The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (10 page)

There is no point in waxing enthusiastic about the joys of the Great Outdoors.
Like skiing, you do it and enjoy it, but don’t talk about it. All the usual things happened. My nose got sunburned, ants got into my bacon. The stars were incredibly clear and close at night, while the clean air did good things to my lungs. I walked and climbed, froze myself in mountain streams – and managed to forget my troubles completely. They seemed very out of place in this outdoor world. Refreshed,
cleansed, tired but happy and a good deal thinner, I emerged from the mountains ten days later and stumbled through the door of the lodge where I had made a reservation. The hot bath was a blessing, and the cold beer no less. I turned on the 3V and got the tailend of the news, slumped down in the tub and listened with half an ear, too lazy to change channels.

‘ … reports a rise in ham exports
exceeding the four per cent growth predicted at the first of the year. The market for porcuswine quills is slipping however, and the government is faced with a quill mountain that is already drawing criticism.

‘Closer to home the computer criminal who broke into federal files goes on trial tomorrow. Federal prosecutors treat this as a most serious crime and want the death penalty reestablished.
However …’

His voice faded from my attention as his smarmy face vanished from the screen to be replaced by the computer criminal himself being led away by a squad of police. He was a big man, and very fat, with a mane of white hair. I felt a clutch in my chest just near the place I imagined my heart to be. Wrong colour hair – but wigs would take care of that. There was no mistaking him.

It was
The Bishop!

I was out of the tub and across the room and hitting the frame
freeze controls. It is a wonder I did not electrocute myself. Shivering with cold, and scarcely aware of it, I flipped back, then zoomed for detail. Enlarged the frame when he looked back over his shoulder for an instant. It was he – without a doubt.

By the time I had wiped off the suds and dressed, the general shape
of my plans was clear. I had to get back to the city, to find out what had happened to him, to see what I could do to help. I punched up flight information; there was a mail flight just after midnight. I booked a seat, had a meal and a rest, paid my bill and was the first passenger aboard.

It was just dawn when I entered my office in Billville. While the computer was printing out all the news
items on the arrest, I made a pot of coffee. Sipping and reading, my spirits sank like a rock in a pond. It was indeed the man I knew as The Bishop, although he went under the name of Bill Vathis. And he had been apprehended leaving the Federal Building where he had installed a computer tap which he had been using to access Top Secret files. All of this had happened the day after I left on my escapist
holiday.

I had the sudden realisation of what this meant. Guilt assailed me because I was the one who had put him into jail. If I had not started my mad plan he would never have bothered with the federal files. He had only done that to see if the robberies had been part of a police operation.

‘I put him in jail – so I will get him out!’ I shouted, leaping to my feet and spilling coffee across
the floor. As I mopped it up I cooled down a bit. Yes, I would
like
to get him out of jail. But could I do it? Why not? I had some experience now in jail-breaking. It should be easier to get from the outside in than it had been doing it the other way. And, after further thought, I realised that perhaps I would not have to go near the jail. Let the police get him out for me. He would have to be
taken to court, so would be in transit in various vehicles. He would be freed then, I hoped.

I soon discovered that it was not going to be that easy. This was the first major criminal that had been caught in years and everyone was making a big fuss over it. Instead of being taken to the city or state jail, The Bishop was being held in a cell inside the Federal Building itself. I could get nowhere
near it. And the security measures when he was taken to the court house were unbelievable. Armed vans, guards, monocycles, police hovercraft and copters. I was not going to get to him that way either. Which meant I was baffled for the moment. Interestingly enough so were the police – but for very different reasons.

They had discovered, after endless search, that the real Bill Vathis had left
the planet twenty years before. All of the records of this fact had vanished from the computer files – and it was only a note written by the real Vathis to a relative that had established the disappearance of the original. Well – if their prisoner wasn’t Vathis. Who was he?

When their captive was questioned, according to the report released to the press, ‘He answered the question only with silence
and a distant smile.’ The prisoner was now referred to as Mr X. No one knew who he was – and he chose not to speak on the matter. A date was fixed for the trial, not eight days away. This was made possible by the fact that Mr X refused to plead either innocent or guilty, would not defend himself. And had refused the services of a state-appointed attorney. The prosecution, greedy for a conviction,
stated that their case was complete and asked for an early trial. The judge, eager as well to be in the limelight, agreed to their request and the date was set for the following week.

I could do nothing! Back to the wall I admitted defeat – for the moment. I would wait until after the trial. Then The Bishop would simply be one more prisoner and would have to be taken from the Federal Building
at last. When he was safely in jail I would arrange his escape. Well before the arrival of the next spacer that would take him away for brain-cleansing and purifying. They would use all of the miracles of modern science to turn him into an honest citizen and, knowing him, I was sure that he would rather die than have that happen. I must intervene.

But they were not making it easy for me. I could
not find a way to be in the courtroom when the trial began. So I, along with every other inhabitant of the planet as far as could be determined, watched the trial on TV when it began.

And ended with suspicious speed. All of the first morning was taken with recitals of the well-documented account of what the defendant had done. It was pretty damning. Computer malfeasance, memory bank barratry,
CPU violation, terminal treachery, dropping solder on classified documents – it was terrible. Witness after witness read out their statements, all of which were instantly accepted and entered into the evidence. Through all this The Bishop neither watched nor listened. His stare was into the distance, as though he were looking at much more interesting things than the simple operation of the court.
When the evidence had been given the judge banged his gavel and ordered a break for lunch.

When the court reconvened – after a break long enough for
a seventeen-course banquet with dancing girls for afters – the judge was in a jovial mood. Particularly after the prosecution had done a damning summing up. He nodded agreement most of the time and thanked all the smarmy ambulance chasers for the
excellent job that they had done. Then he looked his most pontifical and spoke in pregnant periods for the records.

‘This case is so clear that it is transparent. The state has brought charges so damning that no defence could possibly stand before them. That no defence was offered is even greater evidence of the truth. The truth is that the defendant did wilfully, with malice and forethought,
commit all of the crimes for which he stands accused. There can be no doubt about that. The case is an open and shut one. Nevertheless I shall deliberate the rest of this day and far into the night. He will have his chance of justice that he rejected. I will not find him guilty until tomorrow morning when this court resumes. At that time I will pass sentence. Justice will be done and will be seen
to be done.’

Some justice, I muttered through my teeth and started to switch off the set. But the judge wasn’t through.

‘I have been informed that the Galactic League is very interested in this case. A spacer has been dispatched and will be here within two days. The prisoner will then be taken from our custody and we will be, if you will excuse and understand my emotions, well rid of him.’

My jaw dropped and I stared moronically at the screen. It was over. Just two days. What could I do in two days? Was this to be the end of The Bishop – and the end of my scarcely launched career in crime?

I was not going to give up. I had to at least try, even if I failed and were caught myself. It was my fault that he had got into this position. I owed him at least an attempt at rescue. But what could I do? I couldn’t get near him in the Federal Building, approach him in transit, or even see him in court.

Court. Court? Court. Court! Court – why did I keep thinking about the court?
What was there about it that tickled my interest, that scratched at my medulla oblongata with an idea trying to get in?

Of course! ‘Yippee!!’ I enthused and ran around in small circles waving my arms and gurgling out loud my best imitation – they used to love it at parties – of a rutting porcuswine.

‘What about the court?’ I asked myself, and was ready with a snappy answer. ‘I’ll tell you about
the court. It is in an old building, an Ancient Artifact under preservation order. It probably has some old records in the basement and undoubtedly bats in the attic. During the day it is guarded like the mint – but it is empty at night!’

I dived for my equipment cabinet. Tool kit, lockpicks, lights, wires, bugs – all the apparatus I would need for the job.

Now a car – or rather a van – was
very much in order since I would with any luck need transportation for two. I took care of that next. I had a number of sites that I had noted in case of need – and now I needed. Although it was still daylight the trucks and vans of the Crumb-ee Bakery were back in their lot being readied for their pre-dawn tasks of the following day. A few vans were being taken into the garage for servicing and one
of them happened to go a bit further. Right onto the road and towards the city limits. I was in a countryside road by dusk, in Pearly Gates soon after dark, and letting myself into a back door to the court house not long after that.

The burglar alarms were antiques, meant to keep out children or mental defectives – since there was obviously nothing in the building worth stealing. That’s what
they thought! Armed with pix I had made myself of the courtroom during the trial I went directly to it. Courtroom six. I stood in the doorway and looked about the darkened room. The lights from the street outside cast an orange glow through the high windows. I walked silently inside, sat down in the judge’s chair, then looked into the
witness box. In the end I found the chair in which The Bishop
had sat during his lightning trial, where he would sit on the morrow. This is where he would sit – and this is where he would stand when he rose to hear his sentence. Those great hands would grasp the rail here. Just here.

I looked down at the wooden floor and smiled grimly. Then knelt and tapped on it. Then took out a drill as the various parts of my plan began to fall into place.

Oh, but this
was a busy night! I had to clear boxes from the cellar beneath the courtroom, saw and hammer and sweat, and even slip out of the court house long enough to find a sports supply store and break into it. And, most critical of all, I had to work out a route of escape. The escape itself would not have to be rushed – but it would have to be secure. If I had had the time a bit of tunnelling would have
been in order. But I had no time. Therefore ingenuity would have to replace manual labour. As I cogitated in a comfortable position I found myself nodding off. Never! I made my way from the building yet again, found an all-night restaurant staffed by surly robot machines, and drank two large coffees with extra caffeine. This worked, producing ideas as well as instant heartburn. I staggered off
and broke into a clothing store. By the time I reached the courthouse again I really was staggering with fatigue. With fumbling fingers I resealed all of the doors, removed all traces of my passage. The first light of dawn was greying the windows before I was done. I fumbled with tired fingers as I sealed the cellar from the inside, stumbled across the room, sat down on the canvas, set my alarm watch
– and lay down to instant slumber.

It was pitch dark when the mosquito whine of the alarm irritated me awake. I had a moment of panic until I remembered that the cellar was windowless. It should be full daylight outside by now. I would see. I turned on a worklight, made adjustments – then turned on the TV monitor. Perfect! A colour picture of the court room above filled the screen, transmitted
from the optical bug I had planted the night before. Some ancient employees were dusting the furniture and sweeping the floor. The session would begin in an hour. I left the set running while I made a last check on my labours of the previous night. All working, all in order … so all I had to do was wait.

That was what I did. Sipping at the cold coffee and chewing painfully on a stale sandwich
from the previous day’s supplies. The suspense ended when the courtroom doors were thrown open and the lucky spectators and the press came in. I could see them imaged clearly on the screen, hear the shuffle of their
footsteps overhead. The sound of their voices murmured from the speaker, quieting only when they were silenced for the arrival of the judge. All eyes were on him, all ears twitching
attentively when he cleared his throat and began to speak.

First he bored everyone into a state of stupefaction by going over the previous day’s evidence in detail, then adding his obvious agreement to each summation and observation. I let his voice drone on while I looked at The Bishop, zooming in on his face.

He gave them nothing. His features were set, he looked almost bored. But there was
a glint to his eyes that was almost hatred, nearer contempt. A giant pulled down by ants. The set of his jaw indicated that they may have imprisoned his body – but his soul was still free. But not for long if the judge had his way!