Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns (16 page)

“Please place them on the landing pad,” he said, swinging down to the ground. “Then you must return to your ship. I’m afraid no one can exit until the health documents are processed.” The sound of distant squeals and grunts registered a protest.

“No problem,” I said, and did as requested. He took the folder, remounted and they both galloped away. I sat down on the ramp, still sniffing the air. I called the captain to put him in the know, while Stramm joined me.

“I wonder why the horses?” he said.

“Fuel shortage maybe. And you saw their different skin color.”

“Hard to miss. Is it important?”

“It might be. Or maybe I’m too suspicious for my own good.” My radio buzzed, then turned on when I said
radio.

“Jim here, Captain,” I said. His hologram image floated in space before me.

“They just radioed through a medical clearance. The customs team is on the way.”

“They don’t seem to be in any hurry . . .” I muttered.

“Meanwhile we have permission to leave the ship—as long as we stay within two hundred meters of it. That’s as far as the trees.”

“What about the animals?”

“They can exit too—before they break out.”

Even as he spoke we heard a happy squealing and the thunder of hooves. We jumped to one side as the boars crashed
by, closely followed by sows and piglets. As they entered the nearest stand of forest their human minders hurried after them.

“Shore nice to smell all this fresh air!” Elmo cried out as he followed after. A master of spelling out the obvious.

The women were next—in a very holiday mood. They carried folding chairs and baskets; let the jollity begin.

“I still don’t like it,” I muttered, scowling after their retreating backs.

“I agree completely,” Angelina said, following the others down the ramp. “Nothing—other than the fresh air—smells right.”

I pointed to the satchel she was carrying and raised my eyebrows.

“Ship’s registration and assorted paperwork the authorities asked for. What I didn’t like is that they asked for the commander of this vessel to bring it. I took it from the captain before he could leave. I said that you were the owner and would take care of it. I also told him that he must stay on the bridge until you told him otherwise.”

“You have read my mind!”

“I didn’t have to. I’m as suspicious as you are.” She handed me the satchel.

“Did they say what I was to do with this?”

“The authorities are on their way to pick it up.”

“On horseback again, I suppose?”

“Come over here away from the others,” she said quietly. We sat on the grass in the sun and she pointed to the spaceships grouped together at the other end of the port.

“Have you had a chance to look closely at those other spacers?”

“Negative. I have been too busy burning open the lock.”

“Well I have. There are no people there—or vehicles. No one going in or out of the buildings. And the lower locks on the ships appear to be open. But there is no movement in or out. We’re too far away to tell, but they have a very deserted, abandoned look about them. And . . . where are the workers in those buildings?”

“I like nothing about this planet at all, nothing!”

I was puzzled and frustrated—and positive that things here were very, very wrong.

“Something is finally happening,” Angelina said, pointing across the field to the road that led into the forest.

Indeed there was. First one, then two vehicles came onto the field. They were covered over and the only people visible were the two drivers, sitting on raised platforms at the front of both wagons.

Each holding the reins of the six horses that were harnessed to them and pulling the contraptions in our direction.

“Not good!” Angelina said.

“Agreed!” I agreed, already in motion before she spoke. Running towards the forest, shouting back to Angelina over my shoulder.

“Get the women back inside. I’ll do the same with the men.”

The wagons were closing at a good gallop. As they rushed closer I recognized the drivers.

They were the same two men who had taken away the medical papers.

They were reining in the horses now, so close that the screaming women were hurrying to get out of the way, rushing
up the ramp. I called again to the men, who were gaping at me as though I was demented. I was.

“Follow the women, you morons!” I passed the ship’s papers to Elmo as he ran by. “Back to the ship. What we have to do—” I shouted, but never finished the sentence.

Armed, uniformed men were pouring out of the back of each wagon. Armed with what looked like, could only be, bows and arrows. Just as this fact registered I realized something far stranger still.

Their skins weren’t black or pink or brown . . .

Their hands—their faces—were all bright green.

It would have been a bizarre comedy had it not been so serious.

The women, shrieking in terror, were running up the ramp—leaving behind a scattering of chairs and overturned picnic baskets. The men, some of whom were trying to round up the porcuswine, were starting to hurry back. When they heard the terror of the screaming women even the laggards began to run as well. I turned back to our green attackers—and discovered that Angelina was ahead of me. Her gun was small but powerful; her quick shot blasted out and exploded by the first wagon with a great gout of flame.

The attackers instantly panicked. One managed to fire an arrow—straight up into the air. The others were either fumbling with their bows or throwing them away. To hurry them along I fired a shot into the ground just before the horses. They whinnied with fear and bolted.

“Well done,” I said.

“I didn’t want to hurt the horses,” Angelina said. “As for the green-skinned soldiers . . .”

“In full flight.” And they were. Only the two drivers remained. Trying to rally their troops—with little success. One of them actually kicked a soldier, who scuttled away on all fours. They were the last to leave the field of action—now strewn with discarded quivers, bows and arrows.

The frustrated driver with the quick boot turned and shook an angry fist back at us, cursed and shouted.

“Green is great—pink is putrid!”

Angelina’s next shot—between his legs!—spattered him with clods of earth. He turned and fled after the others.

The last of our passengers were now running up the ramp. But the porcuswine were still rooting under the trees, unbothered by our little dustup.

“What happens next?” Angelina asked.

“Good question.”

“While you’re deciding, might I draw your attention to a large number of wagons that are now arriving on the field.”

And they were too, one after another—soon almost too many to count.

“Do we try and herd the porkers back aboard?”

“Not enough time before the troops arrive. If they remember to use their bows there is no way to stop them.”

The thought of the possibility of porcine butchery made my mind up. The pieces of a possible plan clicked into place. I turned on my phone.

“Tell Stramm to crank in the ramp and close the outer port.”

“What will you do?”

“Angelina and I will join the beasts in the woods. We’re free and mean to stay that way. These green guys seem to be pretty dim for the most part . . .”

“Did you say ‘green’?”

“Take a close look—over and out.”

Angelina nodded. “A fine idea. Fresh air and a nice stroll in the forest with our four-legged friends. I agree. But let’s bring some of these baskets with us—unless you intend to root for food like our swinish companions.”

“Most practical,” I said and picked one up. “We need to know more about these pea-green thugs before we can figure out what to do next.”

“Reluctant thugs,” she said pointing across the field.

Far across the field more and more bowmen had emerged from the forest—but they weren’t going very far or fast. They huddled together, clutching their bows, and only advanced slowly when a few of their officers kicked and pushed them forward.

Then we reached the shelter of the trees, among the friendly snuffles of the rooting animals: there was a shrill squeak as Pinky emerged from the herd, her snout covered with loam, and enjoyed a quick scratch from Angelina.

“While the Greenies are being kicked into action,” I said, “I think it might be wisest to put a little space between them and us.”

With a little gentle prodding the herd moved deeper into the woods, away from any pursuit. I kept in radio touch with the captain, who reported very little action among the attacking troops. They milled about, but appeared to be reluctant to
approach the ship. Some of them had been goaded into apparently starting after us, but little by little they filtered back into the woods.

They were soon left behind and out of sight as we moved steadily away. After an hour of slow progress we were far enough from the field to take a break. We stopped on the shore of a small lake where the porcuswine drank their fill.

“I have been thinking,” I said digging out a crock of cider to slake my own thirst.

“Well, I should hope so—and kindly pass that over. After all it was your decision to land on this planet.”

I could only pass the jug to her in silence. Feeling that this was not the time to apportion blame. If ever.

“I think everyone on this planet has green skin,” I said. A foolproof subject-changer.

“But the other people we talked to on the screen. Black, pink, brown—”

“Makeup to hide their green skin.”

“Why?”

A good question. I could only shrug my shoulders and respond feebly. “Solve that and we are a lot closer to finding out what is happening here.”

“I know what they did. They tried to con us into landing by having the same skin color as we have.”

“But why so many different colors?’ I asked.

“It is obvious: they didn’t know our skin color—so they gave us a selection to chose from.”

I shrugged. It was as good an explanation as any until we could find out more.

We ate in silence, wrapped in our own thoughts. Pinky
snuffled over for a handout. The other beasts were resting and dozing. That was a good idea. It had been a long and busy day that had ended with a lengthy walk. I spread one of the tablecloths on a mossy bank, then pulled two others over for a blanket. As warm dusk descended so did we, emulating our four-legged friends.

It was dark when I awoke, the darkness tempered by a large pinkish moon just visible through the trees. One of the boars was rumbling angrily deep in his throat as he sniffed the evening air. It had been many years since I had heard that sound, but its meaning was clear. There was something out there he didn’t like. I slipped out of our rustic bed, without waking Angelina, and walked over to the boar. It was Gnasher, top pig in the pack. I gave him a quick scratch under his quills but he had other things in mind. He gave a quick shake and rose, still sniffing and grumbling.

“Let’s go see what it is,” I whispered and he gave an answering grunt.

On silent hooves he moved his tonne of porker silently through the trees. I followed him, doing my best to be quiet as well. He stopped at the edge of a clearing, sniffing the air and staring intently at the cover on the far side of the opening among the trees. Was that a dark form moving against the darkness under the trees there? We were both silent and motionless.

Watching as a man stepped into the clearing. The silhouette of a bow rose up over his shoulder.

With a thunderous crash Gnasher burst through the undergrowth and was on the stranger before he could move. Banging into him and tossing him aside as he did. The soldier
screamed shrilly and I was grabbing him. Holding him to the ground with one foot while I tore the bow from his shoulder.

“Good swine . . . good Gnasher!” I said. Turning to face the foam-flecked tusks of the irritated animal.

“Sweet little swine!” I cried desperately as I dug the bow into the spines along his shoulders, prodding and scratching.

For long moments he grumbled in anger while I sweated and scratched. Then the grumble died away and became a burble of pleasure. The man writhed under my foot and I crunched down harder. Then I grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet.

“You are coming with me, Greenie. One move to escape and you are pig meal . . .”

Gnasher rumbled agreement and my prisoner shivered like a leaf in the wind.

Our crashing about in the forest had roused the herd. They milled about in the growing light of dawn, the boars grumbling angrily, the sows protecting their piglets. I made all the soothing sounds to cool them down. Gnasher had had enough excitement for the night. He flopped down and soon muttered himself to sleep. The rest of the herd followed his example and calmed down as well.

“And dare I ask: what was all that about?” Angelina asked, stepping out of the cover of the forest and slipping her gun back out of sight.