There was more like this, obviously quotes from a sales brochure, but I did not hear it. A plan was forming in my mind, taking shape--until the sound of firing broke through my train of thought.
"They have made a probing attack," Taze said, a com-radio to her ear. "But were repulsed with losses."
"Keep holding them. They shouldn't try the heavy stuff for awhile since they still hope to get me alive." I waved over the factory owner who seemed ready to go on with her sales talk. "Fayda, will you give me a quick sketch of the ground plan of the building and the immediate area around it."
She drew quickly and accurately, military training no doubt, indicating doors and windows and the surrounding streets.
"What do your robutlers look like?" I asked.
"Roughly humanoid in form and size, the optimum shape for a home environment. In addition--"
"That's fine. How many do you have ready to go, field tested or whatever you call it, with their little power packs charged?"
She frowned in thought. "I'll have to check with shipping, but at a rough guess I would say between 150 and 200."
"That will be just perfect for our needs. Would you be terribly put out--your insurance might cover it--if they were destroyed in the cause of Burada freedom?"
"Every Firtina robutler would willingly die, happily, if it had any emotions for the cause. Though of course they are incapable of bearing arms or of violent acts of any kind."
"They don't have to. We can take care of that. Our robutler brigade will be the diversion that gets us out of here. Now come close girls and I'll tell you the plan."
The old diGriz brain was really turning over at last. The firing in the background only stimulated me to grander efforts, while I was buoyed up on a wave of cheerful enthusiasm. Within minutes the preparations were being made, and within a half an hour the troops were ready to attack.
"You know your orders?" I asked the dimly lit shipping bay full of robots.
"That we do sir, yes sir, thank you sir," they all answered in the best of cultured accents.
"Then prepare to depart. What you do now is a far far better thing than you would have ever done in an electronic lifetime of domestic service. When I say leave, each to its appointed task."
"Very kind sir, thank you sir."
There were over a hundred here in the shipping bay of the factory, our main diversionary attack. They stood in neat rows, humming and eager to go. The front ranks were dressed in all the excess garments we had been able to assemble; some with uniform hats, others with jackets, still fewer wearing slacks. Most of the clothing had been donated piecemeal by the female shocktroops, which fact was not doing me much good in my new marital status. There was entirely too much tanned flesh around for a man to completely ignore. It was almost a pleasure to be with the robots for a change. Their forms were sleek but hard, their dress inconsistent and revealing of nothing of interest. And each of them clutched a length of pipe or plastic or some other object resembling a weapon. In the confusion that was soon to come my hope was that they would be mistaken for human attackers. I looked at my watch and raised the com-radio to my mouth.
"Stand by all units. Fifteen seconds to zero. Bombers stand ready. Keep away from the windows until the last second. Ready, keep low . . . trigger your bombs . . . THROW!"
There was a series of dull explosions from the street outside, that would be echoed on all sides of the building, as the girls heaved the bombs from the upper stories. Smoke bombs for the most part, though there were some irritants and sleep gas mixed in with them. I gave the bombs five seconds to maximum density then hit the garage door switches. The doors rumbled up to reveal little other than twisting coils of smoke that instantly began to pour into the garage.
"Go, my loyal troops, go!" I ordered and every left foot shot forward as one, and the ranks of my robot brigade surged forward.
"Thanking you sir!" mellifluously sounded in perfect tones from those metallic throats, and I retreated as they ran by.
There was firing now, from the windows above, echoed instantly by the troops outside. According to plan. I looked at my watch as I ran. Fifteen seconds from zero, time for the second wave. "All other robutler units--now!" I ordered into the com-radio.
At that moment, from the other doors and exits of the factory, into the shroud of smoke and gas, the remaining robots should be going into action. I had not taken the time to try and rig an eavesdropping circuit on the enemy's command net, but I could just imagine what was happening now. What I hoped was happening now.
The building was surrounded, all their troops alert, our stronghold visible in all details in the warm afternoon sunlight. Then the sudden change, smoke, chemical irritants, shrouding the building on all sides. A breakout obviously--and there it was! Dim figures in the smoke, firing, get them, shoot to kill. Zoing, zoing! Take that you rotten Burada guerrilla fink! What fighters these Burada are--men of steel!--shoot them and they don't fall. Panic in the smoke. The word that there are other breakouts. Which was the real one, which a cover? How to mass the troops? Where should the reserves be sent?
I figured that it would take about one minute for the first confusion to have reached its peak. After this the smoke would begin to thin and the dead bodies would be discovered to be robots and the word would get out. We wanted to get out before this word did. Once the bombs had been thrown Taze and her troops would be hurrying to get into position--and one minute was not very much time to reach the back of the factory from the upper floors. Yet most of them were there before me with Taze checking them off as they ran up.
"That's the lot," she said, making a final tick on her list.
"With five seconds to go." I looked at my watch and raised my hand.
"Now! Angelina stand ready with the grenades."
The small fire exit was unlocked and dragged open and Angelina buried her smoke grenades out to intensify the gloom before us. There was no more talking, and in the sudden silence the shooting and shouting could clearly be heard. I was sure that I could detect an occasional Thank you, sir among the voices. Fayda led the way and we followed in line, hands on the shoulders of the preceding marchers. I was in the middle of the line and Angelina just before me, so I held to her. This placement was accidental, I am sure, since she wouldn't have cared if I clutched one of the half-naked Burada cuties.
It was a little disconcerting moving helplessly like this through the darkness, particularly when the occasional missile whined by. By accident, I hoped. This street was narrow and blocked at both ends by Cliaand troops. If they knew what was happening they could sweep the street with a deadly crossfire. But hopefully they were involved with the robutlers for the moment. All we had to do was quietly cross the 20 meters or so of open road, to the apartment dwelling on the other side. If we reached this unnoticed we had a good chance of going through it to the mixed business and residential plaza on the other side. From here we would break up and scatter through the warren of streets and walkways and tunnels, hopefully merging into the civilian population and disappearing before our absence was noticed. Hopefully.
I was counting my steps so knew I had almost reached the building--which meant half of our number were safe--when the voice called out nearby.
"Is that you, Zobno? What did the sergeant say about robots? It sounded like robots?"
The line stopped, instantly, in breath-holding silence. We were so close. The voice was male and it spoke Cliaandian.
"Robots? What robots?" I asked as I pulled the hand from my shoulder and placed it on Angelina's shoulder before me. "Move," I whispered in her ear. Then left the line and stamped heavily towards him in my new boots.
"I'm sure he said robots," the voice complained. Behind me I was aware of the faint stir as the line started forward again. I stamped and coughed and moved closer to the unseen speaker. My hands before me ready for a quick clench and crush as soon as he spoke again.
All of which would have worked fine, and have given me a little sadistic pleasu
re, if the evening breeze had not sent eddies around the corners of the building. The wind moved coolly on my face and a rift opened in the smoke. I was looking at a Cliaand trooper, helmed and armed with his gaussrifle at the ready, a shocked expression stamped on his face. With good reason. Instead of gazing upon a fellow trooper he saw an unknown individual with snapping fingers, red eyes and unshaven jaw, dressed in totally transparent dungarees and ladies' boots, with bundles and packs slung on his shoulders. Gape was about all he could do.
This paralysis lasted just long enough for me to reach him. I grabbed him by the throat so he couldn't shout a warning, and by the gun so he couldn't shoot me. We danced around like this for a bit and the smoke closed over us again. My opponent wasn't shouting or shooting--but neither was he submitting. He was burly and well muscled and holding his own. Luckily he wasn't too bright and kept both his hands on the gun and tried to get it away from me. Just about the time he realized he could hold it with one hand and slug me with the other I got a foot behind his heel and went down on top of him. Before he hit the ground he managed to get two quick punches into my midriff which did me no good. Then we landed and I knocked all the air out of him. This freed my throat hand and, before he could suck in enough breath to shout with, I rendered him unconscious.
I sat on him, waiting for my head to stop spinning and for the knot of pain in my gut to ease, when another voice sounded close by.
"What's that noise? Who is it?"
I breathed in a deep shuddering breath, let a bit of it out and worked for control of my voice.
"It's me." Always a good answer. "I tripped and fell down. I hurt a finger . . ."
"Then you'll get a medal for it. Now shut up."
I shut up, took the gaussrifle from my limp companion and stood up--and realized that I was completely lost in the smoky darkness.
Not a pleasant sensation at all. The smoke was thinning and I was alone with no sense of direction. If I walked in the wrong direction it would be suicide.
Panic! Or rather a moment of panic. I always allow myself at least a brief panic in any tight situation. This flushes out the bloodstream, starts the heart pumping faster, releases a jolt of adrenaline and provides other nice things for an emergency. But only a little panic, time was pressing. And after the basic bestial emotion drained away, lips dropped back over fangs and hair on neck down again and all that, I put the old logic center to work.
ITEM: I was not alone. The silent line of escapees may have marched into the building and safety, but my Angelina would not desert me. I knew, as clearly as if I could see her, that she was outside that door to survival and waiting for me.
ITEM: She had her sense of direction, I didn't. Therefore she would have to come to me.
"This finger is killing me, Sarge," I whined, then whistled in supposed agony. One short whistle and one long one. The letter a for Angelina in the code that I knew she knew well. That I needed help I knew she would figure out for herself.
"Stop that whistling and noise," the other voice growled back, ending in a note of suspicion. "Say, who are you?"
I groped through my memory for the name I had heard a few moments earlier.
"It's me, Sarge. Zobno. This finger . . ."
"That's not Zobno!" a second voice called out. "I'm Zobno . . ."
"No, I am," I shouted. "Who's that said that?"
"Both of you come here--now!" the sergeant ordered. "I'm going to start shooting in five seconds."
The real Zobno stumbled through the smoke and I didn't dare say a thing or move. And I could already feel the slugs tearing through me--when something plucked at my sleeve and I jumped.
"Angelina?" I whispered, and received a silent answer when she threw her arms about me. I reached for her but she wasn't waiting; taking my hand she pulled me after her. There were voices behind us in the smoke then the sudden whine of a gaussrifle and shouts of command.
I stumbled over an invisible step and waiting hands pulled me through the doorway.
Chapter 17
"Search party . . . search party . . ."
The words came dimly through the throaty growls of the attacking teddy bears. I could have fought them off, even though the candy canes I was using for swords kept breaking on me. But even without a candy cane give a teddy a quick kick in the gut and over he goes, no staying power. The teddies I could have handled alone if they hadn't got those damn wooden soldiers on their side. They would make a good bonfire and that is just what I had in mind, fumbling for matches, when one of them got me in the arm with the bayonet on his toy rifle. It stung and I blinked and opened my eyes to look up at the whiskery face of Doctor Mutfak who was staring back at me.
"An alarm, that was, very badly timed indeed I must say. I have given you an injection to cancel the hypnotic drug. "He held up the hypodermic and I rubbed my arm where it had stung me. "Very badly timed."
"I didn't arrange it that way," I mumbled, still only half awake and wishing I could have finished off the teddy bears.
"The treatment is going well and it will be time consuming to start over again. I have regressed you to your childhood and--my!--you have had an interesting, not to say repellent childhood! You must give me permission to write up this case. The symbol of the teddy bear, normally one of warmth and comfort, has been transmogrified by your obnoxious subconscious into . . ."
"Later, doctor, if you please," Angelina said, coining to my rescue. A picture of golden charm, she had been sunning herself on the balcony and the wisps of fabric she wore for this operation had about the same surface area as a butterfly's wing.
I sat up and shook my head, still foggy with the traces of the drug. The room was colorful and luxurious, with one entire wall opening onto the balcony, with the blue sky and bluer ocean beyond, perched high on top of the Ringa Baligi Hotel. This hotel, supposed to be the best one on Burada and I could well believe it, was in the center of a lagoon and approachable only by water or air. This gave us advance warning of any unwanted visitors--and the warning had just been given. The drill was carefully worked out. I had worn swim trunks during the brain-bending session, just in case of an emergency like this one, so I took Angelina's hand and we trotted to the private elevator. As we got into it the sound of engines on the landing platform above was loud and clear. We held the grips as the high-speed elevator dropped out from under us.
"Do you feel up to this?" Angelina asked.
"Just a little foggy, but that will go away. Do you think this brain-drainer is any good?"
"He's supposed to be the best on the planet. He'll straighten out the kinks Kraj put in if anyone can."
"He could work a bit faster. Three days now and we're still in my childhood."
"You must have been a terrible little boy. Some of the things I've heard..."
Before I could think of a snappy comeback the elevator whooshed to a stop and we emerged at water level. Steps led down into the ocean from an enclosed diving room. The attendant was waiting with our scuba gear ready and we buckled it on and dove in. Straight to the bottom and out among the coral reefs. Even if they came looking they would never find us here. I snapped on the sonar communicator and called in.
"Not much of a search," the operator told me. "I'll let you know when they reach the lower level."
Angelina and I dove deep. Rainbow-hued fish burst out and around us, green plants bowed to our passing. The water was clear and warm and was rapidly restoring my thoughts and good spirits. We swam to a grotto, completely surrounded by coral, that we had found on an earlier visit during an alert, and settled down on the golden sand. I put my arm around Angelina and she snuggled up to me, both for the fun of it and to get our masks touching so we could talk.
"Anything new come in on Kraj and his boys while the doc was slogging through my gray matter?"
"They've been located, but that's all. Now that the first stage of invasion is over the Cliaand forces seem to be settling down for the occupation. They've taken over this immense office building
, the Octagon it's called probably because it has eight sides, and have cleared everyone out. They seem to have moved most of their administrative operations there--and one of Kraj's gray men was seen coming out of the building. This must be where they are holed up."
"I wonder why they left the last building?"
"Afraid of you and your relentless revenge, no doubt."
I snorted. Hard to do in a face mask. "You're only saying that, but by Belial there is more than an element of truth in it. The Cliaand operation in general has to be knocked out, but those gray men need special attention. But first we have to grab one of them. I'll have to get inside the building."
"You'll do nothing of the sort." She pinched the skin over my ribs and I tried to slap her hand away but you can't do this under water. I settled for a pinch myself, and she was surely far more pinchable than I, and we played around like this for awhile until I remembered why she had distracted me and returned ruthlessly to the interrupted conversation.
"Why can't I try to get into the building? I'll be disguised, I speak Cliaandian, I know the ropes . . ."
"And they know yours. They'll have cameras on every entrance feeding data to the computers. Which will know your height, your build, your weight, manner of walk, retinal pattern, the works. You can't disguise everything and you know it. They'll have you in the bag the instant you walk into the place."
"You're just saying that because it is true," I muttered. "So I suppose you have a better plan?"
"I do. I speak Cliaandian and they have no records on me at all. And I'm an experienced field operator, the only one on this planet besides you."
"No!"
"Why the instant no?" She scowled at me and the next pinch hurt. "You're my husband, not my owner--remember? I'm as good at this business as you are, maybe better, and there is a job that needs doing. Let's have none of your male superiority and possessiveness."
She was right of course, but I couldn't let her know it.
"I was only worried about your safety."
The Stainless Steel Rat's Revenge Page 13
