The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted

by Harry Harrison

  As they stamped away I inserted the lockpick yet again, twisted and pressed hard. Something snapped inside the lock. Only then did I put the lockpick away, open the door and slip inside. Closing it silently behind me.

  The small entranceway was sealed with dusty curtains. Light trickled between them; I bent forward and separated them a tiny amount.

  ". . . important that security be absolute until blastoff. You have your sealed orders, not to be opened until H hour. Rendezvous points are marked . . ."

  I knew that voice well. Once Garth, now Zennor. I parted the curtains just a bit more to make sure. There he was, almost below me, pointing at the large chart behind him. I looked at the chart, then closed the curtains and stepped back.

  I was closing the door behind me when hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs. The major appeared, face red and strained.

  "What is happening?"

  "I'm not sure, sir. The guard that was stationed here had his weapon drawn, acted suspiciously. I tried this door. It was unlocked. That was when I sent for you, sir."

  "It can't be. I locked it myself."

  It opened at his touch and his face whitened with shock. He pulled it quickly closed. "You haven't been inside?"

  "Of course not, major. I have my orders. Perhaps the lock is defective."

  "Yes, perhaps!" He fumbled out his ring of keys, found the right key and turned it in the lock. Metal grated. "It won't lock!"

  "May I try it, sir?"

  I took the keys from his limp fingers and, naturally, had no better luck in sealing the door. When I handed back the keys I spoke in a low voice.

  "There will be an investigation, sir, trouble. Not fair to you. I'll see that the guard talks to no one about this. Then I'll get a welder, seal the door. Might be best, major, don't you think so?"

  He started to speak, then closed his mouth, and thought instead. Looking from me to the door. Then he noticed the keys still in his hand. He put them in his packet and straightened his shoulders.

  "As you say, captain, nothing happened. No point in getting involved in investigations and suchlike. I'll stay here. Send the welder at once."

  "Very good, sir. I'll take care of everything."

  Morton was waiting at the foot of the stairs, the frightened MP standing beside him. I walked up to the man and gave him a good glare.

  "I am going to be kind to you, soldier, although it goes against the grain. I think it might be wisest if we forgot all about this matter. What is your name?"

  "Pip7812, sir."

  "All right. Pip, you can go back to your unit now. But-if I hear any rumors or loose talk about locks or such you will be dead within twenty-four hours. Understand?"

  "Locks, captain? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

  "Very good. Pip. Report to the sergeant. Tell him I need a welder here at once. Move." He moved.

  "What was all that about?" Morton asked.

  "That was about warfare, my friend. I know now what they are up to here. I know all about their invasion plans." Except-what could I possibly do about it?

  CHAPTER 13

  When the meeting broke up I saw to it that I was busily occupied away from the theatre entrance. It was a long chance that Zennor would recognize me from his Captain Garth days. But even a long chance is some chance, so I stayed out of sight. The troops formed up and marched away: with the emergency over they were not being coddled with effete transportation. The major had a car at his disposal but I turned down this offer.

  "We could have used a lift," Morton complained as the car moved away.

  "To where? Prison? The farther we are from authority the happier we should be."

  "I'm tired."

  "Who isn't? Not to mention hungry. Let's find a place to spend some of Gow's money . . ."

  "Jim . . . Jim diGriz . . ."

  The sound was high-pitched, barely audible. Was I hearing things? I looked around but Morton -was the only person nearby.

  "Did you hear anything?"

  "No. Should I?"

  "Don't know. A sudden ringing in my ears. But I swear I heard something."

  "Maybe it was that moth on your shoulder talking to you. Ha-ha."

  "Ha-ha yourself. What moth?"

  "See it there? Sitting on your captain's bars. Should I brush it off?"

  "No. Leave it."

  I turned my head and biinked and could just make out the moth. It flapped its wings and took off-and landed on my ear.

  "Co . . . aergropl. . . now."

  "I can't understand you."

  "That's because I'm not talking."

  "Shut up, Morton. I'm talking to the moth, not to you." His jaw dropped and he moved quickly sideways. "Repeat message," I said, ignoring him for the moment.

  "Airfield . . . go airfield."

  "Right, go to the airfield. Understood. Over and out." The moth fluttered away and I patted Morton on the shoulder; I could feel him shivering. "Come on, cheer up. And stop looking at me as though I were mad. The moth is a communication device, nothing more."

  "Communicating with whom?"

  "The less you know, the less trouble you can get into."

  "You really are a spy, aren't you?"

  "Yes and no. I'm here on my own business, but certain parties are trying to get me involved in their business. Do you understand?"

  "No."

  "Good. Let's find the airfield. At a guess I would say that it is over there where all the lights are and the planes are landing. Coming with me?"

  "Do I have a choice? Is there any way of going back? Starting over again? I mean we can't just sneak back into the barracks as if nothing happened, can we?"

  "You know that we can't."

  He sighed and nodded his head. "I know. But I'm just not cut out for the kind of thing that we have been doing. And where is it going to end?"

  A good question. With very little hope of an answer at the present time.

  "Truthfully-I don't know. But you have my word, Morton, because I got you into this. My first priority, before anything else, is to get you out of trouble and safe. Don't ask how-because I don't know yet."

  "You can't blame yourself. It was I who opened my mouth to that cagaling corporal. That's where it started." We had been walking while we talked, getting closer and closer to the airfield. The road that we were taking curved around the end of the field, separated from it by a high wire fence, well illuminated by bright lights. On the other side of the fence were grass and taxiways. A heavy freighter had just landed. It trundled by and we watched it go. When it had moved on a flock of black birds swooped down and began poking about in the grass. One of them unfolded its wings and flew toward the fence, landing on the other side. It cocked its head at me and spoke.

  "You are not alone."

  "Obviously. He's safe. Is that you, Varod."

  "No. Captain Varod is off duty."

  "Get him. I don't talk to just any old crow."

  "You will be contacted."

  The bird turned about and opened its beak and spread its wings. It took off without flapping, making a whistling sound.

  "Jet powered," I said. "Air intake in its mouth. Jet exhaust just where you imagine it might be. Let's walk." There was the whine of an approaching siren and a detector van came hurtling down the road. It slowed when it passed us, the dish aerial pointing in our direction, then moved on.

  "They are really efficient about spotting radio transmission," I said.

  "Is that bird a radio?"

  "Among other things. It is remotely controlled and probably has some logic circuitry for hopping about and staying with the other birds. Only when it transmits back to base can it be detected."

  "Where is the base?"

  "You don't want to know. Or who is operating it. But I can assure you they mean no harm to this country."

  "Why not?" He spoke with great agitation now. "Tell them to get to work and get rid of the military and their friends and start elections again. Do you know how long the present stat
e of emergency has been going on? I'll tell you, I checked. The so-called temporary emergency was declared over two hundred years ago. Some emergency! Tell your bird friends they can cause all the trouble they want as far as I'm concerned!"

  "I heard that," the bird said in a deep voice, swooping out of the darkness and landing on my shoulder. "Our work is not to cause trouble. We labor only to . . ."

  "Varod, shut up," I said. "We have limited communication time before the detectors show up again and let us not waste it with speeches. I have found out the invasion plans."

  The bird cocked his eye at me and nodded. "Very good," it said. "Details soonest, I am recording. Where is the invasion site?"

  "Not on this planet. They are readying a space fleet to attack another planet."

  "You are sure of this?"

  "I eavesdropped. I'm sure."

  "What is the name of the planet?"

  "I have no idea."

  "I will return. I must get rid of the detector van." The bird whistled into the sky leaving the stench of burned jet fuel behind. It did a neat barrel roll and landed on the top of a passing truck. Still broadcasting, I imagine, because a moment later the detector van hurtled by in pursuit of the truck. We walked on.

  "What's this about an invasion? What did you find out?"

  "Just that. The one in charge is a General Zennor. I imagine it will happen pretty soon from the way that he was talking . . ,"

  There was a whistle and a blast of hot air: sharp claws dug into my scalp right through my cap as the bird landed on my head.

  "You must discover what planet is being invaded," it said.

  "Find out yourself. Follow them when they take off."

  "Impossible. The nearest spacer with detection gear is four days away. It may not get here in time."

  "Tough. Ouch."

  I rubbed my scalp where the bird had removed some hair when it took off, then bent to pick up my cap. We turned a corner just as another detector vehicle roared by behind us.

  "Let's mix with the crowds," I told Morton. "That detector is going to get suspicious if it keeps finding us around every time it gets a reading."

  "Could we mix with crowds that are eating and drinking?"

  "Good thinking. And I know just where to go," I stepped off the curb as I said this and stood with my hand raised-directly in front of a truck. The driver hit the brake and squealed to a shivering halt in front of me.

  "Driving a little fast, aren't we?" I snarled at the driver.

  "I didn't see you, captain . . ."

  "And I know why you didn't see me. Because one of your headlights is burnt out, that's why. But I am feeling generous today. If you take me and my companion to the Officers' Club I might forget I ever saw you." Not that the driver had any choice. He dropped us in front of the club and roared away. We entered to sample the heady joys which, for the most part, were identical with the noncoms' club except here there were waitresses. About a quarter of the tables were occupied: everyone else must still be on duty. Our steaks and beer appeared with exemplary speed and we dived at them with growls of hunger. We were almost finished when an officer appeared in the doorway and blew a whistle.

  "All right, fall out and fall in. Everyone. Emergency muster. Transportation outside. That means you," he said pointing a mean finger in our direction.

  "We just came off duty, colonel," I said.

  "You're just going back on. And I see that you have eaten which I haven't, so don't cross me boy."

  "Just leaving, sir!"

  Morton and I joined the rush, out the door and into the waiting bus. The colonel entered last and the driver pulled away,

  "Here is as much as I can tell you," the colonel said, shouting so he could be heard above the engine's noise. "Due to reasons that are no concern of yours our current plans have been moved forward. You are going into action and you are going at once." There were questions and cries of complaint which he shouted down.

  "Silence! I know you are all desk-driving fat-gutted base personnel-but you are also soldiers. Because of the acceleration in planning some combat officer transfers will not arrive in time. You officers have all just volunteered to take their place. You will get combat gear and you will join your troops and you will board the transport at once. We will all be away by midnight."

  The colonel ignored all the complaints and protests and finally lost his temper. He pulled a wicked-looking pistol from his holster and fired a shot up through the roof of the bus. Then pointed the gun at us. The silence was extreme. He had a nasty smile and pointed teeth.

  "That is better," he said, and kept the weapon pointed. "You are all time-serving cagal-kopfs which means you have wangled and bought soft assignments which will do you no good now. You are in the army and in the army you obey orders." He fired another shot into the roof as the bus stopped. "Now, I want volunteers for combat duty. All volunteers step forward."

  We stepped forward in a rush. The lights in the supply depot were burning brightly in the night, clerks waited by the loaded shelves and an officer blocked the doorway.

  "Move aside," our colonel said, keeping a wary eye on us as we emerged from the bus.

  "Can't, sir," the supply officer said. "I can't issue anything until I have the orders from headquarters. They haven't come through yet . . ,"

  The colonel shot out the light over the depot door then put the hot muzzle of his gun against the supply officer's nose.

  "What did you say?" the colonel growled.

  "Orders just arrived, sir! Open up in there and issue everything. Quickly!"

  And quickly was what it was. We surged through the depot at top speed, grabbing up clothing, boots, barracks bags, belts, everything on the run. The manic colonel seemed to be everywhere now, his gun banging occasionally to keep up the pace. The street behind the building was a hellish scene of officers tearing off their uniforms, discarding them on the ground as they pulled on the green combat fatigues, jamming helmets on heads and everything else into their bags. Staggering forward into the next building where weapons were being issued. But no ammunition I noticed; the colonel was no fool. Stumbling under the weight of my burdens I staggered out into the street and dropped against a wall, adrip with perspiration. Morton dropped next to me.

  "Do you have any idea what this is all about?" he gasped.

  "A very good idea. The powers that be think they are being spied upon. With good reason since they are. So they have pushed up the date of their invasion before details of their plans can be discovered."

  "What will happen to us?"

  "We invade. At least we will go out as officers. Which means that we can stay to the rear and order the troops forward in case of any enemy resistance . . ."

  "Open your barracks bag," the moth said into my ear. "What are you saying?"

  There was a sharp burning sensation in my earlobe as the moth discharged its batteries into my skin.

  "Open . . . bag!" it gasped and dropped off, batteries drained and dead.

  I bent and opened the bag, wondering if something had been planted there. There was a whistle and the stink of jet fuel as the bird plummeted past me into the bag.

  "I'm not smuggling this damn bird and getting caught and shot!" I shouted.

  "You must do it for the sake of all mankind," the bird said, eyes glowing wildly. "Reactivate by pressing the bill twice. Out."

  The glow died and it went limp. I jammed the bag shut as footsteps approached.

  "Into the transport!" the colonel ordered. "We are on our way!"

  CHAPTER 14

  There was very little time to sit around and relax. As fast as the officers were spewed out of the supply depot, staggering under the weight of all their combat gear, trucks appeared to carry them away into the night. Groaning and complaining, with the rest of the groaners and complainers, Morton and I heaved our bags and weapons over the tailgate of a truck and clambered after. When it was filled to capacity, and slightly more, we lurched away.

  "And to shink
that I just reenlishted. Voluntarily," an officer expostulated leaning heavily against me. There was a gurgling sound from an upended bottle.

  "Share the wealth, share the wealth," I muttered as I pried the bottle from his shaking grasp. It was pretty foul stuff, but was rich with alcohol.

  "You still don't drink?" I gasped at Morton, holding up the rapidly emptying bottle.

  "I'm learning fast," He gulped then coughed, then gulped again before relinquishing the bottle to its original owner.

  A deep rumble washed over us and we had to close our eyes against the glare as a spacer took off. The invasion was on. We swayed into each other as the truck squealed to a halt and a now familiar and loathsome voice ordered us out. Our nemesis, the pressgang colonel, was waiting for us. He was backed up now by a radio operator and a gaggle of noncoms. Behind him companies, battalions of soldiers, were marching in good order to the waiting transports.

  "Now hear this," the colonel bellowed. "Those are good troops back there, and they need good officers. Unhappily all I have for them are you fat-bottomed desk types, the dregs of the base. So I'm going to split you up, one to every company, in the hopes that you will maybe get some experience before you get dead."

  This was not good. I had promised Morton I would look after him. Which I could not do if we were in different companies. I sighed. I would have to break the first rule of military survival. Although it violated the primary army axiom-keep your mouth shut and don't volunteer-1 volunteered. Stepping forward smartly and slamming my bootheels down as I snapped to attention.

  "Sir! My bottom is lean, my gut is flat, I have field experience. I fire sharpshooter, I instruct unarmed combat."

  "And I don't believe you!" he roared into my face.

  I threw him onto the ground, put my foot on his back, took away his gun, shot out one of the streetlights, helped him to his feet and handed back his weapon. His fierce glare melted almost to a smile as he wiped pebbles from his uniform.

  "I could use a few more like you. You get a combat company. Name?"

  "Drem. I respectfully request Lieutenant Hesk here as exec. He is young and dumb but I have been training him."