“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.
Blue world –
Hear me singing my song.
Blue world –
What’s it I done wrong?
Blue world –
You gonna help me along
Blue wor-r-r-ld.
Here we are
We ain’t goin’ away.
Here we are
On this planet to stay.
Blue wor-rr-ld.
Landing was easy,
Plenty of fun.
Down came our rocket –
‘Neath the blue sun.
Landing was great
Everything swell.
Now it’s all over,
Living is hell,
Down here at the bottom of the gravity well.
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 . . .
CHAPTER 22
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.