The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell Read Online Free Page B

I’ll fire up the family car.”
    An expression empty of meaning since this healthy planet had what was probably the most rigidly enforced clean air act in the galaxy. You would probably get clapped in jail for even thinking about an infernal combustion engine. Vehicles were powered by atomic or electric batteries. Or, like our luxurious Spreadeagle, they ran on the energy stored in a flywheel. It plugged into the electricity supply at night and the motor was run up to speed. During the day the motor became a generator and the spinning wheel generated electricity for the driving wheels. All six of them. A heavy flywheel made for a big car—I had stinted on nothing. The robot driver tooled the thing out of the garage when I whistled, nodding his plastic head and smiling inanely. The gold plated door to the passenger compartment lifted heavenward while soft, welcoming music played.
    I sat on the divan and the television came on. It was a news program with no news I wanted to hear. “Sports,” I said and a high speed balloon race replaced it. The bar served me a glass of champagne just as James appeared.
    â€œWow!” he admired. “Real gold?”
    â€œOf course. As well as diamond headlamps and a prescription windshield. No expense spared.”
    â€œWhere to?” he asked, sipping his drink.
    â€œVivilia VonBrun is first on the list. On anyone’s list I imagine. Incredibly rich, desirably attractive. I phoned and she awaits our pleasure.”
    She swept out to greet us, smiling compassionately. She had permitted a tiny rim of red to remain around her gorgeous eyes, to express her unhappiness at recent events. Which of course had been described in gruesome detail by the news programs. She was wearing something diaphanous and gray, which revealed enticing glimpses of tanned skin when she moved. She
looked too good to be true, twenty-five years old, going on twenty-six maybe, and she was. Too good to be true, that is. I didn’t dare think of her real age; the number was too large. She extended a delicate hand to me; I took it and kissed it lightly about the knuckles.
    â€œPoor, dear Jim,” she sighed. “Such a tragedy.”
    â€œIt will all end well. May I present my son, James.”
    â€œWhat a dear man. How nice of you to come. My husband, Waldo, is away on one of those boring hunting things, blowing up wild animals. So if you need a place to stay …”
    Vivilia wasted no time. While Waldo was destroying robot predators she was doing a little predation herself. And she was probably old enough to be James’s great-great-grandmother. Which meant she certainly had some experience—I put the thought from me and got to work.
    â€œVivilia, you can help us find Angelina. You are going to tell us everything you know about the Temple of Eternal Truth.”
    â€œYou are so forceful, Jimmy. I’m sure that your son takes after …”
    â€œFacts first, lust later,” I snapped.
    â€œCoarse but to the point,” she smiled, uninsultable. “I’ll tell you everything that I know.”
    Enjoyable as that prospect was it would have taken far too long. I kept her memoirs to the point. A very interesting point as it turned out to be.
    With boredom at Olympic intensity on Lussuoso, sports, escapism and cult religions were going concerns. Master Fanyimadu had begun to appear at various soirees and parties, his fascinating beliefs excelled only by the intensity of his gaze. Ladies of leisure looked in on the Temple of Eternal Truth and most went back a second time. It was easy to see why. Vivilia explained.
    â€œIt wasn’t so much the consolation of his religion as the positive promise of eternal bliss. Not that he doesn’t preach a good sermon, mind you, better than TV any day. It is what his sermons
are all about. He tells you that if one attends often enough and prays with great intensity, as well as donating enthusiastically, one