XIV.
Jason spent one depressed day lying on his bunk counting rivets, forcinghimself to accept defeat. Kerk's order that he was not to leave thesealed building tied his hands completely. He felt himself close to theanswer--but he was never going to get it.
One day of defeat was all he could take. Kerk's attitude was completelyemotional, untempered by the slightest touch of logic. This fact keptdriving home until Jason could no longer ignore it. Emotional reasoningwas something he had learned to mistrust early in life. He couldn'tagree with Kerk in the slightest--which meant he had to utilize the tenremaining days to solve the problem. If it meant disobeying Kerk, itwould still have to be done.
He grabbed up his noteplate with a new enthusiasm. His first sources ofinformation had been used up, but there must be others. Chewing thescriber and needling his brain, he slowly built up a list of otherpossibilities. Any idea, no matter how wild, was put down. When theplate was filled he wiped the long shots and impossibles--such asconsulting off-world historical records. This was a Pyrran problem, andhad to be settled on this planet or not at all.
The list worked down to two probables. Either old records, notebooks ordiaries that individual Pyrrans might have in their possession, orverbal histories that had been passed down the generations by word ofmouth. The first choice seemed to be the most probable and he acted onit at once. After a careful check of his medikit and gun he went to seeBrucco.
"What's new and deadly in the world since I left?" he asked.
Brucco glared at him. "You can't go out, Kerk has forbidden it."
"Did he put you in charge of guarding me to see if I obeyed?" Jason'svoice was quiet and cold.
Brucco rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. Finally he just shrugged."No, I'm not guarding you--nor do I want the job. As far as I know thisis between you and Kerk and it can stay that way. Leave whenever youwant. And get yourself killed quietly some place so there will be an endto the trouble you cause once and for all."
"I love you, too," Jason said. "Now brief me on the wildlife."
The only new mutation that routine precautions wouldn't take care of wasa slate-colored lizard that spit a fast nerve poison with deadlyaccuracy. Death took place in seconds if the saliva touched any bareskin. The lizards had to be looked out for, and shot before they camewithin range. An hour of lizard-blasting in a training chamber made himproficient in the exact procedure.
* * * * *
Jason left the sealed buildings quietly and no one saw him go. Hefollowed the map to the nearest barracks, shuffling tiredly through thedusty streets. It was a hot, quiet afternoon, broken only by rumblingsfrom the distance, and the occasional crack of his gun.
It was cool inside the thick-walled barracks buildings, and he collapsedonto a bench until the sweat dried and his heart stopped pounding. Thenhe went to the nearest recreation room to start his search.
Before it began it was finished. None of the Pyrrans kept old artifactsof any kind and thought the whole idea was very funny. After thetwentieth negative answer Jason was ready to admit defeat in this lineof investigation. There was as much chance of meeting a Pyrran with olddocuments as finding a bundle of grandfather's letters in a soldier'skit bag.
This left a single possibility--verbal histories. Again Jason questionedwith the same lack of results. The fun had worn off the game for thePyrrans and they were beginning to growl. Jason stopped while he wasstill in one piece. The commissary served him a meal that tasted likeplastic paste and wood pulp. He ate it quickly, then sat brooding overthe empty tray, hating to admit to another dead end. Who could supplyhim with answers? All the people he had talked to were so young. Theyhad no interest or patience for story-telling. That was an old folks'hobby--and there were no oldsters on Pyrrus.
With one exception that he knew of, the librarian, Poli. It was apossibility. A man who worked with records and books might have aninterest in some of the older ones. He might even remember readingvolumes now destroyed. A very slim lead indeed, but one that had to bepursued.
Walking to the library almost killed Jason. The torrential rains madethe footing bad, and in the dim light it was hard to see what wascoming. A snapper came in close enough to take out a chunk of fleshbefore he could blast it. The antitoxin made him dizzy and he lost someblood before he could get the wound dressed. He reached the library,exhausted and angry.
Poli was working on the guts of one of the catalogue machines. He didn'tstop until Jason had tapped him on the shoulder. Switching on hishearing aid, the Pyrran stood quietly, crippled and bent, waiting forJason to talk.
"Have you any old papers or letters that you have kept for your personaluse?"
A shake of the head, _no_.
"What about stories--you know, about great things that have happened inthe past, that someone might have told you when you were young?"Negative.
Results negative. Every question was answered by a shake of Poli's head,and very soon the old man grew irritated and pointed to the work hehadn't finished.
"Yes, I know you have work to do," Jason said. "But this is important."Poli shook his head an angry _no_ and reached to turn off his hearingaid. Jason groped for a question that might get a more positive answer.There was something tugging at his mind, a word he had heard and made anote of, to be investigated later. Something that Kerk had said ...
"That's it!" It was right there--on the tip of his tongue. "Just asecond, Poli, just one more question. What is a 'grubber'? Have you everseen one or know what they do, or where they can be found--"
The words were cut off as Poli whirled and lashed the back of his goodarm into Jason's face. Though the man was aged and crippled, the blowalmost fractured Jason's jaw, sending him sliding across the floor.Through a daze he saw Poli hobbling towards him, making thick bubblingnoises in his ruined throat; what remained of his face twisted andworking with anger.
This was no time for diplomacy. Moving as fast as he could, with thehigh-G, foot-slapping shuffle, Jason headed for the sealed door. He wasno match for any Pyrran in hand-to-hand combat, young and small or oldand crippled. The door thunked open, as he went through, and barelyclosed in Poli's face.
Outside the rain had turned to snow and Jason trudged wearily throughthe slush, rubbing his sore jaw and turning over the only fact he had._Grubber_ was a key--but to what? And who did he dare ask for moreinformation? Kerk was the man he had talked to best, but not any more.That left only Meta as a possible source. He wanted to see her at once,but sudden exhaustion swept through him. It took all of his strength tostumble back to the school buildings.
* * * * *
In the morning he ate and left early. There was only a week left. It wasimpossible to hurry and he cursed as he dragged his double-weight bodyto the assignment center. Meta was on night perimeter duty and shouldbe back to her quarters soon. He shuffled over there and was lying onher bunk when she came in.
"Get out," she said in a flat voice. "Or do I throw you out?"
"Patience, please," he said as he sat up. "Just resting here until youcame back. I have a single question, and if you will answer it for meI'll go and stop bothering you."
"What is it?" she asked, tapping her foot with impatience. But there wasalso a touch of curiosity in her voice. Jason thought carefully beforehe spoke.
"Now _please_, don't shoot me. You know I'm an off-worlder with a bigmouth, and you have heard me say some awful things without taking a shotat me. Now I have another one. Will you please show your superiority tothe other people of the galaxy by holding your temper and not reducingme to component atoms?"
His only answer was a tap of the foot, so he took a deep breath andplunged in.
"What is a 'grubber'?"
For a long moment she was quiet, unmoving. Then she curled her lips backin disgust. "You find the most repulsive topics."
"That may be so," he said, "but it still doesn't answer my question."
"It's ... well, the sort of thing
people just don't talk about."
"I do," he assured her.
"Well, I _don't_! It's the most disgusting thing in the world, andthat's all I'm going to say. Talk to Krannon, but not to me." She hadhim by the arm while she talked and he was half dragged to the hall. Thedoor slammed behind him and he muttered "_lady wrestler_" under hisbreath. His anger ebbed away as he realized that she had given him aclue in spite of herself. Next step, find out who or what Krannon was.
Assignment center listed a man named Krannon, and gave his shift numberand work location. It was close by and Jason walked there. A large,cubical, and windowless building, with the single word _food_ next toeach of the sealed entrances. The small entrance he went through was aseries of automatic chambers that cycled him through ultrasonics,ultraviolet, antibio spray, rotating brushes and three final rinses. Hewas finally admitted, damper but much cleaner to the central area. Menand robots were stacking crates and he asked one of the men for Krannon.The man looked him up and down coldly and spat on his shoes beforeanswering.
Krannon worked in a large storage bay by himself. He was a stocky man inpatched coveralls whose only expression was one of intense gloom. WhenJason came in he stopped hauling bales and sat down on the nearest one.The lines of unhappiness were cut into his face and seemed to growdeeper while Jason explained what he was after. All the talk of ancienthistory on Pyrrus bored him as well and he yawned openly. When Jasonfinished he yawned again and didn't even bother to answer him.
Jason waited a moment, then asked again. "I said do you have any oldbooks, papers, records or that sort of thing?"
"You sure picked the right guy to bother, off-worlder," was his onlyanswer. "After talking to me you're going to have nothing but trouble."
"Why is that?" Jason asked.
"Why?" For the first time he was animated with something besides grief."I'll tell you why! I made one mistake, just one, and I get a lifesentence. For life--how would you like that? Just me alone, being bymyself all the time. Even taking orders from the grubbers."
Jason controlled himself, keeping the elation out of his voice."Grubbers? What are grubbers?"
The enormity of the question stopped Krannon, it seemed impossible thatthere could be a man alive who had never heard of grubbers. Happinesslifted some of the gloom from his face as he realized that he had acaptive audience who would listen to his troubles.
"Grubbers are traitors--that's what they are. Traitors to the human raceand they ought to be wiped out. Living in the jungle. The things they dowith the animals--"
"You mean they're people ... Pyrrans like yourself?" Jason broke in.
"Not like _me_, mister. Don't make that mistake again if you want to goon living. Maybe I dozed off on guard once so I got stuck with this job.That doesn't mean I like it or like them. They stink, really stink, andif it wasn't for the food we get from them they'd all be dead tomorrow.That's the kind of killing job I could really put my heart into."
"If they supply you with food, you must give them something in return?"
"Trade goods, beads, knives, the usual things. Supply sends them over incartons and I take care of the delivery."
"How?" Jason asked.
"By armored truck to the delivery site. Then I go back later to pick upthe food they've left in exchange."
"Can I go with you on the next delivery?"
Krannon frowned over the idea for a minute. "Yeah, I suppose it's allright if you're stupid enough to come. You can help me load. They'rebetween harvests now, so the next trip won't be for eight days--"
"But that's after the ship leaves--it'll be too late. Can't you goearlier?"
"Don't tell me your troubles, mister," Krannon grumbled, climbing to hisfeet. "That's when I go and the date's not changing for you."
Jason realized he had got as much out of the man as was possible for onesession. He started for the door, then turned.
"One thing," he asked. "Just what do these savages--the grubbers--looklike?"
"How do I know," Krannon snapped. "I trade with them, I don't make loveto them. If I ever saw one, I'd shoot him down on the spot." He flexedhis fingers and his gun jumped in and out of his hand as he said it.Jason quietly let himself out.
Lying on his bunk, resting his gravity-weary body, he searched for a wayto get Krannon to change the delivery date. His millions of credits wereworthless on this world without currency. If the man couldn't beconvinced, he had to be bribed. With what? Jason's eyes touched thelocker where his off-world clothing still hung, and he had an idea.
It was morning before he could return to the food warehouse--and one daycloser to his deadline. Krannon didn't bother to look up from his workwhen Jason came in.
"Do you want this?" Jason asked, handing the outcast a flat gold caseinset with a single large diamond. Krannon grunted and turned it over inhis hands.
"A toy," he said. "What is it good for?"
"Well, when you press this button you get a light." A flame appearedthrough a hole in the top. Krannon started to hand it back.
"What do I need a little fire for? Here, keep it."
"Wait a second," Jason said, "that's not all it does. When you press thejewel in the center one of these comes out." A black pellet the size ofhis fingernail dropped into his palm. "A grenade, made of solidulranite. Just squeeze it hard and throw. Three seconds later itexplodes with enough force to blast open this building."
This time Krannon almost smiled as he reached for the case. Destructiveand death-dealing weapons are like candy to a Pyrran. While he looked atit Jason made his offer.
"The case and bombs are yours if you move the date of your next deliveryup to tomorrow--and let me go with you."
"Be here at 0500," Krannon said. "We leave early."