“Thanks indeed,” I said snaking back my eyeballs. “Most kind and I’ll remember you in my report to the War Council.”
I waved as we retreated and they all waved back and with all those flying tentacles it looked like an explosion in the octopus works.
“I am depressed,” I confided to my robot-wife as we rounded the next bend. “No way to get in to them that way.”
“Be of good cheer,” she radioed. “And let’s try the next stairwell. If there is a level below this one then we can penetrate from beneath.”
“My genius,” I said, and clattered my claws lovingly on her metallic shoulder. “That is just what we shall do. And I believe that dead ahead is just what we are looking for. But how will we know when we are under the right spot?”
“We will know because I planted a sonic transponder while you were making your political speech to those slugs.”
“Of course! You had this in mind all the time. If it were anyone else I would be green with jealousy. But I writhe with pleasure at the ingenuity of my little wife.”
“Well, if you do, try not to phrase the praise in such male chauvinist pig terms. Women are as good as men; usually better.”
“I stand chastised, robot mine. Lead the way and I shall follow.” We clattered and bumped down a slime-covered stairway into total darkness. Unused—even better. Angelina switched on some spotlights and we saw a massive metal door ahead that sealed off the foot of the stairs.
“Shall I burn it down?” she asked, poking her head out of the robot for a bit of air. “No. I’m suspicious. Try out your detectors and see if there is any electronic life beneath the surface.”
“Plenty,” she said, sweeping it carefully. “A dozen alarm circuits at least. Shall I neutralize them?”
“Not worth the effort. Scan that wall there. If it’s clear we’ll go in around the door.”
We did. These aliens really were simpleminded. The burned-open wall led to a storeroom and the wall beyond this opened into the chamber the bugged door was supposed to guard. Easy enough to do for even an amateur cracksman and my opinion of the enemy IQ dropped a few more points.
“So this is why they didn’t want anyone cracking in here!” Angelina said, flashing her spotlight around.
“The town treasury,” I yummed. “We must come back and dip into it when we get a chance.”
Mountains of money stretched away in all directions, loot of a hundred worlds. Gold and platinum bars, cut diamonds, coins and notes of a hundred different kinds, money enough to build a bank out of, much less open one. My larcenous instincts were overwhelmed and I kicked open great bags of bullion with my claws and wallowed in the wampum.
“I know that relaxed you,” Angelina said indulgently. “But should we not get on with our rescue operation?”
“Of course. Lead on. I am indeed refreshed.”
She beeped her subsonic beeper and followed the pointing arrow. It led us through the treasure hoard and, after burning down a few more doors and walls, we reached the indicated spot.
“We’re right under a transponder,” Angelina said.
“Good.” I took a careful sight. “Then the barred gate will be here, and the prisoners just about here.” I paced off the distance carefully. “There were some chairs and debris right here, so if we approach from this spot we should be concealed when we come up. Is your drill ready?”
“Whirring and humming.”
“Then that’s the spot. Go.”
The drill arm extended and began grinding into the rusty ceiling. When the drill note changed Angelina switched off all the lights and drilled even slower in the darkness. This time when she dropped the drill a ray of light shone down through the hole. We waited silently—but there was no alarm.
“Let me get one of my eyes through the hole,” I said.
By balancing on tiptail and tiptoe I got my body up high enough to extend an eye stalk up through the opening. I gave it a 360 degree scan, then withdrew it.
“Really great. Junk all around, none of the admirals looking in our direction and the guards are out of sight. Give me the molecular unbinder and stand back.”
I climbed out of the alien outfit and up onto its shoulders where I could easily reach the ceiling. The molecular unbinder is a neat little tool that reduces the binding energy between molecules so that they turn to monatomic powder and slough away. I ran it in a big circle, trying not to sneeze as the fine dust rained down, then grabbed the metal disc as I closed the circle. After handing this down to Angelina I put a wary head up through the opening and looked around. All was well. An admiral with an iron jaw and a glass eye was sitting nearby, the picture of dejection. I decided on a little morale rising.
“Psst, Admiral,” I hissed, and he turned my way. His good eye widened and his jutting jaw sank in an impressive manner as he spotted my disembodied head. “Don’t say a word out loud—but I am here to rescue you all. Understand? Just nod your head.”
So much for trusting admirals. Not only didn’t he nod his head, but he jumped to his feet and shouted at the top of his voice.
“Guards! Help! We’re being rescued!”
Nine
I didn’t really expect much gratitude, particularly from an officer, but this was ridiculous. To traverse thousands of light years of space, through dangers too numerous to mention, to suffer the loving embraces of Gar-Baj, all of this to rescue some motheaten admirals, one of whom instantly tried to turn me in to the guards. It was just too much.
Not that I hoped for anything much better. You don’t live to be a gray-whiskered stainless steel rat without being suspicious at all times. My needle gun was ready, since I was alert for trouble from the guards, but I was also certainly prepared to get some from the prisoners as well. I flicked the control switch from “poison,” to “sleep”—which took an effort of will, let me tell you—and pinged a steel needle into the side of the admiral’s neck. He slumped nicely, dropping toward me with arms out-stretched as though for one last grab at his savior.
I froze, motionless, when I saw what was revealed on those skinny wrists.
“What’s happening?” Angelina whispered from below.
“Nothing good,” I hissed. “Absolute silence now.”
With a stealthy motion I lowered my head until just my eyes were above the rim of the opening, still concealed by the broken chairs, empty ration boxes and other debris. Had the guards heard the disturbance? Certainly the other prisoners had. Two octenarian officers tottered up and looked at the sprawled form of their comrade.
“What’s wrong? Fit of some kind?” one of them asked. “Did you hear what he shouted?”
“Not really. I had my hearing aid turned off to save the battery. Something about Mards Phelp, Meer Seen Plescu.”
“Doesn’t make sense. Perhaps it means something in his native language?”
“Nope. Old Schimsah is from Deshnik and that doesn’t mean a thing in Deshnikian.”
“Roll him over and see if he’s still breathing.”
They did and I was watching closely and nodded approvingly when my needle dropped from Old Schimsah’s neck when they moved him. With this evidence removed it would be a couple of hours at least before he came to and told them what had happened. That was all the time I needed. Plans were already forming in my head.
Dropping back down, I grabbed the disc of metal so recently removed, smeared the edge with lepak-glue—stronger than welding—and pushed it back up into place. There was a crunching sound as the glue set and the ceiling, not to mention the floor above, was solid again. Then I clambered back down and sighed heavily.
“Angelina, would you be so kind as to turn on some of your lights and to crack out a bottle of my best whiskey.”
There was light, and a sloshing glass, and patient Angelina waited until it had been lowered from my lips before she spoke.
“Isn’t it time you confided in your wife just what the hell is going on?”
“Pardon me, light of my life, I ju
st had a bad moment there.” I drained the glass and forced a smile. “It started when I whispered to the nearest admiral. One look at me and he called the guards. So I shot him.”
“One less to rescue,” she said with satisfaction.
“Not quite. I used a sleeping needle. No one heard what he said so I slipped away and the opening is sealed, but that is not what is bothering me.”
“I know you haven’t been drinking, but you don’t sound too lucid.”
“Sorry. It was the admiral. When he dropped over I saw his wrists. There were red marks like scars around both of them.”
“So?” she asked in obvious puzzlement—then her face went suddenly pale. “No, it couldn’t possibly be?”
I nodded slowly, finding it impossible to smile. “The gray men. I could recognize their handiwork anywhere.”
The gray men. Just thinking of them sent a chill down my back—a back, I must add, that is not chill-prone very often. While I am strong and brave and stand up to the physical batterings of life quite well, I, like all of us, find it hard to resist direct assaults on my gray matter. The brain has no defenses once the inputs of the body have been bypassed. Plug an electrode into the pleasure center of an experimental animal’s brain and it keeps pushing the button that supplies the electric fix until it dies of hunger or thirst. Dies happily.
Some years ago, while involved in straightening out a little matter of interplanetary invasion, I had been cast in the role of experimental animal. I had been captured and secured—and had seen both of my hands cut off at the wrists. Then had lost consciousness and, when I came to, had seen the hands apparently sewn back on. With scars just like those the admiral had been sporting.
But my hands had never been cut off. The scene had been imprinted directly into my brain. Yet for me it had happened, along with a number of other loathsome things which are better forgotten.
“The gray men must be here,” I said. “Working with the aliens. No wonder the admirals are cooperating. Being firmly structured in the physical world of commands and obedience, they are perfect targets for brain stomping.”
“You must be right—but how is it possible? The aliens hate all humans and certainly wouldn’t work with the gray men. Nasty as they are, they are still human.”
As soon as she said it that way I saw the answer clearly. I smiled and embraced her and kissed her, which we both enjoyed, then held her at arm’s length since she was a great distraction to clear thought.
“Now hear this, my love. I think I see a way out of this entire mess. All of the details aren’t clear—but I know what you must do. Could you bring the boys and a crowd of those Cill Airne back here? Go up through the floor, shoot the guards, put the admirals to sleep, then carry them away?”
“I could arrange that, but it would be a little dangerous. How would we get them clear?”
“That’s what I will take care of. If I had this entire planet in a turmoil, no one knowing what was happening next or who to take orders from or anything—would that make the job easier?”
“It would certainly simplify things. What do you plan to do?”
“If I told you you might say that it was too dangerous and would forbid me. Let me say only that it must be done and that I am the only one to do it. I am off in my alien disguise and you have two hours to assemble the troops. As soon as things start falling apart make your move. Get them all to some safe spot, preferably near the spacedrome. I’ll get back to my sleeping quarters as soon as I can. Have a guide waiting there for me. But make sure that he knows that he is to wait no more than one hour for me to show up. What I have to do will be done by that time and I will get back. There should be no problems. But if there is and I’m not there he is to report right back to you. I can take care of myself as you know. And we can’t jeopardize everything by waiting for one person. When the guide reports back with or without me, you go. Grab a spaceship then at the height of the confusion and leave this place.”
“And about time too. I’ll expect you back.” She kissed me but did not look happy. “You’re not going to tell me what you are going to do?”
“No. If I told you I would have to listen too and then I might not do it. But it does involve three things. Finding the gray men, turning them over to our alien friends—then getting out of it myself.”
“Well you do that. But don’t skip any of the steps—particularly the last one.”
We climbed into our various disguises and departed quickly before we changed our minds. Angelina clattered off with knowledgeable tread and I thudded off in the opposite direction. I thought I knew the way but must have made a wrong turning. Looking for a shortcut back to the upper levels, I managed to fall through a rusted plate in the decking into what must have been a covered-over lake or underground reservoir. In any case I thrashed on for quite awhile in the darkness, my course lit only by my glowing eyes, until I found the far end. There was no obvious way out but I settled that by dropping a grenade from my cloaca and flicking it against the wall with a twitch of my tail. It crumped nicely and I crawled through the smoky opening back into the light of day. Just in time to see an officer with a patrol of nasties trotting up to see what was the trouble.
“Help, ohh help, please,” I moaned, staggering in small circles with my claws pressed to my forehead. Thankfully, the officer was also a TV-news watcher.
“Sweet Sleepery—what is bothering you?” it cried aloud emotionally, showing me about five thousand rotten fangs and a meter or two of damp purple throat.
“Treachery! Treachery in our midst,” I cried. “Send a message to your CO to order an emergency meeting of the War Council—then take me there at once.”
It was done instantly, and they took me at my word by wrapping a thousand sucker-tipped tentacles around me and rushing me off my feet. This made the trip easier, and saved my batteries, and I was refreshed and relaxed when they finally dropped me at the door to the conference room.
“You are all repugnant lads, and I shall never forget you,” I shouted. They cheered and slapped their suckers against the deck with wet shlurping sounds and I galloped into the conference.
“Treason, treachery, betrayal!” I cried.
“Take your seat and make your statement in the proper form after the meeting is correctly opened,” the secretary said. But a thing like a purple whale with terminal hemorrhoids was more sympathetic.
“Gentle Jeem, you seem disturbed. We have heard that there has been mayhem in your quarters, and all we can find of the noble Gar-Baj is his tail which doesn’t say very much. Can you elucidate?”
“I can—and will, if the secretary will let me.”
“Ohh, get on with it then,” the secretary grumbled ungraciously, looking more and more like a squashed black frog with every passing moment. “Meeting called to order, Sleepery Jeem speaking re certain grave charges.”
“It’s like this,” I explained to the attentive War Council. “We of Geshtunken have certain rare abilities—in addition to being inordinately sexy, I mean.” They appreciated this last and there was a lot of squishy banging on the furniture and wet smacking sounds. “Thank you, and the same to you. Now one thing we can do is smell very good—yes, I know, we smell good too, sit down boy, you’re in the way. As I was saying, my keen sense of smell led me to believe that there was something not strictly kosher about this planet. I sniffed and sniffed well—and I sniffed out humans!”
Through the cries of shocked horror I heard shouts of “Cill Airne!” and I acknowledged them with a nod of my head.
“No, not the Cill Airne, the natives of this planet. I detected their traces at once, but they are like mouse droppings and I know the extermination corps is surely taking good care of them. No, I mean humans right here in our midst! We have been penetrated!”
That rocked them back and I let them shout and writhe a bit while I sharpened my claws with a file. Then I raised my paws for silence and there it was in an instant. Every eye, large, small, stalked, green, red or sog
gy, was on me. I walked slowly forward.
“Yes. They are among us. Humans. Doing their best to sabotage our lovely war of extermination. And I am going to reveal one to you—rightnow!”
My legs’ motors hummed and my power plant grew warm as I sprang into the air with a mighty leap. Sailing in an arc through the air, twenty meters or more. Graceful too. Landing with a horrible crunch that set my shock absorbers groaning. Dropping down crash onto the secretary’s desk which crushed nicely. Paws extended so that my claws sank through the secretary’s damp black hide. Picking him up and waving him about as he writhed and shouted.
“You’re mad. Let me down! I’m no more human than you are!”
That was what made my mind up. Up until this moment it had all been guesswork. The gray men were here, they must be disguised, and the only four-limbed creature other than myself was the secretary. In the position of power to run things, the only really organized alien I had yet encountered. But it was still just guesswork until he had spoken. Roaring with victory I hooked a recently sharpened claw into the front of his throat.
Dark liquid spurted out and he screamed hoarsely.
I gulped and almost hesitated. Was I wrong? Was I going to dismember the secretary of the War Council right in front of the council itself? I had a feeling they would not take that too well. No! It was for only a microsecond that I hesitated—then I tore on. I had to be right. I ripped out his throat, delicately sliced all around his neck—then tore his head off.
There was a shocked silence as the head bounced and squashed on the floor. Then a gasp from all sides. Inside the first head there was another head. A small, pallid, scowling human head. The secretary was a gray man.
While the council was shocked into immobility the gray man was not. He pulled a gun from a gill slit and leveled it at me. Which of course I had been expecting and I brushed it aside. I was not as quick when he grabbed out a microphone from his other gill and began shouting into it in a strange language.
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