The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection

by Harry Harrison

  ‘You officers, the few among you who were sober enough that is, may have heard an explosion and seen a cloud of smoke while you were on the way here. This explosion was caused by an individual who entered this base and is still undetected in our midst. We know nothing about him, but suspect that he is an offworld spy …’

  This drew a gasp and a murmur as might be expected and the gray man waited a moment until he continued.

  ‘We are making an intensive search for this individual. Since you gentlemen were in the immediate vicinity I am going to talk to you one at a time to find out what you might know. I also may discover … which one of you is the missing spy.’

  This last shaft exacted only a shocked silence. Now that he had everyone in the mental condition for cross-examining the gray man began calling officers forward one at a time. I was doubly grateful for the foresight that had dropped me off the truck onto the side of my head.

  It was no accident that I was the third man called forward. On what grounds? General resemblance in build to the offworld spy Pas Ratunkowy? My delayed arrival at Glupost? The bandage? Some basis of suspicion must have existed. I dragged forward with slow speed just as the others had done. I saluted and he pointed to the chair next to the desk.

  ‘Why don’t you hold this while we talk,’ he said in a reasonable voice, passing over the silver egg of a polygraph transmitter.

  The real Vaska would not have recognized it, so I didn’t. I just looked at it with slight interest – as though I did not know it was transmitting vital information to the lie detector before him – and clutched it in my hand. My thoughts were not as calm.

  I’m caught! He has me! He knows who I am and is just toying with me!

  He looked deep into my bloodshot eyes and I detected a slight curl of distaste to his mouth.

  ‘You have had quite a night of it, Lieutenant Hulja,’ he said quietly, his eyes on the sheaf of paper – and on the lie detector readout as well.

  ‘Yes sir, you know … having a few last drinks with the boys.’ That was what I said aloud. What I thought was They will shoot me, dead, right through the heart! and I could visualize that vital organ spouting my life’s blood into the dirt.

  ‘I see you recently had your rank reduced – and where are your fuses, Pas Ratunkowy?’

  Am I tired … wish I was in the sack I thought.

  ‘Fuses, sir?’ I blinked my red orbs and reached to scratch my head and touched the bandage and thought better of it. His eyes glared into mine, gray eyes almost the color of his uniform, and for a moment I caught the strength and anger behind his quiet manners.

  ‘And your head wound – where did you get that? Our offworld spy was struck on the side of the head.’

  ‘I fell, sir, someone must have pushed me. Out of the truck. The soldiers bandaged it, ask them …’

  ‘I already have. Drunk and falling down and a disgrace to the officer corps. Get away and clean yourself up, you disgust me. Next man.’

  I climbed unsteadily to my feet, not looking into the steady glare of those cold eyes, and started off as though I had forgotten the device in my hand, then turned back and dropped it on his desk, but he was bent over the papers and ignoring me. I could see a faint scar under the thin hair of his balding crown. I left.

  Fooling a polygraph takes skill, practice and training. All of which I had. It can only be done in certain circumstances and this one had been ideal. A sudden interview without normalizing tests being run on the subject. Therefore I began the interview in a near panic – before any questions had been asked. All of this must have peaked nicely on his graph. I was afraid. Of him, of something, anything. But when he had asked the loaded questions meant to uncover a spy – the question I knew was coming – I had relaxed and the readout had shown this. The question was a meaningless one to anyone but the off-worlder. Once he saw this the interview was over, he had plenty more to do.

  Ostrov was sitting up, cold sober, eyes as big as plates when I came back and dropped onto the bench next to him.

  ‘What did he want?’ He spoke in a hollow whisper.

  ‘I don’t know. He asked me something or other that I didn’t know about and then it was over.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t want to talk to me.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Don’t you know!’ with shocked incredulity. I tread warily, covering my complete lack of information.

  ‘Well you know I just came here …’

  ‘But everyone knows Kraj.’

  ‘Is that him … ?’ I gasped it out and tried to look as frightened as he did and it seemed to work, because he nodded and looked over his shoulder and quickly back again. I rose and went to the latrine again to terminate the conversation at this spot. Everyone knew about Kraj.

  Who was Kraj?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EMBARKING FOR THE INVASION came as a relief for everyone; better a nice quiet war than the suspicions and fears that swept the Glupost base during the following days. There were sudden inspections, midnight searches, constant alarms and the sound of marching boots at all hours. I would have been proud of my efforts at sowing the seeds of disorder if I had not been a victim of that disorder at the same time. The invasion plans must have gone ahead too far to alter because, in the midst of all the excitement, we still adhered to schedule. On B day minus two all the bars closed so that the sobering up process of the troops could begin. A few reluctant ones, myself and Ostrov included, had concealed bottles which carried us a bit further, but even this ended when our lockers and bags were put into storage and we were issued pre-packed invasion kits. I had a small can of powdered alcohol disguised as tooth powder that I was saving for an emergency and the emergency instantly presented itself as the thought of the coming weeks without drink, so Ostrov and I finished the tooth powder on B Day minus one and that was that. After one last midnight spot check and search we were assembled and marched to the departure area. The fleet, row after row of dark projectiles, stood waiting beyond the gates. We were called out, one at a time, and sent to our assigned places.

  In the beginning I had thought that this was a rather stupid way to run an invasion. No plans, no diagrams, no pep talk, no training, no maneuvers – no nothing. It finally dawned on me that this was the ideal way to mount an invasion that you wished to keep secret. The pilots had plenty of piloting experience, and we would get more on the outward voyage. The troops were ready to fight; the sources of supply supplied. And somewhere at the top there were locked boxes of plans, course tapes and such. None of which would be opened until we were safe in warpdrive and outside communication would be impossible. All of which made life easier for me since there were few opportunities to trip me up in my knowledge of things Cliaandian.

  It was with a great deal of pleasure that I found myself assigned as pilot of a troop transport. This was a role I could fill with honor. My earlier assignment of a roommate had not been accidental either, because Ostrov climbed into the navroom a few minutes later and announced that he was going to be my co-pilot.

  ‘Wonderful,’ I told him. ‘How many hours do you have on one of these Pavijan class transports?’

  He admitted to an unhappily low figure and I patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘You are in luck. Unlike most First Pilots your old Uncle Vaska is without ego. For an old drinking buddy no sacrifice is too great. I am going to let you fire the takeoff and if you do the kind of job I think you will do, then I might let you shoot the landing as well. Now hand me the checklist.’

  His gratitude was overwhelming, so much so that he admitted that he had been saving his fountain pen for a real emergency since it was filled with 200 proof alcohol and we both had a squirt. It was with a feeling of contentment – and scarred throats – that we watched the troops marching up and filing into the loading ports far below. A few minutes later a grizzled full-bearded colonel in combat uniform stamped into the navroom.

  ‘No passengers allowed here,’ I said.

  ‘Shut your mo
uth, lieutenant. I have your course tapes.’

  ‘Well, let me have them?’

  ‘What? You must be either mad or joking – and both are shooting offenses in combat.’

  ‘I must be on edge, colonel, not much sleep, you know …’

  ‘Yes.’ He relented slightly. ‘Allowances must be made, I suppose. It hasn’t been easy for anyone. But that’s behind us now. Victory for Cliaand!’

  ‘Victory for Cliaand!’ we extolled ritually. There had been a lot of this the last couple of days. The Colonel looked at his watch.

  ‘Almost time. Get the command circuit,’ he ordered.

  I pointed to Ostrov, who pressed the right button instantly. A message appeared on the comscreen. STAND BY. We stood. Then it began blinking quickly and changed to the harsh letters, SET COURSE. The colonel took the tape container from his pouch and we had to sign as witnesses on a form stating that the tape was sealed when we received it. Ostrov inserted the tape into the computer and the colonel grunted in satisfaction, his work done, and turned to leave. He fired a parting shot over his shoulder on the way out.

  ‘And none of those 10 G landings that you moronic pilots seem to enjoy. I’ll court-martial you both if that happens.’

  ‘Your mother knits sweaters out of garbage,’ I shouted after him, waiting, of course, until the door was closed. But even this feeble effort stirred enthusiasm in Ostrov who was beginning to respect me more and more.

  Hurry up and wait is common to all military forces and that is what we did next. The checklists were complete and we saw ship after ship take off until most were gone. The transports were last. The green BLASTOFF signal came as a relief. We were on our way. To a nameless planet circling an unknown star as far as any of us were concerned. The tape told the computer where we were going but did not condescend, nor had it been programmed, to inform us.

  This security blanket lasted right up to the invasion itself. We were seven boring days en route with nothing to drink and the ship piloted by the computer and the frozen rations barely edible. On a long term basis, without the ameliorating effects of alcohol, Ostrov proved to be less than a sparkling companion. No matter where the conversation began it invariably ended up in repetitive anecdotes from his school days. I slept well, I’ll say that, and usually while he was talking but he never seemed to mind. I also checked him out on the instruments with drills and dry runs, which may have done him some active good and certainly acquainted me with the controls and operation of the ship.

  Since the ship was completely automated, Ostrov and I were the only crew members aboard. The single doorway to the troop area was sealed and my friend the surly colonel had the only key. He visited us once or twice which was no pleasure at all. On the seventh day he was standing behind us glowering at the back of my neck when we broke out of warpdrive and back into normal space.

  ‘Take this, inspect here, sign that,’ he snapped and we did all those things before he broke the seal on the flat case. This was labeled INVASION in large red letters which rather suggested that things would be hotting up soon. My instructions were simple enough and I switched on the circuits as ordered so the ship could home on the squadron leader. A yellowish sun shone brightly off to one side and the blue sphere of a planet was on the other. The colonel glared at this planet as though he wanted to reach out and grab it and take a bite out of it, so future developments seemed obvious enough without asking questions.

  The invasion began. Most of the fleet was ahead of us, lost in the night of space and visible only occasionally as a network of sparks when they changed course. Our squadron of transports stayed together, automatically following the course set by the lead ship, and the planet grew in the screens ahead. It looked peaceful enough from this distance, though I knew the advance units of the fleet must be attacking by this time.

  I was not looking forward to this invasion – who but a madman can enjoy the prospect of approaching war? – but I was hoping to find out the answer to the question that had brought me here. I believed that interplanetary invasions were still impossible, despite the fact that I was now involved in one myself. I felt somewhat like the man who, upon seeing one of the most exotic animals in the zoo, said ‘there ain’t no such animal’. Interplanetary invasions just don’t work.

  The interplanetary invading force rushed on, a mighty armada giving the lie to my theories. As the nameless planet grew larger and larger, filling the forward screens, I could see the first signs of the war that I knew was already in progress; tiny sparkles of light in the night hemisphere. Ostrov saw them too and waved his fist and cheered.

  ‘Give it to them, boys,’ he shouted.

  ‘Shut up and watch your instruments,’ I snarled. Suddenly hating him. And instantly relenting. He was a product of his environment. As the twig is bent so grows the bough and so forth. His twig had been bent nicely by the military boarding school into which he had been stuffed as a small child. Which, for some unknown reason, he still thought well of although every story he told me about it had some depressing or sadistic point to make. He had been raised never to question, to believe God had created Cliaand a bit better than all the other planets, and that they were therefore ordained to take care of the inferior races. It is amazing the things people will believe if you catch them early enough.

  Then we were turned loose as the individual transports scattered to home in on their separate targets. I fiddled with the radio and silently cursed the Cliaandian passion for security and secrecy. Here I was landing a shipload of troops – and I didn’t even know where! On the planet below, surely, they could not very well disguise that fact, but on what continent? At what city? All I knew was that pathfinder ships had gone in first and planted radio beacons. I had the frequency and the signal I was to listen for, and when I detected it I was to home in and land. And I knew that the target was a spaceport. With the final instructions I had received some large and clear photographs – the Cliaandian spies had obviously been hard at work – of a spaceport; aerial and ground views. A big red X was marked near the terminal buildings and I had to set the ship as close to this site as I could. Fine.

  ‘That’s the signal!’ The dah-dah-dit-dah was loud and clear.

  ‘Strap in – here we go,’ I said, and fed instructions to the computer. It worked up landing orbit almost instantly and the main jets fired. ‘Give the colonel the first warning, then feed him proximity and altitude reports while I bring her in.’

  We were dropping towards the terminator, flying into the dawn. The computer had a fix on the transmitter and was bringing us down in a slow careful arc. When we broke through the cloud cover and the ground was visible far below I saw the first sign of any resistance. The black clouds of explosions springing up around us.

  ‘They’re shooting at us,’ Ostrov gasped, shocked.

  ‘Well, it’s a shooting war, isn’t it?’ I wondered what kind of veteran he was to be put off by a little gunfire, and at the same time I hit the computer override and turned off the main jets. We dropped into free fall and the next explosions appeared above and behind us as the gun computer was thrown off by our deceleration change.

  I caught sight of the spaceport below and hit the lateral jets to move us in that direction. But we were still falling. Our radar altimeter readings were being fed into the computer which kept flashing red warnings about the growing proximity of the ground. I gave it a quick program to hold landing deceleration as long as possible, to drop us at 10 G’s to zero altitude. This meant we would be falling at maximum speed and slowing down for minimum time, which would decrease the time we would be exposed to ground fire. And I wanted the colonel to have the 10 G’s he had once warned me about.

  The jets fired at what looked like treetop height, slamming us down into our couches. I smiled, which is hard to do with ten gravities pulling at you, thinking about the expression on the colonel’s face at that moment. Watching the screen I added some lateral drift until we were just over the hardstand which was our target area. Afte
r this it was up to the computer which did just fine and killed the engines just as our landing struts crunched down. As soon as all the engines cut off I hit the disembark button and the ship shivered as the ramps blew out and down.

  ‘That takes care of our part,’ I said, unbuckling and stretching.

  Ostrov joined me at the viewport as we watched the troops rush down the ramps and run for cover. They did not seem to be taking any casualties at all which was surprising. There were some bomb craters visible nearby and heaps of rubble, while fighter-bombers still roared low giving cover. But it didn’t seem possible that all resistance had been knocked out this quickly. Unless this world did not have much of a standing army. That might be one answer to explain the Cliaandian invasion success; only pick planets that are ripe for plucking. I made a mental note to look into this. Well behind his troops came the colonel in his command car. I hoped that his guts were still compressed from the landing.

  ‘Now we have to find some drink,’ Ostrov said, smacking his lips in anticipation.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said, taking my sidearm from the rack and buckling it on. ‘You stay with the radio and watch the ship.’

  ‘That’s what all the first pilots always say,’ he complained, so I knew I had called this one right.

  ‘Privilege of rank. Someday you will be exercising it too. I shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Spaceport bar, that’s where it usually is,’ he called after me.

  ‘Don’t teach your grandpa to chew cheese,’ I sneered, having already figured that one out.