"Not the Chariots of Fire again?" Floyd groaned.
"No. But something that sounds just as ominous. A Transport of Delight . . ."
Before we had time to dwell too long on that thought there was a brisk knocking and gold-clad Veldi threw the door open.
"Gentlemen-this way if you please."
We walked heads high and strong. Hiding any qualms we might have had. Though we shuddered to a halt when we saw what was awaiting us.
"Your Transport of Delight," Veldi said proudly, waving magnanimously in the direction of what could only be a landlocked lifeboat.
It was snow-white, clinker-built, with a stub mast festooned with flags, white wheels just visible tucked under the keel below. A uniformed officer looked down from the rail above, saluted, gave a signal-and the rope ladder clattered down to our feet.
"All aboard," I said as I led the way.
Cushioned divans awaited us while attendants beckoned and held out jars of cool drink. As soon as we were seated the officer signaled again and the drummer in the bow whirred his sticks in a rapid drumroll - then shifted to his bass drum. As the first, methodical boom boomed out the Transport of Delight shuddered. Then began to roll slowly forward.
"A galley-without slaves or oars," Floyd said.
"Plenty of slaves," I said as a wave of masculine perspiration wafted up from the funnel-shaped vent beside me. "But instead of oars they are grinding away at gears or some such, to turn the wheels."
"No complaints," Steengo said, sipping at his wine. "Not after the Chariots of Fire."
We rolled ponderously between the buildings, nodding at the bystanders and occasionally giving a royal flick of the hand at some of our cheering fans. We moved on through what appeared to be a residential quarter and beyond it into a park-like countryside. Our road wove between the trees, past a row of ornamental fountains to ponderously stop before an immense glass-walled building. A party of elegantly dressed ancients awaited us. Led by the most ancient of them all, white-clad and standing firmly erect. But his face was wrinkled beyond belief. I clambered down the ladder and dropped before him.
"Do I address the noble Heimskur?"
"You do. And of course you are Jim of the Rats. Welcome, welcome all."
There was plenty of handshaking and glad cries of joy before Heimskur broke off the reception and led me into the glass building.
"Welcome," he said, "doubly welcome. To the College of Knowledge from whence all good things flow. If you will follow me I will explain our labors to you. Since you gentlemen come from the surging, mongrel worlds outside our peaceful boundaries you will surely appreciate how the application of intelligence makes our society such a happy and peaceful world. No strife, no differences, a place for everyone and everyone in their place. Down this way are the Phases of Physics, the Caverns of Chemistry. There the Avenues of Agriculture, next to them the Meadows of Medicine, while just beyond is the Museum of Mankind."
"Museum?" I inquired offhandedly. "I simply love museums."
"Then you must see ours. It charts the difficulties through which we passed before coming here, a rite of passage and of cleansing, before we found safe haven on this world. Here we grew and prospered and the record is clear for all to see."
And pretty boring if not just downright preposterous. Cleaner than clean, whiter than white. The only thing missing were the halos on the saints who had accomplished so much good.
"Inspirational," I said when we finally reached the end of the exhibition.
"It is indeed."
"And down this way?"
"The museum for students. Biologists can examine the plant life of our planet, geologists the strata and the schist."
"Archeologists?"
"Alas, very little. The crudest of artifacts left by the long-dead indigenes who first settled here."
"May we?"
"By all means. You see-fire sticks and crude pottery. A hand ax, a few arrow points. Scarcely worth preserving were we not so faithful to our role as recorders and archivists."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing."
I dug the photograph from an inside pocket, took a deep breath-and passed it over.
"You may have heard that the warders in the Pentagon promised us favors if we helped them find this?"
"Did they indeed? I would believe nothing they said."
He took the photograph and blinked at it, handed it back. "Just like them to lie and cause trouble for no reason."
"Lie?"
"About this. It was brought here. I examined it myself. Not indigenous at all, couldn't possibly be. Probably something broken off an old spaceship. Meaningless and worthless. Gone now."
"Gone?" I fought to keep the despair from my voice.
"Discarded. Gone from Paradise. Non-existent. Men have no need of such rubbish therefore it is gone forever. Forget the worthless item Jim and we shall talk of far more interesting things. Music. You must tell me-do you write your own lyrics . . . ?"
CHAPTER 17
We were very silent on our return trip, scarcely aware of the manifold pleasures that rode with us in our Transport of Delight. Only behind the closed doors of our quarters did we let go. I nodded appreciatively as I listened while Floyd swore blasphemously and scatologically; he had a fine turn of phrase and went on for a long time without repeating himself.
"And I double that," I said when lack of breath forced him to subside. "We have indeed been hard done by."
"We have," Steengo agreed. "But we have also been lied to.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Heimskur was selling us a line of old camel cagal. More than half of his so-called history of science and nature was pure propaganda for the troops. If we can't believe him about that-how can we believe him when he shovels a lot of bushwah about the artifact? Do you remember his last words?"
"No."
"Neither do I. But I hope someone does. I imagine that you didn't notice it-but I was doing a lot of head-scratching and nose-picking while we were doing that tour."
Floyd wasn't being bright today and gaped at the news. I smiled and put my index finger into my ear. "Come in ear in the sky. Do you read me?"
"No but I hear you," Captain Tremearne said through my fingernail.
"Good. But more important-did you listen in to our guided tour?"
"All of it. Very boring. But I recorded it anyway, the way you asked."
"The way Steengo asked-credit where credit is due. Would you be so kind as to play back the last speech about the artifact."
"Coming up." After some clattering and high-pitched voices whizzing by our aged guide sounded forth.
"Discarded. Gone from Paradise. Non-existent. Men have no need of such rubbish therefore it is gone forever."
I copied it down and got it right after a couple of repeats. "That's it. Thanks."
"There," Steengo said, tapping the paper. "Weasel wording. That tricky old devil was playing with us, knowing that we had some reason to be interested in the thing. He never said destroyed, not once. Discarded? That means it might be still around someplace. Gone from Paradise-could be anywhere else on this planet. But I particularly like the bit about men having no need for the thing." He smiled a smile like a poker player laying down five Aces.
"If men have no need for it-what about women?"
"Women?" I felt my jaw hanging open and closed it with a clack. "What about them? There are only men here?"
"How right you are. And right on the other side of the town wall is-what? I'm betting on women. Either that or an awful lot of cloning is going on in this place. I'll bet on nature and some kind of connection through the wall."
My jawphone buzzed and Tremearne's voice echoed inside my sinuses. "I agree with Steengo. And so does Madonette. She's already on her way along the wall to the city and will report as soon as she finds out anything. "
I started to protest, realized the futility, kept my mouth shut. "It figures," I said. "The gang in charge here lie about every
thing else-so lying about the artifact just comes naturally. We'll have to wait . . ."
I shut up as Veldi knocked quietly, then opened the door. "Good news!" he announced, eyes glowing with passion. "Iron John has chosen to speak to The Stainless Steel Rats-in the Veritorium itself. An honor above all other honors. Hurry, gentlemen. But first brush your clothing and, with the exception of heroically-bearded Floyd, diple the five o'clock shadow now gracing your musical jaws. What pleasures do await you!"
Pleasures better lived without. But this was a royal command and no way to get around it. I took a bit of diple-fast and rubbed my jaw smooth, combed my hair and tried not to scowl at myself in the mirror. I was the last to emerge and we boarded the Transport of Delight in silence, rolled ponderously to our destiny.
"I wonder why all three of us?" Steengo said, sipping his glass of chilled wine. "Last time it was you alone at the training-film session, wasn't it, Jim?"
"I have no idea," I said, wanting to change the subject. Nor was I too pleased with his light-hearted attitude. I tried to think about Madonette going in alone to the other city, but my thoughts kept trundling back to Iron John. What was going to happen now?
When we entered the Veritorium I was surprised at how big it really was. It was better lit now and I saw that rows of seats reached up in a semicircle. They were all filled now with the oldest collection of Paradisians I had seen so far. Bald heads and gray hair, wrinkles and toothless jaws.
Iron John himself stepped forward to greet us. "You are all truly welcome here-and these seats are for you." They were three of the best in the front row-separated from the others. "You are our honored guests, musical Stainless Steel Rats. This occasion is a special one-specially so for young James diGriz. You are the youngest man here, Jim, and very soon you will find out why. Your companions will, I am sure, watch with pleasure. Not only pleasure but I sincerely hope that they will learn by observation. Now we begin . . ."
Cued by his words the lights died and darkness filled the Veritorium. Footsteps sounded in the darkness, and there was a small laugh. Light appeared and I saw the small boy hurry forward, stumbling a bit under the weight of the box he was carrying. He put it down and opened the lid, took out a top that started spinning when he touched its switch. Then he took out a tray of blocks, started to build a tower with them. When it was high enough he turned to take another toy out of the box. He was a very concentrated, very intense young boy, about eight years old. He rummaged deeper in the box, then looked around with a childish frown.
"Don't hide, teddy," he said. Looked behind the toy box, then into it again and then-with sudden determination-turned and hurried off. He vanished from sight but I could hear his footsteps going away, stopping. Then coming back. Carrying a teddy bear. A commonplace, slightly worn, very ordinary teddy bear. He propped it against the toy box and started building a second tower from the blocks.
The scene grew lighter and I realized we were back in the castle courtyard. The boy was alone-or was he? Something was there in the darkness, a shape that grew clearer.
It was an iron cage and, sitting silently, inside it was Iron John. The boy shouted and knocked over the block towers, ran to pick up the strewn blocks. Looked at Iron John, then away. The cage and its occupant must be a familiar sight to him.
Nothing else happened. The boy played, Iron John watched him in silence. Yet there was an electric tension in the air that made it hard to breathe. I knew that something vitally important was about to happen, and when the boy reached again into the toy box I found myself leaning forward.
When he took the small golden ball from the box I realized that I had been holding my breath; I let it out with a gasp. Nor was I the only one for around me in the darkness there were echoes of my gasp.
The ball bounced and rolled and the boy laughed with pleasure.
Then he threw it once, harder than intended, and it rolled and rolled. Through the bars of the iron cage to stop at Iron John's feet.
"My ball," the boy said. "Give it back."
"No," Iron John said. "You must unlock this cage and let me out. Then you will have your golden ball back."
"Locked," the boy said.
Iron John nodded. "Of course. But you know how to find the key."
The boy was shaking his head no as he backed away.
"Where is the key?" the man in the cage asked, but the boy was gone. "Where is the key? But you are only a boy. Perhaps you are too young to know where the key is. You must be older to find the key."
There were murmurs of agreement from the invisible audience. It was very important to find the key, I knew that. The key . . .
It was then that I became aware that Iron John was looking at me. He was there in the cage; it wasn't a holoflic. He looked at me and nodded.
"Jim, I'll bet you know where the key is. You are no longer a boy. You can find it-now."
His voice was a goad. I was on my feet, walking forward to the box of toys. My foot touched a block and it rattled aside.
"The key is in the toy box," I said, but I didn't believe the words even as I spoke them. I looked at Iron John who shook his head no.
"Not in the box."
I looked down again and realized that I did know where the key was. I raised my eyes to Iron John and he nodded solemnly. "See you do know where the key to the cage is. You can let me out now, Jim. Because you know the key is there. Inside . . ."
"Teddy," I said.
"Teddy. Not a real bear. Teddies are for children and you are no longer a child. Inside teddy."
I reached out, blinked away the tears that were blurring my vision, seized up the toy, felt the soft fabric between my fingers. Heard a loud voice that slashed the silence.
"Not quite right, Jim, not right. The key is not there-it has to be under your mother's pillow!"
Steengo had come forward to join me, had to shout the last words to be heard over the roar of voices.
"Mother doesn't want her son to leave her. She hides the key to the Iron man's cage under her pillow. The son must steal the key . . ."
The shouting voices drowned him out. Then it went dark in an instant and someone ran into me knocking me down. I tried to stand, to call out, but a hard foot walked on my hand. I shouted aloud at the sudden pain but my voice went unheard in the clamor. Someone else jarred into me and the darkness became even more intense.
"Jim-are you all right? Can you hear me?"
Floyd's face was just above mine, looking worried. Was I all right? I didn't know. I was in bed, must have been asleep. Why was he waking me?
Then I remembered and sat upright, grabbed his arms.
"The Veritorium! It got dark, something happened. I can't remember-" '
"I'm not much help because I can't either. It seemed like a good show. Hard to follow the plot but you were in it, do you remember that?" I nodded. "Seemed to be enjoying yourself, although you didn't look happy about tearing the stuffing out of the teddy bear. That's when Steengo joined you onstage and all the fun started. Or stopped. It all gets vague about that time."
"Where's Steengo?"
"You tell me. I saw him last on the stage. I was sleeping myself, just woke up. Looked around, no Steengo. Found you here snoring away and I gave you a shake."
"If he's not here . . ."
A muted knock sounded at the door, and a moment later it opened and Veldi looked in.
"Gentlemen, a happy good morning to you both. I thought I heard your voices and hoped you would be awake. I bring you a message from your friend . . ."
"Steengo - you've seen him?"
"Indeed I did. We had a friendly chat before you awoke. Then, before he left, he made this recording. Told me to give it to you. Told me you would understand."
He placed a small recorder on the table, stepped back. "The green button is to play, red to stop." Then he was gone.
"A message?" Floyd asked, picking the thing up and staring at it.
Press the button instead of fiddling with the damn thing!"<
br />
He looked startled at my tone, put it back on the table and turned it on.
"Good morning there, Jim and Floyd. You guys are sure sound sleepers and I didn't want to wake you before I went out. You know, I'm beginning to think that this city is not for me. I need some space to get my thoughts together. I'm going to take a walk back down the wall, get some air to breathe, some space to think in. You hang in there and I'll be in touch."
"That old Steengo," Floyd said. "What a character. That's him all right. His voice, sure enough, and his way of thinking. Some guy!"
I looked up, looked him in the eye. His face was as grim as mine. He shook his head in a silent no. I did the same.
Steengo had not left that message. It was his voice all right. Easy enough for the electronic technicians to fake that.
Steengo was gone.
What had happened?
CHAPTER 18
I really slept," I said. "Like a rock. Thirsty."
"The same. I'll get some juice and a couple of glasses."
"Great idea."
I had scribbled the note by the time he came back, slipped it to him when I took the glass. He opened it behind the pitcher, read it.
Place bugged. What do we do?
He nodded as he passed me my glass of juice.
"Thanks," I said, watching him turn over the note and write on the back. I don't know if there were optical bugs as well as the audio ones. Until we found out we had to act as though there were. I kept the note in my palm when I read it.
Steengo much concerned. Left these for you before we went to the show.
I finished the juice, put my glass down, lifted my eyebrows quizzically. He pointed quickly at his closed fist. When he stood and passed me he dropped something small into my lap. I waited a minute before I poured more juice, drank it, sat back with my hand in my lap. Two small, soft objects. Familiar. I rubbed my nose and glanced at them.
Filter nose plugs. For neutralizing gas. Steengo had known something-or guessed something. He also knew how affected I had been by the sessions in the Veritorium. He had suspected that something physical, not just the training session itself, had gotten to me.
The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the Blues Page 12