by Eric Flint
"Well, Kong," she said admiringly, with just a trace of regret. "I was looking for someone called 'Fluff.' He looks rather like you but wears red. The boss wants to see him. You haven't seen him anywhere, have you? And isn't he a bit better resourced than you are?"
"Ah. And who is this boss of yours, señorita?"
"Ol' Bluefur-bigteeth. He's the big cheese of the Ratafia."
According to the Cervantes in his download, "Ratafia" was a drink of some sort. And the bluefur sounded rather like the alien Fluff had seen in the chaos of his escape from that box.
"Why?" he asked warily. "A party of the cheese and wine? I thank you but not tonight. I am also called Fluff, it is true. But it is something of a headache I am having."
She chuckled. "Honey, misery acquaints rats with strange bedfellows. I doth not ask Ol' Bluefur-bigteeth why he wants you. And he doth not ask me why I pursue my vocation. I just know word is out to find you. Go on up. Tell him Sally Lunn sent you. In case there be a reward."
So, as there seemed no obvious way out, Fluff continued to climb. Fortunately the building was in the Nuevo-Art Deco style, which meant that there were many handholds. Fluff had a feeling that this Grand Brie was not going to be pleased with him for interfering in the banditry.
* * *
Actually, Ol' Bluefur-bigteeth was pleased to see him again. Well, once he had established that the waistcoat was detachable and that despite this one being blue, Fluff was the same creature that the alien had last encountered in the scorpiary.
Fluff had no trouble in enlisting his help for Virginia. Not when he explained—in Korozhet—that the evil enemy of both of them was behind her kidnapping.
"What do you mean 'the evil enemy of both of you'?" demanded Bluefur's assistant, the severed-tailed rat named Ariel.
"Well, señorita. It is this thing which she is called 'the Crotchet.' It is very like the good Korozhet. But it is an evil thing which would enslave us, by falsehoods and the lies in the soft-cyber."
Ariel blinked. "I can think of that idea. So, you were with Virginia Shaw, were you? Suppose you tell us the whole story, especially about these 'Crotchets.' I could probably talk to Van Klomp about your precious girlfriend."
The galago shook his head, furiously. "No. Virginia she say only to trust the rats or the bats who were with Chip. Especially Bronstein or Melene."
"As it happens, I know those rats and bats are supposed to be brought up here to testify in a case for Capra. I presume this is the case this 'Chip' is in, no?"
"Si, señorita. I need to tell them. I have the maps . . ."
"We'll put out the word," said Ariel. "Now. Tell me your story about the . . . Crotchets. Start from the beginning."
Chapter 35
"The pot is coming to a boil nicely, then," commented Sanjay Devi, looking out from her balcony at the magnificent view of the city it provided. Although, as always these days, her eyes were fixed on the one thing that marred that view—the pumpkin-shaped Korozhet ship that was almost as big as the remains of the old slowship which had founded the colony.
"Pumpkin soup," she said wryly. "Who would have thought a small dash of brash young lawyer would have been such a key ingredient in the recipe?"
"Not me, that's for sure," grumbled Liepsich. "Adding lawyer to a recipe is like pouring salt on ice cream." His eyes shifted sideways. "I'll grant the occasional exception. On occasion."
General Needford just looked bored. "Why is it that physicists think their piddly little particles are the most complex things in existence? From a legal standpoint, they're as boring as an introductory class in torts. So are physicists trying to make wisecracks."
His own eyes, even darker than Sanjay's, were also fixed on the Korozhet ship. "We may not be able to meet again in person. Not till it's over. So. Does all seem well to you? Well enough, at least."
Liepsich shrugged. "We're losing control, you know."
"Of course," said Sanjay. "That's the solution. If you weren't crippled by those physicist's blinders, you'd understand that. The general was asking if there were any problems."
She'd seen enough of that hated ship. Coming to the end, she didn't want to waste more precious time on it. Devi turned away and moved toward the open glass door leading into her house. "There are some, I think. Probably small ones, but who knows? I'll make us some tea."
Liepsich went back to grumbling. "I'd rather have coffee,"
"I know. I'll make us tea. You wouldn't like my coffee anyway."
"I know," Liepsich grumbled.
Chapter 36
Pre-trial Confinement, Officers subsection,
Military Police Headquarters.
A gray cell, 7' x 5' x 7' in its dimensions,
complete with prison bed and chamberpot.
With striped blanket on the bed (item FW304, officer issue).
"The idea that is worrying me most is that the soft-cyber units inside rat and bat heads have an inbuilt bias. I'm pretty sure you're right about it, too," said Fitz. "Ariel just slides away from that point. She won't concede that the Korozhet might be double-crossing us. And believe me, Mike, she's not stupid."
"Well, Liepsich says that it's a cast-iron certainty. He's also sure that there are some key programming phrases that trigger this behavior. With these rats and bats from my other case for him to investigate, he seems to be getting somewhere. That case is keeping me busy enough."
The attorney sighed. "Either Cartup-Kreutzler's SJA is a clever idiot, or he's doing this deliberately. There are holes you can drive a bus through in both of your cases, but they're superficially sound. Anyway. I came to MP headquarters to check out a few things, and seeing as the detention facility was close I just stopped by to check on you. The media are having a frenzy out there. To top it all, they've lost several miles of Sector Delta 355. The war correspondents and the ground commanders have made things white hot for Military HQ. There are open calls for you to come and take control of the sector. The front-line troops are apparently in a ferment about it. It was your action that got the war correspondents right down to the front line, and that's causing Military HQ headaches by the bucket. Now, I've got to go to Connolly. His case is making waves among the Vats, in a way that probably has the Special Branch ready to murder both of us."
"Be careful, Mike," warned Fitzhugh. "Most Shareholders think of Special Branch as a bunch of swaggering clowns, because they don't have much contact with them. And there's plenty of truth to that. Sometimes, the incompetence of Special Branch is mindboggling, not to mention the level of alcoholism in their ranks. But you ask any Vat—I have—and you'll get a very different picture of Special Branch. They're a bunch of thugs, Mike—brutal as all hell, when they think they can get away with it. Those bastards do commit murder, literally. Hell, they tried to kill me."
"I know. I defended you, remember? But right now I am altering my route home because I don't want to run into Lynne Stark and her reporter-commandos. They're thick as pea soup out there."
* * *
He was unsuccessful at avoiding the pea soup. Lynne Stark was waiting in ambush, in person. "Most of what I would like to say is sub-judiciae," he said, holding up his hands.
"I know. But I actually want to talk to you, off the record," said the head of INB. "Corporal Connolly saved the life of one of my staff. I've checked you out. He couldn't do much better. We're trying to wage a media war for him, obviously. We're waging a legal war already with the HAR Times on his behalf. They were ready to back down most humbly and expensively, when this lot blew up. Now, despite the fact that he has not a hope in hell of winning, Laverty of the Times has decided to stick to his guns. The charges pressed by myself, Connolly and Maxine are going through the process. Several other diners have also pressed charges against the chef. Henri-Pierre Escargot will be lucky to stay out of jail. He's out on bail at the moment and his lawyers are desperately seeking a deal. Any kind of deal. Advise us: What's going to help Connolly most?"
Mike Capra paused. "I'll have
to think about that, Ms. Stark. And take some advice. Maybe I need to talk to your lawyers about this. Who are they?"
"Fish and Johnstone."
Mike had to grin. "Only the stickiest, Ms. Stark. Treacle and wallpaper glue. You do know I used to work for the same partnership Jim was with before he went off on his own?"
"Who do you think told me you were over-clever and too honest for your own good? Now, the other matter is this Korozhet thing—especially this business of 'advisors.' We've been collating evidence for a massive exposé. We've got a fair amount already. I can push this forward if you like. I'd prefer not to, but if it's going to help inform opinion so you don't have to fight uphill, well, say the word."
Mike looked suspiciously at her. "Have you been talking to Liepsich?"
The woman smiled impishly. "No. But I will be. Thanks for the steer, Lieutenant."
* * *
Pre-trial Confinement, NCO section
Military Police Headquarters.
A grey cell, 7' x 5' x 7', complete
with prison bed and chamberpot.
With gray unstriped blanket on the bed
(item G465, NCO issue).
"Well, the good news is that we're a couple of specifications down, including the knife you're alleged to have stolen from your chef. The JAG advised them to withdraw that one. And the charges of assault on your chef . . . heh. It appears that the prosecution decided that the picture of a large chocolate cake being shoved into a pump-action shotgun might not secure a conviction. But—"
Lieutenant Capra drew a deep breath. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to say next. His attitude toward this Vat NCO had changed a great deal in the last few days. Anyone who could do what he had done with that bunch of unmanageable and reprobate animals deserved respect. Mike knew full well that he couldn't have gotten them to tie shoelaces, much less wreak havoc on the Magh'.
"You were right, Lance Corporal. I've received a couriered letter from Shaw's solicitors about the subpoena I had issued. It included a medical report from Drs. Thom and Neubacher. They say Virginia Shaw is medically unfit to attend the trial, and that duly authenticated depositions have already been taken from her by the prosecution."
There was a lot more to the letter, basically telling Mike that he could whistle Dixie in front a high court judge before he'd get as much as an interview with her. But there was no point in telling the boy that. "I've demanded copies of the depositions."
He took another deep breath. "Look. If we can validate the fact that Ms. Shaw has an implant—and there were rumors about why she wasn't seen with her parents until about a year ago—we can get the court to disregard her evidence. The mental competency of a witness . . ."
"Forget it," said the soldier curtly. "You even mention the subject and I'll tell the judge to change my plea to guilty. And I mean it. I'll not have Virginia mocked as brain damaged. Have you got that?" The stocky man's hands were pulled into fists. And the forearm and neck muscles bulged. "I'd rather they hanged me. Virginia has had enough of that from her parents. No one is ever going to do that to her again."
"Forget I ever mentioned it." It was very plain how this Vat felt about the colony's leading Shareholder. Mike wasn't looking forward to the moment when Connolly discovered that his precious Virginia was going to get married. Well, maybe the boy accepted that. Shareholders and Vats didn't mix.
Connolly walked away, plainly getting control over himself. He picked up a paper from his bed, sat down and waved it at Mike. "One of the MPs brought me a paper this morning. Seen the front page of the HAR Times?"
So he knew already. Yet now his voice was calm. "Take a look at it, Lieutenant."
Capra got up and walked over. The picture of Virginia Shaw putting on a flashy diamond whilst Talbot Cartup watched avuncularly was quite a conversation stopper.
"She really looks sick, doesn't she?" said Chip sarcastically.
But Mike's eyes were immediately drawn to something else in the photo. Capra hadn't become a success in his profession without an eye for detail. "That's the wrong hand."
"It is?" Chip stared. "I guess it is, now that you mention it. Wrong finger, too. Most people wouldn't notice."
"Talbot Cartup didn't. But I bet you a fair number of women do."
"Have you told Bronstein?"
Mike Capra had the feeling he was wading deeper than he wanted to be, here.
"Uh. Yes. She said to tell you not to worry." He didn't say that that statement worried him. A great deal, in fact.
But it appeared to relieve Connolly's mind. He sat back and relaxed. He no longer even seemed particularly interested in the case, but Capra pressed on.
"Look. Because they are using depositions and not witnesses in person, they can't impose the death penalty. Not on that charge, anyway. And there is appeal. They can't deny you an appeal, and they can't pretend that she's sick forever."
Connolly shook his head. "You really don't understand, do you? Once she's married to this galoot, Virginia is going to die. Well before any appeal."
But he seemed relaxed about that also. Except . . .
There was just a hint of coiled spring in the way he moved. Almost as if he somehow knew that action was coming, and he was ready for it. And he seemed to regard the court-martial proceedings as irrelevant. Before his last case, the man had been a mass of nerves. Now, it was as if the possibility of being sent down for life in prison was just another minor slippery stepping stone on the way to crossing a much bigger river.
Capra thought it over and decided that, in the end, he was a lawyer. Connolly's lawyer.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Nope, Your Honor, I didn't notice a single thing that might have led me to suspect that my client . . .
Mike decided to leave that thought unfinished. Some part of him almost shuddered, considering the possibilities. And another part of him finally realized just how utterly decrepit was the regime which the Shareholder system had wound up putting in power on Harmony and Reason. Only arrogant cretins would think that you could control a man like this just by putting him in a cell. Not if he linked up with his rats and bats, for sure. Together, they'd destroyed an entire Magh' scorpiary.
Chapter 37
A candy store in downtown George Bernard Shaw City.
"We have two nights," said Bronstein, "to find and free Virginia. And at this stage, we have not the least idea where to start and it is a large city. Do we ask these humans?"
"Pararattus and I have spoken of this," said Melene. "Alack. We think 'Tis not wise to allow the human Capra into our confidence. Aye, he will defend Chip, but he is not flexible enough to do things our way. Methinks we shall have to go scouting tonight in this city."
"Begorra. 'Tis a big place compared to boot camp," said O'Niel warily. "I suppose you would be after us flying around it?"
"That," said Eamon, "is what less fat bats do, normally."
Nym nodded. "We rats will go out a-scouting too. There are many scents on the breezes. We'll smell her out, belike."
Bronstein pinched her black lips together and considered. "Tonight we will all go scouting. If that fails, on the morrow we'll have to risk asking Capra, Liepsich—or Van Klomp if he comes to visit. I'd prefer Van Klomp. I am disposed to trust him."
"Liepsich too. He has a way with words," said O'Niel.
"But I know not what he speaks of, sometimes," admitted Melene. "Even Doc doth get confused."
So that night the bats and rats evaded the mechanisms that were intended to keep them in the holding quarters at HARIT—which were adequate for dumb beasts but not intelligent or talkative ones—and set out into the city.
* * *
" 'Tis a looting rat's Land of Milk and Honey," said Melene, looking in awe at the contents of the exclusive sweetshop.
"Say rather a land of chocolate and liquor," countered Doll. "Look, Melene. Candied violets!"
"Arrant thieves!" said a voice from above them.
Melene and Doll froze, and looke
d cautiously upward. Some seven rats looked down from an upper shelf. For the first time, they regretted parting company with the others. But they bared their fangs nonetheless. This was surely worth fighting for.
The strange rats bounded down, showing that they too were ready to fight.
"Hold!" snapped a supercilious rat from the rear. "You know the boss said no fighting."
"Spoilsport," muttered one of the rats. "And two pretty maids they are too. Couldn't you turn a blind eye, Pooh-Bah?"
"Oh, I could, if you insulted me with a sufficiently large bribe, but unfortunately the Lord High Archbishop is incorruptible. Come, you two rat-girls. Leave the merchandise and let's go and see the boss."
Outnumbered as they were, Melene and Doll decided to go along with the escorting rats. But Doll clung to her expensively gilded box of comfits. The rats were plainly familiar with their route, and they were not in the least perturbed by the elevator ride. Doll and Melene, on the other hand, found sitting on the roof of a human-transporting box in its dark shaft quite awe inspiring. To think of all the laborious steps avoided!
They got off just short of what was the absolute top. They had to climb the last few yards.
The room had once been a rooftop elevator mechanism housing and general junk store. It now had become what could only be described as an oddly shaped nest, elevated on a pile of boxes in one corner. There was a neatly arrayed supply of loot of all sorts, many varieties of bottles among them. The place smelled rather strongly of seafood. A small, slightly plump but heavily scarred and tailless rat was busy arranging the bottles. Something about her said: don't mess with me.
The Jampad leaned over the edge of its nest and surveyed them.
Melene twitched her nose. "You smell like the one we met in the Magh' scorpiary. Are you?" she asked in Korozhet.
It shook its head. "Yes." Then turned to Pooh-Bah. "These are the ones we sought. Ariel will take them to the little one."
