The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the Blues

by Harry Harrison

  The imaged clouds blew by and a massive five-sided building appeared on the screen. I supposed they called it the Pentagon.

  "In a few moments we will be landed inside the walls of the Pentagon debarkation station. Remain seated until you are ordered to rise. Follow instructions and your passage will be made that much easier . . ."

  I would like to make his passage easier! Then I relaxed and opened my fists. Very soon we would be away from weary wardens and on our own. That was the moment to be prepared for.

  We shuffled out in silence, down the gangway-which surely should have been a gangplank-and into the thick-walled Pentagon. To be greeted by yet another naval officer, grim-faced and gray-haired, wearing dark glasses.

  "Take the prisoners to Interview nine at once."

  The petty officer of our guard protested. "Not regulation, sir. They have to-"

  "You have to close your gob. Look at these orders. Do as instructed. You do enjoy being a petty officer?"

  "Yes, sir! Prisoners this way!"

  The officer came in after us, closed and locked the door, smiled at us warmly and said "Shut up" companionably. He then walked around the room with what I recognized as being a state of the art communication detector. I couldn't imagine who would want to bug the room here at the end of the universe-but he was in charge. Satisfied he put the detector away and turned to face us and handed me a key.

  "You can take the cuffs off while we are in this room. I am Captain Tremearne and I am your contact here. Welcome to Liokukae." He took off the dark glasses and smiled at us and waved us to the chairs. I could see now that a wicked scar slashed across his face and the bridge of his nose. He was blind. But could undoubtedly see fine with the electronic replacement eyes that had been fitted. They were gold-plated and gave him a highly interesting appearance.

  "I am the only one here in the Pentagon who knows the real nature of your assignment here. You are all volunteers and I would like to thank you. Help yourself to refreshments because that is the last kind word you are going to hear for quite a while."

  "What is it like out there?" I asked, touching the seal on a chilled container of beer and taking a life-reviving swig. There were fresh sandwiches and hot swinedogs there as well and my companions all dived in. I joined them, but not before I had opened a concealed drawer in my synthezier and taken out some necessary items.

  "What's life like on this planet? Grim-and worse than grim, Jim. In the centuries that Liokukae has been used as a societal galactic wastebin there has been a rather deadly shaking down. Different cultures have been formed here as like found like. Or violent men forced violent solutions upon weaker men. One of the most stable of these has been developed right outside the Pentagon. They call themselves the Machmen. Man is strong, woman weak, virility rules, strength through strength, I'm sure that you know the kind of thing. The top dog in this kennel, whom I am sure you will be meeting soon, is named Svinjar."

  "Are these weirdos what the psych books call male chauvinist pigs?" I asked. He nodded.

  "Absolutely correct. So do your best to keep Madonette out of sight. And practice walking on your toes and flaring your nostrils at the same time. If you can't think of anything else to do crook your arm and admire your biceps."

  "Sounds a paradise," she frowned.

  "Won't be too bad if you watch your step. They like to be entertained-since they haven't enough brains to entertain themselves. Very big on jugglers, duels, arm wrestling."

  "What about music?" Steengo asked.

  "Fine-as long as it is loud, martial and not sentimental."

  "We'll do our best," I said. "But it is a group called the Fundamentaloids that I want to look for."

  "Of course. As you have been told the spacer with the archeological expedition landed in their area of operation. I led the rescue party that took the expedition members out of here-which is why I am your contact now. The Fundamentaloids are nomads, as well as being pretty narrow-minded and obnoxious. I tried to keep things calm with them. Didn't work. In the end I narcgassed the lot and went in and pulled the scientists out. I didn't find out about the missing artifact until much later when we were offplanet and they were conscious again and the excitement had cooled down. By this time the group that had grabbed them had moved on and the trail got cold. Nothing more I could do at the time but report it. It's all in your hands now."

  "Thanks much. Can't you at least point out to me on the map where they are?"

  "Wish I could-but they're nomads."

  "Wonderful." I smiled insincerely. Twenty days to deadline. Deadline! it would be. I shook off the dark feelings just one more time, looked around at my band.

  "Ask questions if you have any because this is your last chance," Tremearne said.

  "Do you have a map?" I asked. "I would like to know just what we have to face when we go out there."

  Tremearne reached to the holo projector and switched it on. A three-dimensional contour map appeared in midair over the table. "This is a fair-sized continent as you can see. There are other continents on this planet, some inhabited, but they have no contact with this one. The artifact has to be somewhere here."

  That really simplifies things, I thought to myself. Only one continent to search and about three weeks to do it in. I shook off the depression that was depressing my depression.

  "Do you know who and what are out there?"

  "We have a good idea. We plant bugs where we can, fly spyeyes pretty often." He tapped the plain at the center of the continent. "Here is the Pentagon with the Machmen close by outside it. The Fundamentaloids could be anywhere here on the plains depending on the season. It is subtropical most of the year, but rainfall varies. They have herds of sheots, a very hardy ruminant, some kind of cross between a sheep and a goat. Now over here in the foothills is the closest thing that passes for civilization in these parts. An agricultural society with light industry that looks almost decent until you get close. There is a central city, right here, surrounded by farms. They mine and smelt silver and produce a coin called a fedha. It is the only currency on the planet and is used by almost everyone." He pulled a heavy bag out of a drawer and dropped it onto the table. "As you can well imagine they are easy enough to forge. In fact ours have more silver than the originals. Here's a supply for you. I suggest that you share it around and hide it well. A lot of types out there would be happy to kill you for just one of these. The people who mine the silver call their city Paradise-which is about as far away from a true description as you can get. Stay away from them-if you possibly can."

  "I'll try to remember that. And I want to copy this into memory in my computer. Here."

  I took off the small black metal skull that hung on a chain around my neck. When I squeezed it the eyes glowed greenly and a pressure-sensitive holoscreen blinked into being; I copied the map, thought about what Tremearne had said-and realized for the first time what a sinkhole we were being dropped into. I had another question.

  "So everyone out there is a nutcase or a weirdo of some kind?"

  "The ones that were sent here for various crimes are. The ones who were born here grow up and fit in just as well."

  "And you feel no compassion for them? Doomed by an accident of birth to existence in this world-wide spittoon."

  "I certainly do-and I am glad to hear you express yourself so clearly on the subject. I never even heard of this world until the emergency. I got the professors off safely then looked around. Which is why I now head the committee that is working to clean up the operation here on Liokukae. It has been ignored for too long by too many stupid politicians. I took this assignment to see for myself. Your reports to me, along with your complete report when you return, Arifl be just what we heed to make this prison world a thing of the past."

  "If you mean that, Captain, I'm on your side. But I hope you are not feeding a line of old cagal just to get the job done."

  "You have my word on it."

  I sure hoped that he was telling the truth.

&nbs
p; "I have a question," Floyd said. "How do we contact the Captain here if we need some help or such?"

  "You don't-I do." I tapped my jaw. "I've got a micro communicator implant here. Small enough to be powered by the oxygen in my blood. But powerful enough to be picked up by the big receivers in the Pentagon. So even if all of our goods are stolen-they can't get my jaw. So, I suggest strongly, we stick together at all times. I can talk with Tremearne through this thing, get suggestions and advice. But no physical contact or our cover is blown. If he has to pull us out the mission is over-whether we have the artifact or not. So let us be strong, guys and girl, and self sufficient. It's a human jungle out there."

  "No truer words ever spoken," Tremearne said grimly. "If no one else has any questions put the cuffs back on and you're out of here."

  "Hell yes," Steengo said, climbing to his feet. "Let's get it over with."

  Our packs were waiting for us in front of a massive and bolt-studded door. There were four shoddy little plastic bags as well, which probably contained our iron rations and water. An orientation booklet was tucked into each one. A backup force of guards with stunguns and porcuswine prods stomped up and glared obnoxiously while our manacles were removed.

  "In there," the petty officer ordered, pointing to the anteroom in front of the exit portal. "Inner door is closed and sealed before the outside one opens. You got only one way to go. Or stay in the room if you are tired of living. After five minutes the outer door closes and nerve gas is pumped in through those vents up there."

  "I don't believe you!" I snapped.

  His smile was without warmth. "Then why don't you just hang around and find out?"

  I raised my fist and he hurriedly jumped back. The porcuswine prods sparkled in my direction. I raised my finger to them in the intergalactic gesture that is as old as time, turned and walked away from them following the others. There was a creak and a thud from behind us as the door swung shut, but I did not turn to look. The future, whatever it contained, lay just ahead.

  We helped each other on with our packs, swaying dizzily with the effort. There was the thud of withdrawn bolts from inside the door, the growl of straining motors as it started to open.

  Unconsciously we drew together as we turned to face the unknown.

  CHAPTER 7

  A splatter of rain blew in through the opening door. Welcome to sunny, holiday Liokukae. Which opened wider to reveal the group of very ugly-looking individuals who were waiting outside. They were dressed in an astounding variety of clothing - it looked like all the donations to charity in the entire galaxy had been sent here-and they all had two things in common. They were heavily armed with a mixture of clubs, swords, maces and axes. And they all looked very angry.

  Just about what I had expected; I chomped down on the Blastoff capsule I had put in my mouth. I had never thought much of the weaklings-recovering-from-treatment plan and had palmed this pill in case it were needed. It was.

  A wave of energy and power washed through me as the mixture of powerful chemicals, uppers, stimulants, adrenalins, swept away all the fatigue and shakes. Power! Power! Power! I swayed forward on tiptoes as Tremearne had advised, flaring my nostrils at the same time.

  A great bearded lout swinging a crude but serviceable sword glared down at me. I glared back, noting that not only did his eyes meet in the middle but that his hairline also started at his eyebrows. When he shouted at me his breath frightened me more than he did.

  "You dere, little boy. Gimme what you carrying. You all drop what you got or you get it."

  "No one tell me what to do unless he can beat me, you illiterate cretin," I shouted back. The macho showdown with these macho mothers would have to take place sooner or later. Sooner was better.

  He roared angrily at the insults, even though he could not understand them, and swung up the sword. I sneered.

  "Big coward kill little man with sword when little man got no ax." I gave him two fingers to doubly amplify my feelings.

  I hoped my simple syntax fitted the local linguistic profile because I wanted to make sure they all understood me. They must have, because Pigbreath dropped his sword and jumped towards me. I swung off my pack and stepped out into the mud. He had his arms out, fingers snapping, ready to grab and crush.

  I ducked under them, tripped him as he went by to splat down into a puddle. He rose up, angrier than ever, balled his fists and came on more warily this time.

  I could have finished it then and there and made life easier. But I had to display a bit of skill first so his mates wouldn't think that his downfall had been an accident. I blocked his punch, grabbed and twisted his arm, then ran him into the wall with a satisfactory crunch.

  The blood from his nose did not improve his temper. Nor did my flying kick that numbed one of his legs, a stab with my knee that crumpled the other. Legless, he dropped to his knees, then crawled towards me on all fours. By this time even the dullest of the audience knew who had won this fight. So I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, hit his throat with the edge of my hand and let him keep going backwards, splatting down unconscious in the mud. I picked up his discarded sword, tested the edge with my thumb-jumped about so suddenly and menacingly that the armed men stepped away without thinking. I kept the momentum going.

  "I got sword now. You want it, you die for it. Or maybe lie smart bloke one of you what takes me to your boss, Svinjar. Guy what does dat gets this sword for free. Any takers?"

  The novelty of the offer and their inherent greed warded off any attack for the moment.

  "Get out of there and get behind me," I called over my shoulder. "And do your best to radiate obnoxious intolerance." Growling and gnashing their teeth my merry band emerged and lined up at my back.

  "You give me sword I take you Svinjar," an exceedingly hairy and musclebound specimen said. He was armed only with a wooden club so his greed was understandable.

  "You take me Svinjar then you get sword. Move it."

  There was hesitation, dark looks, muttering. I swished the sword under their noses so they had to step back again. "I got something real nice in my pack for Svinjar. You betcha he kill any bloke stop him grabbing it soonest."

  Threats penetrated where blandishments hadn't and we all moved off into the rainstorm. Along muddy tracks between collapsing hovels, to a small hill with a largish building made of logs, their bark still on, gracing the summit. I swung the sword so no one came too close, followed my guide up a stony path to the entrance with my weary musicians stumbling after. I was feeling a bit guilty about taking the Blastoff capsule. But things had developed too quickly to get some to the others. I stopped at the entrance and waved them through.

  "In we go, safe haven at last. Take one of these as you pass and chomp it instantly. It is a super-upper that will restore you to the world of the living."

  My club-bearing guide pushed inside and hurried past the groups of men who lolled about the large room, to the man in the great stone chair next to the fireplace. "You my boss, boss Svinjar. We bring them like you say." He swung about and stamped over to me. "Now you give sword."

  "Sure. Fetch."

  I threw it out the door into the rain, heard a yipe of pain as it bounced off one of his gang. He ran after it as I walked over and stood before the stone throne.

  "You my boss, boss Svinjar. These guys my band. Make good music you betcha."

  He looked me up and down coldly, a big man with big muscles-as well as a big belly that hung over his belt. Tiny piggy eyes peered out through the thicket of bristly gray hair and beard. The pommel of a sword projected from a niche in the stone chair and he touched it with his fingers, slipping it out then letting it fall back.

  "Why are you talking in that obnoxiously obscene patois?"

  "I do beg your pardon." I bowed deprecatingly. "I was addressed in that manner and assumed it was the local dialect."

  "It is-but only among the uneducated imbeciles who were born here. Since you weren't, don't offend my sensibility again. Are you
the musicians that got into deep cagal?"

  "Word sure spreads fast."

  He waved his hand at the 3D set against the wall and I felt my eyes bulge. It was a solid metal block with an armored glass face-with the aerial under the glass. A handle stuck out one side.

  "Our jailers are most generous in their desire that we be entertained at all times. They distribute these in great numbers. Unbreakable, eternal-and four hundred and twelve channels."

  "What powers it?"

  "Slaves," he said and reached out a toe to prod the nearest one. The slave groaned and climbed to his feet, stumbled over, clanking his chains as he went, and began to turn the handle on the internal generator. The thing burst to life with a commercial for industrial strength cat food.

  "Enough!" Svinjar ordered and the meows faded and died.

  "You and your companions kept the news channels alive. When they said crime and hospital treatment I was rather convinced they meant here. Ready to play?"

  "The Stainless Steel Rats are always at the service of those in control. Which, in this case, I assume is you."

  "You assume right. A concert it is-and now. We haven't had any live entertainment here since the cannibalistic magician died of infection after being bitten by accident in the heat of passion. Begin."

  By necessity all our gear had to be compact. The fist-sized loudspeakers contained holoprojectors that blew their image up to room size.

  "All right guys," I called out. "Let's set up by the back wall. No costumes for this first gig and we'll start with `The Swedish Monster from Outer Space."'

  This was one of our more impressive numbers. It had been found in one of the most ancient data bases, the lyric written in a long-lost language called Svensk or Swedish or something like that. After much electronic scratching about, one of the computers in the language department at the university had been able to translate it. But this lyric was so dreadful that we threw it away and sang it in the original which was far more interesting.