CHAPTER 11

Fatigue was of no importance, thirst equally so—although both were present and sending imperative messages. To be ignored. Rank has its privileges and we were not going to enjoy ours until we assumed the trappings. I shook Morton until his eyes opened and he biinked dully at me.
  "One last effort, Mort. We are going to the PX, about whose heady joys we have heard, and there we will spend

some money. When that has been done we will be free spirits and will eat and drink and relax. Are you ready?" "No. I'm beat, shagged, dead. I cannot move. You go

on. I can't make it . . ."
  "Then I'll just have to turn you over to Sergeant Klutz who has just arrived and is standing right behind you.".
  He sprang into the air with a shriek of agony, feet already running before he hit the ground. I held on to him.
  "Sorry about that. No Klutz here, A ruse to get your adrenaline flowing. Let's go."
  We went. Quickly before this burst of energy faded. It got him as far as the post exchange where I leaned him against the wall near the cashier and handed him my sheaf of papers.
  "Stand there, recruit, and do not move and do not let go of those papers or I will skin you ahve or worse."

          M

     THE STAINLESS STEEL MT CETS DRAFTED    9»

 , I slammed the papers into his limp hands and whispered, "What size jacket do you take?" After much blinking on his part, and reiteration on mine, I extracted the needed information.
  I made my purchases from a bored clerk, added some stripes and a tube of superglue, paid for everything with some of Gow's money, thank you corporal, and ledMorton farther into the reaches of the PX. To the latrine, empty this time of day.
  "We'll use the booth one at a time," I said. "We don't want anyone making improper conclusions. Take off those fatigues and slip into this uniform. Move it." While he changed I glued the new sergeant's stripes

over the corporal's on my sleeves. When Morton had flushed and emerged I straightened his necktie and glued his promotion to his sleeve. His fatigues went into the rubbish, along with the sheaf of papers, and we went into the noncoms' bar.
"Beer—or something stronger?" I asked. "I don't drink."
  "You do now. And curse. You're in the army. Sit there and sneer like a corporal and I'll be right back." I ordered two double neutral grain spirits and some beers, dumped the ethyl alcohol into the beer, sipped it to make sure it had not gone off) then went back to our table. Morton drank as ordered, widened his eyes, gasped, then drank again. Color returned to his cheeks as I drained half of my glass and sighed happily.
"I don't know how to thank you, what to say . . ." "Then say nothing. Drink up. What I did was to save

my own hide and you just came along for the ride." "Who are you, Jak? How do you know how to do those things you did?"
  "Would you believe me if I said I was a spy sent here to seek out the military secrets?" "Yes."
  "Well I'm not. I'm just a draftee like yourself. Though I will have to admit that I come from a lot further away than Pensildelphia. That's it, drain the glass, you're learning

100               Harry Harrison

fast. Ill get a couple more drinks and some food.  I saw they had catwiches. I'll get a couple of those." Food and drink helped, as did the stripes on our arms. Morton tore into his rations. I ate more slowly, finding myself already thinking about the next step. Cigars followed, Gow's wallet was bottomless, and more drink.
  "Thish is really great, Jak, really great. You're really great, really great."
  "Sleep," I said as his eyes unfocused and his head hit the table with a thump. "You will awake a new man." I sipped lightly at my ow» drink for I wanted only the stimulation of the alcohol and not the oblivion. The club

was almost empty, only one other table occupied, the noncom there just as asleep as Morton. Probably as drunk as well. The simple pleasures of military life. I sipped and thought of my previous military career on Spiovente, and of The Bishop, now dead, and of the man who was responsible for his death.
  "I haven't forgotten you. Captain Garth, not at all," I said softly to myself. The bartender polished a glass and yawned. Well acquainted with customers who talked to themselves and drank themselves into extinction. "For the last few days it has been survival only. Now I pick up your trail. We're in the same army, on the same base." I felt suddenly dizzy and put the glass down. It had been a long day and I was as tired as Morton. Country and coal-mining music was grating enchantingly from the jukebox: the world about was at peace. For the moment. I was

aware of a light scratching sound and glanced down at the boxes that leaned against the wall. Something moved in the darkness behind them. I watched in silence as a twitching nose and whiskers emerged. Then the head, the bar lights reflected in the rat's eyes. It appeared to be looking

up at me.
  "Get lost," I said, "before you end up in the stew." I cackled at my own witticism.
  "Jim diGriz, I must talk with you," the rat said in a deep voice.
  It had really been one of those days. Too much. I had

       THE STAINLESS STEEL RAT GETS IffiAPTED   101

not realized it but the strain was so great that I had cracked.
  "Go away," I hissed. "You are a figment of my imagination and not a real rat at all." I gulped the rest of my drink in a single swallow. The rat climbed up onto the box and looked at me.
  "Of course I am not a real rat. I am Captain Varod of the League Navy."
  Gently, so as not to awaken Morton—this was my hallucination and I wanted to keep it for myself—1 pried his drink from his slack fingers and drained it as well as my

own.
  "You've shrunk a bit since the last time I talked with

you, captain," I smirked.
  "Stop playing the idiot, diGriz, and listen to me. This spyrat is controlled from our base. You were recognized and identified." "By who? The rat?"
  "Shut up. This communication is limited because there is a chance their detectors will pick up the spyrat's broadcast signal. We need your help. You have penetrated their military base, the first agent to do so. . ."
  "Agent? I thought I was the criminal you were shipping home for trial and persecution?"
  "I said we need your help. This is vital. There are lives at stake. The generals are planning an invasion. We know that much from intercepting their communications. But

we don't know where the landing will take place. Brastyr is a big continent and they might be attacking anywhere. There could be a lot of deaths. We must find out where they •plan to . . ."
  The door to the bar burst open and a gun-waving ofiicer burst in, followed by a technician weighted with electronic equipment.
  "The signal is coming from that direction, sir," the man shouted and pointed directly at me.
  "What is that cagal-head private doing in the noncoms' bar?" I shouted, leaping to my feet and kicking the box as I did. The rat fell to the floor and I stamoed on it. Hard.

102

Hairy HaiTteofl

  "Don't get your cagal in an uproar, sergeant," the offi-

cer said.' "This is a priority investigation . - ." "Signal has stopped, sir," the technician said, fiddling with his dials.
  "Cagal!" the officer said, stuffing, his gun back into the holster. "These alcoholics don't have a transmitter." "Could be the street outside, other side of the wall, A moving vehicle." "Let's go!"
 The door slammed shut behind them. The barman wiped his glass. "This happen very»often around here?" I asked. "Yeah. This is sure an uptight base."
  Morton snored heavily and I poked the crushed remains of the stainless steel rat with my toe. An omen? A gear wheel rolled out and rattled on the floor.
  "Set them up again," I called out. "And take one yourself since the rest of these cagal-kopfs are in dreamland." "You're all heart, sarge. Just ship in?" "Today." "An uptight base like I say—"
  His voice was drowned out by the loud whistle from the TV as it turned itself on. The blackclad military announcer glared out of the screen just one more time.
  "The spy who landed in Marhaveno has been identified. He attempted to disguise himself as a harmless draftee and was inducted into the army. Resolute police work has identified him by his clothing."
  Some police work. They just looked at their mail. I was beginning to think that sending my clothing from the reception center to the police station was not at all as funny as it had seemed at the time. There was a scratch of static and the announcer vanished from the screen to be replaced by another officer.
  "Now hear this," he shouted. "As of this moment this entire base is sealed to outgoing. I repeat, Mortstertoro is locked tight, gates sealed, aircraft departures canceled. The spy who landed in Marhaveno has been identified as a recruit who w~s shipped to this base. Here is his picture." My heart skipped a beat or two, then settled down as the

THE STAINLESS STEEL RAT GETS DRAFTED

105

blurred photo of Jak, from my stolen ID, appeared on the

screen. I was still one jump ahead of them. It would soon be discovered that Jak5138 was no longer on the base and the search would go elsewhere. I took my drink and went back to the table to stare into the wide and frightened

eyes of Morton.
  "You want a drink?" I asked before he could speak. He gurgled and pointed at the screen.
  "Did you hear that?" I asked, and kicked him under the table.  "Can't be much of a spy if he lets himself get drafted. Some spy! I'll bet you five he's caught and dead before dark." When he relaxed slightly I went on in a hoarse whisper. "It will take a long time to search this base..."
  "No it won't—because they know just where to look. They know who you are, Jak. They'll go to Sergeant Klutz who will tell them he transferred you to Corporal Gow. Then they'll find Gow and . . ."
  "And the trail will run cold. It will take them days to search a camp this size. And .when they don't find the spy the first time they'll just do it again. They are not bright enough to consider having the computer check the records for the spy."
  "Attention!" the announcer on the screen called out, waving a sheet of paper. "I have just been given this new information. The spy—and an accomplice—have managed to have themselves transferred from this base by illegal use of the base computer. All computer personnel are now under arrest and will probably be shot." I turned away, not able to look Morton in the eye.
  "Now that they know where to look," Morton asked hollowly, "how long will it take them to discover that we

were never on that shipment? And then find out that a corporal and a sergeant who really were on that shipment

were not on that shipment and are still here on the base?" "How long?" I laughed, but there was a very hollow ring to it. "Could take days, weeks, no way to tell." "How long?" I sighed deeply. "They got some hotshot computer pro-

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Harry Harnsofl

grams. Good security. I would say that we have maybe thirty minutes before they start looking for us." His body shook as though he had received ten thousand volts and he started to jump to his feet. I reached out and held him down, then glanced at the bartender. He was looking at the TV.
  "You're right," I said. "We get out of here, but slowly. On your feet. Follow me."
  As we started toward the door the bartender glanced in our direction.
"Where's the transient bart-acks?" I said. "Out the back door, turn right. See you." "Yeah. See you."
  We strolled out the back door and turned left. It was getting dark which might help.
  "You got a plan?" Morton said, eagerness in his voice. "You know a way to get us out of this."
  "Of course," I said, clapping him on the back. "Every step planned. We go this way."
  I could hear the forced joviality in my voice; I hoped that he couldn't. He had to think that I knew what I was doing or he might crack. It was a white lie for the sake of his morale.
 But what about my morale? I was holding it down successfully for the moment, but I could feel an awareness of dark panic knocking and ready to come in. I kept it at bay. We walked on down the company street, the lights coming on, lost in the milling military mass. How long would this last? The question was the answer: not very. The panic pushed a little harder.
  I have heard it said that when a man knows that he is to be hanged, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. I wasn't going to be hanged, not for the present at least, but the foul breath of military prosecution on my neck was concentrating my mind almost as well. So much so that when an officer passed I turned to look at him. Turned and stopped until he vanished in the crowd. Morton was pulling feebly at my arm.
  "What are you looking at? What's wrong?"

     THE STAINLESS STEEL fUT GETS DRAFTED   -WS

  "Nothing wrong. Everything right. I know now exactly what we must do next." "What?"
  "Just come with me. I know that it is back this way, I noticed it when we passed. " "What, what?"
  "BOQ." Before he could say What? What? What? I explained. "Bachelor Officers Quarters. Where the officers live when they are not getting drunk and making life a hell for the enlisted men. That is where we are going. There." I pointed to the brightly lit building, guards at the front entrance, officers in their military finery pouring from it.
  "That's suicide!" Morion said. The edge of hysteria back in his voice.
  "Easy does it," I cozened. "We do not enter the building by this portal. Suicide as you say. But what has a front surely has a back. And from the exodus visible from that officerial snakepit it looks like everyone is on duty tonight. Everyone except us, that is." I chortled darkly and he looked at me out of the corners of his eyes as if I had gone mad. Perhaps I had. We would soon find out.
  There was a wall behind the BOQ which we followed. A sort of alley led next to it, badly lit and just what I wanted. There was a door here let into the wall with a light above it.  As we strolled past I read the sign,  OFFICERS ONLY,  and bent over and tied my shoe: it needed only a single glance to identify the lock. Then stood and on. I stopped in the shadows between two lights and bent to my shoe again. Only this time I came up with the lockpick.
  "All right, here we go. The lock is nothing, single tumbler, pick it as easy as I pick my teeth. We walk back

now and if no one is in sight we walk through it. Got that?" The chatter of his teeth was the only response. I took his quivering arm and squeezed it. "It's all right, Morton. You'll see. Just do as I say and we'll soon be safe. Nice and quiet—here we go."
  I tried not to catch any of Morton's fears, but they were very contagious. We stopped under the light, I put the lockoick into the kevhole. Felt and twisted. It didn't ooen.

106

Harry Harrison

"Someone's coming," Morton wailed.
  "Piece of cake," I muttered, perspiration running down

my face. "Opened these with my eyes shut." "Getting closer!" "Eyes shut!"
  It wouldn't open. I shut my eyes, closed out all sensations, felt for the tumblers. Clicked it open.
  "Inside!" I said, pulling him after me, closing the gate behind us. We stood with our backs to it, shivering in the darkness as the footsteps came closer, came to the gate . . .                    L Passed it and went on.
  "There, wasn't that easy?" I said, ruining the effect as

my voice cracked and squeaked. Not that Morton noticed; he was shivering so hard that I could hear his teeth clatter. "Look, nice garden.  Pathways for strolling, love seats for loving, all the nice things to keep the officerial classes happy. And beyond the garden the dark windows of their quarters, dark because the occupants have all gone

. out. So now all that we have to do is find a window to open - . ." ' "Jak—what are we doing here?"
  "I thought that was obvious. The military powers are looking for one recruit now. When their computer coughs out the next bit of news they will be looking for a corporal and a sergeant." I tried to ignore his moan. "So we get into this building and become officers. As simple as that. " I caught him as he dropped and laid him gently on the grass. "That's it. Have a little rest. I'll be right back." The third window I tried was unlocked. I opened it and looked in. A mussed bed, open closet, empty room. Perfect. I found my way back to Morton who was just sitting

up. He recoiled as I appeared out of the darkness and my quick hand over his mouth muffled his scream. "Everything is fine. Almost finished."
  I boosted him through the window and let him drop onto the bed, then closed and locked the window behind us. There was a key in the door which made everything very much easier.

TUB eniMi BCC erKBi aaT MTC nDfBTBn

  "Look," I said, "lie here and recuperate. I'm going to lock you in. The building is empty as far as I can see, so what I have to do should not be long. Take a rest and I'll be back as soon as I can."
  I went carefully, but the building was empty of life and silent as the tomb. Its occupants away and hopefully hard at work. I had time to pick and choose, make my selections and select the right sizes. I heard a muffled

moan of agony when I let myself back into the room, to which I responded as cheerfully as I could.
 "New uniform—new persona!" I handed them over to Morton. "Get dressed and give me our old clothes. There's enough light from outside to make that easy. Here, let me tie that necktie, you are all butterfingers today." Dressed and ready, our caps square upon our heads,

our old clothes buried in a laundry basket, we sauntered forth into the corridor. Morton looked at me and gasped and fell away.
  "Cheer up—you look the same way. Except that you are

a second lieutenant while I am a captain. It is a young army."
 "B-but," he stammered. "You are a . . . Military Policeman!" "And so are you. No one ever questions a cop." We turned the corner as I said this and approached the front entrance. The major standing there with a clipboard looked up at us and scowled.
  "Now I have vou." he said.