The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection

by Harry Harrison

  We rose with great reluctance—but had no choice at all. All eyes were upon us when we went to the door that Gow was holding open. I could feel the heat from Sergeant Klutz’s burning glare as I passed him. Corporal Gow closed the door behind us and turned to face us. His smile as insincere as ever.

  “Kind of warm now since the sun came out.”

  “Sure is. Feels nice.”

  “Where did you get that subversive cagal you were spouting in there? You first.” He pointed at me.

  “I sort of, well, sort of heard it somewhere.”

  He smiled happily and stabbed a stubby finger at Morton.

  “I knew it. You have been listening to the illegal radio, haven’t you? Both of you. That is the only possible place you could heard such outrageous lies.”

  “Not really,” Morton said. “Facts are facts and I happen to be right.”

  He was digging his own grave with his jaw. I broke in; this radio dodge sounded like a possible out. If there were such a thing we might just wriggle from under this creepo’s thumb. I lowered my eyes and twisted my toe in the dirt.

  “Gee, corporal, I don’t know how to say this. I was going to lie or something—but you’re too smart for me. It was, you’re right, the radio …”

  “I knew it! They pump that poison down from their satellite, too many frequencies to jam, too defended to shoot down. Lies!”

  “I just did it that once. I knew I shouldn’t have, but it was a dare. And it sounded so true—that’s why I spoke out like that.”

  “I’m glad you did, recruit. And I imagine that you did the same?” Morton did not rise to the bait but the corporal took silence for assent. “I think that you did. But at least it shows the poison didn’t take, that you two wanted to talk about it. The devil always has the best tunes. But you must turn away from the siren song of such slimy untruths and listen to the authorities who know far better than you do.” He smiled warmly upon us and I grinned with wide insincerity.

  “Oh I will, sir,” I said quickly before Morton could open his mouth again. “I will. Now that you have told me this, and didn’t punish us or anything …”

  “Did I say that?” The warm grin suddenly had a cold and nasty edge to it. “You’ll get your punishment. If you were civilians you would each get a year at hard labor. But you are in the army now—so the punishment should be worse. It has been nice talking to you, recruits. Now get back inside for the rest of this orientation session. That will give you plenty of time to contemplate your crimes and their inevitable punishment. In the future, if you have a future, you will not contradict me or any other officer.”

  He waved us inside ahead of him: we went like sheep to the slaughter. I whispered to Morton. “Is it true what he said about the radio broadcasts.”

  “Of course. Haven’t you ever listened? Pretty boring stuff for the most part. Heavy on propaganda and low on content. But it doesn’t matter that you admitted listening. He was out to get us no matter what he said. Military justice!”

  “Do we just stay here and wait?!”

  “Where’s to run,” he said, with utmost gloom.

  Where indeed? There was no place to flee to.

  Sergeant Klutz glared his best glare at us and we shut up. I sank to the floor with a sigh. Wondering just what possible punishment the military could dream up that could be worse than recruit training. I had the sinking feeling that I would find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER l0

  A distant buzzer sounded like a stifled eructation and Sergeant Klutz’s eyes came back into focus and the expression of dull vacuity vanished to be replaced by his normal sneer of anger.

  “On your feet you cagal-kopfs! You had a whole hour of cagaling off and you will now pay for it. Double time! The next session will be small arm instruction and short arm inspection. Move it!”

  “I’m holding onto these two,” Gow said, separating us out from the others. “I’m putting them on report for spreading sedition.”

  Klutz nodded happily and slashed a line through our names on his roster sheet. “Suits me, Gow. As long as I got the roll call right you can eat them for breakfast for all I care.”

  The door closed and Gow and I stood there eyeball to eyeball. Morton slumped to one side, drooping with apathy. I was beginning to get angry. Corporal Gow took out his notebook and pencil and pointed at me.

  “What is your name soldier?”

  “ScrooU2.”

  “That is your military name, Scroo, and not a complete one at that. I would like your entire name.”

  “I’m from Pensildelphia, corporal, and we were taught never to give our names to strangers.”

  His eyes narrowed with hatred. “Are you trying to make fun of me soldier?”

  “That would be impossible, sir. You are a walking joke as it is. Selling lies to the peasantry. You know as well as I do that the only threat to this country is the military that control it. This is a military state kept in operation only for the benefit of the military.”

  Morton gasped and tried to wave me to silence. I was too angry for that now. This cagaling corporal had gotten under my skin. He smiled coldly and reached for the telephone.

  “If you won’t tell me your name the Military Police will find it out quickly enough. And you are wrong about only the military benefiting from a military state. You are forgetting the industrial corporations that profit from the military contracts. One cannot exist without the other. They are mutually interdependent.”

  He said this calmly, smiling, and shocked me into silence. “But …” I finally mumbled as he dialed the phone. “If you know that—why are you selling that line of old cagal to the troops?”

  “For the simple reason that I am the scion of one of those industrial families and quite happy with the situation as it is. I fulfill my military obligations by selling this line of old cagal, as you so quaintly put it, and in a few months will return to the life of luxury which I greatly enjoy. The number is engaged. I’ve enjoyed our talk as well, and in return for the pleasure I derived from the novelty of our conversation I wish to give you a gift.”

  He put the phone down, turned and opened a drawer in the desk behind him and I was dumb enough to let him do it. When the coin finally dropped it was too late. As I jumped forward he spun about with a large weapon in his hand, aimed and steady.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you. I hunt, you know, and I am a first-class shot. I would also have no slightest compunction in shooting you. In the back if needs be,” he added as I turned away. I turned around again and smiled.

  “Well done, corporal. Intelligence was concerned about the quality of your orientation talks and I was sent here to, you know, try to irritate you. And I promise not to repeat your remarks about the industrial-military complex. I come from a poor family so I do not enjoy any of your advantages.”

  “Is that true?” Morton gasped.

  “It is—and you are under arrest. There, one traitor caught, Gow, so some good has come of our conversation.”

  His eyes narrowed but the gun never moved. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “No. But I can show you my identification.” I smiled and reached into the empty back pocket of my new uniform.

  He might have been a good shot when it came to blasting helpless animals or paper targets, but he had no combat experience. For a single instant his eyes looked down toward my moving hand. Which was all the time I needed. My other hand was already chopping the inside of his wrist, moving the gun aside. It hissed once and something slammed into the wall behind me. Morton screeched with fright and jumped aside. Before Gow could fire again my knee came up into his stomach.

  The gun dropped to the floor and he dropped beside it. I took a deep and shuddering breath and let it out with a sigh.

  “Well done, Jim,” I said, and reached over my shoulder and patted myself on the back. “All the reflexes working fine.”

  Morton bulged his eyes at me, then down at the silent form of the corporal. “What’s happe
ning … ?” he gurgled in confusion.

  “Exactly what you see. I’ve rendered the corporal unconscious before he did us bodily harm. And you are not under arrest since that was just a ruse. So now, quickly before someone comes, push that desk up against the entrance since you can see that the door has no lock.”

  I bent and retrieved the weapon in case the scion of millions came to earlier than planned. And what was I going to do with the poor little rich boy? I looked down at his recumbent form and inspiration struck.

  “You are a genius,” I bragged aloud. “You deserve another pat which you will get later because now speed is of the essence.” I bent and began to unbutton his uniform. “The uniform, that is the key, the uniform. They will be looking for a ragged recruit in baggy fatigues. Not a spiffy corporal in tailormades. You have earned this promotion, Jim. Go to the head of the class.”

  I tore off his shoes and pulled his trousers free—and whistled. His underpants were woven of gold thread. Rich is as rich does. It was chance, pure chance, that he was a little overweight from a lifetime of good living. My muscles took the place of his fat and the uniform could have been made for me. Except the shoes; he had very tiny feet. My boots would have to do. I emptied his pockets and found, in addition to a great deal of money and a container of sinister looking black cigarettes, a small pocketknife. This worked admirably in cutting my discarded clothing into strips with which I bound the corporal securely, wadded more of the cloth into a gag. He was breathing easily through his nose so my conscience was clear that he would not die of suffocation.

  “Are you going to kill him?” Morton asked.

  “No, but I want him quiet until I put the next part of the plan into operation.” I’m glad that Morton didn’t ask what that was since I didn’t know yet. There were no closets in the room so the corporal could not be stuffed out of sight. The desk—that was it!

  “Morton,” I ordered. “Stand with your back to the door and think like a lock. If anyone tries to open it lean hard against it.”

  While he leaned and thought lockish I dragged the desk back into position and wedged the bound corporal under it. By reflex I went through the desk drawers, which were all empty except the top one which had a folder of papers. I tucked these under my arm. Then I stepped back and examined my handiwork. Admirable. The corporal was well out of sight. Anyone who glanced into the room would think it empty.

  “Now—what next?” I said cheerily. Then felt the smile slip from my face.

  “Yes!” Morton agreed eagerly. “What happens next?”

  I shook myself, took a brace and tried to think positively. “For one thing—there is no going back. So let us seek out a way forward. When they find the corporal they will find out our names quickly enough. By which time we must have new names. Which means we go to the personnel section and make a few changes.”

  Morton was blinking very rapidly now. “Jak, old friend, don’t you feel well? I don’t understand a word that you are saying.”

  “Doesn’t matter—as long as I do.” I unloaded the gun, put the power charge in my pocket and the empty weapon back in the drawer. “March ahead of me, do as I command. Go! As soon as you have opened the door a crack to see if the coast is clear.”

  It was. We marched out, stamping and striding in a very military fashion, me clutching my sheaf of papers, Morton hopefully clutching to his few remaining shards of sanity. One, two, one, two. Around the corner and almost into the arms of a red-capped military policeman.

  “Squad halt! Stand at ease!” I screamed. Morton halted with a decided sway and shudder, showing the whites of his eyes as he rolled them toward the MP. “Eyes front!” I shrieked. “I gave no orders for you to move your eyes.”

  The MP, wise in military ways, paid us absolutely no attention until I called out to him. “Just hold it, there, private.”

  “Me, corporal?” he asked, stopping and turning.

  “You are the only thing moving that I can see. Your pocket is unbuttoned. But this is my generous day. Just point us toward the Personnel Building and keep moving.”

  “Straight ahead, right on the company street, past the bandstand, left at the torture chamber and there you are.” He scurried away, groping at his shirt pockets to find the open one. Morton was shivering and sweating and I patted him on the back.

  “Relax, my friend. As long as you have the rank you can do what you want in the army. Ready to go on?”

  He nodded and stumbled forward. I marched after him, shouting commands at the corners, marking time, being noisy, obnoxious and abusive so I would not be noticed. A sad commentary indeed on the reality of military life.

  The Personnel Building was large and industrious with plenty of to-ing and fro-ing from the front entrance. As we started toward it Morton came to a halt and stood at attention, swaying. “W-what are you going to do?” He whispered huskily and I saw that he was shaking with fear.

  “Relax old buddy, all is under control,” I said, leafing through the handful of papers to cover this unmilitary pause. “Just follow me, do as I say, and in a few minutes we will have vanished without trace.”

  “We’ll really vanish without trace if we go in there! We’ll be caught, tortured, killed …”

  “Silence!” I shouted into his ear and he leaped as though he had been shot. “You will not talk. You will not think! You will only obey or you will be in the cagal so deep you will never see the light of day again!”

  A passing sergeant smiled and nodded approval so I knew I was on the right track. I hated to do this to Morton but it was the only way. “Left face—forward march!”

  His skin was pale, his eyes rolled up, his mind empty of conscious thought. He could only obey. Up the steps we went and through the entrance toward the armed military policemen stationed there.

  “Halt, at ease!” I shouted and spun toward the MP, still shouting. “You—where do I find the Transport Section?”

  “Second floor, room two-oh-nine. Could I see your pass, corporal?”

  I glared at him coldly as I shuffled through the papers I was carrying, let my eyes travel slowly down to his boots, then back up again. He stood at attention, shivering slightly, and I knew he was new at this game.

  “I don’t think I have ever seen dirtier boots,” I hissed. When his eyes glanced down I held out the turned-back papers. “Here’s the pass.” When he glanced up again I let the papers slap shut.

  He started to say something, I turned up the the power of my glare and he wilted. “Thank you, corporal. Second floor.”

  I turned smartly away, snapped my fingers at Morton, then stamped away toward the stairs. Trying to ignore the fine beading of sweat on my brow. This was very demanding work—and it wasn’t over yet. I could see that Morton was definitely shivering as he walked and I wondered how much more of this he could take. But there was no turning back now. I threw open the door of 209 and waved him in. A bench ran along the wall and I pointed him towards it.

  “Sit there and wait until you’re called,” I said, then turned to the reception clerk. He was on the phone and waved vaguely in my direction. Behind him rows of desks and laboring soldiers stretched the length of the room. All totally ignoring me, of course.

  “Yes, sir, get onto it at once, sir,” the reception clerk smarmed. “Computer error, possibly, captain. We’ll get right back to you. Very sorry about this.”

  I could hear the phone disconnect loudly in his ear. “You crock of cagal!” he snarled and threw the phone back on the desk, then looked up at me. “What’s up, corporal?”

  “I’m up here, corporal, and I’m here to see the transport sergeant.”

  “He’s home on compassionate leave. His canary died.”

  “I do not wish to hear the disgusting details of his personal life, soldier. Who’s sitting in for him?”

  “Corporal Gamin.”

  “Tell the corporal I’m coming in.”

  “Right, right.” He picked up the phone. I stamped past him to the door marked T
RANSPORT SERGEANT—KEEP OUT and threw it open. The thin, dark man at the computer terminal looked up and frowned.

  “You are Corporal Gamin?” I said, closing the door and flipping through the papers one more time. “If you are I got good news for you.”

  “I’m Gamin. What’s up?”

  “Your morale. The paymaster says they found a cumulative computer error in your pay and you are owed possibly two hundred and ten big ones. They want you there to straighten it out.”

  “I knew it! They been deducting double for insurance and laundry.”

  “They’re all cagal-kopfs.” My guess was right; there cannot be anyone alive, particularly in the army, who isn’t sure there are errors in his payslip. “I would suggest you get your chunk over and collect before they lose the money again. Can I use your phone?”

  “Punch nine for an outside line.” He pulled up his necktie and reached for his jacket—then stopped and took the key out of the terminal; the screen went black. “I bet they owe me more than that. I want to see the records.”