“Featuring free beer with every order over fifteen credits. Vegetarian nutburgers, carnivore girafburgers, Styrofoam dietburgers—plenty of good stuff.”
Angelina phoned in the order and the service really was fast; there was a tootling of tinny trumpets in the hall. Even before Angelina had contacted the local communication center and finished phoning in her interstellargram. The robot steam table-shaped for some obscure marketing reason like a coffin-rolled in. Accompanied by a recorded organ recital and the smell of ancient grease. I poured in five-credit coins until a bell dinged and the coffin lid flew open. The food was hot, the beer cold, and the damned coffin stayed there playing gloomy liturgical music until I stuffed more coins into the tip slot and kicked its wheels until it exited.
“Good,” I said as I licked my fingers and watched Gloriana munch her way delicately through a spiced bananaburger.
“Too greasy,” Angelina said, “as well as being bad for the waistline.” Then she picked up the phone when it chimed. Listened and nodded. “Ten minutes,” she said, then hung up.
“That was the front box office. A reporter from the Fetorr Times-Picayune wants to interview the Mighty Marvell for their Live Today, Everyday Program. You must remember that we show people do thrive on publicity, so I said yes.” She rose and beckoned to Bolivar. “This dressing room is getting entirely too busy. Come Believer, let us get you over to Gar’s before the press arrives.”
I changed into my tail suit, and was just tying my tie when there was a discreet tapping on the door. I opened it and stared up at the large and impressive silver robot that was standing there.
“Greetings,” it said in a mellow voice. “I am robreporter number thirteen, representing the Fetorr Times-Picayune. A friendly newschannel bringing you all the news as it breaks. Here is my identification.” It extruded a green press pass from a slot in its thorax, gave me a quick glimpse, then pushed it back out of sight.
“Might I come in? Thank you.” I jumped aside before it ran me down. “It is rather dark in here. I will need more light.”
The transparent top of the creature’s domed head flared brilliantly. A camera popped out of its chest, pointed at me. A directional satellite dish on the creature’s back buzzed as it oriented itself. Then a screen just below the camera lit up and I was staring at my glazed expression; I smiled theatrically and showed my teeth, which was a bit of an improvement. Number thirteen began to speak.
“Greetings to all our viewers with the news as it happens, where it happens, why it happens, however it happens. This is Baridi Baraka, your favorite reporter on the magical scene now with none other than the Mighty Marvell.”
The camera lens whirred and my image on the screen was joined by a dark-skinned man in a green suit who was apparently talking to me. Only he wasn’t there. I mean in the room with me-but he was on the televised image. Which meant that he was just a computer-generated image of a reporter. They saved a lot of money this way.
“Now tell me, Mighty Marvell—what is it like to be a magician?”
“It is a laugh a minute, Baridi old friend. Something is always happening. Like this.”
I waved my hand in the air, distraction, then raised my other hand with a bouquet of black flowers apparently plucked from thin air. And held them out to thin air. On the screen the reporter bent over and sniffed them, smiled with pleasure.
“I tell you viewers-real flowers, just like that, smell great too. You are a master of your profession, Marvell, I can see that. Do you like being a magician?”
“Like it, Baridi old buddy-I just love it. I love to travel and love to entertain crowds.” The door opened and Angelina came in. I waved her over with an expansive gesture. “And even more I love my assistant, Angelina, who never minds being sawn in half every evening and a matinee on Saturday.”
“Hi, Angelina,” our invisible interviewer said. “Say `Hi!’ to the millions of viewers out there who are hooked on magicand hooked on you as well, of course. Now, without giving away any magic secrets, just how do you get sawn in half?”
Angelina smiled deliciously, and was beginning to explain absolutely nothing in words of one syllable or less to the millions of morons who were watching daytime television, when our friendly reporter broke in. The computergenerated reporter had been nodding his head as if he had understood every word. When she had spoken for exactly thirty seconds-which was probably the attention span of his viewers-he interrupted and thanked her. Turned back to me.
“Tell our viewers, Mighty Marvel, what was the most exciting moment in your exciting career?”
“That’s an easy one. It was during a performance I was giving on a distant planet named Wirtschaftlich, much given to farming and like pursuits, that there was an accident in the road outside the theater. One of the vehicles involved was a farm vehicle transporting a ravening porcuswine in must. It escaped from the battered transport and attacked the theater doorman, obviously enraged by his red uniform. The doorman fled into the theater with the great beast right behind him. I knew instantly what I had to do. I ran towards the creature, crying aloud and flapping my cloak, which has a red lining. The beast then charged me! The ending is obvious. I lifted my magic wand and, before the horrified gaze of the audience-did my vanishing porcuswine act. Would you believe the creature was gone in an instant?”
“No, I wouldn’t believe it.”
“I would wring your computer-generated neck if I could get my hand on it!” I shouted as my hands clutched at empty space. It looked better on the screen as I happily throttled him.
“Temper, darling, temper,” Angelina said soothingly, gently pulling me away from my tormenter.
“Well, if you put it that way, ha-ha, of course I believe you. Now, Mighty Marvell-and Angelina-don’t go away quite yet because I know that you have plenty more exciting anecdotes to tell about the marvels of magic to our millions of viewers. But I have been told that a big news story is breaking. Over to Patikana Peke who is, yes, now at the very scene of the crime.” The screen flared, died, brightened again with another computerized reporter standing in front of a bank.
“Just behind me,” the image said, “is the BankrottGeistesabwesed Bank. Peaceful and prosperous. Even if its name is unpronounceable, until a short while ago and just about to open for the day when this happened.” The screen widened to take in the front of the bank, now torn open. Computergenerated oohs and ahhs oohed and ahhed, along with the sound of breaking glass. “Hard as it to believe that this bank robbery occurred right in the middle of the day, right here in lovely downtown Fetorrscoria. One moment peace and prosperity reigned. The next moment…” An immense explosion echoed out, followed by more breaking glass. “This was happening. The bank was not broken into-it was broken out of? The thieves apparently gained access to the money vault sometime last night and entered the vault. Not only did they break into the vault-but they took their armored motorcycles inside with them. Well! I’ll bet you can just imagine the look on the bank manager’s face when he spun the wheel and opened the vault door! Vroom! Right out of the vault they came-and right over him. If you look closely you will see him lying inside the bank and being treated for wheel marks. Over him and across the lobby and right through the plate-glass window of the bank. To instantly be lost in traffic. A city-wide police hunt is on for the thieves. Keep watching and we will bring you this incredible story as it breaks. I have a bulletin, stand by, yes. They have made good their crime. They have escaped in broad daylight, taking their loot with them. The police made contact and pursued them but, unhappily, they have now managed to make their escape into the industrial zone by leaping a high wall on a prepared ramp.”
There were more quick scenes of crowds at barricades, police holding them back, confusion and alarms. Then a grayhaired uniformed officer emerged from the bank and walked towards the reporter who managed to keep on talking without flagging in the slightest.
“And there is more news-evidence has been found at the scene of the crime. Evidence
that may lead the police to the thieves, to track them down and apprehend them. Tell us what you have there, captain!”
“Evidence. Found in the vault. A telltale clue we are sure.”
“What is it?”
“A clue.”
“Yes, you said that.” Did I detect a note of electronic exasperation? “Would you please tell our millions of viewers just what kind of a clue you are holding in your hands?”
They were big hands, and the camera was jiggling around irritatingly trying to see the clue in question. “A metal clue,” the policeman said. Then finally held up the object in question. “As you can see I am holding what appears to be a cutout figure made of thin metal of some kind, of a sort of rodent, a mouse maybe.”
The camera panned in until the object filled the screen.
“The captain is right, yes he is, that is a metal rodent if I ever saw one. Too big to be a mouse, it must be a rat. Yes, screen viewers, you can see it now very clearly.”
And, yes we could see it very clearly.
“Stop me if I am wrong viewers. But I do believe, yes it is-that must be an image of-a stainless steel rat!”
Chapter 10
I was very glad at that moment that I was not on camera. I am sure that my expression was one of gaping stupidity; that of an eyeball-popping, hang jawed moron. What was happening? I took a quick look at Angelina and saw that she was as stupefied as I was. She recovered faster; touched her hair with the back of her hand, her expression now one of abstract interest.
This was Not a Good Thing, that was for certain. Someone in the bank-busting business was having a good laugh at my expense. A stainless steel rat indeed! A clue for the policeor a warning for me? By the time the current crime report had ended I had restored my composure and managed to carry off the rest of the interview in a fairly relaxed manner. I even managed a few quick card tricks without flubbing them.
“There you are viewers-a magic end to our interview with this magic couple. Playing nightly at the Colosseo right here in lovely downtown Fetorrscoria, the home of theater, sport and just good finery!”
The light on the robot’s head paled and died. A metal plate with a piece of paper secured to it emerged from the creature’s midriff it handed me a stylo.
“Standard release form, sign her, initial here and here. And now the lady, thank you.”
The paper was whisked away as a small panel clicked open in the thing’s metallic hip. It reached in and took out a thin bundle of banknotes, split the bundle neatly in half and handed one sheaf to me, the other to Angelina.
“One hundred and eighty credits each, standard fee. Good-by.”
It opened the door for itself and was gone. Angelina locked it carefully, then turned to me. “Any explanations?”
“None whatsoever. Except someone is after me-and I’m not being paranoid.”
“What do we do about it?”
“The stainless steel rat? There is nothing we can do, is there?”
“We can leave this repellent planet.”
“No!” I was suddenly quite angry. “He, they, it, she whoever or whatever is behind these games is not going to get away with it. If we leave now we will never know what the goings-on on this planet are all about. And besides, I like earning four million a day.”
She arched her eyebrows at that. “Greed goeth before a fall.”
I thought about that as I stamped over to the bar and retrieved a bottle of Zubanishamali Sour Mash and a glass; two glasses. Held one out. She shook her head.
“Thank you, no. I don’t how you can drink that filthy stuff. A white wine, if you please.”
I opened and poured and pondered the fixture. We clicked glasses and drank.
“It’s not the money,” I announced at last. “It’s my reputation-or lack of one. Someone is diddling with my life. I have to find out who it is and cause it to cease. I am being set up-worse my whole family is being set up. I do not like this. But who is doing it?”
“Chaise,” she said firmly.
“A possibility. Or it could be whatever dark power I am being paid to discover. This would not be the first time that the hunter became the hunted.” I looked at my watch. “Before anything else exciting happens I am going to begin our investigation of our only suspect, Puissanto. I have plenty of time before the next performance.”
Before tempting fate I went to the stage door, where its geriatric guardian was reading a holo-horror comic. Little shrill screams and demonic laughter sounded thinly when he turned the page.
“I’m looking for Puissanto. Have you seen him lately?”
“Yeah. Gone out to eat a meal. Does it four or five times a day.”
“Do you have any idea when he will return?”
“An hour. Usually takes him about an hour to eat. I saw him do it once. Unbelievable.”
“That’s great, thanks. I’ll try him later.”
For a lot of obvious reasons I tried him now. His dressing room door was locked. I knocked sharply, but there was no reply. Remembering him biting the steel bar in half, I made no attempt to enter until I had listened at the door with my electronic eavesdripper. Silence. No clatter nor sound of breathing. I then checked for alarms. Finding none I use the lockpick to make a quick entry. Closed the door behind me and stared into the darkness.
Light switch, somewhere on the wall, found it and blinked when the brilliant lights came on. There was the standard dressing table, the screen, the couch with broken springs-as well as some mighty solid-looking props. Weights, bars, an anvil, two barrels of beer, a smoked porcuswine ham hanging from the ceiling with a great bite taken out of it: just what you might expect in a strongman’s room. Nothing unexpected. Some papers in the wastebasket. Receipts from a dry cleaner. One lion skin with moth holes. Man’s jacket size 108 large. Not too revealing.
I went to the dressing table. No notes or pieces of paper in the drawers, one book on the table. I checked through it, held it to the light so I could see the title. Star Bashers of the Galaxy Strangers. Mindless and sordidly violent fiction-what else would a mindless and sordidly violent weightlifter read?
And a battered computer on the table. I switched it on. The screen flickered and then went black and displayed the flickering red message. ENTER PASSWORD it said. I turned it off and noted the make; an Eprom-80. I would dig out the specs and then, when I had a little more time, I would see if I couldn’t break the secret password. Or wait until James turned up-this sort of thing was right down his hacking alley.
There was a rumble of masculine voices just outside the door.
Was Puissanto coming back? Panic struck: I could feel those steel fingers sinking into my windpipe already. Was there any place to hide? Possibly behind the giant trunk in the corner-if there was room enough to fit.
The door handle was turning!
I hit the light switch a nanosecond before the door opened a crack. Then stopped.
“… and I am deducting the cost of replacing the wheel of the lorry you tore off of.” It was Harley Davidson, I recognized his voice.
“Tried run over me. Puissanto don’t take hestelort from dumb driver. No way.”
“It was an accident, you saw the police report, the driver never touched you.”
“Wheel touch. Pull off.”
“Indeed you did-and the half-axle and the differential along with it!”
“Cheap lorry, built like crap.”
“Nevertheless you are paying for it.”
While this intellectual conversation was going on I tiptoed across the room. There was just enough light coming in through the partially open door to find my way around anything in my way. I had to move the trunk a bit before I would fit behind it. There was a horrid grating sound when I pushed on it. Apparently not heard in the hall. I slipped behind it just as the door was flung open and the light came on.
Puissanto slammed it shut and walked across the room muttering to himself in a bass rumble. The floor squeaked, then the chair groaned as he sat down.
He must have picked up the phone because I could hear the low clicking as he punched in the number. It should be ringing somewhere; he breathed hard and was still muttering.
“Talk Paka now. Get.” He said to whoever answered the phone. More heavy breathing until Paka answered.
“Paka?” he said. “Is there any comprehensible reason why you failed to meet me at the appointed rendezvous? You did? Repetition will only bring retribution. Negative. Be there in fifteen minutes or our pecuniary relationship will be terminated.”
The phone slammed down, heavy footsteps crossed the room again. The light switch clicked and darkness fell. The door slammed, the key grated in the lock. I breathed out a deep and shuddering breath and crawled out from behind the trunk.
A new mystery had now presented itself. Our moronic slab of muscle could talk like a professor when he had to. Was it relevant? Of course it was. The computer had uncovered the fact that he had been present whenever the bank robberies had occurred. If his head was just bone and muscle, as he made it appear, then he was not involved in complicated and surely technological crime. But he wasn’t dumb at all-which meant he could be involved. I sighed. Another mystery to add to all the others.
I waited a decent amount of time, then exited. When I opened the door to our dressing room I was preoccupied, still pondering my recent discovery. Angelina was at the dressing table.
“Do I have some interesting news for you,” I said, throwing the door wide. “I have just discovered that…”
My voice ran down as I saw that she was not alone. A beady-eyed and black-uniformed official of some kind was sitting across from her, now turning to stare coldly at me. His uniform was dead black with silver buttons, and it had interesting lapel ornaments of crossed swords over grinning skulls.
“What did you discover, darling, I’m dying to know,” Angelina broke in, giving me a moment to recover.
“The house is sold out again tonight-so bonuses are in order all around. And who may I ask is your visitor?”
The Stainless Steel Rat Joins the Circus ssr-11 Page 10
