The Stainless Steel Rat eBook Collection (57 page)

“Leave it. It won’t be good
news, but since we will have to hear it sometime—better now.”

“Attention!” Zennor said and Morton made a rude noise with his tongue; I waved him to silence. “You all know me, General Zennor of the liberating forces. You know me as a kind and patient man …”

“He is a great fiction writer!”

“Quiet!”

“… a firm leader and a just one. And now the time has come for firmness and justice to be applied.
I have just discovered that a few cowards among the ranks of my loyal troops have been foolish enough to attempt to desert. Desertion is punishable by death …”

“What isn’t in the rotten army!”

“… and I know that none of you out there would want that to happen to foolish and misguided young men. Therefore this announcement. I am extending all passes issued last night for twenty-four hours. They
are good until midnight tonight. No soldier will be punished who returns to the base before midnight. I therefore advise all the people of this city to speak to these misguided youths who are hidden among you. Tell them to return. You know where they are. Go to them. Tell them of this generous offer.”

The fake kindness vanished from his face in an instant as he leaned close to the camera and
snarled.

“Tell them also that my generosity vanishes at midnight! Martial law will then be declared. This city will be sealed. No one will enter or leave it. Then the city will be searched. Block by block, building by building. Any deserter who is then found will be taken prisoner, will be given one bottle of beer and will be allowed to write one letter home. And will then be shot.

“Is that
clear enough? You have this single warning. You have until midnight tonight to return. That is the message I send to the deserters. After that—you are as good as dead—”

I hit the button and turned the set off.

“Pretty depressing,” Morton said, looking pretty depressed. “Turn it back on so we can at least look at the girls.”

I did. But they were long gone and had been replaced by a man with
long hair and an enthusiastic expression who was going on in great detail about the untold joys of IM. I killed the sound.

“You know, Morton, he means us too.”

“Don’t say it! I know. Isn’t there another station with space opera? I need a drink.”

“No you don’t. You need to sit quiet and pull yourself together and help me find a way out of this for all of us. Well, maybe a small drink, a glass
of beer just to get the thoughts rolling.”

“I could not but overhear,” Stirner said, entering with a tray of glasses and bottles. “If you will permit I will join you. The day is warm.”

We clinked and glugged. “Any word from the city?” I asked.

“A good deal of words. All the trains leaving the city have been canceled so there is no way out by train.”

“The roads?”

“Roadblocks on all arteries
leading from the city. Flying machines supported by rotating wings—”

“Choppers.”

“Thank you, I have noted the word. Choppers flying over the countryside between so none may escape that way. All young men who attempt to leave are being detained, even when they are obviously Chojecki citizens who speak only our native tongue. They are imprisoned until their hands have been pressed to a plate on
a machine, that is what has been reported. So far all have been released.”

“Very neat,” I muttered, “and just about foolproof. Fingerprint check. Right through to the base computer. So we can’t get out that way. It will have to be the fields, after dark.”

“Not that I want to cast a note of gloom,” Morton said, gloom-casting. “Choppers, infrared detectors, side-mounted machine guns, death from
the sky …”

“Point taken, Morton. Too dangerous. There must be another way.”

The lecture had finished and once more hearty biking enthusiasts swept across the screen. All males with hairy knees:
Morton grumbled in his throat. Then instantly cheered up as the girls’ club appeared, waving and smiling at the camera.

“Wow!” I shouted, jumping to my feet and running in small circles. “Wow-wow!”

“Down the hall, second door on the left.”

“Shut up, Morton. This is inspiration, not constipation. You see genius at work. You see before you the only man who knows how to get us all safely from the city.”

“How?”

“That’s how,” I said, pointing at the screen. “Stirner—get busy on the phone and the backfence gossip circuit. I want this show on the road by midafternoon. It will take us at least
that long to organize it.”

“Organize what?” Morton cried. “I’m lost. What are you talking about?”

“I think I know,” Stirner said, being quicker on the uptake than Mort. “You are going to leave the city on bicycles. But you will be stopped.”

“No we won’t—because you got the answer only half right. We’ll all be leaving as girls!”

Once the idea had penetrated joy reigned for a bit—then we got
down to work. Since I was doing most of the planning and organizing I was the very last one to actually get involved in the nitty-gritty of personal survival. There was much coming and going. I was vaguely aware when Morton’s bicycle arrived, but then got busy again with the men’s cycle club. I ate a sandwich, drank another beer, and looked up blinking when Morton called to me.

“We’ve got to
leave soon. The first guys are already in the square. Now don’t laugh!”

I fought hard. The fluffy chintz dress wasn’t really him. Nor had shaving his hairy legs made much of an improvement. But the foam-stuffed bra helped, as did the wig. From a distance, sure, but close up the effect was a little disconcerting.

“I think a touch of lipstick is needed.”

“Yeah! Well let’s see how great you look.
Get changing!”

I did. The cute little pleated skirt was green so went nicely with my red hair. I looked into the mirror and sighed. “Jim—you never looked better.”

We parted, thanking our hosts again for their hospitality. Hoping that we would meet again—after the war. Stirner, as stout a biker as he was a hiker, would be our guide. He set off at a good clip and we girls had to push hard to keep
up.

Mark Forer Square was a scene of gay abandon. Or maybe that is not the right word. Better, perhaps, to say that everyone had been dragged there. As we pedaled up the first thing we saw was the Bellegarrique Girls’ Cycle Club. Just like on television, but infinitely more attractive in the flesh. Flesh—some very strange flesh. Because beyond the girls were other girls. Lantern of jaw, thick
of thigh, scowling of mien. Our escaping draftees. Some of them hadn’t been on a bike in years and were wobbling about the square, occasionally falling in a flurry of skirts and guttural oaths.

“Attention!” I shouted, then again until there was a modicum of silence. “Firstly, knock off the cursing. These kind people are risking their lives to help you deserters, so be nice to them. Secondly—if
anyone falls off when we go past the roadblock we all have had it. Some three-wheelers are on the way, plus some bicycles built for two. Sort yourselves out and mount up. We are on schedule.”

“Where are we going?” one of them called out.

“You’ll be told when you get there. Now timing is important. When I say go—we go. And anyone left behind is in the cagal. And cursing is a privilege of rank,”
I added at their cries of protest. “I’m in charge so I’ll curse for all of us until we get clear. Mount up.”

I led the deserter-girls around the square two or three times until they closed up and got it together. Only then did I signal the real girls’ club to go into action. They were beautiful. With a swoop they came down upon us, breaking into two ranks that swept by on both sides, closed up
around us. The leader carried the flag and we followed her with passion. Down the road, smoothly and swiftly.

Towards the roadblock at the junction ahead.

Then around the corner, cutting in front of us girls, came the Veterans’ Cycle Club. Every head gray, or if not gray as bald as a billiard ball. Knotty gnarled legs pumped, ancient tickers ticked. Ahead of us they swooped—and on to the barriers
that had been set up across the road. Some went around them, others dismounted and pulled them aside. The sergeants and officers shouted back, struggled feebly, but an opening appeared. Just as we did. And just wide enough to get through.

Some of our outriding girls peeled off and helped the ancients make the opening wider. Some of them laughed and kissed the officers. Confusion reigned—and through
the confusion, and the opening in the barrier, I led my girls. Silent and sweating and pumping for all they were worth. Through the barrier and down the road and around the bend.

“Keep going!” I shouted hoarsely. “We’re not out of the cagal yet. No one stops until we get to the woods. Go! Go! Last one there is a cagal-kopf!”

We went. Pedaling and cursing and sweating and wobbling—but we went.
Down the road and into the forest, off into the lanes to skid and fall and crash and roll; on the soft green grass.

“Can we not—do that again!” Morton gasped, lying on his back and moaning.

“I don’t know, Mort, I thought it was kind of fun. You ought to get more excercise.”

He sat up and looked where I was looking, and stopped moaning. The real girls’ club had arrived, a symphony of lovely
flesh and flowing movements, tossed hair, flashing eyes. And picnic baskets.

When the first beer was held high a ragged cheer broke out. The army was only a bad memory; freedom was bliss. This was the first day of the rest of their new lives and if it stayed like this—why paradise was here around us.

I joined in the revelry but my heart wasn’t really in it, my smile false. Through some native
perversion, and inability to enjoy pure happiness, all I could think of was Zennor and what repulsive tricks he would be up to when he discovered that about half of his army had vanished for good.

There were groans and cries of protest when I ordered my bevy of enchanting beauties to their feet.

“Knock it off!” I commanded sternly. “We’re still on schedule and if you want to get out of this alive you will obey orders. When I say frog you will jump.”

I waited until the chorus of croaking, and other froglike imitations, had died down before I spoke again.

“We have about another
half-hour of riding to go. And before you groan remember that these sweet young girls, who have risked their lives to save us, must ride with us—then circle all the way back to the city by another road. And lest we forget, let’s hear it for the girls!”

The chorus of yells, thanks, cheers—and not a few kisses rolled out. I had to whistle for attention before it died down.

“Here is the drill.
We are now going to go to a factory that has a railroad siding. A freight train from the north will be arriving when we do. We board and we’re away. There will be no stops until we are far from the city. Now—mount up! Forward—Ho-o!”

There was silence during the ride, because my gallant bikers were feeling the strain. There was some panic when a chopper came swooping up, but I ordered male heads
down—girls to wave and smile. It worked fine and there were no more alarms
after this. As we rounded the last bend to approach the kakalaka factory we heard the wail of the train’s horn. The line of freight cars was just clattering into the siding when we appeared.

“Open the doors!” I ordered. “Get in before another chopper shows up. Take your bikes—they’ll be debited from your future accounts—wave
bye-bye and blow kisses because we are off in one minute.”

I turned to thank Neebe, the gorgeous, brown-limbed redhead who was president of the cycling club, but she was just passing on the club flag to her second-in-command. Then she wheeled her bike toward me, smiling a smile that melted my bike handles.

“May I be very forward, offworlder James diGriz, and force my presence upon you? You have
but to say no and I will go.”

“Glug …!”

“I assume that means yes.” She entered the freight car, propped her bicycle against mine, and sat down daintily upon a bale of hay. “You are very kind. Up until today I have been attending school here in Bellegarrique but now, like everyone else, I am leaving. My home is on a farm in the north in a hamlet named Ling. I have talked with my father and mother,
brothers and sisters, and grandmother, and they would all be honored if you would stay with us for as long as you wished.”

I knew that Morton had been listening because his face went completely green and he began to pout.

“I would be honored, honored. What a wonderful idea!”

She smiled, then her expression changed to one of shock when she saw Morton’s face.

“Is your friend ill?”

“No.” I sighed
with generosity. “It is just that he has no place to go and is hoping that you will invite him too.” “Of course!”

The green tint vanished instantly and he smiled sheepishly. “I accept with gratitude. But just for a short time. Until I can get in touch with a friend of mine named Sharla.”

“Oh, you do remember her,” I said sweetly, and he glared at me as soon as Neebe had turned away.

Once we
began to relax it was a pleasant journey. The roadbed was flat, the train swift. After an hour we knew that we were
well clear of the city and all the enemy lurking there. The hay bales were broken open, the tired ex-girls, using their padded bras for pillows, slept. It was nearly dark when we made the first stop. Hampers of food and drink were loaded aboard and we were away within the minute.
We ate, drank, and fell asleep once again. I awoke to the gentle touch of a soft hand on my shoulder.

“We are here,” Neebe said. “I must awaken your friend.”

Lights were moving by outside the open door as the train squealed to a stop. We climbed down and our bikes were handed after us. Followed by glad cries and shouts of farewell we mounted and followed Neebe down the highway, out of town,
and to the family farm. The road was smooth and easy to see. A magnificent nebula half-filled the sky and bathed us in a cool white light.

“Even if I could go back to Nevenkebla I never would,” Morton panted.

“You have family there.”

“I’ll miss them—but I won’t miss the draft, the army, the military, the intolerance …”