by Eric Flint
So, the transformed golf cart that was humanity's—using the term broadly—latest variation on the Trojan Horse, trundled forward. The golf cart bumped into the outer force field . . . And then the little golf cart was moving again. The Korozhet had relaxed the field to let them in.
Nym patted the wheel. "My culminating treasure that pleasures beyond measure. Feel the power!"
"I'd rather feel the long and the short of it," said Fat Fal. "Doll, I know 'tis crowded and time is short but I have some candy I stole . . ."
They bumped again, against the inner force field. This too was raised. The golf cart trundled up to the ramp, right under the bulk of the vast ship.
It began to roll up the ramp. The doors spiraled open—much the same way a camera-iris does, and the way the door into the Magh' brood-chamber had done. A small orange Korozhet appeared.
"Leave the human vehicle," he clacked. He had what Ginny recalled was a laser-pistol in his spines. He was flanked by the armored and horn-headed creatures that Darleth had identified as "Nerba." Stupid but good slaves, she'd said.
They also had some kind of weapon, a heavier riflelike device.
"You have a human," the Korozhet stated, in its own language. The alien's spiny sea-urchin shape had once inspired her with respect and deep affection. Now it was all that she could do not to heave.
Ginny had dismounted. Now she groveled. So did the others—except the two bats. They'd slipped down the far side of the golf-cart.
"Yes, master," said Virginia in Korozhet. "I am one of the implanted ones. We come from the Animal Research College." She gestured to the left, since the bats were working on the right. "There are many attackers coming. We have killed many out there. They are assembled and ready. I can show the master."
She'd moved further to the left and was pointing. The Nerba, and indeed the Korozhet, had followed her.
Gobbo had explained it to her. "Standard thief trick. You always look where someone is pointing." It worked. Even on radially symmetrical aliens.
"You shall show the higher instars," said the Korozhet. "They will direct fire onto them. Come. Strip. Place all the false integuments and other items in the hopper. Slaves do not wear such things."
There was no questioning that you were to be a slave. The programming in soft-cyber probably made it seem all right . . . well, it used to make it seem all right. Now, Ginny found it a little difficult to take off all her clothes, even though the only observers nearby were either aliens or rats and bats, not one of whom would be in the least bit aroused by her nude body.
But, she managed. They walked forward into the inner chamber of the starship. Obedient to the Korozhet orders, the rats had already off-loaded their gear into the hoppers. That was going to be an explosive hopper, shortly.
Some radio transmitters went in there, too. She hoped that everyone had clicked their timers. Others . . . well, Liepsich had expended precious old Earth resources. The transmitter attached to her glasses didn't even have metal in it. It didn't have much range either. She had another in her hair.
Ginny was terribly self-conscious about her nudity; which, leaving aside anything else, left her feeling very defenseless. The ship had at least two thousand Korozhet in it, by Darleth's estimate, and many thousands of soft-cyber implanted loyal slaves. If the transmitters were discovered, or didn't work, then they faced awful odds and they were weaponless. The Korozhet had laser weapons. The devices the Nerba held were possibly a smaller version of the paralyzer that had apparently been used on Fitzhugh. A very popular weapon with slavers, for obvious reasons. Dead livestock were worthless.
"Put the device on your face into the hopper."
Obediently, she moved towards the hopper. "I cannot see without them, master."
"Keep it, then. We normally eliminate damaged slaves but we need some for putting down these rebels."
The inner iris opened.
"There are many more implanted ones detected. Thousands come," said a Korozhet inside. "We cannot bring all into the ship. They must be deployed to deal with the humans. These too."
* * *
Chip applied something only a Vat would know. If you are carrying a bucket, even an alien bucket, full of something smelly, very few people will assume you have no reason to carry it. Or to take it anywhere.
Even here, a slop bucket was an amazing disguise. The slaves moved pretty well anywhere, anyway. There were always trivial manual tasks to be done, and the ship was in something of an uproar. Thinking careful thoughts about his most distracting subject—Ginny—Chip moved inwards, to the very center of the ship's power plant.
At last he was next to what he was sure was the force-field generator.
There was quite a complex control panel. A Korozhet operator was moving his spikes over it. He had parted with some of the indigestible remains of his last victim onto the floor. Chip humbly began to clean up, studying the works, steeling himself.
If his plan failed, he was going to be killed. If it didn't fail . . . he'd probably be killed anyway. It was no use just switching it off temporarily.
The Korozhet got onto its spikes and ambulated across to some instruments. Chip braced himself. Trying his utmost, he managed to move toward the panel. But he felt like someone stuck in jelly.
* * *
Just inside the inner iris, Virginia adjusted her glasses.
* * *
Suddenly, Chip could move freely again. He ripped the cover off the control panel and emptied the bucket's contents onto the works. Then he hit it with the bucket for good measure. The shock arced him backwards.
But it must have done him the world of good. He had absolutely no trouble at all hitting the Korozhet with the five-sided bucket.
He started with the deadly spines, shattering them. Then, almost gleefully, he hammered the alien into a pulp. In fact, he made a dance out of the murderous business, swinging his pelvis with every blow of the bucket.
He also had no trouble picking up the laser gun from the smashed remains of the Korozhet, and, using a broken spine from the dead Third-instar to trigger it, expend a lot of its charge on several of the power cables.
In three shots. One for the money, two for the show—
A part of his mind—small part—was a little puzzled that he was still shaking his pelvis while he destroyed the control panel. Maybe it was because he hadn't seen Ginny in so long.
Chapter 54
In the corridors of the Korozhet ship: alien, metal,
and remarkably like corridors anywhere.
Watching from the vehicles under their earth-coated tinfoil and stuck-on shrubbery, Fitz had the pre-strike tension all over again. The waiting was always the worst. Once you got going and the adrenaline kicked in . . .
Of course, the assault might not happen at all. If the sacrifice of those rats and bats and the girl and her galago had been in vain—they'd pull back just as quietly as they came. Fitz peered at the tiny candy-striped vehicle standing in the ship's lightpool, again. Courage came in all shapes and sizes. But his task was to win this war. If this bold stroke failed, they'd reorganize and go on. And on, if need be.
Liepsich had provided a diffraction meter that indicated force-field states. Fitz watched it with one eye and the ship through the camouflage crack with the other. His driver sat with his finger on the keys. He hoped the vehicle started well from cold. They'd slowly pushed the vehicles forward from where they'd been towed to, with the pushers hiding themselves behind foil and earth shields. No fast moves, hopefully no infrared . . .
Seventy yards to cover. The young reporter he had for a driver claimed his car could do zero to sixty in 4.2 seconds. If that was too slow, the lasers would take them out before they reached safety under the belly of the ship. There might be weapons there, of course. If one of the shields came back on they'd splatter. And then they'd have to stop, and not be hit by the other vehicles. Then there was the question of the doorway. One of the paratroopers behind him had the triggers to the bat-mines t
hat would hopefully be placed on the door's works. After that . . . well.
No one knew. Not even Darleth, sitting behind him.
Why was it getting darker?
"It's a GO!"
Fuentes had been watching the diffraction meter, too. The sports car snarled into life. He floored it. The camouflage leapt away from the car as they hurtled toward the ship. Behind him, someone hit the bat-mine triggers.
It was a skidding halt . . . against candy-striped armor. But the one advantage of the convertible was that it had no roof in the way. The five of them bailed out over the top.
Even at a full sprint, Fitz could not keep up with the blue furred one. Or the shower of bats dropping in with folded wings.
"Begorra! I'd be thinkin' you timed this with military precision," said one huge bat, who nearly knocked him flailing off the ramp. "Come on, up the ramp, primate! Faster! Kill Korozhet!"
The air was almost solid with bats, now. "They're allies!" yelled Fitz, back at his squads, arriving with squealing tires and bumps. "Up!"
But the bat-mines that Bronstein and O'Niel had placed had not been effective enough. The iris door was still closed.
"Shamus Plekhanov!" bellowed the bat. "This needs you."
A bat with two bandoliers flapped out of the mass. "Eamon, now. You'd not be implyin' I'm a better sapper than you?"
"I'm saying that Longfang O'Niel said that you were the best in the Red Wing, and he places his shots better than I do. Besides, it's shaped charges we'll be needing and the Battybund don't use them as much as you do. 'Tis a bit sissy, we think."
The bat snorted, but went to work, motioning them all back.
* * *
Meanwhile, inside the ship:
The first reaction that Virginia got to "adjusting" her glasses, was that the huge Nerba guard dropped his weapon.
"Pick up!" snapped the Korozhet.
But the huge horned creature did not pick up the weapon. Instead, it lowered its head and backed off. Ginny noted that the other Nerba was looking at its weapon. The huge creature seemed puzzled, although it was hard to tell.
"I ordered you to pick it up."
Ginny had spent time with the rats. She could see lips sliding back over those red-tipped teeth. Not that those teeth, so deadly against Magh' or humans, would be adequate dealing with spiny-armored Korozhet. The creatures were fragile, true, when struck with heavy blunt objects—but rat-fangs were stilettos, not broadswords.
The creatures had toxic darts and secreted nitrous oxide, too. Back in the hopper, Ginny had a gas mask. It was at least thirty yards away.
The Nerba retreated again, until it was against the wall of the passage. It made an odd mooing sound.
The Korozhet shot it. Casually, it seemed to Ginny. Apparently, that was standard procedure with a disobedient slave.
Then the lights went out, just as the second Nerba lowered its head and charged the Korozhet.
What were obviously smaller emergency lights came on. A sound like a mixture between a rattle and a severe case of gas erupted from speakers.
The Nerba hadn't survived his impact with the Korozhet. But the Korozhet hadn't survived either.
"Get our kit and let's move in!"
The bats were already swooping on the hopper, snatching bat-mines. Ginny grabbed for the chainsaw first. Then clothes. The skirt she just stepped into, and she decided that the blouse buttons could wait. A girl had to dress slightly for success, even if a chainsaw was the finest in fashion accessories.
Behind her she heard a dull thump.
"Bat-mines. Too early, methinks. Let's move out, Ginny."
"Ay, señorita. Let's she roll and rock!" Fluff was back on his habitual post on her shoulder.
They headed into the unknown.
* * *
But they hadn't got more than five hundred yards into the ship, when the strains of "The Rifles of the BRA" overtook them. Bats flooded overhead in an almost solid stream, singing.
"I think we have air superiority," said Doc.
"If they've all been at the sauerkraut, we'll have wind superiority, too," said Melene, twitching her nose.
"Well, I think their singing needs the right instrumental accompaniment." Ginny gunned her chainsaw.
Fal took a swig from his bottle. "And get to some of these fretful porpentines, before the bats kill them all."
* * *
Down in the energy section, with an enemy laser gun and heavy alien bucket, Chip Connolly prepared to go down fighting. Or at least breaking things.
And then he heard it. A far-away sound. And never was bad singing so sweet.
"Charlie Connolly goes to die on the bridge o' toon today . . ."
If that wasn't tuneless O'Niel leading that singing, then he was Henri-Pierre's mustachioed mummy. Grinning like a madman, swinging his bucket, Chip advanced towards the noise.
"Oh I've been a wild rover for many's the year . . . and I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer. . . ."
Bats swept in, in a triumphal flutter. "Connolly, you inartistic dog! You've ruined O'Niel's song by not being dead," said Bronstein, her claws digging into his shoulder.
Then, panting, Ginny ran in. The chainsaw fell to the floor, as did the bucket.
" 'Tis quick work," said Pistol. "Undressed already, and Ginny half so, you puffed and reckless libertines."
"I've got a chainsaw," said Ginny, picking it up, but keeping one hand on Chip. "No one tells a lady she is undressed while she still has her chainsaw."
"And I have a bucket. No man is undressed with a bucket." Chip brushed away Ginny's tears with a caressing hand. "I don't even have a handkerchief . . ." He touched his temple. "But I do have a soft-cyber implant, Ginny. They made me a slave, and I betrayed all of you. But I did manage to break their force field."
"Begorra!" said O'Niel in a fine imitation of disgust. "Why did I bother to come? No job to do, no drink, no strawberry yogurt—and me fine lyrics are purely ruin't."
"Just burning love," said Pistol. "Thank you very much."
* * *
Fitz, Van Klomp and the rest of his force were beginning to feel like spare parts. The bats were going through the ship like a flying tide. Even the various aliens they encountered were too busy trying to kill Korozhet to pay much attention to the newcomers.
Then it started becoming apparent that some of the Korozhet were releasing their nitrous oxide. Sheer speed and unexpectedness, particularly of the bats, had ensured that many of the Korozhet had died first. So had thousands of the slaves turning on the Korozhet—a totally unexpected thing. But, in the upper parts of the great globular ship, there were a few Korozhet who had had enough time to try and fight back. And nitrous oxide had incapacitated enough of their prey in the past.
So, now, human soldiers with gas masks from the local chemical plant finally had a job to do. Part of that job was getting the alien ex-slaves out of the ship. Now that the ship was at least partially disabled, Fitz had sent a radio op back to the entry portal calling hundreds more human soldiers in, along with medical teams. Troops without slowshields—but with shotguns—soon began proving that human buckshot was superior to harpoons.
Fitz met a recognizable alien in the upper passages. It was the blue furred one, Darleth. She'd said that she could hold her breath for up to twenty minutes, as an aquatic species. The Jampad's homeworld was apparently vastly tidal, and thus Jampad needed to be able to both swim and climb with equal facility.
Only this wasn't her. It wasn't the same blue, and it was wider.
"High-spine chamber up here." It pointed with one of its arms. "Have many lasers inside."
The gas got to it finally, and it staggered.
"Abbas. Simmons. Carry it out and get it to the medical teams."
The Jampad had known about the gas. It had made a deliberate decision to tell them about the danger ahead. Fitz had already come to trust one Jampad; he decided to trust another.
They'd worked out how to work the spiral iris doors by
now. Opening it slightly, while lying on the floor, Fitz gave the occupants inside a grenade. With the hiss of laser fire coming through the door, his soldiers followed it up with two more. And then another two for luck.
* * *
The High-spines inside the chamber would never see another instar. The paratroopers opened the iris further, and filled the room with buckshot.
After that it was little more than mopping up.
* * *
Half an hour later Fitz came out of the ship. Van Klomp was already there, using his loud voice in lieu of translation skills. So far there were just car-lights lighting up the scene, but someone was stringing wire and setting up spotlights. He saw Fitz on the ramp.
"Ja, boykie. We're moving them back into town. Away from the ship, with a bat to each squad of ten as a translator." He pointed to the alien forms and oxygen tanks. "Just as soon as the medics say they're okay. You should hear the band-aid mechanics bitch about alien physiology, and trying to stop those dumb big things with the horns from going back into the ship as soon as they can stand. We thought we'd have to shoot them to stop them until one of the teams brought a bunch of cute fluffy puppy things out of the ship. You've never seen such a fuss."
He took a deep breath. "Fitzy, that blue furred fellow. The one Sergeant Abbas says you found and told you there was some sort of ambush waiting. He showed us something."
Conrad Fitzhugh was uneasy. Van Klomp did not speak quietly unless he was deadly earnest. "Tell me, Bobby."
"Ariel's body. He was told to dump it in the incinerator. He didn't. I've got it over behind the aid station."
Tears had already started in Fitz's eyes. But his voice remained steady. "Take me to it, Bobby. I need to see her. I need . . . to pay my last respects. I never got that chance."
Van Klomp put a large hand on Fitz's shoulder. "Better not, Fitzy. She's been badly mutilated. Her head . . . down to about mid-chest has been split. Yetteth, that's the Jampad-fellow, says they do that to take out the soft-cyber. We'll bury her with honor. But best you remember her as she once was."
