His voice was a goad. I was on my feet, walking forward to the box of toys. My foot touched a block and it rattled aside.
“The key is in the toy box,” I said, but I didn’t believe the words even as I spoke them. I looked at Iron John who shook his head no.
“Not in the box.”
I looked down again and realized that I did know where the key was. I raised my eyes to Iron John and he nodded solemnly. “See you do know where the key to the cage is. You can let me out now, Jim. Because you know the key is there. Inside …”
“Teddy,” I said.
“Teddy. Not a real bear. Teddies are for children and you are no longer a child. Inside teddy.”
I reached out, blinked away the tears that were blurring my vision, seized up the toy, felt the soft fabric between my fingers. Heard a loud voice that slashed the silence.
“Not quite right, Jim, not right. The key is not there—it has to be under your mother’s pillow!”
Steengo had come forward to join me, had to shout the last words to be heard over the roar of voices.
“Mother doesn’t want her son to leave her. She hides the key to the Iron man’s cage under her pillow. The son must steal the key …”
The shouting voices drowned him out. Then it went dark in an instant and someone ran into me knocking me down. I tried to stand, to call out, but a hard foot walked on my hand. I shouted aloud at the sudden pain but my voice went unheard in the clamor. Someone else jarred into me and the darkness became even more intense.
“Jim—are you all right? Can you hear me?”
Floyd’s face was just above mine, looking worried. Was I all right? I didn’t know. I was in bed, must have been asleep. Why was he waking me?
Then I remembered and sat upright, grabbed his arms.
“The Veritorium! It got dark, something happened. I can’t remember—”
“I’m not much help because I can’t either. It seemed like a good show. Hard to follow the plot but you were in it, do you remember that?” I nodded. “Seemed to be enjoying yourself, although you didn’t look happy about tearing the stuffing out of the teddy bear. That’s when Steengo joined you onstage and all the fun started. Or stopped. It all gets vague about that time.”
“Where’s Steengo?”
“You tell me. I saw him last on the stage. I was sleeping myself, just woke up. Looked around, no Steengo. Found you here snoring away and I gave you a shake.”
“If he’s not here …”
A muted knock sounded at the door, and a moment later it opened and Veldi looked in.
“Gentlemen, a happy good morning to you both. I thought I heard your voices and hoped you would be awake. I bring you a message from your friend …”
“Steengo—you’ve seen him?”
“Indeed I did. We had a friendly chat before you awoke. Then, before he left, he made this recording. Told me to give it to you. Told me you would understand.”
He placed a small recorder on the table, stepped back. “The green button is to play, red to stop.” Then he was gone.
“A message?” Floyd asked, picking the thing up and staring at it.
“Press the button instead of fiddling with the damn thing!”
He looked startled at my tone, put it back on the table and turned it on.
“Good morning there, Jim and Floyd. You guys are sure sound sleepers and I didn’t want to wake you before I went out. You know, I’m beginning to think that this city is not for me. I need some space to get my thoughts together. I’m going to take a walk back down the wall, get some air to breathe, some space to think in. You hang in there and I’ll be in touch.”
“That old Steengo,” Floyd said. “What a character. That’s him all right. His voice, sure enough, and his way of thinking. Some guy!”
I looked up, looked him in the eye. His face was as grim as mine. He shook his head in a silent no. I did the same.
Steengo had not left that message. It was his voice all right. Easy enough for the electronic technicians to fake that.
Steengo was gone.
What had happened?
CHAPTER 18
“I really slept,” I said. “Like a rock. Thirsty.”
“The same. I’ll get some juice and a couple of glasses.”
“Great idea.”
I had scribbled the note by the time he came back, slipped it to him when I took the glass. He opened it behind the pitcher, read it.
Place bugged. What do we do?
He nodded as he passed me my glass of juice.
“Thanks,” I said, watching him turn over the note and write on the back. I don’t know if there were optical bugs as well as the audio ones. Until we found out we had to act as though there were. I kept the note in my palm when I read it.
Steengo much concerned. Left these for you before we went to the show.
I finished the juice, put my glass down, lifted my eyebrows quizzically. He pointed quickly at his closed fist. When he stood and passed me he dropped something small into my lap. I waited a minute before I poured more juice, drank it, sat back with my hand in my lap. Two small, soft objects. Familiar. I rubbed my nose and glanced at them.
Filter nose plugs. For neutralizing gas. Steengo had known something—or guessed something. He also knew how affected I had been by the sessions in the Veritorium. He had suspected that something physical, not just the training session itself, had gotten to me.
Of course! Obvious by hindsight. I knew of a dozen hypnotic gases that lowered the ability to think clearly, that left the brain open to outside influences. So it hadn’t been emotion but plain old chemistry that had carried me away. Steengo had suspected this—but why hadn’t he told me? Depressingly, I realized that the state of mind I had been in, probably caused by drugs in the earlier session, rendered that impossible. He knew he couldn’t tell me. But had been suspicious enough to wear the plugs himself.
And when he saw me getting deeply involved in the ritual he had interrupted before it was too late, had brought the whole thing to a screeching halt. I felt my teeth grating together and forced myself to stop.
He had talked about mother and the key under her pillow—to these people who denied that women even existed!
With the realization of the enormity of his crime in the eyes of the Paradisians I felt a sudden overwhelming fear for his safety. Would they kill him—or worse—had they killed him already? They were certainly capable of anything, I was sure now of that.
What next? Communication with our backup team in the spacer above was very much in order. I had to get into the open, away from the bugs, and contact Tremearne. Bring him up to date. Something had happened to Steengo. And the rest of us surely were in danger as well—and Madonette, this might affect her. This entire affair was getting a nasty and dangerous edge to it.
And thinking about dangerous, there was the other dangerous always hanging over my head. My computer flashed me the highly unwelcome message of a flickering red nine. I had been asleep longer than I had realized.
Artifact or no I was just nine days away from my personal destiny. When I had first heard the thirty-day deadline on the poison I had not been too concerned. Thirty days is a lot of time. I thought.
Nine days was definitely not a lot of time at all. And with Steengo suddenly vanished I had more problems, not less.
“Going for a run,” I called out to Floyd, leaping to my feet in a spasm of fear-sponsored energy. “Feel logy after all that sleep. Got to clear my head.”
I slammed out the door and down the road even as he was answering. Taking a different route from my usual one—then changed direction at random. Up ahead was a field of polpettone trees, laid out in neat rows and bulging with fruit. I jogged into a path beside the trees, looking around as I ran. No one in sight. There was little chance the Paradisers would put bugs in among the trees.
But they could have. I turned into a freshly plowed field and ran between the furrows. I should be safe enough here. I clamped my jaw t
wice.
“Hello, Tremearne, are you there?”
“Very much so, Jim. We have all been awaiting your report. Can you tell us what is happening—the recorder is running”
I jogged in position for a bit, then bent to tie my shoe—then gave up and just sat on the ground while I finished the detailed report. I was tired; the chemicals still kicking around in my system had not been kind to me.
“That’s it,” I finished. “Steengo is gone. Might be dead …”
“No. I can reassure you on that score. A few hours ago we had a radio message from him, just a few words, then contact was lost again. He must be somewhere deep in the city, behind walls the radio signals can’t penetrate. He might have been moved from one site to another, was in the open long enough for a brief transmission.”
“What did he say?”
The recording was brief and scratchy. Beginning with static and dying in static. But it was pure Steengo all right.
“… never enough! When I get my fingers on you, you …” The next word was hard to make out—but I could think of a half dozen that filled the bill.
“What do you think we should do? Break out of here?”
“No—go along with everything. You will be contacted.”
“Contacted? By whom, what, which? Come in, Tremearne’
There was no answer. I rose and brushed off my shorts. Very mysterious. Tremearne was up to something—but he was not talking about it. Must be worried about eavesdroppers. Maybe he knew something that I didn’t.
I started back at a slow run, changed that to a fast walk. To a slow walk, then a crawl. If there had been any farther to go I would probably have done it on all fours. As it was I stumbled into our quarters and collapsed, gasping, onto the couch. Floyd looked astonished.
“You look like you’ve been dipped and rolled.”
“I feel even worse than that. Water, quickly, lots of it!”
I drank until I was sloshing, then sipped a little bit more, handed the glass weakly back.
“Knocked myself out. Be a good buddy and get my pack. I got some vitamin pills there should pick me up.” When he handed me the pack I clicked out a couple of Blast-offs, super-uppers, and swallowed one. “Vitamins, good for you,” I said as I passed one over. Floyd was a little faster off the mental mark lately and did not ask any questions.
Our timing was pretty good. The wave of good feeling and energy was washing away my almost-terminal fatigue when Veldi threw open the door.
“On your feet!” he called out. I did not move.
“Veldi,” I said. “Old and trusted servant. No soft knock? No sweet tones …”
“The word is out that you Stainless Steel Rats are just plain rats. Troublemakers. Just get going.”
There was the quick thud-thud of marching feet and Sergeant Ljotur came in with an armed squad of soldiers. Armed with wicked-looking spears with gleaming points and barbed shafts.
“You are to come with me!” he ordered. He did not look happy about it.
“No longer a musical fan, Ljotur?” I said, climbing slowly to my feet.
“I have orders.” Orders that he obviously did not like. Which of course he would obey since independent thought had never been encouraged in the military. Floyd followed me out and the squad formed up. Four in front, four in back of us. Ljotur checked the formation, nodded, took position in front and raised his spear.
“Forward—burtu!”
We burtu’ed at a slow trot, down the road and turned right at the corner. Which put us directly on the route to the red brick lodgings where Iron John lurked, as I remembered from our first visit. Trotted down the road and into a tunnel under a row of buildings. One of the guards to the rear tapped me on the shoulder.
“Give me a hand, will you?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Then swung sideways and planted his fist in the stomach of the guard next to him. Who folded and dropped without a sound.
This was easy enough to understand. I had turned when he tapped me so I kept turning to face the rear. I reached out and got a hand on the other two guards’ necks. Squeezed as they turned their spears towards me.
“Floyd!” I gasped out, putting all my energy into my throttle grips so these jokers would pass out before they harpooned me. “The others!”
One of the guards dropped but the other one, with a stronger neck, kept his spear coming. Into my stomach—
No, not quite. The first guard, who had called to me, gave him a quick chop under the ear. He and I whirled about, ready to jump to Floyd’s help. And stopped.
The four other guards were lying in a silent, tumbled heap on the ground. Floyd had a spear pressed firmly under Ljotur’s jaw, was holding him up with his other hand.
“You want to talk to this guy?” Floyd asked. “Or you want him down there with the others?”
“I’ve nothing to say …”
“No talk. Drop.”
Before I could finish speaking a limp Ljotur joined the rest of the sleeping patrol.
“What about this one?” Floyd asked, fingers arced, pointing to the soldier who had called to me.
“Wait! He started this thing. There has to be a reason for it.”
“There is,” the soldier said in the same hoarse voice. “I am going to tell you a few things. You will not laugh at anything I say—understood ?’’
“We’re not laughing!” I said. “Great, guy, thanks for the help. And what’s the plan?”
“First off—remember about the laughing! I’m not a guy. I’m a girl. Do I see lips bending?”
“Never!” I called out, to disguise the fact that a little flicker of emotion had appeared. “You saved us. We are in your debt. We are not laughing. So tell us about it.”
“All right. But let’s drag these so-called soldiers out of the way first. Then we go on. The orders were to bring you to Iron John and that is what I am going to do. Your friend is in danger. Do nothing precipitate. Forward.”
We went. Disbelieving perhaps, but still forward. Floyd started to talk but I raised my hand.
“Save the discussion. Explanations will be useful after we make sure Steengo is all right. But Floyd—stop me if I am wrong—did I see you take five guys out while I was just about managing two?”
“You didn’t see it. It was over before you turned to look.” He was the same old laid-back Floyd—but was that a new touch of firmness to his words? It was a day of surprises. And he was right—I had not seen him at work, just the results.
The brick palace jogged into view ahead. Apparently not all of the troops had been told that we were no longer heroes, for the guards at the entrance did a snappy jump to attention and salute as we trotted past.
“Halt!” our newfound friend (girl … ?) called out and we stopped before the guards at the door. “Orders to bring these two to Iron John. Permission to enter?”
“Enter!” the officer in charge called out. The doors opened and closed behind us as we trotted by. There was the large room ahead and inside it was Iron John. And just one other person.
Steengo. Collapsed against the wall, covered in bruises and blood. One eye swollen shut. He started to speak but could only rasp out something incomprehensible.
“You are all here now,” Iron John said. “Soldier—guard the entrance. No one to enter or leave. I have a score to settle with these interlopers. Because I have changed my mind about keeping this thing quiet. I listened to my advisers and I am sorry that I did. Secrecy is at an end and justice will be done to the blasphemers. Here is what will happen. First I will kill this aged devil who spoke such filth. You two will watch.
“Then I will kill you as well.”
He started towards Steengo, a red giant of unleashed power. Hands extended to kill.
CHAPTER 19
“Let me have your spear.” I called out to the soldier at the door. She shook her head in a silent no, then said, “I have my orders.” No help from this source.
Iron John had turned and was walking towa
rds Steengo. I ran two silent steps in his direction and launched myself into a flying kick to his back. Heel punching out, a killing blow.
Then I was batted from the air. As big as he was—Iron John was just as fast. He had turned while I was in the air and had swung one hand. Knocking me aside, sprawling me onto the floor. His voice was as deep and ominous as a distant volcano.
“Do you want to be first, little man? You wish the others to watch your destruction? Perhaps that is only fair since you are their leader.”
He came slowly towards me and I found myself trembling with fear. Fear? Yes, because he was not human, more than human. He was Iron John a part of the legend of life, I could not hurt him.
He wasn’t! I scrabbled to my feet, my leg ached, moved away. He was much bigger, wider, stronger than I was. But no, he wasn’t a legend. He was a man.
“A big fat red slob!” I shouted. “A hairy conman!”
His eyes were wide, red, angry. His arched fingers reached for me. I feinted a fist at his jaw, saw him move to block it. Kept turning in an unstoppable kick to his knee.
It connected—but he made no attempt to avoid it. My foot hurt. His knee, his kneecap, looked unhurt.
“I am Iron John!” he shouted. “Iron—iron!”
I fell back, there was no escape. I swung a twisting punch that he took on his biceps. It felt like striking stone. Then his fist to my ribs sent me skidding down the room.
When I gasped in breath it hurt. Felt like something was broken there. Stand up, Jim! I got as far as my knees and he came on.
I blinked as I saw two arms encircle his legs, send him staggering. Kicking out. It was Steengo who had crawled behind him, tried to trip him. Who was now sent crashing back into the wall. To fall and not move again.
I was barely aware of this because the instant Iron John’s attention had wandered I had jumped. Getting an arm around his neck, grappling my own wrist. Pulling my forearm tight against his throat to crush his larynx, to cut off blood and air. The armlock that kills in seconds. My face was buried in his rank red fur as I tightened hard, harder than I ever had before.
To no avail. I could feel the tendons in his neck stiffen like steel bars, taking the pressure that should have been on his throat. He lifted one hand slowly, then sank his fingers deep into my flesh—
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