The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (41 page)

“Now—what next?” I said cheerily. Then felt the smile slip from my face.

“Yes!” Morton agreed eagerly. “What happens next?”

I shook
myself, took a brace and tried to think positively. “For one thing—there is no going back. So let us seek out a way forward. When they find the corporal they will find out our
names quickly enough. By which time we must have new names. Which means we go to the personnel section and make a few changes.”

Morton was blinking very rapidly now. “Jak, old friend, don’t you feel well? I don’t understand
a word that you are saying.”

“Doesn’t matter—as long as I do.” I unloaded the gun, put the power charge in my pocket and the empty weapon back in the drawer. “March ahead of me, do as I command. Go! As soon as you have opened the door a crack to see if the coast is clear.”

It was. We marched out, stamping and striding in a very military fashion, me clutching my sheaf of papers, Morton hopefully
clutching to his few remaining shards of sanity. One, two, one, two. Around the corner and almost into the arms of a red-capped military policeman.

“Squad halt! Stand at ease!” I screamed. Morton halted with a decided sway and shudder, showing the whites of his eyes as he rolled them toward the MP. “Eyes front!” I shrieked. “I gave no orders for you to move your eyes.”

The MP, wise in military
ways, paid us absolutely no attention until I called out to him. “Just hold it, there, private.”

“Me, corporal?” he asked, stopping and turning.

“You are the only thing moving that I can see. Your pocket is unbuttoned. But this is my generous day. Just point us toward the Personnel Building and keep moving.”

“Straight ahead, right on the company street, past the bandstand, left at the torture
chamber and there you are.” He scurried away, groping at his shirt pockets to find the open one. Morton was shivering and sweating and I patted him on the back.

“Relax, my friend. As long as you have the rank you can do what you want in the army. Ready to go on?”

He nodded and stumbled forward. I marched after him, shouting commands at the corners, marking time, being noisy, obnoxious and abusive
so I would not be noticed. A sad commentary indeed on the reality of military life.

The Personnel Building was large and industrious with plenty of to-ing and fro-ing from the front entrance. As we started
toward it Morton came to a halt and stood at attention, swaying. “W-what are you going to do?” He whispered huskily and I saw that he was shaking with fear.

“Relax old buddy, all is under
control,” I said, leafing through the handful of papers to cover this unmilitary pause. “Just follow me, do as I say, and in a few minutes we will have vanished without trace.”

“We’ll really vanish without trace if we go in there! We’ll be caught, tortured, killed …”

“Silence!” I shouted into his ear and he leaped as though he had been shot. “You will not talk. You will not think! You will only
obey or you will be in the cagal so deep you will never see the light of day again!”

A passing sergeant smiled and nodded approval so I knew I was on the right track. I hated to do this to Morton but it was the only way. “Left face—forward march!”

His skin was pale, his eyes rolled up, his mind empty of conscious thought. He could only obey. Up the steps we went and through the entrance toward
the armed military policemen stationed there.

“Halt, at ease!” I shouted and spun toward the MP, still shouting. “You—where do I find the Transport Section?”

“Second floor, room two-oh-nine. Could I see your pass, corporal?”

I glared at him coldly as I shuffled through the papers I was carrying, let my eyes travel slowly down to his boots, then back up again. He stood at attention, shivering
slightly, and I knew he was new at this game.

“I don’t think I have ever seen dirtier boots,” I hissed. When his eyes glanced down I held out the turned-back papers. “Here’s the pass.” When he glanced up again I let the papers slap shut.

He started to say something, I turned up the the power of my glare and he wilted. “Thank you, corporal. Second floor.”

I turned smartly away, snapped my fingers
at Morton, then stamped away toward the stairs. Trying to ignore the fine beading of sweat on my brow. This was very demanding work—and it wasn’t over yet. I could see that Morton was definitely shivering as he walked and I wondered how much more of this
he could take. But there was no turning back now. I threw open the door of 209 and waved him in. A bench ran along the wall and I pointed him
towards it.

“Sit there and wait until you’re called,” I said, then turned to the reception clerk. He was on the phone and waved vaguely in my direction. Behind him rows of desks and laboring soldiers stretched the length of the room. All totally ignoring me, of course.

“Yes, sir, get onto it at once, sir,” the reception clerk smarmed. “Computer error, possibly, captain. We’ll get right back
to you. Very sorry about this.”

I could hear the phone disconnect loudly in his ear. “You crock of cagal!” he snarled and threw the phone back on the desk, then looked up at me. “What’s up, corporal?”

“I’m up here, corporal, and I’m here to see the transport sergeant.”

“He’s home on compassionate leave. His canary died.”

“I do not wish to hear the disgusting details of his personal life, soldier.
Who’s sitting in for him?”

“Corporal Gamin.”

“Tell the corporal I’m coming in.”

“Right, right.” He picked up the phone. I stamped past him to the door marked TRANSPORT SERGEANT—KEEP OUT and threw it open. The thin, dark man at the computer terminal looked up and frowned.

“You are Corporal Gamin?” I said, closing the door and flipping through the papers one more time. “If you are I got good
news for you.”

“I’m Gamin. What’s up?”

“Your morale. The paymaster says they found a cumulative computer error in your pay and you are owed possibly two hundred and ten big ones. They want you there to straighten it out.”

“I knew it! They been deducting double for insurance and laundry.”

“They’re all cagal-kopfs.” My guess was right; there cannot be anyone alive, particularly in the army,
who isn’t sure there are errors in his payslip. “I would suggest you get your chunk
over and collect before they lose the money again. Can I use your phone?”

“Punch nine for an outside line.” He pulled up his necktie and reached for his jacket—then stopped and took the key out of the terminal; the screen went black. “I bet they owe me more than that. I want to see the records.”

There was a second
door behind his desk and, to my satisfaction, he exited that way. The instant it closed I had the other door open and poked my head through. When the reception clerk looked up I turned and called back over my shoulder.

“Do you want him in here as well, corporal?” I nodded my head and turned back. “You, recruit, get in here!”

Morton jumped at the sound of my voice, then scurried forward. I closed
and locked the door behind him.

“Get comfortable,” I said, pulling off my boot and rooting about inside it for the lockpick. “No questions. I have to work fast.”

He slumped into a chair, eyes bulging in silence as I gently tickled the lock until the terminal came to life.

“Menu, menu,” I muttered as I hammered away on the keys.

It all went a lot smoother and faster than I had hoped. Whoever
had written the software had apparently expected it to be accessed by morons. Maybe he was right. In any case I was led by the hand through the menus right to the current shipping orders.

“Here we are, leaving at noon today, a few minutes from now. Fort Abomeno. Your full name and serial number, Morton, quickly.”

I had my own dogtags spread out as I punched in all the requested information.
A bell pinged and a sheet of paper slipped out of the printer.

“Wonderful!” I said, smiling and letting some tension out of my muscles: I passed it over to him. “We’re safe for the moment since we have just left for Fort Abomeno.”

“But … we”re still here.”

“Only in the flesh, my boy. For the record, and records are all that count to the military, we have shipped out. Now we
make the flesh inviolate.”
I read through the shipping orders, checked off two names, then turned back to the terminal and entered data with some urgency. We had to be long gone before the corporal returned. The printer whiffled gently and one sheet slipped out, then another. I grabbed them up, relocked the terminal, and waved Morton to his feet.

“Here we go. Out the back door and I’ll tell you what is happening as soon
as we are clear of this building.”

Someone was coming up the stairs, a corporal, and my heart gave a little hip-hop before I saw that it wasn’t the corporal in question. Then it was down the hall to the front door and yes, there was Corporal Gamin coming up the stairs with a very nasty cut to his jib!

“Sharp right, recruit!” I ordered and we turned into the first doorway with military precision.
A lieutenant was combing his hair in front of a mirror there. Her hair I realized when she turned about and glared at me.

“What kind of cagal-head are you, corporal? Or doesn’t the sign on the other side of this door read female personnel only?”

“Sorry, sir, Ma’am, dark in the hall. Eye trouble. You, recruit, why didn’t you read the sign correctly? Get the cagal out of here and march straight
to the MPs.”

I pushed Morton out ahead of me and closed the door. The hall ahead was empty.

“Let’s go! Quick as we can without attracting attention.”

Out the door and down the steps and around the corner and another corner and the pace was beginning to tell. I leaned against a wall and felt the sweat run down my face and drip from my nose. I wiped it with the sheaf of papers I still carried—then
held up the two new sheets of orders and smiled; Morton gaped.

“Freedom and survival,” I chortled. “Shipping orders, or rather cancellation of shipping orders. We are safe at last.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

“Sorry. Let me explain. As far as the military is concerned we are no longer at this base but have been shipped to Fort Abomeno. They will search for
us there, but we will be hard to find. In order to keep the body count correct two soldiers
who are in that shipment, still physically in that shipment, have been removed on paper. These are their orders, corporal, I thought a bit more rank wouldn’t hurt. I am a sergeant now as you can see. We will occupy their quarters, eat their food, draw their pay. It will be weeks, perhaps months, before
the error is discovered. By which time we will be long gone. Now—shall we begin our new careers as noncommisioned officers?”

“Urgle,” he said dimly and his eyes shut and he would have slumped to the ground if I had not held him erect against the wall. I nodded agreement.

“I feel somewhat the same way myself. It really has been one of those days.”

Fatigue was of no importance, thirst equally so—although both were present and sending imperative messages. To be ignored. Rank has its privileges and we were not going to enjoy ours until we assumed the trappings. I shook Morton until his eyes opened and he blinked dully at me.

“One last effort, Mort. We are going to the PX, about whose heady joys we have heard, and there we will
spend some money. When that has been done we will be free spirits and will eat and drink and relax. Are you ready?”

“No. I’m beat, shagged, dead. I cannot move. You go on. I can’t make it …”

“Then I’ll just have to turn you over to Sergeant Klutz who has just arrived and is standing right behind you.”

He sprang into the air with a shriek of agony, feet already running before he hit the ground.
I held on to him.

“Sorry about that. No Klutz here. A ruse to get your adrenaline flowing. Let’s go.”

We went. Quickly before this burst of energy faded. It got him as far as the post exchange where I leaned him against the wall near the cashier and handed him my sheaf of papers.

“Stand there, recruit, and do not move and do not let go of those papers or I will skin you alive or worse.”

I
slammed the papers into his limp hands and whispered, “What size jacket do you take?” After much blinking on his part, and reiteration on mine, I extracted the needed information. I made my purchases from a bored clerk, added some stripes and a tube of superglue, paid for everything with some of Gow’s money, thank you corporal, and led Morton farther into the reaches of the PX. To the latrine, empty
this time of day.

“We’ll use the booth one at a time,” I said. “We don’t want anyone making improper conclusions. Take off those fatigues and slip into this uniform. Move it.”

While he changed I glued the new sargeant’s stripes over the corporal’s on my sleeves. When Morton had flushed and emerged I straightened his necktie and glued his promotion to his sleeve. His fatigues went into the rubbish,
along with the sheaf of papers, and we went into the noncom’s bar.

“Beer—or something stronger?” I asked.

“I don’t drink.”

“You do now. And curse. You’re in the army. Sit there and sneer like a corporal and I’ll be right back.”

I ordered two double neutral grain spirits and some beers, dumped the ethyl alcohol into the beer, sipped it to make sure it had not gone off, then went back to our
table. Morton drank as ordered, widened his eyes, gasped, then drank again. Color returned to his cheeks as I drained half of my glass and sighed happily.

“I don’t know how to thank you, what to say …”

“Then say nothing. Drink up. What I did was to save my own hide and you just came along for the ride.”

“Who are you, Jak? How do you know how to do those things you did?”

“Would you believe
me if I said I was a spy sent here to seek out the military secrets?” “Yes.”

“Well I’m not. I’m just a draftee like yourself. Though I will have to admit that I come from a lot further away than Pensildelphia. That’s it, drain the glass, you’re learning fast. I’ll get a couple more drinks and some food. I saw they had catwiches. I’ll get a couple of those.”