Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns (31 page)

“General Caruthers here.”

“Welcome aboard, General. Will you join us in suite One Prime One?”

“On the way.”

The general was not one to lay about; the entrance bell chimed soon after.

“Open,” Angelina said as she stepped forward. “Please come in, General.”

She opened the door and the general came in . . .

A fake—a trap!

The general was GREEN!

Even as this realization churned across my brain I was leaping forward.

Fingers extended and pointed in the deadly larynx-destroyer blow. Which caused instant death.

Striking at that loathsome green throat . . .

Angelina’s neatly extended foot caught me on the ankle—sending me sprawling on the rug. The general stepped back, eluding my snapping fingers. Angelina stood on my hand.

“Of course I’m green,” he snarled. “Why else do you think I head OOGA?”

The red haze faded and I dropped, muttering, back into my chair. Nursing my crunched hand.

Angelina calmed things down. Relieving the general of his case and returning with champagne and glasses on a tray.

“That was not quite the reception General Caruthers deserved, Jim,” she said as she passed him a glass of bubbly.

I muttered an apology—and took my glass with my good hand.

“I can understand your feelings,” the general said. “Now perhaps you can understand the reaction of the Greens when they see a pink face. Pure hatred.”

“But you seem immune to those feelings,” Angelina said.

“That is the whole point of the Office of Green Affairs. The incident that caused the green changes, while not common, has happened a number of times in the past. One model of an early spacer atomic engine did emit, under unfortunate circumstances, gamma radiation. A sublethal dose of gamma irradiation causes Chloasma—from the Greek
chloazein,
to be green. The green skin associated with this condition, Chloasma, occurs due to an increase in melanin, of melanocytes and melanosomes. Usually, the condition is caused by UVB exposure that causes the green skin phenomenon. Unfortunately, due to the unusual effect of the gamma radiation, there is the added consequence that means they will have green skin with early maturity, increased fertility and lowered intelligence. Since gamma radiation can penetrate deeply it also damages the neuromelanin, which is active in the synthesis of monoamine neurotransmitters. This resulted in what you have seen. Hatred as well as a combination of heightened fertility with concomitant lowering of intelligence. But the condition is treatable.”

“How?” I asked. Cooler and calmer; the champagne helped.

“The loss of these neurotransmitters is commonly found in advanced Alzheimer’s disease, which is why these unfortunates suffered the loss of intelligence and the increased aggression when the very sensitive neuromelamine-producing
cells were killed off by the gamma radiation. So, by injecting into the brain stem cells that have been engineered to turn into neurotransmitter cells, it is possible to restore brain function but leave the harmless green skin intact. The heightened fertility is simply due to the loss of intelligence. Too dumb to think but not too dumb to . . . well, you know what. Once you restore normal intelligence and introduce birth control measures fertility returns to normal.

“OOGA are peacekeepers. All of us, of course, are green. So there is not the instant hatred that a pink skin would elicit when landing on a newly discovered Green planet. In fact, we are warmly welcomed for the aid that we bring.”

He drained his glass and put it on the table. Took what looked like a pencil from his pocket and placed it beside the glass. Then I realized that it was a recorder—the eraser on the end the microphone-eye.

“On,” he said. “Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about this planet. The groups, subgroups, social organization, relations with nongreens—everything.”

It took a very long time, for the general was a painstaking researcher. The champagne was long gone and I was growing hoarse, before he sat back in his chair.

“I think it is time we took a break. And I have orders for you.”

“I’ll get your case,” Angelina said.

The general took some papers from the case, then passed an envelope to Angelina. “Can you identify this man?” he asked.

She frowned as she slipped out a photograph—then gasped aloud.

“It’s Rifuti!”

“Good,” he said, taking back the photo and putting it away. “We wanted to be absolutely sure. You reported that he was guilty of spacer sabotage. The Special Corps takes a very dim view of this crime. More so when Inskipp saw your name on the report. He was found, arrested, tried—and sentenced to ten years labor. He is in chains aboard my ship. He will serve his time wearing green makeup and helping us in our many tasks.”

“I wish him all luck,” she said. “Particularly after his prison term is increased after we report more criminal violations.”

We smiled warmly at the pleasant thought.

“For you,” he said, extracting an envelope. I had to sign four different receipts before he passed it over.

I pushed my thumb against the seal. It bleeped after it had read my print—then hissed open.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, pulling out the sheets of paper.

“By all means,” he said. “I’m afraid my throat is a bit dry . . .”

“Of course,” Angelina said, going for a fresh jeroboam.

It was a quick read. I read it slowly a second time, then settled back into my chair. Angelina gave me an inquiring glance.

“Interesting,” I said. “Undoubtedly dangerous.”

“But we’ve been there before,” she said, smiling. “But I’m sure that it beats early retirement.”

“Oh, it certainly does that!”

Just how dangerous we were soon to find out.

We were traveling on a stripped-down no-frills Special Corps troop transport. We were probably going to have been put in steerage class, but Angelina had a friendly talk with the captain before we unpacked our bags. An unlucky officer volunteered his cabin and vanished belowdecks. I was perfectly happy piling up rack time in the cabin since I had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Plus I needed time for the worst of my bruises to heal. Our last assignment had been a little strenuous—to say the least. I relaxed seriously—while Angelina became the toast of the officers’ mess. She beat them on the pool table and took their money at poker. They loved it and came back for more. I joined her there after a postprandial siesta.

I still hesitated—if ever so slightly—at being among all the smiling green faces. But it was good acclimatization for the planet.

“I talked to the captain,” I told Angelina. “We are due to land tomorrow morning. At six bells in the morning watch.”

“What do you think that means?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. I think he has been reading too many historical novels.”

“Be nice to breathe fresh air again.” She held her hand up and looked at her fingernails. “I think I had better do my nails.”

She waved good-bye at the troops, while I ordered a ship’s rum—a beverage I was increasingly quite drawn to. As I sipped I was joined by a green-skinned officer.

“I’m Major Bond. Jim Bond.”

“We share a first name.”

“I’m to be your guide. I’ll have a squad with me.”

“Guides . . . or bodyguards?”

“A little of both. There are still a few Pinkies on the Green parts of the planet. So we have to be careful. Emotions run deep.”

“Sit. Rum?”

“Yes indeed. I’m still off duty.”

“Have you been to Salvation before?”

“This is my second tour. It will be a fine planet once the new mutation proportion increases.”

“Good luck. Have you ever had anything to do with the . . . Pinkies there?”

“I was liaison officer with one of the larger septs. Nice people. It is all pretty much at peace now. They are more than happy to stay away from the Greens. We have established separation zones to make sure they don’t meet. Some fences, but mostly electronic detectors to assure that it stays that way.”

“I’m looking for one group—one hunter in particular.”

“Go to the Bureau of Pink Indigenous Affairs. They have complete records of all the groups. I don’t deal with them anymore. I’m with FAN now—Food and Nutrition. We establish eating stations and train people to go there at the correct time. Instead of the old fight and feed way.”

“That’s a big job.”

“It’s a big planet. Population is now steady at a little over four million. That will go down steadily as the birth control management kicks in. Each year it will be a little better. Particularly after the average IQ rises.”

“Years . . .” I sipped my rum and suddenly realized the magnitude of the Green operation. “Must cost an awful lot in the long run.”

“Billions.” He smiled. “But there are plenty of planets in the galactic league. They each contribute a few million a year for the Corps—so we are well endowed.”

The spaceport was the same one we had first landed on so long ago. We sat in the rec room during the landing as the image below grew on the screen.

“There is the old port—the same buildings are there,” Angelina said.

“But the abandoned spacers have been removed. And a modern port built on the other side. Three, no four, deepspacers there. One of them a dreadnaught class.”

We landed on the pad close to the others. Gantries and ramps closed in as the locks opened one by one. We watched all the activity on what had once been a baited trap for passing spacers. A strange officer—green of course—entered the room, looking around. Came over and saluted when he saw us.

“Captain Stroud. I have transportation waiting. I was told that you are going to BOPIA?”

“That’s the place.”

“Please come with me.”

I noticed that the waiting ground car had polarized windows that were mirrors from the outside. “Incognito?” I asked.

“A precaution,” the captain said. “The first new generation has yet to be born. The sight of a pink face could cause a riot in the streets among the masses. Some of the brighter of the estroj, who are now working with us, manage to control their reactions to pink skin, though it requires intensive therapy and hypnotic indoctrination. It isn’t until the third generation of gene therapy that the automatic hatred dies away.”

“You have an awful long and hard job of work to do,” Angelina said.

“It is worth it,” he said grimly, pointing to the shuffling people beyond the barrier fence. “Without the help from OOGA, centuries ago, I would have grown up like them on my home planet. A short, wretched, stupid, hate-filled life. I am only repaying the service done to my own world.”

We parked in the courtyard of a large, four-storied building.

“These are the offices of the Bureau of Pink Indigenous Affairs,” the captain said when we had emerged from the ground car. “It is a major operation, as you can see. These nongreen people have been just as deprived as mine by the centuries of hatred. Providing medical aid, education, farming advice is most important to us.”

“Speaking for all us Pinkies—I thank you,” I said.

“Let me take you to the records section. Do you remember the names of the tribal leaders—and where they traveled?”

“Show me a map—I’ll point out the places we visited. And the boss hunter was named Bram.”

“I know him well!” Stroud said. “My first assignment was with his people. Let me check with our resident-commissioner there. How soon do you want to leave?”

“Now—or sooner,” Angelina said.

Captain Stroud was efficiency itself. He checked records, made some calls—then showed us to the parking area where our transportation waited. A hulking brute of a vehicle; with wheels in front and tractor treads to the rear.

“All purpose,” he said as he started the engine. “There are no roads yet where we are going.”

It was an enjoyable ride through familiar country. We soon came to the pasture by the river where the porcuswine had been quartered. Splashed across the shallow river and into the low hills beyond. Then a green meadow opened before us with the familiar tents beyond. Smoke trails rose up into the windless sky.

Laughing children ran out to greet us as we braked to a stop. They swarmed around our vehicle—their elders close behind. I stood up and looked over their heads—to see a familiar figure emerging from one of the tents. I waved and shouted—and he hurried forward.

“How are you keeping, Bram?” I asked as he seized my arms.

“You said that you would be back,” he said. “All the changes—the Green army that landed, the peace that followed—that was your doing?”

“We did promise you,” Angelina said.

“You did. And I thank you from deep down in my heart. All the gratitude in the universe of stars is not enough—”

“Let’s celebrate,” I said, passing him down a box. “There are some interesting drinks in here that I think you will enjoy.”

It was a celebration. A homecoming and a feast. The sun shone, the grilled venison was delicious, the laughter loud and long. Only the coming of darkness put a damper on the festivities.