Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns (28 page)

“Fine. Angelina and I will get the basic gear ready for a first recon.”

After we finished our drinks the basic gear proved very basic. Good walking boots. Two cameras. A pack with sampling gear. And our never-parted-with weapons.

“A brave new world,” Angelina said. “I’m looking forward to visiting it.”

“And naming it!”

“Of course.”

The landing was smooth, the passengers excited, the porcuswine squealing for fresh pastures. As were we all. We waited by the lower airlock as the inner door swung open. I
averted my eyes from the now-dark smears on the ramp; the bandages on my knees reminder enough.

Once the inner lock was sealed the outer one opened. We sniffed the fresh-smelling and hot, damp air and stepped out onto the ramp and down to the green, flat mass on the ground below.

“Hot,” Angelina gasped. “Like walking into a sauna . . .”

“That’s it!” I said.

“What?”

“You have just named the planet. Sauna.”

“You’re right—it fits. Sauna it is.”

I bent down and looked at the ground cover of Sauna. Not grass, but a spongy mass of stems and tiny leaves. Thin stems on top—with thicker ones below. It stretched uniformly to the narrow beach with the blue ocean beyond.

“Report.”
The captain’s voice echoed in my head.

“All fine so far—and the planet will now be known as Sauna.”

“Fine. We’ll need ocean water samples. But be careful. It’s warm. The ocean seems to be a uniform forty degrees near the shore.”

“Will do.”

I turned to Angelina who was staring at the not too distant green wall of the jungle. “I wonder what is going on in there?”

“We’ll soon find out—but the captain wants some water samples first.”

We walked towards the ocean and the wide beach. Small waves breaking and rippling up the golden sand. We went on towards a shallow tide pool there. At its edge I put down my pack and dug out a sampling vial.

“I don’t like the look of that water,” Angelina said.

“Like why not—wildlife?”

“Not that. Just come over here.”

I did. The water had a yellow tinge in the shallow edge of the pool. And it was seething slowly. Tiny bubbles that appeared to rise from the sand and break when they reached the surface.

“It looks like it’s boiling,” she said. “Be careful.”

I was. I put the sampling vial down and dug out a pair of plastic gloves. Put them on before I dipped the vial in and took a sample. “Looks harmless enough,” I said as I sealed the vial.

“Look at your gloves now.”

I did. They had lost their transparency where they had been immersed in the water, and were now a murky white. I dropped the sample into the bag. Then pulled the gloves off—not letting the stained plastic touch my skin—and dropped them onto the sand.

“The first interplanetary litterbug,” I said. Neither of us smiled.

“Let’s see what the trees have to offer,” she said. “I’ve had quite enough of the ocean.”

As we walked towards it we began to appreciate the enormous scale of the jungle. Massive trees rose up—reaching thirty, forty meters above the ground. Instead of leaves they were covered with green, spiny growths. Thick spikes at the branches, then growing out to form tiny and tinier spines. Like living barbed wire.

Below and between the trees there was a prolificacy of green plants, both big and small. Some had large flattened
leaves. There were golden globes hanging from some of the boughs—and flowers with all the colors of the spectrum.

“Looks impenetrable,” Angelina said, stopping before the green wall of growth.

I pulled on plastic gloves again and took a long pair of tweezers from my pack, then prodded one of the vicious-looking green thorns. It was squishy, and bent easily.

“They’re very soft,” I said, and pushed my arm in through the tangled growth to seize a golden globular fruit. It burst when I touched it and warm liquid dripped from my fingers. I held a sampling container under it until it was full.

Then the alarm siren sounded from the ship. Angelina and I turned as one—her gun drawn and ready. I was slower, since I had to peel the gloves off first. The siren died and there was the sound of distant shouting from the ship. An instant later a large black form thundered down the gangway and out onto the green.

“Looks like Gnasher wants a bit more tusk and trotter room,” I said as our guns vanished.

“I don’t blame him. Must have been the smell of fresh air.”

He was trotting resolutely about, sniffing the air and grunting happily. He turned his back on the ocean and trotted towards the green wall of the jungle.

“Shouldn’t we try to stop him?” Angelina asked. “The plants . . . we don’t know anything about them.”

“He does. A porcuswine’s sense of smell is second to none.”

Gnasher snatched a mouthful of the green ground cover as he walked, tearing up a great swathe of greenery and chomping happily on it as he walked.

It was very different when he reached the edge of the jungle. He stopped suddenly—grumbling loudly. Then he poked his massive head in among the greenery.

Pulled it quickly out squealing in anger. Turned away, still grumbling. Then began to root again in the ground cover.

“That message is clear enough,” I said as I bent and pulled up a length of vegetation. “This stuff is palatable enough, but stay clear of the jungle.”

We collected more samples, sweating and hot, and brought them back to the ship. Elmo and some of his mates were waiting on the ramp. The inner port was now closed.

“He ain’t hurt none, is he? Went right through the gate, knocked Lil’ Abner down and nearly trampled him . . .”

“He’s doing fine. He’s staying away from the forest but is making a feast of the ground cover.”

I held my sample up, prodded the black lumps hanging from it. “He’s chomping his way through these tuberous growths—really enjoys them.”

“It’s safe for the herd then?”

“If he doesn’t keel over soon I imagine it is.”

When the inner lock opened the porcuswine had made Elmo’s mind up for him. We stayed behind the door as the herd thundered by. Followed closely by the farmers: not thundering. The chill air that washed over us was a benediction.

“Best take these samples to the captain,” I said without much enthusiasm.

“Stopping on the way for a chilled drink at the bar,” the ever-practical Angelina said.

We brought the drinks jug to the bridge with us. So we could loll in cool comfort while Stramm and the captain labored
over the analysis. The machines were fast, the readouts excruciatingly detailed.

“We will be able to stay here until we have to go after the gravitons,” the captain said, holding up the printouts. “A most interesting planet.” I pointed and he filled a glass for himself before he dropped into his chair.

“While the analyzer was analyzing the computer came up with a related reference.” He flipped through the sheets.

“Here it is. An exobiochemist from galaxy-famed MIT—Murkee Institute of Technology. A Professor Doctor Merkler. He writes about a planet that sounds very much like this one . . .

“Many times, early in planetary development a planet will pass through a stage when, while still molten, lightweight metals and other elements rise to the surface. Occasionally large deposits of sulfur dominate available elements as the planet cools and solidifies. Exhaled steam and other gases form the oceans and atmosphere. In a young planet—early in its development like this one—sulfur is dissolved in the oceans. So much that, in essence, they consist of sulfuric acid with a pH of three. There are immense exposed quantities of sulfur under the sea. Very inimical for life. But the landmass is different. When the water evaporates from the ocean it is free of sulphur. Through the aeons the vegetable life has grown and proliferated. In the race for survival different plants have developed many poisonous compounds.”

Angelina nodded. “Crusher must have smelt or tasted them—and avoided them. But these growths we brought back are different.” She held up one of the tuberous black vegetables.

I nodded agreement. “It makes sense. Landmasses are still in transition here in this early geologic era. When the sea
recedes—as it has here on our landing site—the soil left behind is heavy with sulphur compounds. Over a great period of time the ground-covering plant has mutated and survived in the sulfurous environment. It propagates vegetatively by means of these tubers. It doesn’t produce seeds. Instead these tubers store food. Then it develops eyes—like a potato—from which new plants grow. It is these stored starches that the animals now enjoy.”

“Could we eat them as well?” Angelina asked.

“Undoubtedly. And I volunteer Elmo to be the guinea pig,” I helpfully suggested.

Angelina ignored me and poured another round of drinks.

I asked the important question.

“Can we stay here safely for three months?”

“Assuredly so,” the captain said. “There will be acid-free surface water that will be potable, though we may have to distill it first. These ground tubers may be edible, which will save on our frozen food supply—”

“And will undoubtedly taste better,” Angelina said. “Let’s do it!”

They were lazy days. the tubers of the abundant ground cover—quickly named terpomoj—proved to be nutritious and tasty. Miz Julia and her coworkers soon began to serve them in many tasty ways; seasoned and fried, mashed, cold in salads and adding flavor to the frozen meat stew. We prospered.

Although it was still a sauna during the day, the atmosphere was most comfortable once the sun had set. Tables were set up and we dined alfresco under the light of the moons. Tents were erected to protect us from the many showers and
we lived outdoors more and more. The swine grew fat and happy—even Pinky despite Angelina’s attempts to keep her figure under control. The absence of animals of any kind—including insects—made for an easy existence.

The weeks, then the months, sped by and it was almost a surprise when the captain called a meeting.

“We’ll be leaving soon, so it is time to make our plans for departure.”

Reality returned. We had to end our holiday and prepare for takeoff. Sporting our new tans and very improved figures, the ugly reality of Heavyworld loomed in the near future.

It was that magic time; the imminent arrival of the afternoon cocktail hour. I intended to forget about the presence of Heavyworld—growing ever closer. And the labors we would soon have to do there. For the moment, at least, blessed forgetfulness. I was just polishing some glasses in the bar, humming as I scanned the labels on the tiered bottles, when Angelina came in.

“A truly perfectly timed arrival, welcome.”

“Not quite perfect,” she said softly. I raised my eyebrows.

“You have a visitor who would like to talk to you before you hit the sauce.”

“Anyone! As long as it’s not Elmo.”

“It’s Elmo.”

I sighed a shuddering sigh. Bite the bullet. Get it over with. Look forward to the drowning of sorrows. Later.

“Yes, ahah . . . of course . . . lead him forward.”

“Already here, Cousin Jim.” Appearing like a bad memory in the doorway. “First off, want to tell you, we all appreciate what you and them other fellers did on Heavyworld. It was like, you know, kind of great. If you know what I mean . . .”

Black memories swept over me, silenced me.

“We all want to thank you—for what you did that day,” Angelina said, with great warmth in her words.

“You said it, Miz Angelina. What I woulda said iffen I had the words. And me and the boys been talking, and we figured a way so that you wouldn’t have to do it again.”

The meaning of his garbled syntax cut through my growing depression.

“That’s right. We been talking and got the boys from the Brutal Barbell Club to volunteer—an’ they were right willin’ to, let me tell you!”

What was he on about? Never use one word when ten will do better. A growl rumbled deep in my throat.

“Have them come in,” Angelina said. Was she involved in some complex agrarian plot? Before I could speak the boys filed silently into the bar. My jaw wanted to drop.

Shuffling, embarrassed, wide of neck, thick of thigh—each of them over two meters of bulging muscle.

“They world champions at the weight-lifting championships!” Elmo said paternistically. “They want to bring that there machine back—instead of you and them scrawny little fellers.”

Light streamed into my forebrain. Of course! No intelligence required for the retrieval job. Just brawn, which was here in swollen abundance.

“Yes!” I said in instant reply. “Speaking for the other scrawny little fellers—the job is yours!”

They beamed and blushed, ripples of happiness spread from biceps to triceps to pecs. They shuffled hurriedly out and the spirit of largesse possessed me.

“Join us in a drink, Cousin Elmo. I’ll crack out a bottle of the best.”