I had already spaciofaxed the professor that I was sending him some personal possessions, that he should please hold on to them until I came and picked them up. In case he got curious the contents were sealed in an armored case that would take a diamond drill to open. I was betting that his curiosity would not go that far. My package vanished into the mailchute and I went back to work.
At the end of the sixth day we were all pretty exhausted. Barry Moyd Shlepper had stayed up for two nights running, cold towels wrapped around his head, fortified by trebcaff coffee, putting together some musical numbers from the archaic junk. He proved to be a good hand at theft-or adaptation as he liked to call it. The group had rehearsed, recorded, then rehearsed some more. I had concentrated on costumes, props and effects and was almost satisfied.
After one last break I called my troops together. “You will be pleased to know that we will now give our first public performance.” This produced the expected groans and shrill cries of complaint and I waited until they had died down.
“I know how you feel-and I feel the same way too. I think that the blues number, `I’m All Alone,’ is our best piece. You know we have had a lot of help from the staff here and I think we owe it to them to see what we all have done. I’ve invited something like thirty of them and they should be here soon.
Right on cue the door opened and the suspicious public employees filed in, each carrying a folding chair. Admiral Benbow led the way; his flag officer carried two chairs. Zach supervised the seating arrangements and our cavernous rehearsal studio became a theater for the first time. We retreated to the podium where I dimmed the houselights, then hit myself and my electronic gear with a baby spot.
“Ladies, gentlemen, guests. We have all worked hard this last week and in the name of The Stainless Steel Rats I would like to thank you.”
I hit a switch and my amplified voice echoed Thank You, Thank You. Overlaid by a growing crescendo of drums and ending with a crack of thunder and a few realistic lightning bolts. I could see by their wide eyes and dropped jaws that I had their attention.
“For our first number the melodious Madonette will render heart-rendingly the tragically lonely-`I’m All Alone’!”
At this the colored kliegs burst down on us, revealing our pink-sequined skintight costumes in all their iridescent glory. As we played the opening bars of the theme the lights concentrated on Madonette, whose costume had more flesh than fabric and seemed to be deeply appreciated. After a last whistle of wind and crash of thunder and lighting she extended her lovely arms to the audience and sang:
Here I am-and I’m all alone
No one calls on the telephone.
I look around-and what do I see?
There’s no one here but me-me-me.
Me me – me
That’s all I see
I’m all alone,
just
me
me
me.
This was all done to the accompaniment of holographic shaking trees, storm clouds and other spooky effects. The music wailed as Madonette seguidillad into the rest of the song.
I’m all alone and it’s very dark
I sneak out the window to the park.
The wind blows bard and the tree limbs wave
And I’m right before an open grave!
When I try to run and try to flee-
But I know they’re out there after me!
I sit and cry and I know that’s right –
Because the sun comes up
It’s the end of the night . . .
With a last wail and a writhe of purple fog the sun rose majestically behind us and the music trickled to an end.
The silence stretched and stretched-until it was finally broken by a tumultuous applause.
“Well gang,” I said, “it looks like we have done it. Or as Barry Moyd says it looks like we are but really rooty-getooty! ”
On the seventh day we did not rest. After a final round of rehearsals I called an early break. “Get some racktime. Pack your bags. The music and props are ready to go. We ship out at midnight. Transportation to the spaceport leaves here an hour earlier-so don’t be late.”