the.stainless.steel.rats.revenge-第22节

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ook　had　recently　been　installed　here　and　my　attendant　gray　man　obligingly　hooked　me　up　to　it。
　　　　〃There　is　little　chance　of　my　starving　to　death；〃　I　told　him。　〃Because　I'll　die　of　thirst　first。〃
　　　　He　gave　no　spoken　answer　but　he　did　return　with　a　soft　plastic　water　bottle　and　a　standard　Cliaand　field　ration。　Not　the　world's　most　inspiring　food；　but　it　would　keep　me　alive。
　　　　As　I　chewed　and　sipped　I　clamped　hard　on　that　last　thought。　Keep　me　alive。　They　would　do　anything　except　kill　me。　They　wanted　me；　actually　needed　me。　They　knew　that　the　Special　Corps　was　breathing　hot　on　their　trail　and　they　would　have　to　exert　an　all…out　effort　to　stop　them。　Kraj　had　talked　big　and　half　convinced　me；　I　looked　at　my　wrists　and　shuddered。　He　had　convinced　me。　But　why　had　he　tried　so　hard？
　　　　Because　I　was　obviously　more　than　a　pawn　in　this　game。　I　was　the　factor　that　could　swing　the　oute　either　way。　Right　now　Cliaand　was　doing　well　in　the　invasion　businessbut　they　could　be　stopped。　With　what　I　knew　the　Special　Corps　could　start　work　as　counterinsurgents　and　prevent　expansion　to　other　planets。　Cliaand　might　even　be　stopped　here。　If　I　were　to　change　sides　my　specialized　knowledge　might　not　defeat　the　Corps；　but　it　could　surely　slow　it　down　long　enough　for　the　second　phase　of　the　invasion　operation　to　go　into　effect。
　　　　Which　means　the　gray　men　had　made　a　mistake。　They　should　have　killed　me　as　soon　as　they　discovered　who　I　was。　If　I　could　be　tortured　and　convinced　to　change　my　mind　I　might　be　a　weapon　in　their　hands。　Two　maybes。　That　ignored　the　fact　that　as　long　as　I　was　alive　I　was　the　most　deadly　and　potent　weapon　against　them。
　　　　They　had　made　a　mistake。　I　grabbed　to　that　conclusion　and　worried　it　just　as　I　worried　the　law…breaking　ration。　I　did　not　consider　that　I　was　their　prisoner　in　every　way。　Every　way？　Ha！　Physically；　yes。　Mentallya　resounding　no。　They　had　almost　had　me　there　for　a　while　with　the　nerve　torture　and　the　positive　assurance　that　I　would　fall　into　their　hands。　At　the　thought　of　amputation　my　stomach　gave　a　heave　and　I　suddenly　lost　my　appetite。　I　had　put　the　sight　of　my　severed　hands　out　of　my　mind。　For　good　reasons。
　　　　Now　I　would　have　to　remember　and　think　about　it。　But　not　in　the　way　they　wanted。　It　was　a　trick；　it　had　to　be　a　trick；　and　that　was　the　supposition　I　must　hold　on　to。　While　I　chewed　and　glugged　down　the　rest　of　my　unappetizing　meal　I　gave　myself　the　hard　sell。　Listen　diGriz；　you　know　enough　about　reality　to　be　able　to　tell　when　it　has　been　tampered　with。　You　are　always　tampering　with　it　yourself　for　your　own　benefit　and　others'　dismoding。　So　now　someone　has　turned　the　same　trick　on　you。　The　severed　wrists　pumping　blood！　Down；　boy。　Drain　away　some　of　the　emotion。　We'll　get　to　the　memories　after　a　while。　But　let　us　first　look　at　the　realities。
　　　　Reality。　Marvelous　as　medicine　is　it　cannot　repair　amputation　in　a　couple　of　hours　or　a　couple　of　days。
　　　　Now　where　did　that　figure　e　from？　At　some　unconscious　level　I　felt　that　only　a　brief　time　had　passed　between　the　amputation　and　the　recovery。　We　all　have　a　clock　ticking　away　down　deep　in　the　brain；　it　controls　the　circadian　rhythms　of　sleeping　and　waking　and　it　works　all　of　the　time。　Right　now　it　was　trying　to　tell　me　that　only　a　brief　time　had　passed　since　I　had　been　brought　here　by　the　gray　men。　But　did　I　have　any　real　evidence　to　back　it　up？　I　felt　my　face　and　my　hair。　I　needed　a　shave；　but　not　badly；　and　my　hair　felt　about　the　right　length。　But　I　could　have　had　a　haircut　and　a　shave；　no　evidence　there。
　　　　My　fingernails？　I　kept　them　trimmed　short；　and　one　trimmed　fingernail　looks　like　any　other　one。　Wait；　think。　Memory。　Something。　Small。　Yesduring　the　landing；　plenty　of　tension；　plenty　of　distractions。　I　had　broken　the　little　fingernail　on　my　left　hand。　No；　don't　look　yet；　sit　on　the　thing　and　remember。　Broken　nail　。　。　。　distraction　。　。　。　bit　it　off。　A　rather　unappetizing　bit　of　self…consumption　that　most　of　us　indulge　in　at　one　time　or　another。　The　offending　particle　of　nail　torn　free；　right　down　to　the　quick；　a　minor　ouch　and　a　tiny　drop　of　blood。　pletely　forgotten　in　the　rush　of　subsequent　events。
　　　　With　careful　motions　I　released　my　left　hand　from　its　prisoning　buttock　and　held　it　before　me。　Little　finger；　short　nailand　a　tiny　clot　of　blood。
　　　　Got　you；　Kraj；　you　old　faker！
　　　　From　the　look　of　the　thing　I　had　been　a　prisoner　for　a　day　or　two　at　the　most；　surely　no　longer　than　that。　The　red　marks　on　my　wrists　were　just　thatred　marks　on　my　wrists。　There　were　a　hundred　different　ways　this　could　have　been　done。　And　the　amputation？　Kraj　had　tampered　with　my　reality；　hypnosis　perhaps；　it　didn't　really　matter。
　　　　Kraj　and　his　crew　were　not　as　bright　as　they　looked。　They　had　undoubtedly　used　this　mind…cracking　torture　many　times　before　and　had　really　impressed　themselves　with　the　success　of　the　technique。　Perhaps　this　was　the　way　they　converted　recruits　to　their　nasty　ends　on　the　planets　they　were　to　invade。　Very　possible。　But　Kraj's　cutthroats　were　used　to　working　on　solid　citizens；　one　dimensional　peasants　who　mistook　the　painted　flats　and　props　of　their　existence　as　the　only　reality。　Their　world　was　the　only　real　world；　their　town　the　really　best　town。　Pull　them　out　of　the　familiar　environment　and　put　pressure　on　their　minds　and　their　brains　ran　out　of　their　ears；　like　jelly。　Jelly　men；　prey　for　the　gray　men。
　　　　Not　noble；　upright；　flexible；　dishonest；　chameleon…like　Slippery　Jim　diGriz。　Man　of　a　thousand　faces；　familiar　of　a　hundred　cultures；　linguistically　petent　in　scores　of　tongues。　And　they　wanted　to　louse　up　my　reality？　It　made　me　laugh。　I　laughed。
　　　　I　not　only　laughed　but　I　scampered　and　danced。　I　ran　in　circles　shouting　Yippee！　and　Victory！　and　other　cries　of　happiness。　Because　of　my　collar　and　cable　I　was　forced　to　run　in　circles　but　I　found　that　I　could　vary　this　by　swinging　in　circles。　The　cable　was　too　thin　to　climb；　deliberately　designed　so　I　am　sure；　but　I　could　coil　a　loop　of　it　and　hang　from　this。　I　made　the　loop　as　high　above　my　head　as　I　could　reach；　grabbed　it；　kicked　off　and　swung　freely。　At　the　bottom　of　the　swing　I　kicked　hard　and　went　higher。　Great　fun。　Until　my　hand　slipped　and　the　loop　unlooped。
　　　　Everything　almost　ended　at　that　moment　as　all　of　my　weight　came　on　the　metal　collar　about　my　neck。　That's　the　way　they　kill　people；　you　know；　by　hanging。　Not　by　suffocating　them。　By　giving　that　sudden　jerk　to　the　noose　that　breaks　the　spinal　cord。
　　　　This　thought　was　uppermost　in　my　mind　as　I　clutched　and　scrabbled　at　the　cable　and　managed　to　grip　it　before　the　snap　came。　And　it　came　on　the　front　of　my　neck；　not　the　side；　or　I　might　very　well　have　heard　that　sharp　crack　that　signals　the　end。　It　hurt　and　everything　went　around　in　circles　for　a　minute　and　when　I　said　Wow！　it　was　in　a　whispered　voice　because　I　had　not　done　my　vocal　cords　any　good　either。
　　　　Eventually　I　sat　up　and　drank　some　water　and　felt　a　little　betterand　wondered　why　no　one　had　e　to　investigate　all　the　recent　nonsense。　I　was　sure　they　had　the　room　bugged　to　watch　me；　but　perhaps　they　were　not　impressed　by　my　acrobatics。　Or　maybe　they　were　so　busy　with　the　invasion　that　they　did　not　have　time　to　keep　that　careful　an　eye　on　me。　If　this　latter　supposition　were　correct；　then　perhaps　I　might　be　able　to　capitalize　on　it。
　　　　The　food　wrappings　and　the　water　bottle　wadded　together　to　make　excellent　padding　for　my　hands。　Around　this　I　wrapped　a　double　loop　of　the　cable；　close　against　my　neck。　Then；　clutching　the　cable　tightly；　I　jumped　as　high　as　I　could　and　let　my　weight　crash　down　on　the　cable。
　　　　And　on　my　arms。　By　the　tenth　time　I　had　done　this　I　was　beginning　to　feel　as　though　my　arms　would　be　torn　off　at　the　sockets　before　any　vital　part　of　my　imprisoning　mechanism　gave　way。　The　theory　was　certainly　sound　enough；　A　metal　box；　a　cable；　a　handle；　a　hook；　a　number　of　ponents　the　failure　of　any　one　of　which　might　grant　me　freedom。　Though　my　ponents　were　failing　much　faster。　I　panted　a　bit；　wiped　my　forehead　with　my　forearm；　and　jumped　up　for　try　number　thirteen。
　　　　Lucky　thirteen！　Something　snapped　with　a　sharp　metallic　crack　and　the　box　came　down　and　bounced　off　my　head。
　　　　I　was　out；　how　long　I　don't　know；　probably　only　a　few　moments；　and　came　to　shaking　my　head　and　trying　to　stand。　Move　was　the　pressing　thought；　get　out　of　here　before　they　came　for　me。　But　first　I　had　to　deactivate　the　torture　box　since　it　could　be　worked　by　remote　radio　control。　I　turned　it　over　and　saw　that　the　metal　loop　by　which　it　was　suspended　had　fractured。　There　was　a　control　section　here　with　about　50　small　red　buttons　arranged　in　a　grid。　I　shivered　at　the　thought　of　pressing　any　of　them。　Above　the　grid　were　two　large　buttons；　one　red；　one　black。　The　red　was　depressed。　This　seemed　obvious　enough。　Logically　I　should　push　the　black　one　and　turn　the　box　off；　but　memories　of　the　pain　kept　intruding。　Finally　I　stabbed　down　on　the　black　button。
　　　　Nothing　happened。　That　I　could　feel。　With　this　security　I　lightly　touched　one　of　the　small　red　buttons；　then　another　and　another。　Nothing。　The　box　was　now　so　much　dead　metal。　I　hoped。　I　coiled　up　the　extra　cable　until　the　box　dangled　handily。　Then　tried　the　door。　Which　proved　to　be　unlocked。　Inefficient　warders　or　great　fai