The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell by Harry Harrison

heard the sound of sirens getting louder—then dying away as the van broadsided around a corner. He slowed after that, drove at what must have been something like normal speed. Turned a few more times and stopped. James spun his driver’s seat around to face us and smiled.
    â€œDrinks, anyone?”
    Through the windshield a large rotating sign was visible. RODNEY’S ROBOT DRINKING DEN with CHEAPEST AND MOST ALCOHOLIC DRINKS IN TOWN in smaller lettering below. A robotic face appeared at the window. “Welcome to this drunkards’ paradise. Orders, please,” it grated.
    â€œFour large beers,” I told it, then coughed uncontrollably.
    â€œTell us what happened,” Sybil said when I had gasped into silence.
    â€œSure,” Bolivar said. “But first—are you guys all right?” Looking at us intently, relaxing only when we had nodded our heads. “Good, great. You gave us a scare, Dad, when the alarm went off.”

    â€œI didn’t think that I had time to actuate it.”
    â€œYou didn’t. We only knew something was wrong when your heart stopped. We hit hard then.”
    â€œIt never stopped!” I said defensively, grabbing at the pulse in my wrist. A nice solid thud-thud.
    â€œThat’s good to hear. But we didn’t know that at the time. We must have broken in just seconds after you went to Hell. Marablis, wearing some kooky outfit, was still working the controls. Bolivar got him with the stunner as he was turning around.”
    â€œI dropped him—but you were both gone. That explained the stopped heartbeat. You had been moved, transported, sent—to Hell as we found out. James took care of that. Advanced hypnotism, he’s very good.”
    â€œBeen a bit of a hobby for some years. Marablis was an easy subject. Stress and shock. I eased him under and took control. He told us that he had sent you both to Hell. Bolivar said that he would go after you. I had Marablis work the machine and you know the rest. It was a long five minutes but it worked out fine in the end.”
    I should have been immune to surprises by this time. I wasn’t. “Five minutes! We were in Hell for hours—most of a day at least.”
    â€œDifferent time scales?” Bolivar said. “And I’ll tell you something else just as outré. When I was in Hell I was here at the same time, I mean I could see what Bolivar was seeing, hear him speaking.”
    â€œAnd vice versa—”
    â€œBeer,” a tinny voice said and Sybil and I leaped forward.
    â€œFour more,” Bolivar said as we drained our glasses. He handed us the two remaining full ones.
    The cold liquid helped. Gasping with pleasure, my brain got back into gear and I remembered something else. “James! The shooting when we arrived—what happened?”
    â€œJust that. As you were coming back through, this guy burst in waving a gun. I dived for cover while he shot up the machinery. Then he and Marablis ran for it.”

    â€œI had a quick look at him,” I said. “It couldn’t have been, but …”
    James nodded solemnly. “I could see him very clearly. It was Professor Slakey—with a bandage on the stump of his right wrist.”
    â€œThen who, who—?” I said, doing a stunned owl imitation.
    â€œWho was at the controls, you mean? Who sent you to Hell and brought you back? That was also Professor Slakey. Working the controls with his good right hand.”
    â€œI have more news,” I said. “There is a bright-red, long-tailed and behorned Slakey in Hell.”
    The silence got longer and longer as we considered the implications, or lack of them, in this information, until Sybil spoke. “James, whistle for the waiter if you please. Order up a bottle of something a bit stronger for the next round.”
    Nobody argued with that. Everything had happened so fast—and so incomprehensibly—that I had trouble