Free Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns by Harry Harrison Page B

andwaged eternal war against them. To say that they were extremely paranoid understates the case.
    It is reported that this cult died out when they fled to other planets to escape what they saw was an eternal holy war.
    Many centuries have passed since the last report that they had been seen.
    However, there is still an intergalactic warning out not to approach them or attempt any contact.
     
    “Nice people,” Kirpal said, curling his lip with distaste.
    “I can handle them,” I said briskly.
    With more surety than I really felt. Yet I must do it—or resign myself to a vegetarian life with plenty of flowers. But I needed more information about the city. And I knew where to find it.
    “Captain Singh. A question, please. When we were above the city, and they attacked us with their missile, we had a fine picture on the screen of everything that happened. Was that image recorded?”
    “Of course. Automatically.”
    “Wonderful! Can you print out some good pictures of the city?”
    “Of course.”
    “Then, after you eat, will you make some blow-up prints? Know your enemy and all that.”
    “Good as done.”
    It had been a long and busy day and it appeared that everyone had retired early. But I had too much to think about. I dug into the bar supplies, which I had carefully restocked for any emergency before we left. I found a bottle of Old CerebellumTickler and poured a tall one with plenty of ice. With Mozart playing softly in the background I pulled over the transcribing screen and a stylo.
    After many minutes and a number of glugs it remained infuriatingly blank.
    “Come on, Jim, put the thinking cap on. You are the only one—you ingenious old Rat—who can find a way out of this mess. Outwit the Devil-Gooders, contact the galaxy, convince the porcuswiners that they would all be very happy remaining here. That done you can forget all about Mechanistria and go home for some peace and quiet.”
    It sounded wonderful.
    Now how would I go about doing just that?
    Why, by remembering the old diGrizian axiom: turn everything on its head. All too often strong beliefs revealed a flaw. A perceived strength would often contain an inherent weakness.
    So what were these pseudoreligious nutcases really good at? Ask a question, get an answer.
    Paranoia.
    They thought everyone hated them.
    Therefore I must make that come true! And extract great pleasure in doing so.
    I finished my drink, patted my lips dry, turned off the lights and, fatigued yet happy, went to bed.
    It is understandable but inconvenient that there are no portholes in deep spacers. Yawning myself awake I switched an outside image to the screen. Another bright and sunny day in what I hoped would soon be a porcine paradise. How Iwould treasure the sight of the last retreating hams on the hoof. I could not help but whistle cheerfully.
    “Someone is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” Angelina said, covering a yawn.
    “I’m a genius—and I am the first one to admit it!”
    “Not before I’ve had my coffee. Desist.”
    I was spreading a last piece of toast with marmalade when Angelina emerged. Coiffed and glowing with health—in a fetching outfit I had never seen before. Not that I would have remembered if I had.
    “I’ve been invited by the Floradoran’s Women’s League to a sewing bee.”
    “Sounds delightful.” Sounded like death warmed over. “Do you know what this bucolic ritual is?”
    “No, but I’m sure they will tell me.”
    As she said this I felt a surge of inspiration. Lights flashed and bells rang.
    “I imagine it has to do with sewing clothes, since without machines I don’t think there are any factories here. And, if that is what it is, why, you and the ladies will be of immense help in our leaving this planet.”
    She clapped her hands and laughed aloud.
    “Has my genius elaborated an ingenuous plan to leave this planet?”
    “Your genius has done just that!” I said as I buffed my fingernails on my shirt front, then