"Welcome, strangers, welcome to Paradise. I am Afatt the official greeter. Market opens at dawn tomorrow. You may stay out here, or if you wish to camp beyond the arch your weapons will be looked after until you return. A payment of one fedha is required for attendance."
The way he flicked a look over his shoulder as he said this strongly suggested that what he wanted was more bribe than payment.
"No way, aged Afatt," I intoned. "Those you see before you are not peasant traders but galaxy-famous chart-topping musicians. We are… The Stainless Steel Rats!"
His jaw dropped and he stepped back a pace. "Don't need no rats in Paradise. A rusty, chipped old fedha will do…"
"We got a real fan in old Afatt here," Floyd muttered. "I thought the planet was hip-deep in TV sets?"
A more military Paradisian appeared in the archway. Younger, bigger, and he came complete with studded metal helmet and heavy leather trappings. "What did you say?" he said as he swung a shining and singularly nasty looking ax.
"You heard me, Sunny. I don't repeat myself for the troops."
This provoked a twisted snarl and a barked command.
"Guard - fall out. We got some sheot shaggers here that need a lesson in civility."
This was followed instantly by the clanking of metal and the thud of running feet.
Many of them.
Chapter 13
There were a lot of them, armed with a collection of nasty and lethal-looking weapons. I must learn to control impetuosity in speech on this slumworld. Think quickly, Jim, before things get any worse.
"I tempted a jest, good sir. I will be happy to repeat myself for your benefit. You, and your good men, have the pleasure of being in the presence of the finest musicians in the known galaxy!"
As I spoke I touched the remote control on the side of my backpack and a mighty organ sounded out the opening bars of "Mutants of Mercury." Floyd and Steengo quickly joined in with the opening lines.
One head good - but two heads better -
Got brown eyes like an English setter…
The effect of this little jingle of genetic jest was very impressive. As a man the soldiers roared aloud and surged towards us.
"Do we fight or run?" Floyd said grimly, grabbing at his sword.
I started to shout fight - but at the last instant called out
"Listen!"
For they had forgotten about their weapons and were shouting with joy!
"It's them, like on the Galactic Greasecutter show…"
"The hairy, ugly one - that's Floyd!"
"I want to hear 'How Much Is the Snakey in the Snakepit'!"
Then they were around us, trying to shake our hands and emitting hoarse cries of fannish enthusiasm.
"But-but - " I but-butted. "Your official greeter never heard of us?"
The first soldier, snarls now turned to smiles, not too gently pushed the old man aside. "Afatt never looks at the boggle gox. But we do! Let me tell you it was like suicidesville around here when we heard that you were sent down. Should have known that you would have to end up here. Wait until the boys in the barracks hear about this. There'll be a crackup in the old kaserne tonight!"
They escorted us cheerily under the arch and onto the drillfield beyond, our new host proudly leading the way.
"I'm Ljotur, Sergeant of the Guard. You all take it easy while I call this in. Drinks!" he ordered his men. "And food whatever they want."
This was more like it. The beer tasted like beer, although it was of an interesting green color. The soldiers crowded close, hanging on every word we said, so I chomped my jaw to get Tremearne's attention and made my report to him in the form of a speech.
"Gallant warriors of Paradise - we are overwhelmed by your greeting. You have welcomed we drug-ridden convicts as heroes to your fair land. You ply us with food and drink and, by your loud cheers, I feel we have a beautiful future here."
"I certainly hope so," Tremearne's voice said inside my head. "But until you find out the score on this male female thing I am ordering Madonette to stay where she is."
"I agree completely," I called out. "Don't you agree completely, guys, that this is the warmest welcome we have ever received?"
My companions nodded without interrupting the flow of food and drink and there were gurgled shouts of agreement from all sides as more beer vanished. I was wiping my lips with the back of my hand when Ljotur reappeared.
"I have talked to Iron John himself who summons you to his presence soonest. But until the Chariots of Fire appear could you - oh, would you! - play us a number!"
His words were drowned out by hearty masculine cries of joy
"Let's set up for a quick gig, boys - these guys deserve it." I looked around. "Any requests?"
Many were shouted, but "Nothing's Too Bad For the Enemy" seemed to be most popular. Best choice too since it had an all male lyric. Loud thunder rolled while lightning flared and sizzled. Our fans fell back into an appreciative half circle while we let fly.
As can easily be imagined this delicate flower of a lyric rally went down well with the troops. They were still cheering when there was a hissing rumble behind us and we turned to see that our transportation had arrived. Perhaps the locals were used to these things but it was really eye-bugging time for the tourists.
"Only for special occasions, special people," Ljotur said proudly.
We gaped in silence, lost for words. There were two of the vehicles, made of wood and decorated with gilt scrolls and strands of jewels. Each had a single wheel in front which was steered by a tiller. This was manned by the driver who rode high above. I looked at the closer one. A wide seat was in the middle and there were two wheels to the rear. All of which was pretty commonplace - not counting the pricey decoration - if you did not allow for the propulsion at the back. This was a shining metal tube, now crackling and emitting an occasional puff of smoke. I drew my attention away from it as the ornate door was thrown wide. I stepped in and seated myself on the soft cushions. Floyd and Steengo were ushered reverently into the other vehicle. Doors were slammed and Ljotur shouted a command to the drivers.
"You're off? Fuel on! Frapu viajn startigilojn! Drivers hit your starters!"
I saw now that there was a metal tank under my driver's seat. He reached down and opened a valve and I could hear the gurgle of liquid in the pipe. Then he stamped down on a pedal; the starter I guess.
No - it just started the starter. The pedal pulled on a cord that ran on pulleys to the rear of the chariot. This lifted and dropped a small hammer that banged the starter on the shoulder. This was an individual, dressed completely in black, who sat on a little platform slung behind the wheels. Not only dressed in black, but with blackened arms and face, his hair a burnt stubble. I soon found out why. Liquid was now dripping from the metal tube and the starter reached out and touched a match to it, jumped back as it ignited. A tongue of black smoke and flame leaped out to the rear, singeing the soldiers who weren't quick enough out of the way.
Now the starter was grinding away at a handle, presumably pumping air into the primitive jet. Within seconds the roar grew louder, the flame longer - and my Chariot of Fire shuddered and began to slowly roll forward. Very showy. Though it probably only got about a mile to a hundred gallons. I waved cheerfully to my fellow victims, who waved feebly and fearfully back. Relax Jim, sit back and enjoy the ride.