Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns by Harry Harrison Page A

something different . . .”
    “It is indeed. But remember it is not designed to astonish this gathering, but to make an impression on a far sterner audience.”
    “It surely will!”
    “Can they do it?”
    “I don’t think it will be any problem. They’ve created some wonderful designs. Not only clothes but drapes, bedding—just about everything.”
    “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
    I exited—with the sewing circle gasping with awe over my design.
    Or were they vibrating with shock?

CHAPTER 10
     
    It had just gone noon when I reentered the ship. I had intended to hold my meeting on the bridge, but the sight of the sun just above the yardarm was too tempting. But just one drink, Jim, I promised myself. I flipped on the ship’s speakers as I entered the bar.
    “Now hear this. All crew members—namely captain and chief engineer—to important conference. In the bar. And will the captain kindly bring those printouts of the city.”
    I had just filled three glasses with ice when my loyal crew came in.
    “Gentlemen, what are you drinking?”
    The captain shook his head. “Sorry. Never drink on duty.”
    “I do,” Stramm said. Thus upholding the noble artificers’ tradition. “Whatever you’re having.”
    “Pink gin. A traditional midday tipple.”
    I poured the captain a fruit juice. We clinked glasses and sat.
    “I can now reveal my plan for our leaving this divided planet. We all know about the loathsome pseudoreligion of the Vengefulers. I intend to now use their rampant paranoia to assist us. Since they live in fear we will use that fear against them. Or rather the Intergalactic Department of Religious Control will. Since this organization is charged with monitoring all religions it must be all powerful.”
    “What will you tell them?” Kirpal asked.
    “I don’t know yet. I’ll play that by ear. I’ll find out where their worries and uncertainties lie—then take advantage of them.” I saw that Kirpal was frowning and I nodded.
    “I agree. It is a dirty business taking advantage of a person’s greatest fears and reinforcing them. But we need help—and I’ll see what I can do to aid the Nature and Love people at the same time. Nor will it, I hope, cause any lasting harm, since we know their paranoia is already well-institutionalized.”
    “I still don’t like it.”
    “Nor do I. And I won’t say it is for a greater good, which it is not. That excuse won’t wash. I’m digging in dirt and I’ll be soiled by it. We’ll all benefit but that doesn’t excuse what I’m doing. And I’m sorry.”
    And I was. But there was no going back. Despite my promised one-and-no-more I poured myself a stiff guilt-expiator. Plus one for Stramm. Though free of guilt he was happy to join me.
    “Now we must devise a plan for opening contact with the sinful city dwellers. Any thoughts?”
    My only answer was a numb silence. It was obvious thatfine captain and stout engineer were empty of any ideas reeking of cunning chicanery. I sighed silently; we needed crooked thoughts now from a crooked brain.
    “We must make a memorable impression with our first contact. Catch them off balance and keep then tottering.”
    The juices of inspiration were beginning to flow; I sipped my drink to keep them lubricated. I pulled over an aerial picture of the city.
    “We will strike at the first light of day, while they are all asleep. We will bring up our forces during the night and they will be concealed, here, under cover at the forest’s edge. At dawn we will move into action.”
    “What forces?” Stramm asked, puzzled.
    “I don’t know yet. But I do know that we must make a strong and instant impression. I imagine that you can whip together a portable amplifier with loud and impressive speakers?”
    “No problem.”
    “Then I must make a truly imposing appearance. Strike them with shock and awe. Too bad I can’t ride up in a tank—or at least an armored car . . .”
    “I have a motorcycle in the hold,”