The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection

by Harry Harrison

  ‘Not here,’ the captain said, looking at the screened image of the ground with us. ‘Very rich planet, but they don’t like strangers. The next planet in this system is one you will like, agricultural, low population, they can use immigrants so there isn’t even a customs office.’

  ‘The name?’ The Bishop asked.

  ‘Amphisbionia.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Should you have? Out of thirty-thousand settled planets.’

  ‘True. But still …’

  The Bishop seemed troubled and I couldn’t understand why. If we didn’t like this planet we could liberate enough funds to move on. But some instinct had him on edge. In the end he bribed the purser to use the ship’s computer. When we were toying with our dinner he told me about it.

  ‘Something doesn’t smell right about this – smells worse than this food.’ This was a horrifying thought. ‘I can find no record of a planet named Amphisbionia in the galactic guide. And the guide is updated automatically every time we land and hook into a planetary communication net. In addition to that, there is a lock on our next destination. Only the captain has the code to access it.’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Nothing – until after we land. We’ll find out then what he is up to.’

  ‘Can’t you bribe one of the officers?’

  ‘I already did – that’s how I found out that only the captain knows where we are heading. Of course he didn’t tell me until after I paid. A dirty trick. I would have done the same thing myself.’

  I tried to cheer him up, but it was no use. I think the food had affected his morale. It would be a good thing to arrive at this planet, whatever it was. Certainly a good thief can make a living in any society. And one thing was certain. The food would have to be better than the sludge we were reluctantly eating now.

  We stayed in our bunks until the ship touched down and the green light came on. Our meagre belongings were already assembled and we carried them down to the airlock. The captain was operating the controls himself. He muttered as the automatic air analyser ran through its test; the inner lock would not open until it was finished and satisfied with the results. It finally pinged and flashed its little message at him and he hit the override. The great hatch ground slowly open admitting a whiff of warm and pungent air. We sniffed it appreciatively.

  ‘Here is a stylo,’ Captain Garth said. The Bishop merely smiled.

  The captain led the way and we followed with our bags. It was night, stars were bright above, invisible creatures called from the darkness of a row of trees nearby. The only light was from the airlock.

  ‘Here will do,’ the captain said, standing on the end of the ramp. The Bishop shook his head as he pointed at the metal surface.

  ‘We are still on the ship. The ground if you please.’

  They agreed on a neutral patch close to the ramp – but far enough from the ship to foil any attempt to rush us. The Bishop took out the cheque, accepted the stylo at last, then wrote his careful signature. The captain – ever suspicious – compared it with the signature above and finally nodded. He walked briskly up the ramp as we picked up our bags – then turned and called out.

  ‘They’re all yours now!’

  As the ramp lifted up, out of our reach, powerful lights came on from the darkness, pinning us like moths, Armed men ran towards us as we turned, trapped, lost.

  ‘I knew something was wrong,’ The Bishop said. He dropped his bags and grimly faced the rushing men.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A resplendent figure in a red uniform strode out of the darkness and stood before us twisting a large and elegant set of moustaches. Like someone out of an historic flic he actually wore a sword which he held firmly by the hilt.

  ‘I’ll take everything you two have. Everything. Quickly!’

  Two uniformed men came running up to see that we did as we were told. They were carrying strange looking guns with large barrels and wooden stocks. Behind us I heard a creaking as the ramp came back down with Captain Garth standing on the end of it. I bent over to pick up the bags.

  And kept turning – diving at the captain, grabbing him.

  There was a loud bang and something whirred in my head and spanged off the ship’s hull. The captain swore and swung his fist at me. Couldn’t have been better. I stepped inside the blow, grabbed the arm and levered it up into the small of his back. He screeched with pain; a lovely sound.

  ‘Let him go,’ a voice said, and I looked over the captain’s trembling shoulder to see that The Bishop was now lying on the ground with the officer’s foot on his chest. And his sword was not just for decoration – because the point of it was now pressed to The Bishop’s throat.

  It was going to be one of those days. I gave the captain’s neck a little squeeze with my free hand before I let go. He slithered straight down and his unconscious head bonged nicely on the ramp. I stepped away from him and The Bishop climbed unsteadily to his feet, dusting himself off as he turned to our captor.

  ‘Excuse me, kind sir, but might I humbly ask you the name of the planet on whose soil we stand?’

  ‘Spiovente,’ was the grunted answer.

  ‘Thank you. If you permit, I will help my friend Captain Garth to his feet, for I wish to apologise to him for my young friend’s impetuous behaviour.’

  No one stopped him as he turned to the captain who had just regained consciousness.

  He lost it again instantly as The Bishop kicked him in the side of the head.

  ‘I am normally not a vindictive man,’ he said, turning away and digging out his wallet. He handed it to the officer and said, ‘But just this once I wanted to express my feelings before returning to my normal peaceful self. You understand, of course, why I did that?’

  ‘Would have done the same thing myself,’ the officer said, counting the money. ‘But the games are over. Don’t ever speak to me again or you are dead.’

  He turned away as another man appeared from the darkness with two black metal loops in his hands. The Bishop stood, numb and unresisting, as the man bent and snapped one onto his ankle. I didn’t know what the thing was – but I didn’t like it. Mine would not be put on that easily.

  Yes it would. The muzzle of the gun ground into my back and I made no protest as the thing was snapped into place. The thing-snapper then stood up and looked me in the face, standing so close that his sewer breath washed over me. He was ugly to boot, with a puckered scar that added no improvement to the face. He pushed a sharp finger into my chest as he spoke.

  ‘I am Tars Tukas, servant of our lord the mighty Capo Doccia. But you never call me by name, you always call me master.’

  I started to call him something, something that was quite an improvement on master, when he pressed a button on a metal box slung from his belt.

  Then I was on the ground, trying to shake the red fog of pain from my eyes. The first thing I saw was The Bishop lying before me, groaning in agony. I helped him to his feet; Tars Tukas needn’t have done that, not to a man of his age. He was grinning a lop-sided scarred grin when I turned.

  ‘Who am I?’ he asked. I resisted all temptation, for The Bishop’s sake if not my own.

  ‘Master.’

  ‘Don’t forget, and don’t try to run away. There are neural repeaters right around the entire country. If I leave this on for long enough all your nerves stop working. Forever. Understood?’

  ‘Understood, master.’

  ‘Hand over everything you’ve got on you.’

  I did. Money, papers, coins, keys, watch, the works. He frisked me roughly and seemed satisfied for the moment.

  ‘Let’s move.’

  A tropical dawn had come quickly and the lights were being turned out. We didn’t look back as we followed our new master. The Bishop was having difficulty in walking and I had to help him. Tars Tukas led us to a battered wooden cart that was standing close by. We were waved into the back. We sat on the plank seat and watched while crates were lowered from the c
argo hatch of the spacer.

  ‘That was a nice dropkick on the captain,’ I said. ‘You obviously know something about this planet that I don’t. What was the name?’

  ‘Spiovente.’ He spat the word like a curse. ‘The millstone around the League’s neck. That captain has sold us down the river with a vengeance. And he is a smuggler too. There is a complete embargo on contact with this stinking world. Particularly weapons – which I am sure those cases are full of. Spiovente!’

  Which didn’t really tell me very much other than that it was pretty bad. Which I knew already. ‘You couldn’t possibly be a bit more informative about this millstone?’

  ‘I blame myself completely for getting you involved in all this. But Captain Garth will pay. If we do nothing else, Jim, we will bring him to justice. We’ll get word to the League, somehow.’

  The somehow depressed him even more and he dropped his head wearily onto his hands. I sat in silence, waiting for him to speak in his own good time. He did finally, sitting up, and in the reflected light I saw that the spark was back in his eye.

  ‘Nil carborundum, Jim. Don’t let the bastards wear you down. We are landed in a ripe one this time. Spiovente was first contacted by the League over ten years ago. It had been isolated since the Breakdown and had thousands of years to go bad. It is the sort of place that gives crime a bad name – since the criminals are in charge here. The madhouse has been taken over by the madmen. Anarchy rules – no, not true – Spiovente makes anarchy look like a Boy Sprouts’ picnic. I have made a particular study of this planet’s system of government while working out the stickier bits of my personal philosophy. Here we have something that belongs in the lost dark ages of mankind’s rise. It is thoroughly despicable in every way – and there is nothing that the League can do about it, short of launching an invasion. Which would be completely against League philosophy. The strength of the League is also its weakness. No planet or planets can physically attack another planet. Any one that did would face instant destruction by all the others since war has now been declared illegal. The League can only help newly discovered planets, offer advice and aid. It is rumoured that there are covert League organisations that work to subvert repulsive societies like this one – but of course this has never been revealed in public. So what we have here is trouble, bad trouble. For Spiovente is a warped mirror image of the civilised worlds. There is no rule of law here – just might. Criminal gangs are led by Capos, the swordman in the fancy uniform, Capo Doccia, he’s one of them. Each Capo controls as large a capote as he can. His followers are rewarded with a portion of the loot extracted from the peasantry or from the spoils of war. At the very bottom of this pyramid of crime are the slaves. Us.’

  He pointed to the paincuff on his ankle and thoroughly depressed himself. Me as well.

  ‘Well, we can still look at the bright side,’ I said with desperation.

  ‘What bright side?’

  I wondered about that myself as I furiously thought out loud.

  ‘The bright side, yes, there is always a bright side. Like for instance – we are well away from Bit O’Heaven and our problems there. All set for a new start.’

  ‘At the bottom of the pile? As slaves?’

  ‘Correct! From here the only direction we can go is up!’

  His lips twitched in the slightest smile at this desperate sally and I hurried on.

  ‘For example – they searched us and took away everything we had on us. Every item except one. I still have a little souvenir in my shoe from my trip to jail. This.’ I held up the lockpick and his smile widened. ‘And it works – see.’ I opened my paincuff and showed it to him, then snapped it back into place. ‘So when we are ready to leave – we leave!’

  By this time the grin had widened into a full smile. He reached out and seized my shoulder in a grip of true comradeship. ‘How right you are,’ he beamed. ‘We shall be good slaves – for a time. Just long enough to learn the ropes of this society, the chain of command and how to penetrate it, what the sources of wealth are and how to acquire them. As soon as I determine where the chinks are in the structure of society here we shall become rats again. Not stainless steel ones, I am afraid, more of the furry, toothy kind.’

  ‘A rat by any other name is just as sweet. We will overcome!’

  We had to leap aside then as the first of the crates was manhandled into the back of the cart, the fabric of its battered structure squeaking and groaning. When the last of the cases was aboard the loaders climbed in themselves. I was glad the light was so bad – I really did not want to look at them too closely. Three scruffy, dirty men, unshaven and dressed in rags. Unwashed too as my twitching nose quickly informed me. Then a fourth man heaved himself up, bigger and nastier than the others, although his garments were in slightly better shape. He glared down at us and I smelled trouble – in addition to the pong.

  ‘You know who I am? I’m the Pusher. This is my bunch and you do what I say. The first thing I say is you, old man, take off that jacket. It’ll look better on me than on you.’

  ‘Thank you for the suggestion, sir,’ The Bishop answered sweetly. ‘But I think I shall retain it.’

  I knew what he was doing and I hoped that he was up to it. There was little room to move about in and this thug was twice my size. I had time for one blow, no more, and it had to be a good one.

  The brute roared in anger and started climbing over the crates. The terrified slaves scrambled out of his way. I scrambled aside too and he ignored me as he passed. Perfect. He was just clutching at The Bishop when I hit him in the back of the neck with my joined fists. There was a satisfactory thunk and he collapsed on top of the crate.

  I turned to the slaves who were watching in wide-eyed silence.

  ‘You just got a new Pusher,’ I told them, and there were quick nods of agreement. I pointed to the nearest one. ‘What’s my name?’

  ‘Pusher,’ he answered instantly. ‘Just don’t turn your back on that one when he comes to.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  His grin exposed blackened, broken teeth. ‘Won’t help you fight. Warn you though if you don’t beat us the way he did.’

  ‘No beating. You all help?’

  All of them nodded agreement.

  ‘Good. Then your first assignment will be to throw the old Pusher out of this cart. I don’t want to be too close when he comes to.’

  They did this with enthusiasm, and added a few kicks on their own initiative.

  ‘Thank you, James, I appreciate the help,’ The Bishop said. ‘My thinking was that you would probably have to fight him sooner or later, so why not sooner, with myself as distraction. And our rise in this society has begun – for you have already climbed out of the basic slave category. Suffering satellites – what is that?’

  I looked where he pointed and my eyes popped just as far out as his. It was a machine of some kind, that much was obvious. It was advancing slowly towards us, rattling and clanking and emitting fumes. The operator swivelled it about in front of the cart as his assistant jumped down and joined the two together. There was a jolt and we slowly got under way.

  ‘Look closely, Jim, and remember,’ he said. ‘You are seeing something from the dawn of technology, long forgotten and lost in the midst of time. That landcar is powered by steam. It is a steamcar, as I live and breathe. You know, I am beginning to think that I will enjoy it here.’

  I was not as fascinated by neolithic machinery as he was. My thoughts were more on the deposed thug and what would happen when he came after me. I had to learn more about the ground rules – and quickly. I moved back to the other slaves, but before I could open a conversation we clattered across a bridge and through a gate in a high wall. The driver of our steam chariot stopped and called out.

  ‘Unload those here.’

  In my new persona as Pusher I supervised but did little to help. The last case was just dropped to the ground when one of my slaves called out to me.

  ‘He’s coming now – through t
he gate behind you!’

  I turned quickly. He was right. The ex-Pusher was there, scratched and bloody and red-faced with rage.

  He bellowed as he attacked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The first thing that I did was run away from my attacker – who roared after me in hot pursuit. This was done not through fear, though I did have a certain amount of that, but from the need to get some space around me. As soon as I was well away from the cart I turned and tripped him so he sprawled full-length in the muck.

  This drew a big laugh from the onlookers; I took a quick glance around while he was climbing to his feet. There were armed guards, more slaves – and the red-garbed Capo Doccia who had cleaned us out. An idea began to form – but before it took shape I had to move to save my life.

  The thug was learning. No more wild rushing about. Instead he came slowly towards me, arms spread, fingers extended. If I allowed him a sweet embrace I would not emerge from it alive. I backed slowly, turning to face Capo Doccia, moved to one side, then stepped quickly forward. Seizing one of my attacker’s outstretched hands in both of mine, pulling and falling backwards at the same time. My weight was just about enough to send him flying over me to sprawl full-length again.

  I was on my feet at once – with the plan clear in my mind. An exhibition.

  ‘That was the right arm,’ I called out loudly.

  He was stumbling when he returned to the attack so I took a chance and called my shot.

  ‘Right knee.’

  I used a flying kick to get him on the kneecap. This is quite painful and he screamed as he dropped. He was slower getting to his feet this time, but the hatred was still there. He was not going to stop until he was unconscious. Good. All the better for my demonstration of the art.

  ‘Left arm.’

  I seized it and twisted it up behind his back, held it there, pushing hard. He was strong – and still fighting, trying to clutch me with his right hand, struggling to trip me. I got in first.

  ‘Left leg,’ I shouted as I kicked hard on the back of his calf and he went down another time. I stepped back and looked towards Capo Doccia. I had his undivided attention.