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Authors: Harry Harrison

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BOOK: The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell
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I sighed happily. Some might have called this braggadocio, but I saw it as simply speaking the truth. In this family we do not condone false modesty. “You do that. Meanwhile I'll fire up the family car.”
An expression empty of meaning since this healthy planet had what was probably the most rigidly enforced clean air act in the galaxy. You would probably get clapped in jail for even thinking about an infernal combustion engine. Vehicles were powered by atomic or electric batteries. Or, like our luxurious Spreadeagle, they ran on the energy stored in a flywheel. It plugged into the electricity supply at night and the motor was run up to speed. During the day the motor became a generator and the spinning wheel generated electricity for the driving wheels. All six of them. A heavy flywheel made for a big car—I had stinted on nothing. The robot driver tooled the thing out of the garage when I whistled, nodding his plastic head and smiling inanely. The gold plated door to the passenger compartment lifted heavenward while soft, welcoming music played.
I sat on the divan and the television came on. It was a news program with no news I wanted to hear. “Sports,” I said and a high speed balloon race replaced it. The bar served me a glass of champagne just as James appeared.
“Wow!” he admired. “Real gold?”
“Of course. As well as diamond headlamps and a prescription windshield. No expense spared.”
“Where to?” he asked, sipping his drink.
“Vivilia VonBrun is first on the list. On anyone's list I imagine. Incredibly rich, desirably attractive. I phoned and she awaits our pleasure.”
She swept out to greet us, smiling compassionately. She had permitted a tiny rim of red to remain around her gorgeous eyes, to express her unhappiness at recent events. Which of course had been described in gruesome detail by the news programs. She was wearing something diaphanous and gray, which revealed enticing glimpses of tanned skin when she moved. She
looked too good to be true, twenty-five years old, going on twenty-six maybe, and she was. Too good to be true, that is. I didn't dare think of her real age; the number was too large. She extended a delicate hand to me; I took it and kissed it lightly about the knuckles.
“Poor, dear Jim,” she sighed. “Such a tragedy.”
“It will all end well. May I present my son, James.”
“What a
dear
man. How nice of you to come. My husband, Waldo, is away on one of those boring hunting things, blowing up wild animals. So if you need a place to stay …”
Vivilia wasted no time. While Waldo was destroying robot predators she was doing a little predation herself. And she was probably old enough to be James's great-great-grandmother. Which meant she certainly had some experience—I put the thought from me and got to work.
“Vivilia, you can help us find Angelina. You are going to tell us everything you know about the Temple of Eternal Truth.”
“You are
so
forceful, Jimmy. I'm sure that your son takes after …”
“Facts first, lust later,” I snapped.
“Coarse but to the point,” she smiled, uninsultable. “I'll tell you
everything
that I know.”
Enjoyable as that prospect was it would have taken far too long. I kept her memoirs to the point. A very interesting point as it turned out to be.
With boredom at Olympic intensity on Lussuoso, sports, escapism and cult religions were going concerns. Master Fanyimadu had begun to appear at various soirees and parties, his fascinating beliefs excelled only by the intensity of his gaze. Ladies of leisure looked in on the Temple of Eternal Truth and most went back a second time. It was easy to see why. Vivilia explained.
“It wasn't so much the consolation of his religion as the positive promise of eternal bliss. Not that he doesn't preach a good sermon, mind you, better than TV any day. It is what his sermons
are all about. He tells you that if one attends often enough and prays with great intensity, as well as donating enthusiastically, one might get a little look-in on Heaven.”
“Heaven?” I asked, trying to remember some rudimentary theology.
“Heaven, of course, you
must
have heard of it? Or perhaps in your religion …”
“Dad's an atheist,” James said. “We all are.”
Vivilia sniffed meaningfully. “Well, I suppose most people are in this age of realism and social equality. But there is a down side to that, to worshiping the nitty-gritty of society. It is boring to be so practical. Therefore you can understand why some of us with more sensitivity search for a higher meaning.”
It was I who sniffed meaningfully this time but she graciously ignored me. “If you had studied more diligently in school and not ignored your Applied Theology class you would know all this already. Heaven is the place where we go after we die and if we have been good, there you will reside in happiness forever. Hell is where you go if you have been bad, to suffer intensely for eternity. I know it sounds very simplistic and illogical. I, as well as lot of the other girls, felt that way when we first heard of Heaven and Hell. But as I said, to add weight and gravitas to Heaven it is possible to visit the place, at least temporarily. So you see, having been there I have lost, shall we say, a certain amount of credulity.”
“Hypnotic suggestion,” I suggested.
“Jimmy, you sounded
just
like Angelina when you said that. She flared her nostrils and snorted lightly in exactly the same way. I told her that I had felt exactly the same way when other of my friends had told me about their Heavenly excursions. But I know hypnotism when I see it—and this was no trance. I can't begin to describe the process of going to Heaven. But I was there, with Master Fanyimadu holding one of my hands and that incredibly stupid Rosebudd holding the other. I don't think she has enough mind to hypnotize. Yet we saw each other in Heaven, experienced the same things. It was simply wonderful and too beautiful to explain in mere words. It was very … inspirational.”
She had the grace to blush when she spoke the word; inspiration not being her usual line of work.
“Had Angelina been to Heaven?” I asked. “She never mentioned anything about it to me.”
“I know nothing about that. I would
never
think of snooping into another person's personal secrets.”
She ignored my lifted eyebrow at this preposterous statement. Nor would she go into any more detail. Saying that if we had the faith we would see Heaven for ourselves. She was very determined and sure of that; a rock of belief. It was only after she had changed the subject and taken James by the arm to show him the house I knew that I at least had worn out my welcome. She was reluctant to let him leave, but a provident call from Bolivar from the spaceport supplied an inescapable reason to escape.
As we drove towards the spaceport I found myself scowling as I grew more and more angry.
“Rrrrr …” I finally said.
“That was a pretty fair growl, Dad. You wouldn't care to expand upon it?”
“I would—and I shall! I'm angry, James—and growing angrier by the minute. There are a lot mysteries here—but one thing is not mysterious at all. This con man and his fake church are raising the wrath in me.”
“I thought you had a soft spot for cons and scams?”
“I do—but only when it comes to bilking the filthy rich. I don't con widows or orphans or those who can't afford it. And I work for money. Good old green, the folding and golden stuff …”
“I get you now,” James said, his angry scowl matching mine. “You're for a good clean con, taking money from the rich and giving it to the slightly less rich. Namely you. But no one gets hurt in the process.”
“Exactly! There is money involved in this con, sure, but there is also belief. This fake guru is trampling about where he doesn't belong. In people's beliefs, their most intimate feelings. In the matter of religion it is live and let live, I say. I tell no one
what to believe. I even listen carefully to sincere beliefs, no matter how nutsy they sound. But Slakey-Fanyimadu is playing with fire. Preaching fakery, using machines to con the unsuspecting into believing in an afterlife that in this case can't possibly be true. If Heaven is the place you go after you die—well there is only one way of getting there. Guided tours for a quick inspection are just not in order. What is going on here is very dirty and could be very hurtful as well. If he were showing his unsuspecting marks a real Heaven they would go to, well fine. He would only be depriving them of their money, which is a wonderful and noble thing to do. But he is depriving them of their individuality and their trust. He is lying to them, preying upon their fear of death. When they discover what has been done to them they will be hurt, shattered, emotionally destroyed. Whatever else happens—he must be stopped.”
We growled in unison as we pulled up at the arrivals terminal. Bolivar waved and opened the door. Tanned by UV and still wearing his spacer's gear, we brought him up to date during the drive home. Once in the house I felt a twinge of appetite. I glanced through the autocook menu with little enthusiasm, unadventurously punched up three of my usual aardvark steak and fries. Silently wishing that I had been ordering for four—a banquet of exotica had that been the case.
“Very well done, Dad, you're quite a cook,” Bolivar said pushing away his plate and untouched glass of wine. “It has been dehydrated-rehydrated space rations for far too long. I have been thinking of eating their wrappings, which would probably taste better than their contents. So, time to get down to work …”
At this precise moment as the clock struck the hour, the central computer terminal buzzed, while its screen lit up with Angelina's image.
“I've left this recording for you, Jim,” she said, and my heart, which had leaped up into my throat, settled slowly back to its usual position. “I'm off to church soon, for what promises to be an interesting experience. I don't believe any of the guff
this meandering idiot Fanyimadu has been feeding us—but I do know that something most interesting is happening. Physical travel of some kind and, I suspect, it may be offplanet. I can't tell you more right now since I am going mostly on guesswork and, don't laugh, intuition. It will be dangerous, but I'm going prepared. So if you lose track of me for a bit-don't lose hope. Bye.”
She blew a kiss in my direction and the recording clicked off.
“Did she say offplanet?” Bolivar asked. I nodded. “Let's play it again.”
We did. And when it ended a second time my mind was made up. “She said offplanet-and she meant it. Any ideas?”
“Plenty,” Bolivar said. “Let us forget Slakey, as you suggested, Dad. The police can search the police files without our help. But this recording tells us things they don't know. Offplanet covers a lot of space—and so will we. We must start searching the galactic records. We have to find this Temple of Eternal Truth when it surfaces again—under any other name or guise. We list the characteristics it must have and get our search agencies to digging into the records.”
“Exactly so,” I agreed. “We will be looking for the modus operandi.”
“I'm not so great on the old dead languages, Dad,” Bolivar said. “But if you mean we will track down this joker and that nutsy religion I am for it!”
“That's the idea. It may very well have a different name, and different ways of bringing in the suckers—but the operating basis will be the same.”
“What is that?”
“I haven't the slightest idea. You'll have to work it out as you go along.”
“And we search in the past as well as the future,” James said. “There is no reason that this church should be confined to just this one planet, and every reason to believe that it isn't.”
“Too right,” Bolivar agreed. “That goes into the search plan.”
I was proud of my boys. They were taking over, plowing ahead without a moment lost. As for me, I wasn't that rusty an old rat-not yet.
But it was nice to see a couple of shiny young ones sharpening their teeth.
They started at once, putting the search operation into ef fect. Dividing up the planets between them and working out in an ever-expanding sphere of communication and interrogation. I left them to it. Found a cold beer, took it to my study and whistled at my computer terminal to turn it on. I sipped the beer while I surfed through various data bases, zeroing in on Religion. I needed to know more about this Heaven and Hell business. I found what I needed under Eschatology. It was all about future life after death and was all very confusing. Down through the ages there have been a bewildering variety of beliefs held by an even more bewildering variety of social groups. Sometimes future life was seen as a continuation of present life, under more or less favorable conditions. Though at other times retribution for sins or evil deeds made this future life the very opposite of the one we know. I boned up on Heaven and Paradise, then went on to Hell, Hades, and Sheol. All very complex and very much at loggerheads, one religion with the other. Though not all of them. A lot of them were very derivative and borrowed bits and pieces from each other. My head was beginning to ache.
BOOK: The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell
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