The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection

by Harry Harrison

  A police siren wailed by in the street outside – and I realised that the time had come to do some furious thinking and planning.

  I was in trouble. Billville wasn’t very big, and all exits would be sealed by now. That’s what I would have done first, if I were looking for a fugitive. And even the dimmest of policemen would have figured this one out as well. Barricades on all the roads, copters out with nightscopes to watch open fields, police at the linear station. All holes plugged. Trapped like a rat. What else? The streets would be patrolled too, easy enough to do by groundcar. And the later it got the fewer people there would be about and the more dangerous it would be to wander around.

  Then, in the morning, what then? I knew what then. A search of every room in every building until I was found. I felt the perspiration bead my forehead at the thought. Was I trapped?

  ‘No surrender!’ I shouted aloud, then jumped to my feet and paced back and forth. ‘Jimmy diGriz is too slippery to be caught by the ham-handed minions of the local law. Look how I slipped away from that homicidal copper. Slippery Jim diGriz, that’s who I am. And I am about to slip away from them again. But how?’

  How indeed. I cracked open a beer, drank deep, then slumped back into the chair. Then looked at my watch. It was already getting too late to risk my presence on the street. The restaurants would be emptying, the feely and stinky cinemas disgorging their customers, couples marching homeward two by two. Any single individual drawing the instant attention of the law.

  It had to be the morning then. I would have to venture forth in the light of day – or the rain! I punched up the weather report as quickly as I could, then slumped back once again. 99% chance of sunshine. I might as easily wish for an earthquake as a storm.

  The office was a mess; it looked like the aftermath of an explosion in the slaughterhouse. I would have to clean it up …

  ‘No, Jim, you will not have to clean it up. Because the police are going to find it sooner or later, and probably sooner. Your fingerprints are everywhere and they know your blood type. They’ll have a really good time trying to figure out what happened to you.’

  I would give them something to think about at least. And maybe cause a little trouble for one sadistic copper. I wheeled the chair over to the terminal and typed out the message. The printer whistled and I took the sheet of paper from the hopper. Wonderful!

  TO THE POLICE. I WAS SHOT DEAD BY YOUR MURDERING POLICE OFFICER YOU FOUND UNCONSCIOUS. HE GOT ME. I AM BLEEDING INTERNALLY AND WILL DIE SOON. GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD. I NOW GO TO THROW MYSELF INTO THE RIVER.

  I doubted very much if the ruse would work, but it might at least get that gun-crazy cop in trouble. And keep the rest of them busy dredging the river. There was some blood on the note and I smeared more on from the bandages. Then laid it carefully on the table.

  This bit of tomfoolery had cheered me a bit. I sat back and finished the beer and made plans. Was I leaving anything important behind? No, there were no records kept here that I would need in the future. I found my doomsday key and unlocked the destruct switch, then pressed it. A single click from the memory banks was the only evidence that all of the computer’s memory had just turned into random electrons. Everything else, tools, equipment, machinery, was expendable, could be replaced when needed. But I was not leaving the money.

  All this was pretty tiring – but I couldn’t afford to rest until all arrangements were complete. I pulled a pair of thin plastic gloves over the blood and bandages and set to work. The money was in the safe since I robbed banks and did not believe in supporting them by opening an account. I put it all into a businessman’s carrybag. It was only half full, so I added all the microtools that would fit. In the space that was left I stuffed in as much clothing as I could, then stood on the thing until I got it closed and locked.

  New clothes and a disguise next. A black four-piece business suit, the fabric enriched by a pattern of tiny white buck bills. An orange rollneck, just what all the young bankers were wearing, along with trendy porcuswineherd boots with built-up heels. Add some to my height – that would help. When I left I would wear the moustache and gold-rimmed glasses. What I could do how was darken my hair with dye and add to my fading tan. Preparations done, woozy with beer, fatigue, and pain pills, I opened the file cabinet bed, set the alarm, and dropped into oblivion.

  There were giant mosquitoes circling my head, more and more of them, after my blood, mosquitoes …

  I opened my eyes and blinked away the dream. My alarm watch, since I hadn’t turned it off, had raised the volume on the mosquito buzzing, louder and louder until it sounded like a squadron of them diving to the attack. I pushed its button, smacked my gummy lips together, then stumbled over for a glass of water. It was full daylight outside and the early-risers were just appearing.

  Preparations made, I washed and dressed with care. Nifty orange gloves that matched the shirt hid my bandaged hands. When the streets were at their rush-hour busiest I seized up the carrybag, then checked carefully to make sure that the hall outside was empty. Stepped out and closed the door without looking back. This part of my life was over with. Today was the first day of my new life.

  I hoped. I walked to the stairs with what I hoped was a very sincere, businessman-type walk, down past the first arrivals, and into the street.

  To see the policeman on the corner looking closely at every passer-by.

  I did not look at him, but found an attractive girl walking ahead of me with very neat legs indeed. I watched their twinkling advance and tried to forget the nearby minion of the law. Came towards him, passed him, walked away from him. Waiting for the cry of recognition …

  It never came. Maybe he was looking at the girl too. One down – but how many more to go?

  This was the longest walk that I had ever taken in my life. Or at least it seemed that way. Not too fast, not too slow. I struggled to be part of the crowd, just another wage-slave going to work, thinking only of profit and loss and debenture bonds. Whatever debenture bonds were. One more street – safe so far. There’s the corner. The service road behind the shopping centre. No place for a businessman like you. So look sharp and don’t hang about. Around the corner to safety.

  Safety? I staggered as though I had been struck.

  The Macswiney service van was outside the door and a hulking brute of a mechanic was just going inside.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I looked at my watch, snapped my fingers, then turned away from the service road in case my actions were being observed. And marched on smartly until I came to the first Speedydine. Just to make my day complete there were two policemen sitting in the first booth. Looking at me, of course. I marched past, eyes front, and found the seat furthest from them. There was an itching between my shoulderblades that I didn’t dare scratch. I couldn’t see them – but I knew what they were doing. They were looking at me, then talking to each other, deciding I was not quite what I looked like. Better investigate. Stand, walk my way, lean over my booth …

  I saw the blue-trousered legs out of the corner of my eye and my heart instantly began hammering so loudly I was sure the whole restaurant could hear it. I waited for the accusing words. Waited … let my eyes travel up the blue-clad legs …

  To see a uniformed linear driver sitting down across from me. ‘Coffee,’ he said into the microphone, shook his newspaper open and began to read.

  My heart slowed to something resembling normal and I silently cursed myself for suspicion and cowardice. Then spoke aloud into my own microphone in the deepest voice I could summon up.

  ‘Black coffee and mulligatawny dumplings.’

  ‘Deposit six bucks, if you please.’

  I inserted the coins. There was a rumble of machinery at my elbow and my breakfast slid out onto the table. I ate slowly, then glanced at my watch, then went back to sipping my coffee. As I well knew from the earlier occasion when I had nipped into the freezer, when I had been hiding out there, thirty minutes was a minimum service time for a Macswiney mechanic.
I allowed forty before I slid out of the booth. I tried not to think about what I would find when I finally got into the back of the fast-food parlour. I remembered my parting words only too well, I would be the next person through the door. Ho-ho. The next person had been the mechanic. Had he caught The Bishop? I sweated at the thought. I would find out soon enough. I passed the booth where the police had been. They were gone – out searching some other part of the city for me I hoped – and I headed back to the shopping centre. To be greeted by the glorious sight of the Macswiney van drawing out into the road ahead of me.

  The key was ready in my hand as I approached the door. The road ahead was empty – then I heard the footsteps coming up behind me. The police? With boring repetition my heart started the thudding routine again. I walked slower as I came close to the door. Then stopped and bent over and slipped the palmed key into my hand as though I had just picked it up. I examined it closely as someone came up, then passed me. A young man who showed not the slightest interest in my existence. He went on and turned into the back entrance to the market.

  I took one look over my shoulder – then jumped for the door before anything else happened. Turned the key, pushed – and of course it didn’t open.

  The delay mechanism I had installed was working fine. It would unlock in one minute. Sixty short seconds.

  Sixty incredibly crawling seconds. I stood there in my fine business outfit, as out of place in this alley as teats on a boar porcuswine, as we used to say back on the ranch. Stood there and sweated and waited for police or passers-by to appear. Waited and suffered.

  Until the key turned, the door opened – and I fell through.

  Empty! On the far wall the automatic machinery clattered and whirred. The drink dispenser gurgled and a filled container whistled down its track and vanished. To be followed by the steaming bulk of a burger. Night and day this went on. But among all this mechanical motion no human form appeared. They had captured him – the police had The Bishop. And they would capture me next …

  ‘Ahh, my boy, I thought it might be you this time.’

  The Bishop emerged from the freezer, immense in his insulated gear, his sleeping roll and carry-all tucked under his arm. He slammed the door behind him and the strength went out of me with a whoosh and I slumped down with my back to the wall.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concern in his voice. I waved a weak hand.

  ‘Fine, fine – just let me catch my breath. I was afraid they had you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have worried. When you did not reappear within a reasonable time I assumed there had been some hitch in your plans. So I rehearsed my evacuation moves just in case the legitimate users appeared today. And they did. It is really quite cold in there. I wasn’t sure how long they would be, but I was sure you had installed some way of discovering when they left …’

  ‘I meant to tell you!’

  ‘No need. I found the hidden speaker and switch and listened to someone who mutters profanities while he works. After some time the slam of the door and silence were welcome information indeed. Now about yourself. There were problems?’

  ‘Problems!’ I burst out laughing with relief. Then stopped when I heard an hysterical edge to the sound. I told him, omitting some of the more gruesome details. He made appropriate noises at the right places and listened attentively until the bitter end.

  ‘You are being too harsh on yourself, Jim. A single lapse after all the tension of the day is not to be unexpected.’

  ‘It is not to be allowed! Because I was stupid I almost had both of us caught. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘This is where you are wrong,’ he said, shaking a thick admonitory finger. ‘It could happen at any time – until you have trained yourself in your work. But you will be trained and trained efficiently …’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘ … until a lapse like this one will be impossible. You have done incredibly well, for one of your inexperience. Now you can only improve.’

  ‘And you will teach me how – how to be a successful crook like you!’

  His brow furrowed at my words and his expression was grave. What had I said that was wrong? I chewed my sore lip with worry as he unrolled his bedroll in silence, spread it out, then sat upon it crosslegged. When at last he spoke I hung upon his every word.

  ‘Now your first lesson, Jim. I am not a crook. You are not a crook. We do not want to be criminals for they are all individuals who are stupid and inefficient. It is important to comprehend and appreciate that we stand outside society and follow strict rules of our own, some of them even stricter than those of the society that we have rejected. It can be a lonely life – but it is a life you must choose with your eyes open. And once the choice has been made you must abide by it. You must be more moral than they are because you will be living by a stricter moral code. And this code does not contain the word ‘crook’. That is their word for what you are and you must reject it.’

  ‘But I want to be a criminal …’

  ‘Abandon the thought – and the title. It is, and you must excuse me saying it, a juvenile ambition. It is only your emotional striking out at the world you dislike and cannot be considered a reasoned decision. You have rejected them – but at the same time accepted their description of what you are. A crook. You are not a crook, I am not a crook.’

  ‘Then – what are we?’ I asked, all eagerness. The Bishop steepled his fingers as he intoned the answer.

  ‘We are Citizens of the Outside. We have rejected the simplistic, boring, regimented, bureaucratic, moral and ethical scriptures by which they live. In their place we have substituted our own far superior ones. We may physically move among them – but we are not of them. Where they are lazy, we are industrious. Where they are immoral, we are moral. Where they are liars, we are the Truth. We are probably the greatest power for good to the society that we have discarded.’

  I blinked rather rapidly at that one, but waited patiently because I knew that he would soon make all clear. He did.

  ‘What kind of a galaxy do we live in? Look around you. The citizens of this planet, and of every other planet in the loose organisation known as the Galactic League, are citizens of a fat, rich union of worlds that has almost forgotten the real meaning of the word crime. You have been in prison, you have seen the dismal rejects whom they consider criminals. And this is what is called a frontier world! On the other settled planets there are few malcontents and even fewer who are socially maladjusted. Out there the handful who are still being born, in spite of centuries of genetic control, are caught early and their aberations quickly adjusted. I made one single trip offplanet in my life, a tour of the nearest worlds. It was terrible! Life on those planets has all the colour and wonder of a piece of wet cardboard. I hurried back to Bit O’Heaven for, loathsome as it can be at times, it is still a bit o’heaven compared to the others.’

  ‘Someday – I would like to see these other worlds.’

  ‘And so you shall, dear boy. A worthy ambition. But learn your way around this one first. And be thankful they don’t have complete genetic control here yet – or the machines to mentally adjust those who struggle against society. On other planets the children are all the same. Meek, mild and socially adjusted. Of course some do not show their genetic weakness – or strength as we call it – until they are adults. These are the poor displaced ones who try their hands at petty crimes – burglary, shoplifting, rustling and the like. They may get away with it for a week or two or a month or two, depending on their degree of native intelligence. But as sure as atomic decay, as sure as the fall of leaves in the autumn – and just as predestined – the police will eventually reach out and pull them in." I digested this information, then asked the obvious question.

  “But if that is all there is to crime, or rebellion against the system – where does that leave you and me?”

  “I thought you would never ask. These dropouts I have described, whom you have associated with in prison, comprise ninety-nine poin
t nine percent of crime in our organized and dandified society. It is the last and vital one-tenth of one percent that we represent that is so vital to the fabric of this same society. Without us the heat death of the universe would begin. Without us the lives of all the sheep-like citizenry would be so empty that mass suicide to escape it would be the only answer. Instead of pursuing us and calling us criminals they should honor us as first among them!”

  There were sparks in his eyes and thunder in his voice when he spoke. I did not want to interrupt his fulminatory speech, but there were questions to be asked.

  “Please excuse me – but would you be so kind as to point out just why this is so?”

  “It is so because we give the police something to do, someone to chase, some reason for rushing about in their expensive machines. And the public – how they watch the news and listen for the latest reports on our exploits, how they talk to each other about it and relish every detail! And what is the cost of all this entertainment and social good? Nothing. The service is free, even though we risk life, limb, and liberty to provide it. What do we take from them? Nothing. Just money, paper, and metal symbols. All of it insured. If we clean out a bank, the money is returned by the insurance company who, at the end of the year, may reduce their annual dividend by a microscopic amount. Each shareholder will receive a millionth of a buck less. No sacrifice, no sacrifice at all. Benefactors, my boy, we are nothing less than benefactors.

  “But in order for us to accomplish all this good for them we must operate outside their barriers and well outside of their rules. We must be as stealthy as rats in the wainscoting of their society. It was easier in the old days of course, and society had more rats when the rules were looser, just as old wooden buildings have more rats than concrete buildings. But there are rats in the buildings now as well. Now that society is all ferroconcrete and stainless steel there are fewer gaps between the joints. It takes a very smart rat indeed to find these openings. Only a stainless steel rat can be at home in this environment.” I broke into spontaneous applause, clapping until my hands hurt, and he nodded his head with gracious acceptance of the tribute.