The Stainless Steel Rat’s Revenge ssr-2

by Harry Harrison

  “Me? Not much chance, love. Kraj is the man who unreeled the barbed wire in my brain awhile back and tried to do the same to you. I’m only sorry we couldn’t get more from him before he left us.”

  “The next one will tell more. At least we know now that your idea was right. They may not be aliens, but they certainly aren’t natives of Cliaand. If we can root them out of there we might be able to stop the entire invasion thing.”

  “Easier visualized than accomplished. Let’s have that swim and brood about it over a drink when we come out.”

  The water loosened up my muscles and made me profoundly aware of a great hunger and thirst. I called in on my sonar communicator So that a small steak and a bottle of beer were waiting at the water’s edge whoa we emerged. These barely brushed the fringes of my appetite yet gave me the strength to make it back to our loom for a more elaborate meal.

  And elaborate it was, seven courses beginning with a fiery Burada soup, going on to fish and meat and other delicacies too numerous to mention. Angelina ate a bit then sipped at her wine while I finished most of the food in sight. Finally replete I entered the soiled dishes away and settled back with a sigh.

  “I have been thinking,” I said.

  “You could have fooled me. I thought you were eating like a pig with both trotters in the trough.”

  “Just save the bucolic humor. A hard night’s work deserves a good day’s food. Cliaand, that’s our problem. Or rather the gray men who have her war economy so firmly under control. I’ll bet if we could get rid of them the original Cliaandians would not have this same burning interest in interstellar conquest.”

  “Simple enough. A program of planned assassination. There can’t be too many of them, Kraj said as much. Polish them off. I’ll be glad to take on the assignment.”

  “Oh no you won’t. No wife of mine hires out as a contract gun. It is not that simple—physically or morally. The gray men can guard themselves well. And that the ends justify the means is a bankrupt statement. You saw what happened to Dr. Mutfak when he worked for a good end but used means that ran counter to his moral beliefs. You and I are of tougher fabric, my love, but we would still be affected if we went in for mass slaughter…” She went white and I was sorry I had said it. I took her hand.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t talking about the past.”

  “I know, but it still stirred up some unwholesome memories. Let’s forget assassination. What else can be done?”

  “A number of things, I am sure, if we can only ask just the right questions. There must be a way to break apart the constantly expanding Cliaand empire.”

  Angelina touched the wine glass to her lips and a highly attractive concentration line appeared between her eyes.

  “What about starting counter-revolutions or rebellions on all the conquered worlds?” she said. “If we kept the Cliaandians busy fighting on the presently conquered planets they couldn’t very well go seeking for new territory.”

  “You’re nibbling close to the idea there, but it’s not quite right yet. We can’t expect much from the resistance movements on these different worlds if the example of Burada is at all relevant. You heard what Taze said, the fighting is dying down because of the massive reaction by the Cliaand forces. If one of them is killed in a raid they slaughter twenty Buradans in return. These people, after generations of peace, are not mentally equipped to fight a ruthless guerrilla war. I even doubt if the Cliaandians would react so viciously if they weren’t forced on by the gray men who organized and order everything. The soldiers just follow orders, and following orders has always been a Cliaand strength. We’ll never stop these people by trying to incite minor revolts behind their backs. But you are right about causing them trouble on the various worlds. The entire Cliaandian economy and culture is set up on a continuing wartime basis. It is like some demented life form that must keep expanding or die. Cliaand itself can’t possibly build or supply its fleets but must depend on the conquered worlds. These worlds are in the absolute control of the Cliaand so they take orders and turn out the goods and the invasions roll on and nothing can stop the advance.”

  “I wish the Cliaand invasion was that demented life form you talk about, some sort of ugly green growing thing. We could tear it up by the roots, break off the limbs—” She broke a hard roll in half to demonstrate what she meant, then nibbled at it. When she started to speak again I held up my hand.

  “Stop,” I ordered. “Say nothing. I think. I see something. It is almost there.”

  Then I paced the room, putting two and two together and getting four and adding four and getting eight and performing equally skilled problems of mathematics and logic. It was clear, all clear, and the pieces fell into place and I fell into my chair and grabbed up my drink.

  “I am a genius,” I said.

  “I know. That’s why I married you. Physically you are very unattractive.”

  “You will soon be apologizing for that remark, woman. For the moment we will drink to my Plan and to victory.”

  We clinked and sipped.

  “What plan?” she asked.

  “I cannot tell you yet. Aside from the fact that you scoffed, it is not detailed in all its ramifications and must be worked out. But the first step is clear and will begin at once or sooner. Do you think the gray men have made a public announcement of Kraj’s kidnapping?”

  “I doubt it. We’ve heard nothing on the command circuits we monitor. And I’m sure this is not the kind of news they would want the Cliaandian man-m-the-spaceship to know about.”

  “Just my thinking. Add to this the exaggerated aloofness and self-centered attitude that they have, even towards each other. I am going to gamble on the fact that there has been no widespread announcement about Kraj.”

  “How?”

  “Get the makeup and face-lifting kit. I am going to get into the military base disguised as Kraj. I have some important things to do there.”

  She started to protest, but I raised my finger and she was silent. Just as I had been when she went to the Octagon. There was nothing she could say and she knew it.

  Without a word she went for the disguise materials.

  Chapter 20

  I need Cliaandian transportation and I got it in the simplest way possible. From the enemy. Since I wasn’t outrageously happy about the makeup job we had done I decided to operate after dark when the dim lights would help the illusion. Then, wearing Kraj’s uniform and carrying my own case, I went with Hamal to the Octagon, scene of the earlier festivities. Hamal was a member of the auxiliary police, male that is, since the women made up most of the force. I would have preferred one of the girls, they seemed much more sure of themselves, but there were only male Cliaand troops on the planet at this time. The handful of Cliaand women stayed out of sight. Hamal looked a little nervous and I didn’t like the way he rolled his eyes from time to time, but be would have to do.

  “You understand your part?” I asked him, pushing him into the shadowed entrance to the deep doorway.

  “I do, sir, sure I do.”

  Were his teeth chattering? It was hard to tell. I took out the vial Dr. Mutfak had given me for use in case of emergency.

  “Take two of these, chew and swallow. They’re happy pills that should raise your morale without sending you dancing through the streets.”

  “I don’t…”

  “You do now. Take.”

  He took and I scuttled away towards the Octagon, keeping to the shadows, and looking carefully around the corner before I made my play. There was a certain amount of traffic in and out of the building even at this hour of the night, but nothing that would help me. Finally a small ground car pulled up and dropped two officers off, then started away. In my direction. All systems go. I stepped into the street in front of it and waved my hand; it squealed to a stop with the front bumper almost touching me. The driver looked frightened and I kept him that way.

  “Do you always drive like that?”

  “No, sir, but�
��”

  “Save your excuses, they don’t interest me.” I climbed into the car next to him while he was still gaping. “Drive on, I’ll tell you where I want to go.”

  “Sir, this car, I mean…”

  A single, cold, Krajian look wilted him like a spring flower in a blizzard and he shot the car forward. As soon as we were out of sight of the building I ordered him to stop and broke a sleep capsule under his nose. I’m sure he could use the rest. Then I drove him to the place where Hamal was waiting. He had pried open the door to the stationery store in which he was hiding, and we carried the Cliaand trooper inside. He would sleep until rooming after that capsule and I arranged reams of paper comfortably under his head and feet while Hamal changed into his uniform.

  “Do you know how to drive this car?” I asked him when we emerged.

  “I should. It’s one of ours. They stole it and painted their dirty flag on it.”

  “Spoils of war regained. Now drive me to the spaceport. And don’t stop completely at the gate, just slow down and keep rolling. It’s all bluff so keep your chin up and try not to look as scared as you are. Be a man.”

  “I am,” he moaned. “But this is a woman’s job. I don’t know how I ever got myself talked into it.”

  “Shut up and drive on. And take a couple more of these pills.”

  The spaceport was ahead and I was more worried about my driver than I was about anyone there, I had seen the way they stayed out of Kraj’s way. Perhaps that would help to explain my driver’s obvious fear. I sighed. Roll on the car. Everyone was supposed to know Kraj—and now I was putting that theory to the test. The guards snapped to attention when we appeared and the sergeant started to say something, but I talked first.

  “Stay away from that phone. I want to talk to some people and I don’t want you telling them I’m coming. You know what will happen to you if you do.” I had to shout the last words since, in his near panic, Hamal had not slowed enough and we zipped right by the guards. But they must have heard because they made no attempt that I could see to get near their phone. Step one.

  “I can’t do it!” Hamal sobbed and spun the wheel on the car until we were headed back towards the gate. “I’m going home. I was never cut out for the police, it was all my mother’s idea, she wanted me to be like a daughter to her and made a tomgirl out of me. When all I ever wanted to be was a simple househusband like my father…”

  The gate was coming up at a great rate and I cursed fluently and jumbled out a sleep capsule to crack in front of his face, then tugged at the wheel. I had to hold him up with the other hand and we made another turn and zipped off into the night again. I hesitated to think what the guards at the gate thought about all this. Struggling with the controls I managed to guide the car to the rear of one of the big hangars before Hamal’s foot slipped off the accelerator and the engine died.

  There were crates of some kind in the rear of the car as well as a bundle of army blankets. I heaved everything out except the blankets which I used to cover Hamal, now curled up sweetly on the floor. Perhaps I should have shot him or just dropped him out. But it really wasn’t his fault that he was born low man in a matriarchy. As long as no one came near the car we were safe, and I did not feel that anyone would show that much interest in Kraj’s car. I drove to the nearest spacer, a great cargo transport, and parked well away from the lights around the entrance. Now for step two.

  “You know who I am?” I said to the master at arms stationed at the foot of the gangway. My voice cold and empty.

  “Yes, sir, I do.” He stood at attention staring directly ahead of him.

  “All right, then have the Chief Engineer meet me on A deck.”

  “He’s not aboard, sir.”

  “I’ve made a note of that dereliction of duty and you will tell him of it when he returns. His assistant then.”

  I went by him without a further look and he sprang to the telephone. By the time I had reached A deck an engineer in greasy coveralls was waiting for me, nervously wiping his hands on a cloth.

  “I’m sorry, we were taking down one of the generators… “ his voice ran out and expired as I glared at him.

  “I know you have trouble, and that is why I am here. Take me to the engine room.”

  He hurried away and I followed heavily after him. This was going to be easier than I thought. Three white-faced ratings looked up from the guts of the generator when we came in.

  “Get them out of here,” I said and did not have to repeat myself.

  I looked at the open generator and nodded sagely as if I had any idea what the repairs were about. Then I began a slow tour of the engine room, tapping dials and squinting into observation ports while the engineer trotted after me. When I reached the warpdrive generator I looked at the nameplate covered with incomprehensible numbers, then turned to the engineer.

  “Why is this model being used?”

  I have never seen an engineer yet who didn’t have something to say about every piece of equipment under his care and this one was no different.

  “We know it is the older model, sir, but the replacement didn’t arrive in time to install and balance before the flight.”

  “Bring me the tech manual.”

  As soon as his back was tuned I squeezed the handle of my case and the bomb dropped into my hand. I set the delay for forty minutes, armed it, and activated the sticky molecules on the base. Then I bent down and pushed it up under the thick housing of the warpdrive generator where it could not be seen. I was examining another piece of equipment by the time the engineer returned with the manual. A quick flip through the pages and a grunt or two over the identification numbers satisfied him, and I handed it back. I felt ashamed because the job was so easy.

  “See that the work is done quickly,” I said as I left, specifying nothing, but receiving in return his fervent assurances that it would be so.

  I repeated this maneuver at the next spacer, parking my car in the shadows near it. Just about the time I realized that there was something familiar about the ship, Otrov came down the gangway and turned to face me.

  This sudden confrontation startled me as much as it did him. But his eyes bulged and he stopped dead while I, being deep in the Kraj role, only stared coldly at him. Would be recognize me? I had bunked with him and drunk with him during my Vaska Hulja days, and I had piloted this ship. The Kraj disguise was good—but could it be expected to stand up to this close an examination by someone who knew me so well?

  “Well?” I whispered finally, when he showed no intention of moving or speaking or doing anything other than stare.

  “I’m sorry, sir, you surprised me. I didn’t expect to see you here, if you know what I mean.” He began to sweat and I stayed silent. “Your voice,” he said finally. “Is there anything wrong?”

  Of course there was. I knew I couldn’t make my voice sound like the real Kraj’s to someone who had talked with him recently as Otrov had. I also knew that one whisper sounds very much like any other whisper. But I wasn’t telling him that.

  “A wound,” I husked. “After all there is a war on—and some of us are Fighting it.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand.”

  He jittered back and forth from one foot to the other and I had enough of this and pushed on by. But he called after me and I turned with cold impatience to face him again.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you have heard anything about the whereabouts of Vaska…”

  “That is not his name. He is a spy. You aren’t trying to become familiar with a spy are you?” Otrov flushed red, but went on.

  “No, of course not, spy, that’s what he is. But we were friends once, he wasn’t a bad sort then. I was just inquiring.”

  “I’ll do the inquiring, you do the piloting.”

  I turned after these appropriately Krajian words and stamped into the ship. Otrov had surprised me standing up to Kraj like that. Somewhere inside his alcoholic hide there was a human being struggling for releas
e.

  This bomb was as easy to plant as the first one had been and I set it to go off at roughly the same time. Working fast now I drove quickly from ship to ship and managed to plant seven more bombs before the first one went boom. I was in engine room number nine when the alarm sounded.

  “What is that?” I asked, hearing the distant moan of sirens.

  “I have no idea,” the elderly engineer said, and pointed back to the engines. “These liner tubes, second rate and shoddy and I can’t get replacements…”

  “I’m no supply officer,” I snarled, suddenly very much in a hurry. “Go find out what the trouble is.”

  As soon as he left I slipped the bomb into place, set it for three minutes and followed him out.

  “What is it?” I asked, meeting him at the top of the gangway.

  “An explosion in one of the ships, in the engine room.”

  “Where? I must look into this!”

  I shouted the words and exited as fast as I could. Almost all of the bombs should have gone off by now and the reports would be pouring in. At first it would all be confusion, and it was during this period that I had to make my exit from the base. Because soon after that would come the realization that all of the explosions had occurred in the same place in a number of ships, followed by the unbelievable news that Kraj had recently been in all of these engine rooms. Kraj would not be suspected, not at first, but the authorities would certainly like to have a little chat with him. I wanted to get out before this final stage was reached. Walking as fast as I could without attracting attention, I headed for my car.

  And saw the two military policemen standing there, holding the sagging Hamal between them.

  “Is this your car, sir?” one of them asked. “Of course. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s this man, we saw him sitting in the back talking to himself. We thought he was drunk until we heard him speak. Some foreign language, sir, sounds like the one they talk on this planet. Do you know who he is?”