Bergen frowned, and looked around. The situation seemed to make no sense. But the apparent senselessness might itself be part of the test.
Bergen carefully sat up and looked around the room. A double-bitted ax with broken handle lay on the rough plank floor across the room. A long-barreled gun had been slammed against a corner of the stone fireplace with enough force to chip the stone and knock the gun barrel out of line. The gun lay on the floor near the ax. A number of smashed handmade tables, chairs and benches made several heaps of wreckage that cluttered the room. Large chunks had been chopped out of the log wall, and chips were strewn around on the floor amidst the wrecked furniture, ax, and gun. The general effect was as if someone had gone into a maniacal rage, and wrecked everything in sight. As Bergen’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see the remains of a smashed earthenware bowl, and bits and pieces of what had evidently once been a rough window glazed with a cheap transparent plastic.
Evidently, he was on a colony planet of the most primitive kind. And, somewhere nearby, was whoever had been driven half-crazy by the conditions that just naturally existed on such a colony planet.
Bergen cautiously put one hand on the foot of the cot, and leaned on it to step across a pile of debris. The cot teetered and collapsed. Bergen was struggling to regain his balance when a billet of wood came through the open window and struck him in the back of the neck, knocking him into a pile of broken furniture with jutting legs and braces. One of these caught him in the middle of the forehead. He saw a dazzling burst of sparks.
Outside, someone spat.
Bergen dizzily picked himself up. His head was throbbing painfully. In the previous tests, he’d at least had a definite purpose. Now, he was told to manifest some obscure quality that was supposed to distinguish successful gunmen, politicians, businessmen, and generals. Bergen snorted. He wasn’t even sure there was any such quality.
From outside came a deep male voice. “Coming out? Or do I drag you out?”
A burst of laughter followed, as if two or more men were outside, enjoying the situation.
Bergen was now sure that he must be on a colony planet in an early stage of development. Only on such a planet would he be likely to find a roughly-built log cabin, with ax and gun used as tools, and with a light plastic, flown in by the supply ship, to serve the function of glass.
As he was thinking this, the cabin door flew open, and an individual whose shoulders spanned the doorframe came in, glanced around and slung a billet of wood at him.
Bergen ducked. His opponent sprang across a pile of trash, gripped him by the shirt and slammed him against the log wall. There was a burst of lights, then blackness and dizziness.
The colonel’s voice was saying, “You’re very close to failing this test, Bergen. If your total score had been a little lower in the other tests, we’d flunk you now. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone with a brain in his head could have made better use of his time than you have. The room was filled with potential weapons. You had more than enough time to collect one. Instead, you did your meditating on the situation before you were armed, even though that block of wood in the back of the neck should have shown you had enemies. When your opponent came in, his vision was momentarily dim because of the bright light outside. But he found you in full view and empty-handed. Your performance so far is pathetic.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks to this pitiful start, the simulator has you on a track where you’ll find yourself completely at the mercy of petty opponents. This is going to be an unpleasant experience. If your performance is no better than it’s been so far, you’d be better off to stop now. If you want, we’ll end the test.”
“No, sir. I want to go on.”
“You’re warned, Bergen.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“All right.”
Bergen felt dizzy.
A voice was saying, “Tickle him again, Con.”
“Happy to, Milt.”
A white-hot pincers took hold of the calf of Bergen’s right leg and tore out a piece of flesh.
The pain snapped Bergen wide-awake. He found himself sitting up, his back toward the outer edge of the cabin’s porch, with two men bent over him, one of them holding in a leather glove what looked like a large insect. Bergen tried to spring to his feet, but his hands, tied behind his back, jerked him off balance, so that his head banged back against a badly weathered post that supported the porch roof.
A familiar voice said, “Let him see how they taste, Con.”
The nearer man leaned toward him, forced open Bergen’s mouth and shoved something in. A multitude of sharp claws scraped at his tongue, teeth, and the inside of his mouth.
Bergen was wide-awake again. For an instant, he felt an uprush of rage. But then a sense of cold calculation told him that, in this spot, the rage wouldn’t work. Bergen concentrated on this cool inner thought, nearly lost it, then brought it into full awareness, and suddenly he was perfectly cool himself, his mind concentrated on finding some opening. After a moment’s intense thought, he saw one possibility—then an instant later he saw another. And then his thoughts moved from point to point like a lightning bolt seeking the line of least resistance, and suddenly he had a plan.
Bergen shifted his position to test his wrists and ankles. He wrists were tightly tied. His legs were free. No one was in sight save the two men bent over him. One of these was the broad-shouldered man, apparently named Milt, who had knocked him out. The other was an older man, called “Con,” who now jammed the large struggling many-clawed insect further into Bergen’s mouth.
Bergen turned slightly, his left foot hooking behind the left ankle of the broad-shouldered Milt, his right leg drawing back as if he would try to roll to his left to get up. At the same time, he expelled the air in his mouth, closing his lips without clenching his teeth.
He slammed his right foot forward, to hit the broad-shouldered Milt at the left knee. Bergen’s left foot was already hooked behind Milt’s left ankle. Milt slammed back against the wall of the cabin.
But this was only one part of his problem. Meanwhile, the big insect squirmed violently in his mouth, its light and air cut off. Bergen opened his mouth slightly. The insect urgently thrust out into the light and Bergen spat it towards the other of the two men, who sprang back out of the way.
Bergen got his feet under him and stood up, his hands, still tied together behind him, around the post of the porch. The post felt about five inches thick, was smooth to the touch, and soft enough so that his fingernails could dig into the surface.
Meanwhile, the older of the two men, Con, was just reaching to pick up a billet of wood from a stack at the corner of the cabin. His large friend, Milt, was starting to get to his feet, a savage light in his eyes. To either side were tumbled-down cabins, with no one else in sight but a woman who now leaned against the front wall of the nearest cabin, impassively watching the fight. Bergen cast a glance over his shoulder. Behind him was a large furrowed weedy field dotted with mounds from three to fifteen feet across, and from two to ten feet high. The whole place had a desolate, deserted look.
At the corner of the porch, Con had now selected his bolt of wood, and Milt was on his feet.
Bergen was facing Milt, with the post at the center of his back. He glanced at Con. “What’s the matter? Milt too yellow to fight his own fight?”
Con glanced at Milt. Milt hurled himself at Bergen. Bergen dropped.
Milt hit the post solidly.
With a splintering crack, the post gave way.
Bergen, twisting as he fell, landed heavily on his side, his hands still tied around the post, the dazed Milt on top of him.
Bergen wormed his way along the post, and got his still-tied hands over the end.
Con was now coming toward him, holding a billet of wood ready to throw. Bergen rolled to his feet, and jumped onto the porch.
The earthenware jug with the corncob cork still sat there on the windowsill. Bergen remembered the sigh of pleasure he’d heard earlier.
“Throw that, and I smash the jug.”
Con hesitated. Bergen climbed in the window, twisted, and closed his fingers around the neck of the jug. “Start trouble and I smash it.”