The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted ssr-7

by Harry Harrison

  “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 ofto-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 w~ will have vanished without trace.”

  “Well 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 lie 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 sav something, I turned up 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 heading 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 toward 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 TRANSPORT 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,” There was a second door behind his desk and, to my satisfaction, he exited that way. The instant it closed I had the other door open and poked my head through. When the reception clerk looked up I turned and called back over my shoulder.

  “Do you want him in here as well, corporal?” I nodded my head and turned back. “You, recruit, get in here!” Morton jumped at the sound of my voice, then scurried forward. I closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Get comfortable,” I said, pulling off my boot and rooting about inside it for the lockpick. “No questions, I have to work fast.”

  He slumped into a chair, eyes bulging in silence as I gently tickled the lock until the terminal came to life.

  “Menu, menu,” I muttered as I hammered away on the keys.

  It all went a lot smoother and faster than I had hoped. Whoever had written the software had apparently expected it to be accessed by morons. Maybe he was right. In any case I was led by the hand through the menus right to the current shipping orders.

  “Here we are, leaving at noon today, a few minutes from now. Fort Abomeno. Your full name and serial number, Morton, quickly,”

  I had my own dogtags spread out as I punched in all the requested information. A oell pinged and a sheet of paper sliooed out of the printer.

  96 Hurry Hiurriteou

  “Wonderful!” I said, smiling and letting some tension out of my muscles: I passed it over to him.
“We’re safe for the moment since we have just left for Fort Abomeno.”

  “But. . . we’re still here.”

  “Only in the flesh, my boy. For the record, and records are all that count to the military, we have shipped out, Now we make the flesh inviolate.” I read through the shipping orders, checked off two names, then turned back to the terminal and entered data with some urgency. We had to be long gone before the corporal returned. The printer whiffled gently anemone sheet slipped out, then another. I grabbed them up, relocked the terminal, and waved Morton to his feet.

  “Here we go. Out the back door and I’ll tell you what is happening as soon as we are clear of this building. “ Someone was coming up the stairs, a corporal, and my heart gave a little hip-hop before I saw that it wasn’t the corporal in question. Then it was down the hall to the front door and yes, there was Corporal Gamin coming up the stairs with a very nasty cut to his jib!

  “Sharp right, recruit!” I ordered and we turned into the first doorway with military precision. A lieutenant was combing his hair in front of a mirror there. Her hair I realized when she turned about and glared at me.

  “What kind of cagal-head are you, corporal? Or doesn’t the sign on the other side of this door read female personnel only?” -

  “Sorry, sir, Ma’am, dark in the hall. Eye trouble. You, recruit, why didn’t you read the sign correctly? Get the cagal out of here and march straight to the MPs.” I pushed Morton out ahead of me and closed the door. The hall ahead was empty.

  “Let’s go! Quick as we can without attracting attention.” Out the door and down the steps and around the corner and another corner and the pace was beginning to tell, I leaned against a wall and felt the sweat run down my face and drip from my nose. I wiped it with the sheaf of papers I still carried—then held up the two new sheets of orders and smiled; Morton gaped. "Freedom and survival,” I chortled. “Shipping orders,

  or rather cancellation of shipping orders. We are safe at last.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

  “Sorry. Let me explain. As far as the military is concerned we are no longer at this base but have been shipped to Fort Abomeno. They will search for us there, but we will be hard to find. In order to keep the body count correct two soldiers who are in that shipment, still physically in that shipment, have been removed on paper. These are their orders, corporal, I thought a bit more rank wouldn’t hurt. I am a sergeant now as you can see. We will occupy their quarters, eat their food, draw their pay. It will be weeks, perhaps months, before the error is discovered. By which time we will be long gone. Now—shall we begin our new careers as noncommissioned officers?”

  “Urgle,” he said dimly and his eyes shut and he would have slumped to the ground if I had not held him erect against the wall. I nodded agreement.

  “I feel somewhat the same way myself. It really has been one of those days.”

  Chapter 11

  Fatigue was of no importance, thirst equally so—although both were present and sending imperative messages. To be ignored. Rank has its privileges and we were not going to enjoy ours until we assumed the trappings. I shook Morton until his eyes opened and he biinked dully at me.

  “One last effort, Mort. We are going to the PX, about whose heady joys we have heard, and there we will spend some money. When that has been done we will be free spirits and will eat and drink and relax. Are you ready?”

  “No. I’m beat, shagged, dead. I cannot move. You go on. I can’t make it…”

  “Then I’ll just have to turn you over to Sergeant Klutz who has just arrived and is standing right behind you.”.

  He sprang into the air with a shriek of agony, feet already running before he hit the ground. I held on to him.

  “Sorry about that. No Klutz here, A ruse to get your adrenaline flowing. Let’s go.”

  We went. Quickly before this burst of energy faded. It got him as far as the post exchange where I leaned him against the wall near the cashier and handed him my sheaf of papers.

  “Stand there, recruit, and do not move and do not let go of those papers or I will skin you ahve or worse.”

  , I slammed the papers into his limp hands and whispered, “What size jacket do you take?” After much blinking on his part, and reiteration on mine, I extracted the needed information.

  I made my purchases from a bored clerk, added some stripes and a tube of superglue, paid for everything with some of Gow’s money, thank you corporal, and ledMorton farther into the reaches of the PX. To the latrine, empty this time of day.

  “We’ll use the booth one at a time,” I said. “We don’t want anyone making improper conclusions. Take off those fatigues and slip into this uniform. Move it.” While he changed I glued the new sergeant’s stripes over the corporal’s on my sleeves. When Morton had flushed and emerged I straightened his necktie and glued his promotion to his sleeve. His fatigues went into the rubbish, along with the sheaf of papers, and we went into the noncoms’ bar.

  “Beer—or something stronger?” I asked. “I don’t drink.”

  “You do now. And curse. You’re in the army. Sit there and sneer like a corporal and I’ll be right back.” I ordered two double neutral grain spirits and some beers, dumped the ethyl alcohol into the beer, sipped it to make sure it had not gone off) then went back to our table. Morton drank as ordered, widened his eyes, gasped, then drank again. Color returned to his cheeks as I drained half of my glass and sighed happily.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, what to say…”

  “Then say nothing. Drink up. What I did was to save my own hide and you just came along for the ride.”

  “Who are you, Jak? How do you know how to do those things you did?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I was a spy sent here to seek out the military secrets?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I’m not. I’m just a draftee like yourself. Though I will have to admit that I come from a lot further away than Pensildelphia. That’s it, drain the glass, you’re learning fast. Ill get a couple more drinks and some food. I saw they had catwiches. I’ll get a couple of those.” Food and drink helped, as did the stripes on our arms. Morton tore into his rations. I ate more slowly, finding myself already thinking about the next step. Cigars followed, Gow’s wallet was bottomless, and more drink.

  “Thish is really great, Jak, really great. You’re really great, really great.”

  “Sleep,” I said as his eyes unfocused and his head hit the table with a thump. “You will awake a new man.” I sipped lightly at my ow” drink for I wanted only the stimulation of the alcohol and not the oblivion. The club was almost empty, only one other table occupied, the noncom there just as asleep as Morton. Probably as drunk as well. The simple pleasures of military life. I sipped and thought of my previous military career on Spiovente, and of The Bishop, now dead, and of the man who was responsible for his death.

  “I haven’t forgotten you. Captain Garth, not at all,” I said softly to myself. The bartender polished a glass and yawned. Well acquainted with customers who talked to themselves and drank themselves into extinction. “For the last few days it has been survival only. Now I pick up your trail. We’re in the same army, on the same base.” I felt suddenly dizzy and put the glass down. It had been a long day and I was as tired as Morton. Country and coal-mining music was grating enchantingly from the jukebox: the world about was at peace. For the moment. I was aware of a light scratching sound and glanced down at the boxes that leaned against the wall. Something moved in the darkness behind them. I watched in silence as a twitching nose and whiskers emerged. Then the head, the bar lights reflected in the rat’s eyes. It appeared to be looking up at me.

  “Get lost,” I said, “before you end up in the stew.” I cackled at my own witticism.

  “Jim diGriz, I must talk with you,” the rat said in a deep voice.

  It had really been one of those days. Too much. I had not realized it but the strain was so great that I
had cracked.

  “Go away,” I hissed. “You are a figment of my imagination and not a real rat at all.” I gulped the rest of my drink in a single swallow. The rat climbed up onto the box and looked at me.

  “Of course I am not a real rat. I am Captain Varod of the League Navy.”

  Gently, so as not to awaken Morton—this was my hallucination and I wanted to keep it for myself—1 pried his drink from his slack fingers and drained it as well as my own.

  “You’ve shrunk a bit since the last time I talked with you, captain,” I smirked.

  “Stop playing the idiot, diGriz, and listen to me. This spyrat is controlled from our base. You were recognized and identified.”

  “By who? The rat?”

  “Shut up. This communication is limited because there is a chance their detectors will pick up the spyrat’s broadcast signal. We need your help. You have penetrated their military base, the first agent to do so. . .”

  “Agent? I thought I was the criminal you were shipping home for trial and persecution?”

  “I said we need your help. This is vital. There are lives at stake. The generals are planning an invasion. We know that much from intercepting their communications. But we don’t know where the landing will take place. Brastyr is a big continent and they might be attacking anywhere. There could be a lot of deaths. We must find out where they •plan to…”

  The door to the bar burst open and a gun-waving ofiicer burst in, followed by a technician weighted with electronic equipment.

  “The signal is coming from that direction, sir,” the man shouted and pointed directly at me.

  “What is that cagal-head private doing in the noncoms’ bar?” I shouted, leaping to my feet and kicking the box as I did. The rat fell to the floor and I stamoed on it. Hard.

  “Don’t get your cagal in an uproar, sergeant,” the offi-

  cer said.’ “This is a priority investigation . – .”

  “Signal has stopped, sir,” the technician said, fiddling with his dials.