The cheering was so loud Fitz held the phone away from his ear. "We've got another explosion, sir. Smaller this time."
"Keep me posted, Henry. And tell the tech who used his initiative, well done. If more people used their brains, we'd get somewhere."
"I'll tell him, sir. He just thought he was losing money! The guys are betting heavily on your commandos, sir."
Fitz rolled his eyes. "They're not commandos, Henry."
"Well, Special Services or whatever, sir. They're great guys, sir."
"They're not Special Services…"
"If you say so, sir." Henry's voice indicated he was very happy to go along with whatever story the major wanted to spin for him, but it would be a frosty Friday in hell before he believed a word of it. "We'll keep you posted on how your… non-commandos are doing."
Fitz put the phone down. "That's how bloody myths are born," he said, savagely. "Well, let's see if the real thing can do anything to help them." He dialed.
"Airborne." The voice on the other side sounded irritated. Well. It was going on 1:00 AM.
"Evening, Bobby," said Fitz cheerfully.
"It's bloody morning, you mad bastard." The irritation had been replaced with obvious pleasure.
"Okay. Morning, then. And as it is morning, are your lads up and ready to go?"
"What?" Van Klomp nearly deafened him. "Don't fuck me around, Fitzy! Have you got a us a real mission at last?"
There was too much hope in that voice for Major Conrad Fitzhugh to tell his old parachute instructor anything but the absolute truth. All of it…
"So," he concluded, "if the force field comes down, I want you lads ready to get in there. That's the only hope those boys on the loose in there have got. Besides anything else, they'll know more about the inside of a scorpiary than any man alive. I'll cut you some orders. They'll be fakes, but…"
"Screw the orders, man," said Van Klomp. "If the field doesn't come down we go on sitting on our tuchis, doing displays at parades. If it does… we probably won't be answering any questions. We'll try to get to them, but I've only got sixty men." There was a momentary hesitation; then: "Fitzy, you're in for the high jump, unless this goes right and your dear general decides he's going to claim the credit."
"So I'm for the high jump. This could just be the big chance, Bobby. Now, if you do go in, you just hold on. I'm not hanging around for the court-martial. Ariel and I are on our way to the front. We'll push the troops along."
"You still got that mad rat? You want a chopper ride to the front?"
Ariel jumped at the phone. "And fuck you too, Van Klomp!"
Fitz grinned. "The chopper would solve a lot of problems. And I warn you, I'm jealous. Ariel obviously wants your body."
"I'll have a chopper with you in fifteen minutes. You'd better get your satellite boykie to report to me." The man on the other end of the line paused. "Good luck, Fitzy."
"Yeah," said Fitz quietly. "And sorry to drag you into this shit, Bobby."
There was another longish pause. Then Major Robert Van Klomp replied, also in a quiet voice, quite unlike his normal bellow. "This is supposed to be the Army's elite unit, Fitz. I just hope to God I've finally got a chance to prove it. Now, I'm going to stir asses out of sacks. Go to it, my boy."
The lump in his throat stopped Fitz saying goodbye. It was possible he'd just sentenced an old friend to death.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 35:
What address were we looking for?
THE TRAILER SLEWED wildly. So did the tractor driver. So did the tractor. Instead of completing the turn the right-hand front wheel went over the edge of the spiral downramp next to the well.
Chip looked back at the hitch-wishbone. It would snap now. Well, it'd probably only been the C-clamp and the wire he'd wound around the porcupine-weld that had held it together for so long across very rough terrain. And there was no time to do anything now. The tractor and the trailer were not going anywhere-except possibly over the edge and all the way down.
"All off!" shouted Bronstein. "Cut the stuff we need off the trailer and toss it over the edge. We're going to have to run."
"Alas, I cannot run," complained the Korozhet. "My poor spines are so cramped from this bag. Abandon me! Virginia and I will hide here and the rest of you can draw pursuit."
"No," said Siobhan, "We must look after you. We'll lower you down first."
Chip cut the Crotchet's bag free with a single swipe of the Solingen. "Come on. You're the only one who claims to know where we're going. Grab me that rope, Ginny. I'll get him down quick."
"But I do not wish to be lowered." The Korozhet clacked his spines at him. "I will run."
"Tough shit." Chip pulled the rope through the top loops of cargo net.
"Methinks we rats will abseil with you," Melene comforted, while rolling a drum of diesel to the edge.
Doc, bent nearly double under a bag of alcohol bottles, agreed. "Yes. We have to use original ideas. I was going to lower these bottles. Once I have done that the logical thing is for us rats to abseil down too. We are needing to go down, Madam Korozhet, you said.
…"
Chip swung the alien over the edge and began lowering. Siobhan flew down alongside her.
Meanwhile, Bronstein was furiously organizing, and Eamon was fiddling with last-minute touches on a trip wire attached to the limpet-mine on the jammed trailer. Chip saw O'Niel pat their doomed steed with a gentle wing. "You're a foine, foine device," the bat said thickly. "Eamon, you'll be seeing it be quick, will you now?"
"'Tis not a bat," gruffed Eamon, as he tensioned the wire.
O'Niel gave a mournful sniff. "I know. But it was a fine and a gallant companion."
Eamon shook his head. "'Tis a machine, O'Niel. But she'll go out wi' glory. A fine fiery send-off, fitting of a bat. And a number of her enemies with her. Now lend me a foot."
The Crotchet was down, and Chip and Ginny came to help carry the heavy stuff. One of the few things the humans could do better than anyone else was porter. They carried fertilizer bags and turfed them over the edge twenty yards from the rats' abseil-point.
On his second trip, Chip noticed that Nym was sitting quite still, pouring brandy down the air intake while patting the little tractor awkwardly. Snuffling all the while. Chip took his grappling iron in one hand and the rat in the other along to where the others were abseiling. Cursing all the while.
"They're on their way. GO, go, go!" shouted Bronstein, from higher up the ramp.
Chip realized with horror that he was going to have to abseil again. And worse, Ginny had no homemade harness, or any idea what to do.
He took a deep breath. "You'll have to get onto my back," he said, hoping he sounded calm to her. Trying to ignore the small booms of the expedient mines higher up the ramp, he rigged himself. He knew he couldn't afford to make any mistakes now, or they'd both fall and die. On the other hand, if he didn't move fast they'd be blown to glory along with the tractor and trailer.
She walked up close. "How do you want me to hold?" she asked with perfect faith.
Chip found that hard to deal with. "Tight. And you, Fluff, go down that rope. Chop-chop. Send it."
As calmly as possible, he lowered the two of them over the edge. Her body was warm against his. Very warm, very firm, very soft, very-very He forced himself to concentrate on the rope.
At least abseiling with double the weight was easier. But he'd swear he didn't even hear the vineyard tractors's last blast.
He did notice pieces of Maggot and masonry falling past. And then, they were falling too. Something had severed the rope. Fortunately a five-foot fall onto a pile of fertilizer granules wasn't going to kill them. And he managed, somehow, to spin them so that Ginny landed on him rather than vice versa.
The plump rat regarded them with a wry rat-smile. "Methinks that was definitely virgin on the ridiculous."
"Oh shut up, Fal," muttered Chip.
Fal chuckled. "Only if you'll tell me how you get it right in that position. Or is that the explanation for the virgin part, eh, Ginny?"
Just in time she realized he was teasing. She had been about to start on an impetuous tirade against Melene not being able to keep a secret. But he really didn't know. And, with a sudden shock, she also realized he wasn't really trying to be nasty. He was just… being Falstaff.
"Fal, you are ugly and your mother dresses you funny," she said sternly.
He grinned. "That's the spirit, girl. You'll make a proper rattess yet. Now get off the muck heap."
"What do you mean `muck heap'?" grumbled Chip.
Ginny laughed. "Fertilizer. That's the way soft-cyber logic works."
Chip grinned. "You understand it better than I do. Anyway, Fal, I'm sore, and bruised, and I'm tired. Why shouldn't I lie in the muck if I want to? Got nice company." Despite the words, he was trying to stand up.
Not fast enough to suit Fal. "Up, up!" he shouted. "I'm supposed to be collecting the muck into these bags while the rest of the thinner rats are off laying charges with the bats. Even your galago has gone along… with Doll, I think. Bronstein says that this brood-heart bit isn't likely to be unguarded, and we might want to blow it up. Besides, we need something for you humans to carry. To keep your feet on the ground, and your minds from wicked thoughts."
Pistol scampered up. "They can always carry us," he proclaimed. "I mean, when a human's in debt to the tune of fifty cases of whiskey, the least he could do would be to provide transport."
Ginny realized Chip might have more luck at getting to his feet if she let go of him. Still, it seemed a pity.
"Will you two get up so that I can collect the explosive, or are you just going to bang right there?" demanded Fal. "And, as you're back so quick, Pistol, you can help."
"Bang?" The one-eyed rat laughed wickedly. "Old Chip doesn't need any help. Does he, Ginny?"
She realized that she'd somehow passed imperceptibly from being an outsider, to being one of them. The thought brought a fierce glow. This was the first time in her life she'd ever felt that way.
The others began trickling back, as they gathered up as much of the fertilizer as possible.
" 'Tis to be hoped t'ose Maggots aren't fast runners," said O'Niel. "I set mine on three minutes."
"Indade, you're a fool, O'Niel," snapped Eamon. "I said to you-plain as day-two and a half!"
"Oh, foine. 'Tis a fool I am, now. Just because my claw slipped," muttered O'Niel.
"Indade?" said Eamon. "A drunken fool!"
"Will you two stop bickering? Let's go." Chip had shouldered two half-bags of fertilizer and was rolling one of the three dented twenty-five-liter drums of diesel that had made it down.
"We're waiting for Siobhan and Doc," said Melene.
Fal looked around. "And the Korozhet."
Ginny looked alarmed. "Where did he go? Och. I mean she, the Professor, go?"
Pistol pointed. "He went with Doc. They were arguing about-`the dialectic,' or some such."
Chip put his load down. "We'd better get after them. When Doc gets going he's unlikely to notice a little thing like a time fuse."
They found her first. By smell. Something very unpleasant had happened to Siobhan. Murder. Murder most foul. The twisted body lay just inside the access-tunnel mouth.
Bronstein bristled. "Her pack is missing. No Maggot ever takes anything."
With a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Chip ran past the bats. The little body of Doc lay on top of the pile of fertilizer. For a moment he stood, frozen. Then he noticed a minuscule twitch of the nose. Fal and Melene arrived, full tilt.
"Whoreson! What the hell killed him?" demanded Fal.
Melene, who had dived onto the philosopher, was listening intently. "His heart is beating. But it is very faint."
Suddenly, it all fell into place in Chip's head. He grabbed Doc, and gathered Melene up too in the same armful. "Fal-Run!"
They sprinted. At the tunnel mouth, the remaining bats and remaining rats were congregated with Ginny and the galago.
Ginny looked up. "You've got Doc! The Professor must be in there too!" She turned, hastily, toward the tunnel.
Chip dropped his burdens and dived on her, bringing her down.
The galago shrieked as he flew from her shoulder. "I will go.. ."
Chip saw Pistol, moving like a blur, knock the little galago down.
Then, as he had foreseen, the charge in the tunnel went off.
"The Professor!" Virginia tried to scramble to her feet.
Chip hung onto her fiercely. "Don't you see, you little fool, the goddamn Crotchet killed Siobhan-and tried to kill Doc. It's a fucking murderer!"
She struggled. "NO! Never! He couldn't be! Korozhet are GOOD."
Bronstein's gargoyle face twisted. "Yes." The word sounded torn out of her. "But we can't go in there. The rest of the charges are due to go off at any moment. We must finish what the Korozhet wanted us to do."
Ginny struggled some more. "You go on. I must go back and see."
"You'll come with us," Chip said, half dragging her. "If I have to knock you out and carry you, you'll come with us now!"
"I won't!" she struggled hysterically.
He hit her. In the solar plexus. Hard. As her breath whoofed out, he grabbed her and began to run for the dark tunnel where the Korozhet had said their destination should be. He had a sinking feeling about that, too, now.
Chip dumped her, groaning, in the entry tunnel. He turned on the rats who had followed with Doc. "You let her out of here, and I'll kill you. Got me?"
"And if he doesn't, I will," said Bronstein grimly.
Chip ran to gather the bags they'd dropped on their way in. He'd just made it back when the various tunnel charges went off.
"I never ever want to speak to you again," Ginny said fiercely. "You left the Professor there to die, you… you Vat."
"Suits me, Shareholder bitch," he said, dragging the bags along past her. He didn't even look at her.
"Uh. Ginny." Someone plucked gently at her elbow. It was fat Fal, being uncharacteristically quiet. "The Korozhet wasn't in there. Honest. The only sign he'd ever been there was that smell. Ask Melene. And if Chip had let you back into that tunnel, methinks all that would have happened, would be that you'd have been killed too."
She sniffed back the angry tears. The inside of her head was a confused and miserable mess. Not a small part of her was wishing that she was dead. "He shouldn't have said that Professor had murdered people." It was a subconscious slip. They were "people" to her now.
Fal shrugged. "Chip's a valiant little whoreson, but he speaks his mind. I know it couldn't be true, but… be fair, Ginny. That is what it looks like."
"It's all so unfair!" she sobbed. "Thanks, Fal." She found herself hugging the most unlikely rat in the world.
"Gently, gently," said Fal, in faintly crushed tones, but speaking gently himself. He comforted: "Never mind Ginny. It'll all come right. If we ever get out of this we'll steal you the biggest box of candy in the whole world to give to him. Meanwhile, have a drink."
Bronstein fluttered up. "Come on, girl. Come on, you fat-rat. We must finish this now."
"Methinks 'tis typical of a bat," grumbled Fal, getting to his feet, "letting a little thing like an unfinished job get in the way of drinking and kinky sex."
The tunnel into the tower was typical of a Magh' structure. It was a wide spiral inwards. After about fifty feet of cautious advance they found something that wasn't, in their experience, typical of Magh' architecture.
A door.
It wasn't a human-type door, though. It was a circular structure, with a spiral of interlocking black plates. Chip reached out and touched it. At this stage he was still so mad he didn't care if that had got him killed. He'd saved her damn life! And all she cared about was that murderous ball of prickles!
The door certainly wasn't metallic. It felt more like some kind of gritty hardwood.
"To be sure if there's a door this must be an important place," said Bronstein. "Well, let's blow it. Shot holes…"
"Why bother?" Chip asked, pushing the panel upwards. It had moved when he'd put his hand to it. It opened like a camera iris, the plates spiraling into the wall. Warm, sticky air gushed out. The air carried a prickly "green" scent with it, reminiscent of fresh-cut bell peppers.
Chip stepped through the gap. And stopped. The tower was perhaps six hundred meters tall. The roof of the chamber they stood in was fully half that height. And it was full of racks. Endless vertical racks about a foot apart, going almost up to the roof. A soft champing noise came from the quarter-mile high grub-racks of the scorpiary. "Oh, fuck me," said Chip.
And not even Doll said "not now, I've got a headache."
Eamon came fluttering up. "Maggots are coming down the walls. Pouring down, like, like… Maggots."
O'Niel fluttered up as well. "Well, boyos. I hope this was where you'd be wanting to go. Because, indade, there's no going back." There was an explosion.
"Just the tunnel mouth," said Eamon.
Then there was a long slow rumble. Ginny and the galago hastily bundled in. Nym spiraled the door shut on a last view of the tunnel filling up with fine sand.
There was a long silence. Then Chip spoke quietly. "Well. That's it. We're stuck. This is the wrong address. And that was obviously the last ditch defense. I'll bet the whole thing has a double hollow wall, full of that fine stuff. We can't even dig our way out."
Bronstein looked around. "To be sure, we won't be lonely. It looks as if we have several hundred million baby Maggots due to join us, shortly."
"I wonder if they're born hungry?" asked Chip.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 36:
Taken at the flood.
AS THE CHOPPER roared through the occasionally light-pricked darkness, Fitz found himself wondering if he was out of his mind. Then the radio crackled in his headphones. Van Klomp probably didn't even need a radio, he was bellowing so loudly.
"Fitzy, you ugly bastard! Your satellite boykie just called in. Your lads have just blown something else. A big one. And he says that if he reads the signals right, there were a couple of smaller bangs after that! Over."
"I wish they were my lads, Bobby. Over."
"Heh. Your satellite boykie doesn't believe they can be anything else. Enjoy kicking that ass Charlesworth's butt for me. Over."
"I'll do my best. Over and out."
They roared over a snaking column of headlights. Well. Transport was on its way.
The brigadier's headquarters were in a now-abandoned country "chateau." Typical of the jumped-up slimy bastard, thought Fitz. The rows of tents outside it were a model of early morning tranquility, until Colonel Van Klomp's favorite chopper jockey buzzed the place at about twenty feet.
The chopper jockey dropped them to a neat landing barely thirty yards from the ornate porte cochere of the phony chateau.
It was a fine imitation of a disturbed ants' nest. With added lights. Through all of this Fitz walked like a giant iceberg passing through a turbulent sea. Unperturbed and unstoppable.
The biggest wave around, in the shape of Brigadier Charlesworth, washed ineffectually against the 'berg. "What is the meaning of all this?" Charlesworth demanded.
The chopper roared off into the night. When the noise had faded Major Fitzhugh stopped gazing icily at the glorious apparition in a frogged dressing gown. Fitz didn't answer. Instead he patted the neat briefcase he carried.
"Brigadier Charlesworth. Assemble all your staff, in full battledress, within the next ten minutes. I have here orders signed by General Cartup-Kreutzler for your immediate redeployment. Issue orders to get the enlisted men up and into full kit. Get your quartermaster to start issuing ammunition and combat rations. Your transport should be here within fifteen minutes. Where is the communication officer?"
"Sir. That's me, sir." A mousy one-pip lieutenant saluted.
Fitz looked at him with the bad side of his face. "There is a total communication blackout. As of this instant. We've discovered that the Magh' have tapped into our communications network. There will be no calls out. None. Not even by your commanding officer. Do you understand me clearly? You are to prevent it by deadly force if necessary. Detail a guard. Now."
"Sir!" The mousy individual left at a run. Something about that "sir" said he'd really enjoy it if someone dared to try to use the comms.
Charlesworth had finally caught his jaw and started to recover it. "Here! You can't do this! I need to speak to the general… I refuse… I demand an explanation. This is an outrage!"
Fitz took out an "official" sealed envelope, and handed it to a bleary-eyed man who'd at least gotten as far as his dress-uniform jacket over his pajamas. "Colonel Nygen. Read this."
Somehow no one dared to interrupt. The colonel opened the envelope and began to read. He passed from half-asleep to wide-awake in the process of silently reading one line.
Then the colonel looked at his commanding officer. "Brigadier Charlesworth. You are relieved of your command." He handed the document to the brigadier, who was doing the most remarkable imitation of an indignant toad.
The brigadier ripped the single sheet of paper in half. "I refuse
…"
"Destroying official documentation. A court-martial offense!" Fitz had his bangstick against the brigadier's belly. "Colonel, I suggest you have the brigadier confined to his quarters immediately, under guard."
Colonel Nygen looked alarmed. "Er. A fellow officer…"
Ariel popped her head out of Fitz's magazine pocket. "Do it, bumsucker! He's got a set for you, too."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 37:
We have already decided: don't confuse us with the facts.
DOC GROANED. Ginny bent low over the rat on her lap. "Otherness without subject is not-being, and this sort of not-being is omnipresent like Melene's tail…"
The rat suddenly sat bolt upright, with his eyes wide and unfocussed. "Siobhan! Look out!"
Then he keeled over sideways, muttering, "Necessarily utterly capricious… that's rat-girls."
His audience didn't hold it against him. Melene appeared too worried to take it out on him anyway, and far too relieved that he was showing more signs of regaining consciousness. The smallest of the rats had been untowardly silent since Chip had emerged carrying Doc in his arms. She simply patted him gently.
Other than that, only O'Niel was near at hand, as all the others had gone to explore the huge brood-chamber. The bat was busy rigging demolition charges and a webwork of expedient mines around the iris-door. Opening it was going to have devastating effects on whatever came through.
Ginny and Melene waited for more words or movement, but Doc had slipped back into unconsciousness.
"There is no way out of here." Chip flopped gloomily down next to Melene, Ginny and the still unconscious Doc. "Look, Ginny. I've got say something. I'm really sorry about what I said… and did… back there. I just didn't want you to get killed."
She started to ease her frozen expression. Then he duffed it again. But he'd been brooding on it. Brooding on apologies when you don't think you're wrong is really a poor idea.
"It was that stupid Crotchet's fault."
Her face twitched and she assumed the expression of a perfect ice maiden. Her aristocratic nose came up. She surveyed the scruffy Vat as one might the discovery of a cockroach at the bottom of a milkshake. The worst of it was that a small part of her mind said that he might be right.
Chip proceeded to make a bad matter worse. "I don't understand why you can't see that Pricklepuss was bad news. I mean I daresay all of these guys with `Crotchet-made' chips in their heads can't see anything wrong with the Korozhet, but you're so bright…"
"GO AWAY!" she said fiercely.
He got up, his resentment plainly burning with a thousand-candlepower flame.
She saw him kick a towering Maggot grub-rack. And heard him swear and clutch his foot.
A bat swooped down from the roof. It spoke briefly to Chip, and then fluttered away upward. It kept going up and up and up until it was joined by the other two. She watched them head for a corner. And then they disappeared.
Bronstein was sure that it was a ventilation gap. It was only desperation that had gotten them to try sonar on the roof. There was certainly no other obvious way out, except for a long narrow chute that spiraled down from the center of the roof. There was a problem with going up that way… a steady stream of what could only be Maggot-eggs was coming down it. The eggs, of course were overflowing the ramp. Obviously their tenders had been summoned away.
Getting in hadn't been easy. And getting along was at first worse for the bats, who did not find themselves well designed for this rough crawling.
"Indade. These walls will be having the wings off me. Then what will I be?" complained O'Niel, who was distinctly the fattest of the bats. Eamon was larger, but not around the waist.
"To be sure, you'd be a rat, which is what you've been behaving like," snapped Bronstein. She did not like crawling, and what they were doing made her feel uncomfortable. They had talked about it often enough before, and she'd always resisted or avoided it. But her party was a minority back on the other side of the lines, and it was a minority here. A minority of one, now her dear Siobhan was dead. Bronstein was a committed Demobat. Eamon's Batty party policy on this was clear: Humans were the enemy and the interests of bats would be best served by getting rid of them.
Of course they'd had to be loyal to the Korozhet, but now that it was gone, well, bat-interests must come first. Eamon had been quite eloquent about it, for once. "Indade, it must have been a rat who killed her. There was nobody else who could have taken her pack. It was probably that Doc. I've no trust in his pontifications."
The argument had been unanswerable. Who else? The other plausible answer nagged at her, but that was impossible. Absolutely unthinkable.
Eamon had been unable to accuse the humans. But humans, other than Chip and Ginny-and she cringed even thinking about them-had abused the bat-folk. Abused them terribly for their own evil war. Enslaved them.
She was glad when the tunnel widened abruptly into a narrow shaft. She could concentrate on flying and stop thinking so much.
The air vent was a long one. There was no guarantee that it would lead out. There was no guarantee it would lead to where Eamon suspected either. But by following the air current it was not hard flying. And it beat thinking.
"I've no liking for this," panted O'Niel.
"Oh, it's much rather you'd be riding a tractor than flying as a good honest bat should," said Eamon sarcastically.
"Tractors… are foine beasts… Eamon. I'll… no' have you say a word against them. Anyway… that' no'… what I meant."
Eamon was by far the strongest flier amongst them. He had the wind to hold forth an argument and fly at the same time. "The Magh' must be genetic engineers of great skill. Look at the endless varieties of Maggot they produce. The humans have cruelly made it so that we cannot breed without their intervention. They hold the bat-folk in a vise. We need an ally that can free our bat-comrades from these human chains."
He certainly was full of wind, thought Bronstein. She wrinkled her pug-nose. By the smell of it he was getting some extra from that damned sauerkraut.
"The Maggots… have tried… to kill us," panted O'Niel.
Eamon showed long fangs. "They did but defend themselves against human imperialism, and against ourselves, why, we invaded their home. 'Tis but justifiable aggression and the conduct of honorable enemies."
Eamon pointed a wing. "Here is a cross tunnel. It must lead to the breeders. The eggs come from above. The Korozhet said that the breeders were the brains."
They flew into it. This tunnel was wide enough to fly through, but now they had to push against the air flow. It was none too easy. Bronstein was relieved when the tunnel opened into a big hollow space full of stanchions. They were in a ceiling full of hot, Maggot-scented air. It was of course largely dark, which didn't worry the bats. There were small pinpricks of light from below, however. O'Niel simply flopped. Bronstein was glad to do the same. The plump O'Niel dug into his pack and produced a small bottle.
"What are you doing with that daemon drink?" snapped Bronstein. Eamon had proceeded to one of the pinpricks of light some distance off. Let him. She needed a rest.
" 'Tis mine! 'Twas given to me by Doc. A foine feller that rat.. ."
"He killed Siobhan!" said Bronstein angrily.
O'Niel snorted. "Hwhat nonsense! Why I heard Doc myself, with his poor wits a-beggin' show how he'd tried to cry warning to her!"
"What?" Bronstein sat up. "That can't be true!"
O'Niel looked at her. "Oh, indade 'tis true, I was after being wonderin' hwhat was goin' on meself, when I saw him try. His wits were wanderin'. There'd be no fakin' of that. Now, would you like a drink?"
Eamon suddenly flapped over to them. "Come! Quickly!" His voice sounded very odd. Very, very odd indeed.
The vent was too narrow for them to squeeze through. But it did allow excellent vision to the three pairs of bat-eyes.
The huge chamber below was everything ordinary Maggotdom was not. Quilted and padded with rich fabrics. Well supplied with what were obviously electronic devices. Lit with lights, real lights, not Magh' lumifungus. Around a central pool lounged things which truly looked like real Maggots. Bloated and occasionally twitching. Tended by smaller scurrying Magh'.
There was one other unexpected occupant in the chamber. Seen from above, the Korozhet simply looked like a ball of red spines. The Magh' were a healthy distance off. "A prisoner!" whispered O'Niel.
Eamon's voice was as cold as ice. "Look on the ground next to the Korozhet."
There were two small scruffy bags on the ground in front of it. One was a batpack. Open, and with the contents scattered on the ground. The Korozhet poked through the debris as they watched.
"Siobhan's." Eamon's voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. "What you'd not be knowing, Michaela Bronstein, is that she was my lifemate."
"She told me, Eamon," said Bronstein, quietly. "She loved you, even if she could not abide your politics. She said you were the handsomest bat in all batdom."
"The other bag is Doc's," said O'Niel, in a choked voice.
There was silence. Then, eighty feet below them another scene enacted itself. They heard the Korozhet speak, in a language they should not have known. Yet obviously the language-coprocessor in their heads had no trouble with Korozhet. "I am hungry, client-species. I want fresh food."
Even hidden eighty feet above in the vent, the three bats all felt the compulsion to fetch it something to eat.
One of the little Magh' which was tending a huge-Maggot, detached itself. Watching from above it was obvious that the creature did not wish to approach the Korozhet. But it did.
The bats above became the first part of the human alliance to see a Korozhet kill-and live to tell the tale. They watched as the Korozhet humped its way onto the twitching victim.
Bronstein was the first to speak. She sounded if she was going to be sick. "The creature is still alive!"
O'Niel just scrabbled at the opening, trying to force his plump body through.
Eamon hauled him back. "No! You'll not fling your life away, O'Niel. Vengeance-bloody vengeance-I swear will be mine and mine alone. Treachery!"
"Enough!" snapped Bronstein. "Your vengeance is but a small thing. I'll not deny it to you. But we see the whole of the bat-folk betrayed here. Treachery, I agree. Treachery as black as… blood. An enslavement both vile evil and insidious. An enslavement of our very minds and wills. The bat-folk must know of this… treachery. And I swear our vengeance and hatred forever against the…"
The words dried in her throat. But she could not and would not be defeated by the whiles of soft-cyber bias. She could not proclaim hatred for Korozhet. So she would fight them stratagem for stratagem. "Crotchet." She spat out. She could say that. And she could hate and believe "Crotchets" capable of any vileness.
O'Niel nodded. "'Tis true for the rats too. They are as betrayed as we are."
Eamon stood up and shook his wings. "Yes. Even the rats! Even the humans. We must ally with them! Common cause against a greater evil."
If Bronstein had not still been so choked with anger she'd have fallen on her back, laughing. Who would have thought Eamon could ever even think of an alliance with humankind?
"O'Niel, I do believe I would be liking some of that brandy after all," said Bronstein, quietly.
"Indade. I'd be after having some meself," muttered Eamon.
The plump bat handed them the small bottle. "Drink up. We must go back to our comrades."
Eamon paused in the act of raising the bottle. "Indade. My fellow bats… forgive me that I ever thought to desert our comrades-in-arms. I was wrong."
Bronstein choked on her mouthful of vile brandy.
Eamon wiped himself fastidiously. "That was not called for, Michaela. Now I shall smell like a wino's hat."
"Indade, and a waste of a foine vintage," grumbled O'Niel.
Bronstein smiled. "I just wanted you to smell like our rat-allies. Come. O'Niel's right. Let's go back."
"We can't tell them what we have seen…" said O'Niel.
"And explain that we came to betray humans-to Chip and Ginny?" said Bronstein, distastefully. "No. Least said, soonest mended. We can fight and die bravely beside them instead."
"Amen to that!" said Eamon, fervently.
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 38:
There is just time for…
"WHERE THE HELL have you lot been?" demanded Chip, as the bats fluttered down from the ceiling. "If I didn't know you better, I'd have thought you'd flown off and left us."
He turned and began moving toward Ginny and the rats. "We need to have council-of-war, and that needs you, Bronstein. Otherwise these head-plastic-for-brains bastards expect me to make decisions."
If he'd been setting out to make the three bats look utterly hangdog and guilty, thought Bronstein, he couldn't have done a better job. Fortunately he'd looked across at Virginia, just then.
"You're a good leader, Chip," Bronstein protested.
Chip was hearing the words, not the tone. "Don't be crazy, Bronstein. Have you been drinking or something? I'm a grunt. Even Ginny is a better leader than me. When she's not being illogical about her damned Crotchet, that is."
"Indade, now, that's not true…" began Eamon tentatively.
"Don't you start defending the goddamn prickle-ball! I don't know what you've got into your heads about that fucking thing." Chip stopped, sniffed. "You have been drinking!"
"No. I meant I thought you had leadership skills," said the big bat, humbly.
Chip shook his head in amazement and raised his eyes to heaven. "You're as pissed as a newt, Eamon." They'd arrived at the huddle of rats, Ginny and the galago near the doorway.
The self-elected grunt announced in a voice of gloom: "Well, folks, we are in excrement deep and dark and dire. Really deep. Twenty feet over nostril. Deep enough to have Eamon getting so totally rat-assed pissed that he's claiming that humans make good leaders."
"That is an illogical contention," said Doc in a weak voice.
Melene put her tail protectively over him. "Now don't strain yourself. Rest, dearest."
Doc gazed rheumily at her. "I've died and gone to heaven." He choked. "That's philosophically awkward. I thought atheists went to hell, even if they'd been blown to bits. Will I disappear if I say to God I don't believe in him? I suppose it is bit late for the acquisition of religious convictions."
"He's got his wits back," said Fal.
Nym snorted. "Unfortunately."
"You leave him alone," said Melene, in voice that could cut glass.
"Logical extension of the perceptual facts say I cannot be dead and in heaven, despite Melene's most exquisite tail being wrapped around me, because I see Pistol's unbeauteous face. Aspects of heaven and hell belong in mutually exclusive…"
"Oh shut up, Doc. Have a drink. It'll fix you up." Fal held out a bottle.
"Indeed, I am in need of that… purely for its restorative properties." Feebly, Doc reached for the bottle.
Mel swatted the bottle away. "You're not having any of that until you feel better!"
Doc sat up hastily. "I'm feeling much better," he said, in a far more cheerful voice than his earlier die-away tones. "And I really, really, need a drink. My mouth does not taste good, Melene dearest."
Fal passed the bottle again. This time Melene made no attempt to stop him taking it. But the scholarly rat didn't take an immediate drink. Instead he passed it to Melene. "Have a drink, my dear."
Melene managed to look coy, which is quite an achievement for a rat. "I didn't know you cared, Pararattus."
"Doc, you Bartholomew boarpig! That's my bottle. Get your own bottle or candy!" Fal managed to snatch back the bottle, but not before Doc had had a pull at it.
Doc shook his head and said, mournfully: "I can't get my own bottle. The Korozhet took my pack."
"How can you say that?" demanded Doll, hands on her ratty hips.
Pararattus gave this rhetorical question serious consideration. "It is difficult. But I find if you consider the term Korozhet according to Plato's Forms… then it is quite possible to say that the Korozhet gassed me, and placed me on a pile of explosives. Then, while I lay between consciousness and unconsciousness, it killed Siobhan when she tried to come to the Korozhet's aid. She believed that it was helping me."
"Oh, nonsense!" piped Fal. "You got hit on the head and you were seeing things."
"Oft times this happens with too much heavy thinking," said Melene, gently. "Your brain's overheated. Too much blood in the brain. When you're feeling better methinks I have a wondrous way to redirect it." She twisted her tail around him.
Doc forgot philosophical contentions. "I'm really feeling just fine!"
"Still thinking the good Korozhet could have done that?" asked Melene fluttering an eyelash at a hypnotized Doc.
"Er." For a moment Doc wavered. But you don't get to be a rat-philosopher without guts. "Yes. It did."
Melene looked at him fondly. "It must have been a terrible blow on the head."
Bronstein wished like hell that she had some of those forms that this Plato must have filled in. Trying to talk around the soft-cyber was leaving her unaccustomedly tongue-tied.
"I'm surprised," said Ginny to Chip, forgetting that she wasn't ever going to speak to him again, "that you aren't supporting his delusions."
He shrugged. "What good would it do me? It doesn't make any difference now, anyway. We're trapped in here. The Maggots will eventually get in and kill us all. That is, unless the bats have found a way out."
Eamon assumed a heroic bat-pose. "We'll stand beside our good comrades! And bravely fight! Aye, and die too. What can we do more but vow to fight with heart, claw and fang?"
Pistol looked at the bat with amused tolerance. "Well, methinks we could have a baby Maggot barbecue, get drunk, maybe get lucky, and then, with any luck, run like hell."
Ginny couldn't help smiling. Bats and rats! "You didn't answer the question, Eamon. Did you find a way out of here?"
The big bat was silent.
Bronstein answered for him. "Yes. But not for you."
The silence spread like jelly.
Chip stood up. "Well. You lads had better get moving then. Can the rats do it? Or do you have to be able to fly?"
"Well, maybe with that cord," said O'Niel. " 'Tis a vertical shaft, to be sure. But a human wouldn't fit."
"And where do you come out at the end?" asked Virginia. She was stroking Fluff, who had started to shiver.
Eamon shrugged. "Indade, we have no idea. We didn't go all the way."
Chip snorted. "How like bats, eh, Fal? I wonder if that comes under the heading of rat-teasing."
He got no response from the plump rat, except for a slight twitch of a smile, which immediately disappeared. In fact, nobody said anything. So Chip continued. "Well, fortunately I grabbed that roll of cord. What's left of it is in that fertilizer bag. I'd guess there must be at least seventy yards left on the reel."
"Well, we could get the rats up to the shaft with that," said Bronstein slowly. "Then we're coming back."
O'Niel took a pull at his bottle and began to quaver in a mournful tenor, "I had four belfries and each one was a jewel…"
"Ah, well," said Fal. "I'm too heavy for that cord, really. The rest of you'd better get on with it."
"To Lucifer's privy with that idea," said Nym. "For myself, I can't see the point of being stuck at the bottom of a shaft. As well to be stuck here."
Rat after rat chimed in with perfectly ridiculous excuses not to leave. Doll said there wouldn't be room for their drink, and Melene claimed to be scared of heights. Pistol said he'd be gone like a shot, but Chip owed him a hundred cases of whiskey, and the minute he was out of sight the damned bilker would do something to get out of it.. . Die, or something equally careless. While this went on the three bats continued with their dirge-like renditions of bat-adapted revolutionary songs, until the last rat had finished.
Well, all the rats except Doc had finished.
The rat-philosopher stood up, a solicitous Melene holding his arm. "ENOUGH!" he said in a voice like thunder, loudly enough to impress even the galago. "I will have none of this sophistry and these silly excuses!"
"Well, we'll take you up to the first stage," said Bronstein.
Doc looked down his long nose at her. "I didn't say I was going. I just said I would have none of this pretense."
"I'm sorry guys. But you're all going." They hadn't heard Chip speak in that tone of voice before.
Doc looked at Chip. "We rats are not naturally brave, or loyal. We're fast, and we're good Maggot killers. But our loyalty can be earned. You've earned it. We won't leave you."
Chip found speaking difficult. "I'm grateful. And I would hate to leave you guys. Honest. I've… I've sort of forgotten that you aren't really human. Hell. I think you're… better than human." He paused. "But you must get out. You must. Ginny and I can't. Firstly, you must get back over the lines. All the Maggots in creation are around here, nowhere else. If you go right now and hide just inside the shield, some of you should manage to get out when it goes up. You bats especially. You should be able to tell our side so much. Stuff that'll keep grunts who are just like me and Gin-Dermott alive. And. .. you could tell them Doc's story. I'm not saying anyone will believe you. Just tell them."
He sighed. "Secondly, if you feel that way about leaving Ginny and me, we feel just as bad about you staying. Hey, Ginny?"
Behind her glasses her eyes sparkled with tears. "Yes. Go. Please. Please, please go. I couldn't bear it if any of you stayed. You all been my first ever real… friends. And Chip is right. So many sacrifices have been made to get us this far. For Phylla, Siobhan, and Behan's sake you must get back to the human side of the lines. For our sakes too. Don't let all of this be in vain. Please… dear friends."
There was another one of those jellylike silences.
Then Eamon said. "You're right, indade. We'll get the rats out, and then return to stand by you. Wing to shoulder, eh!"
Chip shook his head gently. "No, Eamon. You must go with them. Without you bats they'd have no chance. You couldn't abandon them while there was still hope, could you? With you, especially you, because you are biggest and bravest, they have some chance. We know we can trust you and rely on you."
The big bat promptly hid his wrinkled face in his wings.
The farewells were done. The bats had taken the line up to the ventilation hole.
Fluff had just clung to Virginia's neck, big eyed and miserable. Besides the contents of sixteen Molotov-cocktail bottles, every single rat except Doc had given Chip a bottle. The thought that the two of them would at least not have to die sober appeared to mean a great deal to Fal. Doc had made up for his lost alcohol with a snippet of philosophical thought that Chip would have found comforting and brilliant… if he'd understood one word in ten.
Finally, they went.
Eamon had fluttered down at the last, when the cord had already been pulled up. "If we do get back… we'll immortalize you in song. Batdom will never, never forget you."
They were left staring at the roof. Finally, Chip sighed, and drew the Solingen.
"What are you planning to do with that?" she asked, her voice a little tight.
"I dunno. See if I can sharpen it? Maybe I'll get a few more Maggots with it that way."
"What does it really matter?"
"I dunno. I couldn't just give up."
"Um." She spoke now in a very small voice. "I've got something to give to you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small shapeless lump of what might once have been silver paper. "Melene.. . gave me this to give to you." Her voice was almost inaudible.
Chip looked at it. "Er. Just what is it?"
She looked into his eyes. He saw there were tears starting in the corners of her eyes again. She sniffed. "It was her most precious possession. She'd… only ever had one before." Ginny's chin quivered. "It… it was a chocolate."
Chip stared at her, open mouthed.
Ginny sniffed determinedly. "Rats don't really understand. I told her, you… Uh… Anyway, she said I must give it to you. She insisted."
Chip took Ginny in his arms. "Quite a girl, that rat," he said reverently.
She sniffed and held tightly to his tunic. "She's the first girlfriend I've ever had. And she was the best I could wish to have. She said not to waste this time…"
"Funny, that's what Nym, Pistol and Doc said. Fal said I should get drunk too, but not too drunk."
Ginny gave a choke of laughter. "Do you know that was almost exactly what Doll said?"
Chip grinned at her. "I can well believe it. That's one wild, bad rat-girl, that!"
She looked at him with big serious eyes and said quietly, "I'm not a wild, bad girl, Chip." She looked down and then looked him straight in the eye. "I don't know what to do. I've never even been kissed before. I don't want die before I've even been kissed properly."
"But all you Sharehol-" Fortunately, this time he caught himself. "This is how you do that."
After some considerable time had passed, he managed to speak. "Seeing as we are going to die anyway, why don't we go ahead and take the rest of that rat advice?"
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Oh, yes. Oh, yes!"
He looked up. "Well. Let's move away from here a little. I wouldn't put it past Eamon to come back. He really wasn't happy about leaving. And he has a habit of doing his own thing."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 39:
The waiting.
THIS WAS ALWAYS the worst part. The waiting. Fitz hated it with a passion. The sky was definitely pale now. He looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. At first it had been… like going back to boarding school. What had really got to him was the smell. Somehow, perhaps because all vertebrates were once scent oriented, that stirred deeper and more evocative memories than anything else. In the dark, the smell had been especially noticeable. Mud, feet, urine, humanity, and the sharper animal scents of rats and bats, along with the smell of fear. Yes. Fear smelled.
But he'd come over the top. Out of the trenches, walking, with no enemy to fear. As long as he stayed between the flag-and-cord marked lines he was safe from those AP mines too.
Colonel Nygen had demanded an explanation during the drive. "It's simple, Colonel," said Fitz. "Part of the Magh' front line has been deserted. They've pulled all their troops back inside the shield to deal with a problem. Some of our MIAs have gone on the rampage in there."
The colonel was silent for a bit. "Are you sure?"
Fitz nodded. "Absolutely certain. Your precious Charlesworth had a request for support from sector Delta 355 when Colonel Abramovitz moved his men in about midnight. I checked with Lieutenant Guerra, your comm officer. He got his ass chewed for waking up the brigadier."
"Stupid bastard," Nygen said grimly. "No bloody wonder HQ sent you down." He turned his head. "Driver. You never heard me say that."
"Sah!" said the big Vat.
Nygen continued. "Good-but what I actually meant was about the MIAs. I mean, to pull the Magh off a whole sector… "
Fitz interrupted. "Colonel, we've been able to follow them with satellite tracking. They got hold of a vehicle and, heaven knows how, a hell of a lot of explosives. You won't believe how hard they've knocked that scorpiary."
The driver nearly had the ten-ton truck off the road. "Shit! You mean some of ours are alive on the wrong side of the line? Oh! Sorry, sir. Spoke out of turn, sir. Lost some friends, sir."
"If you don't mention speaking out of turn, I won't," said Fitz, dryly. "And don't get your hopes up for your friends. I don't know what the boys back there got into their heads, but they've tried a suicide mission. We think they're trying to blow the shield-generator."
"But you should have seen the explosions they pulled so far on the satellite pics," said Ariel enthusiastically.
Colonel Nygen's tone was sharp. "What does HQ think they're playing at? We're been dragged out in the small hours for this? Those MIAs are never going to succeed. That must surely be the most guarded installation…"
"Colonel, succeed or not, we've occupied their lines," Fitz snapped. "Do you know how often we've managed to do that in this war? Three times. And never across a whole sector."
"We'll never hold it," said Nygen sulkily.
Fitz ground his teeth. This sort of thinking was ingrained. "We're not going to try. When that force field comes up we're going to punch columns hard into their force-field area."
It had sounded convincing back then. Now, waiting in the predawn, he could have used some convincing himself. His bangstick rested against the invisible inviolate barrier. Human gunners had proved that the Magh only raised it about three feet. And on average for less than two minutes.
"Have you got any booze with you?" asked Ariel.
Bobby Van Klomp was no better at waiting. And there'd been nothing from the satellite crowd for over an hour now. He sighed and checked his gear one more time. His own guess was that the wheels would start to come off Fitzy's crazy plans anytime after six. Maybe earlier, but certainly not later than seven-thirty. He'd have his men in the air at six-thirty. Early, but not ridiculous enough for anyone to question. He could keep them out for as long as possible.
That would give Fitzy an extra hour of a small chance…
The only one who waited well was Henry M'Batha. The others had all given up waiting for more fireworks and trickled off to bed, or back to their stations. But Henry refused to believe that it was all over. His relief didn't come in until seven. And then Henry would find reasons to stay a while longer…
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 40:
Maybe not.
ROMANTIC PLACES ARE made thus by the people in them. This was not the windswept gritstone edge above the stark and wild Yorkshire moors of her dreams. But the towering stacks of Maggot-grub cells through which they wandered hand-in-hand made a magical, beautiful place too, thought Ginny. Even the relentless munching noises from the racks had an almost musical charm.
Chip had explored the area. Off on the far side were any number of little open Magh' adobe cells. It took them some time to get there, because they kept stopping to work on this kissing bit. At the last stop Chip had nearly decided that this was a good enough place anyway
…
Ginny looked at Chip. "This looks like the cell I was walled up in."
"Would you like to go somewhere else?" His hands were caressing her breasts, and his fingers were gently coming in to touch her nipples through her blouse, arousing her to the point where she wasn't thinking logically any more. Well, other than about how to get the material out of the way.
"Not if I'm here with you," she said, breathlessly, unfastening his shirt buttons, her fingers clumsy with haste.
And then, from the other side of the wall, someone said something. Both of them stopped, their hands in very compromising positions.
The voice from the other side of the wall spoke again.
Ginny's heart rose, despite wishing desperately that the interruption hadn't happened for another few, precious few, minutes. It wasn't a bat or a rat voice. It certainly wasn't Fluff's. Who else was there except the Professor? Well… it could be someone else, she supposed. "Er. Who's there?"
"Tell him to piss off," Chip whispered in her ear, through clenched teeth.
The reply they got could easily have been an excerpt from the Kama Sutra. Well, an alien version thereof, because whatever language that was, it wasn't human. And human voices didn't hit those sorts of notes. It could have been nearly anything because she didn't understand a word of it. She tried some Korozhet. She'd been amazed at how easy that had been to learn.
There was a silence. Then, in appallingly accented but clear Korozhet, the voice informed her that the Korozhet would get absolutely nothing out of it.
"We are not Korozhet," Ginny said hastily. That was a shocking idea, to be denied at all costs.
The appallingly accented Korozhet speaker asked, "Well, what are you then? Are you Magh'?"
"I understood two words. Korozhet and Magh'," said Chip. "What is it saying?"
"Um. It asked whether we were Magh'," Ginny translated.
"I'd like to know what the hell it is, even if it has the shittiest sense of timing in the entire universe." Chip's tone of voice was pure irritation.
She looked into his eyes, her mouth easing into that tiny almost anxious smile, revealing those slightly skew teeth. Hell, to make her smile he'd forgive anything. Chip sighed. "I suppose it is a Crotchet. Ask if it can get you out of here."
"Not without you." Her long fingers crumpled his shirt. She spouted a string of alien. It talked back.
"It says it is a prisoner too. Live larvae food like us. Its ship was tracking the Magh' slowship routes to offer alliance to whoever the Magh' were attacking this time."
Ginny was glad to have the language mystery cleared up. "So that is why you speak Korozhet. They are our allies. They also came to give us warning. We owe them our lives."
There a long silence. Then whatever was on the other side of the wall replied. "Yes. The Korozhet warned us too. They had some very useful war materials for sale. Very convenient. Very expensive."
"What's it say?" demanded Chip. She translated.
"I'll say!" Chip sounded as if he might almost forgive the alien for being there. Almost. "Ask it whether they got slowshields from them. I'm really suspicious about those, after Doc's comments. I'll bet they sold them soft-cyber stuff and not an FTL drive."
Ginny shook her head violently "I'm sure you're wrong! You just don't like the Korozhet! But I'll ask. I'm certain you're wrong!"
She asked.
The alien made a noise like steel pan being caressed with a castanet. "Apologies. That is just ticklish… I mean… funny. Yes, they sold us kinetic movement shields and tried to sell us `enhancement' cybernetics. Of course we would not buy such a crazy thing. No sentient is going to put alien-built logic-circuits in its head. And no, of course they didn't sell us an FTL drive!"
"So. What did he say?" demanded Chip.
Somewhat reluctantly, she told him.
"You can say that again. Well, at least we're not crazy enough to put soft-cybers into human heads. Ask it whether they managed to beat the Maggots."
Miserably, Ginny asked.
"Once we discovered that the Korozhet were passing all our military information to the Magh', it wasn't that hard," replied the alien voice.
"That's a lie!" shouted Ginny furiously, as soon as she finished translating. "The Korozhet saved our colony! The Magh' would have taken us by surprise and wiped us all out."
The creature on the other side of the wall sounded heated too. "The Korozhet farm wars. The Magh' are their animals."
"You LIE! You LIE!!!"
"We Jampad do not lie."
She turned instinctively to Chip. He held her gently and stroked her head. "What's wrong, Ginny?"
"It says… It says." She found the words impossible to get out. "It says it is a Jampad. They killed my parents." She turned on the wall and pounded it with her fists. "You murdered my parents you. .. monster. I hate you. Come out here and I'll kill you."
The creature on the other side of the wall appeared equally upset, if volume was any way to judge Jampad emotion.
"My ship-and my people only had the one FTL ship built-was destroyed! I saw how the Korozhet destroyed helpless lifepod after lifepod. My clan-kin are dead. My pod was damaged by their fire as I entered the atmosphere. I had no directional controls. I made a forced landing on the top of the Magh' force field. Then, when it opened, I fell through. I made the gesture of submission to the Magh'. I was brought here, for larvae food. I would hope that what you say is true. I would be delighted if my clan-kin had killed your silly kind. It would mean someone else survived. But they are all dead. Do you hear me. Dead. Who told you that the Jampad had killed your kin? Who? The stinking Korozhet told you. They lie. About everything!"
Virginia was now sobbing, her face pressed into Chip's shoulder. "There, Ginny. Don't talk to it any more," he said gently. Chip thumped on the wall with his fist. "You in there! I don't understand what you're saying, but I'll come in and beat your fucking brains out if you don't shut up and leave her alone."
He started guiding her away. "Come on, Ginny. Let's go somewhere else."
The creature on the other side of the wall didn't understand his words, despite Chip's faithful obedience to the First Law of Translation. Shout. It kept babbling something.
Ginny sniffed determinedly. "No, Chip. I've got tell it how wrong it is about the Korozhet." She turned and faced the wall again. "You. Jampad. There are a few things you should know. Firstly, we're not prisoners like you. We are trapped in this brood-chamber, but we're not walled up and we got here by fighting our way in. We killed many Magh'. And we did that with a brave Korozhet at our side. He was also a prisoner." And she briefly told it the story of how they had got there.
There was a long silence. Then it asked. "Where is this Korozhet now?"
"It got separated from us. At the last. Just before we were trapped in here," she said.
"Ah. So. How many did it kill with its killing spines and its gas spines?" asked the alien.
She was spared having to answer that one, by the sound of falling masonry.
The alien continued. "It sounds as if the Magh' have broken in. Well. Should you not be able to escape immediately, I suggest the gesture of submission. At home there are stories of several prisoners who managed to escape. Magh' are stupid. Live to fight another day."
"How do we do that?" she asked, curious despite her anger.
The alien jangled. "Do you have anterior limbs? If so lie, down on your backs. Do you have backs?"
"Yes."
"Then lie down on them and cross your anterior limbs above your head. Magh' are creatures of instinct. The lower castes are not really intelligent at all. The different nests communicate with gestures. Our xenobiologists think that is the gesture whereby one nest would accede to another in a territorial struggle. But beware of the Korozhet!"
Chip shook Virginia gently. "Ginny, the Maggots have busted in somewhere else. No explosions." He hugged her fiercely. "Sorry, kid. We're gonna die. Can we spare the talking and have a last kiss?"
She hugged him fiercely. "No, Chip, we must lie down."
Despite the situation, he grinned. "Haven't we left it a bit late for that now?"
She blushed. "Unfortunately. But no, that's not what I mean. The alien says if we lie down on our backs and cross our arms above our heads, that's the gesture of surrender."
Chip snorted. "Ha. I'll be dipped in shit first! I'll go out fighting."
She held him. "Please. The alien is right. We'll just get killed. If we pretend to surrender… we just might escape. It says its kind have, in the past. Please. For me."
"It's not honorable," he said stubbornly.
"Stop being so Batty!" She caressed his chest. "Think what… Doc would say."
He sighed. "All right, Ginny. We'll try it your way." He pulled the four-pound hammer from his belt. Pushed it into the ventilation hole which led into the alien's cell. "They'll probably search us, and take everything away from us. Tell him to break out if he can."
"My mate," she said in Korozhet, and she said it with pride, if not perfect truth, "gives you this tool to break out with."
The alien jangled. She figured the noise must be the equivalent of a sigh. "Thank you. Good luck, alien," it replied.
She smiled at Chip. "It said `good luck.' Lie down next to me, please. I can hear them coming."
"I should get invitations like that every day from beautiful girls." He lay down next to her, and then burrowed a hand into his pocket. He produced Melene's chocolate. "Can I offer you some candy? I'm afraid that's probably as near as we'll get to the rest of it," he said tenderly.
She tried to swallow away the lump in her throat. "How about if we shared it," she finally managed to croak.
It was very old chocolate. It had melted and reset a good few times. It had traveled a long way in a rat's pack. But still… it could have tasted of soap and it wouldn't have mattered. It was still the finest chocolate they were ever likely to eat.
A Magh' paused at the doorway. It looked at them and then went on, hastily. And then the one next came.
"It worked!" said Chip in tones of amazement. "They didn't just kill us."
Eric Flint
Rats, Bats amp; Vats
Chapter 41:
A walk in the park.
MAJOR FITZHUGH HAD underestimated the determination of General Cartup-Kreutzler. The general had wasted precious time trying to find the telephone, at last finding the downstairs instrument which didn't work… In the process of finding it, there had been this big vase… The general knew he was going to have to go on the offensive with his wife for breaking that. But it was her own fault for putting it there.
The general realized he had underestimated his wife's paranoia about their little country place being burgled. Theft was an increasing problem on Harmony And Reason, because of unruly Vats. The general was among those calling for harsher penalties. His wife Maria's contribution to the war on crime had been to spare no expense making their houses as thief-proof as possible. It hadn't stopped a burglary three weeks before. Among the things taken had been all the clothing in the house. So, Maria had reinforced her precautions with the finest building materials available…
The general rubbed his shoulder. He thought it might be broken. The front door still seemed remarkably intact.
"Are you all right, Stallion?" enquired Daisy from the darkness.
The general bit back an angry retort. He didn't have any trousers. A dark blue towel was the best he could do. His tunic top was soaked with whiskey, and his shoulder was damned sore. "Yes," he said in a grumpy voice that indicated the opposite. "And I'm going to crucify Fitzhugh. I'll try a chair."
"I'll get you one, Kreutzy-pie," she said sympathetically.
Minutes later he stood with the smashed remains of the chair, in front of a still obdurate door. A horrible thought trickled through his mind as he felt the velvety remains. "Where did you get this chair?" he choked.
"From the dining room. Do you want another one?"
In darkness of the hall, the general felt his face go white. Maria was going to kill him. He dropped the remains of the priceless Queen Anne chair as if it was burning hot. It was a matched set of three now…
A marble statue of Cupid finally proved harder than the door. The lock, however, was of excellent quality. The general had to smash panels out of the door itself to get out. Then he had to get Daisy through in her tight skirt and high heels. Attempting to suck splinters out of his hand, he went down to his staff car. At least the guards wouldn't be able to see that he didn't have any trousers on while he was driving.
When he saw the open hood, he nearly returned to the house in despair. But he was determined. "Come on. We'll have to walk. And I'm going to skin Fitzhugh alive!"
"But Kreutzy, we can't walk…"
"We've only got to walk to the gate. I'll get a car sent," he snapped.
"But you haven't any trousers!" she wailed.
He gritted his teeth. "I'll put that onto Major Fitzhugh's account, too. Come on. It's only about half a mile."
In his car, the general had never noticed the gentle gradient in the long curve of the driveway. It had been twenty years since he'd last walked half a mile. And his highly polished shoes were less than two days old.
Daisy was in a similar state. "My heels are killing me," she whined. "Isn't there a shorter way?"
He snapped his fingers. "You're right! We'll cut across the parkland. That'll be half the distance. It's all grass. I can walk barefoot."
At first it seemed like a brilliant strategy. Then the weather betrayed him. Cruelly. The moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds. The satellite center could have told him that there was a front on its way. In fact, they had told him, but the general had paid no attention. It hadn't concerned Fitz, either, because it wasn't heading towards the war zone.
The general discovered that a genteel stroll through the moonlit park had a become a nightmare obstacle course from hell. It was wall-to-wall tripping roots and snagging bushes, and he only had one free hand with a pair of shoes in it, as Daisy insisted on clutching the other hand. She was terrified of getting lost alone. So they were both lost together, instead.
He stubbed his bare toes on a rock and stumbled forward.