The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell ssr-10

by Harry Harrison

  “A minor matter…”

  “Look bowb, who do you think you are just walking up here and asking questions? I worked for Slakey for years. I hire the roughnecks, chippies, brickies, the whole lot. I order building materials, build what he asks me to build like adding to this fun park here. He never asks questions—just pays the bills I send him. It’s a cash deal.”

  “I don’t like this guy,” one of the workers growled. A particularly obnoxious one with bulging biceps. “You said there would be no trouble when we signed on, Grusher. Secret location for business reasons. Knocked us out before we came here. Good money and good hours and everything in cash.”

  “You from the tax people?” another equally ugly worker asked.

  “He’s the tax man,” Bulging Biceps said as he pulled the spud wrench from the loop in his belt.

  “Make him welcome,” Grusher said, smiling coldly, as they moved in a circle about me. “He’s interested in cement—well, we’re pouring concrete today. Let’s give him a closer lookfrom down inside.”

  I jumped aside so that the wrench whistled by me, then ducked under a wild punch. I’m good at self—defense—but not this good. Nine, ten to one and all fit and obnoxious. And closing in.

  “You’re right!” I shouted. “And you’re all under arrest for tax invasion. Now go quietly…”

  They roared in anger and hurled their muscled forms forward. “Take me home!” I thought. “Now!”

  I crashed into the metal panel on the machine, hung there spread—eagled.

  “Professor… cut the power.

  “Sorry,” Coypu said, “I knew I forgot something. Meant to make those adjustments before you came back.”

  He touched a button and I slumped to the floor, There was an open bottle of beer on his console; I stumbled over and drained it. “What have you discovered?”

  “Very little. My heavenly tour was just beginning. There is a suburb of Heaven named Valhalla with a pretty rough crowd and not my idea of heaven. Then there is Paradise, which is still being built. I better keep on looking. So I just popped back for a beer and to let you know what was going on. A little trouble there, nothing to mention. If Angelina should ask about me say that everything is going fine. Now—can you send me back, but not quite to the same spot if you don’t mind?”

  “Not a problem since I have calibrated the spherical locator during your absence. Would a kilometer laterally do?”

  “Fine.” I opened the garage door a crack, saw only blue sky and green grass. “This will be great. See you later.” I stepped through and felt the sun warm on my back. A light breeze was blowing and wafting some small clouds in my direction, drifting slowly above my head.

  There were more of them appearing, some even drifting against the wind which was ominous. One of them floated by in the other direction. It tinkled—and more. Was that laughter coming from it? It drifted along and I drifted after it. Along a path of sorts that had been trodden in the grass. Then, far ahead. I saw a white structure of some kind that topped a distant hill. Another puffy cloud drifted after the first one, chiming pleasantly as well. Follow the path, that seemed obvious. It was made of yellow bricks that wore resiliently soft. A cloud of birds was swirling about above the road ahead. At least I thought that they were birds. I quickly changed my mind about this when I got closer. They were pink and round, with little white wings that were surely too small to support them. They began to look very familiar.

  When I had done my religious research about Heaven—and Hell—I had been most taken by the illustrations. It soon became clear that all of the religions of history, while being pretty divisive for the most part, had on the other hand provided plenty of artistic inspiration. Poems and songs, books and paintings, architecture, as well as some strange and interesting sculpture. Somewhere in all those data banks I had seen these pink pirouetters.

  They circled ever closer until I stopped and bulged my eyes at them.

  They were little, fat, pink babies hovering on hazy wings. All of them had golden curls of hair on their heads and were of indeterminate sex. I say this because they all had what appeared to be wispy lengths of silky cloth about their loins. They fluttered closer until they were circling above my head like a cloud of gnats; I strongly resisted the impulse to leap up and get one by the leg for a closer look. They circled and smiled and laughed aloud with a sound like tiny tinkling bells.

  Then they pointed and stirred with excitement for coming towards us was another flock of the same little creatures. The new lot appeared to be carrying guns of some kind; I looked for cover. “Shame, Jim” I said when they had fluttered closer. “You’ve got a nasty and suspicious mind.” They weren’t carrying guns but instead were armed with tiny golden harps. They strummed as they flew, swooping into a circling formation with the first lot. I sat down on the yellow brick road to watch. And discovered that the road was warm as well as soft. After an arpeggio of plaintive pluckings, the entire airborne swarm burst into song. It was nice enough, though a little high—pitched for my liking, and sung in an unfamiliar language.

  “Die enffuhrung aus dem SeraiIP’ one chirrupy lot sang as they swooped away. But another bunch had already fluttered into position to have a go of their own.

  “Per queste sue manine, In quale eccessi, mi tradei, un baclo de mano…

  This was followed by a song in Esperanto. I could understand it, although I wasn’t quite sure what it was about.

  “Profunde ii elfosis mm Bele ii masonis mm, Aire Ii konstruis mm. Sed Bil—Auld esrasforirinta.

  And so forth. The singing was not bad, at first, but a little too tinkling and twittery for my tastes. They could have done with a couple of good bassos to back them up.

  It all finally ended on a high—piercing note that made my teeth hurt. They swirled upward and away.

  “Great,” I called after them. Then an afterthought. “Is there a good bar or cantina nearby?” Only the sound of high—pitched laughter sounded from above. “Thanks a lot,” I muttered sourly. Stood and scuffed down the road trying to ignore my growing thirst. The white building on the hill appeared no closer and the sun was hot on my shoulders. But a turn in the road held out some promise of succor. A little plaid tent of some kind was set up beside the road. Gilt chairs with ornate arms were arrayed on the grass before it. A woman in a white dress sat on one of the chairs sipping from a golden mug.

  She smiled broadly at me as I. approached. A rather fixed smile that did not change—nor did her eyes move to follow me. More frosted mugs were on a table in the tent. I took up one, sniffed and tasted it; cold sweet and definitely alcoholic.

  “Not bad,” I said in my most friendly manner. She did not turn her head or reply. I went and sat in the chair next to hers. A very attractive woman, firm of breast and fair of brow. I was glad that Angelina wasn’t here, for the moment at least, and I leaned forward.

  “Do you come here often?” I asked, all conversational originality. But at least it did get her attention. She turned her head slowly and fixed her dark and lovely eyes upon me, opened moist red lips. “Is it time to go already?” she husked richly, put her glass down, rose and left.

  “Well, Jim—you do have a way with women,” I mused and drank my drink. Then blinked quickly as she stepped onto the yellow brick road and vanished. It was quite abrupt and soundless. I walked over and looked but there was no trace of a trapdoor or device of any kind.

  “Slakey!” I said, spun about, but I was alone. “Was she here on one of your day tours, a quick look at Heaven then back to the checkbook?” I remembered what Coypu had said about the narcotic gas in the air here; she had really looked stoned, on that and the drink maybe. I put mine down without finishing it.

  Refreshed enough, I went on. A twist in the road led through a flowered ravine and I saw that the building on the hill was now closer and clearer. Gracious white marble columns supported a gilded roof. As I came close I saw that stone steps led up from the road. I stopped as they began to move.

&nbs
p; “A Heaven—sized escalator,” I said, eyeing them with glum suspicion. “You have been observed Jim—or have actuated some concealed switch.”

  There seemed to be no point in retreating. My presence was known—and after all I was here to investigate. So I did: Stepping gingerly onto the steps that carried me gracefully up to my destination.

  A large single room tilled the interior of the building, with blue sky visible between the columns that framed it. A shining marble floor, dust and blemish free, stretched to the throne at the far end. A man sat there, old and plump with white hair, occasionally strumming a chord on the harp he held. If nothing else, Heaven was surely big on harps. A golden halo floated above his head.

  As I walked closer, the noble head turned towards me, the halo bobbing and moving with it. He nodded and the lips turned up in a smile.

  “Welcome to Heaven, James Bolivar diGriz,” he said.

  The voice was rich and warm, the profile familiar.

  “Professor Slakey, I presume?”

  Chapter 17

  I was sorely tempted to think get me out of here and take me home but restrained myself. I had a foolproof means of escape, or so Coypu had reassured me, and my escape from the building site had proved him right, so I should hang around for a bit. I wasn’t being threatened, at least not yet, and this was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission.

  “No hard feelings?” I asked. “Should there be?”

  “You tell me. The last time we met, or I met with a number of your incarnations, mayhem and murder seemed to be the name of the game.” “Of course. Hell.” He nodded. “I wasn’t there but of course I was aware of what was happening. That was very good salami—you must give me the name of your supplier.”

  This conversation was getting a little surrealistic, but I decided to press on. This was the first time I had talked to Slakey without some kind of instant violence in the offing.

  “Where is Heaven?” I asked.

  “All around you. Isn’t it enjoyable?”

  “Is this the Heaven the seriously religious hope to go to when they die?”

  “Pleasant, isn’t it? Did you enjoy the cherubs?” He smiled benignly. I decided to be a little more direct.

  “Why are you here in Heaven?”

  “The same reason you are.”

  “Let’s get down to facts. You are a crook with a number of cons. A murderer as well, since you shipped all those people off to Hell. And you have been giving suckers daytrips to Heaven. To a variety of Heavens.” He pursed his lips and nodded as though in thought.

  “If you say so, dear boy. I want no dissension in Heaven.”

  “What is the purpose of all this? What are you doing with all the money you bamboozle Out of people?”

  This time the cold look in his eye was pure Slakey. “You are getting tiresome, Jim. And boring. And a bit of a nuisance don’t you think so?”

  Now that he mentioned it I realized that I wasn’t exactly being the life of the party. “I’m sorry, Professor. I’m not usually like this.”

  “Apology accepted, of course. It’s so nice here in Heaven that we shouldn’t quarrel. There—why don’t you sit down there and rest?”

  There was a chair beside me that hadn’t been there an instant before. A good thing too since he was right, I really was tired. Very, very tired. I dropped into it. Slakey nodded again.

  “Time to get comfortable, Jim. Take off your boots, stretch your toes—”

  What a good idea—or was it? What was wrong with it? I couldn’t quite remember. Meanwhile I was taking off one boot, then the other, and tossing them aside.

  Slakey smiled toothily and snapped his fingers and my lassittide vanished. The boot heel! Get me out of here! I blasted the thought out so loudly that it rattled around inside my skull.

  The boots were gone and nothing had happened. Or rather something not too nice happened, because when I jumped to my feet and turned to run I fell flat on my face. Staring at the golden bracelet around my ankle. Attached to a length of gilt chain that vanished into the ground.

  “Good trick,” he said sternly, although it came out a little squeakily. I climbed to my feet and sat down again in the chair. “Not really. You are a stupid little man and very easy to outthink. Didn’t you realize that your undetectable device would be detected? An interuniversal activator indeed! I sneer at it. My science is so far ahead of yours that I hesitate to describe the difference. Not only my science but my intellect. Mere child’s play to outwit you. First I used hypnotic gas to make you amenable, then it was only a matter of simple suggestion to control a simple mind. You were happy to turn over your boots to me. Along with your life, you must realize. I am the master of science, of life and death; time and entropy!”

  Also one brick short of a load, one nut short of a nutcake, I thought grimly. It was not going to be easy to get out of this one.

  “You are indeed,” I said with all sincerity. “But you are also a man of mystery as well. With all your talents why are you going to all the trouble setting up your con games?”

  He chose not to answer; insane or not he kept his secrets.

  And he was beginning to lose his temper.

  “Wispy, time—shortened man—do you know how old I am?”

  “No, but I’m sure that you will tell me. Not that I really care.”

  I turned away and yawned and watched out of the corner of my eye as his face turned purple.

  “You have strained my patience, diGriz. You must show respect and, yes, awe for someone like me—who is over eight thousand years old!”

  “Amazing!” I said. “I wouldn’t pick you as a year over seven thousand.”

  “Enough!” he raged, leaping to his feet. “I am tired of you. Therefore I now condemn you to Purgatory. Bring him.” This last command was directed at a hulking, man—shaped robot that came clanking up the stairs. It was dented and scarred, red with rust and coated with black dust. One electronic eye glowed balefully; the other had been torn out of its socket. It stamped towards me and I quailed back, so great was the thing’s insensate menace. It hissed and bent, reached out and with its sharp—bladed fingers it cut the chain that secured me. I jumped away—but it caught’ me in midair with clutching hands the size of shovels. Grabbed me and crushed me to its metal chest, its grip unbreakable and painful. Fat and white—haired Slakey grunted with the effort as he pulled himself to his feet and waddled away, my captor clomping after him. Down the stairs we went and out onto the yellow brick road. Slakey stamped his foot and there was a slathering, liquid sound as the road lifted up like a great yellow tongue. A dark pit was revealed from which rose a dreadful stench. “The doomed enter Purgatory,” he intoned. “None return. Go.”

  My captive robot, still clutching me, leaned forward. More and more. Until we dropped face—first down into the pit.

  There have been a number of times in my adventurous life when I have strongly wished I was elsewhere. This was definitely one of them. My past life did not flash before me, but the jagged stone walls certainly did. They were lit by a ruddy glow from below that we were rapidly approaching at what must be terminal velocity.

  Was this the way it was going to end? Not with a whimper, but with a resounding crash when my metallic captor hit the ground. Which was rushing towards us far too fast. A bleak, black landscape lit by sporadic gouts of flame. I wriggled ineffectively in the robot’s iron grasp.

  Then we juddered and slowed and I almost slipped out of the thing’s embrace as deceleration hit it. But it just clamped harder on my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

  With a resounding clang we hit the ground and I crashed down as the thing let go of me. Before I could get my breath back it had me by the arm and was dragging me along. I had very little choice; I went. Limping because the stony ground was exceedingly hard on my stockinged feet. I wished that I was back in Heaven with my boots.

  What I could see of the surroundings was far from inspiring. A miasma hung in the air that not only stank but irrit
ated my air passages as well. I coughed and, as though in ghastly echo, there was the sound of heavy coughing from up ahead.

  We went around a mound of crushed rock and I saw the cause.

  Stretching Out and vanishing into the distance, barely revealed by the ruddy light, were long, low, almost table—like structures of some kind. Standing along both sides were bent figures with their arms extended. They were doing something, just what I could not say. As we passed close to one of the structures there was a rumbling sound and from the mouth of an apparatus there fell a mass of some dark powdered substance. A wisp of it came my way and I coughed again for this was the source of the stench and irritation.

  It was difficult to see clearly what was going on since my metallic captor neither slowed nor stumbled, just dragged me forward steadily. Yet, since the scene repeated itself over and over, I began to see what was happening. I couldn’t understand it—but I could observe it.

  The dust was flowing, or being carried, slowly down the length of the table—like constructions. The laborers, they were all women I could see now, ran their fingers over the surface.

  That was all they did, slowly and repetitiously, never looking up, never stopping. One of them picked up something, I could not tell what it was, and dropped it into a container at her side.

  I dragged by.

  By far the worst part was there total lack of interest or attention to anything other than their work. I would have certainly looked up if a giant, decrepit robot dragged someone by me. They did not.

  We passed more and more of them. All engaged in the same mysterious task, silently and continuously. This went on for a very long time. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of laboring women. Then we were past the last ones and I was being hauled off into the semidarkness.

  “I say, good robot guide, where are you taking me?” It plodded on. I pried at its clamped fingers. “Cease!” I shouted.