Masters of the Pit or Barbarians of Mars by Michael Moorcock

  We descended the steps and came to another passage with many doors on both sides. They looked suspiciously like a row of cells in a prison.

  I asked the man what they were.

  "Malfunctioning heads kept here," he told me.

  I knew then that this was probably where the people who were still useful to Cend-Amrid, in the city's terms, but who had been judged insane, again in the city's terms, were imprisoned.

  Presumably we were thought to be in this class. So long as they did not remove our weapons I was willing to let them lock us up for the night if, by allowing this, we could eventually get our motor repaired and make the journey back to Vamal, there to decide how best we could overcome the double curse lying on Cend-Amrid - the curse of physical and mental disease. A combination, I could not help thinking, that was rare on Mars - where disease is rare - but far less so on Earth. Another thing I could not help considering was whether, if there had been more disease on Mars, the people would be the same. I concluded that they would not have been. I think I am right.

  I am a scientist, I know, but I am not a philosophical man -I prefer action to thought. But the example of Cend-Amrid affected me deeply and I feel I must take pains to explain just why I prefer the society of Mars to the society of Earth. Mars, of course, is not perfect - and perhaps it is partially why I have found my true home on Mars. For there the people have learned the lesson of trying too hard for perfection. There, on the whole, they have learned the great lesson - to respect the human individual above all things. Not merely to respect the strong but to respect the weak as well, for the strengths and the weaknesses are, to a great extent, in us all. It is circumstance more than anything else which creates the one we would term weak or the one we would term strong.

  This was another part of the reason why I so hated what the men of Cend-Amrid had become.

  In the end, perhaps, it was to resolve itself into a matter of wits and sword-play. But you must know that my mind was at work before my sword-arm.

  And if Mars is a preferable place to Earth you must understand why. The reason is this: Circumstances are kinder to Mars than Earth. There is little disease on the planet and the population is small enough to allow every man the chance of becoming himself.

  The dead-faced man now opened a door and stood back to allow us to enter.

  I was surprised to see another inhabitant of the small cell, which was fitted with four bunks. He was unlike the Eleven, but there was something about his haunted eyes that made me think of the physician we had first met.

  "He not good for others here," said the dead-faced man, "but this only place for you. Not talk to him."

  We said nothing as we entered the cell and watched the door close on us. We heard a bar drop and knew we were imprisoned. Only the fact that we still had our weapons comforted us.

  "Who are you?" asked our cell-mate when the footfalls of the other man had died. "Why has Six imprisoned you and let you keep your swords?"

  "He was Six, was he?" I smiled. "We were never introduced."

  The man got up and came towards me angrily. "You laugh - at that?" He pointed towards the door. "Have you no understanding of what you are laughing at?"

  I became serious. "Of course," I said, "but it seems to me that if action is to be taken against that" - I nodded in the direction he had pointed - "we must keep our heads and not become as mad, in our own way, as those we intend to fight."

  He looked searchingly into my face and then cast his glance to the floor, nodding to himself.

  "Perhaps you are right," he said. "Perhaps that is where I went wrong in the end."

  I introduced my friend and myself. "This is Hool Haji, Prince of the Mendishar in the far North; and I am Michael Kane, Prince of Vamal, which lies to the South."

  "Strange friends," he said, looking up. "I thought the folk of the South and the Blue Giants were hereditary enemies."

  "Things aren't quite so bad now," I said. "But who are you and why are you here?"

  "I am One," he said, "and I am here because of that, if you like"

  "You mean you are the missing member of the council which rules Cend-Amrid?"

  "Just so. More - I formed the council. Have you seen where they sit?"

  "A bizarre place - yes."

  "I put the skeleton in the centre of the table. It was meant to be a constant reminder of what we fought against - this horrible plague which still ravages the city."

  "But what caused the plague? I have heard of no deadly disease on Mars."

  "We caused it - indirectly. We found an ancient canister not far from the outskirts of the city. It was so old that it was obviously a creation of the Sheev or the Yaksha. It took us many months before we got it open."

  "What was inside?" Hool Haji asked curiously.

  "Nothing - we thought."

  "Just air?" Hool Haji said, unbelievingly.

  "Not just air - the plague. It had been there all the time. In our foolishness we released it."

  Hool Haji nodded now. "Yes, I remember half a story," he said. "Something about how, in their war of self-destruction, the Sheev and the Yaksha used diseases which they somehow managed to trap and release on their enemies. That must be what you found."

  "So we discovered - and at what cost!" The man who had called himself. One went and sat down on his bunk, his head in his hands.

  "But what happened then?"

  "I was a member of the council governing Cend-Amrid. I decided that in order to control the plague we must have a logical system. I decided - and, believe me, it was not a decision that I enjoyed reaching - that until the plague was wiped out we must regard every human being simply as a machine, otherwise the plague would spread everywhere. If the plague did not affect the person very badly - and its effects vary, you know - then he could be considered a potentially functioning mechanism. If the plague affected him badly, then he was to be regarded as a useless mechanism, and thus to be destroyed, his useful parts to be stored in case they could contribute to a functioning, or potentially functioning, mechanism.

  "But such a concept suggests that you have a much more sophisticated form of surgery than your society indicates," I said.

  "We have the Sheev device. An arm, a hand, a vital organ may be inserted or attached where it should be in the human body, and then the Sheev machine is switched on. Some kind of force flows out of the machine - and knits the parts together." The man spoke wonderingly, as if I should have known this.

  Hool Haji broke in. "I have heard of such a machine," he said, "but I had no idea that one existed in Cend-Amrid."

  "We kept it a secret from other folk," said the man. "We are inclined to be a secretive people, as you might know."

  "I knew that," Hool Haji agreed. "But I did not realize to what extent you guarded your secrets."

  "Perhaps if we had not been so secretive," said One, "we should not be in this position today."

  "It is hard to say," I told him. "But why are you now in prison?"

  "Because I saw that my reasoning had produced something as dangerous as the plague," he replied. "I tried to reverse the course on which I had embarked, tried to steer us all back to sanity. It was too late."

  I sympathized with him. "But they did not kill you. Why?”

  "Because, I suppose, of my mind. In their own strange way they still respect intelligence - or, at least, intelligence of a certain kind. I don't think that will last."

  Neither did I. I was moved to loathe and at the same time sympathize with the tragic man who sat on the bunk before me. But sympathy got the upper hand, though I privately cursed him for a fool. Like others before him, on Earth and on Mars, he had become victim of the monster he had created.

  "Did it not occur to you," I said, "that if the ancient people - the Sheev or the Yaksha - could devise this plague-canister, they might also have had another device that could cure the plague?"

  "Naturally, it occurred to me," said One, looking up, offended. "But does it still exist? If so, wher
e is it? How do you contact the Sheev?"

  “No one knows," Hool Haji said, "They come and they go."

  "Surely it must be possible," I said, looking at Hool Haji quickly, wondering if the same thought had struck him, "to discover this device - if it still exists,"

  Hool Haji looked up, his eyes lighting, "You are thinking of the place we were originally destined for, are you not?"

  "I am," I said,

  "Of course. Cure the plague - then cure the madness 1"

  "Exactly,"

  One was looking at us wonderingly, obviously utterly unaware of what we were talking about, I thought it expedient at this stage not to tell him of the treasure house of machines that lay hidden in the vaults of the Yaksha. Indeed, by mutual consent earlier, Hool Haji and I had agreed that the place should be secret and that only the minimum of trusted people should be told where it was. In this, we shared the apparent anxiety of the Sheev, feeling that there was a danger inherent in releasing such knowledge all at once. If the Sheev took the benevolent interest in humanity that I believed they did, then they were obviously waiting for the society on Mars to mature thoroughly before allowing them the benefits of the previous society which had destroyed itself.

  One asked: "What are you saying? That there is a chance of finding a cure for the plague?"

  "Just so."

  "Where? And how?"

  "We cannot say," I told him, "But if we manage to get away from Cend-Amrid, and if we do find such a machine, I assure you we shall be back "

  "Very well," he said. "I accept this. You offer hope, at least, when I had thought all hope had gone."

  "Tell us your real name," I said. "And restore a little hope in yourself."

  "Barane Dasa," he said, rising again and speaking a little more levelly. "Barane Dasa, Master Smith of Cend-Amrid."

  "Then wish us well and wish us luck, Barane Dasa," I said, “and hope that the Eleven will be able to help us repair our engine."

  "We understand machines in Cend-Amrid," he said with something like a former pride coming into his eyes. "It will be repaired."

  "Perhaps you did not understand them quite enough," I reminded him.

  He pursed his lips. "Perhaps we did not make enough distinction between the machines we loved and the people we also loved," he said.

  "It is a distinction we should always make," I told him. "But it does not mean we should reject the machines altogether. Distinctions are useful, rejections are not so useful, for the distinction comes from a love of knowledge while rejection of something comes from a fear of it, when all's said and done."

  "I will think about that," he said, a faint smile touching his lips, "but I will think for some time before I decide whether or not to agree with you."

  "It is all we should ask," I replied, returning his smile.

  Then we went to sleep, Hool Haji stretching himself out on the floor of the cell, since the bunks were not designed for ten-foot high Blue Giants 1

  Chapter Four

  FLIGHT FROM CEND-AMRID

  In the morning, soon after the sun had risen, we all went out to look at the engine - Hool Haji, myself, and the Eleven. I had learned from Barane Dasa that every member of the council had been at the top of his particular trade before the coming of the plague and understood that these were the best people to put the engine right if anyone could.

  I brought the airship right down to the ground and stripped off the plates covering the engine housing. I could see almost immediately that the trouble was simple and swore at myself for a fool. The fuel pipe was in several sections and one of these had come loose. Somehow a piece of rag - perhaps overlooked by a mechanic - had worked its way into the pipe and was clogging it.

  It is invariably the simple explanation that one ignores. I had assumed - quite fairly, since the mechanics I had trained in Varnal were normally very trustworthy and conscientious - that something was intrinsically wrong with the engine.

  Still, I had found Cend-Amrid because of this mistake, and it was probably just as well, since I now had the chance to do something about it. It was not only the good of Cend-Amrid that I had at heart, but the good of the whole of Mars. I knew that both disease and creed could spread, in much the same way that the Black Death and Black Magic had been linked in the Middle Ages, and I wished to counter this at any cost.

  I thought it expedient, however, to pretend that there was still something wrong with the engine and allowed the Eleven to inspect it, their faces as blank as ever, while I drew up the plans I had promised them. I was fairly certain that whatever fuel source they used, it would not be sufficiently sophisticated to allow them to get very far before I returned, since even steam-power was only understood by them in elementary terms. This, of course, made them very different from the rest of the folk of Mars, who had never bothered themselves with physics, save the theoretical kind, since the Sheev machines were highly sophisticated and, to them, beyond understanding.

  Once again I could sympathize with the folk of Cend-Amrid, but still felt that the situation existing throughout the rest of Mars to my knowledge was, in the end, for the best.

  In short, curiosity only sometimes kills the cat, and then it usually happens because the cat hasn't found its feet properly.

  I felt better for the knowledge that I could now leave Cend-Amrid without too much difficulty and watched for some sign of puzzlement on the faces of the Eleven as they studied my drawings.

  There was none. The only impression I received from them was an impression of their confidence in themselves.

  Inevitably, they came to ask me about the fuel and I showed them some of the gasolene which I had had refined in Vamal. I would point out that the Vamalians themselves did not really understand anything of the principles behind the engines I used for the airships, just as they did not understand the much more complicated principles behind the original Sheev engine I had used to power my first airship. This again, I felt, was at the moment for the best.

  One of the Eleven - he called himself Nine - asked me about gasolene and where it could be found.

  "It is not like this in its natural state," I told him.

  "What is it like in natural state?" came the emotionless question.

  "That is difficult to say."

  "You come back Cend-Amrid and show. We have many liquids we keep from old discoveries."

  Doubtless he meant that they had found other things left behind by the Sheev and preserved them in one way or another.

  Now my curiosity got the better of me and I did not wish to miss the chance of seeing these "liquids" that Nine mentioned. I agreed to go back.

  Leaving Hool Haji in the ship, I returned with the entire Eleven to their laboratory building which lay just behind the Central Place. By daylight it was possible to see evidence of the plague everywhere. Carts creaked through the streets, loaded with corpses. But whereas one would have expected to see signs of grief on the faces of those who lived, there were few. The Eleven's tyranny did not allow such - to them - inefficient emotions as grief or joy. I gathered that signs of emotion were regarded either as indications of "insanity" or that the plague had infected another victim.

  I shuddered more at this than I would have done had anyone shown a sign of grief.

  The Eleven showed me all the chemicals they had discovered amongst the ruins of Sheev cities, but I told them that none was anything like gasolene - although I lied.

  They asked me to leave a little gasolene with them, and I agreed. I intended to make sure, however, that it would not work when they tried it.

  I had refused to be borne in one of their dreadful carriages, and so we walked back the way we had come.

  This, although they did not show it, seemed distasteful to the Eleven and I realized exactly why when one of them paused. At the end of the street we were walking down I saw a man stagger from a house and come stumbling towards us.

  There was bloody foam on his lips and his face had a greenish patch coming up from his neck to h
is nose. One arm seemed paralysed and useless, the other waved about as if he was trying to keep his balance. He saw us and an inarticulate cry came from his lips. His eyes were fever-bright and hatred shone from them.

  As he drew close to the Eleven he shouted: "What have you done? What have you done?"

  The Eleven turned as one man, leaving only myself to face the plague-stricken wretch.

  But he ignored me and ran towards them.

  "What have you done" he screeched again.

  "Words mean nothing. Cannot answer," Nine replied.

  “You are guilty! You released the plague. You imposed this wicked government upon us I Why will so few realize this?"

  "Inefficient," came the cold, dead voice of Six.

  Then, from the same doorway, a girl came running. She was pretty, about eighteen, and dressed in the normal Martian harness. Her brown hair was in disarray and her face was streaked with tears.

  "Father!" she shouted, running towards the wretch.

  “Go away, Ala Mara," he cried. "Go away - I am going to die. Let me use the little life left in me to protest to these tyrants. Let me try to make them feel something human -even if it's only hatred!"

  "No, father!" The girl began to pull at his arm.

  I spoke to her. "I sympathize with you both," I said. "But wait a little longer. I might be able to help."

  One of the Eleven - I believe he called himself Three - turned. There was a dart-gun in his hand. Without even blinking, he pulled the trigger. The things only worked at short range -and this was almost point-blank. The man fell with a groan.

  The girl gave a great shriek and began to hammer at Three's chest with her fists.

  "You've killed him. You might at least have left him the little life he had!" she sobbed in rage.

  "Inefficient," said Three. "You inefficient, too." He raised the gun.

  I could stand no more.

  With a wordless cry I leapt at him, knocking the gun from his hand and putting my arm around the girl.

  I said nothing.

  He said nothing.