The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (47 page)

“Well, private, I see that you have already done an analysis and evaluation. How was it?”

“Yummy, captain!”

I took a bite and nodded in agreement as the sweet juice washed the lingering taste of the last hotpup from my teeth.
“Fall out the troops, sergeant, take cover in that orchard, ten minute break.”

When we marched on the rumble of contented borborygmus sounded loud above the tramping boots. The dam grew closer, as did the generating plant and grouped buildings at its base. Water gushed from great pipes, while pylons and wires marched away toward the distant city. It looked peaceful and productive and there was
no one in sight. I signaled a halt and sent for the NCOs.

“I will now outline our plan of attack. But before I do we will have a weapons inspection. Starting with you, First Sergeant.”

His face was expressionless as he passed me his gun. I pressed the magazine release, saw that it was empty, looked into the equally empty chamber and passed it back. I did this with the others and was quite pleased
with myself until I reached the hulking form of Corporal Aspya. Instead of handing me his gun he held it across his chest.

“I can save you looking, captain. It’s loaded.”

“That was done despite my direct order, ex-corporal. Private, you will now hand me your weapon.”

“A soldier is not a soldier when he is unarmed, sir,” he said grimly, unmoving.

“That is true,” I said, going on to the next
noncom. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him look around as though seeking aid. As soon as his eyes were off me I lashed back with my extended hand and caught him on the neck with the edge. It was a cruel blow: he had a loaded gun. He fell unconscious on the ground and I pulled the weapon from his limp hands, ejecting the cartridges one by one into the mud.

“Sergeant Blogh. I want this man in
the command car, under guard and under arrest.”

“Is the guard to be armed, sir?”

“Guard to be armed, weapon to be loaded. Lieutenant Hesk will perform guard duty. Now, this is our plan of attack.”

They listened in silence, impressed by my quick violence. I was ashamed of striking the cowardly blow—but I wouldn’t let them know that. Better one sore neck than guns going off
and people getting
killed. I could trust Morton not to pull any triggers—and felt much better with him out of the way for the present. I assigned targets to every squad, but saved the main building for myself.

“So there it is. Get your men into position, then report back to me. When everything is covered I will enter and capture the control room. Now—move out.”

My bold little army dispersed, attacking by the book.
Rushing forward a few at a time, covering each other. After a few minutes the noncoms began radioing in. Objectives reached, no opposition, no one seen yet. Now it was up to me. Followed by the first sergeant and his squad I marched resolutely up the steps of the generating station and threw open the door. It opened directly into the turbine room. The turbines spun, the generators turned, there
was no one in sight.

“Fully automated,” the sergeant said.

“Looks that way. Let’s find the control room.”

Tension grew as we scuttled down the hallway. I was very glad that mine was the only loaded weapon. I kept the pistol in my hand—but the safety was on since I had no intention of pulling the trigger: it was a prop to cheer the troops.

“Someone is in there, captain. See!”

The soldier was
pointing at a frosted-glass door. A man’s silhouette moved across it then vanished.

“Right, this is it, here we go, follow me!”

I took a deep breath—then threw the door open. Jumped inside and heard the squad move in after me. The gray-haired man stood in front of the control panel, tapping a dial.

“Ne faru nenion!”
I shouted.
“Vi estas kaptito. Manoj en la aeron!”

“How very interesting,”
he said turning about and smiling. “Strangers speaking a strange tongue. Welcome, strangers, welcome to Bellegarrique Generating Plant Number One.”

“I can understand you!” I said. “You are speaking a dialect of Low Ingliss, that we speak on Bit O’Heaven.”

“Can’t say that I have heard of the place. Your accent is strange, but it certainly is the same language.”

“What is he saying?” the first
sergeant asked. “You speak his lingo?”

“I do. Learnt it in school.” Which was true enough. “He is welcoming us here.”

“Anyone else around?”

“Good question. I’ll put it to him.”

“There are more staff, of course, but they’ll be asleep. Shift workers. You must tell me more about yourself and your friends. My name is Stirner. Might I ask yours?”

I started to answer, then drew myself up. This
was no way to run a war. “My name is not important. I am here to tell you that this planet is now controlled by the armed forces of Nevenkebla. If you cooperate you will not be harmed.”

I translated this into Esperanto so my soldiers would know what was happening. And told the sergeant to pass the word about the shift workers. Stirner politely waited until I was finished before he spoke.

“This
is all very exciting, sir! Armed forces you say? That would mean weapons. Are those weapons that you are carrying?”

“They are. And be warned—we will defend ourselves if attacked.”

“I wouldn’t concern myself with that. As a firm believer in Individual Mutualism I would never harm another.”

“But your army—or your police would!” I said, trickily.

“I know the words, of course, but you need not
fear. There is no army here, nor do we have a police force. May I offer you some refreshments? I am being a very bad host.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I muttered. “Sergeant, get a connection to General Lowender’s staff. Tell them we have made contact with the enemy. No sign of resistance. Informant says no armed forces, no police.”

Closely watched by my gun-gripping troops, Stirner
had opened a cabinet and removed a tall and interesting bottle. He set this on a table along with a tray of glasses.

“Wine,” he said. “A very good one, for special guests. I hope you and your associates will enjoy it.” He handed me a glass.

“You taste it first,” I said with military suspicion.

“Your politeness, nameless sir, puts me to shame.” He sipped then passed me a glass. It was very good.

“Got the general himself,” the sergeant called out urgently, running over with the radio. “Captain Drem speaking.”

“Drem—what does this report mean? Have you found the enemy?”

“I’ve occupied the generating plant, sir. No casualties. No resistance encountered.”

“You are the first to make contact. What are their defenses like?”

“Nonexistent, general. No resistance was offered of any kind. My
prisoner states no military, no police.”

The general mades noises of disbelief.
“I’m sending a chopper for you and the prisoner. I want to question him myself. Out.”

Wonderful. The last place I wanted to be was with the top brass. There was too good a chance of General Zennor appearing and recognizing me from the bad old days when he was known as Garth. Self-survival urged me to climb into a
hole. But weighed against my personal needs was the chance that I might be able to save lives. If I could convince the military numbskulls that there really would be no resistance. If I didn’t do that, surely some trigger-happy cagal-kopf was sure to get nervous and start firing. All of his jumpy buddies would then join in and … It was a very realistic scenario. I had to make some effort to avoid
it.

“An order from the general,” I told my expectant troops. “I’m to bring him the prisoner. Transport is on the way. You are in charge, Sergeant Blogh, until Lieutenant Hesk gets here to relieve you. Take over. And take care of the wine.”

He saluted and they were grabbing for the bottle when I left. Would such simple military pleasures were mine.

“You’re coming with me, “ I told Stirner, pointing
toward to the door.

“No, my duty is here. I am afraid I cannot oblige you.”

“It is not me you are going to oblige, it is your own people. There is a big army out there. All of them armed with weapons like this. They are now invading your country and are taking it over. People could be killed. But lives can be saved if I take you to the commanding officer and you manage to convince him there
will be no resistance from your people. Do you understand me?”

A look of horror had been growing on his face as I talked. “You are serious?” he gasped. “You mean what you are saying.” I nodded grimly. “Of course, then, yes. Incomprehensible, but I must come. I can’t believe this.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I led him to the door. “I can understand not having an army, all civilized worlds get by
without the military. But the police, a necessary evil I would say.”

“Not for those who practice Individual Mutualism.” He was brightening up now at this chance to deliver a little lecture. “I never heard of it.”

“How unfortunate for you! At the risk of simplifying I will explain …”

“Captain Drem, I got to talk to you!” the fallen corporal said, climbing out of the command car despite Morton’s
feeble efforts to stop him. He stopped in front of me, snapped to attention and saluted.

“I now see the error of my ways, sir. I thought because you are young and looked weak that I knew better than you, so I disobeyed an order and loaded my gun. I know now that I was wrong and you were right and I respectfully request a second chance since I am a thirty-year man and the army is my career.”

“And how do you know now that I was right, Private Aspya?”

He looked at me, eyes aglow. “Because you beat me, sir! Knocked me down, fair and square. A man gotta do what a man gotta do—and you did it!”

What kind of macho-cagal was this? He had disobeyed a reasonable command that was aimed at avoiding violence. Only when I had bashed him unconscious did he feel that I was right. The mind reeled
at this kind of perverse, inverted logic—and I really didn’t have time to think about it. About all I could do was play along and forget about it.

“You know, ex-corporal, I think that I believe you. It takes a real man to admit that he was wrong. So even though you are a miserable low private and I am an on-high captain—I’m going to shake your hand and send you back to duty!”

“You’re a real
man, captain, and you will never regret this!” He pumped away at my hand, then staggered off knuckling a
tear from his eye. There was a growing clatter from the sky and shadow drifted across us and I looked up to see the chopper dropping down toward us.

“Morton—you’re in charge until I get back. Go to Sergeant Blogh and take command and let him make all the decisions and then agree with him.”

He could only nod as I guided Stirner to the chopper and climbed in behind him.

“Take us to the general,” I ordered the pilot. Then sighed heavily. I had the feeling that I was putting my head into the noose and settling it nicely around my neck.

But, really, I had no other choice.

“I have read of such vehicles in the history books,” Stirner said, looking out of the window with admiration as
we rattled skyward. “This a very important moment for me, nameless sir.”

“Captain, you can call me captain.”

“My pleasure to meet you, Captain. And thank you for the opportunity to explain to your leaders that they may come in peace. They must not be afraid. We would never harm them.”

“It was the other way around that I was worried about.”

There was no more time for gossip because the chopper
was dropping down beside an armored column of tanks. Tables, armchairs, and a wet bar, had been set up under a tent in the field close by, and we settled down just out of rotor-blast of the officers assembled there. I jumped down, delivered a snappy salute and relaxed. Zennor wasn’t there. I turned and helped Stirner get out and pushed him towards General Lowender.

“This is the prisoner, sir.
He speaks a vile local language which I just happened to have learned in school so I can translate.”

“Impossible,” he said grimly. “You are an infantry officer, not a translator. Major Kewsel is the staff translator. Major, translate!”

The dark-haired major shouldered me aside and stood before the prisoner.

“Kion vi komprenas?”
he shouted.
“Sprechten zee Poopish?” Ancay ooyay eekspay Igpay
Atinlay? Ook kook Volupook?”

“Very sorry, sir, but I don’t understand a word that you are saying.”

“Got him!” the major announced happily. “A little-known dialect, spoken on dreary planets trundling heavily around dark stars. I learned its boring cacophonies when I was involved in the meat trade years ago. Importing porcuswine cutlets …”

“Cut the cagal, major, and translate. Ask him where the
army is and how many police stations there are in this city.”

I listened with some interest as the major, despite his inborn desire to talk and not listen, finally elicited the same information that I had. The general sighed unhappily.

“If this is true—then we just can’t shoot them down in cold blood.” He turned to me. “And you are positive there was no resistance offered?”

“None, sir. It apparently
goes against their strongest beliefs. May I congratulate you, general, on the first bloodless invasion in the known universe! You will soon have captured this entire planet for the greater glory of Nevenkebla—without losing a single soldier.”

“Don’t cheer too soon, captain. Medals don’t go to generals who bring back the troops intact. Battle! That’s where the glory is! There will be fighting,
mark my words. It is human nature. They can’t all be cowards on this planet.”

“Lowender—what’s happening?” a familiar voice asked and my blood temperature fell about ten degrees. I did not move, stood stiffly with my back to the speaker. The general pointed.

“We have our first prisoner, General Zennor. I have been questioning him. He talks nonsense. No army, no police he says.”

“And you believe
him? Where was he caught?”

“At the generating plant, by Captain Drem there.”

Zennor glanced at me, then away. I kept my back straight and my face expressionless as he suddenly turned around to face me again.