A Stainless Steel Rat Is Born

Chapter 19

A resplendent figure in a red uniform strode out of the darkness and stood before us twisting a large and elegant set of moustaches. Like someone out of a historic flic, he actually wore a sword, which he held firmly by the hilt. "I'll take everything you two have. Everything. Quickly" Two uniformed men came running up to see that we did as we were told. They were carrying strange-looking guns with large barrels and wooden stocks. Behind us I heard a creaking as the ramp came back down with Captain Garth standing on the end of it. I bent over to pick up the bags. And kept turning-diving at the captain, grabbing him.

There was a loud bang and something whirred by my head and spanged off the ship's hull. The captain swore and swung his fist at me. Couldn't have been better. I stepped inside the blow, grabbed the arm and levered it up into the small of his back. He screeched with pain; a lovely sound. "Let him go," a voice said, and I looked over the captain's trembling shoulder to see that The Bishop was now lying on the ground with the officer's foot on his chest. And his sword was not just for decoration - because the point of it was now pressed to The Bishop's throat.

It was going to be one of those days. I gave the captain's neck a little squeeze with my free hand before I let go. He slithered straight down and his unconscious head bonged nicely on the ramp. I stepped away from him and The Bishop climbed unsteadily to his feet, dusting himself off as he turned to our captor.

"Excuse me, kind sir, but might I humbly ask you the name of this planet on whose soil we stand?" "Spiovente," was the grunted answer.

"Thank you. If you permit, I will help my friend Captain Garth to his feet, for I wish to apologize to him for my young friend's impetuous behavior." No one stopped him as he turned to the captain, who had just regained consciousness.

He lost it again instantly as The Bishop kicked him in the side of the head.

"I am normally not a vindictive man," he said, turning away and digging out his wallet. He handed it to the officer and said, "But just this once I wanted to express my feelings before returning to my normal peaceful self. You understand, of course, why I did that?" "Would have done the same thing myself," the officer said, counting the money. "But the games are over. Don't ever speak to me again or you are dead." He turned away as another man appeared from the darkness with two black metal loops in his hands. The Bishop stood, numb and unresisting, as the man bent and snapped one onto his ankle. I didn't know what the thing was - but I didn't like it. Mine would not be put on that easily.

Yes it would. The muzzle of the gun ground into my back and I made no protest as the thing was snapped into place. The thing-snapper then stood up and looked me in the face, standing so close that his sewer breath washed over me. He was ugly to boot, with a puckered scar that added no improvement to the face. He pushed a sharp finger into my chest as he spoke.

"I am Tars Tukas, servant of our lord the mighty Capo Doccia. But you never call me by name; you always call me 'master'." I started to call him something, something that was quite an improvement on 'master', when he pressed a button a metal box slung from his belt.

Then I was on the ground, trying to shake the red fog of pain from my eyes. The first thing I saw was The Bishop lying before me, groaning in agony. I helped him to his feet; Tars Tukas needn't have done that, not to a man his age. He was grinning a lopsided scarred grin when I turned.

"Who am I?" he asked. I resisted all temptation, for The Bishop's sake if not my own. "Master." "Don't forget, and don't try to run away. There are neural repeaters right around the entire country. If I leave this on for long enough, all your nerves stop working. Forever. Understood?". "Understood, master." "Hand over everything you got on you." I did. Money, papers, coins, keys, watch, the works. He frisked me roughly and seemed satisfied for the moment. "Let's move." A tropical dawn had come quickly and the lights were being turned out. We didn't look back as we followed our new master. The Bishop was having difficulty in walking and I had to help him. Tars Tukas led us to a battered wooden cart that was standing close by. We were waved into the back. We sat on the plank seat and watched while crates were lowered from the cargo hatch of the spacer.

"That was a nice droplock on the captain," I said. "You obviously know something about his planet that I don't. What was the name?" "Spiovente." He spat the word like a curse. "The millstone around the League's neck. That captain has sold us down the river with a vengeance. And he is a smuggler too. There is a complete embargo on contact with this stinking world. Particularly weapons - which I am sure those cases are full of. Spiovente!" Which didn't really tell me very much other than that it was pretty bad. Which I knew already. "You couldn't possibly be a bit more informative about this millstone?" "I blame myself completely for getting you involved in all this. But Captain Garth will pay. If we do nothing else, Jim, we will bring him to justice. We'll get word to the League, somehow." The somehow depressed him even more and he dropped his head wearily onto his hands. I sat in silence, waiting for him to speak in his own good time. He did finally, sitting up, and in the reflected light I saw that the spark was back in his eye.

"Nil carborundum, Jim. Don't let the bastards wear you down. We are landed in a ripe one this time. Spiovente was first contacted by the League over ten years ago. It had been isolated since the Breakdown and had thousands of years to go bad. It is the sort of place that gives crime a bad name - since the criminals are in charge here. The madhouse has been taken over by the madmen. Anarchy rules - no, not true - Spiovente makes anarchy look like a Boy Sprout's picnic. I have made a particular study of this planet's system of government, while working out the stickier bits of my personal philosophy. Here we have something that belongs in the lost dark ages of mankind's rise. It is thoroughly despicable in every way - and there is nothing that the League can do about it, short of launching an invasion. Which would be completely against League philosophy. The strength of the League is also its weakness. No planet or planets can physically attack another planet. Any one that did would face instant destruction by all the others since war has now been declared illegal. The League can only help newly discovered planets, offer advice and aid. It is rumored that there are covert League organizations that work to subvert repulsive societies like this one - but of course this has never been revealed in public. So what we have here is trouble, bad trouble. For Spiovente is a warped mirror image of the civilized worlds. There is no rule of law here - just might. Criminal gangs are led by Capos, the swordman in the fancy uniform, Capo Doccia, he's one of them. Each Capo controls as large a capote as he can. His followers are rewarded with a portion of the loot extracted from the peasantry or from the spoils of war. At the very bottom of this pyramid of crime are the slaves. Us." He pointed to the paincuff on his ankle and thoroughly depressed himself. Me as well.

"Well, we can still look at the bright side," I said with desperation.

"What bright side?" I wondered about that myself as I furiously thought out loud.

"The bright side, yes, there is always a bright side. Like for instance - we are well away from Bit O'Heaven and our problems there. All set for a new start." "At the bottom of the pile? As slaves?" "Correct! From here the only direction we can go is up!" His lips twitched in the slightest smile at this desperate sally and I hurried on.

"For example - they searched us and took away everything we had on us. Every item except one. I still have a little souvenir in my shoe from my trip to jail. This." I held up the lockpick and his smile widened. "And it works - see." I opened my paincuffand showed it to him, then snapped it back into place. "So when we are ready to leave - we leave!" By this time the grin had widened into a full smile. He reached out and seized my shoulder in a grip of true comradeship. "How right you are," he beamed. "We shall be good slaves - for a time. Just long enough to learn the ropes of this society, the chain of command and how to penetrate it, what the sources of wealth are and how to acquire them. As soon as I determine where the chinks are in the structure of society here we shall become rats again. Not stainless steel ones, I am afraid, more of the furry, toothy kind." "A rat by any other name is just as sweet. We will overcome!" We had to leap aside then as the first of the crates was manhandled into the back of the cart, the fabric of its battered structure squeaking and groaning. When the last of the cases was aboard the loaders climbed in themselves. I was glad the light was so bad - I really did not want to look at them too closely. Three scruffy, dirty men, unshaven and dressed in rags. Unwashed too as my twitching nose quickly informed me. Then a fourth man heaved himself up, bigger and nastier than the others, although his garments were in slightly better shape. He glared down at us and I smelled trouble, in addition to the pong.

"You know who I am? I'm the Pusher. This is my bunch and you do what I say. The first thing I say is you, old man, take off that jacket. It'll look better on me than on you." "Thank you for the suggestion, sir," The Bishop answered sweetly. "But I think I shall retain it." I knew what he was doing and I hoped that I was up to it. There was little room to move about in and this thug was twice my size. I had time for one blow, no more, and it had to be a good one.

The brute roared in anger and started climbing over the crates. The terrified slaves scrambled out of his way. I scrambled aside too and he ignored me as he passed. Perfect. He was just clutching at The Bishop when I hit him in the back of the neck with my joined fists. There was a satisfactory thunk and he collapsed on top of the crate.

I turned to the slaves who were watching in wide-eyed silence.

"You just got a new pusher," I told them, and there were quick nods of agreement. I pointed to the nearest one. "What's my name?" "Pusher," he answered instantly. "Just don't turn your back on that one when he comes to." "Will you help me?" His grin exposed blackened, broken teeth. "Won't help you fight. Warn you though if you don't beat us the way he did." "No beating. You all help?" All of them nodded agreement.

"Good. Then your first assignment will be to throw the old pusher out of this cart. I don't want to be too close when he comes to." They did this with enthusiasm, and added a few kicks on their own initiative.

"Thank you, James, I appreciate the help," The Bishop said. "My thinking was that you would probably have to fight him sooner or later, so why not sooner, with myself as distraction. And our rise in this society has begun - for you have already climbed out of the basic slave category. Suffering satellites - what is that?" I looked where he pointed and my eyes popped just as far out as his. It was a machine of some kind, that much was obvious. It was advancing slowly towards us, rattling and clanking and emitting fumes. The operator swivelled it about in front of the cart as his assistant jumped down and joined the two together. There was a jolt and we slowly got underway.

"Look closely, Jim, and remember," he said. "You are seeing something from the dawn of technology, long forgotten and lost in the midst of time. That landcar is powered by steam. It is a steamcar, as I live and breathe. You know, I am beginning to think that I will enjoy it here." I was not as fascinated by neolithic machinery as he was. My thoughts were more on the deposed thug and what would happen when he came after me. I had to learn more about the ground rules - and quickly. I moved back to the other slaves, but before I could open conversation we clattered across a bridge and through a gate in a high wall. The driver of our steam chariot stopped and called out. "Unload those here." In my new persona as Pusher I supervised but did little to help. The last case was just dropped to the ground when one of my slaves called out to me.

"He's coming now - through the gate behind you!" I turned quickly. He was right. The ex-pusher was there, scratched and bloody and red-faced with rage.

He bellowed as he attacked.