The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (67 page)

“Attention! On your feet you slovenly crew!”

“Never!” I shouted even louder in a cracked voice. Rolling over to pull the swaying bodies back to the deck.

“Begone foul military fiend! We are musicians, civilians, medically reformed drug addicts and we must think and
feel that way. Someday, if we live, you may have some of us back at your military mercy. But not now. Leave us in peace and wait for my reports.”

He snarled a rich naval oath—but had the brains to turn on his heel and vanish. There was a ragged cheer from my companions which made me feel slightly less sordid. The silence after this was unbroken, except for the occasional groan, until distant
motors whirred and the inner lock swung majestically open. A keen clipboard-bearing naval officer stepped through.

“Landing party for Liokukae?”

“All present, all ill. Send a working party for our gear.”

He muttered into his lapel microphone, reached to the back of his belt to unclip a pair of handcuffs. Which he promptly snapped onto my wrists.

“Whasha?” I blurted incoherently. Blinking down
at the cuffs.

“Don’t give me a hard time, you drug-pushing addict, and I won’t give you one. You may be a big man out there in the galaxy, but here you are just one more sentenced crook. Who is going to carry his own pack—no working party for the likes of you.”

I opened my mouth to verbally assassinate him. Then closed it. It had been my idea that our mission be known to the minimum few. He
obviously wasn’t one of them. I groaned to my feet and stumbled into the airlock dragging my gear after me; the others following in like condition. The orbital shuttle ship was grim and cheerless. The hard metal seats snapped clamps on our ankles when we sat down; no dancing in the aisles this trip. We watched in silence as our backpacks were thrown into a storage bin, then looked up at the big screen
on the front bulkhead. Lots of stars. They rotated and the bulk of
Remorseless
swam into sight, grew smaller and dropped behind as the engines fired. Then the pickup turned so that the growing bulk of the planet could be seen and we were treated to a scratchy and static-filled ancient recording of martial music. This died away and was replaced by a male speaker with a repulsive nasal whine.

“Now hear this, prisoners. This is a one-way trip. You will have resisted all efforts at adjustment that would have fitted you to live peacefully in our humane and civilized society …”

“Blow it out your rocket tubes!” Steengo snarled, running his fingers through his gray hair, perhaps to see if it was still there. I would have nodded agreement with his snarl only my head hurt too much.

“… brought
upon yourselves by your own efforts. Upon landing you will be escorted by armed guards to the gates of the landing station. Your restraints will be removed and you
will be given an orientation booklet, a canteen of distilled water, as well as a week’s supply of concentrated survival rations. During that week you will look for small trees bearing hard fruit. These are the polpettone trees and a
source of nourishment for all. Their fruit is the result of careful gene mutation and transplant, rich in animal protein. They should not be eaten raw because of the chance of trichinosis, but should be baked or boiled. You must remember …”

I wanted to remember nothing he said so I tuned him out. I tried to reassure myself that the normal condemned passenger on this flight must have done something
pretty gruesome to deserve this fate. I wasn’t convinced. Despite millennia of civilization man’s inhumanity to man persisted whenever an opportunity presented itself.

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, will be just what we need 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.

“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 stun guns 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.