The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (48 page)

“Where do I know you from, captain?”

“Training, sir. Maneuvers,” I said in the deepest voice I could muster. He walked over and pushed his face close to mine.

“That’s not true. Somewhere
else. And you were with someone else …”

His eyes lit with recognition and he stabbed his finger at me. “The Bishop! You were with The Bishop—”

“And you killed him!” I shouted as I dived and got the three-seconds to death stranglehold on his neck. One second … unconscious. Second second … limp. Third …

All the lights went out. There was a great deal of pain in the back of my head and then nothing.
My last thought was—had I held the grip through the third second?

A measureless time later I was aware of pain spreading from the back of my head down through my body. I moved to get away from it but it would not leave. It was dark—or were my eyes closed? I had no desire to find out. Everything hurt too much. I groaned and it sounded so good that I did it a second time. Vaguely, through the groaning, I was aware of my shoulders being lifted and something
wet on my lips. I gurgled and spluttered. Water. It tasted very good. I drank some and felt slightly better. The pain was still there, but not so much that I couldn’t risk opening one eye. I did. A face swam blurrily above me and after a certain amount of blinking it became clear.

“Morton … ?” I muttered.

“None other.” With an expression of abject gloom. He pulled at me until I sat against the
wall and my head appeared to be exploding in tiny bits. His voice barely penetrated.

“Take this, in your mouth. Drink some more water. The doctor said you were to swallow it when you came to. For the head.”

Poison? No such luck. Medicine. The pain ebbed and rose and finally slipped away to a dull ache. I opened my eyes all the way and saw a sad-looking and bruised Morton framed against a background
of bars.

“Is he dead?” I croaked.

“Who?”

“General Zennor.”

“He looked very much alive when he was here about a half an hour ago.”

I sighed drearily—and with mixed emotions. I had wanted vengeance, wanted Zennor to pay heavily for being responsible for The Bishop’s death. I thought that I had wanted him dead as well. But having tried murder this once, really tried it, I was glad that I had
been stopped. Now that I had made my first homicidal attempt I discovered that I did not really enjoy the process of killing people. I was a failed killer. And in failing I had really got myself in the cagal. And had pulled Morton in too.

“Sorry about all this,” I said. “I got so carried away I never stopped to think that I would probably implicate you as well.”

“Sergeant Blogh turned me in
when the MPs came to investigate. He knew I wasn’t an officer. I told them everything. Even before they knocked me around.”

“I’m to blame for what happened.”

“Don’t think like that. Not your fault. They would have got me sooner or later, one way or the other. The army and me, we are just not on the same plane. You did your best, Jak.”

“Jim. Real name is Jim diGriz. From a distant planet.”

“Nice to meet you, Jim. You a spy?”

“No. Just here to right a wrong. Your General Zennor was responsible for the death of my best friend. I came here looking for him.”

“What about that talking bird and all the other stuff?”

I touched my fingers to my lips and looked at the door. Morton shook his head in puzzlement. I spoke up before he could add anything.

“You mean that talking bird joke I
was going to tell you, about the kid in school who had the talking bird who turned into an alcoholic and became a missionary? I remember the joke—but I forgot the punchline.”

Morton was now staring at me as if I had gone out of my mind. I looked around and discovered that I was lying on a thin mattress resting on a very dusty floor. I used my finger to write
QUIET-THEY MIGHT BE LISTENING!
in
the dust. I looked at his face until he finally caught on, then rubbed out the message. “Anyway, Morton, I don’t feel like telling jokes now. Where are we?”

“Big building in the city. Looks like the army took it over. They must be using it for a headquarters or something. All I know is that they brought me here in a rush, worked me over then dumped me in here with you. The building is full of
soldiers.”

“Any civilians?”

“None that I saw …”

We both looked up as the lock rattled in the door and it opened. A lot of armed MPs pushed in and pointed their guns at us. Only after this did General Zennor enter. He had a bandage around his neck and the urge to kill in his eye.

“Are you sure that you are safe now, Zennor,” I said as sweetly as I could. He came over and kicked me in the side.

“Aren’t we brave—” I gasped through the pain. “Kick a wounded man lying down.”

He drew his boot back again, thought about it, then drew his pistol and pointed it between my eyes.

“Get the other prisoner out of here. Leave us alone. Bring me a chair.”

One thing about the military, they just relish following orders. With much shouted commands and stamping of boots Morton was hustled away, the
MPs vanished, a wooden chair appeared and was placed respectfully under the general’s bottom. He sat down slowly without taking his eyes or the gun muzzle off of me. He did not speak until the door clicked shut.

“I want to know how you got here, how you followed me. Everything.”

Why not? I thought, rubbing my sore side. I was too knocked about to make up any complex lies—nor was there any need.
The truth would be easier. With a little editing of course.

“Everything, Zennor? Why not. The last time I saw you was when you sold us down the river on Spiovente. That is a rough planet, and no place for an old man like The Bishop. He died there—and that makes you responsible for his death.”

He touched the bandage on his neck and snarled, “Get on with it.”

“Little more to tell. A few wars,
murder, torture, the usual thing. I survived only to be rescued by the League Navy who also arrested me and brought me here. I escaped from them and found you because of your one big mistake.”

“What nonsense are you speaking?”

“No nonsense. Truth, Captain Garth. Didn’t you have the girl, Bibs, arrested for selling dope?”

“That is not important.”

“It was to Bibs! She is a free woman now, you
will be unhappy to hear, and before she left she told me how to find you. End of story.”

He weighed the gun thoughtfully, his finger caressing the trigger. I tried not to notice it.

“Not quite the end yet. You are the spy who landed in Marhaveno?”

“Yes. And penetrated your slack and incompetent army. Then rose in rank until I got you by the neck and gave you a good choking. When you wake up
at night in a cold sweat remember—I could have shot you just as well. Now, are you going to shoot me, or are you just playing with that gun?”

“Don’t tempt me, little man. But that would be a waste. I shall put your death to better use. You and your associate will be tried and found guilty of a number of charges. Attacking a superior officer, impersonating an officer, threatening military security.
After which you will both be shot. In public.”

“And what will that accomplish?”

“It will convince the stubborn people of this planet that we do what we say. They are a bloodless, spineless lot that let us walk in and take their planet away from them. Now they whine that they wish to have it back. They refuse to do any work until we leave. They have all walked away from their jobs. The city will
soon be paralyzed. Your death will change that.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I do. They will then know that I mean what I say. We will take hostages and shoot them if they do not cooperate.”

I was on my feet, anger burning me. “You are a mean and worthless bastard, Zennor. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Well you didn’t,” he said. Then fired as I jumped at him.

The bullet must have
missed but the explosion deafened me. I fell and he kicked me again. Then the room was full of MPs all trying to stomp on me at once.

“Enough!” Zennor shouted and boots fell away. I was on all fours, looking up at him through a haze of blood. “Clean him up, fresh uniform, same for the other one. Trial in two hours.”

I must have been punchy from the kicking because I was only vaguely aware of
being worked on, of Morton reappearing, of time oozing by. I finally came back almost to reality when I found him pulling off my shirt.

“Let go. I can do it myself.” I blinked at the fresh uniform on the chair, at Morton uniformed and crisp and a private once again. My new-old rank as well I saw. I dropped the bloody shirt on the floor, then pulled off my boots so I could take off the trousers
as well.

Boots. Boots? Boots!

I tried not to smirk or let on in case the place was bugged. “You know about the trial?” Morton nodded glumly. “How much more time do we have?” “About an hour.”

As I talked I slid my fingers into my right boot and flipped open the tiny compartment concealed in the heel. An hour. We would be long gone by that time! I tried not to let my newfound glee show on my
face. Slip out the lockpick, slip open the door, slip out into the hall, and vanish into military anonymity.

Except the lockpick was no longer there …

“Zennor gave me a funny message for you,” Morton said. “He told me to wait until you took off your shoes then I was to tell you that you were not going to get out that way. I don’t know what it means—but he said you would know.”

“I know, I know,”
I said wearily, and finished changing. It takes a crook to catch a crook, and that crook Zennor obviously knew all about lockpicks.

They came for us an hour later. I’ll say this much, they made a great military show of it with much crashing of polished weapons, shouting of orders, thudding of bootheels. Neither Morton nor I wished to play along with this militaristic tomfoolery but had little
choice since we were chained and dragged. Down the hall, down the stairs and into the street beyond. With more crashing and shouting we were hauled up onto a newly constructed platform that was apparently going to be the venue of the show trial. Complete with guards, judges, barred cell, buglers—and a large crowd of watching civilians below. Obviously brought there by force since they were still
ringed by armed soldiers. A half dozen of them were also seated on the platform as well. All grayheaded or bald and among them I recognized Stirner from the generating plant. As soon as he saw me being locked in the cage he stood and walked over.

“What are they doing to you, captain? We understand none of this …”

“You are talking Esperanto!” I gaped.

“Yes. One of our leading linguists found
this interesting language in his library. A number of us learned it last night since there have been communication problems with—”

“Seat that man at once!” Zennor ordered from the bench where he was, of course, the head judge. Military justice.

“I can’t believe that this is happening!” Stirner said as he was hurried back to his chair.

Though he and his companions tried to protest they were
silenced by the blare of bugles and the dreary evidence of the mock trial. I pretended to fall asleep but was kicked awake. Morton stared vacantly into space. I really did doze off during the summing up, I still did not feel that good, and only paid any attention when we were both dragged to our feet. Zennor was speaking.

“… evidence given against you. It is therefore the judgment of this court
that you be taken from here to a place of detention and there be held until oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow from whence you will be taken to a place of execution where you will be shot. Take them away.”

“Some justice!” I shouted. “I haven’t been allowed to say a word during this farce of a trial. I wish to make a statement now.”

“Silence the prisoner.”

A hairy hand was pressed over my mouth,
then replaced by a cloth gag. Morton was treated the same way although he seemed barely conscious of what is happening. Zennor waved over the translator with the microphone.

“Tell them to listen to a very important announcement,” he said. The amplified translation boomed over the crowd, which listened in silence.

“I have brought you people here since there has been willful disobedience on the
part of too many of you. This will change. You have watched Nevenkebla justice taking place. These two prisoners have been found guilty of a number of criminal charges. The penalty for being found guilty of these charges is death. They will die at eight tomorrow morning. Do you understand this?”

A murmur went through the listening crowd and Stirner stood up. The guards reached for him but Zennor
stopped them.

“I am sure I speak for all here,” Stirner said, “when I ask for some explanation. This is all very confusing. And the most confusing part of all is how do these men know about their deaths tomorrow? They do not look ill. Nor do we understand your knowledge of the precise hour of their demise.”

Zennor looked at him with disbelief—then lost his temper.

“Are you people that stupid?
Was this backward planet settled by hereditary morons? These two men are going to die tomorrow because we are going to shoot them with guns. This is a gun!” he screamed, pulling his pistol and firing it into the wooden stand before him. “It fires bullets and they make holes in people and tomorrow guns will kill these two criminals! You people aren’t vegetarians. You butcher animals for food. Tomorrow
we butcher these two men in the same way. Now is that clear enough for you?”

Stirner, white-faced, dropped back into his chair. Zennor grabbed the microphone and his amplified voice rolled over every one.

“They will die and you will watch them die! Then you will understand and you will do as we order and do what we tell you to do. If you disobey you will be as guilty as these two men and you
will be shot like these two men. We will shoot you and kill you and keep on shooting and killing you until the survivors understand us and obey us and do exactly as they are told …”