The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (84 page)

I knew that we couldn’t possibly be outdoors, not after all the cave crawling that we had been doing. So this had to be a really giant cavern, with some kind of brilliant light sources above. These people really were independent of the surface—no wonder they hadn’t been spotted before.

Dreadnought led
the way between the rows of corn and we followed. It was hot and dusty, my fatigue was still there—and some species of tiny gnat kept trying to fly up my nose. I sneezed and rubbed and walked into Indefatigable’s solid back when he stopped.

“Hail the Home and Joy in Survival!” he called out.

“Hail, hail and welcome, brave Defender,” a voice answered.

A sweet and high-pitched woman’s voice.

We started forward again and I stepped out from behind my guide’s massive form, rubbing my nose and sniffling. I had a quick glimpse of a woman and three or four children working with hoes. It was a very quick glimpse—for the instant that she saw me she screamed.

“Invasion Day!”

It all happened incredibly fast. The children dived to the ground and she grabbed at the heavy pistol that hung from
a lanyard around her neck. Raised it and began to fire at us.

We all hit the dust faster than the children had. Dreadnought was shouting, the gun was banging, rounds screamed by and exploded among the crops.

“Stop! No! No Invasion! Enough, enough!”

I don’t think she heard him at all. I tried to crawl down through the topsoil while I saw her squeezing and squeezing on the trigger; her eyes round
and terrified, white teeth sunk into her lower lip. The only thing that kept us alive was the fact that the gun kicked hard and the muzzle rode up into the sky, with the last shots vanishing into the zenith.

It ended just as quickly as it had started. The children had disappeared. Indefatigable had grabbed the gun away from her and was patting her on the back as she sobbed hysterically.

“Well
trained,” Dreadnought said approvingly. “Irreproachable is a fine woman, a good mother …”

“And thankfully a rotten shot,” I said. “Would you like to tell us what all that was about?”

“Training. Survival. For lo these many generations. With the galaxy at war we seek only peace. We survive. They will kill themselves, but we will survive!”

He was winding himself up into a rallying speech so I
broke in before he got into full spate.

“Stop! One minute—enough. The galaxy’s wars and the Breakdown ended centuries ago. There is no more war.”

He lowered his clenched fist and sighed; rubbed his knuckle across his nose. “I know. Some of us know. Most won’t face the knowledge—cannot face it. We are too trained for survival and nothing else. Nothing in our programming and our lives has ever
prepared us for a time without war. Without the threat of invasion. Some of us assemble, we talk, make decisions. About the future. We have a leader—I dare not tell you more!”

He broke off as Indefatigable came running back.

“The message has arrived—it is time to leave. The search has widened. If we move now we can stay behind the searchers and get to the meeting place. Quickly!”

We quicklied—and
I was beginning to get very tired of it. The circular staircase had been a lot easier to come down than it was to climb up. Floyd saw my condition and if he hadn’t half dragged me I doubt if I would have been able to make it. Once more into the black tunnels. I was only vaguely aware of our two guides, Floyd and the scuttling form of Fido. The next time we stopped I sagged against the wall.
Enough was enough yet already.

“You will both stay here with Dreadnought,” Indefatigable commanded. “You will be sent for.”

Nor would our watcher answer any questions in the few minutes that we waited. “Proceed,” a voice commanded and we did. Into a dimly lit chamber that appeared glaringly bright to our dark-adapted eyes. A half-dozen young men, garbed like our guides, sat on the other side
of a long table.

“Stand here,” Indefatigable ordered, then joined Dreadnought and sat down with the others.

“No chairs for us?” I asked, but was ignored. Fido felt equally irked, jumped up onto the table and barked. Jumped back to the floor to dodge the swing of a fist.

“Shut up,” one of the men suggested. “We are awaiting orders. We are here, Alphamega.”

They all turned to look at a red box
on the table. It was made of plastic and was featureless except for louvers on one side.

“Are the two Outsiders you told me of present as well?” the box asked. The voice was flat and mechanical and obviously cycled through a speech occulter.

“They are.”

“I speak to you, Outsiders. I have been told that you come here seeking an object taken from you.”

“That is correct, speaking-box.”

“What
is the function of this object?”

“You tell me—you stole it from us.” I was beginning to get teed off at all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

“Your attitude is unacceptable. Answer my question or be punished.”

I took a deep breath—and reined in my temper.

“I’d like that,” Floyd said cheerfully, as fed up as I was with all this nonsense.

Where the discussion would have gone from here would never
be known because at that moment running footsteps sounded and a wild-eyed young man burst into the room.

“Alarm! Watch patrol coming!”

The sound of a number of thudding feet added a note of urgency to his warning. But at least our captors were prepared for the emergency. A door opened in the wall behind them and there was a rush to get through it. The newcomer, who must have known what would
happen, was the last one in the crowd to jump to safety.

The table was in the way. I launched myself across it just in time to have the concealed door slammed in my face. I kicked it but it didn’t budge. I looked at the now silent box.

“Speak up, Alphamega. How do we get out of this?”

The red box crackled—then burst into flame. Melted into a pool of plastic. “Thanks,” I said.

“Any other way
out?” Floyd asked.

“Not that I can see.”

The rapid footsteps were just outside. Before I could dig out a gas bomb the scrum of armed men burst into the room.

Things got busy. Floyd dropped the first three who came through the door while I tackled the next two. Then the going got tough because more and more kept pushing in. Some had body armor, all of them had transparent riot masks attached
to their spiked helmets. They didn’t try to shoot us, but rather enjoyed clubbing us with their guns.

Something hard got me on the back of the head and I staggered and fell. Before they jumped me the last thing I saw was Fido going up the wall like a spider and vanishing in the darkness there. Then I got thudded and had a nice darkness of my own.

“Feeling any better, Jim?” a distant voice said
and I felt something wet and cool on my forehead.

“Shbsha …” I said, or something like that. Chomped my dry mouth and opened my eyes. Floyd’s face swam blurrily into view. I blinked and saw that he was smiling. He put the cold cloth back onto my forehead, which felt very nice.

“You got a bad one on the back of your head,” he said. “They didn’t hit me quite as hard.”

I started to say
Where are
we?
but figured that was a pretty dim question with an obvious answer. I could see a barred door which was hint enough. It hurt when I sat up on the bunk. Floyd handed me a plastic cup of water which I gurgled down and passed back for a refill. I patted my pockets and the seams of my trousers hopefully—but all my concealed weaponry was gone.

“Seen any dogs around lately?”

“Nope.”

So that was
that. Hit on the head. Imprisoned. Deserted by man’s best friend. Somewhere underground so my jaw radio probably wouldn’t work. Just in case I clacked hard and called for attention, but couldn’t even get any static.

“Well—it could be worse,” Floyd said in a repellently cheery fashion. I was about to curse him out when he got just the answer he deserved.

“And it will be. You will be dead,” the
man said from the other side of the barred door. “Instantly. If you attempt to touch me or the Killerbot behind me. Is that clear?”

He was gray-haired, stern-faced, dressed in the same combat fatigues and spiked helmet as everyone else whom we had
seen here. The only difference was that his spike was gold and had stylized wings on it. He moved aside and pointed at the very deadly-looking collection
of mobile military hardware behind him. All guns, clubs, wheels, knives and metal teeth. Teeth for tearing out throats?

I had no intention of finding out. “Follow me,” our captor said, turning and walking away. The cell door clicked and swung open. Floyd and I shuffled out and followed him at a discreet distance. Clanking and rattling, the Killerbot rumbled along behind us.

The hallway, while
being a depressing and drab tone of gray, was at least well lit. At regular intervals were framed photographs—apparently all of the same individual from what I could see as we walked past. Or of a number of scowling military types differing only in the braid and the medals on their camouflage suits.

Our host turned into a doorway that was flanked by studded steel columns. We followed—all too
aware of the clanking apparatus just behind.

“Impressive,” I said, looking around the giant chamber. Black marble floor and walls. A large window looking out onto a military camp filled with flapping flags, marching troops, rows of armor-plated vehicles. Since we were deep underground it was obviously a projection—but a very good one. These militaristic themes were also carried through in the
interior decorations; light fixtures made of aerial bombs, machine-gun flowerpots, draperies assembled from tattered, ancient banners. I found it horribly depressing.

Without looking back our captor marched around the gigantic conference table and sat down in the single, high-backed chair there. With a wave of his hand he indicated the two smaller chairs before us.

“Sit,” he commanded. Behind
us was a clank and rattle, a hiss of escaping steam. We sat.

Something brushed my ankle and I looked down and saw that padded clamps had swung into position to secure my legs; motors whirred and they tightened.

I threw my arms into the air just as clamps from the chair arms swung out and clicked shut on empty air.

“Not wise,” our host said. There was a clank-clank close behind me and what could
only have been a gun-muzzle ground into the back of my neck. The wrist clamps snapped open. I sighed and dropped my arms. I didn’t have to look to know that Floyd had been imprisoned the same way.

“Leave.”

When his master commanded the ambulatory war-machine clanked and rumbled out of the room and I heard the immense doors close.

“I am The Commander,” our captor said, leaning back in his chair
and lighting a large, green cigar.

“Is that your title or your name?” I asked.

“Both,” he said, blowing a ring of blue smoke towards the ceiling. “I have imprisoned you since I do not wish to be attacked—nor do I wish to have anyone or anything present while we talk.” He touched a button on his desk and looked at pulsing purple light. “And now we are secure against eavesdropping.”

“Going to
tell us who all you guys are, what you are doing here and that sort of thing?” I asked.

“Assuredly. We are The Survivalists.”

“I think I heard a reference to your mob before.”

“Undoubtedly. During the years of the Breakdown there were a number of groups with that name. We are the only ones who deserve it since we are the only ones who survive.”

“Survivalists,” Floyd said, and went on as though
reading from a book. “Groups who believed in the inevitability of the coming war, as well as the inability of their own governments to protect them, who then withdrew from society into underground
bunkers equipped with food, water, ammunition and supplies adequate to survive any catastrophe. None survive.”

“Very good—you are quoting from … ?”

“Handbook of Historical Nuts, Cults and Saviors.”

“Very good—except for the title and the last line.
We
survived.”

“A little too well,” I said. “The Breakdown Wars are long gone and the galaxy is at peace now.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Just don’t tell anyone else here.”

“Why not? But let me guess. You want to keep them stupid and in line because you are onto a very good thing. For as long as there is war or the threat of war those in charge
tend to stay in charge. Which, of course, is you.”

“An excellent summation, Jim. Though there are those who are unhappy with the state of things …”

“We’ve met them. Youngsters who perhaps aren’t too happy with the militaristic status quo and war forever. Who perhaps prefer a future in the bosom of their families. That is assuming you do have families?”

“Of course, safe and secure in the residential
caverns. We guard them and protect them—”

“As well as having a generally good time playing soldier and bossing everybody about.”

“Your criticism is becoming tiring.”

He looked quizzically at his cigar ash, then tapped it into the ashtray before him. Which was made from a shell casing of course. Something black stirred at the very edge of my vision but I made no move to look that way. It was
about time Fido made an appearance.

“So what do you want us for?” Floyd asked.

“I thought that was obvious. I want to find out who you are and how much you know about us.”

There was a quick movement from under the table to my chair, out of The Commander’s line of sight. The thing must
have then climbed the back of my chair because Aida’s voice whispered in my ear.

“I have done a voice analysis
of a recording I made during the interrupted meeting. I stripped away the interference of the voice occulter and now know who the speaker who called himself Alphamega is …”

“I already know,” I said.

“Know what?” The Commander said. “What are you saying?”

“Sorry, just speaking my thoughts aloud. My thoughts being that you are playing some kind of complicated game, aren’t you? You called me by
name—and we have never been introduced. Of course if you were present at the meeting of the young dissidents you would know who I was. And now I know who you are.”