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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/22073-h.zip b/22073-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2716176 --- /dev/null +++ b/22073-h.zip diff --git a/22073-h/22073-h.htm b/22073-h/22073-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bdb500f --- /dev/null +++ b/22073-h/22073-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1132 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Repairman, by Harry Harrison. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 45%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .blockquot{margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + div.notes { + background-color: #ccccff; + color: #000000; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 5em; + padding: 0.5em; + } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Repairman, by Harry Harrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Repairman + +Author: Harry Harrison + +Illustrator: Kramer + +Release Date: July 14, 2007 [EBook #22073] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REPAIRMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Susan Carr and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>The Repairman</h1> + +<h2>By Harry Harrison</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by Kramer</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Being an interstellar trouble shooter wouldn’t be so bad … +if I could shoot the trouble!</p> + +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Old Man had that look of intense glee on his face that meant someone +was in for a very rough time. Since we were alone, it took no great feat +of intelligence to figure it would be me. I talked first, bold attack +being the best defense and so forth.</p> + +<p>“I quit. Don’t bother telling me what dirty job you have +cooked up, because I have already quit and you do not want to reveal +company secrets to me.” </p> + +<p>The grin was even wider now and he actually chortled as he thumbed a +button on his console. A thick legal document slid out of the delivery +slot onto his desk.</p> + +<p>“This is your contract,” he said. “It tells how and +when you will work. A steel-and-vanadium-bound contract that you +couldn’t crack with a molecular disruptor.” </p> + +<p>I leaned out quickly, grabbed it and threw it into the air with a single +motion. Before it could fall, I had my Solar out and, with a wide-angle +shot, burned the contract to ashes.</p> + +<p>The Old Man pressed the button again and another contract slid out on +his desk. If possible, the smile was still wider now.</p> + +<p>“I should have said a <em>duplicate</em> of your contract—like this +one here.” He made a quick note on his secretary plate. “I +have deducted 13 credits from your salary for the cost of the +duplicate—as well as a 100-credit fine for firing a Solar inside a +building.” </p> + +<p>I slumped, defeated, waiting for the blow to land. The Old Man fondled +my contract.</p> + +<p>“According to this document, you can’t quit. Ever. Therefore +I have a little job I know you’ll enjoy. Repair job. The Centauri +beacon has shut down. It’s a Mark III beacon.…” </p> + +<p>“<em>What</em> kind of beacon?” I asked him. I have repaired +hyperspace beacons from one arm of the Galaxy to the other and was sure +I had worked on every type or model made. But I had never heard of this +kind.</p> + +<p>“Mark III,” the Old Man repeated, practically chortling. +“I never heard of it either until Records dug up the specs. They +found them buried in the back of their oldest warehouse. This was the +earliest type of beacon ever built—by Earth, no less. Considering +its location on one of the Proxima Centauri planets, it might very well +be the first beacon.” </p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">I looked</span> at the blueprints he handed me and felt my eyes glaze with +horror. “It’s a monstrosity! It looks more like a distillery +than a beacon—must be at least a few hundred meters high. +I’m a repairman, not an archeologist. This pile of junk is over +2000 years old. Just forget about it and build a new one.” </p> + +<p>The Old Man leaned over his desk, breathing into my face. “It +would take a year to install a new beacon—besides being too +expensive—and this relic is on one of the main routes. We have +ships making fifteen-light-year detours now.” </p> + +<p>He leaned back, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and gave me Lecture +Forty-four on Company Duty and My Troubles.</p> + +<p>“This department is officially called Maintenance and Repair, when +it really should be called trouble-shooting. Hyperspace beacons are made +to last forever—or damn close to it. When one of them breaks down, +it is <em>never</em> an accident, and repairing the thing is never a matter of +just plugging in a new part.” </p> + +<p>He was telling <em>me</em>—the guy who did the job while he sat back on his +fat paycheck in an air-conditioned office.</p> + +<p>He rambled on. “How I wish that were all it took! I would have a +fleet of parts ships and junior mechanics to install them. But its not +like that at all. I have a fleet of expensive ships that are equipped to +do almost anything—manned by a bunch of irresponsibles like +<em>you</em>.” </p> + +<p>I nodded moodily at his pointing finger.</p> + +<p>“How I wish I could fire you all! Combination space-jockeys, +mechanics, engineers, soldiers, con-men and anything else it takes to do +the repairs. I have to browbeat, bribe, blackmail and bulldoze you thugs +into doing a simple job. If you think you’re fed up, just think +how I feel. But the ships must go through! The beacons must +operate!” </p> + +<p>I recognized this deathless line as the curtain speech and crawled to my +feet. He threw the Mark III file at me and went back to scratching in +his papers. Just as I reached the door, he looked up and impaled me on +his finger again.</p> + +<p>“And don’t get any fancy ideas about jumping your contract. +We can attach that bank account of yours on Algol II long before you +could draw the money out.” </p> + +<p>I smiled, a little weakly, I’m afraid, as if I had never meant to +keep that account a secret. His spies were getting more efficient every +day. Walking down the hall, I tried to figure a way to transfer the +money without his catching on—and knew at the same time he was +figuring a way to outfigure me.</p> + +<p>It was all very depressing, so I stopped for a drink, then went on to +the spaceport.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> the time the ship was serviced, I had a course charted. The nearest +beacon to the broken-down Proxima Centauri Beacon was on one of the +planets of Beta Circinus and I headed there first, a short trip of only +about nine days in hyperspace.</p> + +<p>To understand the importance of the beacons, you have to understand +hyperspace. Not that many people do, but it is easy enough to understand +that in this <em>non</em>-space the regular rules don’t apply. Speed and +measurements are a matter of relationship, not constant facts like the +fixed universe.</p> + +<p>The first ships to enter hyperspace had no place to go—and no way +to even tell if they had moved. The beacons solved that problem and +opened the entire universe. They are built on planets and generate +tremendous amounts of power. This power is turned into radiation that is +punched through into hyperspace. Every beacon has a code signal as part +of its radiation and represents a measurable point in hyperspace. +Triangulation and quadrature of the beacons works for +navigation—only it follows its own rules. The rules are complex +and variable, but they are still rules that a navigator can follow.</p> + +<p>For a hyperspace jump, you need at least four beacons for an accurate +fix. For long jumps, navigators use as many as seven or eight. So every +beacon is important and every one has to keep operating. That is where I +and the other trouble-shooters came in.</p> + +<p>We travel in well-stocked ships that carry a little bit of everything; +only one man to a ship because that is all it takes to operate the +overly efficient repair machinery. Due to the very nature of our job, we +spend most of our time just rocketing through normal space. After all, +when a beacon breaks down, how do you find it?</p> + +<p>Not through hyperspace. All you can do is approach as close as you can +by using other beacons, then finish the trip in normal space. This can +take months, and often does.</p> + +<p>This job didn’t turn out to be quite that bad. I zeroed on the +Beta Circinus beacon and ran a complicated eight-point problem through +the navigator, using every beacon I could get an accurate fix on. The +computer gave me a course with an estimated point-of-arrival as well as +a built-in safety factor I never could eliminate from the machine.</p> + +<p>I would much rather take a chance of breaking through near some star +than spend time just barreling through normal space, but apparently Tech +knows this, too. They had a safety factor built into the computer so you +couldn’t end up inside a star no matter how hard you tried. +I’m sure there was no humaneness in this decision. They just +didn’t want to lose the ship.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a twenty-hour jump, ship’s time, and I came through in the +middle of nowhere. The robot analyzer chuckled to itself and scanned all +the stars, comparing them to the spectra of Proxima Centauri. It finally +rang a bell and blinked a light. I peeped through the eyepiece.</p> + +<p>A fast reading with the photocell gave me the apparent magnitude and a +comparison with its absolute magnitude showed its distance. Not as bad +as I had thought—a six-week run, give or take a few days. After +feeding a course tape into the robot pilot, I strapped into the +acceleration tank and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>The time went fast. I rebuilt my camera for about the twentieth time and +just about finished a correspondence course in nucleonics. Most +repairmen take these courses. Besides their always coming in handy, the +company grades your pay by the number of specialties you can handle. All +this, with some oil painting and free-fall workouts in the gym, passed +the time. I was asleep when the alarm went off that announced planetary +distance.</p> + +<p>Planet two, where the beacon was situated according to the old charts, +was a mushy-looking, wet kind of globe. I tried to make sense out of +the ancient directions and finally located the right area. Staying +outside the atmosphere, I sent a flying eye down to look things over. In +this business, you learn early when and where to risk your own skin. The +eye would be good enough for the preliminary survey.</p> + +<p>The old boys had enough brains to choose a traceable site for the +beacon, equidistant on a line between two of the most prominent mountain +peaks. I located the peaks easily enough and started the eye out from +the first peak and kept it on a course directly toward the second. There +was a nose and tail radar in the eye and I fed their signals into a +scope as an amplitude curve. When the two peaks coincided, I spun the +eye controls and dived the thing down.</p> + +<p>I cut out the radar and cut in the nose orthicon and sat back to watch +the beacon appear on the screen.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 358px;"> <img src="images/illio.jpg" width="358" height="500" alt="Illustration" +title="" /> </div> + +<p>The image blinked, focused—and a great damn pyramid swam into +view. I cursed and wheeled the eye in circles, scanning the surrounding +country. It was flat, marshy bottom land without a bump. The only thing +in a ten-mile circle was this pyramid—and that definitely +wasn’t my beacon.</p> + +<p>Or wasn’t it?</p> + +<p>I dived the eye lower. The pyramid was a crude-looking thing of +undressed stone, without carvings or decorations. There was a shimmer of +light from the top and I took a closer look at it. On the peak of the +pyramid was a hollow basin filled with water. When I saw that, something +clicked in my mind.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Locking</span> the eye in a circular course, I dug through the Mark III +plans—and there it was. The beacon had a precipitating field and a +basin on top of it for water; this was used to cool the reactor that +powered the monstrosity. If the water was still there, the beacon was +still there—inside the pyramid. The natives, who, of course, +weren’t even mentioned by the idiots who constructed the thing, +had built a nice heavy, thick stone pyramid around the beacon.</p> + +<p>I took another look at the screen and realized that I had locked the eye +into a circular orbit about twenty feet above the pyramid. The summit of +the stone pile was now covered with lizards of some type, apparently the +local life-form. They had what looked like throwing sticks and arbalasts +and were trying to shoot down the eye, a cloud of arrows and rocks +flying in every direction.</p> + +<p>I pulled the eye straight up and away and threw in the control circuit +that would return it automatically to the ship.</p> + +<p>Then I went to the galley for a long, strong drink. My beacon was not +only locked inside a mountain of handmade stone, but I had managed to +irritate the things who had built the pyramid. A great beginning for a +job and one clearly designed to drive a stronger man than me to the +bottle.</p> + +<p>Normally, a repairman stays away from native cultures. They are poison. +Anthropologists may not mind being dissected for their science, but a +repairman wants to make no sacrifices of any kind for his job. For this +reason, most beacons are built on uninhabited planets. If a beacon <em>has</em> +to go on a planet with a culture, it is usually built in some +inaccessible place.</p> + +<p>Why this beacon had been built within reach of the local claws, I had +yet to find out. But that would come in time. The first thing to do was +make contact. To make contact, you have to know the local language.</p> + +<p>And, for <em>that</em>, I had long before worked out a system that was +fool-proof.</p> + +<p>I had a pryeye of my own construction. It looked like a piece of rock +about a foot long. Once on the ground, it would never be noticed, though +it was a little disconcerting to see it float by. I located a lizard +town about a thousand kilometers from the pyramid and dropped the eye. +It swished down and landed at night in the bank of the local mud wallow. +This was a favorite spot that drew a good crowd during the day. In the +morning, when the first wallowers arrived, I flipped on the recorder.</p> + +<p>After about five of the local days, I had a sea of native conversation +in the memory bank of the machine translator and had tagged a few +expressions. This is fairly easy to do when you have a machine memory to +work with. One of the lizards gargled at another one and the second one +turned around. I tagged this expression with the phrase, “Hey, +George!” and waited my chance to use it. Later the same day, I +caught one of them alone and shouted “Hey, George!” at him. +It gurgled out through the speaker in the local tongue and he turned +around.</p> + +<p>When you get enough reference phrases like this in the memory bank, the +MT brain takes over and starts filling in the missing pieces. As soon as +the MT could give a running translation of any conversation it heard, I +figured it was time to make a contact.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">I found</span> him easily enough. He was the Centaurian version of a +goat-boy—he herded a particularly loathsome form of local life in +the swamps outside the town. I had one of the working eyes dig a cave in +an outcropping of rock and wait for him.</p> + +<p>When he passed next day, I whispered into the mike: “Welcome, O +Goat-boy Grandson! This is your grandfather’s spirit speaking from +paradise.” This fitted in with what I could make out of the local +religion.</p> + +<p>Goat-boy stopped as if he’d been shot. Before he could move, I +pushed a switch and a handful of the local currency, wampum-type shells, +rolled out of the cave and landed at his feet.</p> + +<p>“Here is some money from paradise, because you have been a good +boy.” Not really from paradise—I had lifted it from the +treasury the night before. “Come back tomorrow and we will talk +some more,” I called after the fleeing figure. I was pleased to +notice that he took the cash before taking off.</p> + +<p>After that, Grandpa in paradise had many heart-to-heart talks with +Grandson, who found the heavenly loot more than he could resist. Grandpa +had been out of touch with things since his death and Goat-boy happily +filled him in.</p> + +<p>I learned all I needed to know of the history, past and recent, and it +wasn’t nice.</p> + +<p>In addition to the pyramid being around the beacon, there was a nice +little religious war going on around the pyramid.</p> + +<p>It all began with the land bridge. Apparently the local lizards had been +living in the swamps when the beacon was built, but the builders +didn’t think much of them. They were a low type and confined to a +distant continent. The idea that the race would develop and might reach +<em>this</em> continent never occurred to the beacon mechanics. Which is, of +course, what happened.</p> + +<p>A little geological turnover, a swampy land bridge formed in the right +spot, and the lizards began to wander up beacon valley. And found +religion. A shiny metal temple out of which poured a constant stream of +magic water—the reactor-cooling water pumped down from the +atmosphere condenser on the roof. The radioactivity in the water +didn’t hurt the natives. It caused mutations that bred true.</p> + +<p>A city was built around the temple and, through the centuries, the +pyramid was put up around the beacon. A special branch of the priesthood +served the temple. All went well until one of the priests violated the +temple and destroyed the holy waters. There had been revolt, strife, +murder and destruction since then. But still the holy waters would not +flow. Now armed mobs fought around the temple each day and a new band of +priests guarded the sacred fount.</p> + +<p>And I had to walk into the middle of that mess and repair the thing.</p> + +<p>It would have been easy enough if we were allowed a little mayhem. I +could have had a lizard fry, fixed the beacon and taken off. Only +“native life-forms” were quite well protected. There were +spy cells on my ship, all of which I hadn’t found, that would +cheerfully rat on me when I got back.</p> + +<p>Diplomacy was called for. I sighed and dragged out the plastiflesh +equipment.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Working</span> from 3D snaps of Grandson, I modeled a passable reptile head +over my own features. It was a little short in the jaw, me not having +one of their toothy mandibles, but that was all right. I didn’t +have to look <em>exactly</em> like them, just something close, to soothe the +native mind. It’s logical. If I were an ignorant aborigine of +Earth and I ran into a Spican, who looks like a two-foot gob of dried +shellac, I would immediately leave the scene. However, if the Spican was +wearing a suit of plastiflesh that looked remotely humanoid, I would at +least stay and talk to him. This was what I was aiming to do with the +Centaurians.</p> + +<p>When the head was done, I peeled it off and attached it to an attractive +suit of green plastic, complete with tail. I was really glad they had +tails. The lizards didn’t wear clothes and I wanted to take along +a lot of electronic equipment. I built the tail over a metal frame that +anchored around my waist. Then I filled the frame with all the equipment +I would need and began to wire the suit.</p> + +<p>When it was done, I tried it on in front of a full-length mirror. It was +horrible but effective. The tail dragged me down in the rear and gave me +a duck-waddle, but that only helped the resemblance.</p> + +<p>That night I took the ship down into the hills nearest the pyramid, an +out-of-the-way dry spot where the amphibious natives would never go. A +little before dawn, the eye hooked onto my shoulders and we sailed +straight up. We hovered above the temple at about 2,000 meters, until it +was light, then dropped straight down.</p> + +<p>It must have been a grand sight. The eye was camouflaged to look like a +flying lizard, sort of a cardboard pterodactyl, and the slowly flapping +wings obviously had nothing to do with our flight. But it was impressive +enough for the natives. The first one that spotted me screamed and +dropped over on his back. The others came running. They milled and +mobbed and piled on top of one another, and by that time I had landed in +the plaza fronting the temple. The priesthood arrived.</p> + +<p>I folded my arms in a regal stance. “Greetings, O noble servers of +the Great God,” I said. Of course I didn’t say it out loud, +just whispered loud enough for the throat mike to catch. This was +radioed back to the MT and the translation shot back to a speaker in my +jaws.</p> + +<p>The natives chomped and rattled and the translation rolled out almost +instantly. I had the volume turned up and the whole square echoed.</p> + +<p>Some of the more credulous natives prostrated themselves and others fled +screaming. One doubtful type raised a spear, but no one else tried that +after the pterodactyl-eye picked him up and dropped him in the swamp. +The priests were a hard-headed lot and weren’t buying any lizards +in a poke; they just stood and muttered. I had to take the offensive +again.</p> + +<p>“Begone, O faithful steed,” I said to the eye, and pressed +the control in my palm at the same time.</p> + +<p>It took off straight up a bit faster than I wanted; little pieces of +wind-torn plastic rained down. While the crowd was ogling this ascent, I +walked through the temple doors.</p> + +<p>“I would talk with you, O noble priests,” I said.</p> + +<p>Before they could think up a good answer, I was inside.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> temple was a small one built against the base of the pyramid. I +hoped I wasn’t breaking too many taboos by going in. I +wasn’t stopped, so it looked all right. The temple was a single +room with a murky-looking pool at one end. Sloshing in the pool was an +ancient reptile who clearly was one of the leaders. I waddled toward him +and he gave me a cold and fishy eye, then growled something.</p> + +<p>The MT whispered into my ear, “Just what in the name of the +thirteenth sin are you and what are you doing here?” </p> + +<p>I drew up my scaly figure in a noble gesture and pointed toward the +ceiling. “I come from your ancestors to help you. I am here to +restore the Holy Waters.” </p> + +<p>This raised a buzz of conversation behind me, but got no rise out of the +chief. He sank slowly into the water until only his eyes were showing. I +could almost hear the wheels turning behind that moss-covered forehead. +Then he lunged up and pointed a dripping finger at me.</p> + +<p>“You are a liar! You are no ancestor of ours! We +will—” </p> + +<p>“Stop!” I thundered before he got so far in that he +couldn’t back out. “I said your ancestors sent me as +emissary—I am not one of your ancestors. Do not try to harm me or +the wrath of those who have Passed On will turn against you.” </p> + +<p>When I said this, I turned to jab a claw at the other priests, using the +motion to cover my flicking a coin grenade toward them. It blew a nice +hole in the floor with a great show of noise and smoke.</p> + +<p>The First Lizard knew I was talking sense then and immediately called a +meeting of the shamans. It, of course, took place in the public bathtub +and I had to join them there. We jawed and gurgled for about an hour and +settled all the major points.</p> + +<p>I found out that they were new priests; the previous ones had all been +boiled for letting the Holy Waters cease. They found out I was there +only to help them restore the flow of the waters. They bought this, +tentatively, and we all heaved out of the tub and trickled muddy paths +across the floor. There was a bolted and guarded door that led into the +pyramid proper. While it was being opened, the First Lizard turned to +me.</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly you know of the rule,” he said. “Because +the old priests did pry and peer, it was ruled henceforth that only the +blind could enter the Holy of Holies.” I’d swear he was +smiling, if thirty teeth peeking out of what looked like a crack in an +old suitcase can be called smiling.</p> + +<p>He was also signaling to him an underpriest who carried a brazier of +charcoal complete with red-hot irons. All I could do was stand and watch +as he stirred up the coals, pulled out the ruddiest iron and turned +toward me. He was just drawing a bead on my right eyeball when my brain +got back in gear.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” I said, “blinding is only right. But in +my case you will have to blind me before I <em>leave</em> the Holy of Holies, not +now. I need my eyes to see and mend the Fount of Holy Waters. Once the +waters flow again, I will laugh as I hurl myself on the burning +iron.” </p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> took a good thirty seconds to think it over and had to agree with me. +The local torturer sniffled a bit and threw a little more charcoal on +the fire. The gate crashed open and I stalked through; then it banged to +behind me and I was alone in the dark.</p> + +<p>But not for long—there was a shuffling nearby and I took a chance +and turned on my flash. Three priests were groping toward me, their +eye-sockets red pits of burned flesh. They knew what I wanted and led +the way without a word.</p> + +<p>A crumbling and cracked stone stairway brought us up to a solid metal +doorway labeled in archaic script <em>MARK III BEACON—AUTHORIZED +PERSONNEL ONLY</em>. The trusting builders counted on the sign to do the +whole job, for there wasn’t a trace of a lock on the door. One +lizard merely turned the handle and we were inside the beacon.</p> + +<p>I unzipped the front of my camouflage suit and pulled out the +blueprints. With the faithful priests stumbling after me, I located the +control room and turned on the lights. There was a residue of charge in +the emergency batteries, just enough to give a dim light. The meters and +indicators looked to be in good shape; if anything, unexpectedly bright +from constant polishing.</p> + +<p>I checked the readings carefully and found just what I had suspected. +One of the eager lizards had managed to open a circuit box and had +polished the switches inside. While doing this, he had thrown one of the +switches and that had caused the trouble.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Rather</span>, that had <em>started</em> the trouble. It wasn’t going to be ended +by just reversing the water-valve switch. This valve was supposed to be +used only for repairs, after the pile was damped. When the water was cut +off with the pile in operation, it had started to overheat and the +automatic safeties had dumped the charge down the pit.</p> + +<p>I could start the water again easily enough, but there was no fuel left +in the reactor.</p> + +<p>I wasn’t going to play with the fuel problem at all. It would be +far easier to install a new power plant. I had one in the ship that was +about a tenth the size of the ancient bucket of bolts and produced at +least four times the power. Before I sent for it, I checked over the +rest of the beacon. In 2000 years, there should be <em>some</em> sign of wear.</p> + +<p>The old boys had built well, I’ll give them credit for that. +Ninety per cent of the machinery had no moving parts and had suffered no +wear whatever. Other parts they had beefed up, figuring they would wear, +but slowly. The water-feed pipe from the roof, for example. The pipe +walls were at least three meters thick—and the pipe opening itself +no bigger than my head. There were some things I could do, though, and I +made a list of parts.</p> + +<p>The parts, the new power plant and a few other odds and ends were chuted +into a neat pile on the ship. I checked all the parts by screen before +they were loaded in a metal crate. In the darkest hour before dawn, the +heavy-duty eye dropped the crate outside the temple and darted away +without being seen.</p> + +<p>I watched the priests through the pryeye while they tried to open it. +When they had given up, I boomed orders at them through a speaker in the +crate. They spent most of the day sweating the heavy box up through the +narrow temple stairs and I enjoyed a good sleep. It was resting inside +the beacon door when I woke up.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> repairs didn’t take long, though there was plenty of groaning +from the blind lizards when they heard me ripping the wall open to get +at the power leads. I even hooked a gadget to the water pipe so their +Holy Waters would have the usual refreshing radioactivity when they +started flowing again. The moment this was all finished, I did the job +they were waiting for.</p> + +<p>I threw the switch that started the water flowing again.</p> + +<p>There were a few minutes while the water began to gurgle down through +the dry pipe. Then a roar came from outside the pyramid that must have +shaken its stone walls. Shaking my hands once over my head, I went down +for the eye-burning ceremony.</p> + +<p>The blind lizards were waiting for me by the door and looked even +unhappier than usual. When I tried the door, I found out why—it +was bolted and barred from the other side.</p> + +<p>“It has been decided,” a lizard said, “that you shall +remain here forever and tend the Holy Waters. We will stay with you and +serve your every need.” </p> + +<p>A delightful prospect, eternity spent in a locked beacon with three +blind lizards. In spite of their hospitality, I couldn’t accept.</p> + +<p>“What—you dare interfere with the messenger of your +ancestors!” I had the speaker on full volume and the vibration +almost shook my head off.</p> + +<p>The lizards cringed and I set my Solar for a narrow beam and ran it +around the door jamb. There was a great crunching and banging from the +junk piled against it, and then the door swung free. I threw it open. +Before they could protest, I had pushed the priests out through it.</p> + +<p>The rest of their clan showed up at the foot of the stairs and made a +great ruckus while I finished welding the door shut. Running through the +crowd, I faced up to the First Lizard in his tub. He sank slowly beneath +the surface.</p> + +<p>“What lack of courtesy!” I shouted. He made little bubbles +in the water. “The ancestors are annoyed and have decided to +forbid entrance to the Inner Temple forever; though, out of kindness, +they will let the waters flow. Now I must return—on with the +ceremony!” </p> + +<p>The torture-master was too frightened to move, so I grabbed out his hot +iron. A touch on the side of my face dropped a steel plate over my eyes, +under the plastiskin. Then I jammed the iron hard into my phony +eye-sockets and the plastic gave off an authentic odor.</p> + +<p>A cry went up from the crowd as I dropped the iron and staggered in +blind circles. I must admit it went off pretty well.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> they could get any more bright ideas, I threw the switch and my +plastic pterodactyl sailed in through the door. I couldn’t see it, +of course, but I knew it had arrived when the grapples in the claws +latched onto the steel plates on my shoulders.</p> + +<p>I had got turned around after the eye-burning and my flying beast hooked +onto me backward. I had meant to sail out bravely, blind eyes facing +into the sunset; instead, I faced the crowd as I soared away, so I made +the most of a bad situation and threw them a snappy military salute. +Then I was out in the fresh air and away.</p> + +<p>When I lifted the plate and poked holes in the seared plastic, I could +see the pyramid growing smaller behind me, water gushing out of the base +and a happy crowd of reptiles sporting in its radioactive rush. I +counted off on my talons to see if I had forgotten anything.</p> + +<p>One: The beacon was repaired.</p> + +<p>Two: The door was sealed, so there should be no more sabotage, +accidental or deliberate.</p> + +<p>Three: The priests should be satisfied. The water was running again, my +eyes had been duly burned out, and they were back in business. Which +added up to—</p> + +<p>Four: The fact that they would probably let another repairman in, under +the same conditions, if the beacon conked out again. At least I had done +nothing, like butchering a few of them, that would make them +antagonistic toward future ancestral messengers.</p> + +<p>I stripped off my tattered lizard suit back in the ship, very glad that +it would be some other repairman who’d get the job.</p> + +<p class="right"><b>—<span class="smcap">Harry Harrison</span></b></p> + +<div class="notes"> + +<p class="center">Transcriber’s Note</p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <em>Galaxy</em> February 1958. Extensive research +did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication +was renewed.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Repairman, by Harry Harrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REPAIRMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 22073-h.htm or 22073-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/0/7/22073/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Susan Carr and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Repairman + +Author: Harry Harrison + +Illustrator: Kramer + +Release Date: July 14, 2007 [EBook #22073] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REPAIRMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Susan Carr and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +The Repairman + +By HARRY HARRISON + +Illustrated by KRAMER + + + + + Being an interstellar trouble shooter wouldn't be so bad ... if I + could shoot the trouble! + + +The Old Man had that look of intense glee on his face that meant someone +was in for a very rough time. Since we were alone, it took no great feat +of intelligence to figure it would be me. I talked first, bold attack +being the best defense and so forth. + +"I quit. Don't bother telling me what dirty job you have cooked up, +because I have already quit and you do not want to reveal company +secrets to me." + +The grin was even wider now and he actually chortled as he thumbed a +button on his console. A thick legal document slid out of the delivery +slot onto his desk. + +"This is your contract," he said. "It tells how and when you will work. +A steel-and-vanadium-bound contract that you couldn't crack with a +molecular disruptor." + +I leaned out quickly, grabbed it and threw it into the air with a single +motion. Before it could fall, I had my Solar out and, with a wide-angle +shot, burned the contract to ashes. + +The Old Man pressed the button again and another contract slid out on +his desk. If possible, the smile was still wider now. + +"I should have said a _duplicate_ of your contract--like this one here." +He made a quick note on his secretary plate. "I have deducted 13 credits +from your salary for the cost of the duplicate--as well as a 100-credit +fine for firing a Solar inside a building." + +I slumped, defeated, waiting for the blow to land. The Old Man fondled +my contract. + +"According to this document, you can't quit. Ever. Therefore I have a +little job I know you'll enjoy. Repair job. The Centauri beacon has shut +down. It's a Mark III beacon...." + +"_What_ kind of beacon?" I asked him. I have repaired hyperspace beacons +from one arm of the Galaxy to the other and was sure I had worked on +every type or model made. But I had never heard of this kind. + +"Mark III," the Old Man repeated, practically chortling. "I never heard +of it either until Records dug up the specs. They found them buried in +the back of their oldest warehouse. This was the earliest type of beacon +ever built--by Earth, no less. Considering its location on one of the +Proxima Centauri planets, it might very well be the first beacon." + + * * * * * + +I looked at the blueprints he handed me and felt my eyes glaze with +horror. "It's a monstrosity! It looks more like a distillery than a +beacon--must be at least a few hundred meters high. I'm a repairman, not +an archeologist. This pile of junk is over 2000 years old. Just forget +about it and build a new one." + +The Old Man leaned over his desk, breathing into my face. "It would take +a year to install a new beacon--besides being too expensive--and this +relic is on one of the main routes. We have ships making +fifteen-light-year detours now." + +He leaned back, wiped his hands on his handkerchief and gave me Lecture +Forty-four on Company Duty and My Troubles. + +"This department is officially called Maintenance and Repair, when it +really should be called trouble-shooting. Hyperspace beacons are made to +last forever--or damn close to it. When one of them breaks down, it is +_never_ an accident, and repairing the thing is never a matter of just +plugging in a new part." + +He was telling _me_--the guy who did the job while he sat back on his +fat paycheck in an air-conditioned office. + +He rambled on. "How I wish that were all it took! I would have a fleet +of parts ships and junior mechanics to install them. But its not like +that at all. I have a fleet of expensive ships that are equipped to do +almost anything--manned by a bunch of irresponsibles like _you_." + +I nodded moodily at his pointing finger. + +"How I wish I could fire you all! Combination space-jockeys, mechanics, +engineers, soldiers, con-men and anything else it takes to do the +repairs. I have to browbeat, bribe, blackmail and bulldoze you thugs +into doing a simple job. If you think you're fed up, just think how I +feel. But the ships must go through! The beacons must operate!" + +I recognized this deathless line as the curtain speech and crawled to my +feet. He threw the Mark III file at me and went back to scratching in +his papers. Just as I reached the door, he looked up and impaled me on +his finger again. + +"And don't get any fancy ideas about jumping your contract. We can +attach that bank account of yours on Algol II long before you could draw +the money out." + +I smiled, a little weakly, I'm afraid, as if I had never meant to keep +that account a secret. His spies were getting more efficient every day. +Walking down the hall, I tried to figure a way to transfer the money +without his catching on--and knew at the same time he was figuring a way +to outfigure me. + +It was all very depressing, so I stopped for a drink, then went on to +the spaceport. + + * * * * * + +By the time the ship was serviced, I had a course charted. The nearest +beacon to the broken-down Proxima Centauri Beacon was on one of the +planets of Beta Circinus and I headed there first, a short trip of only +about nine days in hyperspace. + +To understand the importance of the beacons, you have to understand +hyperspace. Not that many people do, but it is easy enough to understand +that in this _non_-space the regular rules don't apply. Speed and +measurements are a matter of relationship, not constant facts like the +fixed universe. + +The first ships to enter hyperspace had no place to go--and no way to +even tell if they had moved. The beacons solved that problem and opened +the entire universe. They are built on planets and generate tremendous +amounts of power. This power is turned into radiation that is punched +through into hyperspace. Every beacon has a code signal as part of its +radiation and represents a measurable point in hyperspace. Triangulation +and quadrature of the beacons works for navigation--only it follows its +own rules. The rules are complex and variable, but they are still rules +that a navigator can follow. + +For a hyperspace jump, you need at least four beacons for an accurate +fix. For long jumps, navigators use as many as seven or eight. So every +beacon is important and every one has to keep operating. That is where I +and the other trouble-shooters came in. + +We travel in well-stocked ships that carry a little bit of everything; +only one man to a ship because that is all it takes to operate the +overly efficient repair machinery. Due to the very nature of our job, we +spend most of our time just rocketing through normal space. After all, +when a beacon breaks down, how do you find it? + +Not through hyperspace. All you can do is approach as close as you can +by using other beacons, then finish the trip in normal space. This can +take months, and often does. + +This job didn't turn out to be quite that bad. I zeroed on the Beta +Circinus beacon and ran a complicated eight-point problem through the +navigator, using every beacon I could get an accurate fix on. The +computer gave me a course with an estimated point-of-arrival as well as +a built-in safety factor I never could eliminate from the machine. + +I would much rather take a chance of breaking through near some star +than spend time just barreling through normal space, but apparently Tech +knows this, too. They had a safety factor built into the computer so you +couldn't end up inside a star no matter how hard you tried. I'm sure +there was no humaneness in this decision. They just didn't want to lose +the ship. + + * * * * * + +It was a twenty-hour jump, ship's time, and I came through in the middle +of nowhere. The robot analyzer chuckled to itself and scanned all the +stars, comparing them to the spectra of Proxima Centauri. It finally +rang a bell and blinked a light. I peeped through the eyepiece. + +A fast reading with the photocell gave me the apparent magnitude and a +comparison with its absolute magnitude showed its distance. Not as bad +as I had thought--a six-week run, give or take a few days. After feeding +a course tape into the robot pilot, I strapped into the acceleration +tank and went to sleep. + +The time went fast. I rebuilt my camera for about the twentieth time and +just about finished a correspondence course in nucleonics. Most +repairmen take these courses. Besides their always coming in handy, the +company grades your pay by the number of specialties you can handle. All +this, with some oil painting and free-fall workouts in the gym, passed +the time. I was asleep when the alarm went off that announced planetary +distance. + +Planet two, where the beacon was situated according to the old charts, +was a mushy-looking, wet kind of globe. I tried to make sense out of +the ancient directions and finally located the right area. Staying +outside the atmosphere, I sent a flying eye down to look things over. In +this business, you learn early when and where to risk your own skin. The +eye would be good enough for the preliminary survey. + +The old boys had enough brains to choose a traceable site for the +beacon, equidistant on a line between two of the most prominent mountain +peaks. I located the peaks easily enough and started the eye out from +the first peak and kept it on a course directly toward the second. There +was a nose and tail radar in the eye and I fed their signals into a +scope as an amplitude curve. When the two peaks coincided, I spun the +eye controls and dived the thing down. + +I cut out the radar and cut in the nose orthicon and sat back to watch +the beacon appear on the screen. + +[Illustration] + +The image blinked, focused--and a great damn pyramid swam into view. I +cursed and wheeled the eye in circles, scanning the surrounding country. +It was flat, marshy bottom land without a bump. The only thing in a +ten-mile circle was this pyramid--and that definitely wasn't my beacon. + +Or wasn't it? + +I dived the eye lower. The pyramid was a crude-looking thing of +undressed stone, without carvings or decorations. There was a shimmer of +light from the top and I took a closer look at it. On the peak of the +pyramid was a hollow basin filled with water. When I saw that, something +clicked in my mind. + + * * * * * + +Locking the eye in a circular course, I dug through the Mark III +plans--and there it was. The beacon had a precipitating field and a +basin on top of it for water; this was used to cool the reactor that +powered the monstrosity. If the water was still there, the beacon was +still there--inside the pyramid. The natives, who, of course, weren't +even mentioned by the idiots who constructed the thing, had built a nice +heavy, thick stone pyramid around the beacon. + +I took another look at the screen and realized that I had locked the eye +into a circular orbit about twenty feet above the pyramid. The summit of +the stone pile was now covered with lizards of some type, apparently the +local life-form. They had what looked like throwing sticks and arbalasts +and were trying to shoot down the eye, a cloud of arrows and rocks +flying in every direction. + +I pulled the eye straight up and away and threw in the control circuit +that would return it automatically to the ship. + +Then I went to the galley for a long, strong drink. My beacon was not +only locked inside a mountain of handmade stone, but I had managed to +irritate the things who had built the pyramid. A great beginning for a +job and one clearly designed to drive a stronger man than me to the +bottle. + +Normally, a repairman stays away from native cultures. They are poison. +Anthropologists may not mind being dissected for their science, but a +repairman wants to make no sacrifices of any kind for his job. For this +reason, most beacons are built on uninhabited planets. If a beacon _has_ +to go on a planet with a culture, it is usually built in some +inaccessible place. + +Why this beacon had been built within reach of the local claws, I had +yet to find out. But that would come in time. The first thing to do was +make contact. To make contact, you have to know the local language. + +And, for _that_, I had long before worked out a system that was +fool-proof. + +I had a pryeye of my own construction. It looked like a piece of rock +about a foot long. Once on the ground, it would never be noticed, though +it was a little disconcerting to see it float by. I located a lizard +town about a thousand kilometers from the pyramid and dropped the eye. +It swished down and landed at night in the bank of the local mud wallow. +This was a favorite spot that drew a good crowd during the day. In the +morning, when the first wallowers arrived, I flipped on the recorder. + +After about five of the local days, I had a sea of native conversation +in the memory bank of the machine translator and had tagged a few +expressions. This is fairly easy to do when you have a machine memory to +work with. One of the lizards gargled at another one and the second one +turned around. I tagged this expression with the phrase, "Hey, George!" +and waited my chance to use it. Later the same day, I caught one of them +alone and shouted "Hey, George!" at him. It gurgled out through the +speaker in the local tongue and he turned around. + +When you get enough reference phrases like this in the memory bank, the +MT brain takes over and starts filling in the missing pieces. As soon as +the MT could give a running translation of any conversation it heard, I +figured it was time to make a contact. + + * * * * * + +I found him easily enough. He was the Centaurian version of a +goat-boy--he herded a particularly loathsome form of local life in the +swamps outside the town. I had one of the working eyes dig a cave in an +outcropping of rock and wait for him. + +When he passed next day, I whispered into the mike: "Welcome, O +Goat-boy Grandson! This is your grandfather's spirit speaking from +paradise." This fitted in with what I could make out of the local +religion. + +Goat-boy stopped as if he'd been shot. Before he could move, I pushed a +switch and a handful of the local currency, wampum-type shells, rolled +out of the cave and landed at his feet. + +"Here is some money from paradise, because you have been a good boy." +Not really from paradise--I had lifted it from the treasury the night +before. "Come back tomorrow and we will talk some more," I called after +the fleeing figure. I was pleased to notice that he took the cash before +taking off. + +After that, Grandpa in paradise had many heart-to-heart talks with +Grandson, who found the heavenly loot more than he could resist. Grandpa +had been out of touch with things since his death and Goat-boy happily +filled him in. + +I learned all I needed to know of the history, past and recent, and it +wasn't nice. + +In addition to the pyramid being around the beacon, there was a nice +little religious war going on around the pyramid. + +It all began with the land bridge. Apparently the local lizards had been +living in the swamps when the beacon was built, but the builders didn't +think much of them. They were a low type and confined to a distant +continent. The idea that the race would develop and might reach _this_ +continent never occurred to the beacon mechanics. Which is, of course, +what happened. + +A little geological turnover, a swampy land bridge formed in the right +spot, and the lizards began to wander up beacon valley. And found +religion. A shiny metal temple out of which poured a constant stream of +magic water--the reactor-cooling water pumped down from the atmosphere +condenser on the roof. The radioactivity in the water didn't hurt the +natives. It caused mutations that bred true. + +A city was built around the temple and, through the centuries, the +pyramid was put up around the beacon. A special branch of the priesthood +served the temple. All went well until one of the priests violated the +temple and destroyed the holy waters. There had been revolt, strife, +murder and destruction since then. But still the holy waters would not +flow. Now armed mobs fought around the temple each day and a new band of +priests guarded the sacred fount. + +And I had to walk into the middle of that mess and repair the thing. + +It would have been easy enough if we were allowed a little mayhem. I +could have had a lizard fry, fixed the beacon and taken off. Only +"native life-forms" were quite well protected. There were spy cells on +my ship, all of which I hadn't found, that would cheerfully rat on me +when I got back. + +Diplomacy was called for. I sighed and dragged out the plastiflesh +equipment. + + * * * * * + +Working from 3D snaps of Grandson, I modeled a passable reptile head +over my own features. It was a little short in the jaw, me not having +one of their toothy mandibles, but that was all right. I didn't have to +look _exactly_ like them, just something close, to soothe the native +mind. It's logical. If I were an ignorant aborigine of Earth and I ran +into a Spican, who looks like a two-foot gob of dried shellac, I would +immediately leave the scene. However, if the Spican was wearing a suit +of plastiflesh that looked remotely humanoid, I would at least stay and +talk to him. This was what I was aiming to do with the Centaurians. + +When the head was done, I peeled it off and attached it to an attractive +suit of green plastic, complete with tail. I was really glad they had +tails. The lizards didn't wear clothes and I wanted to take along a lot +of electronic equipment. I built the tail over a metal frame that +anchored around my waist. Then I filled the frame with all the equipment +I would need and began to wire the suit. + +When it was done, I tried it on in front of a full-length mirror. It was +horrible but effective. The tail dragged me down in the rear and gave me +a duck-waddle, but that only helped the resemblance. + +That night I took the ship down into the hills nearest the pyramid, an +out-of-the-way dry spot where the amphibious natives would never go. A +little before dawn, the eye hooked onto my shoulders and we sailed +straight up. We hovered above the temple at about 2,000 meters, until it +was light, then dropped straight down. + +It must have been a grand sight. The eye was camouflaged to look like a +flying lizard, sort of a cardboard pterodactyl, and the slowly flapping +wings obviously had nothing to do with our flight. But it was impressive +enough for the natives. The first one that spotted me screamed and +dropped over on his back. The others came running. They milled and +mobbed and piled on top of one another, and by that time I had landed in +the plaza fronting the temple. The priesthood arrived. + +I folded my arms in a regal stance. "Greetings, O noble servers of the +Great God," I said. Of course I didn't say it out loud, just whispered +loud enough for the throat mike to catch. This was radioed back to the +MT and the translation shot back to a speaker in my jaws. + +The natives chomped and rattled and the translation rolled out almost +instantly. I had the volume turned up and the whole square echoed. + +Some of the more credulous natives prostrated themselves and others fled +screaming. One doubtful type raised a spear, but no one else tried that +after the pterodactyl-eye picked him up and dropped him in the swamp. +The priests were a hard-headed lot and weren't buying any lizards in a +poke; they just stood and muttered. I had to take the offensive again. + +"Begone, O faithful steed," I said to the eye, and pressed the control +in my palm at the same time. + +It took off straight up a bit faster than I wanted; little pieces of +wind-torn plastic rained down. While the crowd was ogling this ascent, I +walked through the temple doors. + +"I would talk with you, O noble priests," I said. + +Before they could think up a good answer, I was inside. + + * * * * * + +The temple was a small one built against the base of the pyramid. I +hoped I wasn't breaking too many taboos by going in. I wasn't stopped, +so it looked all right. The temple was a single room with a +murky-looking pool at one end. Sloshing in the pool was an ancient +reptile who clearly was one of the leaders. I waddled toward him and he +gave me a cold and fishy eye, then growled something. + +The MT whispered into my ear, "Just what in the name of the thirteenth +sin are you and what are you doing here?" + +I drew up my scaly figure in a noble gesture and pointed toward the +ceiling. "I come from your ancestors to help you. I am here to restore +the Holy Waters." + +This raised a buzz of conversation behind me, but got no rise out of the +chief. He sank slowly into the water until only his eyes were showing. I +could almost hear the wheels turning behind that moss-covered forehead. +Then he lunged up and pointed a dripping finger at me. + +"You are a liar! You are no ancestor of ours! We will--" + +"Stop!" I thundered before he got so far in that he couldn't back out. +"I said your ancestors sent me as emissary--I am not one of your +ancestors. Do not try to harm me or the wrath of those who have Passed +On will turn against you." + +When I said this, I turned to jab a claw at the other priests, using the +motion to cover my flicking a coin grenade toward them. It blew a nice +hole in the floor with a great show of noise and smoke. + +The First Lizard knew I was talking sense then and immediately called a +meeting of the shamans. It, of course, took place in the public bathtub +and I had to join them there. We jawed and gurgled for about an hour and +settled all the major points. + +I found out that they were new priests; the previous ones had all been +boiled for letting the Holy Waters cease. They found out I was there +only to help them restore the flow of the waters. They bought this, +tentatively, and we all heaved out of the tub and trickled muddy paths +across the floor. There was a bolted and guarded door that led into the +pyramid proper. While it was being opened, the First Lizard turned to +me. + +"Undoubtedly you know of the rule," he said. "Because the old priests +did pry and peer, it was ruled henceforth that only the blind could +enter the Holy of Holies." I'd swear he was smiling, if thirty teeth +peeking out of what looked like a crack in an old suitcase can be called +smiling. + +He was also signaling to him an underpriest who carried a brazier of +charcoal complete with red-hot irons. All I could do was stand and watch +as he stirred up the coals, pulled out the ruddiest iron and turned +toward me. He was just drawing a bead on my right eyeball when my brain +got back in gear. + +"Of course," I said, "blinding is only right. But in my case you will +have to blind me before I _leave_ the Holy of Holies, not now. I need my +eyes to see and mend the Fount of Holy Waters. Once the waters flow +again, I will laugh as I hurl myself on the burning iron." + + * * * * * + +He took a good thirty seconds to think it over and had to agree with me. +The local torturer sniffled a bit and threw a little more charcoal on +the fire. The gate crashed open and I stalked through; then it banged to +behind me and I was alone in the dark. + +But not for long--there was a shuffling nearby and I took a chance and +turned on my flash. Three priests were groping toward me, their +eye-sockets red pits of burned flesh. They knew what I wanted and led +the way without a word. + +A crumbling and cracked stone stairway brought us up to a solid metal +doorway labeled in archaic script _MARK III BEACON--AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL +ONLY_. The trusting builders counted on the sign to do the whole job, +for there wasn't a trace of a lock on the door. One lizard merely turned +the handle and we were inside the beacon. + +I unzipped the front of my camouflage suit and pulled out the +blueprints. With the faithful priests stumbling after me, I located the +control room and turned on the lights. There was a residue of charge in +the emergency batteries, just enough to give a dim light. The meters and +indicators looked to be in good shape; if anything, unexpectedly bright +from constant polishing. + +I checked the readings carefully and found just what I had suspected. +One of the eager lizards had managed to open a circuit box and had +polished the switches inside. While doing this, he had thrown one of the +switches and that had caused the trouble. + + * * * * * + +Rather, that had _started_ the trouble. It wasn't going to be ended by +just reversing the water-valve switch. This valve was supposed to be +used only for repairs, after the pile was damped. When the water was cut +off with the pile in operation, it had started to overheat and the +automatic safeties had dumped the charge down the pit. + +I could start the water again easily enough, but there was no fuel left +in the reactor. + +I wasn't going to play with the fuel problem at all. It would be far +easier to install a new power plant. I had one in the ship that was +about a tenth the size of the ancient bucket of bolts and produced at +least four times the power. Before I sent for it, I checked over the +rest of the beacon. In 2000 years, there should be _some_ sign of wear. + +The old boys had built well, I'll give them credit for that. Ninety per +cent of the machinery had no moving parts and had suffered no wear +whatever. Other parts they had beefed up, figuring they would wear, but +slowly. The water-feed pipe from the roof, for example. The pipe walls +were at least three meters thick--and the pipe opening itself no bigger +than my head. There were some things I could do, though, and I made a +list of parts. + +The parts, the new power plant and a few other odds and ends were chuted +into a neat pile on the ship. I checked all the parts by screen before +they were loaded in a metal crate. In the darkest hour before dawn, the +heavy-duty eye dropped the crate outside the temple and darted away +without being seen. + +I watched the priests through the pryeye while they tried to open it. +When they had given up, I boomed orders at them through a speaker in the +crate. They spent most of the day sweating the heavy box up through the +narrow temple stairs and I enjoyed a good sleep. It was resting inside +the beacon door when I woke up. + + * * * * * + +The repairs didn't take long, though there was plenty of groaning from +the blind lizards when they heard me ripping the wall open to get at the +power leads. I even hooked a gadget to the water pipe so their Holy +Waters would have the usual refreshing radioactivity when they started +flowing again. The moment this was all finished, I did the job they were +waiting for. + +I threw the switch that started the water flowing again. + +There were a few minutes while the water began to gurgle down through +the dry pipe. Then a roar came from outside the pyramid that must have +shaken its stone walls. Shaking my hands once over my head, I went down +for the eye-burning ceremony. + +The blind lizards were waiting for me by the door and looked even +unhappier than usual. When I tried the door, I found out why--it was +bolted and barred from the other side. + +"It has been decided," a lizard said, "that you shall remain here +forever and tend the Holy Waters. We will stay with you and serve your +every need." + +A delightful prospect, eternity spent in a locked beacon with three +blind lizards. In spite of their hospitality, I couldn't accept. + +"What--you dare interfere with the messenger of your ancestors!" I had +the speaker on full volume and the vibration almost shook my head off. + +The lizards cringed and I set my Solar for a narrow beam and ran it +around the door jamb. There was a great crunching and banging from the +junk piled against it, and then the door swung free. I threw it open. +Before they could protest, I had pushed the priests out through it. + +The rest of their clan showed up at the foot of the stairs and made a +great ruckus while I finished welding the door shut. Running through the +crowd, I faced up to the First Lizard in his tub. He sank slowly beneath +the surface. + +"What lack of courtesy!" I shouted. He made little bubbles in the water. +"The ancestors are annoyed and have decided to forbid entrance to the +Inner Temple forever; though, out of kindness, they will let the waters +flow. Now I must return--on with the ceremony!" + +The torture-master was too frightened to move, so I grabbed out his hot +iron. A touch on the side of my face dropped a steel plate over my eyes, +under the plastiskin. Then I jammed the iron hard into my phony +eye-sockets and the plastic gave off an authentic odor. + +A cry went up from the crowd as I dropped the iron and staggered in +blind circles. I must admit it went off pretty well. + + * * * * * + +Before they could get any more bright ideas, I threw the switch and my +plastic pterodactyl sailed in through the door. I couldn't see it, of +course, but I knew it had arrived when the grapples in the claws latched +onto the steel plates on my shoulders. + +I had got turned around after the eye-burning and my flying beast hooked +onto me backward. I had meant to sail out bravely, blind eyes facing +into the sunset; instead, I faced the crowd as I soared away, so I made +the most of a bad situation and threw them a snappy military salute. +Then I was out in the fresh air and away. + +When I lifted the plate and poked holes in the seared plastic, I could +see the pyramid growing smaller behind me, water gushing out of the base +and a happy crowd of reptiles sporting in its radioactive rush. I +counted off on my talons to see if I had forgotten anything. + +One: The beacon was repaired. + +Two: The door was sealed, so there should be no more sabotage, +accidental or deliberate. + +Three: The priests should be satisfied. The water was running again, my +eyes had been duly burned out, and they were back in business. Which +added up to-- + +Four: The fact that they would probably let another repairman in, under +the same conditions, if the beacon conked out again. At least I had done +nothing, like butchering a few of them, that would make them +antagonistic toward future ancestral messengers. + +I stripped off my tattered lizard suit back in the ship, very glad that +it would be some other repairman who'd get the job. + +--HARRY HARRISON + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + +This etext was produced from _Galaxy_ February 1958. 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