Гарри Гаррисон - Planet Of No Return

Brion had moved back out of the old man’s line of vision, so his presence would not interrupt the lesson. He watched as the image poured water, over and over again, from one container to another, never spilling a drop.

“Does this really work?” Lea asked, “Every time. The computer program is self-checking. As soon as a few words are memorized it will play them back to the subject for cross reference. As its vocabulary grows the process is speeded up. Within a short period of time it will be able to ask questions, simple ones at first, then more and more abstract ones. When the old man gets tired, the machine will give him time to rest. Then it can teach us whatever it has learned.”

“Drilling us and correcting our accents, grammar and all the rest I suppose?”

“Exactly. Now where’s that food you were talking about? I don’t have to watch the man to keep track of him. His emotional patterns will let me know if he is up to anything.”

It was late afternoon before the captive began to nod with fatigue. Brion brought him some water in a wooden bowl and he slurped at it noisily.

“What’s his name?” Brion asked the HLP.

“The subject is named Ravn. Ravn. Ravn. I repeat, Ravn…”

“That’s enough.” He turned and smiled broadly. “Ravn: Welcome to the human race.”

“The wound is healing quite well,” Lea said, holding Brion’s hand and turning it back and forth as she looked at the stump of the missing finger. She spread antiseptic cream on the wound while he watched.

“Arb’t klrm,” he said.

“If you are trying to say ‘That hurt’, you’ve got to learn to swallow the terminal sounds a good deal more, or the noisome natives are never going to understand you.”

“It’s a pretty repulsive language.”

“That’s just your linguistic isolationism talking, Brion. Taken abstractly, no language can possibly be repulsive …”

Brion interrupted her with a raised finger, then spoke quietly. “Don’t look now, but Ravn is trying to make a run for it. I’ve been waiting for this. I’ll give him a bit of a lead before I grab him. I want him to run and to feel that he is getting away from us at last. Then, when I grab him again, he should be in despair. Perhaps I can get through to him then when his defence are down, convince him to talk to me. I haven’t wanted to force it up until now. But if he has this much energy I think that he can use some shaking up.”

“Give him an extra shake for me. Whenever he looks at me he has that same disgusted expression that he had when you gave him the cooked meat to eat.”

“His is a very stratified society, you saw that for yourself.”

“Yes. With women somewhere below the bottom. Ahh, there he goes. He’s getting to his feet now, looking in this direction.”

“Turn away as though you don’t see him. I want him to have some hope of escape — before I take it away from him. This should be a traumatic situation that might very well get him off his guard.”

Ravn knew that the Old One Who Talked would not pursue him. He sat always in the same place. And of course the She was of no importance. It was only the big Hunter he feared, for this one’s strength was like that of two men. Yet the chance must be taken now, when the Hunter was not looking. Ravn had eaten and rested. He was the Ravn and still strong in the legs since for many years he had pursued and killed Meat-things. He had outrun them — and now he would outrun the Hunter as well. The Hunter was stupid, not even looking. The Old One was stupid too for he just sat there and gave no alarm. Slowly at first, this was the way, he crept away through the grass — now leap up, fast! Like the wind, like the Meat-things — he would never be caught now.

Lea watched the old man running fleetly across the plain, further and further away. “Aren’t you taking a risk?” she asked. “The old bastard has a good turn of speed. It would be a shame to lose him now. There could be trouble, you might have to fight with his friends. They could be waiting for him out there.”

“Please don’t be concerned. There’s no one waiting, I’m sure of that.” Brion looked after the fleeing man, then stood and stretched. “Sprinting is good exercise. I don’t get enough of it.”

As she watched him, Lea knew that she has been foolish to worry. When Brion began to run she realized that she had never seen him move at top speed before. She had forgotten that he was a world champion athlete, a victor in twenty sports — and this had to have been one of them.

For Ravn it was an unwelcome shock. One instant he had been ready to sing a victory song, having run so far and so fast that he knew that he could never be caught. When he looked back and saw the Hunter beginning to chase him he laughed, going faster himself in order to open the distance. But when he looked again the Hunter had halved the distance — and was still coming on. Ravn wailed in despair and ran, but he could not escape. Heavy footsteps pounded close behind him while the trees were still too distant. His lungs ached, his heart was bursting — a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and he shrieked aloud and fell.

Brion felt no pity as he looked down at the old man writhing and wailing in the grass. He felt his heart beating strongly after the run, and with each pulsation the stump of his amputated finger throbbed with pain. An uncomfortable reminder that this grovelling creature was the very one who had amputated it. Anger cut through Brion’s pain as he saw that same finger around the filthy creature’s neck, saw the man clutch to the necklace of bones with both hands as he lay there screeching with self pity. Holding on to it as if it gave him strength.

When he saw this, Brion knew what he had to do. He remembered that the ragged lizard skin clothing and crude stone weapons were the only artefacts that these people appeared to have. Other than this necklace. It must be valued highly, or was some kind of honour to wear. Good! In that case he was the one who was going to have it.

Ravn wailed even louder when Brion tried to take the necklace from him, clutching to it desperately with both hands. But Brion’s strength could not be resisted. He seized Ravn’s wrists with his mighty hands and squeezed, numbing them instantly so that the fingers lost their strength and simply fell open. Brion pulled the necklace off over Ravn’s head, then put it slowly on himself. The old man’s waiting gave way to screamed entreaty.

“Mine — give me! I am the Ravn, mine to wear, mine …”

He spoke in his own language and Brion found that he could understand it easily enough. The Heuristic Language Programmer had done its work well. Brion stepped back and placed his hand on the necklace, speaking slowly in the same language.

“It is mine now. I am Brion. While I wear it I am the Ravn.” If Ravn were a title as well as a name this should make sense to the man. And it did. The screaming stopped and Ravn’s eyes narrowed with anger.

“Only one Ravn with the people. Me. Mine.” He extended his hand with a demanding gesture. Brion took the necklace off again but did not release it. “Is this yours?” he asked. “Mine. Give me. Belongs to the Ravn.” “What is a Ravn?”

“l am. I tell you to give it. You are rotten meat, you are shit, you are woman …”

Brion casually took the old man’s neck in one hand and tightened his grip, pulling the man up towards him at the same time, until their faces almost touched. He growled as he spoke.

“You curse me. You do not curse Brion. Who could kill you in an instant by making tighter his fingers — like this.”

Ravn’s body flapped about in agony; he could not breathe or talk and death was very close.