire, flickering fingers, bathed mean melting, fears, burning, inhibitions purifying, sins evaporating, tears. Thank you.