hh.thessrat.sings.the.blues-第6部分

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　〃Good　beginning　gang。　Now　you　last　two　guys；　you're　the　rest　of　this　group；　Floyd　and　Steengo。　Floyd　is　the　tall　and　skinny　guy　with　the　artificial　beard…he　is　growing　a　real　replacement　for　it；　but　we　needed　one　now　for　the　publicity　pix。　The　miracle　workers　of　hirsutical　science　have　developed　an　antidipilatorisational　agent　that　stimulates　hair　growth。　So　he　will　grow　a　fine　beard　in　three　days。　In　addition　to　growing　hair　he　plays　a　number　of　wind　instruments　which　are；　if　you　don't　know；　a　historic　family　of　musical　instruments　into　which　one　blows　strongly　to　emit　sounds。　He　es　from　a　distant　planet　named　Och'aye；　which　is　perhaps　galaxy…famous　for　its　other　native　son　Angus　McSwiney；　founder　of　the　McSwiney　chain　of　automated　eateries。　Floyd　plays　an　instrument　whose　antecedents　are　lost　in　the　mists　of　time　and　at　times　I　wish　they　had　stayed　there。　Floyd；　a　quick　tune　on　the　bagpipe　if　you　please。〃
　I　had　heard　it　before　so　was　slightly　more　prepared　as　he　opened　the　case　and　removed　an　apparatus　that　looked　like　a　large　and　bulging　spider　with　many　black　legs。　He　slung　it　about　him；　puffed　strongly　and　pumped　furiously　on　the　spider's　abdomen　with　his　arm。　I　looked　at　the　others　and　admired　their　horrified　expressions　as　the　screams　of　mortally　wounded　animals　filled　the　room。
　〃Enough！〃　I　shouted　and　the　last　slaughtered　pig　moaned　away　into　deathly　silence。　〃I　don't　know　if　this　instrument　will　be　featured　in　our　recitals…but　you　must　admit　that　it　does　draw　attention。　Last；　and　certainly　not　least；　is　Steengo。　Who　after　he　left　the　service　became　quite　adept　on　the　fiddelino。　Steengo；　a　demonstration　if　you　please。〃
　Steengo　smiled　paternally　at　us　and　waved。　He　had　gray　hair　and　an　impressive　paunch。　I　was　concerned　about　his　age　and　general　fitness　but　the　Admiral；　after　secretly　scanning　the　records；　reassured　me　that　Steengo's　health　was　A…OK；　that　he　worked　out　regularly　and；　other　than　a　tendency　towards　slight　overweight；　he　was　fit　for　field　conditions。　I　shrugged…since　there　was　little　else　I　could　do。　The　records　revealed　that　he　had　taken　up　the　instrument　after　retirement　from　active　duty；　with　talent　in　such　short　supply　I　had　had　the　veterans'　records　searched　as　well。　When　approached　he　was　more　than　happy　to　get　back　into　harness。　The　fiddelino　had　two　necks　and　twenty　strings　and　sounded　rather　jolly　in　a　plucking　scratching　way　that　everyone　seemed　to　enjoy。　Steengo　bowed　graciously　to　acknowledge　the　applause。
　〃That's　it　then。　You　have　just　met　The　Stainless　Steel　Rats。　Any　questions？〃
　〃Yes；〃　Madonette　said；　and　all　eyes　turned　her　way。　〃What　is　the　music　that　we　will　be　playing？〃
　〃Good　question…and　I　think　I　have　a　good　answer。　Research　into　contemporary　music　reveals　a　great　variety　of　rhythms　and　themes。　Some　of　them　pretty　bad；　like　country…and…steel…mill　music。　Some　with　a　certain　charm　like　the　Chipperinos　and　their　flock　of　singing　birds。　But　we　need　something　new　and　different。
　Or　old　and　different　as　long　as　no　one　has　heard　the　music　in　a　few　thousand　years。　For　our　inspiration　I　have　had　the　music　department　at　Galaksia　Universitato　research　their　most　ancient　data　bases。　Millennia　have　passed　since　this　music　was　last　heard。　Usually　with　good　reason。
　I　held　up　a　handful　of　recordings。　〃These　are　the　survivors　of　a　grueling　test　I　put　them　through。　If　I　could　listen　for　more　than　fifteen　seconds　I　made　a　copy。　We　will　now　refine　the　process　even　more。　Anything　we　can　bear　for　thirty　seconds　goes　into　the　second　round。〃
　I　popped　one　of　the　tiny　black　chips　into　the　player　and　sat　back。　Atonal　musical　thunder　rumbled　over　us　and　a　soprano　with　a　voice　like　a　pregnant　porcuswine　assailed　our　ears。　I　popped　the　recording　out；　ground　it　under　my　heel；　then　went　on　to　the　next　one。
　By　late　afternoon　our　eyes　were　red…rimmed　with　tears；　our　ears　throbbing；　our　brains　numbed　and　throbbing　as　well。
　〃Is　that　enough　for　the　moment？〃　I　asked　sweetly　and　my　answer　was　a　chorus　of　groans。　〃Right。　On　the　way　in　here　I　noticed　that　right　next　door　is　a　drinking　parlor　by　the　name　of　Dust　on　Your　Tonsils。　I　can　only　assume　that　is　a　little　joke　and　they　intend　to　wash　the　dust　from　their　clients'　tonsils。　Shall　we　see　if　that　is　true？〃
　〃Let's　go！〃　Floyd　said　and　led　the　exodus。
　〃A　toast；〃　I　said　when　the　drinks　had　arrived。　We　lifted　our　glasses。　〃To　The　Stainless　Steel　Rats…long　may　they　play！〃
　They　cheered　and　drank；　then　laughed　and　called　for　another　round。　It　was　all　going　to　work　out　hunky…dory　I　thought。
　Then　why　was　I　so　depressed？
　
　CHAPTER　5
　I　was　depressed　because　it　was　really　a　pretty　madcap　plan。　The　idea　had　been　to　allow　a　week　for　our　publicity　to　peak；　for　some　musical　awards　to　be　made…then　the　crime　had　to　occur。　In　that　brief　period　we　were　not　only　going　to　have　to　find　some　music；　but　we　would　have　to　rehearse　the　stuff　and　hopefully　gain　at　least　a　moderate　level　of　ability。　Some　chance。　We　were　cutting　it　too　fine。　We　needed　some　more　help。
　〃Madonette；　a　question。〃　I　sipped　some　more　beer　first。　〃I　must　admit　to　an　abysmal　ignorance　of　the　mechanics　of　making　music。　Is　there　someone　who　sort　of　makes　up　the　tunes；　then　writes　down　the　stuff　that　everyone　is　going　to　play？〃
　〃You're　talking　about　a　poser　and　an　arranger。　They　could　be　one　and　the　same…but　it　is　usually　better　to　divide　up　the　jobs。〃
　〃Can　we　get　one　or　both　of　them？　Zach；　as　the　closest　thing　to　a　professional　here…do　you　have　any　ideas？〃
　〃Shouldn't　be　too　hard。　All　we　have　to　do　is　contact　GASCAP。〃
　〃Gascap？　You　want　to　fill　the　tank　on　a　groundcar？〃
　〃Not　gascap。　GASCAP。　An　acronym　for　the　Galactic　Society　of　posers　Artists　and　Players。　There　is　a　lot　of　unemployment　in　music　and　we　should　be　able　to　locate　some　really　petent　people。〃
　〃Good　as　done。　I'll　get　the　Admiral　on　it　at　once。〃
　〃Impossible；〃　he　growled　in　his　usually　friendly　fashion。　〃No　civilians；　no　outsiders。　This　is　a　secret　operation　all　the　way。
　〃It　is　now…but　it　goes　public　in　seven　days。　All　we　do　is　invent　a　cover　story。　Say　that　the　group　is　being　organized　to　make　a　holofilm。　Or　as　a　publicity　stunt　by　a　big　firm。　Like　maybe　McSwineys　wants　to　change　their　image；　go　upmarket。　Get　rid　of　Blimey　McSwiney　and　his　alcoholic　red　nose；　use　our　pop　group　instead。　But　it　must　be　done…and　at　once。'
　It　was。　The　next　day　an　anorexic　and　pallid　young　man　was　brought　to　our　rehearsal　studio。　Zach　whispered　in　my　ear。　〃I　recognize　him…that's　Barry　Moyd　Shlepper。　He　wrote　a　pop　musical　a　couple　of　years　back；　〃Don't　Fry　for　Me；　Angelina。〃　He　hasn't　had　a　success　since。〃
　〃I　remember　it。　The　show　about　the　cook　who　marries　the　dictator。〃
　〃That's　the　one。〃
　〃Wele；　Barry；　wele；〃　I　said　walking　over　and　shaking　his　bony　hand。　〃My　name　is　Jim　and　I'm　in　charge　around　here。〃
　〃Rooty…toot；　man；　rooty…toot；〃　he　said。
　〃And　a　rooty…toot　to　you　as　well。〃　I　could　see　where　we　would　have　to　learn　the　argot　of　the　musical　world　if　our　plan　were　to　succeed。　〃Now…was　this　operation　explained　to　you？〃
　〃Like　maybe　sort　of。　A　new　recording　pany　starting　up　with　plenty　of　bucknicks　to　blow。　Financing　some　new　groups　to　get　the　operation　off　the　ground。〃
　〃That's　it。　You're　in　charge　of　the　music。　Let　me　show　you　what　we　have　and　you　put　it　into　shape。〃
　I　gave　him　earphones　and　the　player：　I　couldn't　bear　listening　to　these　dreadful　positions　yet　another　time。　He　plugged　in　the　cubes　one　by　one　and；　impossible　as　it　was　to　believe；　his　pallid　skin　grew　even　paler。　He　worked　his　way　through　them　all。　Sighed　tremulously；　took　off　the　earphones　and　brushed　the　tears　from　his　eyes。
　〃You　want　like　my　honest　and　truly　opinion？〃
　〃Nothing　less。〃
　〃Well　then；　like　to　break　it　to　you　gently；　this　stuff　really　sucks。　Insufflates。　Implodes。〃
　〃Can　you　do　better？〃
　〃My　cat　can　do　better。　And　scratch　dirt　over　it。〃
　〃Then　you　are　unleashed。　Begin！〃
　There　was　little　else　I　could　do　until　the　music　was　written；　rehearsed；　recorded。　While　all　the　others　would　play　their　instruments　and　sing；　my　work　would　be　limited　to　throwing　the　switch　before　each　piece。　Then　all　of　Zach's　drums；　cymbals；　horns；　bells　and　molecular…synthesizer　effects　would　burst　forth　from　the　loudspeakers　in　full　gallop。　While　this　was　happening　I　would　throw　switches　that　did　nothing；　tinkle　the　keys　on　a　disconnected　keyboard。　So　while　they　got　the　music　going　I　looked　into　the　special　effects。
　This　required　watching　recordings　of　all　of　the　most　popular　groups；　bands　and　soloists。　Some　of　it　was　enjoyable；　some　horribly　dreadful；　all　of　it　too　loud。　In　the　end　I　turned　off　the　sound　and　watched　the　laser　beams；　exploding　fireworks　and　physical　acrobatics。　I　made　sketches；　mumbled　to　myself　a　lot；　spent　a　great　deal　of　the　university's　money。
　And　built　an　incredible　amount　of　plicated　circuitry　into　the　existing　electronics。　Reluctantly；　the　Admiral　produced　the　extras　I　asked　for　and　I　modified　everything　in　the　machine　shop。　It　was　altogether　a　satisfactory　and　fulfilling　week。　I　also　prodded　the　Admiral　until　he　produced　the　promised　payment　of　three　million　credits。
　〃Most　kind；〃　I　said；　jingling　the　six　glowing　five…hundred…thousand…credit　coins。　〃A　decent　fee　for　a　decent　job　done。〃
　〃You　better　put　them　in　a　bank　vault　before　they　go　missing；〃　was　his　surly　advice。
　〃Of　course。　A　capital　idea！〃
　A　singularly　stupid　idea。　Banks　were　for　robbing　and　for　the　tax　authorities　to　keep　track　of。　So　first　I　went　into　the　machine　shop　where　I　did　some　crafty　metalwork　before　I　packed　wrapped　and　labeled　the　coins。　Then　I　went　for　a　walk　and；　as　a　precaution；　I　exercised　all　of　my　considerable　talents　at　avoiding　observation　to　shake　off　any　possible　tails　the　Admiral　had　put　on　me。　I　was　risking　my　life…in　more　ways　than　one！…for　this　money。　If　I　came　out　of　it　all　in　one　piece　I　wanted　to　have　it　waiting。
　I　finally　reached　a　small　country　post　office；　selected　at　random；　some　distance　from　the　city。　It　was　manned　by　a　nearsighted　gentleman　of　advanced　years。
　〃Spatial　express　and　insured　for　offplanet　delivery。　That　ain't　gonna　be　cheap　young　feller。〃
　〃Do　it；　daddy…o；　do　it。　I've　got　the　gilt。〃　He　blinked　and　I　translated　back　to　his　native　language。　〃Payment　is　not　a　problem；　dear　sir。　You　must　assu