The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell

Chapter 3

Ever cautious, we traveled under new names with new passports; I had dozens of them, all genuine, locked away in the safe. The only equipment we took was a brace of electronic cameras—which I had improved far beyond their manufacturer's wildest dream. I of course had my diamond dress studs, as well as a few bits of jewelry and other innocuous items in a small sealed case.

Our arrival on Vulkann was most dramatic. As we stepped out of the space shuttle, along with a gaggle of brightly tugged tourists, a brass band began to play lustily. Everyone cheeredand cheered even louder when the Corps of Guides marched up before us. Black—booted and high—heeled, skintight and most flimsy bright red uniforms graced their perfectly formed forms. At a barked command they stamped to a halt and broke ranks. Assignments had been made and a most attractive blonde with exquisite freckles on her nose marched up to us and gave a very nice salute.

"Sire Diplodocus and Sons. I greet you. My name is Deveena De Zoftig, but my friends call me Dee."

"We're your friends!"

"Of course. I am your guide and at your service as long as you are on our wonderful world. May I be most informal and call you Jim, James and Bolivar?"

"You may," the twins chorused, their smiles echoing her white—toothed one.

"Wonderful! Be prepared for the holiday of a lifetime."

"We're prepared," they breathed, and the warm radiance of passion flamed from their skins.

"Then this way if you please. Kindly wave your health certificates in the direction of the doctor there, well done. And now to your luggage, which is awaiting you and being carried by that porterbot. Exit through this gate, thank you. The machine in the gate has X—rayed your wallets and verified your credit cards. You will have a lovely and expensive vacation on our planet."

Such honesty was most refreshing and I was beginning to like Vulkann almost as much as the boys liked Dee. I hated to spoil our fun with business—but that was why we were here.

"We need a luxurious hotel," I said.

"We have thousands."

"We would like one that is close to the Church of the Seekers of the Way where we are meeting some friends."

"You are indeed in luck for also located on Grotsky Square is the Rasumofsky Robotic Rest. A fully automated hostelry without a human employee, that is wide open and wonderful both day and night and never closes."

"Suits our needs," I said. "Lead the way."

"Your rooms are ready and waiting," she said as our taxi stopped in front of the hotel.

"Welcome! Welcome!" Irritatingly cheerful bellboybots chimed as they seized our bags.

"These are for you," Dee said, placing a jeweled flower on each of our shirts. "I will leave you now but I will never forget you. You have but to speak my name into your flower and I will return as quickly as I can. I bid you only to enjoy! Enjoy!"

"We will, we will!" we chorused in return and let ourselves be guided to our rooms. Before we went to work I checked for messages back on Lussuoso. Nothing discovered, no trace of Angelina. I had the gut feeling that we were right to take her advice and follow the trail offplanet.

"Nice," Bolivar said as he spun the cutter against the window and removed a neat disc of glass. The glass cutter clicked back and became a pocketknife as he fixed the camera, that was more than a camera, with its lens projecting through the opening. "Now we can not only photograph them as they come and go, but we can get their voices on the record as well."

"Very good," I said, peeking through the viewfinder. I set the controls, and turned it on. "All automatic now."

"Memory?" James asked.

"About ten—thousand hours at a molecular level. More than we are going to need. Now let us get a drink and a meal and some sleep and see what morning will bring."

Morning brought more darkness instead of sunshine since Vulkann had a ten—hour—long day; daylight had come and gone while we slept. The sun was speedily rising again by the time we had finished our breakfast. We looked on unenthusiastically as the servbot cleared away the dishes while the beds made themselves. Since this was an all—robot hotel no notice was taken of our surveillance operations. Across the road the first parishioners were entering the church. None were familiar. By the time the church doors had closed I found myself nibbling my nails: I jumped to my feet.

"I'm going to work out in the gym and have a swim," I announced.

"Be there before you," Bolivar said, hurtling towards the door to his bedroom.

When we entered the pool room and threw aside our towels we were delighted to see that our guide Dee had entered through the other door and had thrown aside her towel as well. Since there is no nudity taboo on Vulkann this was a serious towel—throwing.

"I hope that you are enjoying your visit to our fair world," she said with a broad smile just as lovely as the rest of her.

The answer to that question was obvious. I dived into the pool and swam a number of enthusiastic laps while the twins indulged in enthusiastic conversation with her, for such is the way of youth. I could see the attraction of this, particularly when I came up for breath and paused to admire the scenery.

We met in the gym and the boys worked up a good lather of sublimation since we were here for work, not dalliance. All this mindless exercise cheered us greatly—and kept our thoughts off of the Seekers of the Way. Refreshed, and with lunch holding breakfast down nicely, we trooped back to our rooms. I fast—reran the recording, then played back some of the conversations. Then amplified the images of the parishioners so I could make prints of their faces. Spread them out on the table so we could look at them.

With mutual feelings of glum depression. It was James who spoke for all of us.

"One thing certain—none of us is going to be able to join up and make any investigations inside that church."

"Not without some radical surgery," Bolivar said with a broad smile; we glowered back.

Everyone who had visited the church so far had been a woman. "We need help," I said. "Still in touch with the Special Corps?" James asked.

"There is no escaping them. Though I have not talked to our noble leader, Inskipp, for a long time. Which is all for the best." I glanced at my watch, then bit a few settings and smiled. "Very good news. It is now the middle of the night at Prime Base. I will be forced to wake that dear man up."

His secretary answered first but I knew the code that bypassed its tiny robotic mind. After a number of rings, growing steadily louder since Inskipp was a heavy sleeper, a familiar and angry voice rustled in my ear. "If this isn't a major emergency you are dead, whoever you are," Inskipp growled.

"Jim diGriz here, good friend. Did I awake you?"

"I'm issuing an order now to seize all the assets in your bank accounts. Even the ones you think I don't know about!"

"I need help. Angelina is missing."

"Details," he said, voice calm, threats ended. I told him exactly what had happened. While I was doing this the boys were E—mailing copies of all the files including Angelina's recorded message. He did not waste time in commiseration and was calling in the troops even as I ta1ked. As head of the Special Corps, the most secret of secret forces that defended the peace and protected the galaxy, his powers were awesome. And he knew how to use them. "A cruiser is now on the way to Vulkann. Aboard it is a Special Agent who will be using the name Sybil. Up to this moment she has worked directly for me and for no one else. Now she is under your command. I will add that she is the best agent I have ever had."

"Better than me?" "Everyone is, diGriz, everyone. Report to me when you learn anything." He hung up, and knowing him, was probably already back to sleep. At flank speed a Special Corps cruiser can outrun—or catch—anything else in space. Time still dragged. I kept busy for some hours as I hacked my way into the local police computer network, a terribly simple job. Once this was done we had no trouble discovering the identities of the church—goers that we had photographed. Nor, after cracking into their totally secret bank records, were we surprised to discover that all of them were filthy rich. The Seekers of the Way, like the followers of the Temple of Eternal Truth, were expected to part with a good few credits if they were to get the blessing of the church and peek in at the joys of the hereafter.

We took turns at the monitor screen and tried not to drink too much when we weren't watching it. I had just returned from doing forty laps in the pool when Bolivar jumped to his feet and shouted "Wow!"

James and I cracked our heads together as we jumped to look at the screen.

"Wow is indeed right," I said. "Even double—wow. Not only is he not of the female persuasion but he looks very familiar."

"Starkey—Fanyimadu?"

"None other."

"He has his right hand in his pocket," Bolivar said.

"So would you," James answered with cold lack of compassion, "if your arm ended at the wrist."

As if in reply the subject lifted his right arm to wave to a parishioner. "Pretty good prosthetic," I said.

"And done pretty fast as well," Bolivar added with more than a trace of suspicion in his voice. "First chance I have I would like to shake hands with that particular villain."

Something caught my attention, a movement of air—a sound perhaps. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the hail door, securely locked and bolted, was now standing open. A woman stepped through and closed it behind her.

"I am Sybil," she said in lush contralto. A tall, tanned redhead, poised and beautiful. Her dress was one of those spun diamond creations that were so popular, glinting and shining with an albedo like a searchlight. A woman had to have a perfect figure to wear something so outrageous and skintight. She had it.

The twins turned at the sound of her voice—looked at her in appreciative silence. I appreciated that as well, but appreciated her arrival even more.

"I'm Jim diGriz. These are my sons, Bolivar and James. Have you been briefed?"

"Completely."

"Good. What you don't know is that Slakey is here, in that church across the road."

"And he has a new right hand," Bolivar said. "We're glad you're here." "I'll need to get inside the building as soon as possible. I am sure that you have already found out about the church members while I was on my way here. Which of them have you selected as the best possible contacts?" "There are three strong possibilities," James said, taking the photos and identification from the stack and handing them to her. "All rich, young, or young—looking after rejuvenation, all very social, attending plenty of parties and receptions, so they will be easy to meet,"

"I'll do that now. I'll contact you again after I have become one of the Seekers of the Way."

The door closed behind her and we were all silent for long moments. "Pretty sure of herself," Bolivar finally said. It was a compliment and not a negative observation. "The best agent he ever had—isn't that what Inskipp said?"

I nodded. "May he be right—just this once."

Apparently he was, because three hours later we saw her walk through the carved marble entrance to the church, arm in arm with Maudi Lesplanes. The first name on the list that we bad given her. Almost two hours passed before she emerged from the church. This time we were all staring at the door when it opened and she came in. She looked at us and smiled.

"Would one of you gentlemen mind getting me a drink? Tall, wet and alcoholic if you please."

I stepped aside as the twins rushed the bar. She went to the couch, sat, and signaled me to join her.

"I didn't mean to be brusque earlier, Jim. I was tired and I thought that you would appreciate action before conversation. I'm so sorry about Angelina. I listened to the message that she left for you and I believe, as you do, that she will be found. But not back on Lussuoso. We will find her. I promise."

From anyone else these would have been polite words. But Sybil spoke with an authority that rang true. I wanted very much to believe her.

"For you," my son said, holding out a glass. She took the drink, drank, smiled—and sighed. "Thank you, Bolivar. I needed that." "I have another one—if that's not enough." "Not quite yet, James." "You're sure you're not mixing them up?" I blurted out.

"Impossible to do, as you well know, Jim. I imagine James has always had that tiny scar on his left earlobe."

I blinked. It was almost impossible to see.

"Since I was four years old. Bolivar bit me."

"Believe that and you'll believe anything."

She smiled at both of them. Then turned to me and was serious again; playtime over.

"The service of the Seekers of the Way seems to be a near replica of the one described in the briefing for the Temple of Eternal Truth. Uplifting organ music, a good bit of incense to mask the smell of tylinyne. As you undoubtedly know that is a mild tranquilizing drug. No lasting effects, but it does relax the subjects, makes suggestion much easier. Not that it was much needed since everyone there was very convinced to begin with. The sermon was most inspiring and very strange to hear from a physicist of Slakey's reputation. Heavily mystical, plenty of guff about the hereafter and the good life and good deeds that pave the road to Heaven. After some more music some of the women spoke with great warmth about their visit to Heaven, after which they donated impressive sums for the furthering of the good works. Sounded very much like the recorded statement of Vivilia VonBrun that Jim made."

"Different church, same scam?" I asked. She nodded. "If scam is the right word. These people sound absolutely convinced. I'll know more after I've made the trip myself. Inskipp will scream when he sees how much of his funds I have invested to hurry that day."

"When?" Bolivar asked.

"AS soon as possible without raising Slakey's suspicions. For the record, he is now called Father Marablis. There is another thing about him that I find particularly interesting. Before leaving I made a point of approaching him to gush over his sermon. He liked that. Nor did he mind when, in the heat of the moment, I seized him by the hand, the right hand, and squeezed it with heartfelt emotion."

I leaned forward intently. As did the twins. We did not have to ask the question. She nodded. "A warm human hand—not a prosthetic." "But—" I stammered. "I saw the severed hand. It was positively identified."

"I know. Interesting, isn't it? I look forward to coming events with great anticipation."

The boys stared at her, smitten. Their kind, our kind of person. If anyone could find Angelina she could; I was sure of that now. Two days—and two very large donations—later she was told to prepare for her visit.

"Do I look all right?" she asked, turning slowly. Women only ask that when they know the answer. She was wearing something black, tight, expensive, with matching hat and even more expensive jewelry. "Are you sure that this can't be detected?" she asked, touching the tiny diamond brooch pinned at her throat.

"Only under a microscope—and you would have to know what to look for," I said. "The center diamond is the lens. I usually wear it as a shirt dress stud. I've added the jeweled setting to make it into a more exotic piece of jewelry so that you can wear it. The diamond lens focuses the image onto a series of nanoformed recording molecules that are carried beneath the lens by Brownian movement, which is energized by body heat so there is no detectable power source. Don't worry about the light level since, like the human eye, it can perceive as little as one photon of light energy. What you see, it will see—and record."

"I've never heard of anything like it before." "Nor has your boss, Inskipp," James said proudly. "It's one of Dad's inventions." "However all this turns out you can keep it," I said. "I'll give you the developing and printing module later." "It's the only one in existence," Bolivar said.

"I—I don't quite know how to thank you." The emotion in her voice was not faked, that was certain. She left quickly.

Moments later we saw her stroll across the street and walk through the door of the church.