The Stainless Steel Rat

Chapter 16

Because the pounding on the head had only made me groggy, one of them broke a sleep capsule under my nose and that was that for a while. So of course I had no idea of how far we had traveled or where on Freibur I was. They must have given me the antidote because the next thing I saw was a scrawny type with a hypodermic injector in his hand. He was peeling back my eyelid to look and I slapped his hand away.

“Going to torture me before you kill me, swine!” I said, remembering the role I had to play.

“Don’t worry about that,” a deep voice said behind me, “you are among friends. People who can understand your irritation with the present regime.”

This voice wasn’t much like Angelina’s. Neither was the burly, sour-faced owner. The medic slid out and left us alone, and I wondered if the plan had slipped up somewhere. Iron-jaw with the beady eyes had a familiar look—I recognized him as one of the Freiburian nobility. I had memorized the lot and looking at his ugly face I dredged up a mnemonic. A midget painted bright red.

“Rdenrundt—The Count of Rdenrundt,” I said, trying to remember what else I had read about him. “I might believe you were telling me the truth if you weren’t his Highness’s first cousin. I find it hard to consider that you would steal a man from the royal jail for your own purposes…”

“It’s not important what you believe,” he snapped angrily. He had a short fuse and it took him a moment to get his temper back under control. “Villelm may be my cousin—that doesn’t mean I think he is the perfect ruler for our planet. You talked a lot about your claims to higher rank and the fact that you had been cheated. Did you mean that? Or are you just another parlor windbag? Think well before you answer—you may be committing yourself. There may be other people who feel as you do, that there is change in the wind.”

Impulsive, enthusiastic, that was me. Loyal friend and deadly enemy and just solid guts when it came to a fight. Jumping forward I grabbed his hand and pumped it.

“If you are telling me the truth, then you have a man at your side who will go the whole course. If you are lying to me and this is some trick of the King’s—well then. Count, be ready to fight!”

“No need to fight,” he said, extracting his hand with some difficulty from my clutch. “Not between us at least. We have a difficult course ahead of us, and we must learn to rely upon each other.” He cracked his knuckles and looked glumly out the window. “I sincerely hope that I will be able to rely on you. Freibur is a far different world from the one our ancestors ruled. The League has sapped the fight from our people. There are none I can really rely on.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the bunch who took me out of my cell. They seemed to do the job well enough.”

“Muscle!” he spat, and pressed a button on the arm of his chair. “Thugs with heads of solid stone. I can hire all of those I need. What I need are men who can lead—help me to lead Freibur into its rightful future.”

I didn’t mention the man who led the muscle the previous night, the one who had stayed in the corridor. If Rdenrundt wasn’t going to talk about Angelina, I certainly couldn’t bring up the topic. Since he wanted brain not brawn, I decided to give him a little.

“Did you dream up the torn piece of uniform left in the guard’s hand in the prison? That was a good touch.”

His eyes narrowed a bit when he turned to look at me. “You’re quite observant, Bent,” he said.

“A matter of training,” I told him, trying to be both unassuming and positive at the same time. “There was this piece of red cloth with a button in the guard’s hand, like something he had grabbed in a struggle. Yet all of the men I saw were dressed only in black. Perhaps a bit of misdirection…”

“With each passing moment I’m getting happier that you have joined me,” he said, and showed me all of his ragged teeth in an expression he must have thought was a grin. “The Old Duke’s men wear red livery, as you undoubtedly know…”

“And the Old Duke is the strongest supporter of Villelm IX,” I finished for him. “It wouldn’t hurt in the slightest if he had a falling out with the King.”

“Not the slightest,” Rdenrundt echoed, and showed me all of his teeth again. I was beginning to dislike him intensely. If this was the front man Angelina had picked for her operation, then he was undoubtedly the best one for the job on the planet. But he was such a puffed-up crumb, with barely enough imagination to appreciate the ideas Angelina was feeding him. Yet I imagine he had the money and the title—and the ambition—which combination she had to have. Once more I wondered where she was.

Something came in through the door and I recoiled, thinking the war was on. It was only a robot, but it made such a hideous amount of hissing and clanking that I wondered what was wrong with it. The Count ordered the ghastly thing to wheel over the bar, as it turned away I saw what could have been a chimney projecting behind one shoulder. There was the distinct odor of coal smoke in the air.

“Does that robot burn coal—” I gurgled.

“It does,” the Count said, pouring us out a pair of drinks. “It is a perfect example of what is wrong with the Freiburian economy under the gracious rule of Villelm the Incompetent. You don’t see any robots like this in the capital!”

“I should hope not,” I gasped, staring bug-eyed at the trickle of steam escaping from the thing, and the stains of rust and coal dust on its plates. “Of course I’ve been away a long time… things change…”

“They don’t change fast enough! And don’t act galactic-wise with me, Diebstall. I’ve been to Misteldross and seen how the rubes live. You have no robots at all—much less a contraption like this.” He kicked at the thing in sullen anger and it staggered back a bit, valves clicking open as steam pumped into the leg pistons to straighten it up. “Two hundred years come next Grundlovsday we will have been in the League, milked dry and pacified by them—and for what? To provide luxuries for the King in Freiburbad. While out here we get a miserable consignment of a few robot brains and some control circuitry. We have to build the rest of the inefficient monsters ourselves. And out in the real sticks where you come from they think robot is a misspelling of a boat that goes with oars!”

He drained his glass and I made no attempt to explain to him the economics of galactic commerce, planetary prestige, or the multifold levels of intercommunication. This lost planet had been cut off from the mainstream of galactic culture for maybe a thousand years, until contact had been reestablished after the Breakdown. They were being eased back into the culture gradually, without any violent repercussions that might upset the process. Sure, a billion robots could be dumped here tomorrow. What good would that do the economy? It was certainly much better to bring in the control units and let the locals build the things for themselves. If they didn’t like the final product they could improve the design instead of complaining.

The Count of course didn’t see it this way. Angelina had done a nice job at playing upon his prejudices and desires. He was still glaring at the robot when he leaned forward and suddenly tapped a dial on the thing’s side.

“Look at that!” he shouted. “Down to eighty pounds pressure! Next thing you know the thing will be falling on its face and burning the place down. Stoke, you idiot—stoke!!”

A couple of relays closed inside the contraption and the robot clanked and put the tray of glasses down. I took a very long drag on my drink and enjoyed the scene. Trundling over to the fireplace—at a slower pace now I’ll admit—it opened a door in its stomach and flame belched out. Using the coal scoop in the pail it shoveled in a good portion of anthracite and banged the firedoor shut again. Rich black smoke boiled from its chimney. At least it was housebroken and didn’t shake out its grate here.

“Outside, dammit, outside!” the Count shouted, coughing at the same time. The smoke was a little thick. I poured another drink and decided right then that I was going to like Rdenrundt.

I would have liked it a lot better if I could have found Angelina. This whole affair bore every sign of her light touch, yet she was nowhere in sight. I was shown to a room and met some of the officers on the Count’s staff. One of them, Kurt, a youth of noble lineage but no money, showed me around the grounds. The place was a cross between a feudal keep and a small town, with a high wall cutting it off from the city proper. There appeared to be no obvious signs of the Count’s plans, outside of the number of armed retainers who lounged about and practiced uninterestedly in the shooting ranges. It all looked too peaceful to be true—yet I had been brought here. That was no accident. I tried a little delicate questioning and Kurt was frank with his answers. Like a lot of the far-country gentry he bore a grudge against the central authorities, although he would of course never have gotten around to doing anything about it on his own. Somehow he had been recruited and was ready to go along with the plans, all of which were very vague to him. I doubt if he had ever seen a corpse. That he was telling me the truth about everything was obvious when I caught him in his first lie.

We had passed some women and bent a knee, and Kurt had volunteered the advice that they were the wives of two of the other officers.

“And you’re married too?” I asked.

“No. Never had the time, I guess. Now I suppose it’s too late, at least for awhile. When this whole business is over and life is a little more peaceful there’ll be plenty of time to settle down.”

“How right,” I agreed. “What about the Count? Is he married? I’ve been away so many years that it’s hard to keep track of that kind of thing. Wives, children and such.” Without being obvious I was watching him when I asked this, and he gave a little start.

“Well… yes, you might say. I mean the Count was married, but there was an accident, he’s not married now…” His voice tapered away and he drew my attention to something else, happy to leave the topic.

Now if there is one thing that always marks Angelina’s trail it is a corpse or two. It took no great amount of inspiration to connect her with the “accidental” death of the Count’s wife. If the death had been natural Kurt would not have been afraid to talk about it. He didn’t mention the topic again and I made no attempt to pump him. I had my lead. Angelina may not have been in sight—but her spoor was around me on all sides. It was just a matter of time now. As soon as I was able to, I would shake Kurt and hunt up the bullyboys who had spirited me out of the jail. Buy them a few drinks to assure them that there were no hard feelings about the beating they had given me. Then pump them adroitly about the man who had led them.

Angelina made her move first. One of the coal-burning robots came hissing and clanking around with a message. The Count would like to see me. I slicked my hair, tucked in my shirt and reported for duty.

I was pleased to see that the Count was a steady and solitary daytime drinker. In addition, there was very little tobacco in his cigarette; the sweet smoke filled the room. All this meant he was due for early dissolution, and I would not be numbered among his mourners. None of this showed in my expression or attitude of course. I was all flashing eye and hell-cracking attention.

“Is it action, sir? Is that why you sent for me?” I asked.

“Sit down, sit down,” he mumbled, waving me towards a chair. “Relax. Want a cigarette?” He pushed the box towards me and I eyed the thin brown cylinders with distaste.

“Not today, sir. I’m laying off smoking for a while. Sharpening up the old eye. Keeping the old trigger finger limber and ready for action.”

The Count’s mind was occupied elsewhere and I doubt if he heard a word I said. He chewed abstractedly at the inside of his cheek while he looked me up and down. A decision finally struggled up through his half-clotted brain.

“What do you know about the Radebrechen family?” he asked, which is about as exotic a question as I have ever had thrown at me.

“Absolutely nothing,” I answered truthfully. “Should I?”

“No… no…” he answered vaguely, and went back to chewing his cheek. I was getting high just from breathing the air in the room and I wondered how he was feeling.

“Come with me,” he said, pushing over his chair and almost falling on top of it. We plodded through a number of halls deeper into the building, until we came to a door, no different from the ones we had passed, except this one had a guard in front of it—a rough looking brawny type with his arms casually crossed. Just casual enough to let his fingers hang over his pistol grip. He didn’t budge when we came up.

“It’s all right,” the Duke of Rdenrundt said, with what I swear was a peevish tone. “He’s with me.”

“Gotta search him anyway,” the guard said. “Orders.” More and more interesting. Who issued orders the Count couldn’t change—in his own castle? As if I didn’t know. And I recognized the guard’s voice, he was one of the men who had taken me from my prison cell. He searched me quickly and efficiently, then stepped aside. The Count opened the door and I followed him in, trying not to tread on his heels.

One thing about reality—it is always so much superior to theory. I had every reason to believe that Angelina would be here, yet it was still a healthy shock to see her sitting at the table. A kind of electric charge in my spine tingled right up to the roots of my hair. This was a moment I had waited for for a very long time. It took a positive effort to relax and appear indifferent. At least as indifferent as any healthy young male is in front of an attractive package of femininity.

Of course this girl didn’t resemble Angelina very much. Yet I still had no doubt. The face was changed as was the color of the hair. And though the face was a new one it still held the same sweet, angelic quality as the old. Her figure was much the way I remembered it, with perhaps a few slight improvements. Hers was a surface transformation, with no attempt at being as complete as the one I had had done to me.

“This is the Grav Bent Diebstall,” the count said, fixing his hot and smoky little eyes on her. “The man you wanted to see, Engela.” So she was still an angel, though under a different name. That was a bad habit she should watch, only I wasn’t going to tell her. A lot of people have been caught by taking an alias too similar to their old one.

“Why thank you, Cassitor,” she said. Cassitor indeed! I’d look unhappy too if I had to go through life with a handle like Cassitor Rdenrundt. “It was very nice of you to bring Grav Bent here,” she added in the same light and empty voice.

Cassi must have been expecting a warmer welcome because he stood first on one foot and then another and mumbled something which neither of us heard. But Angelina-Engela’s welcome stayed at the same temperature, or perhaps dropped a degree or two as she shuffled some papers on the table in front of her. Even through his fog the Count caught on and went out mumbling something else under his breath that I was pretty sure was one of the shorter and more unwholesome words in the local dialect. We were alone.

“Why did you tell all those lies about being in the Stellar Guard,” she asked in a quiet voice, apparently still busy at the papers. This was my cue to smile sardonically, and flick some imaginary dust from my sleeve.

“Well I certainly couldn’t tell all those nice people what I’ve really been doing all these years I have been away, could I?” I responded with wide-eyed simplicity.

“What were you doing, Bent?” she asked and there wasn’t a trace of any emotion in her voice.

“That’s really my business, isn’t it,” I told her, matching toneless tone for tone. “And while we’re asking questions, I would like to know who you are, and how come you seem to throw more weight around than the great Count Cassitor?” I’m good at playing this kind of guessing game. But Angy was just as good and dragged the conversation back to her own grounds.

“Since I am in the stronger position here, I think you’ll find it wise to answer my questions. Don’t be afraid of shocking me. You would be surprised at the things I know about.”

No, Angelica love, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. But I couldn’t just tell all without a little resistance. “You’re the one behind this revolution idea, aren’t you,” I said as a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” she said, laying her cards on the table so she could see mine.

“Well if you must know then,” I said, “I was smuggling. It is a very interesting occupation if you happen to know what to take where. For a number of years I found it was a most lucrative business. Finally though, a number of governments felt I was giving them unfair competition, since they were the only ones allowed to cheat the public. With the pressure on I returned to my sluggish native land for a period of rest.”

Angel-mine was buying no sealed packages and gave me an exhaustive cross-examination into my smuggling career that showed she had more than a passing knowledge of the field herself. I had of course no trouble answering her questions, since in my day I have turned, many a megacredit in this illegal fashion. The only thing I was afraid of was making it too good, so I described a career of a successful but still young and not too professional operator. All the time I was talking I tried to live the role and believe everything I said. This was a crucial time when I must let drop no hints or mannerisms that might bring Slippery Jim diGriz to her mind. I had to be the local punk who had made good and was still on my way up in the universe.

Mind you—our talk was of course all most casual, and carried on in an atmosphere of passing drinks and lighting cigarettes all designed to relax me enough to make a few slips. I did of course, slipping in a lie or two about my successes that she would catch and credit to boyish enthusiasm. When the chitchat slowed I tried a question of my own.

“Would you mind telling me what a local family named Radebrechen has to do with you?”

“What makes you ask?” she said so calm and coolly.

“Your smiling friend Cassitor Rdenrundt asked me about them before we came here. I told him I knew nothing. What’s their connection with you?”

“They want to kill me,” she said.

“That would be a shame—and a waste,” I told her with my best come-hither grin. She ignored it. “What can I do about it?” I asked, going back to business, since she didn’t seem interested in my masculine attractions.

“I want you to be my bodyguard,” she said, and when I smiled and opened my mouth to speak she went on, “and please spare me any remarks about how it is a body you would like to guard. I get enough of that from Cassitor.”

“All I wanted to say was that I accepted the position,” which was a big lie because I had had some such phrase in mind. It was hard to stay ahead of Angelina and I mustn’t relax for an instant I reminded myself again. “Just tell me about the people who are out to kill you.”

“It seems that Count Rdenrundt was married,” Angelicious said, toying with her glass in a simple, girlish way. “His wife committed suicide in a very stupid and compromising manner. Her family—who are of course the Radebrechen—think I killed her, and want to revenge her supposed murder by killing me in turn. Apparently in this lost corner of Freibur the vendetta still has meaning, and this family of rich morons still subscribe to it.”

All at once the picture was getting clearer. Count Rdenrundt—a born opportunist—aided his noble fortunes by marrying the daughter of this family. This must have worked well enough until Angelina came along. Then the extra wife was in the way, and ignorant of this charming local custom of revenge-killing, Angelina had removed a stumbling stone. Something had gone wrong—probably the Count had bungled, from the look of the man—and now the vendetta was on. And my Angel wanted me to interpose my frail flesh between her and the killers. Apparently she was finding this retarded planet more than she had bargained for. Now was the time for me to be bold.

“Was it suicide?” I asked. “Or did you kill her?”

“Yes, I killed her,” she said. The sparring was over and all our cards were on the table. The decision was up to me.