The Ethical Engineer by Harry Harrison Page A

the only bright spot on an
otherwise unlimited vista of blackest gloom. Jason tried to be
thankful for small blessings, but only shivered some more. As soon as
possible this situation had to be changed since he had already served
his term as slave on this backwoods planet and was cut out for better
things.
    On order the slaves lined up against the walls of the yard. Presenting
their bowls like scruffy penitents they accepted dippers of lukewarm
soup from another slave who pushed along a wheeled tub of the stuff:
he was chained to the tub. Jason's appetite vanished when he tasted
the sludge. It was
krenoj
soup, and the desert tubers tasted even
worse—he hadn't thought it was possible—when served up in a broth.
But survival was more important than fastidiousness, so he gulped the
evil stuff down.
*
    Breakfast over they marched out the gate into another compound and
fascinated interest displaced all of Jason's concerns. In the center
of the yard was a large capstan into which the first group of slaves
were already fitting the end of their bar. Jason's group, and the two
others, shuffled into position and seated their bars, making a four
spoked wheel out of the capstan. An overseer shouted and the slaves
groaned and threw their weight against the bars until they shuddered
and began to turn, then trudging slowly they kept the wheel moving.
Once this slogging labor was under way Jason turned his attention to
the crude mechanism that they were powering.
    A vertical shaft from the capstan turned a creaking wooden wheel that
set a series of leather belts into motion. Some of them vanished
through openings into a large stone building, while the strongest
strap of all turned the rocker arm of what could only be a
counterbalanced pump. This all seemed like a highly inefficient way to
go about pumping water since there certainly must be natural springs
and lakes somewhere around. The pungent smell that filled the yard was
hauntingly familiar, and Jason had just reached the conclusion that
water couldn't be the object of their labors when a throaty gurgling
came from the standpipe of the pump and a thick black stream bubbled
out.
    "Petroleum—of course!" Jason enthused out loud, then bent his
attentions to pushing when the overseer gave him an ugly look and
cracked his whip menacingly.
    This was the secret of the D'zertanoj, and the source of their power.
Mountains were visible nearby, and hills, towering above the
surrounding walls. The captured slaves had been drugged so they would
not even know in which direction they had been brought to this hidden
site, or how long the trip was. Here in this guarded valley they
labored to pump the crude oil that their masters used to power their
big desert wagons. Or did they use crude oil for this? The petroleum
was gurgling out in a solid stream now, and running down an open
trough that vanished through the wall into the same building as the
turning belts. And what barbaric devilishness went on in there? A
thick chimney crowned the building and produced clouds of black smoke,
while from the various openings in the wall came a tremendous stench
that threatened to lift the top off his head.
    At the same moment that he realized what was going on in the building
a guarded door was opened and Edipon came out, blowing his sizable
nose in a scrap of rag. The creaking wheel turned and when its
rotation brought Jason around again he called out to him.
    "Hey, Edipon, come over here. I want to talk to you. I'm the former
Ch'aka, in case you don't recognize me out of uniform."
    Edipon gave him one look, then turned away dabbing at his nose. It was
obvious that slaves held no interest for him, no matter what their
position had been before their fall. The slave-driver ran over with a
roar, raising his whip, while the slow rotation of the wheel carried
Jason away. He shouted back over his shoulder.
    "Listen to me—I know a lot and can help you." Only a turned back for
an answer and the whip was already