The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell ssr-10 Page 2

  “I am beginning to feel that this world has worn out its welcome and is starting to bore more than a little. Have you ever thought of passing a spell on, I don’t know, some grander and more exciting planet?”

  She whirled about and kissed me enthusiastically. “Jim—you must be a mind reader! What do you think about…”

  I really didn’t have much to think about. Other than remembering long—forgotten bank accounts.

  But it had been well worth it. For awhile. Angelina absented herself from time to time—but we never discussed the rejuvenation treatments. I am forced to admit that, after noting my touches of gray hair, as well as a slight tendency to be short of breath after serious exercise, I was not that adverse to a medical session or two myself. After all I was paying for it. And Lussuoso was as jolly and entertaining as the brochures had said. Our house was lovely and our friends lovelier still. I don’t know how beautiful these people had been before they had become beautiful people—but they were sure good to look at now. Neither age shall wither nor time detract. They used to say that money couldn’t buy everything, but this cliche had long been extinct. On Lussuoso they were all young, handsome and rich. Or rather rich first—therefore young and handsome.

  It did not take me long to discover that they were also boring beyond belief.

  Making a lot of money seems to produce people who care only about making money.

  Now I am not a snob—far from it. My circle of friends and acquaintances contains weird and wonderful examples from all walks of life. Conmen and connoisseurs. Forgers and foresters, police and politicians, scientists and psalm singers. All of them entertaining and good company in a variety of strange and interesting ways.

  Yet after a month on Lussuoso I was ready for anything but more of Lussuoso. Suicide perhaps, or back into the army again, maybe swimming in a lake of sulfuric acid; any of these would be preferable.

  But I bided my time and increased my drinking for two reasons. Firstly I had paid a satellite—sized bundle for the medical treatments and I was going to get my money’s worth. Secondly, and more importantly, Angelina was having an incredibly good time. Our lifestyle had previously prevented her from having female acquaintances or close lady friends. Her early and murderous life, before the psych treatments that had turned her into a more civilized, though still criminal, person, was far in the past and hopefully forgotten. We never discussed those early years when I—for a rare change—was on the side of law enforcement. And she was a criminal on the run. A very nasty criminal indeed and I could not understand how one so beautiful could be so devious and cruel. Until she trusted me, perhaps she loved me even then, and had opened the locket with the secret of her past. Her beauty had been the product of the surgeon’s knife. That had changed her from what she had been to how she looked now. Only her criminal existence had enabled her to pay for the operations. Because of this, and our extra—legal standard of living, we might have had a lonely existence in many ways. We had not led a solitary life, but it had—certainly been a different kind of life from the normal ones led by the other 99. 99 percent of mankind.

  Having the twins had been a novel experience for both of us. One that I had not looked forward to with a great deal of enthusiasm. But I had changed, for the better Angelina always said, and she should know. When the boys were growing up we had seen that they had received the best education. We had discussed it a lot and had finally agreed that they could choose the style of, life that most appealed to them. In all fairness, when they were old enough, we had introduced them to some of the more interesting aspects of our lifestyle. I am happy to say that they took to it instantly. All of this kept us busy enough and. since Angelina had never had any close friends, she apparently had never missed the acquaintance of those of the fairer sex. Now she had them in abundance.

  They went out together and did things together. Just what I was never quite sure. But she—and they—did enjoy themselves. She had even mentioned lightly, and oh howl wish I had listened more closely, the Temple of Eternal Truth. She hadn’t seemed terribly interested but had gone there at a friend’s insistence.

  Now this. I sipped long and hard at my drink and resisted a refill.

  “DiGriz here,” I called out at the instant the communicator buzzed.

  “It is Captain Collin, Admiral. We have some more—and very puzzling—infonnation about the Temple of Eternal Truth. Do you think you could come to my office…”

  I was out the door even while he was still speaking.

  Chapter 2

  “What have you found out?” I asked brusquely as I stamped into Captain Cohn’s office. He was speaking on the phone and he raised his hand signing me to wait.

  “Yes. Thank you. I understand.” He hung up. “That was the hospital. It seems that Mrs. Vinicultura is suffering from post—traumatic amnesia—”

  “She’s forgotten everything that happened?”

  “Precisely. There are techniques that could get access to those memories but their application must wait until she has recovered from the shock.”

  “That’s not why you called me here?”

  “No.” He ran his finger around inside his collar and—if it were possible for an overmuscled police captain to look embarrassed—he looked embarrassed.

  “Here on Lussuoso we pride ourselves on our security and the thoroughness of our records.

  “Which means,” I interrupted, “your security has been penetrated and your records are doubtful?”

  He opened his mouth to rebut me. Then closed it and slumped in his chair. “You’re right. But it has never happened before.”

  “Once is once too often. Tell me about it.”

  “It is this Temple of Eternal Truth. It appears to have been duly registered as a qualified religion. They kept accurate records and reported regularly on their financial position, though of course like all religions they pay no taxes. Everything seemed quite aboveboard. The directors are on record and, most discreetly of course, we know about all of its members.”

  “All about? Would you like to explain that?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well, like any civilized planet we practice the galactic constant of complete freedom of religion. You have heard of the Interstellar Freedom of Religion Act?”

  “Vaguely, in school.”

  “The Act is not vague. The history of religion is a history of violence. Only too often religion kills, and we have had enough killing. Therefore no state or planet can have an official religion. Neither can a state or planet make any laws controlling religion. Freedom of worship and assembly is essential to civilization.”

  “What about nut cults?”

  “I was coming to that. Galactic law requires us not to interfere with any religion and to adhere to that rule sternly. But since the weak and the juvenile require protection so that, always legally and with the utmost caution, we do investigate all religions thoroughly. We make ongoing investigations to assure that religious rights are not violated, that each religion has the freedom to practice in its own way, that minors’ rights are not violated, that parishioners have complete freedom of choice—”

  “What you are trying to say is that you keep tabs on who goes to what church and how often and you know what they are getting up to.”

  “Precisely,” he growled defensively. “The records are secure and can only be accessed at the highest level in case of emergency.”

  “All right. We have an emergency and they have been accessed. Tell me.”

  “Rowena Vinicultura is one of the first members of the Temple. She attends regularly. She brought your wife to exactly four seances or sessions or whatever they call them.”

  “So?”

  He was beginning to look uncomfortable again. “So, as I have explained, our records are detailed and complete. Except, that the leader of the Temple of Eternal Truth, one Master Fanyimadu, is, well…”

  His voice ran down and he stared at his desktop. I finished the sentence for him.

 
“Master Fanyimadu does not appear in any entry in any of your records.”

  He nodded without looking up. “We know his place of residence and have documented his attendance at the temple. However to preserve religious freedom we have done no more than that.”

  “No investigations? No cross—reference with Immigration or Criminal Affairs?”

  He shook his head in silence. I glowered. “Let me guess. You don’t know how he came to this planet, or if he is still here—or if he has left. Is that correct?”

  “There has been… a certain failure of communication, an oversight.”

  “Oversight!” I exploded, jumping to my feet and stamping the length of the room and back. “Oversight! Fire and blood and an explosion, a woman in the hospital and my wife vanished—and you call that oversight!”

  “There is no need to lose your temper—”

  “Yes there is!”

  “—we are proceeding with the investigation and have already made some progress.” He ignored my sneer. “The blood found in the temple has been subjected to analysis down to the molecular and subatomic levels. These results have been compared to those of everyone on this planet. We keep complete health and hospital records as you might imagine. Computers are accessing this immense data base at the present moment. When I called you earlier the search had been narrowed to less than twenty possibilities. As we talked I have been following the progress on this readout.” He tapped the screen on the desk. “The exacting comparison has now been reduced to five. Nofour. Wait—there are only three now, And two of them are women! And that remaining man is…”

  As he tore the slip from his printout we turned as one and raced for the door.

  “Who?” I shouted as we ran. He read without breaking his stride.

  “Professor Justin Slakey.”

  “Where?”

  “Under sixty seconds’ flight from here.”

  At least he was right about that. The copter was airborne even as we fell through its door. The military must have had the news the instant that the police did because a cover of military jets roared by above us. Even before we began our descent we could see that copcopters were already hitting the ground and unloading troops to surround the house. Rotors roaring we dropped down onto the stone—flagged patio. Cohn had produced a large gun and was a fraction of a second ahead of me as we kicked open the doors.

  The house was empty, the bird flown.

  A suitcase was obviously missing, a gaping hole like a missing tooth from what had been a row of four in the bedroom closet. The garage door gaped open. A commofficer strode in, saluting as he pulled a printout from his chest pack.

  “Gone, sir,” he said. Collin snarled as he grabbed the sheet.

  “Professor J. Slakey, passenger on the stellar liner Star of Serendipity. Departed…” He looked up and his face was grim. “A little over an hour ago.”

  “So they are already in warpdrive and cannot be contacted until they emerge.” I considered the possibilities. “You will of course be in touch with the authorities at their scheduled destination. Which is an operation that might work normally—but this is not a normal situation. I have a strong suspicion that this suspect is ahead of us all of the way. Contacting the ship’s destination will probably do no good at all because the spacer will arrive instead at some unscheduled chartpoint. If you ask me you’ve lost him, Captain. But you can at least tell me who—or what—he is supposed to be.”

  “That is the worst part. He really is Professor Slakey. I started a search as soon as his name appeared. I have just received a report directly from the medical authorities. He is a physicist of interstellar repute who was requested to come here by the Medical Commission, no expense was too great to acquire his services. Something to do with retarded entropy as applied to our hospital work.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Slow down entropy and you slow down aging. Which is what this planet is all about. Was he for real?”

  “Undoubtedly. I had the privilege of meeting him at a function once. Everyone there, the scientists, physicists for the main part, were greatly in awe of his talents and the work that he did here. lam getting reports now,” he touched his earphone, “that they all refuse to believe he had anything to do with the Fanyimadu personality.”

  “Do you?”

  Before he could answer there was a shouted exchange outside, then the door wasthrown open and a policeman ran in. Holding an insulated container.

  “The search team found this when they were going through all the debris in the Temple of Eternal Truth, Captain—crushed under the machinery in the temple. We had no idea it was there until the wreckage was lifted. It’s a… human hand.”

  He put it on the table and, in silence, we looked through the transparent side at the crushed and mangled hand inside. I had a long moment of panic before I could see by the size, the shape, that it was certainly male.

  “Did anyone think to take the fingerprints of this?” I said.

  “Yes, sir. They were sent for comparison..

  He was interrupted by the ring of the phone. Captain Collin put it to his ear, listened, replaced it slowly.

  “Positive identification. This is—Professor Slakey’s hand.”

  I pointed. “If you need proof, there it is. They were one and the same person. The blood tests, now this. Slakey was Fanyimadu. Keep me informed of everything. Understand?”

  I did not wait around for an answer. Turned on my heel—and left. Called back over my shoulder. “I assume that all details on Slakey will be in my commhopper when I get home.”

  So much for the police and the authorities. It was time to get to work. I radioed for a cab, told the driver to have my own car returned from the Central Police Station—one of the perks of the rich is letting the menials do as much as possible—and planned each step of the action that must be taken.

  “Let me off here,” I ordered while we were still a kilometer from my house. I was too jumpy to be driven around in luxury. I wanted to walk—and think. I had the strong feeling that the police were not going to come up with any answers for this one. They had been out—thought right down the line. But could I do any better?

  The homes were luxurious, surrounded by brilliant gardens, the air rich with bird sound. I heard little, saw nothing. Though I was aware when I walked up the path to my home that the front door was slightly open. I had left it closed. Thieves? No way—at least they took care of the ordinary kind of crime on lovely Lussuoso. I was smiling as I banged my way in. James jumped to his feet and we embraced warmly. Or was it Bolivar?

  “It’s James, Dad,” he said, knowing my weaknesses. “One day you better learn to tell us apart.”

  “I do. You usually wear blue shirts.”

  “This one is green—you have to do better than that.”

  He poured a drink for me, his already in hand, and I reported the progress or lack of it by the police. Then he spoke the words we had been both avoiding.

  “I’m sure Mom is all right. Disappeared, yes. In trouble, undoubtedly. But she is the toughest one in the family.”

  “She is, of course, comes up aces always.” I tried, to keep the gloom from my voice, could not. He grabbed my shoulder, very hard.

  “Something terrible has happened. But that Rowena women said gone—not dead. So we get to work to find her and that is that.”

  “Right.” I heard the roughness in my voice; a sentimental old gray rat. Enough. “We’ll do it. If the diGriz clan can’t do it—it can’t be done.”

  “Damn right! I have a message from Bolivar. He should be here very soon. He was in a spacer doing a lunar geological survey. Dropped everything and should be in faster than light drive by now.”

  “Lunar geology? That’s a change. I thought he had become a stockbroker?”

  “He was—found it too boring. When he had stacked away his millions, more profits than those of his clients I am sure, he burnt his business suits and bought a spacer. What do we do next.”

  “Top up thi
s drink, if you please.” I dropped into a chair. “Fill it with one—hundred—proof Old Cogitation Juice. We have some work to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like first forgetting about collaboration with the authorities. They have got this investigation completely wrong so far and can only get it worse.”

  “And we can do better.” He said it as a fact—not a question.

  “That’s for sure. The bureaucrats are going to do an incredibly detailed and thorough search for this Slakey. We are not.” I saw his eyebrows rise and I had to smile. “If their search is successful, which I doubt, we will bear about it quickly enough. Meanwhile we want to find out everything we can about the Temple of Eternal Truth. We go to the horse’s mouth, so to speak. The church members will tell us what we want to know.” I waved the membership list I had extracted from the police with not too much difficulty. “There are three of these ladies whom we are very closely acquainted with. Shall we begin?”

  “As soon as I dipil my face and get a clean shirt. I’m a handsome devil and have a way with women.”

  I sighed happily. Some might have called this braggadocio, but I saw it as simply speaking the truth. In this family we do not condone false modesty. “You do that. Meanwhile I’ll fire up the family car.”

  An expression empty of meaning since this healthy planet had what was probably the most rigidly enforced clean air act in the galaxy. You would probably get clapped in jail for even thinking about an infernal combustion engine. Vehicles were powered by atomic or electric batteries. Or, like our luxurious Spreadeagle, they ran on the energy stored in a flywheel. It plugged into the electricity supply at night and the motor was run up to speed. During the day the motor became a generator and the spinning wheel generated electricity for the driving wheels. All six of them. A heavy flywheel made for a big car—I had stinted on nothing. The robot driver tooled the thing out of the garage when I whistled, nodding his plastic head and smiling inanely. The gold plated door to the passenger compartment lifted heavenward while soft, welcoming music played.