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Authors: Harry Harrison

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BOOK: The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell
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“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.
A HEAVY TROPICAL RAIN WAS falling, lit by sudden flashes of lightning; thunder rumbled. The Church of the Seekers of the Way was blurred, its outline barely visible through the wet glass. The image from the camera was clear enough, but standing at the window I could see little or nothing. Sybil had been inside the building with Slakey for over an hour. The room was closing in on me.
“I'm going out,” I said, pulling on a billed cap with the logo
Cocaine-Cola
spelled out on the front.
“You'll get soaked,” Bolivar said.
“It'll look suspicious if you lurk about near the church,” James added. I twisted my lip in a sneer.
“Thanks for the solicitude—but your old Dad is not quite senile yet. This cap hot only advertises a repulsive drink, it also contains a hydro-repeller field—and I was lurking unseen near churches before you were born.”
When they didn't even smile at my strained witticism I knew that they were as uptight as I was. I needed the air.
The hotel lobby was empty—of human life that is. The man-agerbot bowed and dry-wiped its gloved hands for me. The
doormanbot pulled open the door as I approached and drops of rain blew in dotting its metal features.
“A filthy night, sir,” it smarmed. “But it will be a sunny day for sure tomorrow, begorra.”
“Is that what you are programmed to say whenever it rains?” I snarled.
“Yes, sir, a filthy night, sir, but it will be a sunny day for sure tomorrow, begorra.”
My nerves must be going if I was trying to have a conversation with a mindless robot. I went out, bone-dry of course as the electrostatic field repelled the raindrops.
Angelina
… .
The pain in my chest, my throat, was real. I had been putting all thought of her out of mind—or I wouldn't have been able to function. But she was there at the edge of my consciousness all of the time. I let her in for the moment, relished the memory. Remembering how many times she had saved my life; keeping weapons tucked in with the twins in their baby carriage had been most important more than once. With what joy we had held up banks, relished the excitement—not to mention the money. And the way we saved the universe together, defeating all of those slimy monsters! Memories, memories. We had had our low moments, but at this moment I wanted to be like the inscription on the sundial. And record only the sunny hours. And the fun … .
I cut off this train of thought. Feeling sorry would not help—only action could get her back. That was why I was here, the boys as well, and this was the reason why Sybil was possibly risking her life. This was going to work. It had to work.
My walk was not without a purpose; I had seen a cafe just across the square from the Church of the Seekers of the Way. It had a row of tables outside protected by an awning. And a hydro-repeller field as well I realized as I entered; this field and mine flickered with glints of light where they interacted. I touched the brim of my cap and turned mine off, sat at a table with a clear view of the church.
“Welcome, welcome, sir or madam,” the table candle said as its wick flickered and lit up.
“Sir, not madam.”
“How can we be of service … sir not madam?”
The world was full of moronic robots and computers tonight.
“Bring beer. Big, cold.”
“Delighted to be of service, sir not madam.”
The table vibrated, then a hatch slid back and the beer emerged. I reached for it but could not lift it.
“Two kropotniks, fifty,” a colder mechanical voice said. I pushed three coins into the slot and the clamp on the glass was released. “Thank you for the tip,” the voice said, keeping my change. I drowned my incipient growl with a swig of beer.
The rain lashed down on the square, thunder rumbled in the distance. An occasional car swished by; the door to the Church of the Seekers of the Way remained closed. The beer was flat. I waited.
Time passed. I finished the first beer and ordered another one.
“Two kropotniks, seventy,” the table said.
“Why? The last beer was two fifty.”
“That was during the happy hour. Pay.”
I fed in the exact amount this time and the glass was released. “Cheapskate,” the computer muttered and emitted an electronic raspberry.
The rain finally slackened, stopped, and one of Vulkann's three moons appeared briefly through a gap in the clouds. Then there was flicker of movement across the way and three women emerged from the church. They talked together for a moment before separating. Sybil came towards me and I felt a certain relaxation; at least she was safe. She did not look at me but must have been aware of my presence because she turned and entered the cafe. I took a few minutes to sip my beer. She did not appear to have been followed. I finished my drink, put the glass down and went inside.
She was in one of the rear booths with a cocktail glass before her; she nodded slightly and I went to join her. She took a large swallow, then a second one—and sighed.
“Jim, that was an experience I find difficult to describe. There were three of us and we joined Father Marablis—or Slakey—I'm beginning to be unsure of a lot of things. There were no machines that I could see. He talked to us for a bit then touched his hand to my forehead. Something happened. I can't tell you what. I didn't black out or anything like that. I can only repeat what Vivilia VonBrun said—it was indescribable. But I can clearly remember what happened next. We were walking through a field of very short grass, following Marablis. He stopped and pointed upwards and at the same moment I heard the sound of chimes, most distinctly. He was pointing to a white cloud that drifted towards us. The chimes, the music, was coming from the cloud and when I heard it I felt, well, an elation of some kind. Some sort of spiritual upwelling. Then—and don't laugh—I swear I saw a little flying creature behind the cloud. Just a glimpse.”
“A bird?”
“No … a tiny pink baby with little wings on its shoulders. Then it was gone and it was over.”
“Just like that?”
“I—I just don't know. I remember that Marablis touched my arm, turning me, and I was back in that room in the church again along with the other women. I felt, well just sad, as though I had lost something very precious.”
There was little I could say. She had a distant look in her eyes, looking at something I could not see. A tear ran down her cheek and she sniffed, wiped at it and smiled.
“Sorry. I'm not being much help. I know it has to be a con of some kind. I don't believe in day trips to Heaven. But something
did
happen to me. My emotions, they are real.”
“I believe you. But there are, well, drugs that can affect the emotions directly.”
“I know that. But still …” She stood and smoothed down her dress, touched a finger to the brooch. “Instead of listening
to me blathering on let's take a look at this recording.”
“You've done a great job. Thank you.” .
The twins had seen us in the street and had the door open as we came down the hall. I heard Sybil telling them about the experience, basically just what she had told me. But she was much more in control of herself now and beginning to get angry at being got to in some way. By the time she had finished her story I had the piece of electronic jewelry clamped into the activation module. The screen lit up with a view of the church moving closer.
The pictures were silent and so were we as we watched her meet the other two women. They talked, then turned to face Slakey when he entered. He was certainly in his Father Marablis mode, brown cassock and unctuous gestures; I was rather glad I couldn't hear what he was saying.
“Up to this point I remember everything,” Sybil said. “He is telling us about the joys to come and, see his hand, collecting a few extra checks for the pleasure of our outing. There, that part is done. Here we go.”
Slakey must have said something for they all turned and walked after him. The screen went black.
“Is the recorder broken?” Bolivar asked.
“I doubt it.” I fast-forwarded the machine and the image reappeared.
“We are back in the room,” Sybil said. “Without a record of what I saw. I'm so sorry.”
“Don't be.” I ran a quick analytical probe. “You did everything that you could. So did the recorder. It worked fine—but there just is no record. I don't know why or how this happened. The electronics appear to have been operating but they, well, just didn't record anything.” I scowled at the machine. “And I do not believe in miracles.”
“No one's thinking about miracles,” James said. “We're thinking technology. Whatever field of force or electronic pervasion created the Heaven trip, well, could it have interfered with the recording?”
“Pretty obviously,” I said.
“1 have an idea,” Bolivar said. “This was a good try—but it just did not work out. Next step. We need a long look around that place. You will remember that there was some kind of machinery that was blown up in the first church. I would like to see if there are any of the same kind of gadgets here …”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I don't mean no let's not do it. I mean no you don't do it. Because I do this particular job.” I raised my hand to quiet their protests. “I say that not because I am older and wiser, which is true, but because I have had much more experience at this sort of thing. Bolivar, I wouldn't think of making high-profit high-risk investments if you were there to do it for me. After watching that last karate tournament I wouldn't dare face up to your brother in an even fight. It has always been the age of the specialist. Do any of you believe that you can do an unseen breaking and entering and searching job better than I can?” Silence was my only answer. “Thank you,” I said—with some warmth. “But you will all have to help. This is the plan.”
We had that night and part of the next day to make our preparations. It was going to be a joint effort. The church service for the Seekers of the Way was due to begin at noon. We met for a final rehearsal an hour earlier.
“You first, Sybil,” I said.
“I go in with the others. Talk, act naturally and keep my eyes open. If everything goes as it usually does, then I have only one thing to do. I know that the outer door is always locked before the service begins. So when Father Marablis begins his sermon, I squeeze this.” She held up a tiny wafer of plastic.
“That is a one-shot communicator,” I said. “The battery shorts through the chip, which sends a millisecond-long signal before it burns out. It is undetectable both before and after use. I'll be waiting nearby. As soon as I get the signal I go in through the front door.” I held up a modified lockpick. “Sybil took a close look at the lock—which is a make called Bulldog-Bowser. I know it well and it is very easy to open. James, you're next.”
“I'll be driving the delivery van, a rental with new identification numbers and fake signs. When Dad goes through the door I drive around and park in front of the church. Bolivar.”
“I'm inside the van with passive tracking equipment, magnetometer and heat detectors. I should be able to follow people moving inside. I also have a warning alarm receiver.”
I nodded. “Which I can activate in one of four ways in case of emergency. Bite hard on my back tooth, tap one toe quickly two times or pull off the top button of my shirt.”
“That's only three,” Sybil said.
“The fourth I have no control over. It will be activated if—my heart stops. Should the alarm go off, the boys break their way in with all guns firing. Any remarks or questions?”
“Stun grenades and blackout gas as well as the guns,” James said.
That was it. We had some tall and nonalcoholic drinks and discussed the Vulkann weather. After a time Sybil looked at her watch, stood and went out. We followed.
I waited out of sight around the corner, apparently looking at the gaudy items in a tourist shop window while I patted, one by one, the various lumps in my clothes; weapons, detectors, tools, alarms, that sort of thing. I had no idea of what I would find inside the church so I had visited a number of electronic stores and stacked up on everything I could or might possibly need.
The phone taped behind my ear clicked sharply. I turned about, strolled around the corner and up the two steps to the church door. My left hand on the knob concealed the rapid twisting of the lockpick with my right. It was as fast as turning a key; I do have some experience at this sort of thing. The door opened and I went through without breaking pace. Closed and relocked it behind me.
I was in a dimly lit vestibule with draperies covering the far side. I parted them a hairsbreadth and looked through. Father Slakey-Marablis was behind a high lectern and in full throat, unctuous vapidities washed over the attentive audience below.
BOOK: The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell
5.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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