The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (70 page)

“Vote seconded, motion passed.” They were all horizontal now. I took a good swig of water before I went on.

“The days here
are four times as long as the ones that we are used to. I think that we have had enough of fighting, walking, everything for one day, or a quarter of a day, or whatever. Let’s sleep on it and go on when we are rested.”

My advice was unneeded since eyelids were already closing. I could do no less myself and was drifting off when I realized this was not the world’s greatest idea. I heaved myself,
groaning, to my feet and walked away from the others so my voice would not disturb them.

“Come in Tremearne. Can you read me?”

“Sergeant Naenda here. The Captain is off duty this watch. Should I send for him?”

“Not if you are sitting in for him—and you have the satellite observations handy and up-to-date.”

“Affirmative.”

“Well keep looking at them. We’re taking a sleep break
now and I would
like it to be undisturbed. If you see anyone or anything creeping up on us—give a shout.”
“Will do. Nighty-night.”

Nighty-night! What were the armed forces coming to? I stumbled back to my companions and emulated their fine example. I had no trouble at all in falling asleep.

It was waking up that was difficult. Some hours had slipped by because when I blinked blearily up at the sky I saw that
the sun had passed the meridian and was finally slipping down towards the horizon. What had wakened me?

“Attention, Jim diGriz, attention.”

I looked around for the speaker and it took long seconds before I realized that it was Captain Tremearne’s voice I was hearing.

“Wazza?” I said incoherently, still numbed with sleep.

“One of the Fundamentaloid bands is on the move—roughly in your direction.
They should be close enough to see you in about an hour.”

“By which time we should be ready for visitors. Thanks, Cap—over and out.”

My stomach snarled at me and I realized that the concentrated rations had been a little too concentrated. I drank some water to wash the taste of sleep from my mouth, then poked Floyd with my toe. His eyes snapped open and I smiled sweetly.

“You have just volunteered
to go to those bushes over there and get some firewood. It is breakfast time.”

“Right, breakfast, wood, wonderful.” He climbed to his feet, yawned and stretched, scratched at his beard then went off on his mission. I gathered up enough dry grass to make a small pile, then dug the atomic battery out of my pack. It would power our musical equipment for at least a year, so it could spare a few volts
now. I pulled the insulation off the ends of the wires on a short lead, shorted them to produce a
fat snap of sparks, pushed it into the grass. In a moment the grass was burning nicely, crackling and smoking, and ready for the chunks of dry branches that Floyd brought back. When it was good and hot I dropped the polpettone into the glowing ashes.

The rest of the band stirred in their sleep when
the smoke blew their way, but didn’t really wake up until I broke one of the fruits open. The skin was black so I hoped it was done. The rich seasoned fragrance of cooked meat wafted out and everyone was awake in an instant.

“Yum,” I said, chewing on a fragrant morsel. “My thanks to the genetic engineers who dreamed this one up. Gourmet food—and growing on trees. If it weren’t for the inhabitants
this planet would be a paradise.”

After we had dined and were feeling relatively human I made my report to them.

“I’ve been in touch with the eye in the sky. A band of nomads is coming this way. I figured that we should let them do the walking instead of us. Are we now prepared for contact?”

There were quick nods and no hesitant looks I was happy to see. Steengo hefted his ax and glowered.
“Ready as we’ll ever be. I just hope this lot is a bit more friendly than the first bunch.”

“Only one way to find out.” I bit down three times hard. “Where are the Fundamentaloids now?”

“Crossing a bit north of you—beyond those shrubs on the slight rise.”

“Then here we go. Packs on, weapons ready, fingers crossed. Forward!”

We walked slowly up the hill and through the shrubs—and stopped in
our tracks and stared at the herd passing slowly by.

“Sheots,” I said. “The mutant cross between sheep and goats that they told us about.”

“Sheots,” Madonette agreed. “But they didn’t tell us they were so huge! I don’t even come up to their legpits.”

“Indeed,” I agreed. “Something else about them. They’re big enough to ride upon. And if I am not mistaken we have been seen and those three riders
are galloping our way.”

“And waving weapons,” Steengo said grimly. “Here we go again.”

T
hey thundered towards us, swords waving, sharp black hooves kicking up clouds of dust. The sheots had nasty little eyes, wicked, curved horns—and what looked very much like tusks. I couldn’t recall ever seeing a sheep or a goat with tusks, but there is always a first time.

“Stay in line, weapons ready,” I called out, swinging my own sword up. The nearest rider, draped in black, pulled
hard on the reins and his woolly mount skidded to a stop. He frowned down on me from behind his great black beard, spoke in a deep and impressive voice.

“Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword. So it is written.”

“You talking about yourself?” I queried, blade still ready.

“We are men of peace, infidel, but defend our flocks against numberless rustlers.”

He could be telling the
truth; I had to take the chance. I plunged my sword into the dirt and stepped back. But was ready to grab it in an instant.

“We are men of peace as well. But go armed for our own protection in this wicked world.”

He thought about that for a bit, made the decision. He slipped the sword into a leather scabbard, then swung down from his mount. The beast instantly opened its mouth—and those
were
tusks—and tried to bite him. He scarcely noted this, merely balled a fist and got the thing under the jaw with a swift uppercut. Its mouth clacked shut and its eyes crossed for
an instant. It wasn’t too long on brains either, because when its eyes uncrossed it had completely forgotten about him. It said
baa
loudly and began to graze. The rider walked over and stood before me.

“I am Arroz conPollo
and these are my followers. Have you been saved?”

“I am Jim diGriz and this is my band. And I don’t believe in banks.”

“What are banks?”

“Where you save money. Fedha.”

“You misunderstand my meaning, Jim of diGriz. It is your soul that needs saving—not your fedha.”

“An interesting theological point, Arroz of conPollo. We must discuss it in some depth. What do you say we all put the weapons
down and have a good chinwag. Put them away,” I called out.

Arroz signaled his two companions and we all felt a lot better as the swords were sheathed, axes lowered. For the first time he looked away from me to my followers. And gasped, turned pale under his tan, and held his arm before his eyes.

“Unclean,” he moaned, “unclean.”

“Well it is a little hard to have a bath when you’re on the trail,”
I told him. I didn’t add that he wasn’t that spic and span himself.

“Not of the body—of the spirit. Is that not a vessel of corruption among you?”

“Could you spell that out a little more clearly?”

“Is that … person a …
woman?”
He still had his arm across his face.

“The last time I looked she was.” I moved sideways a bit, closer to my sword. “What’s it to you?”

“Her face must be covered to
conceal impurity, her ankles covered lest they promote lust in the hearts of men.”

“This guy is a bit of a weirdo,” Madonette said disgustedly. He yiped.

“And her voice silenced lest it lure the blessed into sin!”

Steengo nodded to Floyd and took the angry girl by the arm, but she shrugged him off. “Jim,” he said. “The bunch of us are going to stroll back among the trees and have a break. See
if you can sort this out.”

“Right.” I watched them leave and when they were out of sight looked back at the three nomads who were emulating their leader, all with their arms raised, as though sniffing their armpits. “It’s safe now. Can we talk about this?”

“Return,” Arroz said to his mates. “I will explain the Law to this stranger. Let the flock graze.”

They trotted off while his own mount
chomped away on the grass. He sat down cross-legged and motioned to me. “Sit. We must talk.”

I sat. But upwind of him because it had been a long time since he or his clothes had been near soap and water. And he talked about unclean! He rooted about under his robe, had a good scratch, then withdrew a book and held it up.

“This book is the font of all wisdom,” he intoned, eyes gleaming.

“That’s
nice. What is it called?”

“The Book. There are no other books. All that men need to know is in here. The distillate of all wisdom.” I thought that it looked pretty thin for that job, but wisely kept my mouth shut. “It was the great Founder, whose name may not be spoken, who had the inspiration to read all of the Holy books of all of the ages, who saw in them the work of the god whose name may
not be spoken, saw which passages were inspired and which were untrue. From all the books He distilled the true Book—then burned all of the others. He went forth into the world and His followers were many. But others were jealous and tried to destroy Him and His followers. That has been
told. And it is told that to avoid this senseless persecution He and His followers came to this world where
they could worship untroubled. That is why I asked—are you unclean? Or do you also follow the Way of the Book?”

“Most interesting. I follow a slightly different way. But my way believes in respecting your way, so don’t worry too much about me.”

He frowned at this and shook an admonitory finger at me. “There is only one Way, only one Book. All who think differently are damned. Now is your chance
to be cleansed for I have shown you the true Way.”

“Thanks a lot—but no thanks.”

He stood up and stabbed an accusatory finger in my direction. “Unclean! Profane! Leave—for you soil me with your presence.”

“Well each to their own opinion. Good-by and good luck with your sheot shearing. May all your fleeces be giant ones. But an indulgence please—before you go would you take a look at this.”
I pulled the photograph of the alien artifact from my pocket and held it out.

“Unclean,” he muttered and put his hand behind his back so he wouldn’t touch it.

“I’m sure it is. I just want to know if you have seen this thing in the picture before.”

“No, never.”

“Been nice talking to you.”

He did not return my friendly wave as he walked over to his mount, kicked it in the leg until it sat down,
climbed aboard and galloped off. I pulled my sword out of the ground and went to join the others. Madonette was still simmering.

“Hypocritical narrow minded bigoted moron.”

“That and a lot more. At least I got one bit of negative information from him. He never saw the artifact. It must have been taken by another one of the tribes.”

“Are we going to have to talk to all of them?”

“Unless you
have any better ideas. And nineteen days to go.

“I don’t trust him,” Madonette said. “And don’t sneer and say female intuition. Aren’t these the same kind as the bunch that attacked the archeologists’ ship?”

“You’re right—and isn’t that the clatter of hundreds of hooves coming this way?”

“It is!” Floyd shouted, pointing. “What do we do—run?”

“No! Out of the trees and onto the plain. Instruments
at the ready. We are going to give these guys a concert that they will never forget!”

Arroz had gone back to rally the troops and at least thirty of them, with plenty of sword waving and maniac baaing, came charging down. I turned the amplification on the sound up until it would not go any higher.

“Earplugs in, get ready, on the count of three we give them old number thirteen, ‘The Rockets Go
Rumbling On.’ One; two …

On the count of three the explosion of unbearable sound blasted out. The lead riders were tossed to the ground as the sheots recoiled in fear. I flipped some smoke bombs among them, just to keep the action going, and hit them with heliographed lightning volts.

It was pretty good. Before we got to the second chorus the stampede was over, the last terrorized sheots galloped
away out of sight. The last black-robed Fundamentaloid crawled over the horizon, the trampled grass dotted with discarded swords, gobbets of fleece and myriad eightballs of dung.

“Victory is ours!” I whooped happily.

And only nineteen days to go I thought depressedly. This just would not do. I had the awful feeling that we could spend nineteen days or nineteen weeks stumbling about this planet
and be no wiser about the alien artifact we were seeking.
There had to be a change of plan—and now! I walked away from the others, then bit down three times, so hard that I almost cracked a tooth.

“Captain Tremearne here.”

“And dismal Jim diGriz on this end. Have you been following all this?”

“Yes, and watching. I heard you ask him to identify the photograph. I assume that he did not.”

“You
assume right, distant and disembodied voice. Now listen, there has got to be a change of plan. When I came up with the idea for this present operation I assumed that there was some kind of imitation of civilization on this dismal world. Where we could stroll from gig to gig and do our snooping at the same time. I was wrong.”

“I regret that all the facts were not supplied to you at the time. But
as you are now aware there is a complete ban on information being circulated about this particular planet.”

“I know that now—and it won’t wash. We would have been a lot better if we came here disguised as a squad of combat marines. So far every bunch we have met has tried to kill us. The whole thing is that hardnosed Admiral Benbow’s fault. He lied to me about what we would find here. Right?”