Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns (17 page)

“This,” I said, holding my prisoner by the neck and shaking him a bit. In the growing light we could see that he was shivering with fear.

“He’s just a boy,” Angelina said. “You’ve terrorized the poor creature.”

“With good reason—those arrows in his quiver go with this bow. I really don’t enjoy being shot at in the dark.”

“You’re twice his size,” Angelina said. “He doesn’t look like much of a threat now.”

He was clearly visible in the breaking dawn. Staring around wildly, still terrified, his pale green skin dotted with sweat. His uniform was crude, made of a coarse fabric of some kind that had been stained brown.

“I have some questions for him to answer,” I said, stepping forward. He whimpered with fear and shied away.

“Stop being a bully, Jim diGriz. Now let me try talking to him.” She faced him, smiling and talking softly. I grumbled a porcuswinish grumble, sat down and reached for the jug of cider.

“Relax, young green friend—I just want to talk with you,” she said. My private feelings were that a touch of the boot in the right place would extract answers a lot faster. “Why don’t you tell me your name . . .”

With great reluctance he finally muttered an answer.

“Grinchh . . .”

“Is that a name—or stomach trouble?” I muttered. And was rightly ignored.

“Are you a soldier, Grinchh?”

“No—no soldier.” He drew himself erect with a touch of pride. “Tracker. Best tracker in Mittelflop!”

Wonderful claim to fame,
I thought, but wisely kept this to myself.

“But why were you following us?”

“Bad Ones come! Tried to hide in hay, me and Pssher, but they push in sharp hay fork. Pull out—take away. Momma . . . !”

“Now don’t you worry. There are no bad ones here . . .”

It was more than I could take. Muttering under my breath I went over to the picnic basket, shooed Pinky away and dug into it in search of some breakfast. Behind me the interrogation continued—obviously not needing my help.

It was some time before Angelina left the prisoner sitting dejectedly under a tree and joined me.

“If he makes a run for it the pigs will eat him alive.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jim, that’s not like you. He’s a simple country bumpkin—and a long way from home. He’s far more frightened of what he calls the Bad Ones than he is of us.”

“That’s good to know—maybe we can raise a peasant rebellion.”

“I doubt that—he’s far too afraid of them.”

“And just who are the Bad Ones he talks about?”

“It’s hard to tell exactly. Other than that they are all-powerful, all-ruling. But one thing is obvious. He is simple and stupid, illiterate too I am sure. Not so the ones we talked to with the painted faces. I don’t know how or why, but relative intelligence seems to be a powerful factor in the equation.”

I sat up, intrigued by the idea. “Makes a lot of sense. That’s why the two men who asked us for the paperwork later drove the wagons! They have a limited supply of intelligence—the Bad Ones! A planet full of peasant morons led by an elite few with a monopoly on the brains. But why?”

“Answer that—” she said with grim certainty “—and you answer the big question about this puzzling planet. So, master planner, what do we do next?”

What indeed?

I had no answers to that riddle.

It was full daylight now. All the food baskets were empty and we—or I—had drained the last of the jugs. I saw a future of pond water and starvation. The porcuswine might be able to live on their bosky resources, but we humans couldn’t.

“We will have to go back. Contact the ship . . .”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man said stepping out of the shelter of the forest. “Not yet at least.”

It was reflex, pure and simple. As the first words were spoken Angelina’s gun—and mine too of course—appeared. Pointing dead center at the intruder.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, smiling and holding up the bow he was carrying. “I use this for hunting only. I’ll place it on the ground to prove that I wish only peace.”

Angelina smiled at the thought of his causing us any harm and her gun vanished as fast as it had appeared. As did mine.

“You surprised us,” she said.

“I’m sorry. But it was necessary for me to contact you.”

He wore a kilt of tanned green leather, shoes made of the same material. The bow was carefully constructed, as were the arrows protruding from the quiver.

Most important was the color of his skin. It was tanned a light and healthy brown.

“My name is Bram. Might I sit? It has been a long and tiring night following that one who was tracking you.”

He dropped to the ground and leaned back against the thick bole of a tree. “Again welcome strangers, to our unhappy world.”

“And a hearty welcome to you, good Bram,” I said, sitting down as well. “Since you are here by your own choice I hope you won’t mind a few questions?”

“I am delighted to help in any way I can.”

“What are you doing here?” Angelina asked, getting in the first question.

“A runner came to our camp and told us the wonderful news of the arrival of an off-planet spaceship. It has been over five years since the last one. We have been waiting—and hoping to make contact this time. The Rememberer tells us that we have always failed in the past. But could we do it now? I must say there was great jubilation when word was passed that a number of domestic animals and two people had left the ship and escaped capture. You were followed by a small party of our people as soon as you entered the forest. You were not approached until we had captured most of the trackers the Greens had sent to follow you. The one remaining tracker was kept under surveillance until you took possession of him. Then I was chosen to have the honor of greeting you.”

He sprang to his feet and bowed.

“Welcome, good travelers. May the future be a wonderful one.”

“It would be more wonderful,” Angelina said, pointing to our captive, “if you would tell us why he is green and you are not.”

“Would that I could—but I am not conversant with the details of the history of this unhappy planet. But I will be more than happy to take you to the one who can tell you. The Rememberer, who at this moment is being joyfully rushed to meet with you. It has been agreed that we will join him at our campsite. It will be my pleasure to guide you—and your domestic creatures—there.”

He was intelligent—unlike our prisoner—and happy to talk with us. But it appeared that there was little he could add to what he had already told us. Angelina walked with him as the trek began, attempting to find out more of what he knew about this world.

“It seems pretty clear the way he tells it,” Angelina said to me later, when we had stopped at a running stream that bubbled down a green valley. “And he gave me this bag.”

She opened the soft leather pouch she was carrying and took out what looked like a handful of dark chips of wood. “It’s the meat of some nameless beast. Smoked and dried. Delicious.”

“It is,” I said crunching vigorously away.

“He apologized for it. Said we will have much better fare when we reach their encampment. This is a far more friendly reception than we got from the Greenies.”

I could but agree. “Did he tell you much about this world?”

“Little more than what we already know. The planet apparently has two separate races or groups, divided by skin color. The Greenies who guided us to this world dominate everywhere—and greatly outnumber those of a different skin color.”

“Are there many other skin colors?”

“No, just the two. And that was makeup the Bad Ones used on their skin when they met us. They really do hate the pale faces of other races. At least the intelligent ones do. Most of the Greenies are simpletons like the soldiers who so feebly attacked us. The green minority bosses work hard to kick them into line. Our friend Bram was a little vague about this—kept telling me to save our questions for the Rememberer.”

“Not that we have much choice.”

Half an hour later the track we were following ran through a stand of what looked very much like chestnut trees. At least the porcuswine thought so and chomped happily at the windfalls.

“There is no way we can get them moving now,” I said gloomily, disinterring my youthful memories of swinish husbandry.

“There is no need to,” Bram said. “My people are waiting just beyond these trees.”

And they were. The track we had been following opened out into a green field where some cows were grazing. Beyond them was a small group of bowmen—with pink skin. There was a ragged cheer when they saw us and they hurried across the field to join us. They stopped and their leader, with gray hair and serious mien, stepped forward and spoke.

“I am Otmar, first among others in this part of the forest. I have been appointed to take you to the Rememberer.” As he spoke his hand rested on the hilt of what looked very much like a sheathed knife on his belt. I tensed, ready for anything that looked like an attack. He slowly pulled out a gleaming iron blade, placed it on his open hands, and held it out towards me.

“I, Otmar, give you my blade and declare our friendship,” he said with utmost gravity. I took it and nodded—then passed it back the same way. And spoke carefully just the way he had.

“I, Jim, give you back your blade and declare our friendship.”

There was a quick murmur of approval from the men behind him.

“We will now go to the Rememberer.”

“It’s not quite that easy,” my wife said, stepping forward. “And my name is Angelina.” Spoken easily, but with chill overtones. Otmar was no dummy and picked up on it at once.

“My pardon, friend Angelina. What is it that disturbs you?”

“Our herd. I don’t think it will be easy to move them.”

“That will not be necessary—that is why these men are here. They are the shepherds who tend our cattle. They will care for your animals, guard and protect them.”

“Then we are ready to go,” Angelina said.

Otmar was a quick learner and nodded agreement. We hadn’t seen any women yet and knew nothing of their status in this society. But now he knew their status in ours.

The porcuswine merely chomped on, uninterested in our departure. Except for Pinky, who grunted an interrogative grunt—but then tucked right back into the feast.

While we had been talking more people began to arrive, smiling and curious about the off-world strangers. Some of them were women, in leather skirts—with woven baskets on their backs.

“Well, guess who does the heavy work,” Angelina said.

This was the kind if statement for which there is no answer.

“There is food,” Otmar said. “We will eat before we leave.”

I launched a preemptive strike and spoke quickly before Angelina could.

“A great idea—isn’t it, my love?”

A chilling glance was my only answer. It could have been worse.

The fresh air and exercise had given us ravenous appetites. There were more of the dried meat chips—undoubtedly beef. Fresh cheese, crusty loaves of bread, washed down with skimmed milk from pottery crocks. I don’t know how the Greenies fared, but there was nothing wrong with the Pinkies’ food. I was quickly sated—and thankfully at peace.

“It is time to leave,” Otmar said, looking up at the sun. “We want to reach the camp before dark. The Rememberer is no longer young, but his students have brought him there to meet you.”

“Students?” Angelina asked as we started down the trail. “What does he teach them?”

“To remember.” Of course. “There is also an art called reading, which I am sure you have heard of. He teaches that . . .” He stopped abruptly and turned to Angelina.

“Of course, you have heard of reading—you must excuse my rudeness. And . . . perhaps it is that you can read as well, lady of great wisdom?”

“Of course,” she said. And smiled. “Where we come from everyone can.”

Otmar lowered his eyes. “You must excuse my lack of
knowledge,” he said. “You will understand that life here is not easy, with the Grønner always in pursuit of us.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to see to it that there will be some major changes on your planet.”

He gasped at her firm resolve.

“It will be different, Otmar,” I said. “I promise you that it will.”

He looked from Angelina’s face to mine and could not talk. I could understand why. If we spoke the truth then this world, as he knew it, would indeed be turned upside down.

In silence we started back along the forest track towards their campsite and what we all hoped would be a glowing future.

It was dusk when we arrived. A little tired but not terribly so. Give Moolaplenty that, we were in good shape. A pleasure planet where the pleasures included skiing in the winter—and surfboarding in the summer—saw to that.

The trees were taller here, providing concealment from observation. Beneath them were hide tents that blended into the forest. Otmar led us to the largest one but paused at the entrance.