Гарри Гаррисон - The Return of The Stainless Steel Rat

"You're number five," he said, in an exceedingly gloomy voice. "You'll never make it either. Croaked or crunched like the other four. That cockamamie computer will let you aboard all right. Like a fly into a web. Then..."

"Then it is my worry. And I can do without your pep talk. I'm suiting up now and I want to be launched as soon as this ancient machine of yours comes up with the orbital calculations I asked for."

"Suicide..." was the last word I heard as I sealed shut the helmet of my modified suit. Modified in that all of the metal parts had been sprayed with an insulating foam. The Mark 2500 was very free with its shortcircuits and two of my predecessors had been electrocuted. I had no desire to be fried for my efforts even before I was inside the renegade satellite.

My plan for getting aboard the thing was simple enough, although once I was sitting alone on the nosecone of the shuttle I began to have doubts about it. Because to make the plan work I had to trust the computer aboard the shuttle. And I was not very happy about computers at the moment. I felt the ship stir behind me, then the steady pressure on my back as it accelerated. This lasted a few seconds - then ended as the breaking jets close beside me puffed out clods of gas. The shuttle decelerated. I didn't. The spaceship fell behind me as I continued on in what I hoped was the correct orbit. Aiming for the spot in space where the satellite would be. Optimistically launched not only in the direction of Stanyan VI, but also moving outward in a course that would bring me down right on top of an emergency exit. I hoped.

But it worked. Despite my fears I watched the satellite get closer and closer until it filled the entire sky. I knew the thing had no missiles or guns - but it could use its deceleration fields to launch something heavy in my direction. That's how one of my predecessors had bought it. But I was coming in on the side away from the landing bays. I hoped.

The seconds ticked by and I had my thumb poised over the button of my breaking jets. The computer back in the shuttle was supposed to give me the signal to break - but as I said I was not trusting computers very much these days. Closer and closer, larger and larger the metal wall grew. And I knew I would splatter myself all over it in a few seconds more. Where was the signal? The computer had blown a fuse. I was good as dead! Yet if I braked too soon, I would miss the station completely and float out into space. I couldn't wait any longer...!

"Fire now," the emotionless voice of the computer said. It did not have to repeat itself. My thumb clamped down, clouds of gas billowed out and around me. I couldn't see a thing! The firing ended and the gas cleared - and there was the side of the satellite just ahead of me.

I hit, tumbled, bounced away again - and grabbed the antenna mast just before I vanished back into interstellar space. After that I just held on for a while, waiting for the air scrubber to evaporate the perspiration from my forehead - and from the misted up helmet in front of my eyes as well.

"You know, Jim," I said, ignoring the quaver in my voice. "You're getting a little too old for this kind of romp. Time to retire, some quiet little planet, rob a bank or two when you get bored. Leave this interstellar suicide to the kids."

But, even as I muttered to myself, I was hard at work. It's okay to bitch as long as you are doing something constructive at the same time. I hauled myself down from the pole and kicked off in a neat arc that ended over the emergency exit. Which was labelled, by some moronic civil servant no doubt, EMERGENCY EXIT. Fine for me, but of little use to anyone inside trying to find their way out. There was a large handle in the centre of the door labelled PULL. I did. It swung open neatly and I drifted into the airlock beyond. Entrance effected, troubles over.

Others might think that - but not me. I'm not called the Stainless Steel Rat for nothing. No sir. I know how to get through stainless steel walls and come out on the other side alive. Just ahead of me was an inviting, shining metal lever. Pull that once, the outer door would close, air would rush into the lock, and when the pressure was equalized the inner door would open. very simple. And very suspicious. Floating in the centre of the airlock, touching nothing, I opened the toolbag on my hip and took out a multimeter. I jammed one prod into the handle - then touched the other to the wall close by.

There was a colourful display of sparks and the readout displayed 25,000 volts. Very interesting. Mark 2500 was expecting me.

I put away the meter and extracted a thick pad of insulation. Electricity in this quantity should be treated with respect. I wrapped the pad around the handle and tugged. The door slowly opened. I waited until it gaped wide before triggering a blast on my suit rockets. A strong one. Because as soon as I was past the door I would be in the grip of the satellite's gravity field.

This shot me forward - and I began to drop as I came into the ship. But I hit the deck well away from the entrance and did a shoulder roll, coming up on my feet, fists clenched and ready for anything.

"Are you the new troubleshooter?" A voice said. I spun about to face a gloomy looking man dressed in a soiled boilersuit.

"No," I said, smiling warmly. "I am Santa and I'm here just in time for Christmas."

He just grunted at that, a serious type, his expression one of darkest gloom. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

"They're waiting for you in the rec hall. Got a message you were coming. This way."

He turned and, almost as an afterthought, called back to me.

"My name's Corona. Tech fifth class."

"My pleasure," I said, but if he heard me he gave no answer. I was really beginning to feel welcome. I peeled off the spacesuit and trotted after him.

Things were much better in the rec hall. There were about a dozen people waiting there and they all burst out clapping when I entered.

"You're welcome indeed," I said inclining my head in a courtly manner. "As you have heard, I am here to save you." My voice hardened. "I would also like to know how you heard I was coming - since the kooky computer controls all of the radio circuits in this satellite."

A handsome woman with gorgeous red hair held up a portable radio.

"With this," she said. "If we put this in front of a viewport we can receive signals from the rescue ships out there. We just can't answer."

"You can now. I have a souped up transceiver with me. Might I ask your name?"

"Trina. Deputy Commander of the station."

"And where may I ask is the Commander?"

She looked at me and her nostrils widened.

"Didn't you do your homework? He was in the shuttle that crashed and started this whole mess."

"I know only what I am told." My nostrils flared to match hers. "Now would you mind introducing me to whoever is in charge now."

"An emergency committee of three. Myself, Dr.Putz here, and Commander Stark. Dr.Putz is Assistant Science Officer, while Commander Stark is Second in Command of security on the satellite."

"Assistant, Second in Command," I miffed. "I don't usually deal with the hired help. Where are their bosses?"

"Our superiors were killed in the same crash of the shuttle," Commander Stark growled. "What you see is what you get, diGriz."

"There is no time for petty squabbles," I told them. "I'm here to save you. So you will give me all the help I need. Is that correct...?"

The emergency committee drew to one side and muttered to each other. They reached agreement quickly enough and Trina spoke for them all.

"Agreed. You will pass your instructions through Technician Corona."

Corona's grunt hopefully indicated agreement. I nodded sagely. "A wise decision. The first thing I will need is a deck plan of this satellite."