The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (19 page)

He pointed to the paincuff on his ankle and thoroughly depressed himself. Me as well.

‘Well, we can still look at the bright side,’ I said with desperation.

‘What bright side?’

I wondered about that myself as I furiously thought out loud.

‘The bright side, yes, there is always a bright side. Like for instance – we are well away from Bit O’Heaven and our problems there. All set for a new start.’

‘At the bottom of the pile? As slaves?’

‘Correct! From here the only direction we can go is up!’

His lips twitched in the slightest smile at this desperate sally and I hurried on.

‘For example – they searched us and took away everything
we had on us. Every item except one. I still have a little souvenir in my shoe from my trip to jail. This.’ I held up the lockpick and his smile widened. ‘And it works – see.’ I opened my paincuff and showed it to him, then snapped it back into place. ‘So when we are ready to leave – we leave!’

By this time the grin had widened into a full smile. He reached out and seized my shoulder in a grip
of true comradeship. ‘How right you are,’ he beamed. ‘We shall be good slaves – for a time. Just long enough to learn the ropes of this society, the chain of command and how to penetrate it, what the sources of wealth are and how to acquire them. As soon as I determine where the chinks are in the structure of society here we shall become rats again. Not stainless steel ones, I am afraid, more of
the furry, toothy kind.’

‘A rat by any other name is just as sweet. We will overcome!’

We had to leap aside then as the first of the crates was manhandled into the back of the cart, the fabric of its battered structure squeaking and groaning. When the last of the cases was aboard the loaders climbed in themselves. I was glad the light was so bad – I really did not want to look at them too closely.
Three scruffy, dirty men, unshaven and dressed in rags. Unwashed too as my twitching nose quickly informed me. Then a fourth man heaved himself up, bigger and nastier than the others, although his garments were in slightly better shape. He
glared down at us and I smelled trouble – in addition to the pong.

‘You know who I am? I’m the Pusher. This is my bunch and you do what I say. The first thing
I say is you, old man, take off that jacket. It’ll look better on me than on you.’

‘Thank you for the suggestion, sir,’ The Bishop answered sweetly. ‘But I think I shall retain it.’

I knew what he was doing and I hoped that he was up to it. There was little room to move about in and this thug was twice my size. I had time for one blow, no more, and it had to be a good one.

The brute roared
in anger and started climbing over the crates. The terrified slaves scrambled out of his way. I scrambled aside too and he ignored me as he passed. Perfect. He was just clutching at The Bishop when I hit him in the back of the neck with my joined fists. There was a satisfactory thunk and he collapsed on top of the crate.

I turned to the slaves who were watching in wide-eyed silence.

‘You just
got a new Pusher,’ I told them, and there were quick nods of agreement. I pointed to the nearest one. ‘What’s my name?’

‘Pusher,’ he answered instantly. ‘Just don’t turn your back on that one when he comes to.’

‘Will you help me?’

His grin exposed blackened, broken teeth. ‘Won’t help you fight. Warn you though if you don’t beat us the way he did.’

‘No beating. You all help?’

All of them nodded
agreement.

‘Good. Then your first assignment will be to throw the old Pusher out of this cart. I don’t want to be too close when he comes to.’

They did this with enthusiasm, and added a few kicks on their own initiative.

‘Thank you, James, I appreciate the help,’ The Bishop said. ‘My thinking was that you would probably have to fight him sooner or later, so why not sooner, with myself as distraction.
And our rise in this society has begun – for you have already climbed out of the basic slave category. Suffering satellites – what is that?’

I looked where he pointed and my eyes popped just as far out as his. It was a machine of some kind, that much was obvious. It was advancing slowly towards us, rattling and clanking and emitting fumes. The operator swivelled it about in front of the cart
as his assistant jumped down and joined the two together. There was a jolt and we slowly got under way.

‘Look closely, Jim, and remember,’ he said. ‘You are seeing something from the dawn of technology, long forgotten and lost in the midst of time. That landcar is powered by
steam
. It is a steamcar, as I live and breathe. You know, I am beginning to think that I will enjoy it here.’

I was not
as fascinated by neolithic machinery as he was. My thoughts were more on the deposed thug and what would happen when he came after me. I had to learn more about the ground rules – and quickly. I moved back to the other slaves, but before I could open a conversation we clattered across a bridge and through a gate in a high wall. The driver of our steam chariot stopped and called out.

‘Unload those
here.’

In my new persona as Pusher I supervised but did little to help. The last case was just dropped to the ground when one of my slaves called out to me.

‘He’s coming now – through the gate behind you!’

I turned quickly. He was right. The ex-Pusher was there, scratched and bloody and red-faced with rage.

He bellowed as he attacked.

The first thing that I did was run away from my attacker – who roared after me in hot pursuit. This was done not through fear, though I did have a certain amount of that, but from the need to get some space around me. As soon as I was well away from the cart I turned and tripped him so he sprawled full-length in the muck.

This drew a big laugh from the onlookers; I took a quick
glance around while he was climbing to his feet. There were armed guards, more slaves – and the red-garbed Capo Doccia who had cleaned us out. An idea began to form – but before it took shape I had to move to save my life.

The thug was learning. No more wild rushing about. Instead he came slowly towards me, arms spread, fingers extended. If I allowed him a sweet embrace I would not emerge from
it alive. I backed slowly, turning to face Capo Doccia, moved to one side, then stepped quickly forward. Seizing one of my attacker’s outstretched hands in both of mine, pulling and falling backwards at the same time. My weight was just about enough to send him flying over me to sprawl full-length again.

I was on my feet at once – with the plan clear in my mind. An exhibition.

‘That was the
right arm,’ I called out loudly.

He was stumbling when he returned to the attack so I took a chance and called my shot.

‘Right knee.’

I used a flying kick to get him on the kneecap. This is quite painful and he screamed as he dropped. He was slower getting to his feet this time, but the hatred was still there. He was not going to stop until he was unconscious. Good. All the better for my demonstration
of the art.

‘Left arm.’

I seized it and twisted it up behind his back, held it there, pushing hard. He was strong – and still fighting, trying to clutch me with his right hand, struggling to trip me. I got in first.

‘Left leg,’ I shouted as I kicked hard on the back of his calf and he went down another time. I stepped back and looked towards Capo Doccia. I had his undivided attention.

‘Can
you kill as well as dance?’ he asked.

‘I can. But I choose not to.’ I was aware that my opponent had
stood up, was swaying from side to side. I turned slightly so I could see him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What I prefer is to render him unconscious. That way I win the fight – and you still have a slave.’

The thug’s hands closed on my neck and he bubbled viciously. I was showing off and I
knew it. But I had to provide a good performance for my audience. So, without looking at all, I slammed backwards with my bent arm. Sinking my elbow hard into his gut, in the centre, just below the rib cage, in line with the elbows. Right into the nerve ganglion known as the solar plexus. His hands loosened and I stepped forward. Hearing the thud as he hit the ground. Out cold.

Capo Doccia signalled
me to him, spoke when I was close.

‘That is a new way to fight, offworlder. We make wagers on the ruffians here who battle with their fists, striking each other until the blood flows and one of them cannot go on.’

‘Fighting like that is crude and wasteful. To know where to strike and how to strike, that is an art.’

‘But your art is of no value against sharp steel,’ he said, half-pulling his
sword. I had to tread carefully now or he would be chopping me up just to see what I could do.

‘Bare hands cannot stand against one such as you who is a master of the blade.’ For all I knew he only used the thing to carve his roast, but flattery always helps. ‘However, against an unskilled swordsman or knife-wielder the art has value.’

He digested that, then called to the nearest guard. ‘You,
take your knife to this one.’

This was getting out of hand – but I could see no way to avoid the encounter now. The guard smiled and pulled a shining length of dagger from its sheath and stalked towards me. I smiled in return. He raised it over his head to stab down – not holding it pointed directly out before him like an experienced knife-fighter. I let him come on, unmoving until he struck.

Standard defence. Step inside the blow, take the impact of his wrist against my forearm. Seize the knife-wrist with hands, turn and twist. All of this done very fast.

The knife went one way, he went the other. I had to end this demonstration quickly before I was taking on clubs, guns, whatever the head thug felt like. I stepped closer to Capo Doccia and spoke in a quiet voice.

‘These are offworld
secrets of defence – and killing – that are unknown here on Spiovente. I do not wish to reveal more here. I am sure you do not wish slaves to learn dangerous blows like these. Let me show you what can be done without this raw
audience. I can train your bodyguards in these skills. There are those who want to kill you. Think of your own security first.’

It sounded like a lecture on traffic safety
to me, but it seemed to make sense to him. But he wasn’t completely convinced.

‘I do not like new things, new ways. I like things as they are.’

Right, with him on top and the rest in chains below. I talked fast.

‘What I do is not new – but as old as mankind. Secrets that have been passed on in secret since the dawn of time. Now these secrets can be yours. Change is on the way, you know that,
and knowledge is strength. When others seek to take what you have any weapon is useful to defeat them.’

It sounded like nonsense to me – but I hoped that it made sense to him. From what The Bishop had told me about this garbage world the only security was in strength – paranoia paid off. At least it had him thinking – which from the narrowness of his forehead was something he probably found hard
to do. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Politeness, like soap, was also unknown on this planet. No ‘see you later’ or ‘let me think about that’. It took me a few moments to realise that the audience was over. The disarmed guard was glaring at me and rubbing his wrist. But he had put the dagger away. Since I had talked with Capo Doccia I now had some status so he wouldn’t knife me without
reason. Which left my first protagonist, the ex-Pusher. He was sitting up dizzily when I approached. He looked up at me, blinking and befuddled. I tried to look my meanest when I spoke.

‘That is two times you have come at me. You will not do it a third time. Third time means out in my ball game. You will die if you try anything ever again.’

The hatred was still there in his face – but there
was fear as well. I stepped forward and he cringed back. Good enough. As long as I didn’t turn my back on him very often. I turned it now and stalked away.

He shambled after me and joined the waiting gang of slaves. He seemed to have accepted his demotion, as had the others. There were a few black looks in his direction but no more violence. Which was fine by me. It is one thing to work out in
the gym – but something totally different here, mixing with these heavies really trying to kill me. The Bishop beamed his congratulations.

‘Well done, Jim, well done.’

‘And all very tiring. What next?’

‘From what I could discover this little group is off duty, so
to speak, having worked during the night.’

‘Then rest and food are in order. Lead on.’

I suppose it could be called food. About
the only good thing I could say about it was that it was not as repulsive as the Venian cooking aboard the spacer. A large and exceedingly filthy pot was seething over a fire to the rear of the building. The chef – if one dared use that term for this repulsive individual, as filthy as his pot – was stirring the contents with a long wooden spoon. The slaves each took a wooden bowl from the dripping
pile on the table close by and these were filled by the cook. There was no worry about lost or broken cutlery because there wasn’t any. Everyone dipped and shovelled with their fingers, so I did the same. It was vegetable gruel of some kind, pretty tasteless, but filling. The Bishop sat next to me on the ground, back to the wall, and slowly ate his. I finished first and had no difficulty in restraining
a desire for a second serving.

‘How long do we stay slaves?’ I asked.

‘Until I learn more about how things operate here. You have spent your entire life on a single planet, so both consciously and unconsciously you accept the society you know as the only one. Far from it. Culture is an invention of mankind, just like the computer or the fork. There is a difference though. While we are willing
to change computers or eating instruments, the inhabitants of a culture will brook no changes at all. They believe that theirs is the only and unique way to live – and anything else is abberation.’

‘Sounds stupid.’

‘It is. But as long as you know that, and they don’t, you can step outside the rules or bend them for your own benefit. Right now I’m finding out what the rules are here.’