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The Stainless Steel Rat Sings the Blues by Harry Harrison

“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.

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