The Ethical Engineer by Harry Harrison

free hand scratched for enemies in her tangled
hair.
    "Where do you come from? Did you always live here—like this?" How do
you ask a slave if she has always been a slave?
    "Not here. I come from Bul'wajo first, then Fasimba, now I belong to
Ch'aka."
    "What or who is Bul'wajo? Someone like our boss Ch'aka?" She nodded,
gnawing at the meat. "And the D'zertanoj that Fasimba gets his arrows
from—who are they?"
    "You don't know much," she said, finishing the meat and licking the
grease from her fingers.
    "I know enough to have meat when you don't have any—so don't abuse my
hospitality. Who are the D'zertanoj?"
    "Everyone knows who they are." She shrugged with incomprehension and
looked for a soft spot in the sand to sit down. "They live in the
desert. They go around in
caroj
. They stink. They have many nice
things. One of them gave me my best thing. If I show it to you, you
won't take it?"
    "No, I won't touch it. But I would like to see anything they have
made. Here, here's some more meat. Now let me see your best thing."
    Ijale rooted in her skins for a hidden pocket and dragged out
something that she concealed in her clenched fist. She held it out
proudly and opened it and there was enough light left for Jason to
make out the rough form of a red glass bead.
    "Isn't this so very nice?" she asked.
    "Very nice," Jason agreed, and for an instant felt a touch of real
sorrow when he looked at the pathetic bauble. This girl's ancestors
had come to this planet in spaceships with a knowledge of the most
advanced sciences. Cut off, their children had degenerated into this,
barely conscious slaves, who could pride a worthless piece of glass
above all things.
    "I like you. I'll show you my best thing again."
    "I like you, too. Good night."

V
*
    Ijale stayed near Jason the next day, and took the next station in
line when the endless
krenoj
hunt began. Whenever it was possible he
questioned her and before noon had extracted all of her meager
knowledge of affairs beyond the barren coastal plain where they lived.
The ocean was a mystery that produced edible animals, fish and an
occasional human corpse. Ships could be seen from time to time
offshore but nothing was known about them. On the other flank the
territory was bounded by desert even more inhospitable than the one in
which they scratched out their existence, a waste of lifeless sand,
habitable only by the D'zertanoj and their mysterious
caroj
. These
last could be animals—or mechanical transportation of some kind,
either was possible from Ijale's vague description. Ocean, coast and
desert, these made up all of her world and she could conceive of
nothing that might exist beyond.
    Jason knew there was more, the crossbow was proof enough of that, and
he had every intention of finding out where it came from. In order to
do that he was going to have to change his slave status when the
proper time came. He was developing a certain facility in dodging
Ch'aka's heavy boot, the work was never hard and there was ample food.
Being a slave left him with no responsibilities other than obeying
orders and he had ample opportunity to discover what he could about
this planet, so that when he finally did leave he would be as well
prepared as was possible.
    Later in the day another column of marching slaves was sighted in the
distance, on a course paralleling their own, and Jason expected a
repeat performance of the previous day's meeting. He was agreeably
surprised that it was not. The sight of the others threw Ch'aka into
an immediate rage that sent his slaves rushing for safety in all
directions. By leaping into the air, howling with anger and beating
his club against his thick leather armor he managed to work himself
into quite a state before starting off on a slogging run. Jason,
followed close behind him, greatly interested by this new turn of
affairs. Ahead of them the other slaves scattered and from their midst
burst another armed and armored figure. They churned towards each
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