Rats, Bats and Vats rbav-1

by Eric Flint

  "WHY HAVE YOU TAKEN SO LONG TO GET HERE? AND NOW YOU DARE TO STOP

  FOR LOOTING! HOW DARE YOU?" The volume that the creature could muster would, must call the Maggots down on them.

  Bronstein took to her wings. As she swooped down on the noisy little thing, it leaped away. It was faster than she was, and that leap had taken it a good fifteen yards.

  It stood up on its hind legs, blew her a raspberry and then roared at her. She'd heard less noise coming out of a drill sergeant.

  "WHAT HAS TAKEN YOU STUPID, USELESS SOLDIERS SO LONG?! MY VERY

  IMPORTANT AND WONDERFUL MISTRESS IS QUITE SICK WITH WORRY-AND YOU ARE

  PLAYING AROUND, LOOTING! SANTA MARIA! SANTA THERESA! IS THERE NOT ONE

  REAL MALE AMONG YOU? NOT ONE HERO? MUST I DO IT ALL MYSELF?"

  Melene applauded. "He's dead sexy, isn't he?"

  "He'll be dead, never mind sexy, if I catch him," said Pistol grimly, mounting the pile of boxes.

  "And so masculine," said Phylla, lasciviously.

  "Handsome and well hung, into the bargain." Doll licked her rat-lips and leered at the little primate.

  "Effing Hell! I'm going to hang him, if he doesn't shut up." Fal began heaving himself up a clumsy stack of bales. "Come on, Nym. You take the right-hand side."

  Bronstein tried again. She'd give him "macho" when she caught him!

  The galago easily evaded the bat, and chittered mockingly at her from a pile of grain sacks that would have fed half a regiment. It opened its mouth to start bellowing again.

  "Will you be shutting up in here? There are about fifty Maggots coming this way!" Eamon shouted from where he was trying to squeeze through the rat-hole.

  The little creature paused in its bellowing, and seemed to consider this news. Then, in a hiss: "Only if you will agree to go and rescue my mistress. And take me to your human-in-charge!"

  The galago bounded away from Bronstein, and clung to the tiny knobbles on the wall with seeming ease. He was now out of reach of the rats. His long-fingered black hands were plainly very strong. They were surprisingly humanlike, those hands. "I will shout really loudly, really REALLY loudly, if you do not agree."

  "All right!" said Bronstein. "Just shut up."

  "Do you promise?" demanded the galago.

  "Yes. I promise. Now keep quiet! Eamon, did you kill that Maggot at the entry? Are they coming because of that?"

  Eamon struggled the rest of the way through the hole. "No, indade, it had finished its job and gone before we got there. But the Maggots seem to be waking up. Now hush!"

  They waited. Then Siobhan said, through the hole: "All clear. But we must be going. Quickly now! The Maggots are getting going."

  Bronstein nodded. "To be sure. Come, put some of those boxes in that bag. Take some of those concentrate bars, all of you. You too, little creature."

  The little creature raised itself up. "I am not your `little creature'! I am a galago, and I am a hidalgo. Treat me with respect, I warn you!"

  Bronstein did not take to this. "I don't care what or who you are. Carry food or go hungry."

  "I am no beast of burden," sneered the galago.

  Bronstein gave him a look that promised plain and fancy murder. Later. "You're a big mouth and a small brain. Carry food. We don't have any to spare."

  "Yeah, and we girls would hate you to lose your sexy figure," said Doll, lowering her lashes. "You might need all your strength."

  "And lots of stamina," added Phylla, winking.

  "That tail of his is just too, too gorgeous!" Melene hugged herself, quivering.

  "And those dreamy bedroom eyes!" husked Phylla throatily. "Wow!"

  The male rats were not enjoying this. Not even one tiny bit. The galago, on the other hand, was strutting his stuff. He was also gathering provisions.

  Of course, Doll was the first to make a move. "So what is your name, handsome? Heedalgo-go?"

  The galago took Doll's paw and bowed over it with an extravagant flourish of his long fluffy tail, before kissing it delicately. "You may call me Don Juan, senorita. My name is Don Juan el Magnifico de Gigantico de Immaculata Concepcion y Major de Todos Saavedra Quixote de la Mancha."

  "Ooh! I don't think I'll ever wash this paw again!" Doll said breathlessly.

  Melene looked on with longing. "Ooh! He fair makes my insides turn to jelly! So romantic!"

  "Huh. I'll turn him into jelly. Effing cream puff," muttered Pistol.

  ***

  As best they could, the rats hid their hole. Then they had to lug several bags of looted food back through the waking corridors of the Maggot-mound. It was no sinecure.

  "You've overfilled this thing," Fal moaned.

  Nym grunted. "Well, we can't exactly pour some out here, can we?"

  "Why not?" Fal was ready to suit action to the words.

  Nym tapped Fal's head with his tail. "Why not just leave a signpost for the Maggots, smooth-pate? Anyway you'll be the one complaining that you cannot compass the waste."

  Fal shook his head and tried to wrap his tail around his bulging belly. "I cannot even compass my own waist, but with this sweating I am forced to do, I'm fain to be melting away."

  "You've got a fair bit go still, Fal. Umph. And you're letting your corner down," said Nym.

  "Hey you, whatsisname… Don Gigolo, come give us a hand," said Fal, ever hopeful.

  A bat fluttered up. "Back. There are Maggots coming. Quickly, fools!"

  They hid. Scampered. Hid again. Dodged off down a new passage. And finally reached the down-rope.

  "What is this?" The galago eyed the rope with suspicion.

  "The effing way out, Don Gigolo." Fat Fal might have sounded grimmer than usual because he did not fancy it. Or perhaps he was just tired.

  The tiny galago strutted into Fal's personal space. "If you call me that again, I warn you, I shall challenge you to a duel."

  "I'm shakin'. I'm shakin'. Oh, Pistol, I'm tho thcared, big bad Don Gigolo will prong me."

  The galago was beside himself with fury. "Name your seconds, sir!"

  "You leave Don Juan alone. You bunch of big bullies. Don't pay any attention to them, DonJee, sweetie." Doll took him gently by the arm, showing Fal her teeth.

  "Will you be stopping this tomfoolery and tie those bags on so Chip can haul them up," hissed Eamon, "before I bite all of you. He's still got to haul you up."

  The galago paused. "Who is `Chip'?"

  "He's the human member of this circus," replied Bronstein.

  "There is a human up there? Then I will go. My mission, she brooks no delay. I am a galago of action." The little primate saluted the cluster of rat-girls and began to climb the rope with consummate ease.

  Phylla sighed. "He's sooo masterful!"

  Nym shook his head. "He's a complete ass."

  Bronstein rolled her eyes. "Siobhan, fly up and tell the silly creature not to go out past the last level. Chip's not expecting him. Chip'll probably turf him down again if he suddenly appears. Now, let's get these bags tied on."

  "We could have used the bigmouth. His hands are better for this sort of thing than my paws are."

  ***

  False dawn had faded the stars. Chip was a very nervous man by now. He couldn't leave his post, or the rats would be unable to get back up. On the other hand, Maggot constructors were already visible in the distance working on the tunnel-mound. Some of the Maggots were sightless, he knew, but some them weren't. It was getting lighter by the second, and he felt very exposed out here in the open, next to the mound. It had been a long, cold, anxious wait up here in the now disappearing darkness. The line began to thrum under his hand.

  What could that be? His imagination conjured a climbing-Maggot.

  His hand went to the Solingen. If he cut that line now… Splattermaggot. But he couldn't. What if he was wrong? He'd trap them down there. No. He'd have to deal with whatever monstrous thing was climbing as it came through the opening. He waited, nerves as tense as a cheese-slicer-wire.

  The littl
e door popped open. Chip lunged forward, knife first. He got a sudden view of cute, huge, dark eyes set in a tiny gray-white furry face. There was a squeak of terror and the face disappeared.

  "Dammo!" panted Siobhan. "You daft beast. Come back! Hell! Now I shall have to chase it. And it can climb so fast. It beat me flying up here. Did you have to frighten it out of a year's growth, Chip?"

  Siobhan fluttered away, back down into the mound. The three sharp tugs Chip had been awaiting came, and he began hauling. The thin line, with added weight, proved to be hell on the hands. He wrapped his jacket around them and went on slowly hauling. Next thing, the little cute-face came up again. In the improving light he could see that it was a lemur-like thing, complete with what must once have been a delicately embroidered red velvet waistcoat. It looked very, very wary. Siobhan was with it.

  "See, you idiot. He's a human, not a monster."

  Eric Flint

  Rats, Bats amp; Vats

  Chapter 17:

  The hero to the rescue!

  "EXPLAIN," SAID CHIP. Bronstein would have added, "and you'd better make it good,"' but Chip was feeling guilty. The little fellow looked more like some kid's soft toy than a problem. He'd frightened it into a wide-eyed silence because of his own nervousness. He might easily have killed it.

  "You are the commander of the rescue force?" The galago sounded doubtful.

  "Commander?" Chip shrugged. "Hell, we've never got around to having one of those. Bronstein is the highest ranking of us, but as a human I could claim I was in charge… if I was that stupid."

  "Better to make it my fault, to be sure," said the bat, from where she hung on the miraculously intact crystal light-fitting in the tasting room.

  "And as for being a rescue force," Fal picked his teeth, "belike what gave you that idea?"

  "Indade, we're in need of being rescued, but I don't see how or why it would happen," Eamon chipped in.

  The little creature's face crumpled. "You have not been sent to rescue my princess?"

  Chip shook his head. "We just got ourselves trapped behind the lines in the last push. We haven't been sent to rescue anyone."

  "Yeah. We'd just like to get out alive… Don Gigolo," said Fal, pausing in the very act of getting outside the contents of a bottle of wine.

  The big eyes sparkled dangerously. "I warned you before, you fat mouse."

  "Mouse?! MOUSE?! Who are you calling a mouse, you… you… whoreson caterpillar!" Fal tried to grab the galago, who leapt onto one of the wall-fittings.

  "That's enough!" Chip and Bronstein bellowed in unison.

  The galago didn't think so. "He insulted my honor!"

  Neither did Fal. "He called me a mouse! And he's trying to seduce our girls!"

  Phylla sneered. "Methinks you should grow up, Fal! We're not `your girls.' " There was a very dangerous edge to her voice.

  Chip sighed. "Here we are, refugees trapped in the middle of enemy territory, and you're calling each other names and fighting. Now will you both QUIT IT."

  "In heaven's name, just don't start the little one bellowing," said Bronstein wearily. "He has a louder voice than you have."

  The galago was practically hopping with fury. "Nobody calls Don Juan el Magnifico de Gigantico de Immaculata Concepcion Major de Todos y Saavedra Quixote de la Mancha a-a gigolo!"

  "Make me stop," swaggered Fal, his paunch wobbling and his tail doing a little wave.

  Chip sighed again. "If I have to, I will, Fal."

  "And if he doesn't, we will," said Doll. "Hey girls?"

  "And if all that fails, there is always me," added Bronstein.

  "You all gang up on me," whined Fal.

  "Okay, we all gang up on you," agreed Chip. "Now leave off calling him names and you-Don Whatsisname-you leave off calling fat Fal a mouse. He's an ugly rat and proud of it. Now tell us, Don, who did you think we were here to rescue?"

  "But of course I thought you had come to rescue my fair princess from the durance vile and clutches of the wicked, evil Magh'. I was wrong. But, of course, now you will volunteer bravely to do it. You will become heroes!"

  "Dream on," snorted Chip. "We're conscripted grunts, sunshine."

  "Methinks heroes are the humans with the gold bird-dropping on their shoulders. We just want to stay alive. And out of any volunteering." Fal's nose was plainly out of joint.

  "And anyway, we need no other humans," added Eamon. "The one we have is more than enough."

  The little galago rocked on his heels, furled its mobile delicate ears, and stared at them. In quite a different voice, with a sob lurking in it, he addressed himself directly to Chip, "But surely-senor!-you cannot leave a beautiful girl to die? Slowly and horribly, she will die! She will die without water or food, walled up, alone, desperate, in the darkness…"

  Chip looked at the Maggot-mound. Hell's teeth! He was no hero, damn it. Not one of these handsome devil-may-care idiots whom the Company spent like water to stop the Maggots. He was just an ordinary conscript grunt who kept a low profile and kept himself alive.

  "Bugger it…"

  "Then I will go back… by myself," interrupted the galago. There was both despair and determination in his voice.

  "Let me finish, will you?" grumbled Chip. "I was trying say-bugger it, I wouldn't leave a dog to die trapped down there. A… friend died like that. Buried."

  He sighed heavily. "I'll give it a go."

  "You, sir, are a hidalgo! A true knight! A Siegfried!"

  "I'm a sucker, never mind this Siegfried character. Or was he a sucker, too? Are you sure this girl's still alive?"

  "Oh indeed. I was fetching food for her when I met your-" The galago sneered and looked down his nose at animals taller than himself. "Brave companions."

  "You watch your mouth or I won't come along," snapped Nym.

  "You are coming, senor rat? You are one of great courage!"

  "Oh, we'll be there too," piped Melene. "We girls could hardly refuse to follow such a brave-and sexy-caballero."

  "Are you all loons?!" Fal was incredulous. "Here we've got away, safe, and you want to go back in again and risk your lives down there?"

  Phylla sniffed. "We got away with it once."

  "The contentions of this frail mortality in the light of absolute

  …"

  "Oh shut up," said Fal, sourly. "I suppose you're going too?"

  Doc pushed his wire pince-nez back on his snout. "Yes. It is not logical, but yes."

  Bronstein tapped her head with a wing-claw. "You're all crazy. Crazy. Loony. Mad. Insane. You're rats. RATS. Rats do not volunteer, ever."

  "Well, look at it this way," said Pistol, "We either go, or let that little Molly in the pooftah red jacket show us all up."

  "It's a very elegant waistcoat, Pistol," said Phylla, "and you're just jealous."

  "What, me?" Pistol gave her the full benefit of his eyepatch. "Jealous of a namby-pamby thing like that? Ha!"

  "Well," said Chip, getting to his feet. "I never thought I'd see the day that rats were crazier than bats. What the hell." He gave Bronstein and the other bats a stiff little bow. "It's been nice knowing you guys." To the rats: "I just want to get some stuff together from the workshop before we go."

  Bronstein looked amused. "To be sure, who said we weren't going with you?"

  "'Tis a foine and noble lost cause to die for!" O'Niel put in.

  "Wrap the bat-wing round me, boys…" Siobhan quavered.

  Fal turned to Eamon. "I can't stand you, and you can't stand me. I suppose we'll have to join them or I'm fated to be left here with you. But I'm going to stock up for the trip too. With brandy."

  ***

  Chip stood in the workshop, checking his gear. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, that he was putting off going underground again. "Flexible saw, I've got. I'll need to cut a bigger door. Rope I've got. That'll have to do for an anchor." Chip tossed his attempt with some rusty reinforcing rod and the vise on the pile. It wasn't going to win him any prizes for practical engineering
, but he might have gotten one for modern sculpture.

  "I better test this idea first, though." He picked up the backpack herbicide sprayer. "I'd back off, you lot, in case the whole thing goes whoof along with me."

  He pumped up the pressure. Gingerly, he lit Fal's zippo, held the flame up and then squeezed the trigger to his homemade flamethrower. He'd taken off the original spray pipe and replaced it with an eighteen-inch-long brass pipe, with the spray nozzle from the paint spray gun hammered into the end of it. He'd used a piece of wood to buffer the hammer, but, even so the nozzle was not quite what it used to be. It sprayed diesel rather skewly.

  Nothing happened. The mist of diesel drifted back toward him… nothing happened. It probably wasn't atomizing the stuff finely enough. He gave up.

  "We will need you to carry a couple of bags of stuff for us," said Bronstein, as Chip stared morosely at the failed flamethrower.

  "Sure. What?"

  "Two of those. Unless you can manage three or four." The bat pointed a wing at the bags of fertilizer.

  Chip shook his head. "For what, bat? It's fertilizer, for crying out loud."

  The bat ground her teeth audibly. "I know it is fertilizer, Connolly. It's ammonium nitrate. Don't you know anything about explosives?"

  Chip chuckled sourly. "Sure. I'm an experienced sous-chef. If you put an unpunctured squash into a microwave, it explodes."

  The bat hissed breath through its long teeth. "Listen. Just take it from me. I know explosives. Using our satchel-charges as detonators we can make that explode."

  "You listen, and just take it from me, Bronstein. Those bags probably weigh a hundred pounds each. I know heavy lifting. I'm not going to stagger down into the Maggot-tunnels carrying even one bag."

  "Half a bag?" she asked, her voice hopeful and wheedling, hardly like Bronstein at all.

  It made him feel guilty. "Half a bag split into two bags."

  "Are you sure that's all you can manage? We could do so much.. ."