'Sure-but you aren't saying a man should get away with crime? And even they get treated well; food, shelter, clothing, some amusements. It can't be such a bad life.'
'Would you want it?' Then, as Angado made no answer Dumarest said, 'For most it's a life sentence. The food, the shelter, the clothing, all has to be paid for and the company sets the price. A few amusements and the worker is back where he started and often worse than before. It takes a rare type to buy himself free.'
'Maybe, but it's still better than slavery. That's why I said we'd progressed on Lychen. We gave that up a long time ago.'
'Most civilized worlds are against the use of slaves,' said Dumarest. 'Especially those with a high technology. But it isn't because of a liberal attitude toward freedom. That's just the reason they like to give to cover the real motivations.'
'Which are?'
'Two. The first is fashion. Once it becomes unfashionable then a slave owner is at a disadvantage. He will be ostracized, derided, made to feel socially inferior. His business will suffer and he'll be hit where it hurts. Once he feels the pain in his wallet he'll join the rest as a matter of survival. He'll free his slaves and begin charging them for what he'd been supplying for nothing. An advantage he'll be quick to recognize.'
Angado nodded. 'That's one reason. The other?'
'A matter of economics. Slaves make bad workers and who can blame them? The higher the technology the less productive they are and the greater the risk of damage to expensive equipment. In the end, to be efficient, you'd need an overseer for each worker. If the overseer can do the job why go to the expense of keeping a slave?'
'Because you can-'
'What? Beat them? Force them to work? Make them obedient? That may be true but you can't force anyone to be clever or loyal or even trustworthy. And what incentive can you give a slave? Freedom? Do that and you lose valuable property. You can kill them, sure, but you'd be hurting yourself in the long run. So it comes back to economics. The only real-' Dumarest broke off, listening, as another thin screaming echoed through the night. 'It's made another kill. Good.'
'Because now it won't be hungry and so will leave us alone?'
'You're learning.'
'More than you think. What were you going to say just then? About slaves. The only real reason anyone would want to own them.'
Dumarest hadn't said that but he answered the question.
'Power. Real power. Wealth and influence doesn't make you strong, it only shows how weak others can be. You can bribe them to obey but, if they've any guts, they can always tell you to go to hell. But a slave has no choice. He jumps when you give the word or you have him flogged, burned, tortured, maimed. Power like that can be a drug. Some can't live without it.'
Perotto for one as Angado knew. Larsen for another and he saw their faces painted against the mist. Both of equal age, his cousin old enough to be his father. Older than his years, his face seamed with lines of determination, eyes hard beneath thick brows. Had he gone back on his word? Larsen might have dropped the hint with his cunning serpent's tongue, but surely Perotto would never have agreed. Had Larsen acted on his own? If…
'Angado, you'd better finish your sleep.'
'What?' He blinked at Dumarest. 'Sorry, but I was thinking,' he said. 'Family business.'
Of which Dumarest could have no part and yet if it hadn't been for his companion he would be dead by now. Could still die-how long could they hope to survive in this wilderness?
Chapter Four
Halting, Dumarest threw back his head and sniffed at the air. Like a dog, thought Angado dispassionately. Like the animal he'd become as they made their way over the endless plain. Sniffing for scent, looking for sign, surviving where no ordinary man could have lasted. A trait he envied while knowing he could never hope to emulate it.
He stumbled, feeling the jar in knees and hips as he fought to regain his balance. The pack he carried was a monstrous hand pressing him down, a load full of trivia which Dumarest refused to discard. He turned to look behind, seeing their trail wending over the rolling plain toward a featureless horizon, one which faded, vanishing, as gusting wind flurried the long grass and resettled it in a new pattern.
The trail they left was as transient as that made by a boat on an ocean. Their progress apparently measured by inches.
He lunged forward, cursing the pull of the grass which hampered his stride and sapped at his energy. Strength too low for the task; the scant food failing to replace that used and, now the food was gone, hunger was turning into starvation.
'Steady!' Dumarest was at his side, a hand firm on his arm. 'Take a rest.'
'But-'
'Do it!' Dumarest softened his tone. 'Rest now and we can keep going until twilight. Be stubborn and you'll collapse after a couple of miles.' His knife flashed as he hacked free a bunch of grass. 'Here, keep busy with this. Something to fill your stomach.' He illustrated running a strand between his teeth to remove the husk and pulp. 'See?'
'Can we live on it?'
'No, but it'll give you bulk and some moisture.' And give him something to do as well as taking his mind off present difficulties. Dumarest added, 'There's a run over there. The sun's low enough to shade it and with luck we'll get something to eat.'
He moved off before Angado could comment, one hand delving beneath his tunic to reappear with a scrap of food concentrate wrapped in a cloth. Sweat had soaked into the fabric, adding his own body odor to that of the ripening wafer. Carefully he set it at the place he had noted; one where small tunnels through the grass joined to form a junction. Snares would have created a warning scent and an unusual sight image and Dumarest didn't want to wait longer than necessary. Taking up a position facing the sun, the wind in his face, he poised the knife in his hand and stood, waiting.
A living statue dark against the sky. Angado watched, running strands of grass between his teeth. The gain was small but his mouth welcomed the opportunity to chew and swallow and the moist pulp held a refreshing tartness. More gratifying was the opportunity to rest and he eased the ache in back and legs, bones and muscles.
The pack was a nuisance. The need of the sacs had been demonstrated; spread at night they collected condensed dew and twice the fruit of an intermittent rain. But most of the rest was useless; clothing they would never wear, empty containers, voided ampules… discarded rubbish… stuff which swirled in his mind and created a sudden complexity of dancing patterns.
Angado started, aware that he had dozed, fighting the sleep which clogged his mind. The sun was lower than he remembered but the dark silhouette against the sky was as before. Then, as he watched, Dumarest exploded in a sudden blur of motion. A flash as the knife left his hand, a darting forward, a stoop then he was upright again and coming toward him the creature he had caught impaled on the blade of the thrown knife.
A thing little larger than a rat, which he skinned, filled the pelt with the guts, head and feet, then split the remainder into two segments one of which he handed to Angado.
'Eat it.'
'Aren't we cooking it first?'
'There's more energy in it raw.' Dumarest bit, chewed, blood rimming his mouth. 'We may get something else later on.'
Another rodent, a twin of the first, which Angado turned on a crude spit over the smoking fire. It was stringy and, lacking salt, flavorless, but it was hot and something to chew and a filled stomach restored his optimism.
''I could get to like this kind of life,' he said, poking at the fire. 'But not without a gun and a few comforts. A sleeping bag, some emergency rations, a radio to summon help if anything went wrong.' The smoldering eye flared as it fed on a morsel of fat. As it died Angado said, in a different tone, 'How much longer, Earl?'
