Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns

by Harry Harrison

  I joined the volunteers on the lower deck, where they lay on mattresses just outside the inner lock door. The collector was locked against the bulkhead. The cable secured to it, the block and tackle attached to a cleat on the floor. A half-dozen oxygen tanks were mounted on the wall above. I told my radio to turn on.

  “Everyone is ready, Captain.”

  The wall speakers crackled to life.

  “Starting final approach. Acceleration couches now. Landing deceleration begins.”

  The landing seemed to go on for a very long time. When the jets finally cut out we knew that we were down on Heavyplanet. Only it did not feel like that—the three gravities felt like the acceleration was going on and on.

  “Here we go,” Tomas said, struggling to his feet and staggering over to the lock activation switch, pushed it. He swayed, almost fell, then hit the ramp control as, with great groans of protest, the inner door opened wide. Tomas, pressed hard against the bulkhead, slid suddenly down onto his knees, gasping for breath. I staggered to the bulkhead, pulled free an oxygen tank and passed it to him. Grabbed one for myself since breathing took a distinct effort.

  When the inner door was open we all struggled into the lock chamber. The easiest way was to roll off the mattresses and move forward on all fours. Once inside we put on the oxygen tanks and masks, rolled the now ponderous machine into the airlock with us. The inner door ground slowly shut.

  “Opening outer lock door now,” Tomas said as he hit the switch. The seal popped—as did our ears—as the pressure equalized in the lock chamber. The slowly opening door revealed a gray wasteland of desolate and rocky ground set against an ominous black sky. A chill wind blew dust in around us.

  “All right, let’s go to work,” Tomas said. “Wolfi and I first. If we can’t finish the job the next two men take over.” He released the shackles on the machine and it started to move—but was snubbed by the block and tackle. Then it rolled slowly down the ramp as the cable payed out. At the foot of the ramp they stopped when they reached the ground.

  “Leave the cable attached . . .” Tomas gasped. “Use it when we . . . come back . . . to pull it . . . into the ship.”

  “Don’t try to stand up,” he said, his voice muted by the oxygen mask. “Stay on all fours—divide your weight.”

  Leaning forward, working together, they rolled the reluctant mass away from the ship. It was exhausting work, straining their strength to the limit. They had progressed about three meters when Tomas struggled to raise his hand.

  “Next . . . team . . . now . . .”

  I crawled forward on all fours and took over. Pushing the collector across the ground with the cable paying out behind us.

  I don’t think I have worked that hard in my entire life—and sincerely hope that I won’t have to ever again. We pushed the awful weight against the immense grip of gravity, then stopped. Others took over. We crawled, like infants on all fours, strained at the machine, moved it a few reluctant centimeters . . .

  “Captain here . . .” The voice echoed in my head and it took long blank moments for me to realize it was my radio.

  “Yes,” I gasped out.

  “Stramm says you have gone far enough—takeoff blast won’t reach that far.”

  Speaking was hard but I finally made the others understand. “Done . . . back to ship . . .”

  It was just survival that kept us going. If you didn’t keep moving—on bloodied knees and hands—you were going to die. No one else could possibly help you.

  Kept going through a red haze of pain, felt something pushed against my hand. The cleat on the cable’s end. I blinked at it, not understanding.

  “Pass it back . . .” Tomas gasped. “Last man . . . leave it out of blast range!”

  I pushed it back to the man crawling behind me, then went on.

  I felt the cold roughness of the ramp beneath my hands. Left smears of blood on the metal as I forced my way up it and into the ship. Could only collapse helplessly onto a mattress. Gasping hoarsely for breath.

  Then, from a great distance I heard a voice. Tomas’s?

  “Close lock . . . counted . . . all back inside . . .”

  “Radio on—” I rasped hoarsely. “Close the lock . . .”

  I must have lost consciousness about then. Was scarcely aware of a greater weight on my chest. It must have been takeoff.

  When I opened my eyes again I became aware of feeling almost weightless, of breathing easily, tearing off my oxygen mask and moving without effort. I sat up slowly, dizzy at the effort, saw Tomas looking at me. Smiling.

  “We did it, didn’t we?”

  I could only nod in mute agreement.

  CHAPTER 28

  There were too many people around us, too many congratulations. Well-intentioned slaps on the back that hurt—as did every muscle in my body. It was Angelina who rescued me, led me, supported my stumbling progress to—wisely—the bar, not my bed. Collapsed on the lounger, feet up, hand and knees balmed and bandaged, I raised the chilled glass shakily and drank.

  “A decided improvement,” I said. Hoarsely. My throat still raw from the oxygen.

  “You were wonderful—you and the others. The captain caught the whole thing with the hull cameras. At times we were sure it couldn’t be done . . . then we saw the blood on the ramp . . .”

  I put my finger to her lips. “What’s done is done. The collector is now collecting at a greatly increased rate. The captain explained it all to me—lectured really. It seems that the collection rate goes up by the square of the gravity. So instead of grabbing three times as many positrons, our busy machine is storing nine times as many as normal . . .”

  “More Manhattanteeny?” she asked, topping up my glass as I held it—shakily—out to her. End of physics lecture.

  “Do you know when we will land on the next planet?”

  “Captain said tomorrow morning is target time. He wants a full day to run tests before he opens the airlock.”

  “After our recent planetary experiences, who can blame him.”

  Planet time was just a few hours after ship’s time. After a few more cocktails—and a painkiller—I slept the sleep of the just. Awoke at dawn feeling sore but almost human. After breakfast it was back to the acceleration couches for the landing. I must admit that I dozed off until the captain’s voice drilled into my consciousness.

  “Boss to bridge. Captain Schleuck to bridge.”

  I stretched and yawned. “Coming with me?”

  “Not this time. Pinky isn’t too perky—and Elmo promised to have the porkermedbot take a quick examination.”

  “A fine machine—that even he can’t foul up. If he remembers to press the ON button.” I joined the others on the bridge.

  “I’ve been running an orbiting survey of the planet, and sent a surveybot to analyze the air and sample the biosphere,” the captain said when I had joined the party. Stramm was already there and Tomas arrived soon after me.

  Data and figures were scrolling across the screen. “Gravity is ninety percent of normal—we’ll all enjoy that. Oxygen percentage just about normal.” He pointed to a row of figures, all flashing green.

  “No pathogens in the atmosphere. Plenty of pollen floating about, The same is true of the soil. No pathogens. Lots of vegetable matter.”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  “I would say that this planet is ready for further onsite inspection and I volunteer for the job. I haven’t been off the ship in living memory—”

  “No way!” I said. As firmly as I could. “You are the indispensable man on this space safari. Besides, we did promise Angelina the pleasure of naming this new world.”

  “You did remember,” she said as she came onto the bridge. “And of course Jim will insist on joining the primary recon. Which is fine—as long as I step down first. Agreed?”

  There were no dissenting votes. There dare not be.

  The image of a tiny blue planet was on the screen. The captain pointed to t
wo white dots off to one side. “It has two moons, so there should be measurable tides.” He zoomed in and the planet rotated slowly as he tapped the controls.

  “A water world for the most part—but there is one large landmass, with a chain of islands nearby. They are steep-sided, obviously the summits of a mountain. No flat areas for us to land on them. But I did find what could be a possible landing site on the continent.”

  The image rotated, stopped—and zoomed in. Down through a thin cloud layer, to the landmass below. Stopped above tree-top level.

  “There appears to be a planet-wide jungle, with the occasional small clearing, wide beaches all around it—but here is what I found along the coast.”

  Our viewpoint lifted, drifted to one side. A large bay opened up, bordered by a wide green arc.

  “This is the place,” the captain said. “I checked the georadar. About a meter of soil above solid bedrock. This portion of the landmass—bordering the bay and the bay itself—seems to have been lower at one time, then was inundated by the sea. It must have risen again, in recent geological history. Grass, or something that acts like grass, recolonized the land. But the trees aren’t present. The surface appears to be quite smooth.”

  “Looks ideal,” Tomas said, adjusting the controls for a closer look. “Grass on soil over solid bedrock. In all my years in command of a spacer I have never seen a better landing site.”

  “Then the ayes have it,” I said. “Are we landing there?”

  “Possibly,” the captain muttered. “Tomas and I want to do another detailed survey. We’ll be landing in about an hour if the location is still the best.”

  “Fine. Angelina and I will get the basic gear ready for a first recon.”

  After we finished our drinks the basic gear proved very basic. Good walking boots. Two cameras. A pack with sampling gear. And our never-parted-with weapons.

  “A brave new world,” Angelina said. “I’m looking forward to visiting it.”

  “And naming it!”

  “Of course.”

  The landing was smooth, the passengers excited, the porcuswine squealing for fresh pastures. As were we all. We waited by the lower airlock as the inner door swung open. I averted my eyes from the now-dark smears on the ramp; the bandages on my knees reminder enough.

  Once the inner lock was sealed the outer one opened. We sniffed the fresh-smelling and hot, damp air and stepped out onto the ramp and down to the green, flat mass on the ground below.

  “Hot,” Angelina gasped. “Like walking into a sauna . . .”

  “That’s it!” I said.

  “What?”

  “You have just named the planet. Sauna.”

  “You’re right—it fits. Sauna it is.”

  I bent down and looked at the ground cover of Sauna. Not grass, but a spongy mass of stems and tiny leaves. Thin stems on top—with thicker ones below. It stretched uniformly to the narrow beach with the blue ocean beyond.

  “Report.” The captain’s voice echoed in my head.

  “All fine so far—and the planet will now be known as Sauna.”

  “Fine. We’ll need ocean water samples. But be careful. It’s warm. The ocean seems to be a uniform forty degrees near the shore.”

  “Will do.”

  I turned to Angelina who was staring at the not too distant green wall of the jungle. “I wonder what is going on in there?”

  “We’ll soon find out—but the captain wants some water samples first.”

  We walked towards the ocean and the wide beach. Small waves breaking and rippling up the golden sand. We went on towards a shallow tide pool there. At its edge I put down my pack and dug out a sampling vial.

  “I don’t like the look of that water,” Angelina said.

  “Like why not—wildlife?”

  “Not that. Just come over here.”

  I did. The water had a yellow tinge in the shallow edge of the pool. And it was seething slowly. Tiny bubbles that appeared to rise from the sand and break when they reached the surface.

  “It looks like it’s boiling,” she said. “Be careful.”

  I was. I put the sampling vial down and dug out a pair of plastic gloves. Put them on before I dipped the vial in and took a sample. “Looks harmless enough,” I said as I sealed the vial.

  “Look at your gloves now.”

  I did. They had lost their transparency where they had been immersed in the water, and were now a murky white. I dropped the sample into the bag. Then pulled the gloves off—not letting the stained plastic touch my skin—and dropped them onto the sand.

  “The first interplanetary litterbug,” I said. Neither of us smiled.

  “Let’s see what the trees have to offer,” she said. “I’ve had quite enough of the ocean.”

  As we walked towards it we began to appreciate the enormous scale of the jungle. Massive trees rose up—reaching thirty, forty meters above the ground. Instead of leaves they were covered with green, spiny growths. Thick spikes at the branches, then growing out to form tiny and tinier spines. Like living barbed wire.

  Below and between the trees there was a prolificacy of green plants, both big and small. Some had large flattened leaves. There were golden globes hanging from some of the boughs—and flowers with all the colors of the spectrum.

  “Looks impenetrable,” Angelina said, stopping before the green wall of growth.

  I pulled on plastic gloves again and took a long pair of tweezers from my pack, then prodded one of the vicious-looking green thorns. It was squishy, and bent easily.

  “They’re very soft,” I said, and pushed my arm in through the tangled growth to seize a golden globular fruit. It burst when I touched it and warm liquid dripped from my fingers. I held a sampling container under it until it was full.

  Then the alarm siren sounded from the ship. Angelina and I turned as one—her gun drawn and ready. I was slower, since I had to peel the gloves off first. The siren died and there was the sound of distant shouting from the ship. An instant later a large black form thundered down the gangway and out onto the green.

  “Looks like Gnasher wants a bit more tusk and trotter room,” I said as our guns vanished.

  “I don’t blame him. Must have been the smell of fresh air.”

  He was trotting resolutely about, sniffing the air and grunting happily. He turned his back on the ocean and trotted towards the green wall of the jungle.

  “Shouldn’t we try to stop him?” Angelina asked. “The plants . . . we don’t know anything about them.”

  “He does. A porcuswine’s sense of smell is second to none.”

  Gnasher snatched a mouthful of the green ground cover as he walked, tearing up a great swathe of greenery and chomping happily on it as he walked.

  It was very different when he reached the edge of the jungle. He stopped suddenly—grumbling loudly. Then he poked his massive head in among the greenery.

  Pulled it quickly out squealing in anger. Turned away, still grumbling. Then began to root again in the ground cover.

  “That message is clear enough,” I said as I bent and pulled up a length of vegetation. “This stuff is palatable enough, but stay clear of the jungle.”

  We collected more samples, sweating and hot, and brought them back to the ship. Elmo and some of his mates were waiting on the ramp. The inner port was now closed.

  “He ain’t hurt none, is he? Went right through the gate, knocked Lil’ Abner down and nearly trampled him . . .”

  “He’s doing fine. He’s staying away from the forest but is making a feast of the ground cover.”

  I held my sample up, prodded the black lumps hanging from it. “He’s chomping his way through these tuberous growths—really enjoys them.”

  “It’s safe for the herd then?”

  “If he doesn’t keel over soon I imagine it is.”

  When the inner lock opened the porcuswine had made Elmo’s mind up for him. We stayed behind the door as the herd thundered by. Followed closely by the farmers: not thunder
ing. The chill air that washed over us was a benediction.

  “Best take these samples to the captain,” I said without much enthusiasm.

  “Stopping on the way for a chilled drink at the bar,” the ever-practical Angelina said.

  We brought the drinks jug to the bridge with us. So we could loll in cool comfort while Stramm and the captain labored over the analysis. The machines were fast, the readouts excruciatingly detailed.

  “We will be able to stay here until we have to go after the gravitons,” the captain said, holding up the printouts. “A most interesting planet.” I pointed and he filled a glass for himself before he dropped into his chair.

  “While the analyzer was analyzing the computer came up with a related reference.” He flipped through the sheets.

  “Here it is. An exobiochemist from galaxy-famed MIT—Murkee Institute of Technology. A Professor Doctor Merkler. He writes about a planet that sounds very much like this one . . .

  “Many times, early in planetary development a planet will pass through a stage when, while still molten, lightweight metals and other elements rise to the surface. Occasionally large deposits of sulfur dominate available elements as the planet cools and solidifies. Exhaled steam and other gases form the oceans and atmosphere. In a young planet—early in its development like this one—sulfur is dissolved in the oceans. So much that, in essence, they consist of sulfuric acid with a pH of three. There are immense exposed quantities of sulfur under the sea. Very inimical for life. But the landmass is different. When the water evaporates from the ocean it is free of sulphur. Through the aeons the vegetable life has grown and proliferated. In the race for survival different plants have developed many poisonous compounds.”

  Angelina nodded. “Crusher must have smelt or tasted them—and avoided them. But these growths we brought back are different.” She held up one of the tuberous black vegetables.

  I nodded agreement. “It makes sense. Landmasses are still in transition here in this early geologic era. When the sea recedes—as it has here on our landing site—the soil left behind is heavy with sulphur compounds. Over a great period of time the ground-covering plant has mutated and survived in the sulfurous environment. It propagates vegetatively by means of these tubers. It doesn’t produce seeds. Instead these tubers store food. Then it develops eyes—like a potato—from which new plants grow. It is these stored starches that the animals now enjoy.”