"Any way we can," I told him. "Make friends. Drop names. Drop Heimskur's name among the others. We find out who he is and what he does. Now, as we stroll, I'll report in."

          Tremearne and Madonette listened carefully to my report. He overed and outed but she stayed to chat.

          "Jim, it's time I left my hole in the wall and visited the other half of the city. It must be safe . . ."

          "We hope that-but we don't know that. And there is no point in your taking any chances as long as the thing we are looking for is here. Enjoy the break. And don't do a thing until we find out more here."

          We found lunch waiting in our quarters. Fruit and slices of cold meatloaf on silver plates, covered with crystal domes.

          "Great!" Floyd said, chomping down a slice.

          "Probably minced sheot shank," Steengo said, suddenly gloomy.

          "Food's food and I never consider the source." Floyd reached for another slice just as our golden greeter appeared.

          "A pleasure to see you musical Rats enjoying yourself. When you have eaten your fill I have a request for the presence of Rat Jim."

          "Who wants me?" I asked suspiciously through a mouthful of sweet pulp.

          "All will be revealed." He put his index finger along his nose, winked and rolled his eyes. Which silent communication I assumed meant something like you'll find out soon enough. I had no choice. And I had lost my appetite. I wiped my fingers on a damp cloth and followed him yet another time.

          Iron John was waiting for me at the door of the Veritorium where we had all seen the puzzling holoflic.

          "Come with me, Jim," he said with a deep voice like distant thunder. "Today you will see and understand all of the revelation."

          "I'll get the others . . ."

          "Not this time, Jim." His hand closed gently but firmly onto my shoulder and I had little choice but to go along with him. "You are wise beyond your years. An old head on a young body. Therefore you are the one who will be helped the most by your understanding of this mystery that is no mystery. Come."

          He sat me down but did not join me; yet I was aware of his presence close by me in the darkness. The mist roiled and cleared and I was once again by the lake.

          There was only silence in the forest around the ducky pond. As the last ripple died away the young man turned crud left without looking back. Trod the dead leaves beneath. the trees until he emerged and saw the king before him.

          "There is something I must do," he told the king, nor would he say any more. The king saw that the man's dog was gone - the man himself was unharmed. He had many questions but , did not know how to speak them. Instead he followed the young man back to the castle. In the courtyard the young man looked around, then spotted a large leathern bucket.

          "I need that," he said.

          "Take it." The king dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Remember I have helped you. One day you must tell me what you found in the woods."

          The young man turned in silence and made his way, alone, back to the dark pond. There he dipped the bucket into the water and hurled its contents into the ditch nearby. Another and another. He did not stop but worked steadily at bailing out the pond. It was hard, slow work. Yet the sun never set, the light never changed, the young man never stopped.

          After a great period of time the water was almost gone and something large was revealed lying in the mud on the bottom of the pond. The young man kept emptying the water until he revealed a tall man who was covered with reddish hair, like rusty iron, from head to foot. The large man's eyes opened and he looked at the young man. Who beckoned to him. With a heaving shake the rusty man rose from the pond's bottom and followed the young man away from the pond and through the woods.

          To the castle of the king. All of the soldiers and retainers fled when they appeared and the king alone stood before them.

          "This is Iron John," the young man said. "You must imprison him in an iron cage here in the courtyard. If you lock the cage and give the key to your queen the forest will be safe again for those who walk through it."

          Mist rose and darkened the scene. It was the end.

          The red-furred hand was heavy on Jim's shoulder-but it did not bother him.

          "Now you understand," Iron John said, newfound warmth in his voice. "Now you can release Iron John. Welcome, Jim, welcome."

          I wanted to say that I felt more confusion than comprehension. That I was experiencing something, yet not understanding it. Instead of speaking my feelings aloud I suddenly found that my eyes were brimming with tears. I did not know why although I knew that they were nothing to be ashamed of.

          Iron John smiled at me and, with a great finger, wiped the tears from my damp cheeks.

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 16</b>

          "What was all that about?" Floyd asked when I returned to our quarters. He was jazzing with his trombonio, a complex and gleaming collection of golden tubes and slides, which made some very interesting sounds indeed. Most of them, regrettably, of an ear-destroying nature.

          "More training film," I said, as nonchalantly as I could. I was surprised to hear a certain quaver in my voice as I spoke. Floyd tootled on, unaware of it, but Steengo who appeared to be asleep on the couch opened one eye.

          "Training film? You mean more about the pool in the forest?"

          "You got it in one."

          "Did you find out what was in the pool? The thing that dragged the dog down?"

          "A stupid story," Floyd said, and tootled a little fast riff. "Although I do feel sorry for the dog."

          "It wasn't a real dog," Steengo said. He looked at me, seemed to be waiting for me to speak, but I clamped my jaw shut and turned away. "Nor was it a real pool."

          "What do you mean?" I asked, looking at him.

          "Mythology, my dear Jim. And rites of passage. It was Iron John at the bottom of the pool, wasn't it?"

          I jumped as though I had been zapped with an electric shock. "It was! But-how did you know that?"

          "I told you I read my mythology. But the thing that really disturbs me-not this training film as you call it-is the fact that Iron John is here in the flesh, solid and hairy."

          "You've lost me," Floyd said, looking from one to the other of us. "A little explanation is very much in order."

          "It is," Steengo said, swinging his feet around so he sat up straight on the couch. "Mankind invents cultures-and cultures invent myths to justify and explain their existence. Prominent among these are the myths and ceremonies of the rites of passage for boys. The passage from boyhood to manhood. This is the time when the boy is separated from his mother and the other women. In some primitive cultures the boys go and live with the men-and never see their mothers again."

          "No big loss," Floyd muttered. Steengo nodded.

          "You heard that, Jim. In all cultures mothers try to shape sons in their female image. For their own good. The boys resist -and the rite of passage helps this resistance. There is always symbolism involved, because symbols are a way to represent the myths that underlie every culture."

          I thought about this; my head hurt. "Sorry, Steengo, but you left me behind completely with that one. Explanation?"

          "Of course. Let's stay with Iron John. You have just said that you didn't understand it-yet I think that it affected you emotionally."

          I started to protest, to lie-then stopped. Why lie? I tried not to lie to myself, ever. This was a good moment to apply that rule.

          "You're right. It got to me-and I don't know why . . ."

          "Myths deal with emotions, not facts. Let's look at the symbols. Did the young man bail out the pool and find Iron Hans, or Iron John at the bottom?"

          "That's exactly what happened."

          "Who do you think Iron John is? In the story I mean, not the one walking around here. But before you answer that-who do you think the young man in the story was?"

          "That's not too hard to figure out. Whoever the story was aimed at, whoever was watching it. In this case, since I was there alone, I guess it must have been me."

          "You are correct. So in the myth you, and every other young man, are looking for something in the pool, and have to work very very hard with the bucket to find it. Now we come to Iron John, the hairy man at the bottom of the pool. Is it a real man?"

          "No, of course it couldn't be. The man at the bottom of the pool has to be a symbol. Part of a myth. A symbol of manhood, maleness. The primitive male that lies beneath the surface in all of us."

          "Bang-on, Jim," he said in a low voice. "The story is trying to tell you that when a man, not a boy, looks deep inside himself, if he looks far down and for long enough, works hard enough, he will find the ancient hairy man within himself."

          Floyd stopped playing and his jaw gaped. "You guys been smoking something I don't know about."

          "Not smoking," Steengo said. "Sipping at the font of ancient wisdom."

          "Do you believe this myth?" I asked Steengo. He shrugged.

          "Yes and no. Yes, the process of growing up is a difficult one and anything that helps the process is a good thing. Yes, myths and coming-of-age ceremonies help prepare boys, giving them the assurances they need in the transition from boy to man. But that is as far as I will go. I say no resoundingly to a myth manifest as reality. Iron John alive and well and leading the pack. This is a fractured society here, without women and without even the knowledge of women. Not good. Quite sick."

          I was uneasy at this. "I don't agree all the way. I was affected very strongly by watching that story. And I am a very hard guy to con. This got to me."

          "It should have-because it was dealing with the very stuff of personality and self. I have a feeling, Jim, that yours was not the happiest of childhoods . . ."

          "Happy!" I laughed at the thought. "You try growing up on a porcuswine farm surrounded by bucolic peasants who are not much brighter than their herds."

          "And that includes your father and mother?"

          I started to answer warmly, saw what he was doing and where this was going. I shut up. Floyd shook the spittle from his so-called musical instrument and broke the silence.

          "I still feel sorry for the dog," he said.

          "Not a real dog," Steengo said, turning away from me. "A symbolic dog like everything else you saw. The dog is your body, the thing you order around, sit up, beg."

          Floyd shook his head in amazement. "Too deep for me. Like that pool. If I could change the subject from theory to fact for just a moment-what's next on the agenda?"

          "Finding Heimskur, of course, so we can find out if he still has the artifact," I said, happily putting this other matter aside. "Any suggestions?"

          "Brain empty," Floyd said. "Sorry. That hangover never really went away."

          "I'm glad some of us didn't drink," Steengo said, a sudden edge of irritation to his voice.

          For personal reasons I was happy to hear it, glad that he was still human; he came on pretty strong with the myth stuff. Forget this for awhile. I ticked off on my fingers. "We have only two choices. Hint around about him and gather what information we can. Or blurt right out that we want to see him. Personally, I'm all for the blurting since there is a kind of time limit on this investigation." Like ten days to the grim reaper. "Let's ask Goldy, our majordomo. He seems to know everything else."

          "Let me do it," Steengo said, standing and stretching. "I'll talk to him like an old buddy and work the conversation around to science and scientists. And Heimskur. Be right back."

          Floyd watched him go, tootling a little march in time with his footsteps. "This Iron John stuff sort of gets to you," he said after the door had closed.

          "Yes-and that's the worst part. I don't know why I'm bothered."

          "Women. I had six sisters and there were two aunts who lived with us. I had no brothers. I never think about women except one at a time in the right situation."

          Before I had to listen to one more boring macho tale about the right situation I excused myself and went for a jog. Returned sweating nicely, did some pushups and situps, then went for a wash. Steengo was there when I came out. Shaking his joined hands over his head when I lifted a quizzical eyebrow.

          "Success. Heimskur is head of the bunch who Labor in the Cause of Science, or so Veldi says."

          "Veldi . . . ?"

          "The doorman here. He does have a name after all. From what he says I get the feeling that this is a pretty stratified society with everyone in their correct place. Great respect is given to the scientist. Veldi was more than respectful when he talked about them because they appear to be the ones pretty much in charge."

          "Great. How do we get to meet Heimskur?"

          "We wait patiently," Steengo said and looked at his watch. "Because any moment our transportation will be here to take us to his august presence."

          "Not the Chariots of Fire again?" Floyd groaned.

          "No. But something that sounds just as ominous. A Transport of Delight . . ."

          Before we had time to dwell too long on that thought there was a brisk knocking and gold-clad Veldi threw the door open.

          "Gentlemen-this way if you please."

          We walked heads high and strong. Hiding any qualms we might have had. Though we shuddered to a halt when we saw what was awaiting us.

          "Your Transport of Delight," Veldi said proudly, waving magnanimously in the direction of what could only be a landlocked lifeboat.

          It was snow-white, clinker-built, with a stub mast festooned with flags, white wheels just visible tucked under the keel below. A uniformed officer looked down from the rail above, saluted, gave a signal-and the rope ladder clattered down to our feet.

          "All aboard," I said as I led the way.

          Cushioned divans awaited us while attendants beckoned and held out jars of cool drink. As soon as we were seated the officer signaled again and the drummer in the bow whirred his sticks in a rapid drumroll - then shifted to his bass drum. As the first, methodical boom boomed out the Transport of Delight shuddered. Then began to roll slowly forward.

          "A galley-without slaves or oars," Floyd said.

          "Plenty of slaves," I said as a wave of masculine perspiration wafted up from the funnel-shaped vent beside me. "But instead of oars they are grinding away at gears or some such, to turn the wheels."

          "No complaints," Steengo said, sipping at his wine. "Not after the Chariots of Fire."

          We rolled ponderously between the buildings, nodding at the bystanders and occasionally giving a royal flick of the hand at some of our cheering fans. We moved on through what appeared to be a residential quarter and beyond it into a park-like countryside. Our road wove between the trees, past a row of ornamental fountains to ponderously stop before an immense glass-walled building. A party of elegantly dressed ancients awaited us. Led by the most ancient of them all, white-clad and standing firmly erect. But his face was wrinkled beyond belief. I clambered down the ladder and dropped before him.

          "Do I address the noble Heimskur?"

          "You do. And of course you are Jim of the Rats. Welcome, welcome all."

          There was plenty of handshaking and glad cries of joy before Heimskur broke off the reception and led me into the glass building.

          "Welcome," he said, "doubly welcome. To the College of Knowledge from whence all good things flow. If you will follow me I will explain our labors to you. Since you gentlemen come from the surging, mongrel worlds outside our peaceful boundaries you will surely appreciate how the application of intelligence makes our society such a happy and peaceful world. No strife, no differences, a place for everyone and everyone in their place. Down this way are the Phases of Physics, the Caverns of Chemistry. There the Avenues of Agriculture, next to them the Meadows of Medicine, while just beyond is the Museum of Mankind."

          "Museum?" I inquired offhandedly. "I simply love museums."

          "Then you must see ours. It charts the difficulties through which we passed before coming here, a rite of passage and of cleansing, before we found safe haven on this world. Here we grew and prospered and the record is clear for all to see."

          And pretty boring if not just downright preposterous. Cleaner than clean, whiter than white. The only thing missing were the halos on the saints who had accomplished so much good.

          "Inspirational," I said when we finally reached the end of the exhibition.

          "It is indeed."

          "And down this way?"

          "The museum for students. Biologists can examine the plant life of our planet, geologists the strata and the schist."

          "Archeologists?"

          "Alas, very little. The crudest of artifacts left by the long-dead indigenes who first settled here."

          "May we?"

          "By all means. You see-fire sticks and crude pottery. A hand ax, a few arrow points. Scarcely worth preserving were we not so faithful to our role as recorders and archivists."

          "Nothing more?"

          "Nothing."

          I dug the photograph from an inside pocket, took a deep breath-and passed it over.

          "You may have heard that the warders in the Pentagon promised us favors if we helped them find this?"

          "Did they indeed? I would believe nothing they said."

          He took the photograph and blinked at it, handed it back. "Just like them to lie and cause trouble for no reason."

          "Lie?"

          "About this. It was brought here. I examined it myself. Not indigenous at all, couldn't possibly be. Probably something broken off an old spaceship. Meaningless and worthless. Gone now."

          "Gone?" I fought to keep the despair from my voice.

          "Discarded. Gone from Paradise. Non-existent. Men have no need of such rubbish therefore it is gone forever. Forget the worthless item Jim and we shall talk of far more interesting things. Music. You must tell me-do you write your own lyrics . . . ?"

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 17</b>

          We were very silent on our return trip, scarcely aware of the manifold pleasures that rode with us in our Transport of Delight. Only behind the closed doors of our quarters did we let go. I nodded appreciatively as I listened while Floyd swore blasphemously and scatologically; he had a fine turn of phrase and went on for a long time without repeating himself.

          "And I double that," I said when lack of breath forced him to subside. "We have indeed been hard done by."

          "We have," Steengo agreed. "But we have also been lied to.

          "What do you mean?"

          "I mean that Heimskur was selling us a line of old camel cagal. More than half of his so-called history of science and nature was pure propaganda for the troops. If we can't believe him about that-how can we believe him when he shovels a lot of bushwah about the artifact? Do you remember his last words?"

          "No."

          "Neither do I. But I hope someone does. I imagine that you didn't notice it-but I was doing a lot of head-scratching and nose-picking while we were doing that tour."

          Floyd wasn't being bright today and gaped at the news. I smiled and put my index finger into my ear. "Come in ear in the sky. Do you read me?"

          "No but I hear you," Captain Tremearne said through my fingernail.

          "Good. But more important-did you listen in to our guided tour?"

          "All of it. Very boring. But I recorded it anyway, the way you asked."

          "The way Steengo asked-credit where credit is due. Would you be so kind as to play back the last speech about the artifact."

          "Coming up." After some clattering and high-pitched voices whizzing by our aged guide sounded forth.

          "Discarded. Gone from Paradise. Non-existent. Men have no need of such rubbish therefore it is gone forever."

          I copied it down and got it right after a couple of repeats. "That's it. Thanks."

          "There," Steengo said, tapping the paper. "Weasel wording. That tricky old devil was playing with us, knowing that we had some reason to be interested in the thing. He never said destroyed, not once. Discarded? That means it might be still around someplace. Gone from Paradise-could be anywhere else on this planet. But I particularly like the bit about men having no need for the thing." He smiled a smile like a poker player laying down five Aces.

          "If men have no need for it-what about women?"

          "Women?" I felt my jaw hanging open and closed it with a clack. "What about them? There are only men here?"

          "How right you are. And right on the other side of the town wall is-what? I'm betting on women. Either that or an awful lot of cloning is going on in this place. I'll bet on nature and some kind of connection through the wall."

          My jawphone buzzed and Tremearne's voice echoed inside my sinuses. "I agree with Steengo. And so does Madonette. She's already on her way along the wall to the city and will report as soon as she finds out anything. "

          I started to protest, realized the futility, kept my mouth shut. "It figures," I said. "The gang in charge here lie about everything else-so lying about the artifact just comes naturally. We'll have to wait . . ."

          I shut up as Veldi knocked quietly, then opened the door. "Good news!" he announced, eyes glowing with passion. "Iron John has chosen to speak to The Stainless Steel Rats-in the Veritorium itself. An honor above all other honors. Hurry, gentlemen. But first brush your clothing and, with the exception of heroically-bearded Floyd, diple the five o'clock shadow now gracing your musical jaws. What pleasures do await you!"

          Pleasures better lived without. But this was a royal command and no way to get around it. I took a bit of diple-fast and rubbed my jaw smooth, combed my hair and tried not to scowl at myself in the mirror. I was the last to emerge and we boarded the Transport of Delight in silence, rolled ponderously to our destiny.

          "I wonder why all three of us?" Steengo said, sipping his glass of chilled wine. "Last time it was you alone at the training-film session, wasn't it, Jim?"

          "I have no idea," I said, wanting to change the subject. Nor was I too pleased with his light-hearted attitude. I tried to think about Madonette going in alone to the other city, but my thoughts kept trundling back to Iron John. What was going to happen now?

          When we entered the Veritorium I was surprised at how big it really was. It was better lit now and I saw that rows of seats reached up in a semicircle. They were all filled now with the oldest collection of Paradisians I had seen so far. Bald heads and gray hair, wrinkles and toothless jaws.

          Iron John himself stepped forward to greet us. "You are all truly welcome here-and these seats are for you." They were three of the best in the front row-separated from the others. "You are our honored guests, musical Stainless Steel Rats. This occasion is a special one-specially so for young James diGriz. You are the youngest man here, Jim, and very soon you will find out why. Your companions will, I am sure, watch with pleasure. Not only pleasure but I sincerely hope that they will learn by observation. Now we begin . . ."

          Cued by his words the lights died and darkness filled the Veritorium. Footsteps sounded in the darkness, and there was a small laugh. Light appeared and I saw the small boy hurry forward, stumbling a bit under the weight of the box he was carrying. He put it down and opened the lid, took out a top that started spinning when he touched its switch. Then he took out a tray of blocks, started to build a tower with them. When it was high enough he turned to take another toy out of the box. He was a very concentrated, very intense young boy, about eight years old. He rummaged deeper in the box, then looked around with a childish frown.

          "Don't hide, teddy," he said. Looked behind the toy box, then into it again and then-with sudden determination-turned and hurried off. He vanished from sight but I could hear his footsteps going away, stopping. Then coming back. Carrying a teddy bear. A commonplace, slightly worn, very ordinary teddy bear. He propped it against the toy box and started building a second tower from the blocks.

          The scene grew lighter and I realized we were back in the castle courtyard. The boy was alone-or was he? Something was there in the darkness, a shape that grew clearer.

          It was an iron cage and, sitting silently, inside it was Iron John. The boy shouted and knocked over the block towers, ran to pick up the strewn blocks. Looked at Iron John, then away. The cage and its occupant must be a familiar sight to him.

          Nothing else happened. The boy played, Iron John watched him in silence. Yet there was an electric tension in the air that made it hard to breathe. I knew that something vitally important was about to happen, and when the boy reached again into the toy box I found myself leaning forward.

          When he took the small golden ball from the box I realized that I had been holding my breath; I let it out with a gasp. Nor was I the only one for around me in the darkness there were echoes of my gasp.

          The ball bounced and rolled and the boy laughed with pleasure.

          Then he threw it once, harder than intended, and it rolled and rolled. Through the bars of the iron cage to stop at Iron John's feet.

          "My ball," the boy said. "Give it back."

          "No," Iron John said. "You must unlock this cage and let me out. Then you will have your golden ball back."

          "Locked," the boy said.

          Iron John nodded. "Of course. But you know how to find the key."

          The boy was shaking his head no as he backed away.

          "Where is the key?" the man in the cage asked, but the boy was gone. "Where is the key? But you are only a boy. Perhaps you are too young to know where the key is. You must be older to find the key."

          There were murmurs of agreement from the invisible audience. It was very important to find the key, I knew that. The key . . .

          It was then that I became aware that Iron John was looking at me. He was there in the cage; it wasn't a holoflic. He looked at me and nodded.

          "Jim, I'll bet you know where the key is. You are no longer a boy. You can find it-now."

          His voice was a goad. I was on my feet, walking forward to the box of toys. My foot touched a block and it rattled aside.

          "The key is in the toy box," I said, but I didn't believe the words even as I spoke them. I looked at Iron John who shook his head no.

          "Not in the box."

          I looked down again and realized that I did know where the key was. I raised my eyes to Iron John and he nodded solemnly. "See you do know where the key to the cage is. You can let me out now, Jim. Because you know the key is there. Inside . . ."

          "Teddy," I said.

          "Teddy. Not a real bear. Teddies are for children and you are no longer a child. Inside teddy."

          I reached out, blinked away the tears that were blurring my vision, seized up the toy, felt the soft fabric between my fingers. Heard a loud voice that slashed the silence.

          "Not quite right, Jim, not right. The key is not there-it has to be under your mother's pillow!"

          Steengo had come forward to join me, had to shout the last words to be heard over the roar of voices.

          "Mother doesn't want her son to leave her. She hides the key to the Iron man's cage under her pillow. The son must steal the key . . ."

          The shouting voices drowned him out. Then it went dark in an instant and someone ran into me knocking me down. I tried to stand, to call out, but a hard foot walked on my hand. I shouted aloud at the sudden pain but my voice went unheard in the clamor. Someone else jarred into me and the darkness became even more intense.

          "Jim-are you all right? Can you hear me?"

          Floyd's face was just above mine, looking worried. Was I all right? I didn't know. I was in bed, must have been asleep. Why was he waking me?

          Then I remembered and sat upright, grabbed his arms.

          "The Veritorium! It got dark, something happened. I can't remember-" '

          "I'm not much help because I can't either. It seemed like a good show. Hard to follow the plot but you were in it, do you remember that?" I nodded. "Seemed to be enjoying yourself, although you didn't look happy about tearing the stuffing out of the teddy bear. That's when Steengo joined you onstage and all the fun started. Or stopped. It all gets vague about that time."

          "Where's Steengo?"

          "You tell me. I saw him last on the stage. I was sleeping myself, just woke up. Looked around, no Steengo. Found you here snoring away and I gave you a shake."

          "If he's not here . . ."

          A muted knock sounded at the door, and a moment later it opened and Veldi looked in.

          "Gentlemen, a happy good morning to you both. I thought I heard your voices and hoped you would be awake. I bring you a message from your friend . . ."

          "Steengo - you've seen him?"

          "Indeed I did. We had a friendly chat before you awoke. Then, before he left, he made this recording. Told me to give it to you. Told me you would understand."

          He placed a small recorder on the table, stepped back. "The green button is to play, red to stop." Then he was gone.

          "A message?" Floyd asked, picking the thing up and staring at it.

          Press the button instead of fiddling with the damn thing!"

          He looked startled at my tone, put it back on the table and turned it on.

          "Good morning there, Jim and Floyd. You guys are sure sound sleepers and I didn't want to wake you before I went out. You know, I'm beginning to think that this city is not for me. I need some space to get my thoughts together. I'm going to take a walk back down the wall, get some air to breathe, some space to think in. You hang in there and I'll be in touch."

          "That old Steengo," Floyd said. "What a character. That's him all right. His voice, sure enough, and his way of thinking. Some guy!"

          I looked up, looked him in the eye. His face was as grim as mine. He shook his head in a silent no. I did the same.

          Steengo had not left that message. It was his voice all right. Easy enough for the electronic technicians to fake that.

          Steengo was gone.

          What had happened?

         

          i39

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 18</b>

          I really slept," I said. "Like a rock. Thirsty."

          "The same. I'll get some juice and a couple of glasses."

          "Great idea."

          I had scribbled the note by the time he came back, slipped it to him when I took the glass. He opened it behind the pitcher, read it.

          Place bugged. What do we do?

          He nodded as he passed me my glass of juice.

          "Thanks," I said, watching him turn over the note and write on the back. I don't know if there were optical bugs as well as the audio ones. Until we found out we had to act as though there were. I kept the note in my palm when I read it.

          Steengo much concerned. Left these for you before we went to the show.

          I finished the juice, put my glass down, lifted my eyebrows quizzically. He pointed quickly at his closed fist. When he stood and passed me he dropped something small into my lap. I waited a minute before I poured more juice, drank it, sat back with my hand in my lap. Two small, soft objects. Familiar. I rubbed my nose and glanced at them.

          Filter nose plugs. For neutralizing gas. Steengo had known something-or guessed something. He also knew how affected I had been by the sessions in the Veritorium. He had suspected that something physical, not just the training session itself, had gotten to me.

          Of course! Obvious by hindsight. I knew of a dozen hypnotic gases that lowered the ability to think clearly, that left the brain open to outside influences. So it hadn't been emotion but plain old chemistry that had carried me away. Steengo had suspected this-but why hadn't he told me? Depressingly, I realized that the state of mind I had been in, probably caused by drugs in the earlier session, rendered that impossible. He knew he couldn't tell me. But had been suspicious enough to wear the plugs himself.

          And when he saw me getting deeply involved in the ritual he had interrupted before it was too late, had brought the whole thing to a screeching halt. I felt my teeth grating together and forced myself to stop.

          He had talked about mother and the key under her pillow to these people who denied that women even existed!

          With the realization of the enormity of his crime in the eyes of the Paradisians I felt a sudden overwhelming fear for his safety. Would they kill him-or worse-had they killed him already? They were certainly capable of anything, I was sure now of that.

          What next? Communication with our backup team in the spacer above was very much in order. I had to get into the open, away from the bugs, and contact Tremearne. Bring him up to date. Something had happened to Steengo. And the rest of us surely were in danger as well-and Madonette, this might affect her. This entire affair was getting a nasty and dangerous edge to it.

          And thinking about dangerous, there was the other dangerous always hanging over my head. My computer flashed me the highly unwelcome message of a flickering red nine. I had been asleep longer than I had realized.

          Artifact or no I was just nine days away from my personal destiny. When I had first heard the thirty-day deadline on the poison I had not been too concerned. Thirty days is a lot of time. I thought.

          Nine days was definitely not a lot of time at all. And with Steengo suddenly vanished I had more problems, not less.

          "Going for a run," I called out to Floyd, leaping to my feet in a spasm of fear-sponsored energy. "Feel logy after all that sleep. Got to clear my head."

          I slammed out the door and down the road even as he was answering. Taking a different route from my usual one-then changed direction at random. Up ahead was a field of polpettone trees, laid out in neat rows and bulging with fruit. I jogged into a path beside the trees, looking around as I ran. No one in sight. There was little chance the Paradisers would put bugs in among the trees.

          But they could have. I turned into a freshly plowed field and ran between the furrows. I should be safe enough here. I clamped my jaw twice.

          "Hello, Tremearne, are you there?"

          "Very much so, Jim. We have all been awaiting your report. Can you tell us what is happening-the recorder is running."

          I jogged in position for a bit, then bent to tie my shoe then gave up and just sat on the ground while I finished the detailed report. I was tired; the chemicals still kicking around in my system had not been kind to me.

          "That's it," I finished. "Steengo is gone. Might be dead . . ."

          "No. I can reassure you on that score. A few hours ago we had a radio message from him, just a few words, theca contact was lost again. He must be somewhere deep in the city, behind walls the radio signals can't penetrate. He might have been moved from one site to another, was in the open long enough for a brief transmission."

          "What did he say?"

          The recording was brief and scratchy. Beginning with static and dying in static. But it was pure Steengo all right.

          ". . . never enough! When I get my fingers on you, you . . . " The next word was hard to make out-but I could think of a half dozen that filled the bill.

          "What do you think we should do? Break out of here?"

          "No-go along with everything. You will be contacted."

          "Contacted? By whom, what, which? Come in, Tremearne.

          There was no answer. I rose and brushed off my shorts. Very mysterious. Tremearne was up to something-but he was not talking about it. Must be worried about eavesdroppers. Maybe he knew something that I didn't.

          I started back at a slow run, changed that to a fast walk. To a slow walk, then a crawl. If there had been any farther to go I would probably have done it on all fours. As it was I stumbled into our quarters and collapsed, gasping, onto the couch. Floyd looked astonished.

          "You look like you've been dipped and rolled."

          "I feel even worse than that. Water, quickly, lots of it!"

          I drank until I was sloshing, then sipped a little bit more, handed the glass weakly back.

          "Knocked myself out. Be a good buddy and get my pack. I got some vitamin pills there should pick me up." When he handed me the pack I clicked out a couple of Blast-offs, superuppers, and swallowed one. "Vitamins, good for you," I said as I passed one over. Floyd was a little faster off the mental mark lately and did not ask any questions.

          Our timing was pretty good. The wave of good feeling and energy was washing away my almost-terminal fatigue when Veldi threw open the door.

          "On your feet!" he called out. I did not move.

          "Veldi," I said. "Old and trusted servant. No soft knock? No sweet tones . . ."

          "The word is out that you Stainless Steel Rats are just plain rats. Troublemakers. Just get going."

          There was the quick thud-thud of marching feet and Sergeant Ljotur came in with an armed squad of soldiers. Armed with wicked-looking spears with gleaming points and barbed shafts.

          "You are to come with me!" he ordered. He did not look happy about it.

          "No longer a musical fan, Ljotur?" I said, climbing slowly to my feet.

          "I have orders." Orders that he obviously did not like. Which of course he would obey since independent thought had never been encouraged in the military. Floyd followed me out and the squad formed up. Four in front, four in back of us. Ljotur checked the formation, nodded, took position in front and raised his spear.

          "Forward-burtu!"

          We burtu'ed at a slow trot, down the road and turned right at the corner. Which put us directly on the route to the red brick lodgings where Iron John lurked, as I remembered from our first visit. Trotted down the road and into a tunnel under a, row of buildings. One of the guards to the rear tapped me on the shoulder.

          "Give me a hand, will you?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

          Then swung sideways and planted his fist in the stomach of the guard next to him. Who folded and dropped without a sound.

          This was easy enough to understand. I had turned when he tapped me so I kept turning to face the rear. I reached out and got a hand on the other two guards' necks. Squeezed as they turned their spears towards me.

          "Floyd!" I gasped out, putting all my energy into my throttle grips so these jokers would pass out before they harpooned me. "The others!"

          One of the guards dropped but the other one, with a stronger neck, kept his spear coming. Into my stomach

          No, not quite. The first guard, who had called to me, gave him a quick chop under the ear. He and I whirled about, ready to jump to Floyd's help. And stopped.

          The four other guards were lying in a silent, tumbled heap on the ground. Floyd had a spear pressed firmly under Ljotur's jaw, was holding him up with his other hand.

          "You want to talk to this guy?" Floyd asked. "Or you want him down there with the others?"

          "I've nothing to say . . ."

          "No talk. Drop."

          Before I could finish speaking a limp Ljotur joined the rest of the sleeping patrol.

          "What about this one?" Floyd asked, fingers arced, pointing to the soldier who had called to me.

          "Wait! He started this thing. There has to be a reason for it.

          "There is," the soldier said in the same hoarse voice. "I am going to tell you a few things. You will not laugh at anything I say - understood?"

          "We're not laughing!" I said. "Great, guy, thanks for the help. And what's the plan?"

          "First off-remember about the laughing! I'm not a guy. I'm a girl. Do I see lips bending?"

          "Never!" I called out, to disguise the fact that a little flicker of emotion had appeared. "You saved us. We are in your debt. We are not laughing. So tell us about it."

          "All right. But let's drag these so-called soldiers out of the way first. Then we go on. The orders were to bring you to Iron John and that is what I am going to do. Your friend is in danger. Do nothing precipitate. Forward."

          We went. Disbelieving perhaps, but still forward. Floyd started to talk but I raised my hand.

          "Save the discussion. Explanations will be useful after we make sure Steengo is all right. But Floyd-stop me if I am wrong-did I see you take five guys out while I was just about managing two?"

          "You didn't see it. It was over before you turned to look." He was the same old laid-back Floyd-but was that a new touch of firmness to his words? It was a day of surprises. And he was right-I had not seen him at work, just the results.

          The brick palace jogged into view ahead. Apparently not all of the troops had been told that we were no longer heroes, for the guards at the entrance did a snappy jump to attention and salute as we trotted past.

          "Halt!" our newfound friend (girl . . . ?) called out and we stopped before the guards at the door. "Orders to bring these two to Iron John. Permission to enter?"

          "Enter!" the officer in charge called out. The doors opened and closed behind us as we trotted by. There was the large room ahead and inside it was Iron John. And just one other person.

          Steengo. Collapsed against the wall, covered in bruises and blood. One eye swollen shut. He started to speak but could only rasp out something incomprehensible.

          "You are all here now," Iron John said. "Soldier-guard the entrance. No one to enter or leave. I have a score to settle with these interlopers. Because I have changed my mind about keeping this thing quiet. I listened to my advisers and I am sorry that I did. Secrecy is at an end and justice will be done to the blasphemers. Here is what will happen. First I will kill this aged devil who spoke such filth. You two will watch.

          "Then I will kill you as well."

          He started towards Steengo, a red giant of unleashed power. Hands extended to kill.

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 19</b>

          Let me have your spear." I called out to the soldier at the door. She shook her head in a silent no, then said, "I have my orders." No help from this source.

          Iron John had turned and was walking towards Steengo. I ran two silent steps in his direction and launched myself into a flying kick to his back. Heel punching out, a killing blow.

          Then I was batted from the air. As big as he was-Iron John was just as fast. He had turned while I was in the air and had swung one .hand. Knocking me aside, sprawling me onto the floor. His voice was as deep and ominous as a distant volcano.

          "Do you want to be first, little man? You wish the others to watch your destruction? Perhaps that is only fair since you are their leader."

          He came slowly towards me and I found myself trembling with fear. Fear? Yes, because he was not human, more than human. He was Iron John a part of the legend of life, I could not hurt him.

          He wasn't. I scrabbled to my feet, my leg ached, moved away. He was much bigger, wider, stronger than I was. But no, he wasn't a legend. He was a man.

          "A big fat red slob!" I shouted. "A hairy conman!"

          His eyes were wide, red, angry. His arched fingers reached for me. I feinted a fist at his jaw, saw him move to block it. Kept turning in an unstoppable kick to his knee.

          It connected-but he made no attempt to avoid it. My foot hurt. His knee, his kneecap, looked unhurt.

          "I am Iron John!" he shouted. "Iron-iron!"

          I fell back, there was no escape. I swung a twisting punch that he took on his biceps. It felt like striking stone. Then his fist to my ribs sent me skidding down the room.

          When I gasped in breath it hurt. Felt like something was broken there. Stand up, Jim! I got as far as my knees and he came on.

          I blinked as I saw two arms encircle his legs, send him staggering. Kicking out. It was Steengo who had crawled behind him, tried to trip him. Who was now sent crashing back into the wall. To fall and not move again.

          I was barely aware of this because the instant Iron John's attention had wandered I had jumped. Getting an arm around his neck, grappling my own wrist. Pulling my forearm tight against his throat to crush his larynx, to cut off blood and air. The armlock that kills in seconds. My face was buried in his rank red fur as I tightened hard, harder than I ever had before.

          To no avail. I could feel the tendons in his neck stiffen like steel bars, taking the pressure that should have been on his throat. He lifted one hand slowly, then sank his fingers deep into my flesh - hurled me across the room to crash into the wall, fall.

          I realized that the voice wailing in agony was my own. I could not move. The soldier at the door looked at me, looked away. Steengo had lain, motionless, since that single, terrible blow. Nor could I do much better myself, just able to crawl.

          At least Iron John had felt my hold; he was rubbing at his neck. The smile had gone and frothed saliva now coated his lips. Death would be a single blow . . .

          "Iron John-you have forgotten something. You have forgotten me."

          Floyd was speaking. Thin, black-bearded, uninvolved. He must have stood and watched while Steengo was stricken, I was felled. Only now did he move.

          Quietly forward. Hands extended, fingers lightly bowed. Iron John was in a rage. Leaped and lashed out.

          And missed because Floyd was not there. He was to one side, kicking the red giant in the ribs so that he stumbled and almost fell.

          "Come here," Floyd said in a voice so low I could barely hear it. "Come and be destroyed."

          Iron John was cautious now, knew how fast his new opponent could react. He opened his arms wide and came slowly forward. A force of nature. Implacable and inescapable.

          Two quick thuds,. two blows sounded and Iron John staggered. Floyd was out of his reach again, circling him slowly. A sudden kick, a blow, then away again.

          Nothing Iron John did seemed to affect the outcome. He was wary, he attacked suddenly, reached out and struck. Touched only air. Floyd was before him, behind him-striking him. Wearing him down.

          They circled for minutes this way. And Floyd was still just as fast, striking with impunity. But the red monster was going slower and slower, arms lower and lower as the endless blows drove the strength from them. He must have realized that there could be only one end to this battle, on these terms. But he was still dangerous. Almost by chance the struggle moved towards me.

          He was after me I realized! I had only the shortest instant to draw my leg back before Iron John spun about and dived towards me.

          And caught my kick full in his face. He dropped-but his hands closed on my ankle, pulled me towards him. Reached up . . .

          Then Floyd struck. No science now-raw power. Pile driver blows to the giant's back and kidneys that opened his mouth wide with pain, forcing him to release me as he struggled to get away from his tormentor.

          More blows to his head. He tried to rise, his legs were kicked from beneath him. The thudding of quick strikes like some terrible machine at work. Then a sudden silence.

          A moment for balance, no expression showing on his face, then Floyd swung a terrible kick that terminated on the side of the giant's head. Who fell over and did not rise nor move again.

          "Dead?" I croaked. Floyd knelt and felt the pulse in his neck.

          "No, he wasn't supposed to be. He'll survive. But I think that he will remember he has been in a fight." He flashed a quick smile, then his face became calm again. "If you're all right I'll look at Steengo."

          "I'm great. Knocked about but great," I croaked as I climbed painfully to my feet.

          "Pulse good," he said, kneeling beside our friend. "He has taken a lot of punishment but nothing seems to be broken that I can find. He will come out of this fine."

          I was groggy, now even weaker with relief, blurted out the words without thinking.

          "He's fine. I'm fine. However we would have been a lot better if you had waded into this fracas sooner."

          I saw him wince at the words, wished I could take them back. You never can.

          "I'm sorry, I really am. I had to wait, see what he could do. I know that you're good, Jim. I knew you could at least hold him. I'm sorry but I had to see how fast he could move before I took him on. I had to wear him down, not get touched. I knew I could do it-and I moved as soon as I knew. Sorry . . ."

          "Reporting," our guard-guy-girl said. "The Red One is unconscious."

          She lowered the small, coin-sized communicator as I stalked towards her, hands out and ready to strike.

          "Who were you talking to? Whose side are you on? What's happening here? Speak-or get demolished."

          The guard, spear lowered and pointed at me, stood her ground. "The answer to your questions is arriving now. There." The point of her spear moved to indicate a spot behind me. A ruse? Who knew, who cared. I turned and looked at Iron John's giant throne.

          Which was slowly turning on some invisible axis. Floyd and I both faced that way, hands raised automatically on the defense. A black opening was revealed and, as the throne stopped moving, there was motion in the darkness beyond. Two figures appeared, walked out into the room.

          Both women.

          One of them was Madonette.

          "Hi, guys," she said, smiling and waving. "I'd like to introduce a new friend, Mata."

          The woman was about my height, regal of bearing in her dark robe touched with gold embroidery. Her expression was composed, peaceful; small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, a touch of gray to her hair, were the only signs of age.

          "Welcome to the other side of Paradise, Jim," she said-and held out her hand. Her handshake was firm and quick. I opened my mouth but could not think of anything relevant to say.

          "I know that you have many questions." Her words filled the gap. "M of which xill be answered. But it would be wisest to postpone our little chat until we are out of this place. A moment, please."

          She took a very efficient-looking hypodermic from the reticule hanging at her waist. Uncapped it and bent to brush aside the thick hair on his leg to give Iron John a quick injection.

          "He will sleep the better," she said. "Bethuel-will you lead the way?"

          The guard raised her spear in a quick salute, then marched resolutely past the throne and into the opening. Madonette touched Steengo's cheek, then waved Floyd to her. "Help me carry him. Jim will have enough to do just moving himself."

          I resented the remark-a blotch on my masculine pride but before I could stumble over they had lifted him and were following the guard, Bethuel.

          There were no lights in the tunnel behind the throne. At least none until Mata had entered behind us and sealed it once again. Pale illumination flickered into existence. More than enough to see by. Nor was it a long walk to the open door at the far end. We emerged into a large, red brick room that could have been a mirror-image of the one that we had just left.

          Just in physical size, though. Here the walls were covered by pleasant hangings, tapestries of sunshine and floral landscapes. Instead of the swords and shields that adorned the other. The stained-glass windows here depicted scenes of mountains and valleys, villages and forests. Unlike Iron John's windows which featured the clash of battle, spackle of gore. This was altogether more civilized.

          As was the murmur of concerned voices from the women in attendance here. They tenderly carried Steengo to a couch where another woman, dressed in white, ministered to him. I dropped into the nearest chair and scowled around at all the female bustle. My voice, louder and more censorious than I had intended, cut through the peaceful scene.

          "Now would somebody, anybody, tell me just what the hell is going on."

          The way I was ignored was comment enough in itself. Though a smiling girl did bring me a glass of cool -vine-on the way to serve the others. Madonette sat next to Mata, where they put their heads together for a moment before Madonette spoke.

          "First-and most important now that you all are safe-is the fact that the artifact is here and is being looked after. In addition there is-"

          "Excuse if I interrupt," I said. "A matter of priority." I clamped my jaw twice. "Did you hear that, Tremearne?" His answer buzzed in my jawbone.

          "I did, and . . ."

          "Priorities, Captain." I spoke quietly so only he could hear. "Mission complete. Alien artifact returned. Antidote for me on its way down. Nine days is close enough to come. Do you understand all that?"

          "Of course. But there is a complication . . ."

          "Complication!" I could hear the squeak of fear edging my voice. "What?"

          "I sent for the antidote to the thirty-day poison as soon as I heard about it. I had no intention of waiting until the deadline to administer it. However there was an accident in transit." Sweat suddenly beaded my forehead and my toes tapped anxiously on the floor. "These things happen. I've sent for a second batch and it's en route now."

          I cursed viciously under my breath, then realized that I was the object of more than one concerned glance. Smiled woodenly and snarled my answer.

          "Do it. Get it. No excuses. Now. Understood."

          "Understood. "

          "Fine." I stopped whispering and called out. "I'm most cheered to hear that the artifact has been found. Now, if you please, an explanation of what all this is about."

          "Seems obvious," Madonette said undoubtedly miffed by my surly behavior. "It looks like the ladies have saved your bacon and you should be grateful."

          Which did nothing to clear the air. "As I recall," I recalled. "It was the gentlemen-at some physical cost I must add-who polished off that russet rottweiler before you all came onto the scene. I also remember that we were watched all the time during the life-and-death struggle by one of your lot who did nothing to help."

          The tough answer sprang to her lips and I snarled around at the female company. Tempers flared on all sides but Mata cooled things down.

          "Children-there has been enough tribulation and pain, so do not cause yourself any more." She turned to me. "Jim, let me explain. The soldier who aided your escape, Bethuel, is one of our spies who keeps us informed about all the masculine meanderings beyond the wall. I ordered her to help you escape your guards, which she did. I also ordered her not to reveal her presence to Iron John. The men beyond the wall have no idea that we watch them closely and I wish it to remain that way. She aided your escape and you should be grateful."

          I was, and I should have admitted it, but I was still bullheaded and angry and settled for a surly mutter and growl. Mata nodded blithely as though I had communicated something of importance.

          "See how well everything has worked out? You are here and safe, your friends safe as well, and that for which you seek, the strange artifact, is secure and close by."

          I only half listened. Fine for the troops. But there were other forces at work that did not bode well for my future. Accidents in transit did not happen by accident. Someone in the bureaucracy that was manipulating me-did not like me. Perhaps had never liked me and never had any intention of supplying the antidote. I would certainly be less trouble to them if I were safely dead. And there were only nine days left to sort the whole thing out.

          I had touched my computer controls automatically while these thoughts were whizzing about my tired brain. The number glowed before me. I really had had a longer sleep than I realized.

          Eight days to go.

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 20</b>

          I looked around at the peaceful female bustle-and suddenly felt very, very tired. My side hurt and I felt sure that a couple of ribs were broken. I sipped the wine but it didn't help. What I really needed was a couple of Blast-off pills to restore me to something resembling life. In my pack

          "My pack!" I shouted hoarsely. "My equipment, everything. Those masculine momsers have all our gear!"

          "Not quite," Mata said in soothing tones. "As soon as you left we saw to it that the porter, Veldi, was rendered unconscious and both your packs are here now. Your associate Steengo's equipment was not in your residence so we can assume that it is now in the possession of Iron John or his associates."

          "Not good." I worried a fingernail with my incisors. "There are things there they shouldn't see . . ."

          "Might I interrupt," Tremearne's voice spoke through my jaw-a-phone. "I was waiting until things quieted down to tell you. Steengo's pack as safe."

          "You have it?"

          "Rather I should have said `made safe.' All of your packs are boobytrapped with a canister of rotgrot. Which, when released by a coded radio signal, causes the contents of the pack to instantly decay to their component molecules."

          "Nice to known. A lot of secrets are being revealed of late, aren't they?"

          There was no response from my jaw. I held out my wine glass for a refill. "Some simple answers , to some simple questions, if you please." My anger had been blasted by fatigue, excoriated by fear of imminent death. Mata nodded in response.

          "Good. On a historical note-how come guys over there, girls here?"

          "A union of convenience," Mata said. "Many years ago our foremothers were forcefully relocated to this planet. This inadvertent transplantation had a sobering effect on them. Whatever excesses of zeal they had displayed on other worlds were not repeated here. Peace, cool-reasoning and logic prevailed. We became then as you see us now."

          "Women," I said. "A society of women."

          "That is correct. Life here was a running battle for a good long time, or so it is written. The Fundamentaloids tried to convert us, while our next door neighbors tried to wipe us out. The inferior sex they called us, a threat to their existence. When we first came to this planet we found that those macho crazies were already well established. Our group was forced to spend a good deal of effort just staying clear of them. This was time and energy wasted, our founding mothers decided, so they sought for ways to bring about peace. Eventually they convinced the male ruling clique that they could prosper by utilizing their energy in a more positive manner. It was a completely selfish appeal, arranging ways for the males on top in their society to stay on top, while providing absolute control of the rest of the men."

          "Sounds pretty terrible," Madonette said. "Turning all those men into slaves."

          "Never say slaves! Willing collaborators is more like it. We showed those in charge, and in particular the one now called Iron John, how much easier it would be to rule by brain rather than muscle. We demonstrated to their satisfaction how a great deal more could be accomplished. With our intelligence and knowledge of science, and their muscles, two separate societies were born. In the beginning there was much hatred and clashes between the groups. This died away when it was decided that only the male leaders knew of our existence. This suited the leaders to perfection."

          "That was when the two cities were built-and the wall?"

          "Correct. This planet is rich in red clay and fossil fuel so the males soon became manic brick makers. After we showed them how to build kilns, of course. There were contests to see who could mold the most bricks, or fire the greatest number, or carry the most. The champion was named brickie of the month and achieved great renown. This went on until you couldn't see the trees for the mountains of bricks. We quickly researched brick laying in our data bases and put the men to work on that."

          She sipped her wine delicately and waved her hand in a circle. "Here are the results-and quite attractive they are too. While our physical scientists were sorting the males out this way, our cultural engineers were looking at the sloppy mucho - macho theories that had been keeping them going up to this point. The Iron Hans myth was only a part of their pantheon. We simplified and altered it. Then used genetic biology to modify the physical structure of their leader, so he is as you see him now. At first he was grateful, although gratitude has long since vanished."

          "How long?"

          "Hundreds of years. Cellular longevity was part of the treatment."

          I was beginning to catch on. "And I'll bet that you remember this firsthand-since you and the other lady leaders have had the same treatments?"

          She nodded, pleased. "Very adroit, James. Yes, the authorities on both sides of the wall have had the treatments. This makes for continuity of leadership-"

          "And the need for secrecy of each other's existence that keeps the powerful in power?"

          Mata shook her head in wonder. "You are indeed most perspicacious. How I wish you were in charge next door rather than that hairy halfwit."

          "Thanks for the job offer-but no thanks. So the men beyond the wall don't know that you women are here. The same must be true of your women-"

          "Not at all. They know about the males-and just don't care. We have a complete and satisfactory society. Childbearing for those who wish it, a fulfilling intellectual life for all."

          "And religion? Do you have a female equivalent of Iron John?"

          She laughed merrily at the thought, as did all the other women who were listening to our conversation. Even Marionette was smiling until she saw my glare, turned away.

          "That's it," I snapped. "Enjoy yourself. And when you are through, if you ever are, you might kindly let me know the joke."

          "I am sorry, James," Mata said, laughter gone and really quite serious. "We were being rude and I apologize. The answer to your question is a simple one. Women don't need myths to justify their femininity. All of the myths about Iron Hans, Iron John, Barbarossa, Merlin and other mythological men with their salvation myths are all purely male. Just think about it. I am not making a value judgment, just an observation. Such as the observation that men are basically combative, confrontational, insecure and unstable-and appear to need these myths to justify their existence."

          There was a lot to argue with there, maybe not a lot but some. A good deal of jumping-to-conclusions and more than a bit of rationalization. I sidestepped for the moment, until I knew more about how this society ticked. I raised a finger.

          "Nov, let me see if I have this straight. You ladies have a comfortable existence on this side of the wall. You provide the scientific backup to the males on the other side. To keep them chuntering along in their locker-room paradise. Correct?"

          "Among other things. That is basically correct."

          "Dare I ask what they supply in return?"

          "Very little, if the truth be known. Fresh meat from the nomads. Who not only won't trade with us but now heartily deny our existence, though they secretly would love to wipe us out. Then there is an occasional supply of sperm to top up our cryogenic sperm bank. Little else. We watch them and keep them going mostly by habit-and for our own safety. If the man in the street doesn't know that we exist he can't cause us any trouble. The men also get a lot of pleasure in bashing the nomads when they start bothering us. Altogether a satisfactory relationship."

          "It certainly sounds that way." I finished the glass of wine and realized that I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. Which was better than feeling the bruises and sore ribs. Which should be looked at soon-but not too soon. The unfolding drama of cultural mish-mash was just too interesting. "If you please-a question or two before we call in the medics. First is the most important question. You mention sperm banks so I assume that pregnancy and motherhood still exist?"

          "They certainly do! We would never consider depriving women of their hormonal, psychological and physical rights. Those who wish to become mothers become mothers. Simple enough."

          "Indeed it is. And looking around I see that they are lucky enough to all have female babies."

          For the first time I saw Mata less than completely relaxed and calm. She looked away, looked back-took up her glass and sipped some more wine.

          "You must be tired," she finally said. "We can finish this discussion some other time . . ."

          "Mata!" Madonette gasped. "I think that you are avoiding the topic. This cannot be. I have so admired you and your people here. You are not going to tell me that I am wrong?"

          "No, never!" Mata said reaching out and taking Madonette's hands in hers. "It has just been so long since we discussed these things. Decisions were taken that seemed excellent at the time. Some of us have had reservations since, but, well nothing much can really be done at this point . . ."

          Her voice ran down and she emptied her wineglass. She was upset and I felt sorry for pinning her down like that. I yawned.

          "You're right," I said. "I think rest and recuperation come first."

          Mata shook her head in a firm no. "Madonette is right. These decisions must be faced, discussed. Approximately half of the pregnancies are male, male fetuses. This is determined in the first few weeks." She saw Madonette's worried expression and shook her head again.

          "No-please hear me out and don't think the worst. All healthy pregnancies are brought to term. In the case of the males the bottle banks are used-"

          "Bottle banks! Isn't that an unfortunate term?"

          "Perhaps in your society, Jim. But here it simply signifies highly perfected artificial wombs. Technically superior if truth be known. There are no spontaneous miscarriages, no effects of bad diet and so forth. And at the end of nine months the healthy male babies are-"

          "Decanted?"

          "No, born. As soon as they are viable the men take over. Specially trained nursemen who supervise the healthy growth of the boys. Their education and assimilation into their society."

          "Very interesting," I said, for it certainly was. I hesitated about the next question, but curiosity was gnawing away and could not be suppressed. "Even more interesting is where do the men think the babies come from?"

          "Why don't you ask them?" Mata said coldly and I realized that this interview was at an end.

          "Now I really am tired-to be continued," I breathed, dropping back into the couch. "Is there a doctor in the house?"

          This kicked a lot of maternal instinct into gear and extracted a great deal of attention. I didn't feel the injection that knocked me out. Or the one that brought me to much later. The women were gone and we were alone. Madonette was holding my hand. Which she dropped with slow deliberation when she saw that my eyes were open.

          "The good news, stalwart Jim, is that none of your bones are broken. Just a lot of bruising. Better news is that the treatment for the bruises is under way. Best news is that Steengo is in pretty good shape, all things considered, and wants to see you."

          "Bring him in."

          "In a moment. While you were sleeping I talked to Mata. She told me a lot more about how things work around here."

          "Did you find out about the babies?"

          "She really is a nice person, Jim. Everyone here has been very nice to me and . . ."

          "But you are beginning to have some reservations?"

          She nodded. "More than a few. Things look so nice on the surface-and maybe they are. But it is the babies that bother me. I am sure that they are well taken care of physically, even mentally. But to believe a stupid myth!"

          "Which one of the stupid myths going about is the one that bothers you?"

          "Spontaneous creation would you believe! All the males gather around Iron John's pool for a ceremony of life. The golden balls drift up through the water and are seized. And each one contains a healthy happy baby! And grown men believe that nonsense!"

          "Grown men-and women-have believed worse nonsense down through the ages. This myth was a common one for the so-called lower forms of life. Flies being spontaneously created in manure heaps. Because no one bothered making the connection between grubs growing there and flies laying eggs. All of the creation myths of mankind, all the gods dropping down and molding clay and breathing life, the virgin births and the like. They are all nonsense once they are examined. But we have to start somewhere I suppose. I'm just not happy where some of these people are ending up."

          There was a rattle and a thump as the door was opened. Floyd pushed in the wheelchair and Steengo lifted a whitewrapped hand.

          "Looks like you did it, Jim. End of mission. Congratulations."

          "And the same to you-and Floyd. And since it is The Stainless Steel Rats together, perhaps for the last time, would you mind making a few things clear. I have long felt that there was more than random chance in your selection. Dare I ask just who are you three people? I suspect that you were chosen for more than musical ability-right Steengo?"

          He nodded his bandaged head. "Almost right. Madonette is just what she appears to be . . ."

          "Just an office drudge-singing for a hobby."

          "The office's loss is music's gain." I smiled and blew a kiss her way. "One down, two to go. Steengo, I have a feeling that you really aren't retired. Right?"

          "Right. And I do take some pride in my musical abilities. Which, if you must know, was why I was suckered into this operation by my old drinking buddy, Admiral Benbow."

          "Drinking buddy! He who drinks with an admiral . . ."

          "Must be an admiral too. Perfectly correct, I am Arseculint . . ."

          "I didn't quite catch that."

          "Arseculint is an acronym for Area Sector Commander Cultural Intercourse. And you can uncurl your lip. Perhaps, in context, `intercourse' is not quite the right word. Cultural Relationships might express it better. My degrees are in archeology and cultural anthropology, which is what attracted me to the civil service in the first place. Sort of hands-on application of theory. I followed the matter of the alien artifact with a great deal of interest. So I was ripe for the plucking, you might say, when Stinky Benbow asked me to volunteer."

          "Stinky?"

          "Yes, funny nickname, goes back to the academy, something to do with a chemistry experiment. Which is completely beside the point. I thought enough of this assignment to take a leave from my desk. Great fun. Up until the last, that is."

          "Which leaves young Floyd here? Also an admiral?"

          He looked sheepish. "Come on, Jim, you know better than that. I even washed out of college, never graduated at all . . ."

          I pointed an accusatory finger. "Putting academic credits aside you must have some value to the Special Corps."

          "Yes, well, I do. I really am sort of an instructor . . ."

          "Speak up, Floyd," Steengo said proudly. "Being chief instructor in charge of the unarmed defense school is nothing to be ashamed of."

          "I agree completely!" I said. "If you weren't a whiz kid in unarmed combat, why none of us would be here. Thanks guys. Mission complete and successful. Let's drink to that."

          As we raised and clashed our glasses together, drank deep, I thought of my mother. I do this very rarely; it must be all the male-female myth dredging that brought her to mind. Or what she used to say. Very superstitious my Ma. Had a superstition for any occasion. The one that I remember best was when you said how great things were, or what a nice day it was. Bite your tongue she used to say.

          Meaning don't tempt the gods. Keep your head down. Because saying that something was good would surely bring about the opposite.

          Bite your tongue, good old Ma. What a lot of malarky.

          When I lowered my glass I saw a woman stumble in through the open door. A young woman with torn clothing, dusty and staggering.

          "Sound the alarm . . ." she gasped. "Disaster destruction!"

          Madonette caught her as she fell, listened to her whispered words, looked up with a horrified expression.

          "She's hurt, babbling . . . something about the science building, destroyed, gone. Everything."

          That was when I felt the cold tongs grab tight to my chest, squeezing so hard they made speech almost impossible.

          "The artifact-" was all I managed to say.

          Madonette nodded slow agreement. "That's where it was, they told me. In the science building. So it must be gone too."

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 21</b>

          The mutual decision of The Stainless Steel Rats was a simple one: we had had about enough for one day. We were alive, if not too well. We had found the artifact so our mission was accomplished. The fact that it had also been destroyed was beside the fact. I hoped. They would have to supply me with the poison antidote now. I kept that thought firmly before me as I went to sleep. This was a time for rest. Wounds had to heal, tissue had to mend, fatigue had to be alleviated: medication and a good night's sleep took care of all of that.

          The sun was shining brilliantly upon the garden of our new residence when I dragged myself there next morning. Sleep had banished fatigue, which meant that I felt all the bruises that much more enthusiastically. My medication was beginning to override the pain and I dropped into a chair while I waited for beneficence to take place. Steengo came in soon after, swinging along on crutches and looking very much like I felt. He eased himself into the chair opposite me. I smiled a welcoming smile.

          "Good morning, Admiral."

          "Please, Jim-I'm still Steengo."

          "Then, Steengo, since we're alone for the moment, let me express my heartfelt thanks for breaking up the brainwashing session with Iron John. For which, unhappily, you paid quite a physical price."

          "Thank you, Jim, I appreciate that. But I had to do it. To save you from being programmed. Also-I really did lose my temper. Teddy bear indeed! A complete corruption of history."

          "No teddy bear? No golden ball?"

          "The golden ball, yes. That represents innocence, the pleasures of childhood without responsibility. It is lost when we grow up. To regain this freedom the myth tells us we have to find the ball under mother's pillow-and steal it."

          "But in a society without women you can't have a mother -so the myth has to be rewritten?"

          Steengo nodded agreement, then winced and touched the bandage around his head. "Retold as nonsense. In the original story Mother never wants the boy child to grow up, sees him as young and dependent forever. Independence must be stolen away from mother-hence the golden ball under her pillow."

          "Pretty deep stuff."

          "Pretty fascinating stuff. Mankind depends on its myths to rationalize existence. Pervert the myth and you pervert society."

          "Like Big Red and his mates on the other side of the wall?"

          "Exactly. But what was happening there was far more dangerous than just editing a myth. I had suspected that there would be some strong narcogases in the air-and I was right. You and Floyd were glassy-eyed and practically hypnotized into immobility. So it wasn't just a matter of listening to one more story about the magnetic field of the deep masculine. This was about having a very pernicious and demented theory punched deep into your mind, into your subconscious. You were being brainwashed, thought-controlled-and this sort of crude forced suggestion can do infinite harm. I had to stop it.

          "Risking your o«m life at the same time?"

          "Perhaps. But I am sure you would have done the same for me if the circumstances were reversed."

          There was no answering that one. Would I? I smiled, a little grimly. "Can I at least say thanks?"

          "You can. Greatly appreciated. So back to work. Now, before the others come, to more pressing business. Since I am now in the open, so to speak, I am relieving Captain Tremearne and taking command of this operation. I am in a better position to kick the cagal out of the chain of command and make sure that your antidote is here instantly. Or sooner. My first imperative order when I took command was to send for it."

          "Then you know about the thirty-day poison? If I might be frank-I can tell you-it has had me pretty worried. Thank you-> >

          "Don't thank me yet. Because I want your assurance that you will stick with this assignment, thirty-day poison or no."

          "Of course I will. I took on this job, got paid, and gave my word I would finish it. The poison was just some bureaucratic moron's idea of a completion bond."

          "I was sure you would say that. Knew that you would carry on regardless, threat of death or no threat of death."

          Why was I uncomfortable when he said this? This was my old mate Steengo talking. Or was there a strong whiff of the admiral behind his words? Once the military, always the military . . . No, I would not think ill of him. But I better remember that the poison was still churning away. He was smiling widely and I let my smile mirror his. Although, deep inside, the worry and fear still nagged and scratched at my thoughts. Find the artifact, Jim. That is the only way to be sure about the antidote.

          I laughed and smiled. But only on the outside. "Carry on, of course. The artifact must be found."

          "Must be found, you are right. The search must go on!" He looked over my shoulder and waved. "And there's Floyd - and Madonette. Welcome, my dear, welcome. I would stand to greet you, but only with difficulty."

          She smiled and kissed his forehead below the bandage. Of course she was the last one to arrive, woman's prerogative. Though I had better abandon such male-chauv-pig reflexive observations. At least while I was still a guest of the ladies this side of Paradise.

          "I have been talking to Mata," she said, seating herself and sipping a bit of fruit juice. "The science building was empty when the explosion occurred, so no one was injured. Since then they have sifted the ruins and found that there is no trace at all of the artifact."

          "Positive?" I asked.

          "Positive. They have been eavesdropping on the other side of the wall, so they knew about all our interest in the thing. They waited until they observed that all the male scientists had looked at it and prodded it enough. As expected those noble gentlemen-referred here to as `the geriatric incompetents’ had discovered nothing. Having no further interest the scientists had it transferred here. A study program had been drawn up to examine the artifact but was just beginning when the explosion occurred. End of report."

          So the artifact might have been stolen, might still be around. I could help look for it. But I could also stop counting the days. Earlier, when I had been woken up by my computer, it had been flashing a glowing seven for my benefit. Now Admiral Steengo had relieved me of this chronic worry.

          But I had taken three million for this job-and I still wondered what the thing really was. So the artifact-chase would continue. Minus the pressure of the days. I looked around at my musical rats and realized that nothing had changed for them. The search for the artifact was still on. Well - why not!

          "What do we do next?" I said. Steengo, now more of an admiral than a musician, toted up the possible options.

          "Was the explosion an accident? If it wasn't-who caused it? There are really a lot of questions that must be asked . . ."

          "Mata told me to tell you that you were to ask Aida if you had any questions," Madonette said brightly.

          We considered this seriously for a moment, then realized we hadn't the slightest idea of what she was talking about. Still the admiral, Steengo spoke for all of us.

          "Who is Aida?"

          "Not who-but what. An acronym for Artificially Intelligent Data Assembler. I think that it is the central computer here. In any case, here is the access terminal."

          She put what looked like an ordinary portaphone on the table and switched it on. Nothing happened.

          "Are you there, Aida?" Madonette said.

          "Ready to be summoned at any time, darling," the voice said. In a rich and sexy contralto.

          "I thought you said computer?" was my baffled response.

          "Do I hear a male voice?" Aida said. Then giggled. "It has been such a very long time! Might I ask your name, sweetie?"

          "Jim-not sweetie. And why did you call me that?"

          "Training and programming, dear boy. Before this present assignment I ran an exploration spacer. Male crew, endless years in space. It was felt by my creators that a female voice and presence would be more efficacious morale-wise than a machine or masculine presence."

          "The last exploration spacer was junked centuries ago," Steengo said.

          "A lady does not like to be reminded of her age," Aida said huskily. "But it is true. When my ship was sent to the breakers I was made redundant. Since I am basically a computer program I am-every woman's dream-eternal. I had, shall we say, a rather varied career before I ended up here. Mind you, I'm not complaining. I find this such a pleasant occupation. There are charming ladies to talk to, as well as additional memory banks and data bases to access whenever I wish to. Most pleasurable but I do chatter on. I have been informed that you have a problem. If you would identify yourselves by name it would make conversation that much easier. Jim and Madonette I know. The name of the gentleman who just spoke?"

          "Admiral-" Steengo said, then broke off.

          "Let us do keep it on a first-name basis. And your first name is Admiral. Others?"

          "Floyd," said Floyd.

          "And a great pleasure to meet you all. How may I help?"

          "An item, referred to as the artifact, was recently brought to the science building. Do you know about it?"

          "Indeed I do. I was studying it, so am therefore quite familiar with the strange construction. In fact I had it under observation at the time of the explosion."

          "Did you see what happened to it?"

          "Taking the literal meaning of see, dear Jim, forces me to answer that question in the negative. I had no photo pickups operating at the time so I did not physically see what happened to it. The only information I had was the direction that it left in. That was thirty-two degrees to the right of the zero north-polar latitude."

          "There is nothing at all out there in that direction," Steengo said. "No settlements, no nomadic tribes. Nothing but empty plains right up the polar cap. How do you know that the artifact was taken that way?"

          "I know that, mon Amiral, because this artifact emits tachyons and I was observing it with a tachyometer. Keeping count, so to speak, and most interesting it was too. It did not emit many-after all, what source does?-but a few are much better than none. Let the record show that it emitted one tachyon, from the direction I have given you, just microseconds before the explosion that destroyed the equipment I was using."

          "You weren't-injured?" Madonette said.

          "How sweet of you to ask! I wasn't, because I wasn't there. As soon as I could I constructed a new tachyometer, conveyed it to the site of the explosion with, unhappily, no results. Now there is just background radiation."

          "Do you know what caused the explosion?"

          "Welcome to this easy give-and-take of social intercourse, friend Floyd. To answer your question-I do. It was a very powerful explosive. I can give you the chemical formula but I am sure that you would find that immensely boring. But I can tell you that this explosive was manufactured quite widely for the mining industry at one time. It is named ausbrechitite."

          "Never heard of it."

          "Understandable, Admiral, since it was found to grow unstable with the passage of time. Manufacturing was phased out and ausbrechitite was replaced by newer and more stable explosives."

          "When was this?" I asked.

          "A bit over three centuries ago. Would you like the exact date?"

          "That will do fine."

          We blinked at each other in silence. Not knowing what to do with this weird historical-scientific evidence. Only Madonette had the brains to ask the right question.

          "Aida-do you have any theories about what happened?"

          "Simply thousands my dear. But there is no point in telling you about them until I gather some more evidence. Right now you might say that we are in the early moves of a chess game with millions of possibilities for the rest of the game. But I can give you some figures. Chances of an accidental explosion; zero. Chances that the explosion was tied in with the theft; sixty-seven percent. What happens next depends upon you."

          "How?"

          "Consider reality. You are mobile, cher Jim while I am, so to speak, tied down to the job. I can give advice, and accompany you in transceiver form when you leave here. But what happens next-that decision is up to you."

          "What decision?" Aida could be exasperating at times.

          "I will supply a new tachyometer. If you take it in the direction I have indicated you might be able to track the artifact in this manner."

          "Thanks," I said and reached out and turned Aida off. "Looks like us humans have to come to a decision. Who follows the trail? Let us not all speak at once but let me speak first because I am top rat. I have the feeling that it is now time to thin our ranks. I say that Madonette does not go any further. We needed her for the music-and wonderful she was too!-but not for crawling around looking for nutcases planting century-old bombs."

          "I second Jim's motion," Admiral Steengo said.

          "I third it," Floyd said quickly as Madonette tried to speak. "This is really not your kind of job. Nor is it Steengo's either."

          "Isn't that for me to decide?" Steengo snarled in his best admiralish mode.

          "No," I suggested. "If you wish to be of assistance, you can really help us by organizing the base operation from here. I declare that the motion has been seconded and passed above all objections. This is only a democracy when it suits me."

          Steengo smiled and the admiral's scowl vanished; he was too smart to argue. "I agree. I am well past my sell-by date for fieldwork. My aching bones tell me that. Please, Madonette, give in graciously to the thrust of history. Are you nodding albeit reluctantly? Good. Above and beyond any aid given by Aida, I will see to it that the Special Corps will supply any equipment needed. Questions?" He glowered around in a circle but we were silent. He nodded with satisfaction and Madonette raised her hand.

          "With that decision out of the way-may I pass on a request? In conversation I have discovered that everyone here is a true musical Rat fan so . . ."

          "Could we do one last gig before the group breaks up? You betcha. All in agreement."

          There was a rousing cheer from all except Steengo who looked unhappy at the thought of all of his instruments reduced to a pile of particles. But Madonette, ever resourceful, had done a bit of work before she mentioned the gig.

          "I've asked around among the girls. They tell me that there is a really nice chamber group here, as well as a symphony orchestra-they must have at least one instrument Steengo can play."

          "Any of them, all of them-just unleash me!" he said and now it was smiles and cheers all around.

          Due to the miracles of modern medicines, curing and healing drugs, pain-killers and a large shot of booze for Steengo, we were ready to do our performance later this same day. A matinee, since night here was still a couple of our days away and not worth waiting for.

          There was quite a turnout at the sports stadium. Cheers and shouts of joy greeted us and no one seemed to mind that Steengo was not only out of costume but playing from a wheelchair. If this was to be the last curtain for The Stainless Steel Rats we meant to make it a performance to remember. Leaving the more militaristic and macho songs aside for the moment we launched into a mellow blues number.

          <i>Blue world -

<br>Hear me singing my song.

<br>Blue world -

<br>What's it I done wrong?

<br>Blue world -

<br>You gonna help me along

<br>Blue wor-r-r-ld.

<br>Here we are

<br>We ain't goin' away.

<br>Here we are

<br>On this planet to stay.

<br>Blue wor-rr-ld.

<br>

<br>Landing was easy,

<br>Plenty of fun.

<br>Down came our rocket -

<br>'Neath the blue sun.

<br>Landing was great

<br>Everything swell.

<br>Now it's all over,

<br>Living is hell,

<br>Down here at the bottom of the gravity well.</i>

          We did many an encore this day. Finished finally with the feeling of exhaustion and happiness that only comes with an artistic job well done. Sleep came easily but, unable to resist, I took one last peek at the days remaining before closing my eyes.

          Still seven. Still a week. Plenty of time for my good buddy Admiral Steengo to kick butt and come up with the antidote. I think I was smiling when I closed my eyes which, when you think about it, was quite a change from the preceding twenty-seven days. Yes it was.

          Then why wasn't I going to sleep? Instead of lying there tensely staring into the darkness. An easy answer.

          Until the happy moment when I pulled back the plunger and shot up with the antidote I had only seven days to live.

          Nighty-night, Jim. Sleep well . . .

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 22</b>

          Either I was a slugabed or the admiral, released from his role as a musician, was a workaholic. Or both. Because by the time I had appeared he had single-handedly organized our expedition down to the last detail. He was muttering over the heap of apparatus as he punched the checklist into his handheld. He glanced up, waved vaguely, then finished off the last items.

          "This is your new backpack. It contains a number of items you will probably need-and here's a printout of what's inside it. I assume that you have a good deal of illegal and possibly deadly items in your old pack which you can transfer after I leave. Aida is assembling another tachyometer and I'm going to get it now. Floyd will join you shortly-and here is Madonette, welcome, welcome."

          Steengo made as graceful an exit as he could on crutches. Madonette, a picture of good cheer, swept in and took both of my hands in hers. Then discovered that this wasn't an enthusiastic enough greeting so she kissed me warmly on my cheek. My arms embraced her in automatic response, but closed on empty air since she had already whirled away and dropped onto the couch.

          "I wish that I were coming with you, Jim-but I know that it's impossible. Still, I'm not looking forward to getting back to the stuffy old office."

          "I'm going to miss you," I said. Meaning it to be a calm statement but listening to myself in horror as it came out all dewy-eyed and smarmy. "All of us will miss you, of course."

          "Same here. There were some hairy moments-but you took care of everything, didn't you?" The warmth and appreciation were such that I could feel myself blushing. "All in all I think it was an experience of a lifetime. And I am definitely not going back to all those files and staff meetings and sealed windows. It's field work from now on. Out in the fresh air? Isn't that a good idea?"

          "Wonderful, yes indeed," I said, missing her already. I don't know where all this might have ended if Floyd hadn't made a disgustingly cheerful entrance.

          "Morning all. Good day for the expedition. Hi and unhappily good-by Madonette, companion of many an adventure. It has been fun working with you."

          "Could you teach me unarmed defense?"

          "My pleasure. Easy enough if you work at it."

          "Then I could train to be a field agent?"

          "Probably not. But I'll sure look into it."

          "Would you! I'd be ever grateful. I was telling Jim that I don't want to work in an office anymore."

          "Nor should you! A girl with your talents can find much better occupation."

          They smiled at each other from opposite ends of the couch, knees almost touching, wrapped up in each other. I was forgotten. I hated Floyd's guts. Was more than happy to hear the thud of crutches and the dragging footsteps approaching.

          "All here," Steengo said. "Very good. The tachyometer is ready."

          The thing that was following him now trotted forward. Walking, stiff-legged, was the ugliest fake dog that I had ever seen in my life. It was covered in black artificial fur with handfuls missing, had beady black eyes like buttons, stuck out a dry red tongue as it barked.

          "Bow-wow."

          "What do you mean `bow-wow'?" I gasped aloud. "What is this repulsive object?"

          "The tachyometer," Admiral Steengo said.

          "Bow-wow," it barked again. "And for convenience sake the tachyometer is mounted within this mobile terminal."

          "Aida?" I said.

          "None other. Do you like this disguise?"

          "I have never seen a more artificial artificial dog in my life! "

          "Well don't get too insulting about it. Fido is state of the art-and that is modern art if you are thinking something nasty. For one thing the dear little doggy communicates with me by gravimetric waves which, as I am sure you know, cannot be blocked like radio waves. They penetrate the most solid buildings, cut through the most gigantic mountain ranges. So we are always in communication, always in touch. Admittedly Fido here has seen better days. But you know what they say about beggars?"

          "I do. But we're choosers without being beggars and I choose a better mobile terminal."

          "Your choice, handsome. Give me two days and you can have whatever you want."

          Two days? And I had like maybe six and a half to live unless the antidote arrived. I took a deep breath and whistled.

          "Here Fido. Nice doggie. Let's go walkies."

          "Bow-wow," it said and began to pant most artificially.

          "This is the plan," Admiral Steengo said. "I will monitor this operation from the orbiting spacer along with Captain Tremearne. Jim and Floyd will head north in the direction taken by the missing artifact. Aida will be in contact with this terminal, that will also be searching for a tachyon emission source." He appeared to run out of words and rubbed his jaw.

          "A nice plan," I said, but I could not keep a certain tone of derision out of my voice. "Cooked down to essentials it means that we just trot north until something happens."

          "A satisfactory interpretation. Good luck."

          "Thanks. And you will keep the other and most pressing matter of a certain injection on the top of your agenda?"

          "I shall query the people involved hourly on the hour," he said grimly-and I think he meant it.

          We filled our packs, kept the good-bys as brief as possible, loaded up and followed Fido out without a backward glance. I liked Madonette. Perhaps too much while I was on an assignment like this. Go, Jim, go I cozened. Follow your wandering tachyon.

          We followed the flapping black nylon tail through the streets and onward to the outlying farms. The women we met waved happily, some even whistling bits of our tunes to cheer us on the way. The last farm fell behind us and the open plains opened out ahead. I clacked my jaw-radio.

          "Are you there, Tremearne?"

          "Listening in."

          "Any tribes of nomads around-or up ahead?"

          "Negative."

          "Any buildings, farms, people, sheots - anything visible on this heading?"

          "Negative. We've done a detailed scan as far north as the polar ace. Nothing."

          "Thanks. Over and out." Wonderful.

          "Empty on all sides, nothing at all ahead," I reported to Floyd. "So we just stay on this heading until our plastic retriever detects any tachyons-or we reach the north pole and freeze to death."

          "I've been meaning to ask. What's a tachyon?"

          "Good question. Up until now I thought it was just a theoretical unit that the physicists dreamed up in order to explain how the universe works. One of the subatomic entities that exist either as waves or particles. Until they are observed they have no real existence. It has been said, and who am I to doubt it, that they exist in a probabilities limbo of many possible superimposed states." I noticed that Floyd's jaw was beginning to drop, his eyes to glaze. He shook his head.

          "You are going to have to try harder, Jim-you lost me a long time back."

          "Right, sorry. Try this. There are various kinds of units in physics. A photon is a unit of light energy and an electron is a unit of electric energy. Okay?"

          "Great. With you so far."

          "A graviton is a unit of gravity and a tachyon a unit of time."

          "Lost me again. I thought minutes and seconds were units of time?"

          "They are, Floyd, but just to simple people like you and I. Physicists tend to look at things in a different manner."

          "I believe it. Sorry I asked. Time for a break, five minutes in every hour."

          "You're on." I unstuck my canteen and took a swig, then whistled to our dogtrotting terminal that was almost out of sight. "Come back Fido, breakies."

          "You're the boss," Aida said. The dog scrambled back, barked and sniffed my pack where I had dropped it next to me on the ground.

          "Not too much realism!" I shouted. "Don't have that plastic canine lift its leg on my pack!"

          The day went on like that. Apparently forever. We crawled across the landscape: the sun crawled across the sky. When w e had been walking for over five hours fatigue began to strike. Floyd was striding ahead at a great pace.

          "Tired yet?" I called out.

          "No. Great fun."

          "To those of us who weren't bashed about by the red peril."

          "Just a bit more."

          The bit more went on a bit more than I appreciated and I was just about to toss in the towel when Fido spoke.

          "Bow and wow, gentlemen. Just detected a couple of tachyons as they went whizzing by. Wasn't sure of the first one but-there it is, another-and another!"

          "Coming from where?" I asked.

          "Directly ahead. Let's just stay on this course and we'll track the source down. With, perhaps, yes I'm sure, there is the strong possibility of a course deviation later."

          "Aha!" I aha'ed. "I recognize equivocation when I hear it. Even from a plastic dog mouthpiece for an ancient ship's computer."

          "The word ancient is so hurtful . . ."

          "I'll apologize when you tell me about this complication."

          "Apology accepted. Allowing for the curvature of the planet, gravitic anomalies and other factors, I am still forced to believe that the tachyon source is not on the surface of this world."

          "The thing is underground?"

          "Underground is the very word for it."

          I bit hard on the jawphone. "Tremearne, would you put the admiral on the line."

          "I'm here, Jim. Aida reported this possibility a while back and 1 have been . monitoring developments since then. Didn't want to bother you, for all the obvious reasons."

          "Yes, like we forgot to bring a shovel. Anything else you haven't told me?"

          "I was waiting for data, Just coming in. I sent a low flying probe to look for the gravimetric anomalies that Aida had found. Looks like there are a number of them and they are being plotted now."

          "What kind of anomalies? Metal deposits?"

          "Quite the opposite. Caverns below the ground."

          "It figures. Over and out. At least we now know where the artifact is."

          "Where?" Floyd asked, since he had only heard my side of the conversation.

          "Underground. There are caves or caverns of some kind up ahead. Nothing visible on the surface-but they are there all right. Our technical observers seem sure that the artifact is down there somewhere. Can we take that break now and wait for the reports?"

          "I guess so."

          Floyd guessed right, which was a good thing since an instant after we dropped to the ground the stream of bullets was fired at us. Zipping through the empty air where we had just been standing.

          Floyd had a large and ugly pistol in his hand now which didn't slow him down as he wriggled on hands and knees beside me to the shelter of the mounded earth around a polpettone tree.

          "We're under fire!" I shouted into my jawphone.

          "Source not visible."

          Fido stood on its hind legs-then jumped high into the air despite another burst of bullets.

          "Bow-wow. Perhaps not visible to others but clear enough to me."

          "What is it?"

          "Some sort of apparatus at ground level. Want me to take it out?"

          "If you can."

          "Grrr!" it growled and retracted its legs, then zipped off at a great rate at ground level, so fast it could barely be seen. Moments later there was a muffled explosion and bits of debris rattled dorm into the shrub.

          "'That was quick," I said.

          "Thank you," Fido said emerging from the undergrowth with a jagged bit of metal in its jaws. "Just follow me if you want to see the remains."

          We followed the thing to a smoking pit with a jumble of crumpled apparatus in its center. Fido dropped its bit of debris, lifted one front leg. Extended its head, straightened its tail and pointed.

          "Remote controlled gun turret. Note that the top of it is camouflaged, concealed by dirt and sprouting plants. Hydraulically operated-that's red oil not blood-to lift the apparatus above ground level. Remains of an optical finder there. Note the four automatic guns, Rapellit-binetti X-nineteens. Rate of fire twelve hundred rounds a minute. Eighty rounds a second, explosive and armor piercing."

          "Since when have you been an armament authority, Aida?" I asked.

          "Since a long time back, -sweetie-pie. In my heyday I was required to know this sort of thing. I also know that these particular guns have not been manufactured for over five hundred years."

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 23</b>

          I took another sip of water, wished that it was a stronger liquid. Was glad that it wasn't since a clear head was an important asset at this time.

          "How old did you say these guns are?" I asked. There was no answer because our fake dog was digging away like a real dog throwing dirt behind it at a great rate. Burrowing down under the gun turret.

          "Five hundred years old," Floyd said. "How can that be? Why use something that old?"

          "You use it if that is all that you have. There is a mystery here that we are about to solve. Remember the ancient explosive that blew up the lab? It was also antique. So consider this. What if this planet had been settled before they started dumping societal debris on it? What if there were settlers here-only they were hidden away underground? It's a possibility. And if it is true, then it has been five centuries since they arrived. That's how long these mysterious migrants have been hiding away up here. Or down here, really. They must have been settled well before the League ever found this planet. That's why there is no record of them."

          "Who are them?"

          "Your guess is as good as mine . . ."

          "Yarf!" our dogbot said, yarfing through a muzzle covered with dirt. "There is a fiber-optic cable going into the ground, obviously controlling this turret."

          "Going down to the caverns. So, the next question-how do we get in . . ."

          "Jim," my jaw said. "There is an interesting development taking place about three clicks away from you, in the same direction you have been walking. We've got image amplifiers on the electronic telescopes so we can see quite clearly . . ."

          "What can you see quite clearly?"

          "A group of armed men has emerged from some kind of opening in the ground. They appear to be dragging along one of their number who is bound. Now they are erecting a metal post of some kind. There is a struggle going on-apparently they are securing the bound man to the post."

          Memories of a thousand ancient flicks flooded my forebrain. "Stop them? It could be an execution-death by firing squad. Do something!"

          "Negative. We are in orbit. Short of launching an explosive torpedo, which is contraindicated at this time, there is nothing we can facilitate that will get there inside fifteen minutes at the very quickest."

          "Forget it! " I was digging into my pack as I whistled to the houndbot. "Fido? Catch!"

          It jumped high and grabbed the gas bomb out of the air. "Go. Thataway. You heard the message-get to those guys and bite hard on that thing."

          My last words were shouted in the direction of the tail that was vanishing among the shrubs. We grabbed up our packs and followed. Floyd easily outdistanced me and by the time I got to the scene, staggering and panting, it was all ancient history. Our faithful friend was barking and, foreleg lifted and tail outstretched, was pointing at the sprawled bodies.

          "Well done, man's best friend," I said, and easily resisted the impulse to pat its plastic fur.

          "For the record," I said for the benefit of my radio. "All males, all armed with shoulder weapons of some kind. There are twelve of them wearing camouflage uniforms. Thirteenth man-surely an unlucky number-tied to the post. No shirt."

          "Is he inured?"

          "Negative." I could feel a steady pulse in his neck. "We made it in time. Interesting, he's young, younger than the rest. What next?"

          "Decision made by the strategic planning computer. Take all weapons. Take the prisoner and remove him to a safe distance, then interrogate. "

          I sniffed disdainfully as I unknotted the cords on the man's wrists. "Don't need a strategic planning computer to figure that one out."

          Floyd caught him as he slumped free, threw him over his shoulder. I grabbed up the packs and pointed. "Let's get to that gully and out of sight."

          The bomb that the ersatz hound had exploded was a quick in-and-out gas. One breath and you were asleep. For about twenty minutes. Which was all the time that we needed to hump our loads through the mud of the rain-eroded gully until we found a dry spot under an overhanging bank. Our prisoner -guest?-began to roll his head and mutter. Floyd and I, and our mascot, sat down to watch and wait. It wasn't long. He muttered something, opened his eyes and saw us. Sat half up and looked very frightened.

          "Fremzhduloj!" he said. "Amizhko mizh."

          "Sounds like really bad Esperanto," Floyd said.

          "Just what you would expect if he and his kinfolk have been cut off from any outside contact for hundreds of years. Talk slow and he'll understand us."

          I turned to him and raised my hands palms out in what I hoped was a universal sign of peace. "We're strangers, like you said. But what else did you say? Sounded like `my friends'?"

          "Friends, yes, friends!" he said, nodding like crazy, then shied away when Fido began barking.

          "Aida, please. Will you shut your plastic poodle up. He's frightening our guest."

          The thing stopped barking and spoke. "Just want to report that I am in contact with the watchers above. They report that the others who were rendered unconscious by the gas have regained consciousness and have retreated."

          "Great. Just file everything and report later." I turned back to our guest-who looked very impressed by the talking-dog sequence. "Well, friend. My name is Jim and this is Floyd. The furry fake is Fido. You have a name."

          "I am called Dreadnought, son of Impervious."

          "A pleasure to meet you. Now-can you tell us why you were about to be wasted by that firing squad?"

          "Disobeyment of orders. I was on Watch. Saw your group approaching. I fired the Watchturret at you-but do not yourselves anger! I aimed to miss. To fire demands permission of Watch Commander. That is why I was to be executed. I sought not his permission."

          "Accidents happen."

          "No accident. Fired because of orders."

          "Are you following this?" Floyd asked.

          "Not too well. Tell us, Dreadnought, who gave the order to fire if it wasn't the Watch Commander?"

          "We all decided together."

          "Who is we?"

          "I can not tell you."

          "Understandable. Loyalty to your friends." I clapped him on the back in a friendly manner and felt him shiver. "Getting cold. I'll get you a shirt."

          I dug through my pack and took advantage of the opportunity for a muttered conversation with my jawphone.

          "Any ideas? From you-or your indispensable strategic planning computer?"

          "Yes. If he won't talk to you perhaps the associates he referred to might be more communicative. Try to arrange a meeting.

          "Right." I went back with the shirt. "Here, Dreadnought, get out of the cold." He stood up and put it on. "Good. Now I've been thinking. I don't want you to tell me things that you are not supposed to. But maybe your friends, the ones you just told us about, maybe they can let us know what is going down. Can we meet them?"

          He bit his lip and shook his head.

          "No? Well let's try something else. Can you get back to your friends? Tell them about us. Talk about it. Find out if someone is prepared to tell us just what is happening. Okay?"

          He looked from me to Floyd, even down at Fido who wagged its tail, before he made his mind up.

          "Come with me."

          He was young and strong and trotted along at a mean trot. Floyd and the mechanical mutt kept up fine but my aches and pains were coming back. I trailed behind and was going to call a halt when Dreadnought stopped at the edge of a grove of polpettone trees.

          "Wait this place," he said when I had puffed and blown up to them. He twisted away among the trees. He didn't notice that Fido, legs folded, tail and head retracted, had slipped silently after him in the guise of a black floormop. The cessation of physical activity was welcome-as was the instant-heating meal I dug out of my pack. One porcuswine burger with gravy. Floyd popped his mealpak as well and we were licking the last drops of yummy from our fingers when the shadowlike mop reappeared. Legs, tail and head popped out and it barked. I scowled at it.

          "Report first, bark later."

          "Your new associate never saw me. Within the wood is a slab of rock that levers up with an opening beneath it. He went that way. Shall I show you where it is?"

          "Later-if we have to. Right now let us take ten and see if he passes on our message."

          Fatigue sat on me. I closed my eyes and took a lot more than ten. The sun was balancing on the horizon when I surfaced again. My computer obliged me by clicking the red six to a five when I checked the elapsed time. Don't worry, Jim-Admiral Steengo is on your side? This feeble reassurance didn't help and I was sure that I could feel the thirty-day poison beginning to bubble and seethe in my bloodstream.

          Floyd was snoring lightly, sound asleep. Yet his eyes were open the instant Fido reappeared, disturbing some stones as it slid down the embankment.

          "And a good-morning bow-wow to you gentlemen. Your new friend has emerged from under the lifting rock, along with an associate, and is coming this way. Remember-you heard it from me first."

          Fido sat and waited, then barked a welcome when the two men appeared. They were nattily., dressed in camouflaged uniforms and steel helmets, each helmet sporting a shiny spike on top. Bandoliers of bullets were draped over their shoulders, while there was a large and impressive handgun on each hip. But the guns were holstered and held in place by a buttoned strap. I relaxed knowing that with Floyd there the touch of a hand to one of those buttons would bring instant unconsciousness.

          "Welcome back, Dreadnought," I said. "Welcome as well your companion.

          "He is named Indefatigable and is the Area Commander. That is Floyd with the beard, the other is Jim."

          Indefatigable did not shake hands but instead hit his closed right fist against his chest with an echoing thud. We did the same since it never hurts to learn the local customs.

          "Why did you come here?" Indefatigable asked in a most cold and quizzical manner. I took slight umbrage.

          "You might say we came to save your companion from certain death by the firing squad-your thanks are appreciated."

          "If you had not come he would not have fired and have been condemned to death."

          "Good point. But I do remember that he fired because of a group decision. Are you part of that group?"

          I saw now that Indefatigable's brusque manner was a cover-up for the fact that he was very nervous. He chewed his lower lip and his eyes flicked from one to the other of us. He even looked down at the fake dog which barked. Finally, with great reluctance he spoke.

          "I cannot answer that. But I have been instructed to take you to those who may answer your question. Now-you must answer my question. Why did you come here?"

          "No point in keeping it a secret. We came here to find those who blew up a certain building and stole from it-and from us-an object of great importance."

          This news seemed to relax him a bit. He stopped the lip chewing and Dreadnought almost smiled; leaned forward to whisper something in his companion's ear. They both nodded, then remembered where they were and snapped into a military brace.

          "You will come with us," Indefatigable said, making it sound like an order.

          "Perhaps," I said. I hate orders. "But you must tell us first -will it be dangerous?"

          "We are born into danger; we leave it only when we die."

          It sounded like a quotation of some kind-particularly since Dreadnought's lips moved along with his.

          "Yes, well, that is a pretty general philosophical statement. But I was speaking specifically about like right now."

          "You will be protected," he answered, trying to control the sneer at our feeble physiques and his obvious superiority.

          "Oh, thank you," Floyd said with eye-popping sincerity. "With that kind of reassurance of course we will go with you. Isn't that right, Jim?"

          "Absolutely, Floyd. With their protection we need not feel insecure." He could eat them-and a dozen more-for breakfast, but there was no point in bragging.

          We reached for our packs but Indefatigable stopped us. "You bring nothing. No weapons. You must trust us."

          Floyd shrugged agreement since he was always armed. "At least some water first," I said. Picking up my canteen and drinking a bit. Palming a number of small bombs as I put it back. "And of course our companion, our pet dog goes with us.

          Fido played its role by barking, sticking out its tongue and panting. Then overplayed its role by lifting its hind leg on my pack. Though this bit of canine ham acting may have convinced our new militaristic mates, because they nodded agreement.

          "We must cover your eyes," Dreadnought said, pulling out two black scarves. "So you do not discover the secret of the entrance to Shelter."

          "If you mean the slab of rock under the polpettone trees that swings open, you can forget the blindfolds."

          "How do you know this!"

          "Just say that we do. Now-do we go with you?"

          They looked stricken by my revelation, stepped aside and conversed in quick whispers. Returned reluctantly, all scowls again.

          "You will come. Quickly."

          We dogtrotted, including the dog, to the grove, then followed Dreadnought down the ladder into the tunnel beneath the slab. Fido barked, and when I looked up launched itself down at me. I caught it, then dropped it. Looked gloomily into the darkness as Indefatigable closed the lid.

          I just hoped that we had made the right decision because my days were still running out. Going underground like this was a little too reminiscent of the grave. '

          And it would be my grave if I didn't get the antidote in time.

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 24</b>

          Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness I saw that a thin line of light ran along at shoulder height on each side of the tunnel. The floor was smooth and hard, as were the walls when I brushed my fingers against them. We walked in silence for some time until we came to a cross tunnel.

          "No talking now! Breathe silently-do not stir," one of our guides whispered. "Back against the wall."

          We stayed that way for long minutes. I saw that there were glowing numerals on the walls where the tunnels crossed. I added to my store of useless knowledge the data that we were in tunnel Y-82790 at the place where it crossed NJ28940. I leaned against the wall, and was thinking seriously about going to sleep, when I heard the thud of marching boots from NJ-28940. I woke up and remained silent and unmoving as a squad of about twenty men exited from the tunnel on our right and marched straight across and into the same numbered tunnel on the left. When the sound of their footsteps had almost died away we moved out to the whispered command.

          "Turn left, after them. Quiet as you can."

          This was apparently the only dangerous part of our journey, because once we had left this tunnel for another our companions whispered together again. I wondered if Fido teas still with us.

          "Don't bark," I said as softly as I could. "But if you are still there, man's best friend, and hearing this with your super hearing, a tiny growl is permitted."

          A guttural grrr sounded from somewhere around my ankles.

          "Great. A double growl now if you are reading the tunnel numbers and memorizing same."

          A quick grrr-grrr reassured me. So I did not have to keep track of our many turnings. After this we marched in silence for a tiresome period; my strength still wasn't what it should be. I was more than grateful when I saw a glow of light ahead; almost ran into our new companions when they stopped.

          "Silence!" Dreadnought whispered. Floyd and I silenced and listened-then heard the running footsteps as well. They thudded close, then stopped suddenly.

          "The sounds of deadly battle-" the newcomer said.

          "Echo with the cries of the dying," Dreadnought answered. Password and countersign. Pretty depressing though. "Is that you, Irredeemable?" Dreadnought asked.

          "It is. I was sent to warn you. A message was passed on from you-know-who that you were detected exiting and reentering the tunnels. Search parties are out and you must avoid them."

          "How?" Indefatigable asked. With just a touch of hysteria to his voice.

          "I do not know. I was sent only to warn. May the God of Battles go with you." With this blessing the footsteps thudded again into silence as he ran back the way he had come.

          "What do we do?" Dreadnought asked unhappily. His companion was just as assertive. "I don't know . . ."

          I swear that I could hear their teeth chattering. Whatever else they were, these two young men were not plotters or planners. Time for a pro to step in.

          "I will tell you what we must do." Speaking as an unhumble old plotter and planner.

          "What?" They spoke the word together.

          "If they are searching the tunnels-then we must leave the tunnels."

          "Wonderful," Floyd muttered. It may have seemed pretty obvious to him but these lads welcomed the idea as they would have orders from the God of Battles himself.

          "Yes! Leave-before they find us!"

          "Out of the tunnels!"

          Good so far, I thought. When the silence lengthened, and I realized that was the end of their contribution, I asked the vital question.

          "Out of the tunnels, right. But where do we go? Above ground again?"

          "No-all exits will be watched."

          "Only one other way," Dreadnought said, with rising enthusiasm. "Down, we must go down!"

          "To the Cultivastings!" his companion added, just as filled with enthusiasm.

          "Let's do it," I said wearily, not having the slightest idea of what they were talking about. "The God of Battles wants it that way."

          They double-timed and we followed. Around the bend into the next tunnel where a glowing outline revealed that there vas a metal door inset into the wall. Neither of our hosts tugged at the handle so there was a good chance that it was locked. Indefatigable stepped forward to face the illuminated keypad set into the wall beside it.

          "Avert your eyes," he said. "The access code is top secret."

          "Get it, Fido," I whispered. Aida reacted instantly; our plastic pet extruded sharp toenails, leaped high then climbed up my clothes, scratching my ear painfully as it jumped onto the top of my head. I resisted the temptation to say ouch and stood steady so it could read the punched-in numbers. The door creaked open and the creature jumped back to the ground.

          A gentle breeze blew out through the doorway as we passed through it, smelling fresh and summery. Here underground? We stumbled in the darkness until the door clanged shut and the lights came on. We were in a small chamber facing a spiral staircase. Our hosts instantly started down it and we followed.

          I was beginning to get dizzy from the round-and-round when we finally got to the bottom. The open door here glared with light. Blinking my tired eyes, I followed the others. Outdoors into a field of ripening corn. Startled birds flapped away when we emerged, while something small and furry disappeared among the stalks.

          I knew that we couldn't possibly be outdoors, not after all the cave crawling that we had been doing. So this had to be a really giant cavern, with some kind of brilliant light sources above. These people really were independent of the surface-no wonder they hadn't been spotted before.

          Dreadnought led the way between the rows of corn and we followed. It was hot and dusty, my fatigue was still there-and some species of tiny gnat kept trying to fly up my nose. I sneezed and rubbed and walked into Indefatigable's solid back when he stopped.

          "Hail the Home and Joy in Survival!" he called out.

          "Hail, hail and welcome, brave Defender," a voice answered.

          A sweet and high-pitched woman's voice.

          We started forward again and I stepped out from behind my guide's massive form, rubbing my nose and sniffling. I had a quick glimpse of a woman and three or four children working with hoes. It was a very quick glimpse-for the instant that she saw me she screamed.

          "Invasion Day! "

          It all happened incredibly fast. The children dived to the ground and she grabbed at the heavy pistol that hung from a ! lanyard around her neck. Raised it and began to fire at us.

          We all hit the dust faster than the children had. Dreadnought was shouting, the gun was banging, rounds screamed by and exploded among the crops.

          "Stop! No! No Invasion! Enough, enough?"

          I don't think she heard him at all. I tried to crawl down through the topsoil while I saw her squeezing and squeezing on the trigger; her eyes round and terrified, white teeth sunk into her lower lip. The only thing that kept us alive was the fact that the gun kicked hard and the muzzle rode up into the sky, with the last shots vanishing into the zenith.

          It ended just as quickly as it had started. The children had disappeared. Indefatigable had grabbed the gun away from her and was patting her on the back as she sobbed hysterically.

          "Well trained," Dreadnought said approvingly. "Irreproachable is a fine woman, a good mother . . ."

          "And thankfully a rotten shot," I said. "Would you like to tell us what all that was about?"

          "Training. Survival. For to these many generations. With the galaxy at war we seek only peace. We survive. They will kill themselves, but we will survive!"

          He was winding himself up into a rallying speech so I broke in before he got into full spate.

          "Stop! One minute-enough. The galaxy's wars and the Breakdown ended centuries ago. There is no more war."

          He lowered his clenched fist and sighed; rubbed his knuckle across his nose. "I know. Some of us know. Most won't face the knowledge-cannot face it. We are too trained for survival and nothing else. Nothing in our programming and our lives has ever prepared us for a time without war. Without the threat of invasion. Some of us assemble, we talk, make decisions. About the future. We have a leader-I dare not tell you more!"

          He broke off as Indefatigable came running back.

          "The message has arrived-it is time to leave. The search has widened. If we move now we can stay behind the searchers and get to the meeting place. Quickly!"

          We quicklied-and I was beginning to get very tired of it. The circular staircase had been a lot easier to come down than it was to climb up. Floyd saw my condition and if he hadn't half dragged me I doubt if I would have been able to make it. Once more into the black tunnels. I was only vaguely aware of our two guides, Floyd and the scuttling form of Fido. The next time we stopped I sagged against the wall. Enough was enough yet already.

          "You will both stay here with Dreadnought," Indefatigable commanded. "You will be sent for."

          Nor would our watcher answer any questions in the few minutes that we waited. "Proceed," a voice commanded and we did. Into a dimly lit chamber that appeared glaringly bright to our dark-adapted eyes. A half-dozen young men, garbed like our guides, sat on the other side of a long table.

          "Stand here," Indefatigable ordered, then joined Dreadnought and sat down with the others.

          "No chairs for us?" I asked, but was ignored. Fido felt equally irked, jumped up onto the table and barked. Jumped back to the floor to dodge the swing of a fist.

          "Shut up," one of the men suggested. "We are awaiting orders. We are here, Alphamega."

          They all turned to look at a red box on the table. It was made of plastic and was featureless except for louvers on one side.

          "Are the two Outsiders you told me of present as well?" the box asked. The voice was flat and mechanical and obviously cycled through a speech occulter.

          "They are."

          "I speak to you, Outsiders. I have been told that you come here seeking an object taken from you."

          "That is correct, speaking-box."

          "What is the function of this object?"

          "You tell me-you stole it from us." I was beginning to get teed off at all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

          "Your attitude is unacceptable. Answer my question or be punished."

          I took a deep breath-and reined in my temper.

          "I'd like that," Floyd said cheerfully, as fed up as I was with all this nonsense.

          Where the discussion would have gone from here would never be known because at that moment running footsteps sounded and a wild-eyed young man burst into the room.

          "Alarm! Watchpatrol coming!"

          The sound of a number of thudding feet added a note of urgency to his warning. But at least our captors were prepared for the emergency. A door opened in the wall behind them and there was a rush to get through it. The newcomer, who must have known what would happen, was the last one in the crowd to jump to safety.

          The table was in the way. I launched myself across it just in time to have the concealed door slammed in my face. I kicked it but it didn't budge. I looked at the now silent box.

          "Speak up, Alphamega. How do we get out of this?"

          The red box crackled-then burst into flame. Melted into a pool of plastic. "Thanks," I said.

          "Any other way out?" Floyd asked.

          "Not that I can see."

          The rapid footsteps were just outside. Before I could dig out a gas bomb the scrum of armed men burst into the room.

          Things got busy. Floyd dropped the first three who came through the door while I tackled the next two. Then the going got tough because more and more kept pushing in. Some had body armor, all of them had transparent riot masks attached to their spiked helmets. They didn't try to shoot us, but rather enjoyed clubbing us with their guns.

          Something hard got me on the back of the head and I staggered and fell. Before they jumped me the last thing I saw was Fido going up the wall like a spider and vanishing in the darkness there. Then I got thudded and had a nice darkness of my own.

          "Feeling any better, Jim?" a distant voice said and I felt something wet and cool on my forehead.

          "Shbsha . . ." I said, or something like that. Chomped my dry mouth and opened my eyes. Floyd's face swam blurrily into view. I blinked and saw that he was smiling. He put the cold cloth back onto my forehead, which felt very nice.

          "You got a bad one on the back of your head," he said. "They didn't hit me quite as hard."

          I started to say Where are we? but figured that was a pretty dim question with an obvious answer. I could see a barred door which was hint enough. It hurt when I sat up on the bunk. Floyd handed me a plastic cup of water which I gurgled down and passed back for a refill. I patted my pockets and the seams of my trousers hopefully-but all my concealed weaponry was gone.

          "Seen any dogs around lately?"

          "Nope."

          So that was that. Hit on the head. Imprisoned. Deserted by man's best friend. Somewhere underground so my jaw radio probably wouldn't work. Just in case I clacked hard and called for attention, but couldn't even get any static.

          "Well-it could be worse," Floyd said in a repellently cheery fashion. I was about to curse him out when he got just the answer he deserved.

          "And it will be. You will be dead," the man said from the other side of the barred door. "Instantly. If you attempt to touch me or the Killerbot behind me. Is that clear?"

          He was gray-haired, stern-faced, dressed in the same combat fatigues and spiked helmet as everyone else whom we had seen here. The only difference was that his spike was gold and had stylized wings on it. He moved aside and pointed at the very deadly-looking collection of mobile military hardware behind him. All guns, clubs, wheels, knives and metal teeth. Teeth for tearing out throats?

          I had no intention of finding out. "Follow me," our captor said, turning and walking away. The cell door clicked and swung open. Floyd and I shuffled out and followed him at a discreet distance. Clanking and rattling, the Killerbot rumbled along behind us.

          The hallway, while being a depressing and drab tone of gray, was at least well lit. At regular intervals were framed photographs-apparently all of the same individual from what I could see as we walked past. Or of a number of scowling military types differing only in the braid and the medals on their camouflage suits.

          Our host turned into a doorway that was flanked by studded steel columns. We followed-all too aware of the clanking apparatus just behind.

          "Impressive," I said, looking around the giant chamber. Black marble floor and walls. A large window looking out onto a military camp filled with flapping flags, marching troops, rows of armor-plated vehicles. Since we were deep underground it was obviously a projection-but a very good one. These militaristic themes were also carried through in the interior decorations; light fixtures made of aerial bombs, machine-gun flowerpots, draperies assembled from tattered, ancient banners. I found it horribly depressing.

          Without looking back our captor marched around the gigantic conference table and sat down in the single, high-backed chair there. With a wave of his hand he indicated the two smaller chairs before us.

          "Sit," he commanded. Behind us was a clank and rattle, a hiss of escaping steam. We sat.

          Something brushed my ankle and I looked down and saw that padded clamps had swung into position to secure my legs; motors whirred and they tightened.

          I threw my arms into the air just as clamps from the chair arms swung out and clicked shut on empty air.

          "Not wise," our host said. There was a clank-clank close behind me and what could only have been a gun-muzzle ground into the back of my neck. The wrist clamps snapped open. I sighed and dropped my arms. I didn't have to look to know that Floyd had been imprisoned the same way.

          "Leave."

          When his master commanded the ambulatory war-machine clanked and rumbled out of the room and I heard the immense doors close.

          "I am The Commander," our captor said, leaning back in his chair and lighting a large, green cigar.

          "Is that your title or your name?" I asked.

          "Both," he said, blowing a ring of blue smoke towards the ceiling. "I have imprisoned you since I do not wish to be attacked-nor do I wish to have anyone or anything present while we talk." He touched a button on his desk and looked at pulsing purple light. "And now we are secure against eavesdropping."

          "Going to tell us who all you guys are, what you are doing here and that sort of thing?" I asked.

          "Assuredly. We are The Survivalists."

          "I think I heard a reference to your mob before."

          "Undoubtedly. During the years of the Breakdown there were a number of groups with that name. We are the only ones who deserve it since we are the only ones who survive."

          "Survivalists," Floyd said, and went on as though reading from a book. "Groups who believed in the inevitability of the coming war, as well as the inability of their own governments to protect them, who then withdrew from society into underground bunkers equipped with food, water, ammunition and supplies adequate to survive any catastrophe. None survive."

          "Very good-you are quoting from . . . ?"

          "Handbook of Historical Nuts, Cults and Saviors."

          "Very good-except for the title and the last line. We survived."

          "A little too well," I said. "The Breakdown Wars are long gone and the galaxy is at peace now."

          "I'm glad to hear that. Just don't tell anyone else here."

          "Why not? But let me guess. You want to keep them stupid and in line because you are onto a very good thing. For as long as there is war or the threat of war those in charge tend to stay in charge. Which, of course, is you."

          "An excellent summation, Jim. Though there are those who are unhappy with the state of things . . ."

          "We've met them. Youngsters who perhaps aren't too happy with the militaristic status quo and war forever. Who perhaps prefer a future in the bosom of their families. That is assuming you do have families?"

          "Of course, safe and secure in the residential caverns. We guard them and protect them-"

          "As well as having a generally good time playing soldier and bossing everybody about."

          "Your criticism is becoming tiring."

          He looked quizzically at his cigar ash, then tapped it into the ashtray before him. Which was made from a shell casing of course. Something black stirred at the very edge of my vision but I made no move to look that way. It was about time Fido made an appearance.

          "So what do you want us for?" Floyd asked.

          "I thought that was obvious. I want to find out who you are and how much you know about us."

          There was a quick movement from under the table to my chair, out of The Commander's line of sight. The thing must have then climbed the back of my chair because Aida's voice whispered in my ear.

          "I have done a voice analysis of a recording I made during the interrupted meeting. I stripped away the interference of the voice occulter and now know who the speaker who called himself Alphamega is . . ."

          "I already know," I said.

          "Know what?" The Commander said. "What are you saying?"

          "Sorry, just speaking my thoughts aloud. My thoughts being that you are playing some kind of complicated game, aren't you? You called me by name-and we have never been introduced. Of course if you were present at the meeting of the young dissidents you would know who I was. And now I know who you are."

          I smiled and let the silence stretch before I spoke.

          "The Commander-or Alphamega-which name do you prefer? Since you are both of them rolled into one."

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 25</b>

          I can kill you-quite quickly," The Commander said coldly and calmly. But at the same time he was stubbing and crunching his cigar out in a most agitated manner.

          "Temper, temper," I said. "Since you appear to be in charge of both sides in this internal conflict, and you obviously got us here for a reason-why don't you just tell us all about it?"

          He was scowling now, angry and dangerous. As my mother always said-why was her memory still popping up?-you catch more porcuswine with honey than you do with vinegar. Gently, gently.

          "Please, Commander," I pleaded most unctuously, "we're on your side, even when no one else is. You know exactly what you are doing-while none of your troops has the slightest idea what is happening. Not only are you in charge here, but it looks as though you have managed a mild insurrection on your own terms. You have done an incredible job that no one else was capable of doing. We can help you-if you will let us."

          The scowl faded. Floyd followed my lead, smiled and nodded agreement and said nothing; another cigar was produced and lit. The smoke rose up and the smoker nodded beneficently.

          "You are right of course, Jim. The responsibility has been great, the pressure continuous. And I am surrounded by morons-stulteguloj, kretenoj! Centuries of interbreeding and hiding underground has done little to improve their brain capacity. I am amazed that I alone have the intelligence to see this. I'm as different from them as if I had been born on a different planet, the child of superior parents."

          This was sounding familiar. There has never been a strongman, dictator, military ruler, who did not believe that he somehow came from superior stock.

          "You are different, sir," Floyd said, almost humbly. "I knew that as soon as you spoke."

          We had both obviously read the same textbooks. Though I thought he was spreading it on rather thickly. I was wrong.

          "You could see that? The difference is obvious I suppose, to someone from Outside. It hasn't been easy, I tell you. In the beginning I even tried to talk to the senior officers, explain some of the problems and suggest solutions. I could have had more communication talking to a wall. Not that the younger ones are any better. Though they are restless, give them that. When you get down to it there isn't much joy in just plain surviving. In the beginning maybe, it must have been a challenge then. But after a couple of centuries the pleasures begin to wear pretty thin."

          "Was it the restlessness of the younger ones that gave you the idea to supply a leader for them to follow?" I asked.

          "Not at first. But I began to see that the young were losing respect for the old. About the only people they looked up to were the scientists. From their point of view the scientists were the only ones who at least appeared to be doing new and important things. That's when I hit on the Alphamega role. They think that I am one of the younger scientists. A rebel who is unable to make any progress against the old ideas, the familiar ways-therefore I have been forced to enlist others of like age and mind."

          "My arms are getting stiff," Floyd said, smiling. "You wouldn't mind taking off these clamps for a bit?"

          "I would. I want you two just where you are."

          Mercurial, our friend. All warmth gone in an instant, he dragged so hard on the cigar that it crackled and sparked. "We Survivalists watch events pretty closely-all over this planet. With a surveillance network set up before anyone else arrived. Amplified and spread ever since. Not a bird craps, not a polpettone fruit falls that we don't know about. That I don't know about. Because I watch the watchers. I watched and saw that a lot of energy and plenty of high-powered work was going into recovering that artifact. There is something very important about it-and I want to know just what. I had a squad steal it and destroy the building, hide their tracks. It was impossible to follow them. Yet you did. I want to know how you did that too. So talk-and talk fast."

          "My pleasure," I said. "My friend here knows nothing about the artifact. But I do. I am the one who found it first, then tracked it and followed it here. I am the only one who can tell you how it operates-and what incredible things it can do. If you can take me to it I will be happy to show you how it works."

          "That is more like it. You will come with me. Your associate remains here as a guarantee-don't you agree?" He stood and buckled on a large and offensive-looking sidearm.

          "Of course. Sorry about that, Floyd," I said as I turned my head to face him. Winking with my left eye, the one our captor couldn't see. "I know that you would come after me and help me if you could. But you can't. So stay here and you will be safe. You have the word of James Fido diGriz on that."

          "I'll be okay, Jim. Look after yourself."

          I only hoped that this mixture of innuendo, hints and suggestions had delivered my message to him. I could only cross mental fingers and hope. The door opened and there was a hiss, rumble and clank behind me as my bonds snapped open. I rubbed my stiff arms and stood up slowly and carefully. The Killerbot blinked baleful little orange eyes at me and waved a smoke-stained flamethrower in the direction of the door. I followed Commander Alphamega out, leaving Floyd prisoner in the chair. Not for long, I hoped, if Fido-Aida had understood my suggestions.

          We walked side by side down the wide hall with its framed portraits of heroes. My companion smiled warmly in my direction. Pulling his gun a bit out of the holster at the same time, then letting it slide back.

          "You do understand that if you breathe one word about our conversation you will be no more than a grease spot on the floor?"

          "Completely aware, thank you. Absolute silence on that topic, yes, sir. I will look at the artifact and explain its operation. Nothing more."

          Maybe I was smiling on the outside-but I was pretty gloomy on the inside. Jim, you are getting yourself in deeper than a porcuswine in a mudhole. A depressing thought-and a true one. But I really had no choice.

          It was quite a long walk and I was getting tired again. When all this was over-of it were ever over-I promised myself a nice long holiday. Head-up, Jim! Think positive and get ready to improvise.

          A last door opened and we were in what was obviously a laboratory. Complete with control boards, power cables, bubbling retorts and aged scientists in white smocks. There was a lot of loyal fist-smacking on chests when the leader appeared. Salutes that he returned with the merest tap of his own loosely clenched fist. They moved respectfully back to give us access to a lab bench. On it, now sprouting wires and connections to the surrounding test gear, was the alien artifact. I clapped my brow and staggered.

          "What are you cretins doing with the cagleator!" I shouted. "We are all dead if you have actuated it!"

          "No, no-not that!" an ,elderly scientist cackled. Then shut up and looked fearfully at the Commander who sneered in return.

          "You are all morons. Now tell this Outsider what you have done,", he ordered. "He is the ,one who knows what the' device can do."

          "Thank you, thank you! Of course, as you have ordered.", The wrinkly turned back to. me with shaking hands and pointed a quavering finger. "We have only X-rayed the device and charted the circuitry. Very complex, as you know. There vas, however . . ." he began to sweat, looking about unhappily, "a reaction of some kind. when we attempted to test the circuitry."

          "A reaction? If you have made a mistake the world has just ended! Show me."

          "No, not a big. reaction. Just that it absorbed electricity from our test circuit. We were: not aware of this at first-and we instantly terminated the test when we saw what was happening."

          "And just what did you sees happening?" The Commander asked, voice like a file on rough steel.

          "That, sir, we saw that. A cover of some kind fell away disclosing this recess. And .. the lights. That is all. just lights . . ."

          Fascinated, we all leaned forward to look. Yes, there was the recess. And inside it there' were four little blobs of light. Green, red, orange and white.

          "What is the significance of this?" my inquisitor asked, fingers strumming on the gunbutt.

          "Nothing important," I sand, stifling a yawn at the unimportance of it all. "The test circuitry is simply testing the circuits of your test circuitry."

          I poked out a casual finger- towards. the glowing lights and found the barrel of his weapon grinding into my side.

          "That sounds like absolute waffle to me. The truth, now, or you are dead."

          There are seconds that sometimes ;appear to stretch for a length of time bordering on eternity.  This was one of those occasions. The Commander glared at me. I tried to look innocent: The scientists, slack-jawed, looked at him. The Killerbot waited in the doorway and clanked to itself, hissing steam and probably wishing that it was killing something. Time stood still and eternity hovered close by.

          I had very few options open.

          Like none.

          "The truth is . . ." I said. And could not go on. What could I .possibly say that would impress this maniac in any way? At this moment there was a great explosion and pieces of Killerbot Banked and rattled in through the door.

          As you-u might imagine this really did draw everyone's attention. As did the voice that rang out an instant later.

          "Jim-drop!"

          And there was Floyd at the open door, brandishing an impressive weapon of some kind. Fido has done its job and freed him. He had polished off the Killerbot and was now taking the action from there.

          The commander swung his weapon around, raised it, ready to fire.

          I did not drop as instructed because I was possessed by a hallucinatory moment of madness. I had been pushed around too much of late and suddenly, overwhelmingly, felt like doing a little pushing back.

          The lights in the artifact glowed their welcome and my finger punched out in their direction.

          To do what?

          To touch one of the beckoning colored lights, of course.

          Which one?

          What color meant what to the ancient aliens who had built this thing,

          I had no idea.

          But green had always meant go to me.

          Cackling hysterically I stabbed down on the green

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 25</b>

          Apparently nothing happened. I pulled my finger back and looked at the lights. Then at The Commander and his drawn gun, wondering why he hadn't used it.

          Then looked at him again. And saw that he wasn't moving. I mean just not moving in the slightest. I mean like paralyzed. Petrified. Glassy-eyed and frozen.

          As was everyone else in the room. Floyd stood in the doorway, gun raised and mouth open in an endless shout. Behind him, for the first time, I noticed an unmoving Fido.

          The world was a freeze-frame and I was the only one not trapped in it. I was surrounded by people stopped in the act of speaking, walking, moving. Off-balance, hands raised, mouths gaping. Now stilled, silent-dead?

          I started towards The Commander, to relieve him of his gun-saw that his finger was tight on the trigger! But with each step I felt the air resisting my movement, growing firm, then more solid until it was like walking into an unyielding wall. Nor could I breathe-the air was a thick liquid that I could not force into my lungs.

          Panic grew and grabbed me-then died away just as quickly when I stepped back. I felt normal again. Air was air and I breathed in and out quite nicely.

          "Put the mind in gear, Jim!" I shouted at myself, my words loud in the surrounding silence. "Something is happening-but what? Something happened after you touched the green light. Something to do with the artifact."

          I stared at it. Tapped it with my knuckles. Groped about for inspiration. Found it.

          "Tachyons! This thing emits them-we know that because that is how Aida tracked it in the first place. Tachyons-the units of time . . ."

          The device was now functioning-I had turned it on when I had pressed the light. Green for go. Go where?

          Stasis or speed. Either I had been speeded up or the world had slowed down. Or how could I tell the difference? From my point of view everything seemed to have slowed and stopped. The artifact had done something, projected a temporal field or stopped the motion of molecules. Or had created an occurrence that froze the surrounding world in a single moment of time. Time had come to a stop everywhere that I could see-except in the close vicinity of the device. I moved even closer and patted it.

          "Good little time machine. Time mover, slower, halter, stopper-whatever you are. Neat trick. But what do I do next?"

          It chose not to answer me. Nor did I expect it to. This was my problem now and I had to force myself to take the time to think it out. For the moment I had all the time I needed. Though eventually I would have to do something. And that something would probably mean touching another one of the colored buttons. Either that or I could stand looking dumbly at the device while I quietly died of thirst or starvation or whatever.

          But which light?

          Green had been obvious enough-even more obvious by hindsight. And the decision had been made at a moment of life and death. Nov, I was not so sure. I reached out, then dropped my hand. With plenty of time to decide I had become the master of indecision. Green had meant go, turn on, get started. Did red mean off, stop? Maybe. But what about white and orange?

          "Not an easy one, Jimmy boy?" I said in what I hoped was a jocular voice-which came out very mournful and doomladen. I wrung my hands together with indecision. Then stopped and looked at them as though I might see some answer printed on my fingers. All I saw was dirt under the nails.

          "You have got to do it sooner or later-so do it sooner before your nerve fails completely," I told myself. Reached out a finger-drew it away. It looked like my nerve had indeed failed me completely.

          "Take yourself in hand, Jim!" I ordered. Reached back and took a handful of collar and shook myself as violently as I could.

          It was no help at all. Random choice then? Why not, just as good as guessing. I put the finger out again and promised myself that I would push down on whatever color was under the finger when the jingle ended.

          "Eeeny, meeny, miney, shmoe, catch a . . ."

          I never found out what I was going to catch because at that moment I heard the dragging footsteps coming from the hall.

          Sound?

          Out there where nothing moved!

          I jumped about, hands raised in defense. Lowered them and waited as the footsteps grew louder, came closer and closer to the doorway . . .

          Slipped past Floyd's immobile body.

          "Aliens! Monsters!" I gasped, pulling back. Trying to run although I knew there was no place to go.

          Two hideous metal creatures. Bifurcated limbs, many-angled skulls, glowing eyes, claw-fingered hands. Coming towards me. Stopping. Reaching out

          No! Reaching up to twist their own heads off. I could hear a gurgling scream, was only dimly aware that it was my own voice.

          Twisted and turned and lifted-

          Lifted off the helmets. Two very human faces looked at me with a good deal of interest. I stared back with the same emotion. Realized that, despite the close-cropped hair, the one on the left was female. She smiled at me and spoke.

          "Wes hal, eltheodige, ac hwca bith thes thin freond?"

          I blinked, didn't understand a word. Shrugged and smiled in what I hoped was a winning way. The second visitor shook his head.

          "Unrihte tide, unrihte elde, to earlz'ch eart thu rcome!"

          "Look," I said, having enough of this and very much needing a few questions answered. "Could you please try Esperanto? That good, old, simple intergalactic second language Esperanto."

          "Certainly," the girl said, smiling a winning and white-toothed smile. "My name is Vesta Timetinker. My companion is Othred Timetinker."

          "Married?" I asked for some incomprehensible reason.

          "No, stepsiblings. And you-you have a name?"

          "Yes, of course. James diGriz. But everyone calls me Jim."

          "A pleasure to meet you, Jim. Our thanks for activating the temporooter. We'll take it off your hands now."

          She started towards the artifact-which I now knew was a temporooter. Though I still knew little else. I stepped in front of it and said:

          "No."

          "No?" Her rather attractive forehead furrowed while Othred's face suddenly looked grim. I turned a bit so I could keep an active eye on him.

          "If no is too abrupt," I said, "then I will ameliorate it and say hold on just a moment if you please. Didn't you just thank me for finding this thing?"

          "I did."

          "Finding means that it has been lost. And has now been recovered because of my intervention. In return for this favor I believe you owe me at least an explanation."

          "We're dreadfully sorry. But it is strictly forbidden to pass on information to temporal aborigines."

          Not too flattering, I thought. But I was thick-skinned enough to take it. "Look," I carefully explained. "This is one aborigine who already knows a good deal about what is happening. I now have in my possession your temporooter, a device that has been constructed for burrowing through time. It seems that you or your associates not only lost control of the device but actually lost it in time and space. This is very worrying because you are forbidden to reveal your operations to people living along the time tracks you explore."

          "How-how do you know this?" she asked. Well done, Jim. They may be long on linguistics but are certainly short on extrapolation and imagination. Keep going.

          "At first, when we aborigines discovered the device, we thought it was an alien construction from the far past, built by longlost, millennia-dead aliens. Of course the real explanation is much simpler. It was sent from the future and through a malfunction got out of control." Now I was just guessing-but their shocked expressions meant I was still doing well.

          "Got so far out of control that it just kept going back in time until it ran out of power. Without power you could not locate it. You thought it might have been destroyed. Which is why there was such consternation when it signaled its presence. And you two were sent to retrieve it."

          "You-you read minds?" She spoke in a hushed voice. I nodded firmly.

          "The science of mental telepathy is well advanced in this era. Though it is obvious that all knowledge of our abilities has been expunged from your records in the future. But I will cease my mind reading now. I know how embarrassing it is to have one's secret thoughts revealed to strangers." I turned away, pinched my forehead, turned back. "I have stopped the function. We now communicate by words."

          They looked at each other, still dazed.

          "Speak, please, for now I do not know what you are thinking. Only by speech can we understand each other's thoughts."

          "Knowledge of time travel is forbidden," Othred said.

          "That's not my fault-you're the ones who lost the thing. You must understand that now I know all about it-as do all of my brothers in telepathekinesis who have been listening to my thoughts. But we are sworn to silence! If you wish your secret to remain a secret it will be secret. But you must aid us in keeping this secret secret. Look about you. See this ugly-looking type in the horned helmet? He is just about to kill me. And when you entered you probably stepped over the wreckage of a very armed and deadly machine-you did?, nod yes-good. That thing was going to kill me and my friend, but he got it first. So just turning off the temporooter and skedaddling is out of the question. You will leave behind a deadly and destructive situation."

          "What must we do?" Vesta asked. Palm of my hand.

          "First you will help me by permitting myself and my associates to escape before the time stasis has been turned off."

          "That should be possible," Othred said.

          "Then that's agreed. Secondly I will need another temporooter to take back with me . . ."

          "Forbidden! Impossible!"

          "Hear me out, will you please. Another temporooter to take back that does not function. A realistic fake that will disguise the fact that you and your machine have been here. Catch on?"

          "No."

          They sure bred them dumb in the future. Or without imagination or whatever. I took a deep breath.

          "Look. I want you to remember that all the scientists here, in this time, know that there is a device of some kind that looks like your temporooter. Only they think that it is an alien artifact from the far past. Let us convince them that their assumption is true. If we do that, why no one will ever know about you and your lost equipment. Just have your technicians get some million-year-old rock and carve out something that looks like this. We'll pass it off as the original, the secret will be kept, honor satisfied, all's well that ends well."

          "Excellent idea," Vesta said, and pulled a microphone from her armored suit. "I'll have one constructed now. It will be here in a second or two-"

          "Wait. I have another small favor to ask. I will need certain functions built into the duplicate to convince our scientists that it is not a dummy. Just a simple device that will destruct after a single operation. This will pose absolutely no difficulties for your techs, I am sure."

          It took me a bit longer to convince them of this necessity, but in the end they reluctantly agreed. The duplicate was an exact physical duplicate of the original. It blinked into existence floating in the air before us. Othred reached up and tugged; there was a popping sound as he pulled it down and handed it to me.

          "Wonderful," I said, tucking it under my arm. "Shall we go?" They nodded agreement and put their helmets back on.

          I had my temporal companions first release the stasis field on Floyd's hand so I could disarm him. Like our mutual enemy his finger was also tightening on the trigger. What a world of nascent danger «=e do live in! I tucked the gun into my belt and nodded to the tempotechs.

          Give Floyd that-his reflexes were great. He was twisting and chopping towards Othred's neck the second he moved - stopped when I called a halt.

          "Friends, Floyd, Down boy! Ugly-looking monster friends who are getting us out of here. If you look around you, you will see that all our enemies are paralyzed with indecision-and will stay that way until we are gone. Don't trip over the pieces of the Killerbot on the way out. And, Vesta, if you please. Tap that fake ball of fur with your magic wand so it can join us."

          "What the hell is going on?" Floyd said, blinking in confusion as he tried to understand what was happening.

          "I feel that some explanation is in order," Aida said, and Fido barked with exasperation.

          "Second the motion," Floyd said.

          "Forthcoming. As soon as we are out of here. Will you be so kind as to lead the way back to the surface."

          I turned to thank my temporal saviors, but they were already gone. Not only short on imagination but bereft of manners as well. And when they had vanished they had taken the time stasis with them; I could hear our footsteps for the first time. I looked back with a sudden feeling of horror but, right, the stasis was still working for the enemy as the silent form of the gun-toting snarling Commander indicated.

          "Time to leave," I said. "Since I have no idea how long the nasties are going to stand around that way. Go?"

          "Explain!" Floyd shouted. Not in the best of moods.

          "In a moment," I equivocated-and stopped dead. For I had suddenly been possessed of an even more horrifying idea. All this playing with time-what had it done for my personal poisonous deadline! I groped for my pendant skull-computer but of course it was gone with the rest of my equipment. How much time had passed? Was the poison now taking effect? Was I about to die . . . ?

          Sweating and trembling I dropped the replacement artifact temporooter and grabbed up the plastic poodle.

          "Aida-is Fido transmitting?"

          "Of course."

          "What time is it-I mean what day? No cancel that command. Get on to the Admiral now. Ask him how much time I have left. When is the deadline? Now-please. Don't ask me any questions. He'll know what you are talking about. Do it! And fast!"

          Time dragged by on very sluggish feet I will tell you. Floyd must have heard the desperation in my voice for he stayed silent. A second, a minute-a subjective century crawled by before I had my answer. Aida must have done it-and made a good connection. Because the next voice Fido spoke with was that of Admiral Steengo.

          "Good to hear from you, Jim . . ."

          "Don't talk. Listen. I don't know what day it is. How much time is there to the deadline?"

          "Well, Jim, I wouldn't worry about that if I were you-"

          "You are not me and I am worried and answer the question or I will kill you slowly first chance I have. Speaking of killing . . ." I found that I couldn't go on.

          "I meant it when I said don't worry. The threat of the thirty-day poison is over."

          "You have the antidote?"

          "No. But the thirty days are past. Two days ago!"

          "Past!! Then I'm dead!"

          But I wasn't dead. My brain spluttered and clanked and slipped back into gear. Thirty days past. No antidote. I was alive. I could hear my teeth grating as I spoke.

          "Then the thirty-day poison-the whole thing was a fake from the start, wasn't it?"

          "I am afraid that it was, and I do apologize. But you must realize that I did not know about it until now. Only one person had that information, the instigator of the operation."

          "Admiral Benbow!"

          "I'm afraid that information is not mine to reveal."

          "You don't have to-it reveals itself. That lawyer who gave me the drink was just doing as directed. Lawyers will do anything if you pay them enough. Benbow was in charge and Benbow invented the poison plot to keep me in line."

          "Perhaps, Jim, perhaps." His voice, even when transmitted through the agency of a plastic dog, reeked of insincerity and equivocation. "But there is nothing we can do about it now. A thing of the past. Best forgotten. Correct?"

          I nodded and thought-then smiled. "Correct, Admiral. Why don't we just forget about the whole thing. All's well that ends well and tomorrow is another day. Forget it."

          For now, I thought to myself, but did not speak that important little codicil aloud.

          "I'm glad you understand, Jim. No hard feelings then."

          I dropped the dog, turned and clapped Floyd happily on the shoulder, bent and picked up the replacement artifact.

          "We did it, Floyd, we did it. I will explain everything as we walk. In great detail. But as you can see we are free, in possession of this artifact. Mission accomplished. Now-lead on, faithful Fido, since you have memorized the entrance-and-exit path. But go slowly, for it really has been one of those days."

          I was hungry and thirsty. But even more thirsty for-what? Revenge? No, revenge was a dead end. If not vengeance-what then?

          The time had come for a little evening up, a little sorting out of the record. I had been taken in completely by the poisonous con job. So before the last i was dotted, before the last alien artifact laid to rest, I was going to see that a little justice got done.

          On my terms.

<p align=center><b>CHAPTER 27</b>

          "Carry this for a bit, will you Floyd," I said, passing over the replacement temporooter. We were leaving the last lit tunnel behind and would depend now on Aida to remember the way. "I'm a little on the tired side."

          "I don't wonder. But you have to understand-my patience has just run out. So work hard and see if you can dig up enough energy to tell me just what happened. I am now completely confused. I remember that I wasted the Killerbot with that gun you now have tucked into your belt, the one Fido brought to me. Then I jumped through the door and told you to get down so I could blast the Commander as well as anyone else who was looking for trouble."

          "That's just the way I remember it."

          Fido barked and turned a corner from one dark tunnel into another even darker one. Floyd sounded worried.

          "I remember pulling the trigger-then suddenly you are holding the gun, not me, and right next to me there are two creatures, people, robots, something like that. I blink and look into the lab and everyone is standing like they are frozen. Nothing moves-but nothing. Then when I look back I see that the two metal things have vanished. So I am beginning to feel like I am going around the mental bend. Therefore I would appreciate it if you would kindly, and quickly, tell me what happened."

          "I wish I knew. I saw the same things you did. I don't know what happened."

          "But you must know-you were talking to them!"

          "Was I? I don't remember. Everything is still kind of fuzzy."

          "Jim-don't do this to me. You have to remember! And what were you shouting at the Admiral about? Something about poison and another Admiral."

          "That's easy enough to answer. Certain individuals blackmailed me into this operation by telling me I had been poisoned and that I had thirty days to live if I didn't get the antidote. There was no poison-therefore no antidote. So all the time we have been rushing about I have been thinking about the poison and counting the days before I curled up my toes and keeled over."

          He was silent a moment, then he spoke.

          "That's pretty heavy. You are sure about that?"

          "I am. And I am also terminally tired so can we please put this conversation off for a bit. I would just like to concentrate on putting one foot in front of another for awhile."

          Like it or not Floyd had to settle for that for the moment. Because I needed some time for deep cogitation, to dream up some sort of reasonable story for him-as well as the rest of the troops. Stumbling with fatigue I was grateful that we made our way through the tunnels without meeting any opposition. Though I had the gun ready just in case. When Fido actuated the escape hatch and it opened to reveal the blue sky-I sighed with relief, Gave the gun back to Floyd and used my remaining strength to crawl out onto the ground. Dropped with a groan and leaned back against a polpettone tree.

          "You have the gun, Floyd," I said. "So pass me back that ancient artifact if you please. Aida-is there any transportation on the way?"

          "There should be. I sent out your position as soon as you were aboveground and I could get a triangulation. Help is on the way."

          As indeed it was-for a black spot in the sky grew quickly into the launch from the good old Remorseless. It landed with a shuddering thud, which bit of flying I recognized, so I was not surprised when Captain Tremearne exited through the open door.

          "Congratulations," he said, and stuck out his hand. "You did it, Jim."

          "Thanks," I said, as he gave my hand a good crushing handshake. "And don't think that it was easy."

          "Never! I was there-remember. Can I relieve you of that thing?"

          "No!" I shouted-and was shocked to hear the fine edge of hysteria, or incipient madness, to my voice. Well why not! "I'll hand it over-along with a detailed explanation of just what it is-at the meeting."

          "What meeting?"

          "The meeting that you are now going to arrange at the Pentagon. I'll want all The Stainless Steel Rats there. A last reunion so to speak. Has Madonette gone back to her imprisoning office yet?"

          "She was supposed to. But she would not leave the planet until you came back."

          "Faithful to the end! So in addition to all the Rats I would like a few other friends present."

          "Friends?" He looked baffled. "Like who?"

          "Well that macho fat thug Svinjar for one. King of the Machmen. Then you can invite Iron John and his opposite number, Mata. Ask yourself to come along as well. It will make an interesting gathering."

          "Interesting-yes'. But impossible. None of the exiles on this prison planet is permitted inside the Pentagon."

          "Really? I thought that you were the guy that was going to see that Liokukae was cleaned up and cleaned out?"

          "Yes-but-"

          "Now is the time, Captain. For at this meeting I am not only going to turn over the alien artifact and reveal its secret- but I am going to tell everyone just how the situation here is going to end."

          "How?"

          "You're invited to the meeting. You'll hear then."

          "This will not be easy to arrange."

          "Yes it will." I pointed to Floyd. "Ask him about the strange things that happened when we were back there with the Survivalists. Admiral Steengo will verify his reports. There is a lot more to be cleaned up on this planet than you ever realized. Get your arguments together, consult your superiors, look after this." I passed over the artifacted artifact. "And don't wake me up until it has been all arranged."

          I climbed wearily into the launch. Pushed up the armrests on the back row of seats. Stretched out and fell instantly to sleep.

          The next thing I knew Floyd was shaking me gently by the arm. "We're back in the Pentagon. The meeting is on just like you said. I have breakfast and some clean clothes waiting for you. They'll be ready when you are."

          The shower blasted out warm water and heated air and I stayed under it far too long. But it did wonders not only for my disposition but for my sore muscles as well. I did not hurry. They had arranged the meeting-on my terms-only because they had no choice. They would have informed me to get stuffed if they could. But the labtechs would have found nothing when they examined the artifact. Floyd would have told his confused story about what had happened when he had jumped in with his gun ready. Very confusing. In the end they would have been forced to the reluctant conclusion that the only way they could ever find out what had happened in the underground laboratory was by having me tell them. After which, knowing their record for veracity, they probably felt that they could do whatever they wanted with me.

          "Well, Jim," I said to my smiling and sleek image in the mirror, as I carefully combed my hair, "let's give them what they want."

          Floyd was my guide. Stamping in step with me along the corridors and into the conference room.

          "Hi, guys!" I said in cheery greeting to the far-from-friendly faces.

          Only Madonette returned my smile, waved a tentative hand. Admiral Steengo was stern, Tremearne uncommunicative-as was Mata. Floyd was grim-faced-but winked when I glanced his way. Iron John and Svinjar were chained to their chairs or they would have killed me instantly. As it was they strained forward, eyes bulging with homicidal rage. I was most pleased to see that my hairy red friend had a bandaged skull and an arm in a sling. The aged artifact lay on the table before them and I went and sat on the edge of the table next to it.

          "Tell us about the device," Admiral Steengo said in a reasonable and friendly voice.

          "Not quite yet, Admiral. I assume that your techs could make nothing of it?"

          "They say it is over a million years old. That's all."

          "There's more to it than that. But first a few introductions. The bruised guy with red fur is Iron John. Leader of a cult which you are now going to abolish. You can ship him off for treatment at an establishment for the criminally insane. Along with the fat man next to him. I have them here because I wanted you to see just what your policies of benign neglect had forced on the human beings out there on garbage world."

          I smiled and waited for the cursing and the spitting to die down, then nodded pleasantly at the unwholesome twosome.

          "Would anyone here like to live in the kind of societies that you are subjecting the helpless people on Liokukae to? A committee must be appointed now. Plans drawn up to free the women and children from their bondage. You will find that Mata will be able to advise you on that. I think the various males on the planet will have to be interviewed separately. I'm sure that a number of them like their world the way it is. They can have it. The others deserve something better. But all that is in the future. First let us look at the past. I'm sure that the others on my team will grieve the passing of The Stainless Steel Rats. We have played our last gig, sung our last song. And we did pretty well for a bunch of amateurs. One juvenile criminal. An admiral, an unarmed combat expert, and a-what are you really, Madonette? And don't embarrass both of us by talking about the imaginary office job again. That's not your style. Everyone else has come clean-so how about you?"

          She drew herself up, looked grim-then smiled. "You deserve the truth, Jim. My office really is out there. But it is in the Galaksia Universitato where I teach in the department of archeology. The university has so much money involved in this operation that they insisted on a representative."

          "I'm glad it was you, Professor. Been fun working with you." I blew her a kiss, which she snatched out of the air and blew back.

          "I didn't know about this!" Admiral Steengo said, more than miffed. "I am beginning to find out that there are levels of secrecy and duplicity in this so-called artifact retrieval operation that no one seems to know anything about. The more I discover about it-the more it stinks. And more and more it appears to bear the stamp of Stinky Benbow."

          "That nickname is classified and will be stricken from the records," a loathsomely familiar voice grated from the direction of the suddenly opened door. "Fun and games are over. Sit down diGriz. I am in charge now."

          "Well as I live and breathe!" I turned, filled with great pleasure, to face the ever-scowling countenance of Admiral Benbow. "This is almost too good to be true. The old poisoner himself-in person."

          "You will be silent. That is an order."

          Steengo was shocked. "Benbow, you bastard-have you been going over my head with this project? Are there other things about it that even I don't know?"

          "Plenty. But your need to know is plenty far down the knowing chain of command. So, like this crook-shut up."

          "No more orders, Benbow," I broke in. Reluctantly since there is nothing I enjoy more than a brace of admirals slanging each other off. But this was a time for work, not fun. "Now tell the truth, just for a change. It was your idea to give me the fake thirty-day poison, wasn't it?"

          "Of course. I know how to deal with criminals. No trust, just fear. And complete control." The lizard lips bent into a frigid smile. "I will show you how it works."

          He snapped his fingers and an aide hurried in with a familiar package. He held it up and the serpentine smile broadened. "You didn't really think that I would let you get away with this, did you?"

          It was the package with the three million credits that I had mailed to Professor Van Diver for safekeeping. My fee for putting my life in danger, money well earned. Now in the hands of the enemy. Not only wasn't I bothered by seeing it-I was overjoyed.

          "How kind of you, dear Admiral," I chortled. "The circle is complete, the ring closed. The play ended. The alien artifact retrieved. The last song sung. Thank you, thank you."

          "Don't sound so cheery, diGriz-because you are in the deep cagal. Although you will not be executed for robbing the Mint you will get a well-deserved prison sentence for that crime. This fee, which you extorted from the university, will be returned to them. Along with that artifact . . ."

          "Oh-so we have remembered it at last. Don't you want to know what it is, what it does?"

          "No. Not my problem. Let the university worry about that. I was against this entire operation from the first. Now it is over and life will go on the way it was."

          "Including life on this despicable planet?"

          "Of course. We are not going to let the do-gooders interfere with the sound administration of the law."

          "Admiral-I do admire you," I said, standing and turning to the intent audience. "Hear that, Iron John? You can go back to your old job at the bottom of the pond as soon as your bones heal. Svinjar, more killing and general swinery on your part. There will be the return of the rule of law and justice-on Admiral Benbow's terms."

          "Arrest this man," Benbow ordered, and two armed guards entered and marched towards me.

          "I'll go quietly," I said. Turned and touched the alien artifact as I had been instructed to. "But I'll go alone."

          It was so quiet you could heard a pin drop. But, of course, a pin could not drop.

          Nothing could move, was moving. Would move for quite a while.

          Except me, of course. Strolling over, cheerfully whistling "Nothing's Too Bad for the Enemy," relieving the Admiral of my hard-earned fee. Smiling benignly into his glaring, frozen face. Due to stay that way for quite awhile. I turned and waved at my statue-like audience.

          "The best part was working with The Stainless Steel Rats. Thanks guys. Thanks as well to you, Captain Tremearne. In fact-not only thank you-but could you give me a little help?"

          I walked over and touched his arm as I said this, enclosing him in the stasis-resistant field that enveloped me.

          "Help you do what?" He looked around at the motionless scene, turned back to me. "What's going on here?"

          "What you see is what you get. No one is hurt, but no one is going to move for some time. Temporal stasis. When they come out of it they will never know that they have been in it."

          "This is what happened to Floyd?"

          "Exactly."

          "Exactly what?"

          "Time travelers. The alien artifact is not alien at all-but a human construct from the far future, sent back and lost in time. I promised the time travelers not to tell anybody. I'll make this single exception since I need your help."

          "Doing what?"

          "Getting both of us out of here so we can start the job of cleaning up this putrid planet. Here is what we have to do. Admiral Benbow has just arrived, as you saw, which means there is an interstellar spacer up there now in orbit about this planet. You and I will grab some transportation and get up to it. Once there you will use your rank, guile and forceful manner to see that we get aboard and far away from Liokukae. Then, when we get back to civilization, we will generate plenty of publicity about the evils men do here on this planet. It will be a scandal and heads will roll."

          "Mine will be the first. Along with a court-martial, possible flaying and certainly life imprisonment."

          "It shouldn't be that bad. If we get the forces of light on our side, why then the forces of darkness won't be able to lay a finger on you."

          "It will take time . . ."

          "Captain-that's the one thing we got plenty of! A good six months of it. That's how long this stasis will last. They won't know it, will not even realize a single second has passed. But, oh, will there be consternation among them when they discover how things have changed while they have been dozing! When I leave here the stasis will seal itself, impenetrable and impermeable. By the time it lifts the reform campaign will have succeeded and this prison planet will be nothing but a bad memory."

          "And I will be cashiered, out of a job, will have lost my pension-the works."

          "And many a human being will be alive and happy who would have been miserable or dead. Besides, the military is no place for a groom man. And with a million credits in the bank you can buy lawyers, live the good life, forget your past."

          "What million?"

          "The bribe that I am going to pay into a numbered account for you to make all of this worth your while."

          He shook his fist. "You are a crook, diGriz! Do you think that I would stoop to your criminal, crooked level?"

          "No. But you might be the administrator of the Save Liokukae Fund which has been set up by an anonymous benefactor."

          He scowled, opened his mouth to protest. Stopped. Burst out laughing.

          "Jim-you are something else again! What the hell-I'll do it. But on my terms, understand?"

          "Understood. Just tell me where to mail the check."

          "All right. Now let's get you a uniform while I forge some shipping orders. I have the feeling that I am going to enjoy being a civilian."

          "You will, you will. Shall we go?"

          We went. Marching in step in a most military manner. Marching into the future, into a better, brighter future.

          The blues had been sung. A page turned, a chapter ended. Tremearne would do a good job of sorting out this repellent world. I would do equally well as I slipped away between the interstices of society.

          In six months I would be far from here, my trail cold, my bank account filled, my life more interesting. Once rested and restored-it would indeed be time for The Stainless Steel Rat to ride again!

<hr>

<P align=center>AND YOU WILL SING THE BLUES TOO . . .

          . . . if you don't speak Esperanto. A number of readers, from a number of countries, have written to me asking if there is such a language as Esperanto. There is? Jim diGriz speaks it like a native-as do most of the people he meets while involved in his interstellar trade. Esperanto is doing fine in the future-but does it exist in the present?

          It certainly does. It is a growing, living, simple second language for millions of speakers around the world. It is easy to learn-and fun to use. There are many books, magazines and even newspapers published in Esperanto.

          If you are interested in more information, The Stainless Steel Rat's advice-and mine as well-is to call this number:

<br>(800) 828-5944

<br>or send a postcard with your name and address to:

<br>ESPERANTO

<br>P.O. Box 1129

<br>El Cerrito, CA 94530

<br>  It will change your life?

<br>Harry Harrison