Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns

by Harry Harrison

  “I should be. The porcuswine trek is over and they are safely grazing in the field where our spacer will land.”

  She frowned slightly. “That’s fine, but—is Pinky safe and well?”

  “Very much so. She sends her love.” She ignored my levity.

  “Hans . . . he really was badly treated. It’s a wonder he survived.”

  “But he’s all right now.”

  “Very much so. He wants to see you . . .”

  “A mutual feeling.”

  “We’ve washed and dressed his wounds and cleaned him, found some soft leather clothes for him. I’m sure he will be eager to talk to you.”

  “I’m more eager to listen. Before I meet with the gruesome Greenies again I need to know more about their social makeup. How are they controlled? Who issues orders? What is their one-to-one physical setup?”

  We found Hans sitting at ease, leaning against the trunk of a thick tree. Chewing strenuously on some dried fruit, with a gourd of water at his side. When he saw us he started to stand, but Angelina stopped him.

  “Don’t undo all our good work. We’ll join you,” she said, sitting down in the soft grass. I sat beside her.

  “I must thank you for saving my life. The new estro didn’t care if I lived or died. A big change from Doria. She was smart enough to see that I stayed alive.”

  “A woman boss?” Angelina said. “We’ve only seen men.”

  “There aren’t many, but sex doesn’t matter among the estroj.”

  “Are they the leaders?” I asked.

  “I guess you could call them that. That’s because they are smartest. There is a natural rank division among most of those green bastards, just varying degrees of stupidity. Some don’t even have the brains to survive. The ones that do are the workers, who are kicked into line, forced to work, by the slightly more intelligent. They are bossed by the thugs with clubs—and so on right up to the estroj. They have punishment sticks too, called frapiloj. Thin, strong—some even with metal tips or barbs. Hit or be hitten—a sick society ruled by casual violence.”

  “Are the estroj particularly intelligent?”

  “Not really. I guess they have what we would call normal intelligence anyplace else. And there aren’t many of them.”

  “And this woman, Doria, was one of them?”

  Hans nodded and shifted his wad of dried fruit to chew on the other side of his jaw.

  “Yes. Basically, she was as brutal as the rest, beat me often. But she saw to it that I always had enough to eat—and was guarded from the workers. When they saw my skin they flew into a rage. They all did—no matter how smart or stupid they were. Doria knew that and saw that I was protected from random violence. I was too vital to their sick economy. Particularly when she found that I could repair those ramshackle looms. All but the absolute dumbest could be trained to operate them. But they had no idea how they worked. If something broke, or a thread snapped, they would just sit and stare at it.”

  He leaned back heavily, breathing hard. Darkened by those years of misery.

  “Well, you’re away from them now. And you will soon be able to leave this planet—and put this all behind you.”

  He actually smiled. “For which I will never be able to thank you enough.”

  “My pleasure. Happy to help. But a few more questions. When I broke into the weaving mill it was after dark. Only a few of the guards saw me—before they were rendered unconscious. How would my green disguise work in daylight?”

  “Horribly well! Even now I find it hard to look at you.”

  “But would I be stopped, questioned?”

  “Never. Those creatures are like an immense herd of incredibly stupid animals. I am sure most of them don’t even have names. As long as you stumble about, drool a little, don’t call attention to yourself—you will be invisible.”

  Better and better.

  “But what if I look like I have authority, say I order one of them about?”

  “You will be instantly accepted as superior. You can’t believe how rare the slightest trace of intelligence is. You will see hundreds—perhaps thousands of them before you meet one that can speak a few words, or understands orders.”

  Angelina touched Hans’s forehead: it was damp with sweat. “Enough talking for now. You must take a rest Hans. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

  He nodded and slumped back against the tree as we left.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” she said, in a voice that must be obeyed. She led me past the tents to a quiet glade where we could be very much alone.

  “I think you got Hans out of their hands just in time. He could not take much more of that kind of treatment. Some of his wounds had gone septic—I had to use my last antibio pen on him.”

  “Won’t be long before we’re back in the ship and get you more. And clean clothes, showers, yummy dehydrated meals . . .”

  “Don’t change the subject. You know what I want to talk about.”

  “Do I?” With wide-eyed ignorance.

  “Your coming visit to the buildings at the spaceport.”

  “Absolutely! I must find the comm machines, get a message out—”

  “You know that I’m going in with you?”

  “I know nothing of the kind. Dangerous, deadly, certainly no job for—”

  “If you say for a woman I’ll cut your heart out.”

  “. . . no job for more than one person!” I quickly improvised.

  “Nonsense. Two are better than one. And you heard Hans, women are equals. At least among the estroj. And who else could do as good a job at this kind of work than I do?”

  This was unanswerable—because it was true.

  “I’ll get the skin cream,” I said. One more success for the fairer sex. She patted my hand; never one to score points.

  “When Hans wakes up I must ask him what that Doria person wore. Something baggy and shapeless I’m sure.”

  Then she furrowed her brow, looking worried.

  “Do you think I look good in green?”

  CHAPTER 23

  It had been a hectic couple of days. What with forced marches and swineherding I was beat. I dined well off some cold venison and yawned heavily.

  “Get your head down for a bit,” Angelina advised. “You’re little good to anyone the way you are.”

  “Must have a meeting—council of war . . .”

  “Later. Sleep first.”

  I did not have to be told twice. I stretched out, yawned widely, rolled over—and must have corked off at once. The next thing I knew Angelina was gently shaking my arm.

  “I feel better for that,” I said hoarsely with my dry mouth. “Water . . .”

  “Here,” she said, passing the waiting gourd. Cool and life-restoring. “Hans is waiting—and I’ve sent for Bram. Do you want anyone else?”

  “Not really. All sides are represented now.”

  Bram was the last to arrive; he sat down quietly next to Hans.

  “This meeting is called to order,” I said. Rapping an invisible gavel on the ground. “Our mission is to penetrate the spaceport buildings and gain access to the communication room. Angelina and I—with suitably green skin—will be doing the job . . .”

  “I want to help,” Hans said. “I have been in there—I can show you the way . . .”

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said. Pretending not to notice the tremor to his voice; he was terrified yet had still volunteered. “But you have given us the vital information that we needed . . .”

  “And we won’t let you get into their loathsome green hands again,” Angelina said, sternly and decisively. “It will be just the two us. End of discussion.”

  “Bram,” I said. “It will be up to you to get us near the buildings. We certainly can’t do it by crossing the landing areas in broad daylight. What is it like on the other side?”

  He broke a stick in half and scribed a line in the ground. “There is a road through the forest that leads to their nearest settlement. It opens
out when it gets to the spaceport. There are stables there for the horses, buildings for the workers and some storehouses.”

  “Are there many people there?” I asked.

  “During the day, yes. Always some coming and going.”

  “Estroj too?” Angelina asked.

  “Of course. More than the usual number. We have watched closely, but do not know why or what they are doing in the buildings.”

  “The estroj—how are they dressed? Differently from the others?”

  “I do not know. We hide when we watch them—never very close.”

  “I can tell you,” Hans said. “That is one of the ways to tell them apart from the mob. Their clothes, they’re made from a better grade of cloth—with a finer weave. All of them carry frapiloj, the striking sticks. They wear leather shoes . . .”

  “Made of leather stolen from us,” Bram growled. “Not often, but they do try to raid our encampments. Take our tents if they can. It evens out a bit because we raid them as well. Steal their cloth—when we can.”

  “Most important,” Angelina said, “how do the women dress?”

  “Those that work in the weaving mill—something loose, shapeless—most of them wear the same clothes as the men. But some wear long dresses, almost to the ground.”

  “And Doria, your lady boss?” He furrowed his brow.

  “Different sometimes. A leather skirt I remember—shorter than the weavers.”

  “Knee length?”

  “No, longer than that—calf length. She also wore high leather boots with the skirt.”

  “Better and better,” she said, smiling.

  I was worried about what that smile meant.

  There was little more that Hans could tell us, and the meeting broke up. Angelina went off to talk to the women, while Bram and I chewed over the logistics of this penetration attempt.

  “Do you go in at dusk or at night?” he asked.

  “Neither. Full daylight so we can see where we are going, when there are plenty of people around.”

  “You’ll be seen . . . captured!”

  “Seen, yes. But captured, I sincerely hope not. The whole point of this operation is to penetrate into the technical section of the building. As to how we do that . . . we’ll just have to make it up as we go along.”

  “It will not be easy. You don’t know what you will be getting into!”

  “That’s the fun of the thing! You wouldn’t know, but we have done this sort of operation in the past—and quite successfully too.”

  He shook his head, obviously not believing a word I had said. My long career in crime would have to remain a closed book for now. Along with my even longer career with the Special Corps.

  We parted and I went to see how Angelina was making out in the costume department. But was turned brusquely away. I would go talk to Hans—our resource source. The more we learned about the gruesome Greenies the more we would be able to play our penetration roles.

  It took the best part of two days to outfit us to Hans’s satisfaction. I wore a nondescript jacket and trousers, but cut from a better grade of cloth than the peasant burlap. There was a wide leather belt at my waist, along with soft leather shoes. I also had a number of small inconspicuous pockets for a few devices that were always about my person. Not to mention my gun, that was resting comfortably in its holster on the back of my belt. I tucked the long hardwood stick under my arm.

  “Will this do?” I asked.

  “Yes, good, very good,” Hans finally said. “You can walk right among them looking like that.”

  He had greater praise for Angelina’s clothes.

  “Yes, my boss, Doria looked very much like you do. But not as good—or as . . .”

  He looked uncomfortable.

  “You mean not as sexy,” she said, twirling her white wood frapilo, smiling. Was it possible that Hans was blushing?

  “You’ll knock them dead,” I said.

  “I hope to,” she said, the chill back in her voice. “But only after we have completed our mission.”

  Then she smiled—as though this were a joke.

  Only I knew differently. We would go in, do what had to be done, then get out again—and no one was going to stand in our way.

  “Bram wants to leave at dawn tomorrow,” I said. “He also wants to have one last meeting.”

  “Shall I come?” Hans asked.

  “Thanks, but there is no need. You have done more than any of us to assure our chances of success when we go in there.”

  We found Bram waiting, deeply worried.

  “I have been thinking about this whole matter and I am not happy,” he said, scowling to prove it.

  “Don’t be,” Angelina said brightly. “You get us there, close to the spaceport—at that road through the forest. We go in, do what we have to do, then come out.”

  “Then what?”

  “We join you and we all vanish into the trees.”

  “No. Too dangerous.” He meant it too.

  “Why?’

  “There are too many of them there among the outer buildings. If the alarm spreads they will be after you in the thousands—and there will be no way you can possibly survive.”

  “But what other choice do we have?” Angelina asked.

  “You must return to your ship—because that way will be open.”

  “Open, possibly,” I said. “But what about all those armed green thugs around the ship? There are a great deal more of them there now, your scouts said.”

  “Not a problem. Alun and a large number of his men will meet us there. We will overwhelm their fighters so you can enter your ship and escape.”

  I resisted dropping my jaw at this startling development. “But what about you—and all the other trackers?”

  He smiled broadly and said, “Why, we shall come into the ship of space with you. I’m sure there will be room for us, now that your porcuswine are not aboard.”

  Angelina clapped her hands and laughed aloud.

  “What an original and fine idea! Shall we do it, Jim?”

  I looked for any holes in this audacious plan; could find none. So I clapped my hands as well.

  At first light we were already on the trail. Since we were penetrating deep into enemy country, trackers had left earlier to make sure our way was clear. We marched, without a break, until midday, when Bram called a halt.

  “The road is not far ahead,” he said. “We’ll get as close to the spaceport as we can before making contact. After that you must go on alone since they will be on all sides of us.”

  We had to pass through abandoned fields, very dangerous since we could be easily seen. Most of the trackers left us before we reached the road, slipping away a few at a time. In the end only Bram was left to guide us the final distance, to a stand of thick shrubbery. Stopping us with a lifted hand—signaling us to lie flat.

  People were passing close by, their voices could be clearly heard. Bram slipped silently through the high grass, vanishing from sight. Seconds ticked by.

  “He’s been gone for a long time,” Angelina whispered. Shifting her weight a bit so her gun was close to hand. There was a slight movement among the leaves and he rejoined us.

  “The road is almost empty now—so we can move forward. Follow me.”

  We joined him beneath a large and thick bush. The dirt track of the road was just before us. Bram parted the leaves for a quick look—then dropped back down. “Two horsemen coming. As soon as they pass you get out of here—follow after them.”

  With his hand he motioned us to stay flat. There was the slow clop of hoofbeats and a muted voice. Louder then, until they passed close by—their shadows darkening us for an instant.

  “Now!” he hissed.

  We pushed through the last thin barrier, stood and walked after the two horsemen. They had their backs turned and never saw us as their animals trotted on out of sight around a bend in the road.

  “And about time too,” Angelina said, brushing dust off her clothes. “I hope t
hat will be our last woodland crawl for a long long time.” She looked up, touched her hair. “Is that a twig, here in my hair?”

  “A little one. There—all gone.”

  The road turned again and we saw the horsemen, now far ahead of us. But something else as well. A small group, four or five people, sitting beside the road. Then they saw us and grew silent.

  “Do we do anything?” Angelina asked.

  “Yes. Ignore them completely. Chat a bit.”

  “It’s a warm day. With no sign of rain at all.”

  We passed close enough to see the coarse weave of their clothes—the vacant look of their filthy faces. They watched us pass in silence, gaping and slack jawed. Then we left them behind.

  “Easy enough,” Angelina said. “First test passed.”

  “Look ahead,” I said. “Horsemen coming our way.”

  There were three of them, all men. They were talking to one another, but became silent when they saw us. None of them had frapiloj. But one of them pointed to Angelina and said something behind his hand. The others smiled.

  “What do you fools find so funny?” I said loudly. Reached out and grabbed the bridle of the nearest horse.

  CHAPTER 24

  The rider began to shake, working his mouth, stammered something.

  Next move, Jim? I thought, but Angelina was quicker than I was.

  “Get down from that horse,” she ordered in a cold voice. “You too,” she added pointing to the rider next to him and slapping her frapilo against his leg. A good move—or a move too far? My hand moved closer to my gun, but both men scrambled to the ground.

  “Now get out of our sight,” I snapped.

  They did. Running and stumbling down the road, the other rider galloped away, following, then passing the running men. Moments later they were all out of sight around a bend in the road. Angelina nodded with satisfaction.

  “Well, Hans did tell us that if you acted like estroj, you were!” she said. “Anyway, I was getting tired of walking, so it seemed worth the try. And I also saw where your gun hand was.”

  We mounted and trotted on, smiling with smug satisfaction at being such bullying brutes. Which only works in a world of bullying brutes.