The Stainless Steel Rat's Revenge
Chapter 16

    The boot was tight and delicately pointed, but I squeezed my foot in as fast as I could. "Were we followed here?" I asked Taze.
    "No--of course not. I am no beginner at this business. Nor is the stolen car here any longer."
    I cudgeled my sluggish brain into thought while I struggled with the second boot. The telephone rang and I froze--as did the two women--staring at it like a poison snake. It rang just once more then the tiny inset screen lit up and Kraj stared out of it, as emotionless as ever.
    "You know that you are surrounded," he said. "Resistance is useless, diGriz. Surrender quietly and none of your friends will be hurt..."
    My boot hit the screen and Kraj's image flared and died; I ripped the entire instrument out by the roots and buried it against the wall. A fine cold sweat dotted my skin. I knew that most phones can be turned on from central with the right equipment, but this was a bad time to see the theory proven.
    "Don't panic!" I shouted, mostly to myself I imagine, because Angelina and Taze were perfectly calm. I hopped about the room getting on the other boot and tried to jar some clear thought into my tangled brain. The last hop ended me up sitting on the cot, panting, counting off on my fingers.
    "Let us forget that call for a moment and figure out what is happening. One, we were not followed when we came here. Two, our transportation is gone so that could not be traced. Three, Kraj knew that I was here, which means they may have planted a directional radio transponder in me. In which case the services of a surgeon and a good x-ray machine will be needed as soon as we get out of here." 
    "You are forgetting a simpler explanation," Angelina said.
    "Don't keep it a secret. If you can think better than I can--which is no compliment right now--let's have it." 
    "The torture box. You said it was radio controlled."
    "Of course! A directional apparatus is probably an integral part of the mechanism. Is the thing still here, Taze?" 
    "Yes, below. We thought there might be a use for it." 
    "There is now. When we leave the box stays here. Maybe this will keep their attention on the building--and once away they won't find me this easily again. Now brief me, Taze, what kind of a building is this--and how do we get out of it?"
    "It is a factory, owned by one of our members. And there is no possible way out, we are doomed to fight and die, but when we do we will sell our lives well and take many of those swine-pig-dogs with us . . ."
    "That's fine, yes indeed. But we'll sell our lives dearly only if we have to. DiGriz can find escape routes where others only despair. Is your factory owner here? Good, send her up as quickly as possible." 
    Taze left on a run and I turned to my wife.
    "I assume you brought the usual equipment with you? The sort of thing we had on our honeymoon." 
    "Bombs, grenades, explosives, gas charges, of course." 
    "Good girl. With you for a wife I have a growing sense of security."
    Taze ran back in followed by another uniformed amazon. A little older perhaps, with a very attractive touch of gray to her hair, yet full-bosomed and round-limbed in a maturely fascinating way . . . I caught the cold look frosting in Angelina's eyes and quickly put my thoughts on more pressing matters.
    "I am James diGriz, interstellar agent and spy." 
    "Fayda Firtina of the Guard," she barked and snapped a salute.
    "Yes, very good Fayda, glad to meet you. At ease. I understand that you own this building."
    "That is correct. Firtina Amalgamated (construction) Robutlers, Limited. The finest product on the market." 
    "What is?" 
    "Robutlers." 
    "You wouldn't think me dense if I asked what a robutler is?" 
    "A luxury product that is a necessity for the proper home. A robot that is programmed, trained, articulated and specially designed for but a single function. A butler, a servant, a willing aid around the house that makes the house a home, relieving the lady of the establishment of the chores and cares and stresses of modern living . . ."
    There was more like this, obviously quotes from a sales brochure, but I did not hear it. A plan was forming in my mind, taking shape--until the sound of firing broke through my train of thought.
    "They have made a probing attack," Taze said, a com-radio to her ear. "But were repulsed with losses."
    "Keep holding them. They shouldn't try the heavy stuff for awhile since they still hope to get me alive." I waved over the factory owner who seemed ready to go on with her sales talk. "Fayda, will you give me a quick sketch of the ground plan of the building and the immediate area around it."
    She drew quickly and accurately, military training no doubt, indicating doors and windows and the surrounding streets. 
    "What do your robutlers look like?" I asked.
    "Roughly humanoid in form and size, the optimum shape for a home environment. In addition--"
    "That's fine. How many do you have ready to go, field tested or whatever you call it, with their little power packs charged?" 
    She frowned in thought. "I'll have to check with shipping, but at a rough guess I would say between 150 and 200." 
    "That will be just perfect for our needs. Would you be terribly put out--your insurance might cover it--if they were destroyed in the cause of Burada freedom?"
    "Every Firtina robutler would willingly die, happily, if it had any emotions for the cause. Though of course they are incapable of bearing arms or of violent acts of any kind."
    "They don't have to. We can take care of that. Our robutler brigade will be the diversion that gets us out of here. Now come close girls and I'll tell you the plan."
    The old diGriz brain was really turning over at last. The firing in the background only stimulated me to grander efforts, while I was buoyed up on a wave of cheerful enthusiasm. Within minutes the preparations were being made, and within a half an hour the troops were ready to attack.
    "You know your orders?" I asked the dimly lit shipping bay full of robots.
    "That we do sir, yes sir, thank you sir," they all answered in the best of cultured accents.
    "Then prepare to depart. What you do now is a far far better thing than you would have ever done in an electronic lifetime of domestic service. When I say leave, each to its appointed task." 
    "Very kind sir, thank you sir."
    There were over a hundred here in the shipping bay of the factory, our main diversionary attack. They stood in neat rows, humming and eager to go. The front ranks were dressed in all the excess garments we had been able to assemble; some with uniform hats, others with jackets, still fewer wearing slacks. Most of the clothing had been donated piecemeal by the female shocktroops, which fact was not doing me much good in my new marital status. There was entirely too much tanned flesh around for a man to completely ignore. It was almost a pleasure to be with the robots for a change. Their forms were sleek but hard, their dress inconsistent and revealing of nothing of interest. And each of them clutched a length of pipe or plastic or some other object resembling a weapon. In the confusion that was soon to come my hope was that they would be mistaken for human attackers. I looked at my watch and raised the com-radio to my mouth.
    "Stand by all units. Fifteen seconds to zero. Bombers stand ready. Keep away from the windows until the last second. Ready, keep low . . . trigger your bombs . . . THROW!"
    There was a series of dull explosions from the street outside, that would be echoed on all sides of the building, as the girls heaved the bombs from the upper stories. Smoke bombs for the most part, though there were some irritants and sleep gas mixed in with them. I gave the bombs five seconds to maximum density then hit the garage door switches. The doors rumbled up to reveal little other than twisting coils of smoke that instantly began to pour into the garage.
    "Go, my loyal troops, go!" I ordered and every left foot shot forward as one, and the ranks of my robot brigade surged forward.
    "Thanking you sir!" mellifluously sounded in perfect tones from those metallic throats, and I retreated as they ran by.
    There was firing now, from the windows above, echoed instantly by the troops outside. According to plan. I looked at my watch as I ran. Fifteen seconds from zero, time for the second wave. "All other robutler units--now!" I ordered into the com-radio.
    At that moment, from the other doors and exits of the factory, into the shroud of smoke and gas, the remaining robots should be going into action. I had not taken the time to try and rig an eavesdropping circuit on the enemy's command net, but I could just imagine what was happening now. What I hoped was happening now.
    The building was surrounded, all their troops alert, our stronghold visible in all details in the warm afternoon sunlight. Then the sudden change, smoke, chemical irritants, shrouding the building on all sides. A breakout obviously--and there it was! Dim figures in the smoke, firing, get them, shoot to kill. Zoing, zoing! Take that you rotten Burada guerrilla fink! What fighters these Burada are--men of steel!--shoot them and they don't fall. Panic in the smoke. The word that there are other breakouts. Which was the real one, which a cover? How to mass the troops? Where should the reserves be sent?
    I figured that it would take about one minute for the first confusion to have reached its peak. After this the smoke would begin to thin and the dead bodies would be discovered to be robots and the word would get out. We wanted to get out before this word did. Once the bombs had been thrown Taze and her troops would be hurrying to get into position--and one minute was not very much time to reach the back of the factory from the upper floors. Yet most of them were there before me with Taze checking them off as they ran up.
    "That's the lot," she said, making a final tick on her list.
    "With five seconds to go." I looked at my watch and raised my hand.
    "Now! Angelina stand ready with the grenades." 
    The small fire exit was unlocked and dragged open and Angelina buried her smoke grenades out to intensify the gloom before us. There was no more talking, and in the sudden silence the shooting and shouting could clearly be heard. I was sure that I could detect an occasional Thank you, sir among the voices. Fayda led the way and we followed in line, hands on the shoulders of the preceding marchers. I was in the middle of the line and Angelina just before me, so I held to her. This placement was accidental, I am sure, since she wouldn't have cared if I clutched one of the half-naked Burada cuties.
    It was a little disconcerting moving helplessly like this through the darkness, particularly when the occasional missile whined by. By accident, I hoped. This street was narrow and blocked at both ends by Cliaand troops. If they knew what was happening they could sweep the street with a deadly crossfire. But hopefully they were involved with the robutlers for the moment. All we had to do was quietly cross the 20 meters or so of open road, to the apartment dwelling on the other side. If we reached this unnoticed we had a good chance of going through it to the mixed business and residential plaza on the other side. From here we would break up and scatter through the warren of streets and walkways and tunnels, hopefully merging into the civilian population and disappearing before our absence was noticed. Hopefully.
    I was counting my steps so knew I had almost reached the building--which meant half of our number were safe--when the voice called out nearby.
    "Is that you, Zobno? What did the sergeant say about robots? It sounded like robots?"
    The line stopped, instantly, in breath-holding silence. We were so close. The voice was male and it spoke Cliaandian.
    "Robots? What robots?" I asked as I pulled the hand from my shoulder and placed it on Angelina's shoulder before me. "Move," I whispered in her ear. Then left the line and stamped heavily towards him in my new boots.
    "I'm sure he said robots," the voice complained. Behind me I was aware of the faint stir as the line started forward again. I stamped and coughed and moved closer to the unseen speaker. My hands before me ready for a quick clench and crush as soon as he spoke again.
    All of which would have worked fine, and have given me a little sadistic pleasure, if the evening breeze had not sent eddies around the corners of the building. The wind moved coolly on my face and a rift opened in the smoke. I was looking at a Cliaand trooper, helmed and armed with his gaussrifle at the ready, a shocked expression stamped on his face. With good reason. Instead of gazing upon a fellow trooper he saw an unknown individual with snapping fingers, red eyes and unshaven jaw, dressed in totally transparent dungarees and ladies' boots, with bundles and packs slung on his shoulders. Gape was about all he could do.
    This paralysis lasted just long enough for me to reach him. I grabbed him by the throat so he couldn't shout a warning, and by the gun so he couldn't shoot me. We danced around like this for a bit and the smoke closed over us again. My opponent wasn't shouting or shooting--but neither was he submitting. He was burly and well muscled and holding his own. Luckily he wasn't too bright and kept both his hands on the gun and tried to get it away from me. Just about the time he realized he could hold it with one hand and slug me with the other I got a foot behind his heel and went down on top of him. Before he hit the ground he managed to get two quick punches into my midriff which did me no good. Then we landed and I knocked all the air out of him. This freed my throat hand and, before he could suck in enough breath to shout with, I rendered him unconscious.
    I sat on him, waiting for my head to stop spinning and for the knot of pain in my gut to ease, when another voice sounded close by.
    "What's that noise? Who is it?"
    I breathed in a deep shuddering breath, let a bit of it out and worked for control of my voice.
    "It's me." Always a good answer. "I tripped and fell down. I hurt a finger . . ." 
    "Then you'll get a medal for it. Now shut up." 
    I shut up, took the gaussrifle from my limp companion and stood up--and realized that I was completely lost in the smoky darkness.
    Not a pleasant sensation at all. The smoke was thinning and I was alone with no sense of direction. If I walked in the wrong direction it would be suicide.
    Panic! Or rather a moment of panic. I always allow myself at least a brief panic in any tight situation. This flushes out the bloodstream, starts the heart pumping faster, releases a jolt of adrenaline and provides other nice things for an emergency. But only a little panic, time was pressing. And after the basic bestial emotion drained away, lips dropped back over fangs and hair on neck down again and all that, I put the old logic center to work.
    ITEM: I was not alone. The silent line of escapees may have marched into the building and safety, but my Angelina would not desert me. I knew, as clearly as if I could see her, that she was outside that door to survival and waiting for me.
    ITEM: She had her sense of direction, I didn't. Therefore she would have to come to me.
    "This finger is killing me, Sarge," I whined, then whistled in supposed agony. One short whistle and one long one. The letter a for Angelina in the code that I knew she knew well. That I needed help I knew she would figure out for herself.
    "Stop that whistling and noise," the other voice growled back, ending in a note of suspicion. "Say, who are you?" 
    I groped through my memory for the name I had heard a few moments earlier.
    "It's me, Sarge. Zobno. This finger . . ."
    "That's not Zobno!" a second voice called out. "I'm Zobno . . ." 
    "No, I am," I shouted. "Who's that said that?" 
    "Both of you come here--now!" the sergeant ordered. "I'm going to start shooting in five seconds."
    The real Zobno stumbled through the smoke and I didn't dare say a thing or move. And I could already feel the slugs tearing through me--when something plucked at my sleeve and I jumped.
    "Angelina?" I whispered, and received a silent answer when she threw her arms about me. I reached for her but she wasn't waiting; taking my hand she pulled me after her. There were voices behind us in the smoke then the sudden whine of a gaussrifle and shouts of command.
    I stumbled over an invisible step and waiting hands pulled me through the doorway.