Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns

by Harry Harrison

  We let the horses have their heads, trotting slowly towards our destiny. I hoped our next encounters would be as successful. We passed a large group of men carrying what looked like a long pole down the middle of the road.

  “Move aside!” I snarled. And of course they did, stumbling and half-dropping their burden. We rode by, not bothering to even look at their plight. It was very easy to slide into the bullying mode. Angelina was obviously thinking the same thing.

  “I wonder what will happen when we meet someone who outbullies us?” she said, ruminatively.

  I had no easy answer. We trotted forward, slower now since the road, bit by bit, was filling up with more and more people.

  “Buildings ahead,” she said pointing over their massed heads at the rough wooden structures by the road. As we got closer we could see the shapes of the spaceport buildings looming up behind them.

  “Now,” I said, thwacking my frapilo against my leg, “we’ll soon find out how far up the chain of bullying command we are.”

  Our horses were moving slower and slower as the crowd grew thicker, until we were almost at a standstill.

  “This is no good,” Angelina said, pulling on her reins as her horse tried to rear up, frightened of the pushing people.

  “Best to dismount,” I said. “We’re beginning to draw attention.”

  As soon as we were on the ground the massed figures closed in. There was only one way out of this. “Lead your horse!” I called to Angelina, lashing out at the backs of the nearest of the marching morons. There were no protests as they pushed others to get away. Angry—and claustrophobic—I used my frapilo to clear a path for my horse—and saw that Angelina was close behind. Then we were free of the crowd and on the trampled grass beside the road.

  “This is a thoroughly disgusting planet—and the sooner we leave it the happier I will be,” Angelina said, breathing deeply.

  “No arguments from me. As soon as we finish our job in the spaceport.”

  Behind us the milling crowd kept moving, following those ahead of them towards a fenced area ahead that led off the road. Guards made sure they all went slowly in the same direction. Clubbing back into the mob the ones who strayed. Milling about like ants they eventually were all going together towards a long, low structure by the road. We stayed on the outskirts of the mob, then had to leave the roadside verge to pass behind the focus of all the activity.

  It was feeding time for the animals. Which explained the walking, stumbling, surging mob scene behind us.

  “This is not human,” Angelina said, slowly shaking her head. “People shouldn’t have to live like this . . .”

  “The best you can say is—at least they are alive.”

  “If you can call that living.”

  They were rooting in their clothes now. Apparently everyone carried an eating bowl. There were heavy cauldrons on the low tables. Servers with ladles poured a stew or porridge of some kind into the waiting bowls that surged by. Attendants took away the swiftly emptied vats while full ones were brought forward from the nearby buildings. We led our horses around this hectic scene—much cheered to finally make our way clear at last—and remounted. Behind us those who had filled bowls squatted in the ground, digging into the food with their fingers, gulping it down. Here, guards with clubs wielded them freely against those who didn’t bend over the nearby stream to rinse out their bowls and push them, still wet, back into their clothes.

  I looked at Angelina and, for perhaps the only time in my life, I found that there was nothing I could say. The scene we had just witnessed was inhuman—yet terribly human as well. It was just raw survival at the most bestial level.

  “We still have the job to do that we came here for,” Angelina said, breaking the silence.

  “We do indeed. Let’s get rid of the horses and do it.”

  Once we had left the feeding frenzy behind us the scene became relatively peaceful. There were still plenty of people about, apparently involved in different activities among the many smaller buildings. However we had absolutely no desire to discover what they were doing.

  “There,” Angelina said, standing in her stirrups to see better. “Aren’t there horses around that far building?”

  “There are indeed. Let us drop these nags and find what passes for civilization around here.”

  It appeared there were a few slightly brighter individuals in charge of the stable. They took our horses reins without a word and led them away, shouting to their shambling assistants.

  “Take to water . . .”

  “Give way.”

  “Not that way!” Some pushes and kicks kept the stable organized to a rough extent. I tucked my frapilo under my arm, sneered what I hoped was a superior sneer as we strolled towards the solid, civilized-looking buildings of the spaceport.

  Angelina had her weapon over her shoulder as we marched resolutely towards our destiny.

  The sturdier buildings formed a small enclave that was set apart and separated from the surrounding wooden structures by a wire fence. There was no gate, just a wide opening in the fence where it was close to the road. This was manned by a group of guards, armed with clubs; obviously there to keep most of the citizenry at bay. We slowed down and I pointed at nothing in particular.

  “Let’s stop for a moment and see the drill they use at that entrance.”

  Angelina nodded following my pointing finger. “No activity right now.”

  Then there was a flurry of motion when two proles in the passing mobs ventured too close. The clubs whistled and they screeched and scuttled away.

  “There,” Angelina said. “Two people coming out of the largest building.”

  They were talking as they walked towards the gap in the fence—and did not slow when they came close. While the club-wielders pushed each other aside so as not to block their exit. As the men came out we saw that they were both carrying frapiloj.

  “What comes out . . .” I said.

  “Goes back in.”

  We waited until they had passed before we turned and retraced their path.

  The guards merely glanced at us, then moved aside. We walked steadily past them and over to the main building entrance, opened the doors and went in.

  We were inside a spacious central hall with a high, vaulted ceiling. It had been decorated with bucolic murals, horse-drawn plows, grazing cattle and such. But time had not been good to it. The paint had flaked away in part, other portions were darkened and marred by water leaks. A circular flight of stairs rose up on one side and there were closed doors along the walls. There were quite a number of people about. All neatly dressed and striding purposely. There were none of the shambling outside hordes here.

  “We’re clearly in the right place,” Angelina said. “Obviously built during the far pleasanter times. Even the cows look happy . . .”

  “May I be of service?” a voice said. I looked down from the dome at the short man who stood before us. He was green of skin, neatly dressed and did not carry a frapilo.

  “Who are you?” I asked in my most arrogant manner.

  “N’thrax. On the management staff of this building.”

  “That is very nice to hear. But our business here is not any of your business.”

  He shuffled back a bit and looked unhappy. “But I am here to assist you, estro. Is there someone here you wanted to see?”

  “Yes,” Angelina said in the coldest of cold voices. “But he is as high a rank as you are low. Dismissed.”

  N’thrax gasped and backed away from us. Before turning and hurrying out of sight.

  “Bullying comes too easily,” she said grimly. “I’ll be glad when we are well away from this place.”

  “Agreed. But let’s keep moving.”

  “Upstairs—away from the entrance.”

  As we climbed the worn steps a man came down towards us—with a frapilo tucked under his arm. He only glanced at us as he went past.

  “We’re obviously in the right place—with none of the low-caste
peasantry about,” I said.

  “Wonderful, but what do we do next?”

  “Good question.” We had reached the second floor. There were doors—all of them closed—along the outer wall. The only markings were numbers on each door.

  “Pick a number,” I said.

  “Two-thirteen. It sounds lucky.”

  “Why not,” I said and we started that way. It was a good choice because the door opened just before we reached it. Two guards came out. Low green foreheads, rougher clothing, wicked-looking clubs in their free hands. A man walked between them, clutched tightly by the arms.

  What was very interesting about the man was that his skin was a pale pink.

  “Now what do we have here?” I said, standing before them so they could not proceed. They stopped, gaping widely, looking from Angelina to me. I slapped my frapilo against my leg.

  “Where are you taking this animal?” Angelina asked.

  “To eat place . . .” one of them mumbled. “Tell go feed . . .”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Take back inside.”

  Without hesitation they turned and reentered the room.

  “You want work from me?” The prisoner said angrily. “Two days now without . . .”

  “Shut up,” I said, looking around the room. Some machinery, what looked like a generator, lagged pipes dripping water.

  But no other people.

  “I’ll see to the one on the right,” I said.

  Angelina nodded. “On my count of . . . one!”

  We struck at the same time and the guards crumpled to the floor, their clubs dropping beside them.

  Their released prisoner stumbled backwards, gaping at us. “What are you green bastards doing?”

  “Freeing you. And we need some information, quickly. Your name?”

  “Wolfi . . . but leave me alone—you’re mad . . .”

  “First off, we’re not green,” Angelina said, pulling her blouse out of her skirt to reveal some very attractive and pink flesh. “All will be explained later. Just remember that we are going to get you off this world—so help us.”

  “How many of you prisoners are in this building?”

  “Three of us,” he said. “But—”

  “Questions—and answers—later,” I said. “Who works in the communications room?”

  “We all do—”

  “Take us there now.”

  He looked at us, baffled and confused—and unbelieving.

  “Think,” Angelina said, and smiled. “Isn’t anything better than the life you have been living here? Now show us the way.”

  “Of course. Hold on to my arms—they always do that.”

  We went, closing the door behind us.

  “Turn left. Room two-thirty.”

  We tensed when we saw three other men coming towards us. But they were talking and paid us no notice.

  “This one,” the prisoner said.

  I turned the knob—it was locked.

  “It’s always locked. You have to knock.”

  I did. Once—then again. This time I heard a muffled voice saying what sounded very much like go away. This was not good. Some more of the locals walked behind us and I felt a touch of sweat on my furrowed brow.

  “You can’t go in there,” a voice said from behind me. I turned to see N’thrax, the spurned official we had met when we first entered the building.

  “It is a matter of most importance that we enter this room at once,” Angelina said.

  But he was firm—though his voice was shaking. “You don’t understand—Overlord is in there—he commands . . .”

  “Of course,” Angelina said calmly. “He is the one we came here to see. This is an emergency.”

  Torn between conflicting orders, N’thrax had a terrible decision to make. “Open!” I snarled as I pushed my frapilo under his chin. He tried to draw away but I only pushed harder. In the end the terrified man hammered on the door.

  A passerby turned to look, turned back and kept walking when I gave him a most terrible glare. This stalemate could not last . . .

  The door opened and the large and angry man stood there.

  And I knew him—though no longer pink of skin.

  He was the official we had talked to from the ship before we had landed here.

  “Emergency!” I said and pushed the captive hard against him. “The most terrible thing has happened!”

  He started to resist—then stepped aside.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Here—listen to N’thrax.” I dragged the quavering N’thrax in after us. “He was there and saw the killing—all the blood!”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Angelina and our engineer, turning and locking the door. I wasn’t feeling subtle or patient. My fist caught Overlord square on his big green jaw and he went down. N’thrax was cowering and beginning to scream, which Angelina silenced with a quick short blow. He joined his boss on the floor. I turned around and smiled.

  The far wall was covered with communication equipment, gleaming screens and cameras, control panels and speakers. Lovely! I smiled at the technician—pink of skin and slack of jaw—who was kneeling before an open panel, soldering iron in hand. The only other person in the room.

  “Welcome,” I said. “To the first day of what will be a long and happy life.”

  “W-what . . . ?” he said.

  “They are friends,” Wolfi said. “I don’t know how, but they said that we are all going off-planet.”

  “After I make a singularly important call,” I said. “Which of these fine machines is your interstellar communicator?”

  “Here, this one,” he said pointing to a hulking apparatus.

  “Can you can send a message?” I said, while beaming a wide and beatific smile.

  “No I can’t. It’s been dismantled—the guts are gone.”

  My brief elation plunged downward into grim despair.

  “It . . . can’t be . . .”

  “It always has been like that. The last thing these green devils want is off-planet contact. It’s fine to keep the radio comms going—to lure more spacers here. You aren’t really green are you?”

  “No—skin dye,” I muttered, depressed by my horrifying discovery.

  “I suggest,” Angelina said, ever practical, “that we forget all about communication at the present time. And get off this depressing planet just as soon as we possibly can.”

  I took a very deep breath—and gave myself a stiff mental brace. “You’re right, of course. Next plan . . . get us all out of here.”

  I took a long moment to look around at the row of silent bodies on the floor—and the still dazed but now smiling former prisoners.

  “You said there is one more of you here?”

  “Yes, Giorgio. He’s working on the steam generator. It’s in the basement.”

  “Take me there—right now,” Angelina said. “While Jim makes plans for our escape.” She took the prisoner by the arm, called back over her shoulder as I opened my mouth to protest. “Don’t argue. No time.” Then they were out of the room and closing the door behind them.

  “Right,” I said, relocking the door. “Let’s get to work . . . name?”

  “Tomas.”

  “Tie these men up, Tomas. Use wire—you must have plenty. Then gag them so they can’t scream. Do you have a blade?”

  “In the toolbox there.”

  Overlord was muttering and starting to stir. I cut off the sleeve of his uniform and gagged him with it. Then wired his wrists together. He was writhing, eyes popping, chewing on the gag; I made it tighter. We had just wired up the last prisoner when there was a sharp rapping on the door. I jumped to open it and heard Angelina’s voice.

  “I have two more guards here who are helping me with the prisoners.”

  Forewarned, I let Angelina, the prisoners and guards go past me and closed the door behind them. Before the guards could raise their clubs they joined their mates, wired and gagged upon the floor.
/>   “I had to enlist aid,” Angelina said. “I was getting strange enough looks with a single pink prisoner. Not to say two.”

  “Well done. Always room for a few more on the floor.”

  “Next—?”

  “A good question.” I was suddenly very tired. I pulled out the radio operator’s chair and dropped into it.

  “We are safe for the moment—I hope. So let us take the time to plan our escape.”

  The three technicians were bubbling with excitement, as the possibility of leaving this planet began to sink in.

  “We’ll be stopped as soon as we try to take these palefaces out of the building,” Angelina said.

  “My very thought.”

  “We have no more skin cream dye.”

  “We don’t need it.” I whistled and they turned. “We can’t show your skin. So cut up these zonked out Greenies’s clothes. Wrap up your heads—then your hands. You will look strange, but not pink. You’ll carry clubs. There will be confusion but hopefully no attacks. Do it!”

  I heaved myself out of the chair and admired the results. Then sat down again when I realized I was forgetting the most important part of the escape. The ship.

  “Radio on,” I said. “Captain Singh—are you there?”

  “Of course.” His voice spoke clearly inside my head. “What’s happening?”

  “We are about to join you. Five of us in all. We are in the building complex across the field from you. We’ll be coming out of the front entrance of the larger building. Be ready to open the lower spacelock—both doors. Because when we get there we’ll be in a hurry.”

  “I have you on the screen—a magnified image of the front entrance.”

  “Great. We’ll be picking up more passengers on the way. Our paleface local friends who will, hopefully, take out all the green guards. Is the takeoff siren working?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sound it before you open the lock to alert our allies.”

  “This is the most insane plan I have ever heard in my entire life. Over and out.”

  “It’s nice to have encouragement . . .” I muttered. “Ready troops?”

  The three masked and mittened engineers waved their clubs enthusiastically, mumbling through their masks. I pushed myself out of the chair.

  “I’ll go first. Club men will follow. Angelina will bring up the rear.”