The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell

Chapter 16

What I was looking at was, or so it appeared, a normal building site that you would find on any planet. Beyond it were some low, temple—like buildings around a decorative lake. Just near me there was the framework of a half—constructed building, very much like the others. Earthmovers were landscaping around it, riggers swinging a steel beam into place. They were human too, not robots, for I heard one of them shout "Bonega—veldu gin nun." Civilized Esperanto speakers talking about welding the structure. It was all so commonplace that I wondered what it was doing in this paradisical corner of Heaven.

Once I get the curiosity itch, I have to scratch. I stayed under the protective bush and watched the action. I wished, not for the first time, that Coypu could find a way for machines to be taken between the universes. I would dearly love to have had a telescope with me to watch the goings—on. And to take a much closer look at each of the working men on the site, if Slakey was one of them I would have to rethink any plans to investigate fuller on the site.

He didn't seem to be working here. All the builders I could see were lean and young. Though there was one older man in a hard hat, a foreman of some kind. Fairly fat—but he bore no resemblance to any of the Slakeys I had seen.

After a good time had passed I realized that it was pretty boring just lurking here in the shrubbery: I suppressed a yawn. I either had to do something positive or get out of there and do some research in the rubbish dump. But before I could make my mind up it was made up for me.

Older—and—Fatter looked at his watch—then blew loudly on his whistle. Everyone downed tools and turned off engines. At first I thought they were quitting for the day, until the roache coache came trundling up. Familiar from a thousand building sites and factory entrances around the galaxy. Filled with frozen food and armed with microwave. Selection of choice, porcuswine cutlets or deep—fried crustacean limbs, buttons pressed, steaming meal delivered.

The laborers lined up, shouting guttural oaths at one another and producing loud, badinage as workers across the galaxy are wont to do, and received their meals as they were extruded from the delivery slots. Some sat down on the beams and boxes that littered the site. Happily a few of them decided to make a picnic out of the meal and strolled up the slope to sprawl on a patch of grass near me. Not near enough to hear what they were saying though, but close enough to start ideas curdling about in my brain. The fat foreman was one of the picnickers, tucking into a steaming and meaty rib that was big enough to have come from a brontosaurus.

I waited a bit, then rose and—strolled towards them, whistling as I went.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" I said ingratiatingly. And was greeted by a sullen silence and surly scowls.

"Work going well?"

"Who the hell are you?" the foreman said, throwing his rib away and hauling himself to his feet.

"I'm an accountant. Work for the boss."

"For Slakey?"

"I call him Mr. Justin Slakey since he pays the bills. And you would be..

"Grusher. I'm the gaffer here." "My pleasure. Are you the one who reported the shortage in the cement supplies?" "I reported nothing. What's this all about?" He was now eyeing me suspiciously—as were all of them.

"A minor matter…"

"Look bowb, who do you think you are just walking up here and asking questions? I worked for Slakey for years. I hire the roughnecks, chippies, brickies, the whole lot. I order building materials, build what he asks me to build like adding to this fun park here. He never asks questions—just pays the bills I send him. It's a cash deal."

"I don't like this guy," one of the workers growled. A particularly obnoxious one with bulging biceps. "You said there would be no trouble when we signed on, Grusher. Secret location for business reasons. Knocked us out before we came here. Good money and good hours and everything in cash."

"You from the tax people?" another equally ugly worker asked.

"He's the tax man," Bulging Biceps said as he pulled the spud wrench from the loop in his belt.

"Make him welcome," Grusher said, smiling coldly, as they moved in a circle about me. "He's interested in cement—well, we're pouring concrete today. Let's give him a closer lookfrom down inside."

I jumped aside so that the wrench whistled by me, then ducked under a wild punch. I'm good at self—defense—but not this good. Nine, ten to one and all fit and obnoxious. And closing in.

"You're right!" I shouted. "And you're all under arrest for tax invasion. Now go quietly…"

They roared in anger and hurled their muscled forms forward. "Take me home!" I thought. "Now!"

I crashed into the metal panel on the machine, hung there spread—eagled.

"Professor… cut the power.

"Sorry," Coypu said, "I knew I forgot something. Meant to make those adjustments before you came back."

He touched a button and I slumped to the floor, There was an open bottle of beer on his console; I stumbled over and drained it. "What have you discovered?"

"Very little. My heavenly tour was just beginning. There is a suburb of Heaven named Valhalla with a pretty rough crowd and not my idea of heaven. Then there is Paradise, which is still being built. I better keep on looking. So I just popped back for a beer and to let you know what was going on. A little trouble there, nothing to mention. If Angelina should ask about me say that everything is going fine. Now—can you send me back, but not quite to the same spot if you don't mind?"

"Not a problem since I have calibrated the spherical locator during your absence. Would a kilometer laterally do?"

"Fine." I opened the garage door a crack, saw only blue sky and green grass. "This will be great. See you later." I stepped through and felt the sun warm on my back. A light breeze was blowing and wafting some small clouds in my direction, drifting slowly above my head.

There were more of them appearing, some even drifting against the wind which was ominous. One of them floated by in the other direction. It tinkled—and more. Was that laughter coming from it? It drifted along and I drifted after it. Along a path of sorts that had been trodden in the grass. Then, far ahead. I saw a white structure of some kind that topped a distant hill. Another puffy cloud drifted after the first one, chiming pleasantly as well. Follow the path, that seemed obvious. It was made of yellow bricks that wore resiliently soft. A cloud of birds was swirling about above the road ahead. At least I thought that they were birds. I quickly changed my mind about this when I got closer. They were pink and round, with little white wings that were surely too small to support them. They began to look very familiar.

When I had done my religious research about Heaven—and Hell—I had been most taken by the illustrations. It soon became clear that all of the religions of history, while being pretty divisive for the most part, had on the other hand provided plenty of artistic inspiration. Poems and songs, books and paintings, architecture, as well as some strange and interesting sculpture. Somewhere in all those data banks I had seen these pink pirouetters.

They circled ever closer until I stopped and bulged my eyes at them.

They were little, fat, pink babies hovering on hazy wings. All of them had golden curls of hair on their heads and were of indeterminate sex. I say this because they all had what appeared to be wispy lengths of silky cloth about their loins. They fluttered closer until they were circling above my head like a cloud of gnats; I strongly resisted the impulse to leap up and get one by the leg for a closer look. They circled and smiled and laughed aloud with a sound like tiny tinkling bells.

Then they pointed and stirred with excitement for coming towards us was another flock of the same little creatures. The new lot appeared to be carrying guns of some kind; I looked for cover. "Shame, Jim" I said when they had fluttered closer. "You've got a nasty and suspicious mind." They weren't carrying guns but instead were armed with tiny golden harps. They strummed as they flew, swooping into a circling formation with the first lot. I sat down on the yellow brick road to watch. And discovered that the road was warm as well as soft. After an arpeggio of plaintive pluckings, the entire airborne swarm burst into song. It was nice enough, though a little high—pitched for my liking, and sung in an unfamiliar language.

"Die enffuhrung aus dem SeraiIP' one chirrupy lot sang as they swooped away. But another bunch had already fluttered into position to have a go of their own.

"Per queste sue manine, In quale eccessi, mi tradei, un baclo de mano…

This was followed by a song in Esperanto. I could understand it, although I wasn't quite sure what it was about.

"Profunde ii elfosis mm Bele ii masonis mm, Aire Ii konstruis mm. Sed Bil—Auld esrasforirinta.

And so forth. The singing was not bad, at first, but a little too tinkling and twittery for my tastes. They could have done with a couple of good bassos to back them up.

It all finally ended on a high—piercing note that made my teeth hurt. They swirled upward and away.

"Great," I called after them. Then an afterthought. "Is there a good bar or cantina nearby?" Only the sound of high—pitched laughter sounded from above. "Thanks a lot," I muttered sourly. Stood and scuffed down the road trying to ignore my growing thirst. The white building on the hill appeared no closer and the sun was hot on my shoulders. But a turn in the road held out some promise of succor. A little plaid tent of some kind was set up beside the road. Gilt chairs with ornate arms were arrayed on the grass before it. A woman in a white dress sat on one of the chairs sipping from a golden mug.

She smiled broadly at me as I. approached. A rather fixed smile that did not change—nor did her eyes move to follow me. More frosted mugs were on a table in the tent. I took up one, sniffed and tasted it; cold sweet and definitely alcoholic.

"Not bad," I said in my most friendly manner. She did not turn her head or reply. I went and sat in the chair next to hers. A very attractive woman, firm of breast and fair of brow. I was glad that Angelina wasn't here, for the moment at least, and I leaned forward.

"Do you come here often?" I asked, all conversational originality. But at least it did get her attention. She turned her head slowly and fixed her dark and lovely eyes upon me, opened moist red lips. "Is it time to go already?" she husked richly, put her glass down, rose and left.

"Well, Jim—you do have a way with women," I mused and drank my drink. Then blinked quickly as she stepped onto the yellow brick road and vanished. It was quite abrupt and soundless. I walked over and looked but there was no trace of a trapdoor or device of any kind.

"Slakey!" I said, spun about, but I was alone. "Was she here on one of your day tours, a quick look at Heaven then back to the checkbook?" I remembered what Coypu had said about the narcotic gas in the air here; she had really looked stoned, on that and the drink maybe. I put mine down without finishing it.

Refreshed enough, I went on. A twist in the road led through a flowered ravine and I saw that the building on the hill was now closer and clearer. Gracious white marble columns supported a gilded roof. As I came close I saw that stone steps led up from the road. I stopped as they began to move.

"A Heaven—sized escalator," I said, eyeing them with glum suspicion. "You have been observed Jim—or have actuated some concealed switch."

There seemed to be no point in retreating. My presence was known—and after all I was here to investigate. So I did: Stepping gingerly onto the steps that carried me gracefully up to my destination.

A large single room tilled the interior of the building, with blue sky visible between the columns that framed it. A shining marble floor, dust and blemish free, stretched to the throne at the far end. A man sat there, old and plump with white hair, occasionally strumming a chord on the harp he held. If nothing else, Heaven was surely big on harps. A golden halo floated above his head.

As I walked closer, the noble head turned towards me, the halo bobbing and moving with it. He nodded and the lips turned up in a smile.

"Welcome to Heaven, James Bolivar diGriz," he said.

The voice was rich and warm, the profile familiar.

"Professor Slakey, I presume?"