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The Stainless Steel Rat gets Cultured.
Aug. 17th, 2012 09:44 amA few years ago now I set out to write a skit crossing over Harry Harrison's Stainless Steel Rat and Iain M. Bank's Culture novels. I got a few thousand words in but gave up when it really became clear that to do the idea justice I'd have to write pretty much an entire book, but with the new of Harry Harrison dying the other day I thought I'd dig out what I wrote and post it as a tribute (so if you've not read any Harrison and Banks this post probably won't mean much to you); he was one of my favourite writers when I was young and I'd regard Slippery Jim diGriz as a fine role-model for anyone.
Plus, of course, he'd totally outclass those jerks in the Culture.
So, without further ado, the first chapter and one paragraph of additional notes of
The Stainless Steel Rat gets Cultured
"Listen up, DiGriz"
Inskipp glared at me across his desk, and I took the opportunity to help myself to one of the cigars in his humidor.
"Much as it pains me to say it, the entire galaxy is in deep schtum, and it looks like you're the only man we can count on to save the day."
I shrugged to myself. The fate of worlds has rested upon my broad shoulders more often than I can count, and I'm getting used to it. Instead of quailing beneath his gimlet stare, I puffed alight his stogie and waited for him to continue.
"Something we've been keeping very quiet about for some years is the existence of a human civilisation in this galaxy other than our own. They're a spacegoing race, mostly our equals technologically, but fortunately non-aggressive - or so we thought."
I considered this piece of news and decided I wasn't surprised: the galaxy is a big enough place, and it isn't unreasonable to assume there is plenty of room to pop a civilisation or two without anyone noticing. Inskipp was evidently waiting for some sort of reaction from me, and so I gave it.
"Gee, chief! Who'd have thought it?" I put on my best surprised face. "A whole Civilisation?"
Suitably mollified, Inskipp carried on as I read the paperwork upside down on his desk. A useful skill this, essential to anyone thinking of getting into the secret agent line.
He continued to speak for several minutes whilst I scanned over the last quarter's expenses reports and made a mental note to find out what sort of safe he was using these days as my name came up in them far too often for comfort.
"DiGriz, are you listening to me?"
I jumped up in my seat.
"Sure, chief, every word. Other Civilisation, thought non-aggressive until recently, big threat to our way of life, entire universe at risk, you betcha!"
I figured that I could catch up with the details later, but Inskipp was unimpressed. "I thought not", he glared. He was getting quite a lot of glaring practice in today. "If you had been listening to me, DiGriz, you would have heard me tell you about the most evil, the most foul and duplicitous plan ever to darken the portals of the League!"
I expect that I was supposed to be horrified but Inskipp talks like this when he runs out of whisky, and so it took an effort to look contrite. "Sorry, chief", I muttered.
"But such is the seriousness of the situation that I will not have you shot out of an airlock for insubordination. Instead I will repeat myself, which is not something that I am in the habit of doing. This civilisation, who call themselves 'The Culture', are apparently into social manipulation in a big way. It seems that they have spent years infiltrating the highest levels of the League with an eye to their ultimate goal - making us more like them."
"Is that so bad?" I asked.
His expression told me that it was so bad, possibly worse.
"It is so bad, DiGriz. Possibly worse", he confirmed. "Amongst the things that define this 'Culture' is the way that they have done away with money."
For the first time I was rendered speechless.
“That’s right, DiGriz. Nothing for you to steal.”
I looked at the chief in horror. Was that a tiny mote of compassion in his steely eye? Who could understand better than Inskipp, former highwayman of the Spaceways, the awful fear of a galaxy without lucre?
“I’m in.” I said
“I thought you would be. You are the only man for the job.”
"Why me, chief?"
"One of the other chief characteristics of this 'Culture' is that its people are almost uniformly incredibly smug and self-regarding. This makes you the obvious candidate for an attempt at infiltration."
I thought perhaps Inskipp could have been more tactful, but I swallowed the insult and instead put the great James Bolivar DiGriz brain to work. Firstly I popped a couple of alco-pills into my mouth to get the old creative juices flowing. One of my favourite inventions, the alco-pill slowly dissolves in the mouth, giving the refreshing flavour and buzz of a fine drink of your choice - and available in fourteen different flavours! I smacked over the taste of fine Ron, and started to think. Inskipp passed over a thick dossier, the cover of which was emblazoned with threats of death, fines, imprisonment and disintegration to anyone who might read it without permission. I took it away to browse over a thick steak and a glass of real liquor.
I was sitting in our cabin - luxuriously appointed at Special Corps expense, of course, whether they realised it or not - reading the dossier whilst Angelina sat in the corner practising her knitting. I was not fooled by her quiet and wifely demeanour, as behind my wife’s shapely forehead there sits a mind of terrifying quickness, and beneath her pillow there sits a .90 calibre recoilless.
Rather than dwell on what she might be thinking, I busied myself with the dossier in one hand and a glass in the other and got to work.
A browse through the information was very educational, even if most of the document was filled with military euphemisms for ignorance. We knew that they were very numerous - thousands of planets and space stations gathered together in a loose federation, and they had genetically engineered themselves to have drug glands in their bodies. It seemed that most of the human population spent their lives alternating between taking part in extreme sports and sitting about in a drug-addled haze scoring points off one another whilst being presided over by a benevolent dictatorship of computers. I have encountered benevolent computers before, like my old pal Mark Forer, and so this didn’t sound too bad were it not for their elite cadre of spies and assassins whom they called Special Circumstances. A lot like the Special Corps, this was where they put their criminals so that their understandable desire for adventure and derring-do could be channelled - but in their case they channelled it into interfering with the Stainless Steel Rat!
“What are you reading, dear?” asked Angelina from across the room.
“Nothing, oh delight of my eyes, nothing. Just a little mission that Inskipp wishes me to perform. Not difficult, there and back in a week, stop the collapse of civilisation as we know it, hardly worth noticing.” I gave a light laugh.
“And will I be coming on this little mission?” asked Angelina coldly.
“Why, my dear! It might be dangerous, heading out into the wilds of unexplored space, facing the guns of an entire civilisation trained upon my frail body, only my wits between success and death.” I hopped across the room with a single bound and knelt at her feet. “I could not bear the thought of you in danger, my Angel! For that reason and no other, this mission must be a solo…” My eyes crossed suddenly as a pitted barrel was pressed between them. “…two-person mission.” I corrected myself smoothly.
The gun vanished again as quickly as it had appeared.
“Jim, my love. I knew that you couldn’t bear to be away from me, with all those horrid aliens. Come, let us save the universe together!”
I jumped to my feet and grabbed her hand, just as James and Bolivar burst into the room.
“Hi Dad!” said James (or Bolivar). “We came as soon as we heard that you were going to save the universe.”
One of them waved a copy of my dossier, complete with dire warnings on the cover.
“James stole this from Inskipp's office, and we want in!”
“Is there no privacy aboard a space station full of secret agents?” I cried, but was secretly pleased and they knew it.
Angelina smiled at me and the boys. “So what is the plan, my genius husband?”
“We shall do what we always do first. We shall go and see what Professor Coypu can tell us.”
The boys ran from the room with an excited yell, and Angelina and I took advantage of a moment or two of privacy before following. Would I be wrong to admit there was a tear in my eye? The family DiGriz against an entire universe!
Professor Coypu was looking as harried and unhappy as usual when we marched into his laboratory, and our appearance did not seem to lift his mood.
“Coypu!” I cried and pumped his arm whilst the boys helped themselves to several interesting little gadgets from his desk. He managed to extricate himself from my grip after a minute or so and stood massaging the blood back into his hand.
“Don’t think I’m happy to see you DiGriz, because I’m not. You appearing can only mean more disruption to my work, and probably more of my inventions getting broken or going missing.” He fixed his gaze on Bolivar (or James) who looked innocent and started to whistle.
“Professor Coypu!” I protested. “The finest scientific mind in the cosmos!”
“Your compliments, whilst accurate, are unnecessary. What do you want?”
I briefly outlined our predicament, and he nodded.
“I have heard of this Culture you are talking about. They’re actually quite primitive in many ways - haven’t even invented Time Travel yet.” He gestured to a used Time Helix in the corner. “And never will now, either.”
“Good for you, Professor!” I encouraged him. “What else can you tell us about them?”
Coypu immediately became all business. “Well, their technology is based upon field manipulation, which, as you know from some of your previous experiences, is capable of astonishing results in an unprotected environment. Also all their citizens have various biological changes made to them - usually pharmaceutical or sexual in nature.”
“That is revolting!” Both Angelina and I exclaimed in unison, and the boys turned pale at the thought.
“Disgusting, foul and unnatural. Right-thinking people throughout the League would be as appalled as you, if only they knew,” concurred the professor. “To successfully infiltrate the Culture, you have several options – you can pretend to be one of them, a visiting alien, or just act as an ambassador for the League.”
I had a sudden, awful memory of fighting off the horde of grey men in my cumbersome Sleepery Jeem costume and decided against dressing as an alien.
“I’ll go as ambassador, Professor”, I said. “There’s nothing like a touch of authority to cow primitives. I’ll need a uniform. Something flashy, with a lot of gold braid, medals, decorations for bravery, that sort of thing.” The professor nodded. “Plus the usual equipment – sleepgas capsules, wrist grenades, a crotch cannon and so forth.”
Coypu waved me over to a workbench and pointed at two spray cans, one red, one black. “You’ll probably find this handy as well, DiGriz. As I mentioned, their technology is based upon field manipulation, and so I have invented an anti-field spray which would render their weapons useless against you. Simply give any item a quick squirt with the red can and their fields will be nullified against it. Effectively, it will cease to exist for them.”
“And the black one?” I asked.
“Reverses the effect. Quick and simple. Like you.”
I ignored the insult. Coypu may be the finest scientific mind ever to live, but I suspect that he is still jealous of my dashing off on missions of adventurous heroism whilst he stays in his lab.
***
Even wearing a sack Angelina can reduce a married pastor to drooling incoherence and so I trotted after her, eager to see what sort of clothing she might consider appropriate for having the same effect upon an entire civilisation.
Plus, of course, he'd totally outclass those jerks in the Culture.
So, without further ado, the first chapter and one paragraph of additional notes of
The Stainless Steel Rat gets Cultured
"Listen up, DiGriz"
Inskipp glared at me across his desk, and I took the opportunity to help myself to one of the cigars in his humidor.
"Much as it pains me to say it, the entire galaxy is in deep schtum, and it looks like you're the only man we can count on to save the day."
I shrugged to myself. The fate of worlds has rested upon my broad shoulders more often than I can count, and I'm getting used to it. Instead of quailing beneath his gimlet stare, I puffed alight his stogie and waited for him to continue.
"Something we've been keeping very quiet about for some years is the existence of a human civilisation in this galaxy other than our own. They're a spacegoing race, mostly our equals technologically, but fortunately non-aggressive - or so we thought."
I considered this piece of news and decided I wasn't surprised: the galaxy is a big enough place, and it isn't unreasonable to assume there is plenty of room to pop a civilisation or two without anyone noticing. Inskipp was evidently waiting for some sort of reaction from me, and so I gave it.
"Gee, chief! Who'd have thought it?" I put on my best surprised face. "A whole Civilisation?"
Suitably mollified, Inskipp carried on as I read the paperwork upside down on his desk. A useful skill this, essential to anyone thinking of getting into the secret agent line.
He continued to speak for several minutes whilst I scanned over the last quarter's expenses reports and made a mental note to find out what sort of safe he was using these days as my name came up in them far too often for comfort.
"DiGriz, are you listening to me?"
I jumped up in my seat.
"Sure, chief, every word. Other Civilisation, thought non-aggressive until recently, big threat to our way of life, entire universe at risk, you betcha!"
I figured that I could catch up with the details later, but Inskipp was unimpressed. "I thought not", he glared. He was getting quite a lot of glaring practice in today. "If you had been listening to me, DiGriz, you would have heard me tell you about the most evil, the most foul and duplicitous plan ever to darken the portals of the League!"
I expect that I was supposed to be horrified but Inskipp talks like this when he runs out of whisky, and so it took an effort to look contrite. "Sorry, chief", I muttered.
"But such is the seriousness of the situation that I will not have you shot out of an airlock for insubordination. Instead I will repeat myself, which is not something that I am in the habit of doing. This civilisation, who call themselves 'The Culture', are apparently into social manipulation in a big way. It seems that they have spent years infiltrating the highest levels of the League with an eye to their ultimate goal - making us more like them."
"Is that so bad?" I asked.
His expression told me that it was so bad, possibly worse.
"It is so bad, DiGriz. Possibly worse", he confirmed. "Amongst the things that define this 'Culture' is the way that they have done away with money."
For the first time I was rendered speechless.
“That’s right, DiGriz. Nothing for you to steal.”
I looked at the chief in horror. Was that a tiny mote of compassion in his steely eye? Who could understand better than Inskipp, former highwayman of the Spaceways, the awful fear of a galaxy without lucre?
“I’m in.” I said
“I thought you would be. You are the only man for the job.”
"Why me, chief?"
"One of the other chief characteristics of this 'Culture' is that its people are almost uniformly incredibly smug and self-regarding. This makes you the obvious candidate for an attempt at infiltration."
I thought perhaps Inskipp could have been more tactful, but I swallowed the insult and instead put the great James Bolivar DiGriz brain to work. Firstly I popped a couple of alco-pills into my mouth to get the old creative juices flowing. One of my favourite inventions, the alco-pill slowly dissolves in the mouth, giving the refreshing flavour and buzz of a fine drink of your choice - and available in fourteen different flavours! I smacked over the taste of fine Ron, and started to think. Inskipp passed over a thick dossier, the cover of which was emblazoned with threats of death, fines, imprisonment and disintegration to anyone who might read it without permission. I took it away to browse over a thick steak and a glass of real liquor.
I was sitting in our cabin - luxuriously appointed at Special Corps expense, of course, whether they realised it or not - reading the dossier whilst Angelina sat in the corner practising her knitting. I was not fooled by her quiet and wifely demeanour, as behind my wife’s shapely forehead there sits a mind of terrifying quickness, and beneath her pillow there sits a .90 calibre recoilless.
Rather than dwell on what she might be thinking, I busied myself with the dossier in one hand and a glass in the other and got to work.
A browse through the information was very educational, even if most of the document was filled with military euphemisms for ignorance. We knew that they were very numerous - thousands of planets and space stations gathered together in a loose federation, and they had genetically engineered themselves to have drug glands in their bodies. It seemed that most of the human population spent their lives alternating between taking part in extreme sports and sitting about in a drug-addled haze scoring points off one another whilst being presided over by a benevolent dictatorship of computers. I have encountered benevolent computers before, like my old pal Mark Forer, and so this didn’t sound too bad were it not for their elite cadre of spies and assassins whom they called Special Circumstances. A lot like the Special Corps, this was where they put their criminals so that their understandable desire for adventure and derring-do could be channelled - but in their case they channelled it into interfering with the Stainless Steel Rat!
“What are you reading, dear?” asked Angelina from across the room.
“Nothing, oh delight of my eyes, nothing. Just a little mission that Inskipp wishes me to perform. Not difficult, there and back in a week, stop the collapse of civilisation as we know it, hardly worth noticing.” I gave a light laugh.
“And will I be coming on this little mission?” asked Angelina coldly.
“Why, my dear! It might be dangerous, heading out into the wilds of unexplored space, facing the guns of an entire civilisation trained upon my frail body, only my wits between success and death.” I hopped across the room with a single bound and knelt at her feet. “I could not bear the thought of you in danger, my Angel! For that reason and no other, this mission must be a solo…” My eyes crossed suddenly as a pitted barrel was pressed between them. “…two-person mission.” I corrected myself smoothly.
The gun vanished again as quickly as it had appeared.
“Jim, my love. I knew that you couldn’t bear to be away from me, with all those horrid aliens. Come, let us save the universe together!”
I jumped to my feet and grabbed her hand, just as James and Bolivar burst into the room.
“Hi Dad!” said James (or Bolivar). “We came as soon as we heard that you were going to save the universe.”
One of them waved a copy of my dossier, complete with dire warnings on the cover.
“James stole this from Inskipp's office, and we want in!”
“Is there no privacy aboard a space station full of secret agents?” I cried, but was secretly pleased and they knew it.
Angelina smiled at me and the boys. “So what is the plan, my genius husband?”
“We shall do what we always do first. We shall go and see what Professor Coypu can tell us.”
The boys ran from the room with an excited yell, and Angelina and I took advantage of a moment or two of privacy before following. Would I be wrong to admit there was a tear in my eye? The family DiGriz against an entire universe!
Professor Coypu was looking as harried and unhappy as usual when we marched into his laboratory, and our appearance did not seem to lift his mood.
“Coypu!” I cried and pumped his arm whilst the boys helped themselves to several interesting little gadgets from his desk. He managed to extricate himself from my grip after a minute or so and stood massaging the blood back into his hand.
“Don’t think I’m happy to see you DiGriz, because I’m not. You appearing can only mean more disruption to my work, and probably more of my inventions getting broken or going missing.” He fixed his gaze on Bolivar (or James) who looked innocent and started to whistle.
“Professor Coypu!” I protested. “The finest scientific mind in the cosmos!”
“Your compliments, whilst accurate, are unnecessary. What do you want?”
I briefly outlined our predicament, and he nodded.
“I have heard of this Culture you are talking about. They’re actually quite primitive in many ways - haven’t even invented Time Travel yet.” He gestured to a used Time Helix in the corner. “And never will now, either.”
“Good for you, Professor!” I encouraged him. “What else can you tell us about them?”
Coypu immediately became all business. “Well, their technology is based upon field manipulation, which, as you know from some of your previous experiences, is capable of astonishing results in an unprotected environment. Also all their citizens have various biological changes made to them - usually pharmaceutical or sexual in nature.”
“That is revolting!” Both Angelina and I exclaimed in unison, and the boys turned pale at the thought.
“Disgusting, foul and unnatural. Right-thinking people throughout the League would be as appalled as you, if only they knew,” concurred the professor. “To successfully infiltrate the Culture, you have several options – you can pretend to be one of them, a visiting alien, or just act as an ambassador for the League.”
I had a sudden, awful memory of fighting off the horde of grey men in my cumbersome Sleepery Jeem costume and decided against dressing as an alien.
“I’ll go as ambassador, Professor”, I said. “There’s nothing like a touch of authority to cow primitives. I’ll need a uniform. Something flashy, with a lot of gold braid, medals, decorations for bravery, that sort of thing.” The professor nodded. “Plus the usual equipment – sleepgas capsules, wrist grenades, a crotch cannon and so forth.”
Coypu waved me over to a workbench and pointed at two spray cans, one red, one black. “You’ll probably find this handy as well, DiGriz. As I mentioned, their technology is based upon field manipulation, and so I have invented an anti-field spray which would render their weapons useless against you. Simply give any item a quick squirt with the red can and their fields will be nullified against it. Effectively, it will cease to exist for them.”
“And the black one?” I asked.
“Reverses the effect. Quick and simple. Like you.”
I ignored the insult. Coypu may be the finest scientific mind ever to live, but I suspect that he is still jealous of my dashing off on missions of adventurous heroism whilst he stays in his lab.
***
Even wearing a sack Angelina can reduce a married pastor to drooling incoherence and so I trotted after her, eager to see what sort of clothing she might consider appropriate for having the same effect upon an entire civilisation.
