"Harry Harrison - SSR 06 - A Stainless Steel Rat is Born" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

clearly. Money was what I wanted. Other people's money. Money is locked away, so the more I knew
about locks the more I would be able to get this money. For the first time in school I buckled
down to work. My grades soared so high that my teachers began to feel there might be. hope for me
yet. I did so well that when I elected to study, the trade of locksmith they

were only too eager to oblige. It was supposed to be a three-year course, but I learned all there
was to know in three months. I asked permission to take the final examination. And was reftised.
Things were just not done that way, they told me. I would proceed at the same stately pace as
the others and in two years and nine months I would get my diploma, leave the schoolтАФand enter the
ranks of the wage slaves.
Not very likely. I tried to change my course of study and was informed that this was impossible.
I had locksmith stamped on my forehead, metaphorically speaking of course, and it would remain
there for life. They thought.
I began to cut classes and avoid the school for days at a time. There was little they could do
about this, other than administer stern lectures, because I showed up for all the examinations and
always scored the highest grades. I ought to, since I was making the most of my training in the
field. I carefully spread my attentions around so the complacent citizens of the city had no idea
they were being taken. A vending machine would yield a few bucks in silver one day, a till at the
parking lot the next. Not only did this field work perfect my talents but it paid for my
education. Not my school education of courseтАФby law I had to remain there until the age of
seventeenтАФbut in my free time.
Since I could find no guidelines to prepare myself for a life of crime, I studied all of the
skills that might be of

A STAINLESS STEEL BAT IS BORN 13

service. I found thewordforgery in the dictionary, which encouraged me to learn photography and
printing. Since unarmed combat had already stood me in good stead, I continued my studies until I
earned a Black Belt. Nor was I ignoring the technical side of my chosen career. Before I was
sixteen I knew just about all there was to know about computersтАФwhile at the same time I had
become a skilled microelectronic technician.
All of these were satisfying enough in themselvesтАФbut where did I go from there? I really didn't
know. That was when I decided to give myself a coming-of-age birthday present. A term in jail.
Crazy? Like a fox! I had to find some criminalsтАФand where better than in jail? A keen line of
reasoning, one has to admit. Going to jail would be like coming home, meeting my chosen peer group
at last. I would listen and learn and when I felt I had learned enough the lockpick in the sole of
my shoe would help me to make my exit. How I smiled and chortled with glee.
More the foolтАФfor it was not to be this way at all.
My hair was shorn, I was bathed in an antiseptic spray, prison clothes and boots were issuedтАФso
unprofessionally that I had ample time to transfer the lockpick and my stock of coinsтАФ1 was
thumbprinted and retinapixed, then led to my cell. To behold, to my great joy, that I had a
cellmate. My education would begin at last. This was the first day of the rest of my criminal
life.
"Good afternoon, sir," I said. "My name is Jim diGriz." He looked at me and snarled. "Get knotted,
kid." He went back to picking his toes, an operation which my entrance had interrupted.
That was my first lesson. The polite linguistic exchanges of life outside were not honored
behind these walls. Life was toughтАФand so was language, I twisted my lips into a sneer and spoke
again. In far harsher tones this time.
"Get knotted yourself, toe-cheese. My monicker is Jim. What's yours?"
I wasn't sure about the slang, I had picked it up from