The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell

by Harry Harrison

  “I’m going to work out in the gym and have a swim,” I announced.

  “Be there before you,” Bolivar said, hurtling towards the door to his bedroom.

  When we entered the pool room and threw aside our towels we were delighted to see that our guide Dee had entered through the other door and had thrown aside her towel as well. Since there is no nudity taboo on Vulkann this was a serious towel-throwing.

  “I hope that you are enjoying your visit to our fair world,” she said with a broad smile just as lovely as the rest of her.

  The answer to that question was obvious. I dived into the pool and swam a number of enthusiastic laps while the twins indulged in enthusiastic conversation with her, for such is the way of youth. I could see the attraction of this, particularly when I came up for breath and paused to admire the scenery.

  We met in the gym and the boys worked up a good lather of sublimation since we were here for work, not dalliance. All this mindless exercise cheered us greatly—and kept our thoughts off of the Seekers of the Way. Refreshed, and with lunch holding breakfast down nicely, we trooped back to our rooms. I fast-reran the recording, then played back some of the conversations. Then amplified the images of the parishioners so I could make prints of their faces. Spread them out on the table so we could look at them.

  With mutual feelings of glum depression. It was James who spoke for all of us.

  “One thing certain—none of us is going to be able to join up and make any investigations inside that church.”

  “Not without some radical surgery,” Bolivar said with a broad smile; we glowered back.

  Everyone who had visited the church so far had been a woman.

  “We need help,” I said.

  “Still in touch with the Special Corps?” James asked.

  “There is no escaping them. Though I have not talked to our noble leader, Inskipp, for a long time. Which is all for the best.” I glanced at my watch, then hit a few settings and smiled. “Very good news. It is now the middle of the night at Prime Base. I will be forced to wake that dear man up.”

  His secretary answered first but I knew the code that bypassed its tiny robotic mind. After a number of rings, growing steadily louder since Inskipp was a heavy sleeper, a familiar and angry voice rustled in my ear.

  “If this isn’t a major emergency you are dead, whoever you are,” Inskipp growled.

  “Jim diGriz here, good friend. Did I awake you—”

  “I’m issuing an order now to seize all the assets in your bank accounts. Even the ones you think I don’t know about!”

  “I need help. Angelina is missing.”

  “Details,” he said, voice calm, threats ended. I told him exactly what had happened. While I was doing this the boys were E-mailing copies of all the files—including Angelina’s recorded message. He did not waste time in commiseration and was calling in the troops even as I talked. As head of the Special Corps, the most secret of secret forces that defended the peace and protected the galaxy, his powers were awesome. And he knew how to use them.

  “A cruiser is now on the way to Vulkann. Aboard it is a Special Agent who will be using the name Sybil. Up to this moment she has worked directly for me and for no one else. Now she is under your command. I will add that she is the best agent I have ever had”

  “Better than me?”

  “Everyone is, diGriz, everyone. Report to me when you learn anything.” He hung up, and knowing him, was probably already back to sleep.

  At flank speed a Special Corps cruiser can outrun—or catch—anything else in space. Time still dragged. I kept busy for some hours as I hacked my way into the local police computer network, a terribly simple job. Once this was done we had no trouble discovering the identities of the church-goers that we had photographed. Nor, after cracking into their totally secret bank records, were we surprised to discover that all of them were filthy rich. The Seekers of the Way, like the followers of the Temple of Eternal Truth, were expected to part with a good few credits if they were to get the blessing of the church and peek in at the joys of the hereafter.

  We took turns at the monitor screen and tried not to drink too much when we weren’t watching it. I had just returned from doing forty laps in the pool when Bolivar jumped to his feet and shouted “Wow!.”

  James and I cracked our heads together as we jumped to look at the screen.

  “Wow is indeed right,” I said. “Even double-wow. Not only is he not of the female persuasion but he looks very familiar.”

  “Starkey-Fanyimadu?”

  “None other.”

  “He has his right hand in his pocket,” Bolivar said.

  “So would you,” James answered with cold lack of compassion, “if your arm, ended at the wrist.”

  As if in reply the subject lifted his right arm to wave to a parishioner. “Pretty good prosthetic,” I said..

  “And done pretty fast as well,” Bolivar added with more than a trace of suspicion in his voice. “First chance I have I would like to shake hands with that particular villain.”

  Something caught my attention, .a movement of air-a a sound perhaps. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the hall door, securely locked and bolted, was now standing open. A woman stepped through and closed it behind her.

  “I am Sybil,” she said in lush contralto. A tall, tanned redhead, poised and beautiful. Her dress was one of those spun-diamond creations that were so popular, glinting and shining with an albedo like a searchlight. A woman had to have a perfect figure to wear something so outrageous and skintight. She had it.

  The twins turned at the sound of her voice—looked at her in appreciative silence. I appreciated that as well, but appreciated her arrival even more.

  “I’m Jim diGriz. These are my sons, Bolivar and James. Have you been briefed?”

  “Completely.”

  “Good. What you don’t know is that Slakey is here, in that church across the road.”

  “And he has a new right hand,” Bolivar said. “We’re glad you’re here.”

  “I’ll need to get inside the building as soon as possible. I am sure that you have already found out about the church members while I was on my way here. Which of them have you selected as the best possible contacts?”

  “There are three strong possibilities,” James said, taking the photos and identification from the stack and handing them to her. “All rich, young, or young-looking after rejuvenation, all very social, attending plenty of parties and receptions, so they will be easy to meet.”

  “I’ll do that now. I’ll contact you again after I have become one of the Seekers of the Way.”

  The door closed behind her and we were all silent for long moments.

  “Pretty sure of herself,” Bolivar finally said. It was a compliment and not a negative observation. “The best agent he ever had—isn’t that what Inskipp said?”

  I nodded. “May he be right—just this once.”

  Apparently he was, because three hours later we saw her walk through the carved marble entrance to the church, arm in arm with Maudi Lesplanes. The first name on the list that we had given her. Almost two hours passed before she emerged from the church. This time we were all staring at the door when it opened and she came in. She looked at us and smiled.

  “Would one of you gentlemen mind getting me a drink? Tall, wet and alcoholic if you please.”

  I stepped aside as the twins rushed the bar. She went to the couch, sat, and signaled me to join her.

  “I didn’t mean to be brusque earlier, Jim. I was tired and I thought that you would appreciate action before conversation. I’m so sorry about Angelina. I listened to the message that she left for you and I believe, as you do, that she will be found. But not back on Lussuoso. We will find her. I promise.”

  From anyone else these would have been polite words. But Sybil spoke with an authority that rang true. I wanted very much to believe her.

  “For you,” my son said, holding out a glass.

  She took the
drink, drank, smiled—and sighed.

  “Thank you, Bolivar. I needed that.”

  “I have another one—if that’s not enough.”

  “Not quite yet, James.”

  “You’re sure you’re not mixing them up?” I blurted out.

  “Impossible to do, as you well know, Jim. I imagine James has always had that tiny scar on his left earlobe.”

  I blinked. It was almost impossible to see.

  “Since I was four years old. Bolivar bit me.”

  “Believe that and you’ll believe anything.”

  She smiled at both of them. Then turned to me and was serious again; playtime over.

  “The service of the Seekers of the Way seems to be a near replica of the one described in the briefing for the Temple of Eternal Truth. Uplifting organ music, a good bit of incense to mask the smell of tylinyne. As you undoubtedly know that is a mild tranquilizing drug. No lasting effects, but it does relax the subjects, makes suggestion much easier. Not that it was much needed since everyone there was very convinced to begin with. The sermon was most inspiring and very strange to hear from a physicist of Slakey’s reputation. Heavily mystical, plenty of guff about the hereafter and the good life and good deeds that pave the road to Heaven. After some more music some of the women spoke with great warmth about their visit to Heaven, after which they donated impressive sums for the furthering of the good works. Sounded very much like the recorded statement of Vivilia VonBrun that Jim made.”

  “Different church, same scam?” I asked. She nodded.

  “If scam is the right word. These people sound absolutely convinced. I’ll know more after I’ve made the trip myself. Inskipp will scream when he sees how much of his funds I have invested to hurry that day.”

  “When?” Bolivar asked.

  “As soon as possible without raising Slakey’s suspicions. For the record, he is now called Father Marablis. There is another thing about him that I find particularly interesting. Before leaving I made a point of approaching him to gush over his sermon. He liked that. Nor did he mind when, in the heat of the moment, I seized him by the hand, the right hand, and squeezed it with heartfelt emotion.”

  I leaned forward intently. As did the twins. We did not have to ask the question. She nodded.

  “A warm human hand—not a prosthetic.”

  “But—” I stammered. “I saw the severed hand. It was positively identified.”

  “I know. Interesting, isn’t it? I look forward to coming events with great anticipation.”

  The boys stared at her, smitten. Their kind, our kind of person. If anyone could find Angelina she could; I was sure of that now.

  Two days—and two very large donations—later she was told to prepare for her visit.

  “Do I look all right?” she asked, turning slowly. Women only ask that when they know the answer. She was wearing something black, tight, expensive, with matching hat and even more expensive jewelry. “Are you sure that this can’t be detected?” she asked, touching the tiny diamond brooch pinned at her throat.

  “Only under a microscope—and you would have to know what to look for,” I said. “The center diamond is the lens. I usually wear it as a shirt dress stud. I’ve added the jeweled setting to make it into a more exotic piece of jewelry so that you can wear it. The diamond lens focuses the image onto a series of nanoformed recording molecules that are carried beneath the lens by Brownian movement, which is energized by body heat so there is no detectable power source. Don’t worry about the light level since, like the human eye, it can perceive as little as one photon of light energy. What you see, it will see—and record.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like it before.”

  “Nor has your boss, Inskipp,” James said proudly. “It’s one of Dad’s inventions.”

  “However all this turns out you can keep it,” I said. “I’ll give you the developing and printing module later.”

  “It’s the only one in existence,” Bolivar said.

  “I—I don’t quite know how to thank you.” The emotion in her voice was not faked, that was certain. She left quickly.

  Moments later we saw her stroll across the street and walk through the door of the church.

  CHAPTER 4

  A HEAVY TROPICAL RAIN WAS falling, lit by sudden flashes of lightning; thunder rumbled. The Church of the Seekers of the Way was blurred, its outline barely visible through the wet glass. The image from the camera was clear enough, but standing at the window I could see little or nothing. Sybil had been inside the building with Slakey for over an hour. The room was closing in on me.

  “I’m going out,” I said, pulling on a billed cap with the logo Cocaine-Cola spelled out on the front.

  “You’ll get soaked,” Bolivar said.

  “It’ll look suspicious if you lurk about near the church,” James added. I twisted my lip in a sneer.

  “Thanks for the solicitude—but your old Dad is not quite senile yet. This cap hot only advertises a repulsive drink, it also contains a hydro-repeller field—and I was lurking unseen near churches before you were born.”

  When they didn’t even smile at my strained witticism I knew that they were as uptight as I was. I needed the air.

  The hotel lobby was empty—of human life that is. The man-agerbot bowed and dry-wiped its gloved hands for me. The doormanbot pulled open the door as I approached and drops of rain blew in dotting its metal features.

  “A filthy night, sir,” it smarmed. “But it will be a sunny day for sure tomorrow, begorra.”

  “Is that what you are programmed to say whenever it rains?” I snarled.

  “Yes, sir, a filthy night, sir, but it will be a sunny day for sure tomorrow, begorra.”

  My nerves must be going if I was trying to have a conversation with a mindless robot. I went out, bone-dry of course as the electrostatic field repelled the raindrops.

  Angelina … .

  The pain in my chest, my throat, was real. I had been putting all thought of her out of mind—or I wouldn’t have been able to function. But she was there at the edge of my consciousness all of the time. I let her in for the moment, relished the memory. Remembering how many times she had saved my life; keeping weapons tucked in with the twins in their baby carriage had been most important more than once. With what joy we had held up banks, relished the excitement—not to mention the money. And the way we saved the universe together, defeating all of those slimy monsters! Memories, memories. We had had our low moments, but at this moment I wanted to be like the inscription on the sundial. And record only the sunny hours. And the fun … .

  I cut off this train of thought. Feeling sorry would not help—only action could get her back. That was why I was here, the boys as well, and this was the reason why Sybil was possibly risking her life. This was going to work. It had to work.

  My walk was not without a purpose; I had seen a cafe just across the square from the Church of the Seekers of the Way. It had a row of tables outside protected by an awning. And a hydro-repeller field as well I realized as I entered; this field and mine flickered with glints of light where they interacted. I touched the brim of my cap and turned mine off, sat at a table with a clear view of the church.

  “Welcome, welcome, sir or madam,” the table candle said as its wick flickered and lit up.

  “Sir, not madam.”

  “How can we be of service … sir not madam?”

  The world was full of moronic robots and computers tonight.

  “Bring beer. Big, cold.”

  “Delighted to be of service, sir not madam.”

  The table vibrated, then a hatch slid back and the beer emerged. I reached for it but could not lift it.

  “Two kropotniks, fifty,” a colder mechanical voice said. I pushed three coins into the slot and the clamp on the glass was released. “Thank you for the tip,” the voice said, keeping my change. I drowned my incipient growl with a swig of beer.

  The rain lashed down on the square, thunder rumbled in the d
istance. An occasional car swished by; the door to the Church of the Seekers of the Way remained closed. The beer was flat. I waited.

  Time passed. I finished the first beer and ordered another one.

  “Two kropotniks, seventy,” the table said.

  “Why? The last beer was two fifty.”

  “That was during the happy hour. Pay.”

  I fed in the exact amount this time and the glass was released. “Cheapskate,” the computer muttered and emitted an electronic raspberry.

  The rain finally slackened, stopped, and one of Vulkann’s three moons appeared briefly through a gap in the clouds. Then there was flicker of movement across the way and three women emerged from the church. They talked together for a moment before separating. Sybil came towards me and I felt a certain relaxation; at least she was safe. She did not look at me but must have been aware of my presence because she turned and entered the cafe. I took a few minutes to sip my beer. She did not appear to have been followed. I finished my drink, put the glass down and went inside.

  She was in one of the rear booths with a cocktail glass before her; she nodded slightly and I went to join her. She took a large swallow, then a second one—and sighed.

  “Jim, that was an experience I find difficult to describe. There were three of us and we joined Father Marablis—or Slakey—I’m beginning to be unsure of a lot of things. There were no machines that I could see. He talked to us for a bit then touched his hand to my forehead. Something happened. I can’t tell you what. I didn’t black out or anything like that. I can only repeat what Vivilia VonBrun said—it was indescribable. But I can clearly remember what happened next. We were walking through a field of very short grass, following Marablis. He stopped and pointed upwards and at the same moment I heard the sound of chimes, most distinctly. He was pointing to a white cloud that drifted towards us. The chimes, the music, was coming from the cloud and when I heard it I felt, well, an elation of some kind. Some sort of spiritual upwelling. Then—and don’t laugh—I swear I saw a little flying creature behind the cloud. Just a glimpse.”