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Steel Rat - 6

Chapter 1

"James Bolivar di Griese - you are a fraud," Inskeen said. Some absolutely animalistic sounds came out of his throat, while he angrily shook a folder of papers in front of me. It happened in his office, I stood leaning against the shelves - very insulted innocence.

I am not guilty. “It’s all a cold, calculated lie,” I whined. There was a cigar compartment right behind me, and I, with one back, without using my hands, felt for its lock - I am a master at such things.

Fraud, deception, one thing worse than the other - you are still being reported. You deceived your own organization, the Special Corps, your comrades...

No! - I cried, and at that time I quickly opened the lock.

No wonder they call you Slippery Jim!

So it's just a childhood nickname. When my mother bathed me as a child, she found me very slippery.

At this time, the cigarette box opened, and I inhaled the most aromatic smell through my nose.

Do you know how much you stole? “His face became bloodshot and his eyes bulged. All this looked very unsympathetic.

I stole? Yes, I would rather die! - I proclaimed touchingly, quietly pulling out a handful of devilishly expensive cigars intended for very important people. I’d rather smoke them myself - it will be more correct. I must admit that I paid much more attention to the theft of the smoke than to Inskin’s tedious reproaches, so I did not immediately notice the change in his voice. I suddenly realized that I could barely hear his words. He didn't even whisper - it was as if the volume control in his throat had been turned off.

“Speak up, Inskin,” I said firmly. - Or are you ashamed of your slander?

I walked away from the closet and turned sideways to Inskin so that he wouldn’t inadvertently see me stuffing a bunch of rare cigars worth at least a hundred credit cards into my pocket. He continued to mumble indistinctly, not paying attention to me and silently shaking the papers.

Are you unwell?

There was a bit of real concern in my voice because he looked really bad now. Even when I changed my place, he did not turn his head and, silently moving his lips, continued to look at where I stood before. And he was very pale. I closed my eyes and looked at him.

He was not pale at all - just transparent. The back of the chair became clearly visible through his head.

Stop it! - I screamed, but he probably didn’t hear. - What are these things? Volumetric projections to fool me? And don't bother! Slippery Jim is not one to be fooled, ha ha!

Walking quickly across the room, I reached out my hand and pointed my index finger at his forehead. Overcoming weak resistance, the finger entered inside, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Only when I pulled my hand away was there a faint bang and Inskin disappeared completely. All that was left was a stack of papers that fell onto the table top.

B-r-r-r! - I muttered something unintelligible. Then he bent down and began to look for a hidden projector under the chair, but at that moment there was a nasty crash and the office door flew off its hinges.

Well, I understand these kinds of things. Still on all fours, I quickly turned around and was just in time to meet the first person to enter. The edge of my palm cut into his throat, right under the gas mask. The man grunted and fell as if knocked down. But after him, many more people rushed in, all wearing the same masks and white coats, with small black backpacks on their backs. Some are without weapons, some are with improvised batons. All this looked very unusual. Superior forces pushed me into the depths of the room, but I managed to kick one and got away with a blow to the gut from the other.

Chapter 1

“You are a fraud, James Bolivar di Griz,” Inskipp growled, angrily shaking a stack of papers at me.

I leaned against the cabinet in his office, feigning offended virtue.

“I’m innocent,” I sobbed. – I am a victim of a purposeful, cold, calculating lie.

I had his cigar box behind me, and I groped, being a great expert in this matter, examined the castle.

– Theft, deception, and worst of all, the reports continue to come. You deceived your own organization, your Special Corps, your own comrades...

- Never! – I cried, quietly working with the master key.

“It’s not for nothing that they called you Slippery Jim!”

- Misunderstanding! It's just a childhood nickname. Mom thought I was very slippery when she soaped me up in the bath.

The box opened, and my nose twitched from the aroma of fragrant leaves.

- Do you know how much you stole? “Inskipp was already all purple and his eyes were bulging.

- I? Stole? Yes, I would rather die! – I recited with pathos, taking out a handful of incredibly expensive cigars intended for the authorities. I'll find a better use for them - I'll smoke them myself.

I must confess that my attention was more focused on the stolen tobacco products than on Inskipp's tedious denunciations, so I did not immediately notice the change in his voice, but suddenly I realized that I could barely hear him - however, this was for the better. It wasn't that he spoke in a whisper - it was as if he had a volume control in his throat and someone had suddenly turned down the volume.

“Go on, Inskipp,” I said firmly. – Or did you suddenly feel guilty about these false accusations?

I moved sideways from the cabinet to hide the movement with which I was pocketing credit cards for a hundred exotic cigars. Inskipp, ignoring me, continued to mumble quietly, now silently shaking the papers.

-Are you feeling unwell? - I asked with almost sincere sympathy - he had completely given up on something.

Without turning his head to follow me, he continued to look at the place where I had just stood, and kept moving his lips. And he became very pale. I blinked and looked at him again.

He did not turn pale - he became transparent.

The back of the chair began to clearly appear through his head.

- Stop it! – I shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear. – What kind of games are these? Want to fool me with 3D projection? You're trying in vain! Slippery Jim isn't one to get scammed, haha!

Walking quickly across the room, I reached out my hand and pointed my index finger at his forehead. The finger went inside with slight resistance, and Inskipp seemed to have nothing against it. As soon as I pulled my hand away, there was a light clap, and he disappeared without a trace, and the papers, which there was no one to hold, fell on the table.

- Wow! – I squeezed out not too meaningfully and bent down to look for hidden equipment under the chair.

And then, with a disgusting crash, the office door was broken open.

Well, I understand this. I spun around, still half-bent, and prepared to meet the first person to enter.

With the hard edge of my palm I hit him in the throat, just under the gas mask. It gurgled and fell. But a lot of people broke in behind him, all in gas masks, white coats, with black boxes on their backs, some with improvised batons. It's all very strange. Under their pressure, I retreated, but managed to kick one in the jaw, and knocked down another with a powerful blow to the solar plexus. Then they pinned me against the wall. I hit another one on the back of the head and he fell. And disappeared before reaching the floor.

Interesting! The number of attackers now began to rapidly decrease, as those whom I beat disappeared. Our chances would have been equal if other people had not appeared out of the ground in the same numbers. I made my way to the door, but I didn’t succeed. I got hit on the head with a baton - they hit me on the brain, so to speak.

After that I fought as if in slow motion. He hit another one, but somehow without inspiration. They grabbed me by the arms and legs and dragged me out of the room. For the sake of order, I wriggled and cursed them in half a dozen languages, but the result, you know, was no. They carried me out and dragged me down the corridor into the elevator that stood ready. One of the attackers took the box of his gas mask and, no matter how I turned away, blew a stream of gas into my face. I didn't feel anything, but I was overcome with anger. I kicked, ground my teeth and shouted insults. The masked people mumbled something in response - irritably, it seemed to me, and this only intensified my rage. When we reached our destination, I was ready to kill - and I am not easily driven to this. And I would have killed, but they tied me to the electric chair and attached electrodes to my wrists and ankles.

– Tell them that Jim di Griz died like a man, dogs! – I shouted.

A metal helmet was lowered onto my head, but before it covered my face, I managed to shout:

– Long live the Special Corps! Long live…

It became dark, and I realized that an electric shock, brain destruction, and death would follow.

However, nothing happened, the helmet was removed, someone again blew gas from a cylinder into my face, and I felt that the anger that had overcome me passed as quickly as it came. I blinked and saw that my arms and legs were free. Here almost everyone took off their masks, and I recognized them as scientists and Corps laboratory technicians working in this very laboratory.

“Would someone please explain to me what’s going on here?”

“Let’s finish one thing first,” said one of them, gray-haired with yellowed teeth.

He hung a black box on my shoulder and pulled out a wire with a metal disk at the end. He attached the disk to the back of my head.

– You are Professor Coypu, right?

- Yes. “The teeth moved up and down like piano keys.”

“Would you consider me rude if I asked for an explanation?”

- Not at all. This is natural under the circumstances. It's a shame that we had to treat you this way. The only way to get you mad and keep you that way. A person possessed by anger is focused only on himself and survives due to this. If we appealed to your reason and began to explain something to you, we would harm ourselves. So we attacked you. They treated you to anger gas and inhaled it themselves. The only way out. Oh shit, now Magistero. It even starts here.

The man in the white robe lit up, became transparent and disappeared.

“Inskipp also disappeared,” I said.

– It should have been expected. One of the first.

- Why? – I asked, smiling stupidly. I've never had a more idiotic conversation in my life.

– We took on the Corps. First, the leadership is removed.

- Don't know.

I gritted my teeth, but restrained myself.

– Would you be so kind as to explain in more detail - or find someone more intelligent?

“You are a fraud, James Bolivar di Griz,” Inskipp growled, angrily shaking a stack of papers at me.

I leaned against the cabinet in his office, feigning offended virtue.

“I’m innocent,” I sobbed. – I am a victim of a purposeful, cold, calculating lie.

I had his cigar box behind me, and I groped, being a great expert in this matter, examined the castle.

– Theft, deception, and worst of all, the reports continue to come. You deceived your own organization, your Special Corps, your own comrades...

- Never! – I cried, quietly working with the master key.

“It’s not for nothing that they called you Slippery Jim!”

- Misunderstanding! It's just a childhood nickname. Mom thought I was very slippery when she soaped me up in the bath.

The box opened, and my nose twitched from the aroma of fragrant leaves.

- Do you know how much you stole? “Inskipp was already all purple and his eyes were bulging.

- I? Stole? Yes, I would rather die! – I recited with pathos, taking out a handful of incredibly expensive cigars intended for the authorities. I'll find a better use for them - I'll smoke them myself.

I must confess that my attention was more focused on the stolen tobacco products than on Inskipp's tedious denunciations, so I did not immediately notice the change in his voice, but suddenly I realized that I could barely hear him - however, this was for the better. It wasn't that he spoke in a whisper - it was as if he had a volume control in his throat and someone had suddenly turned down the volume.

“Go on, Inskipp,” I said firmly. – Or did you suddenly feel guilty about these false accusations?

I moved sideways from the cabinet to hide the movement with which I was pocketing credit cards for a hundred exotic cigars. Inskipp, ignoring me, continued to mumble quietly, now silently shaking the papers.

-Are you feeling unwell? - I asked with almost sincere sympathy - he had completely given up on something.

Without turning his head to follow me, he continued to look at the place where I had just stood, and kept moving his lips. And he became very pale. I blinked and looked at him again.

He did not turn pale - he became transparent.

The back of the chair began to clearly appear through his head.

- Stop it! – I shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear. – What kind of games are these? Want to fool me with 3D projection? You're trying in vain! Slippery Jim isn't one to get scammed, haha!

Walking quickly across the room, I reached out my hand and pointed my index finger at his forehead. The finger went inside with slight resistance, and Inskipp seemed to have nothing against it. As soon as I pulled my hand away, there was a light clap, and he disappeared without a trace, and the papers, which there was no one to hold, fell on the table.

- Wow! – I squeezed out not too meaningfully and bent down to look for hidden equipment under the chair.

And then, with a disgusting crash, the office door was broken open.

Well, I understand this. I spun around, still half-bent, and prepared to meet the first person to enter.

With the hard edge of my palm I hit him in the throat, just under the gas mask. It gurgled and fell. But a lot of people broke in behind him, all in gas masks, white coats, with black boxes on their backs, some with improvised batons. It's all very strange. Under their pressure, I retreated, but managed to kick one in the jaw, and knocked down another with a powerful blow to the solar plexus. Then they pinned me against the wall. I hit another one on the back of the head and he fell. And disappeared before reaching the floor.

Interesting! The number of attackers now began to rapidly decrease, as those whom I beat disappeared. Our chances would have been equal if other people had not appeared out of the ground in the same numbers. I made my way to the door, but I didn’t succeed. I got hit on the head with a baton - they hit me on the brain, so to speak.

After that I fought as if in slow motion. He hit another one, but somehow without inspiration. They grabbed me by the arms and legs and dragged me out of the room. For the sake of order, I wriggled and cursed them in half a dozen languages, but the result, you know, was no. They carried me out and dragged me down the corridor into the elevator that stood ready. One of the attackers took the box of his gas mask and, no matter how I turned away, blew a stream of gas into my face. I didn't feel anything, but I was overcome with anger. I kicked, ground my teeth and shouted insults. The masked people mumbled something in response - irritably, it seemed to me, and this only intensified my rage. When we reached our destination, I was ready to kill - and I am not easily driven to this. And I would have killed, but they tied me to the electric chair and attached electrodes to my wrists and ankles.

– Tell them that Jim di Griz died like a man, dogs! – I shouted.

A metal helmet was lowered onto my head, but before it covered my face, I managed to shout:

– Long live the Special Corps! Long live…

It became dark, and I realized that an electric shock, brain destruction, and death would follow.

However, nothing happened, the helmet was removed, someone again blew gas from a cylinder into my face, and I felt that the anger that had overcome me passed as quickly as it came. I blinked and saw that my arms and legs were free. Here almost everyone took off their masks, and I recognized them as scientists and Corps laboratory technicians working in this very laboratory.

“Would someone please explain to me what’s going on here?”

“Let’s finish one thing first,” said one of them, gray-haired with yellowed teeth.

He hung a black box on my shoulder and pulled out a wire with a metal disk at the end. He attached the disk to the back of my head.

– You are Professor Coypu, right?

- Yes. “The teeth moved up and down like piano keys.”

“Would you consider me rude if I asked for an explanation?”

- Not at all. This is natural under the circumstances. It's a shame that we had to treat you this way. The only way to get you mad and keep you that way. A person possessed by anger is focused only on himself and survives due to this. If we appealed to your reason and began to explain something to you, we would harm ourselves. So we attacked you. They treated you to anger gas and inhaled it themselves. The only way out. Oh shit, now Magistero. It even starts here.

The man in the white robe lit up, became transparent and disappeared.

“Inskipp also disappeared,” I said.

– It should have been expected. One of the first.

- Why? – I asked, smiling stupidly. I've never had a more idiotic conversation in my life.

– We took on the Corps. First, the leadership is removed.

- Don't know.

I gritted my teeth, but restrained myself.

– Would you be so kind as to explain in more detail - or find someone more intelligent?

- I'm sorry. “He wiped the sweat from his forehead and licked his dry lips. – You see, everything happened so quickly. And measures had to be taken urgently. A war of times, so to speak. Someone, somewhere, at some time, interfered with the passage of time. Naturally, they had to choose the Special Corps as their first target, regardless of what other goals they had. Since the Corps is the most effective, inclusive, transnational and interplanetary legal organization in the history of the Galaxy, we automatically become the main obstacle in their path. Sooner or later, whatever their ambitions for time, they would face the Corps. That's why they decided to do away with us first. If Inskipp and the other leaders are removed, the likelihood of the Corps functioning decreases, and we will all evaporate, like poor Magistero.

I blinked.

- Couldn't I have a little drink?

– Great idea, I’ll join you.

The machine poured the vile green liquid to my liking, but I spun the dial, ordered a double “Sirian Panther Sweat” and took out more than half of it in one gulp. This terrible drink, banned in most civilized worlds because of its vile effect on the body, only did me good at that moment. I finished my glass, and a sudden memory jumped out of the tangled jungle of my subconscious.

– Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you once give a lecture on the impossibility of time travel?

- Certainly. My speciality. A smokescreen, so to speak. For us, they have long been possible. However, they were afraid to use it. Timelines change and all that. This is exactly what is happening now. But we had a long-term research plan. That's why we realized what was going on when it all started. The alarm was raised, but we did not have time to warn anyone. And what's the point of warning? We knew what our duty was. Add that we are the only ones who can do anything. We installed an emergency time recorder, created small portable devices around the laboratory - one of them is on you now.

– How does it work? – I asked, carefully touching the metal disk on the back of my head.

Seeing rats in a dream means the appearance of secret enemies that are not so easy to get rid of.

Huge, impudent rats running around the house in reality foreshadow family troubles and insincerity of friends, business discord and losses.

If in a dream you set a trap for rats, it means that in reality you will become aware of the intentions of your enemies.

A rat caught in a trap foreshadows a robbery of an apartment or a scandal with neighbors.

Kill a rat - get rid of slander and rivalry.

A dead rat means a contagious disease. To drive rats out of the room, wielding a poker or something of the like, is a struggle with varying success and disastrous results.

If you are afraid of rats in a dream, in reality you will end up in an unpleasant situation and be falsely accused.

To grab a rat with your hands - you will experience disgust for a low, vile person.

Seeing a cat catching a rat means you will receive life-saving support in time.

If a cat eats a rat before your eyes, you will witness an unpleasant family scene in the house of your friends.

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Dream Interpretation - Rat

Rats in a dream are dangerous enemies. They can also mean our loved ones who cause us constant trouble and grief.

Killing a rat in a dream is a symbol of victory over an enemy or troubles. Such a dream also means that you are intolerant of human weaknesses and will not put up with meanness, cowardice, and hypocrisy.

Petting a rat in a dream is a harbinger of trouble from a person whom you considered your friend and whom you trusted. A white rat in a dream is your hidden enemy.

See interpretation: animals, beasts.

Skinning it in a dream means that you will be able to outwit an insidious enemy and profit at his expense. The main thing is that the skin does not tear during sleep, because this is the most valuable thing a rat has.

Harry Harrison

Steel Rat saves the world. The Steel Rat needs you

Steel Rat saves the world

“You are a fraud, James Bolivar di Griz,” Inskipp growled, angrily shaking a stack of papers at me.

I leaned against the cabinet in his office, feigning offended virtue.

“I’m innocent,” I sobbed. – I am a victim of a purposeful, cold, calculating lie.

I had his cigar box behind me, and I groped, being a great expert in this matter, examined the castle.

– Theft, deception, and worst of all, the reports continue to come. You deceived your own organization, your Special Corps, your own comrades...

- Never! – I cried, quietly working with the master key.

“It’s not for nothing that they called you Slippery Jim!”

- Misunderstanding! It's just a childhood nickname. Mom thought I was very slippery when she soaped me up in the bath.

The box opened, and my nose twitched from the aroma of fragrant leaves.

- Do you know how much you stole? “Inskipp was already all purple and his eyes were bulging.

- I? Stole? Yes, I would rather die! – I recited with pathos, taking out a handful of incredibly expensive cigars intended for the authorities. I'll find a better use for them - I'll smoke them myself.

I must confess that my attention was more focused on the stolen tobacco products than on Inskipp's tedious denunciations, so I did not immediately notice the change in his voice, but suddenly I realized that I could barely hear him - however, this was for the better. It wasn't that he spoke in a whisper - it was as if he had a volume control in his throat and someone had suddenly turned down the volume.

“Go on, Inskipp,” I said firmly. – Or did you suddenly feel guilty about these false accusations?

I moved sideways from the cabinet to hide the movement with which I was pocketing credit cards for a hundred exotic cigars. Inskipp, ignoring me, continued to mumble quietly, now silently shaking the papers.

-Are you feeling unwell? - I asked with almost sincere sympathy - he had completely given up on something.

Without turning his head to follow me, he continued to look at the place where I had just stood, and kept moving his lips. And he became very pale. I blinked and looked at him again.

He did not turn pale - he became transparent.

The back of the chair began to clearly appear through his head.

- Stop it! – I shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear. – What kind of games are these? Want to fool me with 3D projection? You're trying in vain! Slippery Jim isn't one to get scammed, haha!

Walking quickly across the room, I reached out my hand and pointed my index finger at his forehead. The finger went inside with slight resistance, and Inskipp seemed to have nothing against it. As soon as I pulled my hand away, there was a light clap, and he disappeared without a trace, and the papers, which there was no one to hold, fell on the table.

- Wow! – I squeezed out not too meaningfully and bent down to look for hidden equipment under the chair.

And then, with a disgusting crash, the office door was broken open.

Well, I understand this. I spun around, still half-bent, and prepared to meet the first person to enter.

With the hard edge of my palm I hit him in the throat, just under the gas mask. It gurgled and fell. But a lot of people broke in behind him, all in gas masks, white coats, with black boxes on their backs, some with improvised batons. It's all very strange. Under their pressure, I retreated, but managed to kick one in the jaw, and knocked down another with a powerful blow to the solar plexus. Then they pinned me against the wall. I hit another one on the back of the head and he fell. And disappeared before reaching the floor.

Interesting! The number of attackers now began to rapidly decrease, as those whom I beat disappeared. Our chances would have been equal if other people had not appeared out of the ground in the same numbers. I made my way to the door, but I didn’t succeed. I got hit on the head with a baton - they hit me on the brain, so to speak.

After that I fought as if in slow motion. He hit another one, but somehow without inspiration. They grabbed me by the arms and legs and dragged me out of the room. For the sake of order, I wriggled and cursed them in half a dozen languages, but the result, you know, was no. They carried me out and dragged me down the corridor into the elevator that stood ready. One of the attackers took the box of his gas mask and, no matter how I turned away, blew a stream of gas into my face. I didn't feel anything, but I was overcome with anger. I kicked, ground my teeth and shouted insults. The masked people mumbled something in response - irritably, it seemed to me, and this only intensified my rage. When we reached our destination, I was ready to kill - and I am not easily driven to this. And I would have killed, but they tied me to the electric chair and attached electrodes to my wrists and ankles.