The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the Blues

Chapter 14

After the TV intro we played our number, pretty mechanically I must say. Not that our audience noticed, they were too carried away simply by being in the Presence. They swayed and waved their hands in the air and fought to keep silent. But when Iron John joined us in the "Power" chorus they cheered and howled and sang right along with him. When the last power had been overpowered they broke into lusty shouted applause that went on for a long, long time. Iron John smiled beneficently at this and finally stopped it with a raised russet finger. There was instant silence.

"I join you in your enthusiasm for our honored guests. But we must give them time to rest after their strenuous day. We will surely hear them sing for us again. You must remember they are with us now forever. It is their rare privilege to be admitted to Paradise as full citizens, to live until the end of time in our fair land."

More cries of masculine joy. We concealed our overwhelming pleasure at this life sentence and kept our silence as we packed up our instruments and handed them to the waiting servants. Our audience moved out, still throbbing slightly with musical passion.

"A moment please," Iron John said, waiting for the others to leave. When we were alone he touched a button at his side and the tall doors swung silently closed. "A fine song. We all enjoyed it."

"The Stainless Steel Rats aim only to please," I said.

"Wonderful." His smile vanished and he stared at us grimly. "There is one more thing you must do to please me. Your stay here will be a long one and we want you to be happy. You will make us all happy, yourselves included, if you show a certain selection in topics of conversation."

"What do you mean?" I asked — although I had a good notion of what he was leading up to.

"We are very satisfied here. Adjusted and secure. I do not wish to see that security threatened. You gentlemen come to our land from a very troubled outside world. The galaxy is at peace - or so you say. While ignoring the eternal war without end. The conflict of duality that we are free of here. You are the products of a society that is ego destroying instead of being ego building. You suffer from the negativity that blights lives, weakens cultures, sickens even the strongest. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Neither Floyd nor Steengo answered so it was up to me. I nodded.

"We do. Although we might quibble with some of your conclusions the object of your attentions is quite clear. I can promise you that while we are enjoying your hospitality, neither I nor my associates will talk to anyone about the other sex. That is girls, women, females. It is a taboo topic. But, since you raised the issue I assume that you can discuss it…"

"No."

"Right, answer enough. We will therefore enjoy your hospitality and not spoil it."

"You are wise beyond your years, young Jim," he said, and a trace of a smile returned. "Now you must be tired. You will be shown to your quarters."

The doors opened, he turned away. End of interview. We strolled out as nonchalantly as we could. Old Goldy led us out as he had led us in, to some pretty luxurious, although still red brick, quarters. He turned on the TV, checked that the faucets worked in the bathroom, raised and lowered the curtains, then bowed himself out and closed the door. I touched my finger to my lips. Floyd and Steengo waited in twitching silence while I used the detector, borrowed from Tremearne, to sweep the room for bugs. After what we had seen on TV I had a great admiration for the electronics in this place.

"Nothing," I said.

"No women," Steengo said. "And we can't even talk about them."

"I can live with that for awhile," Floyd cut in. "But who was that singing our number?"

"That," I said, "was a very nifty example of some first-class electronic dubbing."

"But where did that joker come from?" Floyd said. "There I am playing right beside him - and I swear that I have never seen him before. Maybe we really did blow baksheesh and this whole planet is a drug-inspired nightmare!"

"Keep cool, keep calm. That guy was nothing but a bunch of electronic bytes and bits. Some really good techs digitalized that entire song, with all of us playing it. Then they animated a computer-generated male singer to follow all of Madonette's movements. Wrote her image out, wrote his in - then re-recorded the whole thing just as if it were going out live. Only with a him instead of a her."

"But why?" Steengo asked, dropping wearily into one of the deep lounges.

"Now you have asked the right question. And the answer is obvious. This side of Paradise is for men only. Not only haven't we seen any women here - but pretty obviously they have been edited out of TV and presumably everything else going. It's a real man's world. And don't say why again because I don't know. You saw how high that wall is when we were on our way here. And we know from views of the thing from space that the city is on both sides of the wall. So the women - if there are any women - might very well be on the other side."

No one said why again but that was the only thing on our minds. I stared at their worried faces and tried to think of something nice. I did. "Madonette," I said.

"What about her?" Steengo asked.

"We've got to tell her what has happened." I stuck my thumb in my ear and addressed my pinkie. "Jim calling Madonette. Are you on-line?"

"Very much so."

"I read you as well," Tremearne said tinnily from my thumbnail.

I outlined the events of the day. Said over and awaited any reaction. Madonette gasped, nor could I blame her, but Tremearne was all business as usual.

"You are doing well on your side of the wall. Is it time for Madonette to check out her side?"

"Not yet, not until we have a few answers to an awful lot of questions."

"Agreed - but only for now. What have you discovered about the artifact?"

"Negative so far. Give us a break, Captain. Don't you think that getting in here, pressing the flesh and doing a gig is enough for one day?" The silence lengthened. "Yes, sir, right you are - it's not enough. One alien artifact coming up. Over and out."

I pulled my finger out of my ear, wiped the earwax off of it, stared gloomily into space.

"How do we find it?" Floyd asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea. I just said that to get Tremearne off my neck."

"I know how we start," Steengo said. I launched a quizzical look in his direction.

"First the MIPSC and now this. Our humble harp player reveals hidden depths." He nodded and smiled.

"All those years laboring for the League perhaps. Didn't the ancient gladhander at the gate tell us that there would be a market at dawn tomorrow?"

"His very words," Floyd said. "But so what? The artifact is long gone from the market."

"Of course. But the merchants aren't. There is a good chance that whoever bought the thing might still be there."

"A genius!" I applauded. "Behind those gray hairs lies even grayer gray matter that knows how to think!"

He nodded acceptance. "I never did enjoy retirement. What's next, boss Jim?"

"Grab Goldy. Show strong interest in the market. Have him lay on a guide to take us there when it opens in the morning…

As though speaking his name had been a summons; bugles sounded, the door opened, our gilt-garbed guardian came in.

"A summons for you, oh lucky ones. Iron John will see you in the Veritorium. Come!"

We went - since we had little choice. For a change Goldy was not in a chatty mood; waving off our queries with a flick of his hand. More corridors, more bricks - and another door. It opened into misty darkness. Stumbling and barking our ankles we made our way to a row of waiting chairs, sat down as instructed. It was even darker when Goldy closed the door behind him as he left.

"I don't like this," Floyd muttered, muttering for all of us.

"Patience," I said for lack of any more intelligent answer, then nervously squeezed my knuckles until they cracked. There was a movement of air in the darkness and a growing glow. Iron John swam into view, a blown-up image really. He pointed at us.

"The experience that you are about to have is vital to your existence. Its memory will sustain you and uplift you and will never be forgotten. I know that you will be ever grateful and I accept your tearful thanks in advance. This is the experience that will change you, develop you, enrich you. Welcome, welcome, to the first day of the rest of your new and fulfilling lives."

As his image faded I coughed to cover the grunt of suspicion that this old bushwah evoked. Never try to con a conman. I settled my rump more comfortably in the chair and prepared to be entertained.

As soon as it started I could see that the holofilm was very professionally made. I appreciated that the young, the gullible - or the just plain stupid - would be very impressed by it. The mist churned, the russet light grew brighter and I was suddenly in the midst of the scene.

The king watched in silence as the group of armed men walked warily into the forest and disappeared from sight among the trees. Outwardly he was patient as he waited, although he reached up and touched his crown from time to time as though reassuring himself that it was still there, that he was still king. A very long time later he stiffened, turned his head and listened as slow footsteps shuffled through the thick leaves below the trees. But no warrior appeared, just the thick and twisted figure of his jester, headdress bobbling, laps moist with flecked saliva.

"What did you see?" the king asked at last.

"Gone, Majesty. All gone. Just lake all of those who have gone before. Vanished among the trees around the lake. None returned."

"None ever return," the king said, sorrow and defeat dragging him down. He stood that way, unknowing, unseeing as a young man appeared and strode towards him; a silent gray dog walked at his side. The jester, jaw agape, spittle pendulous, hacked away as the stranger approached.

"Why do you grieve, oh king?" he asked in a light and clear voice.

"I grieve for there is part of the forest in my kingdom where men do go - but none return. They go in tens and twenties - but none is ever seen again.

"I will go," the young man said, "but I will go alone."

He snapped his fingers and, without another word being spoken, man and dog walked off into the forest. Beneath the trees and pendant mosses, around the hedges and nodding cattails to the edge of a dark pond. The young man stopped to look at it and a hand, sudden and dripping, rose from the water and seized the dog. Pulled it beneath the surface. The ripples died away and the surface was still.

The young man did not cry or flee, just nodded.

"This must be the place," he said.

The darkness faded and light returned. Iron John was gone, the chamber was empty. I looked at Floyd who seemed just as bewildered as I was.

"Did I miss the point somehow?" I asked.

"I feel sorry for the dog," Floyd said. We both looked at Steengo who was nodding thoughtfully.

"That's only the beginning," he said. "You'll understand what is happening when you see the rest."

"You wouldn't like to, maybe, explain just what you are talking about?"

Steengo shook his head in a solemn no. "Later, perhaps. But I don't think I will have to. You will see for yourselves."

"You've seen this holoflick before?" Floyd asked.

"No. But I have read my mythology. It's better that you see the rest before we talk about it."

I started to protest, shut my mouth. Realized that there was no point in probing further. The door opened and our guide reappeared.

"Just the man we are looking for," I said, remembering our earlier decision. "We have heard, from reliable sources, that there is to be an outdoor market at dawn tomorrow."

"Your sources are correct. Tomorrow is the tenth day and that is market day. Always on the tenth day because the nomads remember by marking a finger each day with soot until all fingers are…"

"Right, thanks. I can count to ten without dirty fingers. My fellow musicians and I would like to visit this market - is this possible?"

"You have but to ask, great Jim of The Stainless Steel Rats."

"I've asked. Can someone show us the way in the morning?"

"Tis more fit that you use the Chariots of Fire…"

"I agree, more fit. But more fit that we be fit. Walking is a wonderful exercise."

"Then walk you shall, if that is your desire. An escort will be provided. It is now the hour of dining and a banquet has been prepared in your honor. Will you be so kind as to follow me?"

"Lead on, my friend. As long as it is not polpettone again we are your avid customers."

As we followed him out I discovered that my fingers had a life of their own. Or, more probably, were being twitched into activity by my worried subconscious. They flicked over the computer controls and the glowing numbers appeared before me.

Nineteen and a pulsing red eleven.

Eleven days to go. The morning market had better produce something.