“Threw it into the ocean—it was just a worthless lump of metal. And I remember! Slakey said something like whatever my weapon was, it wouldn’t work. So he does not know that we used the TI when we went to that church to grab his machine.”
“In that case there is no reason why we cannot use the TI along with the time fixator.”
“We’ll do it! Hit hard without warning, during one of the services when we know that Slakey will be there. Freeze them all in time with the TI, walk in and put the TF on Slakey’s head and make a copy of everything there. Can that be done, Professor?”
“Of course. Both machines operate on basically the same principle. They can be connected by an interlock switch. It will turn off the TI just as it turns on the TF, and will reverse the process a millisecond later.”
I was rubbing my hands together in happy anticipation. “Freeze them solid, stroll in and pump his memories dry, walk out—and when we are well clear turn off the TI back in church. The Slakey service and operation will then go on as usual since he will have no idea that we have copied his mind. But we will need a bigger machine, something that will stop them and keep them frozen in a time stasis, everyone in the building. With a much bigger neutralization field than last time, which only protected a few operators. We will have to open doors to get inside the building.”
For Professor Coypu all things scientific were like unto child’s play. “I envisage no problems. There will be a large TI that will produce a field exactly the shape and size of the building you wish to enter. Time will stop and no one will be able to move in or out. Except you. Your TII, temporal inhibitor inhibitor, will cover you alone.”
“Not alone,” Angelina said. “Not ever again. It makes good sense to have aid and backup. Shall we do it?”
We were looking forward to a small family-sized operation, but Inskipp, who had spies and electronic snoopers everywhere, complained as soon as he heard about how the operation was planned. I obeyed his royal command and appeared at his office.
“Sincerely, do we really need more than four people?” I asked.
“Sincerely, the number of operators involved in this operation is not the point. It’s your nepotism at work that bothers me. This is a Special Corps operation and it is going to be run by Special Corps rules. Not by familial felicity.”
“How can there be rules for use of a temporal inhibitor to be used to get a time fixator into a church? Show me where it says that in the rules!”
“When I say rules I mean my rules. You are going to take another special agent with you so I will know just what is going on.”
“Who?”
“Sybil. I am sending her ahead to survey the target.”
“Agreed. Then all systems are go?”
“Go.” He pointed at the door and I was gone.
The machines were manufactured and tested, but it was almost a week before our interplanetary travel in a warpdrive cruiser was completed. We left the military at the orbital station and went planetside in a shuttle along with a number of cruise ship passengers. Like them we were holiday makers in holiday clothes, with nothing in our luggage except a few souvenirs; our weapons and equipment were going down in a diplomatic pouch.
“For old times’ sake I have booked us all into the most luxurious hotel in town—the Zlato-Zlato.”
“Why is that name familiar?” Angelina asked. “Isn’t that the same hotel where we stayed, where that horrible gray man tried to kill you?”
“The same—and you saved my life.”
“Memories,” she said, smiling warmly. “Memories … .”
When we reached the hotel the manager himself was there to greet us. Tall and handsome, a touch of gray at the temples, bowing and smiling.
“Welcome to Cliaand, General and Mrs. James diGriz and sons. Doubly welcome on your return visit.”
“Is that you, Ostrov? Still here?”
“Of course, General. I own the hotel now.”
“Any assassins booked in?”
“Not this time. May I show you to your suite?”
There was a fine sitting room, glass-walled on one side with a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside. But James and Bolivar cried aloud with pleasure at a spectacular view of their own.
“Sybil!” they said while she smiled warm greetings.
“Target survey completed?” I asked, hating to intrude business into all this pleasure.
“All here,” she said, handing me a briefcase. “There will be a solemn assembly of the Sorority of the Bleating Lamb tomorrow morning at eleven.”
“We shall be there—if our equipment arrives on time.”
“Already arrived. The large trunk over there with the skull and crossbones patterns on it.”
Angelina had a lovely time passing out the weapons while I unpacked the time fixator, which very cunningly had a casing constructed to resemble a Cliaand burglar alarm. It would stick to the outside wall of the assembly hall of the Sorority of the Bleating Lamb where it would attract no notice. Nor could it be dislodged once activated since it would be frozen in time along with the building. I popped out the holoscreen and fed in the building’s dimensions and shape from Sybil’s complete and efficient report.
“Done,” I said happily. I clipped the metal case of the TII, the temporal inhibitor inhibitor, to my belt and actuated it. Nothing happened until I pressed the red button on the case that turned on the TI. Silence fell. But nothing else did. My family and Sybil were frozen, immobile in time. I turned it off; sound and movement returned. All the machines were in working order, all systems go.
There was celebration this night, dining and drinking and dancing, but early to bed. Next morning, a few minutes after eleven, my merry band was strolling down Glupost Avenue, admiring the scenery—but admiring Angelina even more where she stood on the corner waving to us. The wire from her earphone led to the musicman that she was wearing, which was really an eavesdropper amplifier.
“That stained-glass window up there,” she said, pointing unobtrusively, “is in their assembly hall. Slakey’s vile voice is vibrating the glass and I can hear him far too clearly. He is in the middle of some porcuswine-wash pontificating.”
“Time,” I said, and we joined arms and strolled happily across the street, dodging the pedcabs and goatmobiles. The rest of us went on while Bolivar stepped into the alleyway beside the building and pressed his beach bag against the wall. The beach bag cover stripped away and a handsome burglar alarm hung in its place. No one on the street had noticed. He rejoined us as we approached the front door.
“This is it, guys,” I said. “Showtime.”
I turned on the TII, then the TI. Nothing happened. Nothing happened that anyone could see that is. But the building and its contents were frozen now in time. Would remain that way—for an hour or a year—until I turned the machine off. The people inside would feel nothing, know nothing. Though they might be puzzled by the fact that their watches all seemed to be reading the same wrong time.
“James, the door if you please.”
The field of my TII interacted with the field of the TI and released the front door from time stasis. James pulled it open, closed it behind us, and we marched into the building. Once the door was closed not even an atom bomb would be able to open it. Such power I possessed!
“The big double doors ahead,” Sybil said.
“The ones with the blue baa-baas on them?” She nodded.
“Despicable taste,” Angelina said and her arm holster whipped her gun out and back in microseconds. She was looking for trouble and I hoped she didn’t find it.
The boys each took a handle—and pulled when I nodded. There, directly ahead of us and staring at us was Slakey.
Reflex whipped out six guns, Angelina had one in each hand, which were slowly replaced.
Like his frozen audience, Slakey was pinned into an instant of time. Mouth open in full smarmy flight, fixed beads of perspiration on his brow. Not a pretty sight.
We wal
ked around his audience and up the steps to his pulpit. “Are you ready my love?” I asked Angelina.
“Never readier.”
She reached out and placed the contact disk of the temporal inhibitor against the side of his head, just above his ear. She nodded and I touched the button.
Nothing that we could observe happened. But for that brief millisecond the TII field had been turned off and the machine had sucked a copy of Slakey’s memory, his intelligence, his every thought into its electronic recesses.
“The readout reads full!” Angelina said.
“Slakey, you devil from Heaven and Hell,” I exulted. “I have you now!”
CHAPTER 25
I WORRIED AT A FINGERNAIL with my incisors, waiting for something to go wrong. Slakey had been one step ahead of us every time so far—and not one of our operations against him had ever succeeded to any measurable degree. We had avoided disaster only through heroic efforts and last-minute leaps. It did not seem possible that on this occasion everything had worked according to plan. I had both hands around the TF; I kept it with me at all times. Now it sat on my lap as the shuttle eased into Special Corps Prime Base. I looked at the needle, as I had hundreds, thousands of times before, and it was up against the red post that read full.
Full of Professor Justin Slakey? It had better be.
It was an expectant crowd that assembled in the laboratory. Even Berkk was there, fully recovered from the brain operation and now enjoying some much deserved R and R. The talking died away and a hushed silence prevailed when I presented, almost ceremoniously, the TF to an expectant Professor Coypu.
“Is he in there?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not.” He tapped the dial. “Reads full. We’ll see. But of course there remains the major problem. How do we get Slakey out of this TF? I can’t feed him into another machine—there would still be no way to access him. I need a human host. You will remember what that is like, Jim, when you used my brain and memories to build a time machine.”
“I let you take over my own gray matter. It was not nice. And you left me a note saying it was the hardest thing you ever did, to switch the TF off after you had built the temporal helix. To literally commit suicide.”
“Exactly. We need a volunteer to be plugged into this TF so that a madman can control his brain and body. And Slakey will not want to leave once he is there. Not too tempting a prospect. So—with those facts in mind, who will volunteer?”
This got a very impressive silent silence as everyone present thought hard about it. I realized that I had better volunteer again, better me than my wife or sons. But as I opened my mouth Berkk spoke up.
“Professor, I think you have your man. I owe you people an awful lot, owe Jim who got me out of the rock works, owe Angelina who got us out of that hell in Heaven. I was dying down there with the others. I owe my life to you both and I don’t want to see you or your sons, or Sybil, letting this nutcase near their gray matter. Just one question, Professor Coypu. Are you sure you can get him out—and get me back in when it is all over?”
Coypu nodded furiously. “Can be done, no doubt, just blast him out with a neural charge if I have to.”
“Wonderful—what will happen to the me in there if you do that?”
“Interesting thought. A neural blast cleans everything out and sets the synapses back to neutral. But—not to worry. We’ll make a recording of ypu in a different TF. This technique works quite well, as Jim will tell you. So whatever happens with Slakey, in the end we will get yourself back inside yourself.”
“All right.” He rose to his feet slowly, his face very pale under the dark scars. “Do it quickly before I have a chance to change my mind.”
Quickly really was very quick with Coypu. He must have been holding a psycho blaster in his lap because there was a loud humming and Berkk folded. Angelina and I were there to catch him before he hit the floor.
A padded operating table rolled out of the massed machinery and we placed him gently on it. Coypu got to work. He took an empty TF from the shelf and plugged it into the back of Berkk’s head. Worked the controls and nodded happily. “There. This very brave young man can now go back on the shelf. If Slakey causes trouble I will then zap him out of the neurons and get Berkk back with this. Now—to work.”
He seized up the Slakey TF and placed it onto the workbench, then slipped a multiganged plug into the TF’s socket. He ran an electronic check of the contents before reeling out the contact and connecting it to Berkk’s head.
“Wait,” I said. He stopped. “How about securing Berkk’s body in place so he doesn’t hurt himself—or us.”
“I will have him securely under electronic control—”
“Slakey has never been under control in the past. So let us be sure and take no chances now.”
Coypu threw a few switches and padded clamps hummed out from below the table. I locked them securely into place on ankles and wrists. Found a large belt and secured that around his waist and nodded to Coypu. He put the final connection into place, then threw some more switches as he swung a microphone down in front of his mouth.
“You are asleep. Very much asleep. But you can hear me. Hear my words. You will not wake up. But you will hear me. Can you hear me?”
The speaker rustled a bit and there was a sound like a sigh. Then the words, almost inaudible:
“I can hear you.”
“That’s very good.” He turned up the amplification a bit. “Now, tell me—who are you?”
I don’t know why they are called pregnant silences, perhaps because they are pregnant with possibilities. This one had all kinds of possibilities. The loudspeaker rustled again.
“My name is … Justin Slakey …”
Who can blame us for shouting with joy. We had done it!
Not quite. Berkk, or his body, was writhing and fighting against the bonds. He bit his lips until they bled. Then his eyes opened.
“What are you doing to me? Are you trying to kill me? I’ll kill you first …”
The writhing stopped and he dropped back heavily as Coypu let him have it with his handy psycho blaster.
It was not going to be easy. Even with James helping, a far more skilled hypnotist than Coypu, it was impossible to exercise any control over Slakey. Just about the time they would hypnotize one Slakey another would take over. And all the subsequent thrashing about wasn’t doing Berkk’s body much good, what with fighting against the restraints, chewing on his lips and so forth.
“Time for some professional help,” Coypu said. “Dr. Mastigophora is on his way. He is the leading clinical psychosemanticist in the Corps.”
“Super-shrink?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
Dr. Mastigophora was lean to the point of emaciation, all sinew and leather, carrying an instrument case and sporting a great growth of gray hair. “I assume that is the patient?” he said, pointing a long and knobby finger.
“It is,” Coypu said. Mastigophora glared around at his audience.
“Everyone out of here,” he ordered as he opened his instrument case. “With the single exception of Professor Coypu.”
“There is a physical problem with the patient,” I explained. “We don’t want him to hurt the body, which is only on loan.”
“Up to your mind-swapping tricks again, hey Coypu? One of these days you will go too far—” He looked at me and scowled. “I said out and I mean out. All of you.”
As he said this he sprang forward and seized my wrist and applied a very good armlock. Of course I let him do it since I don’t beat up on doctors. He was strong and good enough—I hoped—to handle Berkk’s body in an emergency. I left with the others as soon as he let go.
A number of hours passed and we were beginning to yawn and head for bed when the communicator buzzed. Angelina and I were wanted in the lab.
Coypu and Mastigophora were slouched deep in their chairs trying to outmatch each other in looking depressed..
“Impossible,” Mastigophora m
oaned. “No control, can’t erect blocks, can’t access, terrible. It’s the multiple personality thing, you see. My colleague has explained that Professor Slakey has in some unspecified manner multiplied his body, or bodies. His brain or brains or personality is in constant communica tion or something like that. It sounds like absolute porcuswine-wash. But I have seen it in action. I can do nothing.”
“Nothing,” Coypu echoed hollowly.
“Nothing?” I shouted. “There has to be something!”
“Nothing …” they intoned together.
“There is something,” Angelina said, ever the practical one. “Forget Slakey and get back to looking into the guts of your interuniversal machine. Surely there has to be some way to get it working again.”
Coypu shook his head looking, if possible, even gloomier. “While Dr. Mastigophora was brain-draining I tackled the problem again. I even stopped all the other projects that were running in the Special Corps Prime Base Central Computer. In case you didn’t know it, the SCPBCC is the largest, fastest and most powerful computer ever built in the entire history of mankind.” He turned on the visiscreen and pointed. “Do you see that satellite out there? Almost a third the size of this entire station. That’s not a satellite—that’s the computer. I had it working flat out on this problem and this problem alone. I used the equivalent of about one billion years of computer time.”
“And?”
“It has tackled this question from every point of view in every way. And the conclusion was the same every time. It is impossible to alter the access frequencies in the interuniversal commutator.”
“But it happened?” I said.
“Obviously.”
“Nothing is obvious to me!” I was very tired and my temper was shredding and all this gloom and doom was beginning to be very irritating. I jumped to my feet, walked over to the shiny steel control console, looked at its blinking lights and tracing graphs. And kicked it. I hurt my toe but at least I had the pleasure of seeing one of the needles on a meter jump a bit. I started to bring my foot back for another kick. And froze.
The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell Page 21