The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (72 page)

“What do you think?” I asked of no one in particular. Steengo bent and rapped one with his knuckles.

“Brick,” he said.

“Red brick,” Madonette said brightly.

“Thanks, thanks,” I mumbled with complete lack of appreciation.

There was a barely visible path next to the right-hand side of the row of bricks; for want of a better idea we began walking along it.

“It’s higher, see,” Floyd said, pointing. “A second course has been added.”

“And more still ahead,” Madonette said. “Three bricks high now.”

“What’s this?”
Steengo said, bending and pushing the grass aside to look more closely, touching the brick with his fingertip. “There’s some kind of symbol stamped into each of the bricks.” We all looked now.

“Sort of a circle with an arrow sticking out of it.”

“Arrow … circle,” I muttered. A sudden intuition bounced about inside my skull. “I’ve seen that symbol before—yes indeed! Would someone kindly step
over the wall and
see if there is a circle with a cross sticking out of it on the other side.”

Madonette lifted lovely eyebrows with curiosity, stepped daintily over the low wall, bent and looked. Eyebrows even higher now.

“How did you do that? On this side there is a circle-cross sign stamped into each brick.”

“Biology,” I said. “I remembered from school.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, stepping
back. “The symbols for male and female.”

Floyd had strolled on ahead; he called out. “Right as rain. Here is
VIROJ
stamped into a brick. And,” he leaned over and looked,
“VIRINOJ
on the other side.”

Very gradually the wall became higher as we walked beside it. In addition to the symbols we came to
LJUDI
then
MTUWA,
HERRER, SIGNORI.

“Enough,” I said, stopping. “Packs off. We shall now take our
break while we see what we have here. The message seems to be clear enough. Look at the path we have been following. Is there another path on the other side as well?”

The brick wall was as high as our waists now; Floyd put one hand on it and vaulted over, bent and looked.

“Maybe, but not too clear. Could have been here once but it is so overgrown with grass that it is hard to tell. Can I come
back now?”

“Yes—because it’s about time for a decision.” I pointed ahead to the slowly heightening wall. “The Fundamentaloids said they came to the city to trade. So they must have come this way, possibly made this track that we are following.”

Madonette nodded agreement—and didn’t like it. “And they were all men, I remember that all too clearly. Unclean indeed! No women allowed. Or if the women
did come this way they would have to have walked over on the other side of the wall. What do you want us to do, Jim?”

“What do
we
want to do? As I said—it’s time for a decision. Do we all stick together and ignore the obvious instructions? That’s the first question that we have to answer.”

“Do that and I’ll bet that eventually we get into some kind of trouble,” she said. “A lot of serious work
went into this wall. So if we don’t read the message something not too nice is guaranteed to happen. It always does on this world. The choice is mine. I’ll cross over and trot down the other side—”

“No,” I broke in. “As we go along the wall gets higher and we’ll be separated, out of contact. That won’t do.”

“Well I’m not staying here—and I can’t go back. So we need contact, what you just said.
Kindly clack your jaw-a-phone and get onto Tremearne. Tell him to get some radios down here that we can use to keep in touch. If we are going to complete this assignment the right way, we will have to know what is going on on both sides of the wall. And I’m the only one who can find out what happens—here.”

She picked up her pack and planted her bottom on the wall, swung her legs up and over and
smiled at us from the other side. I didn’t like it.

“It’s not a matter of liking or not liking it,” she said reading my doubts from my expression. “It is just the only way that we can get the job done. Get the radios. Don’t forget that Tremearne will always be listening in and can send the marines if any of us gets into trouble. Call him.”

“I will. But let us make sure they are the right kind
of radios before we put in the order. Line of sight is going to be out with the wall standing in the way and blocking the signal. Plus—who knows how thick the thing is going to be? It could soak up all the radio frequencies and that would be the end of that. Anyone know of a kind of radio that shoots a signal through rocks?”

I was speaking my thoughts aloud, half in jest. So was more than a little
surprised when a voice behind me said, “Yes.”

I spun about and glared at Steengo who was buffing his fingernails on his shirt, then admiring his image in their shining surfaces.

“You said that?” I accused. He nodded sagely. “Why?”

“Why
is a good question. The answer is that although I stand before you, an aging amateur musician drawn from retirement to risk his life for the public good, it
should not be forgotten that I worked for many a decade in the cause of that same public good. League communications. Where I helped develop a neat little device referred to as MIPSC.”

“Mipsic?” I echoed inanely.

“Close enough, my good friend Jim. MIPSC is the acronym of Miniaturized Personal Satellite Communicator. I suggest that you clamp your jaw and order up a brace of them. Although four
would be better—that way we could all keep in touch at all times. And remind Tremearne to put a commsatellite into orbit as well. Geostationary over the city of Paradise.”

“MIPSCS are not only highly secret but incredibly expensive
.” Tremearne said when I contacted him.

“Just like this little task force. Can you do it?”

“Of course. They’re on the way.”

A half an hour later a small package
drifted down from the sky hanging from a grav-lifter—which zipped up and vanished as soon as the package had been removed. I popped the end open and shook out a handful of false fingernails. I popped my eyes at these—then remembered how Steengo had been buffing his own fingernails when he told me about MIPSC.

“Tricky,” I said.

“High tech and perfect concealment,” he said. “There should be glue
in the package. They come in pairs. The one marked
E
goes onto the index finger, left hand. M glued to the pinkie of the same hand. Inside the nails are holographed circuitry so they can be trimmed as small as needed to fit. Without damaging the circuits in any way.”

“E? M?”
Floyd asked.

“Earplugs and microphone.”

“Then what?” I asked, almost humbly, dazed by the sudden appearance of a communications
wizard in our midst.

“They are powered by the destruction of the phagocytes that come to eat them where they touch the cuticle. Which means that the power is always on. Anytime you are outside—or in a building with thin floors—your signal zips up to the satellite and back down to the other receiver. Simple. Just put your index finger into your ear and talk into the microphone on your pinkie.”

I measured a pair, trimmed and glued with, I must admit, a certain amount of trepidation. Stuck my finger into my ear and said, “I hope it works.”

“Of course it does,”
Tremearne said, speaking through my fingernail instead of my jaw for a change.

While we had been installing the MIPSCS we had been going over and over all of the possibilities, had returned always to the only viable plan.

“Let’s
do it,” Madonette said, admiring her new communicating fingernails. She put on her pack, shrugged it into comfortable position, then turned and walked off on her side of the barrier. With each step the wall grew higher, until, very quickly, it was as high as her head, then higher. After a last wave of her hand she vanished from sight.

“Keep in touch,” I said into my pinkie. “Regular reports and
sing out if you see anything—anything at all.”

“Just as you say, boss.”

We slipped on our packs and started walking. By the time an hour had passed the wall was high and unscalable. Though I stayed in radio contact with her, Madonette was now completely alone. I kept telling myself that armed help could zip down from the orbiting spacer if needed. This did not make me feel much better.

“First
tilled fields coming up,” Floyd said. “And more
than that. That dust cloud next to the wall—it’s coming our way.”

“Weapons ready—and I have some concussion grenades handy if things get hairy.”

We stopped and waited and watched. In the distance it looked like a horse that was trotting towards us.

“Horse—but no rider,” I said.

Steengo had the keener vision. “Looks like no horse I ever saw before.
Not one with six legs.”

It slowed to a stop and looked at us. We returned the favor. A robot, metal. Jointed legs and in the front a pair of tentacle-like arms to boot. No head to speak of, just a couple of eyes that rose up on a stalk. A loudspeaker between its arms rustled and squawked metallically.

“Bonan tagon
—
kaj bonvenu al Paradizo.”

“And a good day to you as well,” I said. “My name is
Jim.”

“A masculine surname, most agreeable. I am called Hingst and it is my pleasure to greet you—”

The creature’s words were drowned out by a throbbing roar and a cloud of black smoke emerged from its rear. We stepped back, weapons ready. Hingst’s flexible arms lifted straight up.

“I wish you only peace, oh strangers. You would not know it, since you are untutored in science, but the sound
and fumes are merely the exhaust of my alcohol engine. Which is rapidly turning a generator which in turn …”

“Charges up your batteries. We know a thing or two as well, Hingst, greeter of strangers to Paradise, and we are not your usual goaty nomads.”

“Now that
is
a pleasure to hear, visiting gentlemen. Before my operating system was bolted into this rather crude construction I was a class A42
headwaiterbot and worked at only the most excellent restaurants …”

“Another time,” I said. “I would enjoy your reminiscences. We have a few questions—”

“And I am sure I have a few answers,” it said with surly overtones. “But there are preliminaries to go through.” It had strolled a few paces forward as it talked and now, like a striking snake, one of its tentacles lashed at me. I jumped back,
lifted my sword—but not before the cool metal tip had touched my lips and just as swiftly been withdrawn.

“Try that again and you’ll be a tentacle short,” I growled.

“Temper, temper. After all you are armed strangers and I am simply doing my duty. Which is to sample your saliva. And test it, which I have done. You may proceed, Gentleman Jim, because you indeed are of the male sex. I would appreciate
samples from your associates.”

“As long as it is just spit you are after,” Floyd growled, hands joined and cupped over his nether regions.

“Oh, I do appreciate a sense of humor, stranger.” The tentacle took its sample from his mouth. “Gentleman stranger I can now say. Final traveler if you please. Lovely, thank you. You may now proceed.”

It turned away and I jumped in front of it.

“A moment
first, Hingst the Official Greeter. A few questions …”

“Sorry. I am not programmed for that. Kindly step aside, Gentleman Jim.”

“Only after I get a few answers.”

When I didn’t move the other tentacle touched my arm—and lightning struck!

I was lying dizzily on the ground watching it trot away. “Shocking, isn’t it!” Hingst called back smugly.
“Big
batteries.”

Floyd helped me to my feet and
dusted me off. “So good so far.”

“Thanks. But you aren’t the one who was short-circuited.” I reported to Madonette as we went on, with Tremearne
listening in.
“Applied technology,”
he said.
“Perhaps this lot isn’t as bad as the rest of the crumb-bums on this planet.”
Since I was still tingling, and had a burnt taste in my mouth, I sneered in silence and did not bother to answer. Very soon after
that Madonette called in that a creature like the one we had described was coming towards her. I clutched my sword in helpless anger, relaxed only when she called back.

“Just like you—only with a different name. Hoppe. As soon as it made the test it trotted off. What now?”

“We go on—and you take a break. If things are going to be the same, or similar, on both sides of the wall well find out
first.”

“Male chauv superiority?”

“Common sense. We’re three to your one.”

“A solid argument—and I could use the rest. Keep in contact.”

“You’ve got it. Here we go.”

The path had widened and was more of a dirt road now. We passed some tilled fields and came to a large grove of polpettone trees. Obviously cultivated since they were planted in neat rows. Beyond them was a low huddle of buildings
that could be a farm.

Blocking the path was a brick building with an archway that spanned the road; we slowed and stopped.

“Is that what I think it is?” Steengo said.

“I think that it is a building with an arch under it,” Floyd said. “And we’re not going to find out any more just standing around here.”

We shuffled forward slowly and stopped again when a man appeared in the archway. Our hands
twitched away from our weapons when he stepped out into the sunlight. He blinked his red-rimmed eyes against the glare, nodded his head so his mane of long white hair bobbed, then tapped the arrow-and-circle symbol picked out in white on the front of his gray robe.

“Welcome, strangers, welcome to Paradise. I am Afatt, the
official greeter. Market opens at dawn tomorrow. You may stay out here,
or if you wish to camp beyond the arch your weapons will be looked after until you return. A payment of one fedha is required for attendance.”

The way he flicked a look over his shoulder as he said this strongly suggested that what he wanted was more bribe than payment.

“No way, aged Afatt,” I intoned. “Those you see before you are not peasant traders but galaxy-famous chart-topping musicians.
We are …
The Stainless Steel Rats!
”