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“Yes, indeed. A concert for the public. Barbecues and free drinks. The public will see Svinjar as a benefactor of the first order. I gather that you are prepared to play a benefit performance?”
“That’s what we are here for.”
Among other things that we are here for, Svinjar old chubkin. But the longest journey begins with but a single step.
I’m not happy about the way this operation is going,” I said unhappily. Spooning up the almost tasteless gruel that appeared to be the staff of life in this place.
“Who’s arguing?” Steengo said, looking suspiciously into his own bowl of food. “This stuff not only looks like glue-it tastes like it.”
“It will stick to your ribs,” Floyd said and I gaped. Did he have a sense of humor after all? Probably not. Looking at his serious expression I doubted if he had explored all the meanings of what he had just said. I let it lie.
“I’m not only unhappy with this operation so far-but with the company we have been keeping. Svinjar and his loathsome lads. We’ve shot almost a day here already-for little purpose. If the artifact is with the Fundamentaloids we ought to be out there tracking them down.”
“But you promised a concert,” Madonette pointed out with a certain logic. “They are building a sort of bandstand and the word has gone out. You don’t want to let our fans down, do you?”
“Heaven forbid,” I muttered gruelly and put the bowl aside. I couldn’t tell them about the thirty-day poison or the fact that as of the moment over seventeen days had passed. Oh the hell with it. “Let’s get set up. Maybe a quick rehearsal to see if all the gear is working and, hopefully, we are still in good form.”
We put lunch aside with a great deal of pleasure and humped our packs to the concert site. There was a grove of trees here that were serving as supports for a singularly crude platform. Planks had been set up between them, with an occasional support stuck in below if the thing sagged too much. Our audience was reluctantly and suspiciously gathering in the surrounding field. Small family units with the men all armed with swords or cudgels, keeping close watch on the womenfolk. Well, this was a slaveholding society so such concern was easily understood.
“At least they are trying to make it look nice,” Madonette said, pointing. Pretty crude and crummy, I thought, but spoke not my thoughts aloud. Shuffling slaves had brought up leafy branches which they were arranging around the platform; there were even a few flowers stuck in among the leaves. Oh, things were really swinging on Liokukae tonight.
I was depressing myself sorely and did not want to pass it on to the others. “Here we go, gang!” I said swinging my pack up onto the platform and clambering behind it. “Our first live performance for this waiting world. If you don’t count that quick gig upon arrival. Let’s show them what a pack of real rats can do!”
With our appearance the assembling audience took heart and moved closer; latecomers hurried to their places. While we tuned up and played a riff or two, I rolled some thunder effects that had people looking at the sky. When we were ready to go, Svinjar himself came trundling through the crowd, a couple of armed heavies at his side. With their help he climbed onto the platform and raised his arms. The silence was total. Maybe it was respect, perhaps hatred and fear-or all of them rolled together. But it worked. He smiled around at the gathering, lifted his great gut so he could hook his thumbs into his belt. And spoke.
“Svinjar takes care of his people. Svinjar is your friend. Svinjar brings you The Stainless Steel Rats and their magic music. Now let us hear a big cheer for them!”
We got a big murmur which had to do. While he had been speaking his bully-boys had manhandled a sizable padded chair up onto the platform; it creaked when he dropped into it.
“Play,” he ordered and sat back to enjoy the music.
“Okay, gang, ready to go!” I blew into my lapel microphone and my amplified breath gusted across the audience. “Well, hello there music lovers. By popular appeal-and the fact that we were busted by the narcs – we have come to your su
“A song that you will all know, and hopefully love, something that we can all feel, share, enjoy together, laugh together and cry together. I bring you our own and original version of that classic of modern musicality – ‘The Itchy Foot Itch’!”
There were shouts of joy, screams of pain, wild enthusiasm. As we launched into this overamplified and very catchy-if not itchy-number.
I get up at dawn and look at the river
The mist rising there it gives me a shiver.
Leaves on the trees they’re wet with dew
Looking at them I think of you
Far far away from me today
I don’t like it-but all I can say
Is the galaxy’s wide and I like to stray
To the stars and beyond ‘cause that’s my way
I got the
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Gotta keep going, never get rich!
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Keeping me going, ain’t that a bitch!
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Keeping me going from place to place
Gotta keep going, what can I do?
Keep going forever-and I’ll never see you.
Keep on going round the galaxy-no place is home
For the likes of mee-ee-e-e!
There was a vast amount of itchy foot stomping, let me tell you. And plenty of cheers and cries of joy when we had finished. Buoyed up by enthusiasm we played two more numbers before I called a break.
“Thanks folks, thanks much-you’re a great audience. Now if you will give us a few minutes we’ll be right back…”
“Very well done, well done indeed,” Svinjar said, waddling over and plucking the microphone from my lapel. “I know that we all have heard these musicians before-on the box-so their delightful entertainment comes as no surprise to us all. Yet still, there is something fine about having them here in person. I am grateful-I know that everyone out there is grateful.” He turned and smiled broadly at me. A smile that, I could see quite clearly, held no warmth or humor at all. He turned back and spread his arms wide.
“I am so grateful that I have prepared a little surprise for all of you out there-do you want to know what it is?”
Absolute silence now – and a sideways shuffling by the audience. They apparently did not like any of Svinjar’s little surprises.
They were right.
“Go!” he shouted into the microphone, so loudly that his amplified voice rolled and echoed like thunder. “Go-go-GO!”
I staggered and almost fell as the platform shook and vibrated. There was a roar of masculine voices as out from under our feet, brushing aside the disguising leafy boughs, burst a mass of armed men. More and more appeared, waving cudgels, howling as they ran, bearing down on the fleeing audience.
We looked on dumbfounded as men and women were clubbed to the ground, chained, tied. The attack was brief and vicious and quickly over with. The fields were empty, the last visitor gone. Those that remained were bound and silent, or groaning with pain. Over their moans of agony Svinjar’s laughter sounded clearly. He was rocking in his chair, possessed by sadistic humor, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“But where – ” Madonette said. “Where did they all come from? There was no one under here when we started the concert.”
I jumped to the ground, kicked some branches aside, saw the gaping mouth of the tu