sorry for them. Even admirals were human once. They would be freed!
“Thanks indeed,” I said snaking back my eyeballs. “Most kind and I’ll remember you in my report to the War Council.”
I waved as we retreated and they all waved back and with all those flying tentacles it looked like an explosion in the octopus works.
“I am depressed,” I confided to my robot-wife as we rounded the next bend. “No way to get in to them that way.”
“My genius,” I said, and clattered my claws lovingly on her metallic shoulder. “That is just what we shall do. And I believe that dead ahead is just what we are looking for. But how will we know when we are under the right spot?”
“Of course! You had this in mind all the time. If it were anyone else I would be green with jealousy. But I writhe with pleasure at the ingenuity of my little wife.”
“I stand chastised, robot mine. Lead the way and I shall follow.” We clattered and bumped down a slime- covered stairway into total darkness. Unused—even better. Angelina switched on some spotlights and we saw a massive metal door ahead that sealed off the foot of the stairs.
“Shall I burn it down?” she asked, poking her head out of the robot for a bit of air. “No. I’m suspicious. Try out your detectors and see if there is any electronic life beneath the surface.”
“Plenty,” she said, sweeping it carefully. “A dozen alarm circuits at least. Shall I neutralize them?”
“Not worth the effort. Scan that wall there. If it’s clear we’ll go in around the door.”
We did. These aliens really were simpleminded. The burned-open wall led to a storeroom and the wall beyond this opened into the chamber the bugged door was supposed to guard. Easy enough to do for even an amateur cracksman and my opinion of the enemy IQ dropped a few more points.
“So
“The town treasury,” I yummed. “We must come back and dip into it when we get a chance.”
Mountains of money stretched away in all directions, loot of a hundred worlds. Gold and platinum bars, cut diamonds, coins and notes of a hundred different kinds, money enough to build a bank out of, much less open one. My larcenous instincts were overwhelmed and I kicked open great bags of bullion with my claws and wallowed in the wampum.
“I know that relaxed you,” Angelina said indulgently. “But should we not get on with our rescue operation?”
“Of course. Lead on. I am indeed refreshed.”
She beeped her subsonic beeper and followed the pointing arrow. It led us through the treasure hoard and, after burning down a few more doors and walls, we reached the indicated spot.
“We’re right under a transponder,” Angelina said.
“Good.” I took a careful sight. “Then the barred gate will be here, and the prisoners just about here.” I paced off the distance carefully. “There were some chairs and debris right here, so if we approach from this spot we should be concealed when we come up. Is your drill ready?”
“Whirring and humming.”
“Then that’s the spot. Go.”
The drill arm extended and began grinding into the rusty ceiling. When the drill note changed Angelina switched off all the lights and drilled even slower in the darkness. This time when she dropped the drill a ray of light shone down through the hole. We waited silently—but there was no alarm.
“Let me get one of my eyes through the hole,” I said.
By balancing on tiptail and tiptoe I got my body up high enough to extend an eye stalk up through the opening. I gave it a 360 degree scan, then withdrew it.
“Really great. Junk all around, none of the admirals looking in our direction and the guards are out of sight. Give me the molecular unbinder and stand back.”
I climbed out of the alien outfit and up onto its shoulders where I could easily reach the ceiling. The molecular unbinder is a neat little tool that reduces the binding energy between molecules so that they turn to monatomic powder and slough away. I ran it in a big circle, trying not to sneeze as the fine dust rained down, then grabbed the metal disc as I closed the circle. After handing this down to Angelina I put a wary head up through the opening and looked around. All was well. An admiral with an iron jaw and a glass eye was sitting nearby, the picture of dejection. I decided on a little morale rising.
“Psst, Admiral,” I hissed, and he turned my way. His good eye widened and his jutting jaw sank in an impressive manner as he spotted my disembodied head. “Don’t say a word out loud—but I am here to rescue you all. Understand? Just nod your head.”
So much for trusting admirals. Not only didn’t he nod his head, but he jumped to his feet and shouted at the top of his voice.
“Guards! Help! We’re being rescued!”
I didn’t really expect much gratitude, particularly from an officer, but this was ridiculous. To traverse thousands of light years of space, through dangers too numerous to mention, to suffer the loving embraces of Gar-Baj, all of this to rescue some motheaten admirals, one of whom instantly tried to turn me in to the guards. It was just too much.
Not that I hoped for anything much better. You don’t live to be a gray-whiskered stainless steel rat without being suspicious at all times. My needle gun was ready, since I was alert for trouble from the guards, but I was also certainly prepared to get some from the prisoners as well. I flicked the control switch from “poison,” to “sleep”— which took an effort of will, let me tell you—and pinged a steel needle into the side of the admiral’s neck. He slumped nicely, dropping toward me with arms out-stretched as though for one last grab at his savior.
I froze, motionless, when I saw what was revealed on those skinny wrists.
“What’s happening?” Angelina whispered from below.
“Nothing good,” I hissed. “Absolute silence now.”
With a stealthy motion I lowered my head until just my eyes were above the rim of the opening, still concealed by the broken chairs, empty ration boxes and other debris. Had the guards heard the disturbance? Certainly the other prisoners had. Two octenarian officers tottered up and looked at the sprawled form of their comrade.
“What’s wrong? Fit of some kind?” one of them asked. “Did you hear what he shouted?”
“Not really. I had my hearing aid turned off to save the battery. Something about Mards Phelp, Meer Seen Plescu.”
“Doesn’t make sense. Perhaps it means something in his native language?”
“Nope. Old Schimsah is from Deshnik and that doesn’t mean a thing in Deshnikian.”
“Roll him over and see if he’s still breathing.”
They did and I was watching closely and nodded approvingly when my needle dropped from Old Schimsah’s neck when they moved him. With this evidence removed it would be a couple of hours at least before he came to and told them what had happened. That was all the time I needed. Plans were already forming in my head.
Dropping back down, I grabbed the disc of metal so recently removed, smeared the edge with lepak-glue— stronger than welding—and pushed it back up into place. There was a crunching sound as the glue set and the ceiling, not to mention the floor above, was solid again. Then I clambered back down and sighed heavily.
“Angelina, would you be so kind as to turn on some of your lights and to crack out a bottle of my best
