The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (31 page)

“This isn’t the spaceport,” I protested.

“You got good eyes,” Rasco sneered and dragged me after him. “A local version of a linear. Let’s go.”

I decided I wouldn’t. I had had more than enough of their repellent company. But
I had to stumble after them for the moment, looking about for some opportunity—and seeing it just ahead. Men, and only men, were entering and exiting a doorway
under a sign that proudly proclaimed
PYCHER PYSA GORRYTH.
Though I knew nothing of the local language I could figure this one out easily enough. I drew back and pointed.

“Before we get on the linear I gotta go in there.”

“No way,” Rasco
said. Sadist. But I got unexpected aid from his companion.

“Take him in. It’s going to be a long trip.”

Rasco muttered disgustedly. But Fatso was obviously his superior because he pushed me forward. The pycher pysa was about as primitive as they come, a simple trough against one wall, a line of men facing it. I headed for a vacant position on the far end and fumbled with my clothing. Rasco watched
me with obvious displeasure.

“I can’t do anything with you watching,” I wailed.

He rolled his eyes upward for a second. Just long enough for me to get his neck with my free hand. His look of surprise faded as I clamped down hard with my thumb. After this I had only to guide his unconscious fall to the tile floor. As he hit with a satisfactory thud I clicked open the cuff on my wrist. He snored
lightly as I quickly frisked him, I had a reputation as a thief to live up to, and slipped his wallet from his hip pocket. It was safely hidden in my own before I stood and turned about. The row of men against the wall were all looking at me.

“He fainted,” I said, and they gaped with incomprehension. “Li
svenas”
I added, which did not clarify it for them in any way. I pointed to the unconscious
copper, to the door, then at myself. “I’m going for help. You lads keep an eye on him and I’ll be right back.”

None of them was in any position to follow me as I scuttled out of the entrance. Practically into Fatso’s arms. He shouted something and reached for me—but I was long gone. Out of the station and into the crowd. There were some more outcries from behind me but they soon died away as
I twisted between two horses, around a coach and down a dark alley on the far side of the street. It was that easy.

The alley opened into another street, just as crowded as the first, and I strolled along it, just a part of the crowd. Free as a bird. I actually whistled as I walked, staring around at the
sights, the veiled women and the brightly garbed men. This was the life!

Or was it? Alone
on a primitive planet, not speaking the language, sought by the authorities—what did I have to be cheerful about? Black gloom descended instantly and I sneered aloud.

“That’s it, Jim? You turn coward at the slightest setback. For shame! What would The Bishop say to this?”

He would say stop talking in public, I thought as I noticed the strange looks I was getting. So I whistled happily, not a
care in the world, turned a corner and saw the tables and chairs, men sitting and drinking interesting beverages, under a sign that said
SOSTEN HA GWYRAS
which conveyed exactly nothing to me. But underneath it was printed
NI PAROLOS ESPERANTO, BONVENUU
. I hoped that they spoke Esperanto better than they wrote it. I found a table against the wall, dropped into a chair and snapped my fingers at
the ancient waiter.

“Dhe’th plegadow”
he said.

“Plegadow
the others,” I said. “We speak Esperanto. What’s to drink, Dad?” “Beer, wine, dowr-tom-ys.”

“I’m just not in the mood for a dowr-tom-ys today. A large beer, if you please.”

When he turned away I dug out Rasco’s wallet. If my guards were supposed to encourage the local economy they should be carrying some of the local currency. The wallet
clunked when I dropped it onto the table, heavy with little metal discs. I shook one out and turned it over. It had the number two stamped into one side, with
Arghans
on the other.

“That will be one Arghans,” the waiter said, putting a brimming clay pot in front of me. I passed over the coin.

“Take that, my good man, and keep the change.”

“You offworlders are so generous,” he said, muffledly
as he bit the coin. “Not mean, stupid, vicious like the locals. You want girl? Boy?
Kewarghen
to smoke?”

“Later perhaps. I’ll let you know. Beer now and the heady pleasures of native life to come.”

He went away muttering and I took a great slug of the beer. Instantly regretting it. I swallowed—and regretted that as well as the noxious brew bubbled and seethed its way through my digestive track.
I pushed the jar away and belched. Enough of this tomfoolery. I had escaped, great, step one. But what came next?

Nothing that I could think of at the moment. I sipped at the beer, it still tasted just as repulsive, but even this heroic treatment produced no inspiration. I was grateful for the interruption when the waiter sidled over and whispered hoarsely behind the back of his hand.

“New shipment
kewarghen
fresh from the fields. You get high, stay up for many days. Want some? No? What about girl with whips? Snakes? Leather straps and hot mud …”

I interrupted since I wasn’t sure that I enjoyed where the conversation was going. “I am sated, I tell you sated. All I wish are directions to return to the municipal edifice.”

“Do not know what long words mean.”

“Want to find building big, high,
filled with plenty offworlders.”

“Ahh, you mean the
lys.
For one Arghans I take you there.”

“For one Arghans you give me instructions. I don’t want to drag you away from your work.” Nor did I want to be led astray to one of the many offers he had made. In the end he had to agree. I memorized the instructions, sipped some more of the beer and instantly regretted it, then slipped away when he
had vanished into the back room.

As I walked a glimmer of a plan began to develop. I must think of a way to get to Bibs, the crewgirl from the freighter. Garth, the captain of her ship, had escaped, I was sure of that. But she might know more about him. She was my only link with this villain. But how could I get into the prison? I knew the name she had been arrested under, Marianney Giuffrida.
Could I pass myself off as a concerned relative, one Hasenpeffer Giuffrida? The local identification should be easy to forge—if it existed at all. But would the computer identify me as an ex-prisoner when I entered the building? Or had I been wiped from its memory when I had left? Perhaps I had been, but would Fatso put me back in memory when he reported my escape?

These thoughts were rattling
around in my head when I turned the next corner and found the gigantic edifice before me. It rose up from the low buildings of the city like a towering cliff—and looked just as impenetrable. I strolled by and looked up at the steps I had so recently descended, watched the doors open to admit a visitor. Then close again like a bank vault. My mind was still blank. I stood with my back to a brick wall
across from the building. Which was perhaps not too bright, since I was still wearing prison garb. But such was the variety of local costume that my uniform drew no notice at all. I leaned and waited for inspiration to strike.

It didn’t. But pure, random luck, a chance in a thousand did. The doors opened one more time and three people emerged. Two minions of the law, this obvious from the size
of their boots, flanking a delicate female form. One thick wrist was manacled to her tiny one.

It was Bibs.

The suddenness of her appearence froze me in place. Kept me leaning against the wall as they descended to street level where one of the guards waved and whistled. In quick response two of the horsedrawn vehicles raced their way, one of them neatly cutting off the other. There were shouted
curses and loud neighing as the horses reared up. This was quickly sorted out and the loser trotted off. The high body of the horsedrawn hulk blocked my view, but as clear as though it were transparent I knew what was happening. Door being opened, prisoner escorted inside, door closed …

The thing started forward as the driver’s whip cracked, even as I was hurrying across the road. Getting up
speed as I ran after it, jumped, got my feet on the step and hauled the door open.

“Out,” the nearest guard said, turning toward me. “This cab is taken …”

We looked at each other in mutual recognition—he was the night guard from the prison. With a cry of anger he reached for me. But I reached quicker, jumping in on top of him. He was big and strong—but I was fast. I had a quick glimpse of the
shocked look on Bibs’s face as I turned all my attention to
avoiding his clutch and getting in a quick blow with the edge of my hand.

As soon as he went limp I rolled over to face the other guard and discovered that he had no interest in me at all. Bibs had her free arm around his neck and was throttling him to death. He flailed with his other hand but could do nothing because it was manacled
to her wrist.

“Just wait … until this one … is dead too,” Bibs gasped.

I didn’t explain that the guard I had taken care of was only unconscious but reached over and grabbed her elbow hard, index finger grinding into the big nerve there. Her arm went numb, dropped away, and her face grew red with fury. But before she could speak I silenced the gasping guard and unlocked the cuffs. She rubbed
her wrist and smiled.

“I don’t know where you dropped from, buster, or why, but I appreciate the help.” She cocked her head and looked more closely at me. “I know you, don’t I? Yes, of course, you’re the midnight passenger, Jimmy something.”

“That’s right, Bibs. Jim diGriz at your service.”

She laughed, loud and happily, while she removed all the possessions of the two unconscious guards, then
scowled when I manacled them together.

“Better to kill them,” she said.

“Better not to. Right now we’re not important enough to them to cause much fuss. But if we murdered two of their men they would turn this planet over to find us.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said with reluctant agreement—then kicked both unconscious bodies with sudden fury.

“They can’t feel anything.”

“They will when
they wake up. So where do we go from here, Jim?”

“You tell me. I know absolutely nothing at all about this planet.” “I know far too much.” “Then lead the way.” “Right.”

She opened the door as our vehicle slowed and we slipped out, stepped up onto the pavement as it lumbered from sight.

Bibs tucked her arm through mine, which felt very cheering, as we strolled along the busy avenue. Anywhere else our gray prison clothes, tastefully decorated with blood-red broad arrows, would have certainly drawn attention—and apprehension. Not among the motley throngs crowding these streets, dressed in every manner possible. There were bearded men in fringed buckskins, women in layers
of colored gauze, armed warriors in leather and steel; robes, gowns, chainmail, cuirasses, sashes—everything imaginable. Plus a few that defied the imagination. We drew no attention at all.

“Do you have any money?” Bibs asked.

“Just a few Arghans I lifted from one of my guards. Like you, I have just escaped.”

Her eyebrows lifted at this—very attractive eyebrows arched above even more attractive
eyes I noticed.

“Is that why you helped me out? What were you in prison for? All I know is that you and the old boy were left behind on Spiovente. Scuttlebutt had it that Garth sold you into slavery.”

“He did, and my friend is dead because of that. I am a little bitter about Garth for a lot of reasons. I liked The Bishop. He helped me, taught me a lot, and I am happy to say that I was able to
help him in return. We left our home world in a hurry, as you will remember, and paid Captain Garth a lot of money
to get us away. But that wasn’t enough for him. He earned more by selling us into slavery. I lived—but The Bishop died because of being a slave. As you can imagine I am not wildly pleased by his death. A number of loathsome things happened on that planet, the least of which was my
being caught by the League Navy. They were returning me to my home planet to stand trial.”

“On what charges?” There was keen interest in her voice.

“Bank robbery, criminal abduction, jailbreak. Things like that.”

“Wonderful!” she said, laughing aloud with joy; she had very neat white teeth. “You did yourself an immense favor when you came to little Bibs’s aid. I know this planet well, know
where the money is. Know how to buy our way offplanet when we are done. You steal it, I’ll spend it—and our troubles are over.”

“Sounds reasonable. Could we talk about it over some food? It’s been a long time since breakfast.”

“Of course—I know just the place.”

And she did too. The restaurant was small and discreet while the
felyon ha kyk mogh
tasted a lot better than it sounded. We washed
it down with a great bowl of
ru’th gwyn
which turned out to be a satisfactory red wine: I memorized the name for future use. When we had eaten our fill I took one of the wood splinters from the jar on the table and worried bits of gristle from between my teeth.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I asked, asking a question. Bibs sipped at her wine and waved permission. “You know why I was
imprisoned. Would you consider it rude if I asked the reason for your incarceration?”

She slammed her mug down so hard that it cracked and oozed a carmine trickle. She was unaware of it; her face twisted with anger and I could hear her teeth grate together.

“He did it, I’m sure, it had to be him, the
bastardacfiulo!”
Which is about the worst name you can call anyone in Esperanto. “Captain Garth,
he’s the one. He knew the League Navy was after us for gunrunning. He paid us off here—and the next day I was arrested. He tipped them off and planted the
kewarghen
in my bag. With that evidence they busted me on a drugs charge, selling to the natives and all that. I want to kill him.”