Harry Harrison - The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted

"Now you wash up, right in there, and I'll bring you a nice hot drink, friend Jim."

"I would prefer a nice cold drink rich with alcohol, friend Czolgoscz."

"I have the very thing!"

By the time I had rinsed the last of the military muck away he was back with a tall, purple bottle, two glasses - he wasn't that old - and a pair of pajamas ablaze with red lightning bolts. I hoped that they didn't glow in the dark.

"Homemade gingleberry wine." He poured two large glasses. We raised them, clinked, drank and smacked our lips. I sighed with happiness and a bit of nostalgia.

"I haven't had this since I was back on the farm. Used to have a bottle hidden out in the porcuswine sty. On dull days I used to get blotto on it and sing to the swine."

"How charming! Now I will leave you to your rest." A perfect host, vanished even before I could thank him. I raised my glass in a toast to the electronic benevolence of the portrait of Mark Forer upon the wall. Drained it. And went to sleep.

When consciousness reluctantly returned I could only lie and blink, drugged with sleep, at the sunlight behind the curtains. Yawning, I rose and opened them and looked out at a flower-filled garden. Old Czolgoscz looked up from his labors and waved his secateurs at me. Then scurried into the house. In a remarkably short period of time he knocked on the door, threw it open, and brought in a groaning breakfast tray. I don't normally have a liter of juice, large portion of wiffles with syrup and three eggs. I did today. "How did you know?" I lip-smacked satedly.

"Guessed. Young lad your age, been working hard, seemed natural. I talked to a few people and I am sure that you will be pleased to hear that the teams are in training all over the city for D-Day."

"D-Day?"

"Desertion Day. Today, tonight. Extra trains have been scheduled and people all over the country are looking forward to welcoming the new citizens."

"Fantastic. I hope you will welcome me as well. My stay on Chojecki may be longer than originally planned."

"You are more than welcome, as is your knowledge. Would you like a teaching position at the university?" I smiled at the thought.

"Sorry, I ran away from school, never graduated."

"I regret in my provincial ignorance that I do not know the meaning of either run away or graduate. Students here go to school when they want, stay as long as they want, study what they want, leave when they want. The only scholastic requirement a child has is to learn about Individual Mutualism, so he or she can lead a full and happy life."

"I suppose the parents pay for the child's schooling?"

Czolgoscz drew back, horrified. "Of course not! A child will get love and affection from its parents, but they would not embarrass their offspring by violating IM's tenets. The child's wirr account, opened when it was born, will be in debit until he or she begins to earn. At a very early age, for the child will not be a free and independent citizen until the wirr account is in credit."

Now I was shocked. "The workhouse for infants! Laboring day and night for a few crusts!"

"Friend Jim - what a wonderful imagination you do have! Not quite. Most of the work will be done around the house, the labors that were usually done by mother, collecting the wirrs father would pay her…"

"Enough, I beg. My blood sugar is low, my head thick and the details of IM so novel that they must be absorbed just a bit at a time."

He nodded agreement. "Understandable. As you will teach us about the novelties of the great civilizations out there among the stars, we have been cut off from them for centuries, so will we reveal to you the fruits of Mark Forer's genius - may electrons flow forever through its wires!

A pleasant prayer for that long-vanished machine. I still found it hard to understand such affection for a bunch of circuitry, no matter how complex. Enough, it was time to get back to work.

"Can you find out where my friend Morton is staying?"

"Would you like to go there? I will be honored to take you."

"You know…" I gaped, then answered my own questions. "Of course, everyone in the city knows where we have been staying."

"That is correct. Do you ride the bike?"

"Not for many years - but once learned, never forgotten." A sensible form of transportation, the bicycle, and the streets of this city were busy with them. I bundled up the uniform for possible future use, pulled on a pair of baggy shorts that Czolgoscz produced. This, and my undershirt, produced an inconspicuous cycling outfit. Thus garbed I went into the garden and limbered up with a hundred pushups. When I finished and climbed to my feet I shied back from the man who stood behind me leaning on a bright red bicycle.

"I did not mean to startle you," he said. "But I did not wish to interrupt your ritual. Czolgoscz phoned me and I brought your bicycle around. The best one I had in stock."

"Thank, thank you - indeed a beauty. But I am afraid I cannot pay you for it…"

He smiled. "You already have. I stopped at the wirrbank and debited your account. They asked me to give this to you."

I did some rapid blinking at the wirrdisc he handed me. James diGriz it was labeled. And in the little LCD window it read Balance 64.678.

"The bank asked me to ask you to contact them. They were not sure how many hours you worked for the public service last night. If you would kindly report to them they will make the correction."

"I am in the system!" I shouted happily. The bicycle man beamed happy agreement.

"Of course! You are an individual and Individual Mutualism is your right. Welcome, welcome! May your wirrbalance grow and may your life be a long and happy one!"

It was next morning when the cagal hit the fan. Reports had come in during the night of the fantastic success of D-Day. The troops had trooped into town with their passes, had expressed a great appreciation of fresh air, had been welcomed at the back entrance of any clothing store to change out of their uniforms, had boarded train after train. The last one left just before midnight when the curfew had descended.

And there had been no alarm, not at first. Luckily there were four gates into the camp and I presumed that the MPs, in their native ignorance, had all thought the returning soldiers had used the other gates. Therefore they had all been happy to cagal off for the evening. So successful had been our operation that even the extra trains had not sufficed for the mobs of deserters. Over a hundred were still in the city. They would stay hidden until nightfall when, hopefully, they would be smuggled to the station.

With my new-found wealth I had bought a giant TV as a gift for our hosts. Morton and I were watching a local broadcast when the military cut in. Neither of us appreciated it for this was a day of celebration of some kind, the anniversary of the wiring of Mark Forer's first circuit board or some such, and all the city had turned out. We were enjoying a parade, headed by the local girls' cycle club, all flashing bronzed limbs and fluttering skirts, when the picture sizzled and died to be replaced by General Zennor's scowling features.

"Turn it off!" Morton moaned. "If I look at him I won't be able to eat lunch."

"Leave it. It won't be good news, but since we will have to hear it sometime - better now."

"Attention!" Zennor said and Morton made a rude noise with his tongue; I waved him to silence. "You all know me. General Zennor of the liberating forces. You know me as a kind and patient man…"

"He is a great fiction writer!"

"Quiet!"

"… a firm leader and a just one. And now the time has come for firmness and justice to be applied. I have just discovered that a few cowards among the ranks of my loyal troops have been foolish enough to attempt to desert. Desertion is punishable by death…"