The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted

Chapter 28

"Do you know where Mark Forer plugs in?" I asked Neebe. She shook her head.

"Not physically. It is just known, understood, that Mark Forer came with us and aided in the design of the city of Bellegarrique. And never left it."

"Well someone has to know." I thought hard, then snapped my fingers. "Our old friend, Stirner, he should have that vital bit of info. One of the top men in the world of electricity. And if he doesn't know he will surely know someone who does know. Do you have any idea of how I can contact him?"

"The telephone is over there."

"Thanks, Neebe, but I don't have his number or the slightest idea where he is staying or anything."

"But no one has a number. And it doesn't matter where he is staying. Just call CD and ask for him."

"CD?"

"Central Directory. Here, I'll get it for you." She tapped the keypad and the screen lit up with NAME, PLEASE? in large letters. Very polite. Very efficient. I tip my hat to the man or machine that wrote this software. I answered four questions and the screen changed to RINGING. The letters faded and Stirner's grim face appeared on the screen. He smiled faintly when he saw me, but he had obviously been watching the broadcast too.

"Ahh, good offplanet friend Jim. I hope that you are well. Can I do you a service?"

"You certainly can, good dynamo supervising friend Stirner, I would like to have a chat with your demigod, Mark Forer."

"A strange choice of terms. I would certainly not refer to it as a demi…"

"Then forget the term. Do you know where Mark Forer is?"

"Of course."

"Will you take me to it?"

"Ahh, now that is a question that needs some thought. Mark Forer's individualism has always been respected, for all the obvious reasons. I do remember reading in the historical records that after this city was founded it did make suggestions and was occasionally consulted. But not lately, not in, hundreds of years at least. I would not go to it myself, but, yes, I feel that I can take you. I respect your individualism just as I respect Mark Forer's. We must each make our own way in this world."

"And I am going to make my way back into the city."

"You must be careful. It will not be easy. The trains have stopped running and citizens are being forcefully stopped from leaving. At last report no one was returning."

"I'll think of something. You are still in the city?"

"Yes."

"Stay near the phone. I'll get there today. I must talk to Mark before Zennor's deadly deadline runs out tomorrow morning. "

I hung up and looked blankly into space. I could see no answers hanging out there. "Any advice, Morton?"

"None that makes any sense. Like being a returned deserter."

"Like you, that idea I considered and rejected. That would just get me back in jail and shot."

"May I make a suggestion?" Neebe said.

"All aid greatly desired."

"I will take you to the city. You will go as my father. We have a wonderful theatre group here in Ling and our makeup department is quite famous. You could be an old man, I could be your daughter and driver. It would be so exciting."

"You're wonderful!" I jumped to my feet and, in a fit of mad enthusiasm, seized her and kissed her. Then I sat down quickly again as the hormones started humming and driving all other thoughts from mind. She was an incredibly bright, lovely, intelligent, beautiful girl and I was just going to have to forget all about that. For the time being. "We better get started."

"My brother will take you to the theatre. I will phone them and arrange what must be done. Then I will make the transportation arrangements. You do not mind if I say that I find this fascinating and exciting as well. I must thank you for letting me help. It is so much more fun than school."

"The thanks are mine. What do you study in school?"

"Vulcanology. I just love the magma and the scoria, then when you go down the fumerole…"

"Yes. You must tell me of those burning pleasures. Later."

"Of course - there is my brother now."

I think that it was a special train that they laid on. Just two cars and no other passengers. Morton looked guilty - but glad as well that he wasn't going back to Bellegarrique. I waved him a stiff goodbye with my cane and climbed shakily aboard. I was ancient and crochety and needed practice. Gray beard, rheumy red eyes, wrinkled like an old boot, they had really done a great job at the theatre. A harness under my clothes had me bent over so far that I was staring down at my wrinkled and liverspotted hands.

The track was straight, the train was fast and there were no stops until we reached our destination. A black vehicle was waiting on the platform when we arrived. The driver got out and held the door open for us.

"You've driven one of these?" he asked.

Neebe nodded. "A two hundred volt Lasher-gnasher. Great fun to drive."

"Indeed they are. I've got her rewed up to thirty-three thousand. More than enough energy for the trip." He pointed to the circular housing between the rear wheels. "The flywheel is in here, electric generator on its shaft. Motor on the front wheels. Clean and nonpolluting."

"And very hard to turn over with that gyroscope down there," I said.

"You've got it. Good luck."

Neebe spun the wheels and I was pushed back into the seat by a large number of G's. We hurtled along the empty road.

"I'll slow down before we reach the roadblock. Isn't this fan! I wonder what the top speed is?"

"Don't… find out!" I croaked as the landscape hurtled by in a blur. "Though I am an old man and have led a full life I don't want to terminate it quite yet!"

She laughed her gorgeous bell-like laugh and slowed to something close to the speed of sound. She obviously knew the road well, all those bicycle outings of course, for suddenly she hit the brakes, slowed to a crawl, then turned the corner just before the barrier across the road.

"What you doing blocking the road like that, you varmints?" I croaked testily out of the window, then shook my cane at the fat captain who was leaning against it picking his teeth. Remnants of hotpup, I hoped.

"Knock off the cagal, Grandpop. Where do you think you're going?"

"Are you as stupid as you look, stupid? Or haven't you heard your supreme commander's orders? City workers to return at once. I am an electrical engineer and if you want light in your latrines and refrigeration for your beer you will open that thing instantly or sooner."

"Don't get your cagal in an uproar, Grandpop," he sneered. But he stepped back and signaled two sergeants to open the barrier. Not a private in sight, I noticed. I hoped the officers enjoyed doing their own work for a change. I shook the cane one last shake as we drove past, then on down the road and around a bend and out of sight. Neebe pulled up at the first phonebox and I leaped arthritically down, "Are you in the city?" Stirner asked. "Just arrived."

"Very good. Then we will meet at the entrance."

"Entrance? What, where?"

"Mark Forer Square, of course. Where else would it be?"

Good question. I had imagined that only the statue was there. I hadn't realized that old Mark itself was in residence. I climbed back into the car and we were off with the usual screech of tires. I pulled off bits of the disguise as we went, starting with the harness. I left the beard on in case there were any patrols around - and there were. "Slow down," I cozened. "Let's not be too suspicious." The sergeant leading the patrol glared at us as we went by. I ignored him but was very impressed by his squad. As they turned the corner the last two slipped into the open door of a building and vanished from sight. So not only weren't the deserters returning - but their ranks were steadily being added to. Great! If this kept up Zennor would soon have an army of only officers and noncoms. You don't win wars with that kind of setup. I saw that we were getting close to our destination so I pulled at the beard and wrinkles and was forty years younger by the time we turned into the square and slid to a stop. Stirner was standing before the statue, looking up at it admiringly. "I wish I were coming with you," he said.

"I as well," Neebe agreed. "It would be wonderfully exciting. But of course we have not been asked so we cannot intrude."

"How do I get in?"

Stirner pointed to a bronze door at the rear of the stone base of the statue. "Through there."

"Got the key?"

They both looked at me with surprise. "Of course not. It's not locked."

"I should have known," I muttered. What a philosophy. Hundreds, thousands of years the door has been here, unlocked, and no one had ever gone through it. I put out my hand and they took it in turn and shook it solemnly. I could understand why. This was a little like saying so long to the head of your local church as he started up the ladder to see God.

The handle was stiff, but turned when I twisted hard. I pulled and the door squeaked slowly open. Steps led down into the ground, a little dusty. Lights came on and I could see that one of the bulbs was burned out. I just hoped that Mark Forer wasn't burned out as well.

I sneezed as my feet disturbed the dust of ages. And it was a long way down. The steps ended in a small chamber with illuminated wiring diagrams on the walls and a large, gold-plated door. Carved into it, and inset with diamonds, were the immortal words "I AM, THEREFORE I THINK". Beneath this was a small sign with red letters that read "PLEASE WIPE FEET BEFORE ENTERING". I did this, on the mat provided, took a deep breath and reached for the handle that appeared to have been carved from a single ruby.

The door swung open on oiled hinges and I went in. A large, well-lit room, dry and air conditioned. Dials and electronic devices covering one wall. And in the middle of the room…

Mark Forer, obviously. Just like in the paintings. Except that plenty of cables and wires ran from it to a nearby collection of apparatus. Its dials glowed with electronic life and a TV pickup swiveled in my direction. I walked over to stand before it and resisted the compelling desire to bow. And just what does one say to an intelligent machine? The silence lengthened and I began to feel ridiculous. I cleared my throat. "Mark Forer, I presume?"

"Of course. Were you expecting someone else… krrk!

The voice was grating and coarse and the words trailed off with a harsh grating sound. At the same time there was a puff of smoke from a panel on the front and a hatch dropped open. My temper snapped.

"Great! Really wonderful. For hundreds of years this electronic know-it-all sits here with the wisdom of the ages locked in its memory banks. Then the second I talk to it it explodes and expires. It is like the punch line of a bad joke…"

There was a rattle from behind and I leaped and turned, dropped into a defensive position. But it was only a little rubber-tired robot bristling with mechanical extensions. It wheeled up in front of Mark and stopped. A claw-tipped arm shot out, plunging into the open panel. It clicked and whirred and withdrew a circuit board which it threw onto the floor. While this was happening another circuit board was emerging from a slot on the robot's upper surface. The grasping claw seized this and delicately slid into the opening before it. Mark's panel snapped shut as the robot spun about and trundled away.

"No," Mark Forer said in a deep and resonant voice, "I did not explode and expire. My voice simulation board did. Shorted out. Been a number of centuries since I last used it. You are the offworlder, James diGriz."

"I am. For a machine in an underground vault you keep up with things pretty well, Mark."

"No problem, Jim - since you appear to enjoy a first name basis. Because all of my input is electronic it really doesn't matter where my central processor is."

"Right, hadn't thought of that." I stepped aside as a broom and brush bristling robot rushed up and swept the discarded circuit board into its bin. "Well, Mark, if you know who I am, then you certainly know what is happening topside."

"I certainly do. Haven't seen so much excitement in the last thousand years."

"Oh, are you enjoying it?" I was beginning to get angry at this cold and enigmatic electronic intelligence. I was a little shocked when it chuckled with appreciative laughter.

"Temper, temper, Jim. I've cut back in the voice feedback emotion circuits for you. I stopped using them centuries ago when I found that the true believers preferred an excathedra voice. Or are you more partial to women?" It added in a warm contralto.

"Stay male, if you please, it seems more natural somehow. Though why I should associate sex with a machine I have no idea. Does it make a difference to you?"

"Not in the slightest. You may refer to me as he, she or it. Sex is of no importance to me."

"Well it is to us humans - and I'll bet you miss it!"

"Nonsense. You can't miss what you never had. Do you wake up at night yearning helplessly for photoreceptors in your fingertips?"

It was a well-made point: old Mark here was no dummy. But fascinating as the chitchat was, it was just about time I got to the point of this visit.

"Mark - I have come here for a very important reason."

"Undoubtedly."

"You've heard the broadcasts, you know what is happening up there. That murdering moron Zennor is going to kill ten of your faithful followers in the morning. What do you intend to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!" I lost my temper and kicked the front of the burnished panel. "You invented Individual Mutualism and foisted it upon the galaxy. You taught the faithful and brought them here - and now you are going to stand by and watch them die?"

"Knock off the cagal, Jim," it said warmly. "Try sticking to the truth. I published a political philosophy. People read it, got enthusiastic, applied it and liked it. They brought me here, not the other way around. I have emotions, just as you do, but I don't let them interfere with logic and truth. So cool it, kid, and let's get back to square one."

I moved aside as the broom-robot rushed up again, extended a little damp mop and polished off the scuff mark on Mark's housing that I had made with my shoe. I took a deep breath and calmed down because really, losing my temper would accomplish nothing at all.

"Right you are, Mark, square one. People are going to be killed up there. Are you going to do anything about it?"

"There is not much I can do physically. And everything political or philosophical is in my book. The citizens up there know as much about IM as I do."

"So you are just going to sit there and listen to the sizzle of your electrons and let them die."

"People have died before for their beliefs."

"Wonderful. Well I believe in living for mine. And I am going to do something - even if you do not."

"What do you intend to do?"

"I don't know yet. Do you have advice for me?"

"About what?"

"About saving lives, that's what. About ending the invasion and polishing off Zennor…"

And then I had it. I didn't need to swap political arguments with Mark - I just had to use its intelligence. If it had memory banks thousands of years old it certainly had the knowledge I needed. And I still had the electronic spy bird!

"Well, Mark old machine, you could help me. Just a bit of information."

"Certainly."

"Do you know the spatial coordinates of this system and this planet?"

"Of course."

"Then you give me a little printout of them, soonest! So I can send an FTL message to the League Navy for help."

"I don't see why I should do that."

I lost my temper. "You don't see…! Listen you moronic machine. I'm just asking for a bit of information that will save lives - and you don't see…"

"Jim, my new offworlder friend. Do not lose your temper so quickly. Bad for the blood pressure. Let me finish my statement, if I might. I was going to add that this information would be redundant. You sent an FTL message yourself, just after you retrieved the corvine-disguised transmitter."