"While you are making your mind up," I said, "you might tell me who you are and what you are doing here."
"You must promise not to reveal our identity to the natives. Our presence is well-known off-planet, but we can only succeed here if our operation remains covert."
"I promise, I promise. I owe nothing to any of the locals."
He steepled his fingers and leaned back as though beginning a lecture. I had guessed right-as his first words revealed.
"I am Professor Lustig of the University of Ellenbogen, where I hold the chair of applied socioeconomics. I am head of my department and I must say that I founded the department, since applied socioeconomics is a fairly new discipline, an outgrowth, obviously, of theoretical socio-economics..."
I blinked rapidly to keep my eyes from glazing over and forced myself to keep listening. It was teachers like Lustig who made me run away from school.
". . . years of correspondence and labor to attain our fondest ambition. Practical application of our theories. Dealing with the bureaucrats of the League was the most difficult because of the League non-intervention policy. In the end they were convinced that with the proper controls we be permitted to operate a pilot project here on Spiovente. Or as someone said with crude humor, we certainly couldn't make things worse. We keep our operation at the current level of planetary technology so it will be self-sustaining when we leave."
"What exactly are you trying to do?" I asked.
He blinked rapidly. "That should be obvious-that is the only thing I have been talking about."
"You have been telling me theory, professor. Would you mind being specific about what you hope to accomplish."
"If you insist, on layman's terms, we are attempting to do no less than change the very fabric of society itself. We intend to bring this planet, kicking and screaming if necessary, out of the dark ages. After the Breakdown Spiovente sank into a rather repulsive form of feudalism. More warlordism, in fact. Normally a feudalistic society performs a great service during an age of disintegration. It maintains a general framework of government as various localities protect and care for themselves."
"I haven't seen much caring or protecting."
"Correct. Which is why these warlords will have to go."
"I'll help shoot a few."
"Violence is not our way! In addition to being distasteful, it is forbidden to League members. Our aim is to bring into existence government independent of the capos. In order to do that we are encouraging the rise of a, professional class. This will bring about increased circulation of money and the end of barter. With increased funds the government will be able to institute taxation to purchase public services. To reinforce this a judiciary will need to be formed. This will encourage communication, centralization, and the growth of common ideas."
Sounded great-although I wasn't wild about the taxes bit, or the judiciary. Still, anything would be better than the capos.
"That all sounds fine in theory," I said. "But how do you put it into practice?"
"By providing better services at a lower price. Which is why the Black Monk~ tried to attack us. They are no more religious than my hat-the order is just a front for their monopoly of technology. We are breaking that monopoly and they don't like it."
"Very good. Yours sounds a fine plan and I wish you the best of luck. But I have a few things to do myself before I leave this sinkhole. To help you in your task of breaking the technological monopoly I would like to purchase some of your sleeping gas. "
"Impossible. In fact it is impossible for us to aid you in any way. Nor are you leaving here. I've signaled for the guards. You will be held until the next League ship arrives. You know far too much about our operation to be permitted your freedom."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Even as this unacceptable bit of information was sinking into my brain, my body was launched across the desk. He should have remembered the bit about the Black Belt. My thumbs bit deep and he slumped. Even before his head bounced off the desk I had bounced off the floor and dived for the door. And none too soon-as I pushed the locking bolt home I saw that the handle above it was starting to turn.
"Now Jim, move fast," I advised myself, "before the alarm is spread. But first let me see what this two-faced academic has in his possession that may be of use." There were files, papers, and books in the desk, nothing that would be of any value to me now. I sprayed it all about me on the floor as the banging started on the door. I didn't have much time. Next the prof. I tore his cloak open and ransacked his pockets. There was even less of interest here-other than a ring of keys. I shoved them into my own pocket; they would have to do for loot. Seizing up the gun I dived for the window just as something heavy hit the door with a shuddering thud. Two stories up and the courtyard below was paved with evillooking cobblestones. I would break my legs if I jumped. I leaned out and was grateful for the second-rate Spiovente masons. There were large gaps between the stones of the outer wall. The door crashed and splintered as I climbed out of the window, thrust the gun through my belt in the small of my back-and began to climb down.
It was easy enough. I jumped the last bit, did a shoulder roll, which jammed the gun painfully into my spine, retrieved it, and stumbled around the comer of the building before anyone appeared in the window above. I was free!
Or was I? Instant gloom descended. Free in the middle of the enemy keep with all men's hands turned against me. Some big free.
"Yes, free!" I ground my teeth together arrogantly, braced my shoulders, and put a bold swagger into my walk. "Free as only a Stainless Steel Rat can be free! Just press on, Jim-and see if you can't find some locks to go with those keys in your pocket."
I always get the best advice from myself. I marched on through an archway that led into the large courtyard. There were armed men lolling about here and they completely ignored me. That wouldn't last long. As soon as the alarm was raised they would all be after my hide. Eyes straight ahead I walked towards a massive building on the far side. It had a single large gate set into the wall, with a smaller one next to it. As I came closer I saw that both had very modern locks set into them. Very informative. I was most interested in what was locked away here. Now all I had to do was find the right key.
Trying to look as though I belonged here I stopped before the smaller door and flipped through the keys. There must have been twenty of them. But the lock was a Bolger, that was obvious to my trained eye, so I fingered through them, looking for the familiar diamond shape. "Hey, you, what you doing there?"
He was a big thug, dirty and unshaven and red of eye, He also had a long dagger thrust through his belt, the hilt of which he was tapping with his fingers.
"Unlocking this door, obviously," was my firm response. "Are you the one they sent to help me? Here, take this."
I handed him my gun. This bought me a number of seconds as he looked at the weapon, enough time for me to push one key into the lock. It didn't turn.
"No one sent me," he said, examining the gun, which distracted him nicely for a few seconds more. I couldn't be doing anything wrong if I had given him my only weapon, could I? I could almost see him thinking, slowly, moving his lips as he did. I interrupted the turgid flow of his thoughts.
"Well, since you are here you can help me . . ." Ahh, the next key did the job, turning sweetly. The door opened and I turned about just as sweetly with my fingers pointed to jab. I caught the gun as he slid to the ground.
"Hey, you, stop!"
I ignored this rude command since I had not the slightest desire to see who was calling, but slipped through the door instead and slammed it shut behind me. Turned and looked around and felt a sharp pang of despair. There was no hope here. I was in an enormous chamber, badly lit by slits high in the wall. It was a garage for the steam cars. Five of them, lined up in a neat row.
It would be fine to escape in one of these, really wonderful. I had watched them in operation. First the fire had to be lit, then wood pushed in, steam raised. This usually
took at least an hour. At that point, say, I could manage to do all this undisturbed, I had to open the door and clank to freedom at a slow walking pace. No way!
Or was there a way? As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I realized that these weren't the same kind of steam cars I had seen before- with their wooden wheels and iron tires. These had soft tires of some kind! Improved technology? Could it be off-planet technology disguised as antique wrecks?
I hurried over to the closest one and climbed up to the operator's seat. There were the familiar big control levers and wheels-but invisible from the ground was a padded driver's seat and familiar groundcar controls. This was more like it!
Slipping my gun under the seat, I slipped myself into it. A safety belt hung there, wise precaution, but not at the moment. I pushed it aside as I leaned forward to examine the controls. Motor switch, gear selector, speedometer-as well as some unfamiliar dials and controls. A banging on the door convinced me I should make a detailed study later. I reached out and turned on the motor. Nothing happened.
Or rather something totally unexpected happened. The motor didn't start but a girl's voice did, speaking in my ear.
"Do not attempt to start this vehicle without wearing your seatbelt."
"Seatbelt, right, thank you." I clicked it on and turned the switch again.
"The engine will start only with the gear selector in neutral"
The banging on the door was even louder. I cursed as I pushed the selector, trying to find the right location in the dim light. .The door crashed and splintered. There, now the switch again.
The motor turned over. I pushed the drive into forward. And the voice spoke.
"Do not attempt to drive with your handbrake on" I was cursing louder now, the small door broke down and crashed to the floor, pistons began to move around me while steam spurted and hissed. Someone shouted and the men in the door started towards me. The thing shuddered and lumbered forward.
This was more like it! Covered in steel plates and fake ironmongery, it must be incredibly heavy. There was a simple way to find out. I floored the accelerator, twisted the wheel-and pointed the hulk straight at the large door.
It was beautiful. The steam roared and spurted as I accelerated. Hitting the door dead center with a crash that deafened me. But my noble steed never slowed a fraction. Wood screeched and tore and fell away as I plowed through in a cloud of flying timber. I had a quick view of fleeing pedestrians before I had to duck down to prevent myself from being beheaded by a board. It scratched and clumped and fell away. I sat up and smiled with pleasure.
What a wonderful sight. Soldiers were fleeing in all directions, dashing for cover. I swung the wheel and spun in a tight circle looking for the way out. A bullet clanged into the steel plating and whined away. There the gate was-dead ahead. I floored the accelerator this time, then found the whistle cord. It screamed and steam spurted and I picked up speed.
And none too soon, either. Someone had kept his head and was trying to lift the drawbridge. Two men had plugged the handle into the clumsy winch and were turning it furiously; chains clanked and tightened. I headed for the center of the gate, whistle screeching, bullets beginning to spang on the steel around me. I crouched down and kept the pedal on the floor. I was going to have only one chance.
The drawbridge was rising, slowly and steadily, cutting off my escape, getting larger and larger before me. It was up ten, twenty, thirty degrees. I was not going to make it.
We hit with a jar that would have thrown me out if the safety belt hadn't been locked. Thank you, voice. The frsnt wheels rose up onto the drawbridge, higher and higher, until the nose of the car was pointing into the air. If it climbed any higher it would be flipped onto its back.
Which was a chance that I would just have to take. The gears growled and my transport of delimit bucked and chuntered-and I heard a squealing and snapping.
Then the whole thing pitched forward. The chains lifting the drawbridge had torn from their moorings under the massive weight of my car. The nose fell and we hit with a crash that almost stunned me.
But my foot was still down and the wheels were still turning. The vehicle shot forward-straight for the water. I twisted the steering wheel, straightened it, then tore across the bridge and onto the road. Faster and faster, up the hill and around the bend-then let up on the speed before we overturned on the ruts. I was safe and away.
"Jim," I advised myself, gasping for breath. "Try not to do that again if you can avoid it."
I looked back, but there was no one following me. But there would be, soon, if not on foot then in one of the other fake steam cars. I put my foot back down and kept my mouth clamped shut so it didn't clack and splinter my teeth when we hit the bumps.
There was a long hill that slowed my pace. Even with the accelerator on the floor we crawled because of the gearing and the weight of the beast. I used the opportunity to check the charge-batteries full! They had better be because I had no way of recharging them once they ran down. Above the clatter and rumble I heard a thin and distant whistle and flashed a quick look over my shoulder. There they were! Two of the machines, hot on my tail.
There was no way they were going to catch me. Off the road these things would be useless and mired down-and there was only one road leading to Dimonte's keep. I was on it and headed that way and I was going to keep them behind me all the way.
Except that if I led them there they would know who had pinched their wagon and would come after it with the gas bombs. No good. I looked back and saw that they were gaining-but they soon slowed to my pace when they reached the bottom of the hill. I went over the top and my speed picked up-as did the jarring. I hoped that they had built the thing to withstand this kind of beating. Then the crossroad loomed up ahead, with peasants leaping out of my way, and there was the left turning that would take me to Capo Dimonte. I streamed right through it. I didn't know this road at all so all I could do was go on and keep my fingers crossed.
Something had to be done-and fairly soon. Even if I stayed ahead of them all day I would run the battery flat and that would be that. Think, Jim, cudgel the old brain cells.
Opportunity presented itself around the next bend. A rough farm track led off through a field and down to a stream. Then, like all good ideas, this one appeared ftillblown in my forebrain, complete in every detail.
Without hesitation I turned the wheel and trundled down into the meadow. Going slower and slower as I felt my wheels sink into the soft soil. If I got mired now it was the end. Or at least the end of my mastery of this crate--which I would dearly like to keep for awhile. Carry on, Jim, but carefully.
At the lowest speed, in the lowest gear, I ground forward until the front wheels were in the stream. They were sinking mushily into the mud as I stopped-then carefully began to back out. Looking over my shoulder, keeping in the ruts I had made on the way down. Reversing out of the field until I was safely back on the road. As I shifted gears I permitted myself a quick glimpse of my work. Perfect! The ruts led straight down to the water and on into it.
On the road behind me I heard a not-too-distant whistle. I stood on the throttle and accelerated around the bend until I was hidden by the trees. Stopped, killed the engine, slammed on the brakes, and jumped down.
This was going to be the dangerous part. I had to convince them to follow the tracks. If they didn't believe me, I had little chance of escape. But it was a risk that had to be taken.
As I ran I pulled off my jacket, staggering as I pulled my arms free and turned it inside out. I draped it over my shoulders, tied the arms in front, then bent to roll up my trouser legs. Not much of a disguise, but it would have to do. Hopefully the drivers had not had a good look at me-if they had seen me at all.
I stood by the spot where I had turned and had just enough time to seize up some dirt and rub it into my face as the first pseudo steam car clanked around the bend.
They slowed as I stepped into the road and pointed. And shouted.
"He went that-away!"
The driver and the gunmen turned to look at the field and stared at the tracks. The vehicle slowed to a stop.
"Splashed right into the water and kept on going through the field. Feller a friend of yours?"
This was the moment of truth. It stretched taut, longer and longer as the second vehicle came up and slowed to a stop as well. What if they questioned me-even looked closely at me? I wanted to run- but if I did, that would be a giveaway.
"Follow him!" someone called out, and the driver twisted his wheel and turned towards the field.
I slipped back into the trees and watched with great interest. It was beautiful. I felt proud of myself; yes, I did. I am not ashamed to admit it. When a painter creates a masterpiece he knows it and does not attempt to diminuate its importance by false modesty.
This was a masterpiece. The first car rattled down through the field, bobbing and bouncing, and hit the water with an immense splash. It was going so fast that its rear wheels actually reached the stream before it slowed to a stop. And began to slowly sink into the soft mud. It went down to its hubs before it stopped.
There was much shouting and swearing at that-and best of all someone rooted out a chain and connected the two cars. Wonderful. The second one spun its wheels and churned the field until it too was safely mired. I clapped appreciatively and strolled back to my own car.
I shouldn't have done it, I know. But there are times when one just cannot resist showing off. I sat down, snapped on my belt, started the motor, moved the car carefully forward and back until I had turned about. Then accelerated back down the road.
And as I passed the turnoff I pulled down hard on the whistle. It screeched loudly and every head turned, every eye was on me. I waved and smiled. Then the trees were in the way and the beautiful vision vanished from sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was a victory ride. I laughed aloud, sang, and blew the whistle with joy. When this first enthusiasm had died down I moved the queen on my mental chessboard and considered what came next. The hissing of steam and clanking of machinery was distracting and I examined the controls until I found the switch that turned the special effects off. The steam was being boiled to order and the sounds were just a recording. I threw the switch and rode on in peace towards Capo Dimonte's keep. It was late afternoon before I reached it-and by that time my plans were complete.
The Stainless Steel Rat is Born Page 19
