Rats, Bats and Vats rbav-1

by Eric Flint

  This was all too much for Fitz's gravity. There were men dying out there, sure, and a war to be won or lost. But walking in on the pompous ass being boffed by his bimbo-secretary, playing mount-the-( snort)-stallion, was truly priceless.

  "Sir. I'll withdraw for thirty seconds, to allow you time to assume a more dignified-ah, position. I've no desire to disturb your private life, but I need to talk to you about urgent military business." He almost managed not to smile.

  The red-faced general almost managed not to look at the telephone.

  Fitz unplugged it, and walked out with it. "Don't infuriate him," he hissed at Ariel.

  The rat just winked. Fitz sighed. She'd do it her way. She always did. He put the telephone unit down on the parquet floor and they went back into the room.

  Daisy had fled to the bathroom. The general had obviously given up his frantic search for his trousers. He was wrapped in the sheet, looking like a very irate Roman senator.

  "This had better be good, Major," he hissed.

  In a voice of perfect urbanity, Fitz replied. "Sir! I would not have dreamed of disturbing you for anything less than something of major importance. And-of course-your private life is of no relevance."

  "What is it? And why didn't you just call or call my second-in-command, General Fertzengu? In fact, why did you override the chain of command?" The general was fast working himself up into the fury of a man caught in a compromising position, with nowhere else but temper to turn to.

  Fitz looked down his long nose at the man. Then he realized he was doing just what he had asked Ariel not to do. He attempted to answer without any sign of irritation. "Firstly, sir, my orders are to report directly to you on matters of intelligence and not to attempt to influence junior officers. Those are your exact words, sir. Secondly, your 2 I.C. is out of town on a shooting trip and is not available, according to his household staff. Thirdly, I tried to call you. You have not drawn your pager, sir. I called your office. I called your home." A look of discomfort crossed the general's face. "I then called on Captain Hargreaves, sir. He provided me with this number, but the phone was not accepting calls. I had little alternative but to come here in person."

  The general ground his teeth audibly. "You had no call to burst in here. You should have waited…"

  Fitz lost it. "While you play your stupid philandering games, men are dying!"

  "And rats too," put in Ariel.

  It was perhaps not what he'd asked her to do, but it gave Conrad a second to cool.

  It hadn't done that for the general. "Don't you dare shout at me! I'll have you stripped of your rank and back in the trenches before you can say `knife.' And now get yourself and that animal out of my quarters. You're dismissed, Major. Dismissed! I will see you in my office at nine tomorrow, morning. Sharp."

  Inside Fitz something finally snapped. He had tried to work within the framework… He knew that there was now only one real course of action open to him. But he would have a last attempt. His voice was very cold, as it always was when he was really angry. "You'll listen to me now. I'll see you in your office, later. And then you can do your worst."

  A sensible man hearing that tone would have shut up. It even took a little bit of the bombast out of Carrot-up. "I've given you your orders, Major."

  "And I'll obey them. After I've finished, so you might as well let me make that quick. Now, I have interrupted your… rest, to tell you we have satellite information coming in that indicates that some of our men-"

  "And maybe rats, and probably bats," interrupted Ariel, dropping out of his pocket to the floor.

  "Yes, and possibly other troops, are behind enemy lines. They've attacked a scorpiary. The result is that on sector Delta 355 all the Magh' forces have been pulled back inside the force shield to deal with the insurgents. They're wreaking havoc in there, General. Three major explosion traces so far. They have some kind of vehicle and they're going through the scorpiary like a dose of salts. If they succeed in knocking out the power source for the force shield we must be ready to move in with speed, sir. The Magh' side of the line is undefended, sir. We should have whatever troops we can muster waiting in their earthworks. Even if the insurgents fail, which, of course, there is a good chance that they will…"

  The general stood up, nearly losing his toga. "You dared to disturb me with this rubbish? It's a complete and utter farradiddle! And even if it wasn't, I don't care if there are a handful of other-ranks blundering around behind the enemy lines. It won't change the war, Major. These `glamour' actions never do…"

  The pager in Fitz's pocket beebled insistently. The major calmly interrupted. "I must answer that, sir. It is either my office, or the satellite center." From the dressing table came the clatter of a bottle being knocked over. As he pulled the pager from his pocket, Fitz saw the general's tunic top being dowsed in expensive single malt.

  It was the satellite center. M'Batha didn't even wait for him to speak. He actually had to hold the pager away from his ear.

  "They've done it again! We measured a tongue of flame in excess of a hundred feet less than four minutes after we'd tracked them leaving the spot. They've gone back in, sir! Our boys are pounding the SHIT out of them!"

  Fitz smiled. There was more than one voice in the background. It sounded like M'Batha had half the tech-services on the slowship in there with him. Well. It wouldn't do any harm at this stage. "Thanks, Henry." He held his hand over the pager mike. "Satellite tracking, sir. Reporting another explosion." There was no way the general couldn't have heard anyway. Daisy, with her ear to the bathroom keyhole, could probably have heard. "Would you like to speak to them, sir? Confirm it for yourself?"

  General Cartup-Kreutzler wasn't buying it. "Pah. Do you think I don't recognize a put-up job. You think you can fool me! Satellite tracking is there to monitor the damned weather. Crops and things. They do not do this sort of thing. I do not know what you hoped to achieve by this… ridiculous performance, but you've failed. Failed, d'you hear? NOW GET OUT!"

  Fitz clicked the pager off. "Is that your last word, sir?"

  "Yes. Now GET OUT!"

  Fitz shrugged. He couldn't bring himself to salute. "Enjoy the rest of your… entertainment, sir. Come on, Ariel. Let's go."

  "We'll meet again, Carrot-up," said the rat cheerfully. She clambered up Fitz's leg, clutching a chocolate she'd just looted from a heart-shaped box on the dresser.

  As they walked out, Fitz carefully put his heel down on the phone and crushed it. Ariel scrambled out of his pocket again, pausing to wipe her chocolaty paws on the flap. "Methinks, I'll deal with the wires just outside the house. There might be another phone. You check the other doors. And see that you pick up his trousers on the way. They're at the foot of the stairs. You humans are as good as blind. Typical of that stupid bimbo to like-bleah-strawberry creams."

  Fitz smiled to himself. Rats, and Ariel in particular, were terrible rank-and-file soldiers. Nature's own samurai had far too much initiative. "I'll deal with the lights, too," Ariel added. "See you at the car."

  ***

  "Fuse box is just outside the portico," reported Ariel with satisfaction. "So that tradesmen don't have to come inside, and lower the tone of the place."

  "I know. I used to live like this," said Fitz grimly. "Convenient enough, of course. But it makes for easy sabotage."

  Ariel scrambled up into the fatigue pocket. Her pocket. Not two seconds later, her head popped out, beady eyes filled with baleful outrage. "What's this?" she demanded, holding up the offending object.

  Fitz smiled. "Called a distributor cap. Relax. We'll pitch it once we get off the grounds."

  "Oh." She studied the gadget. "Okay. As long as it makes Carrot-up's life miserable, I'll tolerate the encroachment."

  ***

  The guards at the gate saluted.

  "Quite a party your general's having back there," said Fitz, dryly. "I wouldn't disturb him if I were you. Or let anyone else in to disturb him. Or pay too much attention to the… shouting."


  "Can't really hear anything from here anyway, sir," said the corporal.

  One of the privates sniggered and then realized that the major wasn't laughing. "No, sir," he said, absolutely rigid. "Anyway, we won't see anyone until the household staff get in, sir. They always come on just after the general leaves."

  "Ah. And what time is that? I want to take up the length of your stint with your Major… diem Thien," said Fitz.

  "We only do four-hour stretches, sir. Whoever's on the last stint just covers until the general leaves. Just before eight. We only have to do about two a week, sir. It's not a bad billet," added the soldier hastily. He knew perfectly well that when officers catch flak they pass it down.

  "Compared to the front, it's heaven," agreed Fitz. "Just see your relief doesn't let anyone in-not anyone at all, understand? Tell them it is my specific orders, relayed from the general."

  "Yessir." They saluted, and Fitz drove off.

  "Oh dear," said Ariel. "You forgot to give them the keys."

  Fitz smiled in the darkness. "It's got his office key on it. I thought I'd have to ask you to climb in through the ducts, but I won't need to now."

  "You take away all my fun," she said. "Got any more food?"

  He pulled a ration bar from a pocket. He knew just how fast that metabolism was. "Here."

  "Yuck." She took it anyway. "You forgot to give him his trousers too."

  "I'm planning on wearing those," said Fitz.

  Ariel chuckled. Then she asked: "Why are we doing this? Not that I mind. But why?"

  "We?" said Fitz.

  "Methinks I should bite you on what's left of your balls," she said quietly.

  Fitz sighed. "Because if we never win… we never can. Maybe if I prove they can advance… They'll learn."

  "I doubt it," said Ariel.

  "I know," said Fitz quietly. "But I've reached point-non-plus. I'm sorry, Ariel, to have dragged you into this."

  She nuzzled him. "I love you." A moment later, remembering, she pitched the distributor cap out the window. "Even if you do let squatters move in on me."

  Eric Flint

  Rats, Bats amp; Vats

  Chapter 31:

  Constipative Innovation.

  THEY'D BROKEN OUT, and, this time with difficulty, broken in again. The space between the spiral arms was getting narrower and narrower. There just wasn't the sort of turning space a tractor needed. Then they'd knocked over the guards. And hastily turned down another cross tunnel.

  The bats and rats had had to hold off the Maggots while Chip hastily knocked holes. Ginny and the galago poured fertilizer and diesel and inserted the primacord, before clipping on the bat limpet. Chip adjusted it, one minute twenty second fuse…

  They were getting to be pretty fair sappers, with all the practice. Still, even the tiny HE bat-limpets and thick-cotton primacord were getting low. Chip had the can of floor-tile glue ready and bellowed for the rats and bats as soon as he clicked the limpet relay shut. Ginny, bright girl, was already up getting the tractor started. The Crotchet was holding forth at her again. Well, at least Chip didn't have to listen.

  Bats and rats hurried past, as Chip poured glue. Then he dropped the can and ran. A Maggot was coming and, besides, Nym had managed to get the tractor going. In the interest of the poor tractor he had to get back to it. Somebody tossed a Molotov past his ear.

  Panting, he made it to the stabilizer bar, hauled himself up onto the seat, and took over the driving. Even getting the tractor to move along faster was easier now.

  Behind them came the sweet sound of detonation.

  "Foine! More of the same?" asked O'Niel, a bottle in hand. Maybe he was just getting a Molotov ready.

  Chip smiled, his crooked teeth matching Ginny's. "Nope! Always more of something different. This is like the restaurant trade. Your customers get sick of the same meal again and again, no matter how good. So innovation is the name of the game. First, you bats 'ud do us a favor if you'd check on whether there are any live Maggots in our tunnel. If not, we can have a little rest."

  Siobhan fluttered up and touched a wing to Chip's head. "To be sure, the boy's brain's overheated."

  "Methinks, 'tis too little sex," sniffed Fal. He leered at Ginny. "Eh, girl?"

  Her dusty glasses twinkled at him. "Why, sir, he never gives me candy."

  It was a joke, but Chip detected just a touch of wistfulness under it all.

  "Or flowers, I suppose," added Melene, dryly.

  "Or even a drink," said Doll.

  "Ahem." Doc cleared his throat. "He's right, you know…"

  Pistol clapped. "I agree. I'd liefer get off this candy scale."

  Doc sighed. "Explain to him, Bronstein. The Maggots do not expect us to stop. So therefore we must."

  But Bronstein and Eamon had already flown back down the tunnel.

  They came back a bare minute later. "Indade," said Eamon cheerfully, "there are no sounds of digging. And 'tis awful conceited those few Maggots who got through were. They couldn't even defend themselves."

  "Conceited? Did they think they could beat you, Eamon?" asked Chip.

  "I think he means they were stuck-up," said Ginny. She had soft-cyber language experience on her side. "Now what?"

  Chip grinned. "R and R time. We give it… say five minutes. Then we go back out… the way we came in."

  He dug the GPS out of his pack. "If we're right about where we're going, we've got less than a mile to go."

  "Just the last little bit," she said. "Isn't that great news, Professor?"

  Chip answered, his voice serious now. "The last bit is going to be the worst. It'll be wall-to-wall Maggots in the inner part. I honestly never believed we'd even get this far. Eamon, I think you'd better wire up a limpet to the trailer. We might as well go out in blaze of glory."

  Eamon looked at him appraisingly. "Indade. You're thinking almost like a bat. You're an odd human, Connolly."

  Chip shrugged. "Where do you think all those odd ideas in your head came from, bat? Have you still got some of those distance-trigger mines left?"

  Eamon shook his head. "I've still got two," said Bronstein. "But you're wrong, Chip. Some of the words-and words color your thinking-I'll grant you, come from humans. But we are still bats at the core."

  "Indeed. It would be impossible to segregate the physiological and evolutionary from the implant…" Doc Pararattus had barely got started when Pistol, Nym, and even Melene, who usually listened, all said: "SHUT UP."

  Fal and Doll's voices were absent from the chorus. Chip decided it was a poor time to ask where they were.

  Doc sighed. "I don't suppose anyone brought any food, did they?"

  "The Maggot back there is full of glue," replied Eamon gloomily.

  Chip dug in his pack. Produced two bottles and three small tins with snaptops. "Sauerkraut. A couple of tins of smoked mussels in cottonseed oil and a bottle of Roll-mops. And I've got some biscuits."

  The condemned woman, man, rats and bats prepared to eat a hearty meal. Only the galago looked miserable. Chip looked at him. And dug deep in his pack. "Fruit, huh?"

  "Or insects or acacia gum, senor," said the galago wistfully.

  Chip pulled out a jar. "Here. Try these preserved green figs. They're traditionally served with fine cheese. But I can't oblige you there."

  The galago looked longingly at bottle. "Senor Chip, I love figs. But they have on the insides of me a most distressing effect."

  Chip handed him the jar. "Eat them. You probably won't be alive to worry about the aftereffects."

  They even saved a bit of food for out-of-breath Fal and Doll.

  "What happened to candy?" Both of them gave Chip a filthy look, before diving on the food.

  "Now let's get out of here." Suddenly Chip saw the weakness of his strategy. He had a good three hundred yards to reverse. He peered back up the tunnel. It was long and curved. "Goddamn stupid bastards. Why didn't they build it like a wheel with spokes? Nice straight spokes going to the middle, instead of this
damn spiral. Now I've got to reverse this trailer."

  Doc took up an oratory pose. "My hypothesis is that they are like us."

  That was a curious enough statement not to get him shouted down. "Methinks not even humans build in spirals," said Melene.

  "No, I mean they are trapped within an evolutionary and construction milieu. This was once a defensive structure."

  Chip edged the tractor backwards, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Bull, Doc. It's a disaster, defensively."

  "It is now, against us. But once it must have effectively channeled and split their foes. And insured that if an enemy did get into the tunnels the guard stations along the way would stop them. Note how easily and neatly the entries fall-every time. They were built to collapse. They were built as traps. I will bet you would find a keystone in each, that they do not need explosives. You see, explosives and the tractor alter the equation. Their previous foes did not have those."

  "It's a trap all right, to reverse out of. By the time we get out of here, even Maggots will have figured this out."

  "Hey Chip. Methinks you could just go forward and turn around," said Fal.

  "No space," said Chip shortly, putting the tractor into first. He was trying to get into a better position to reverse from.

  Fal chuckled. "Just keep going forward. There's a sort of chamber, a bit ahead, that Doll and I, um, found."

  "The candy store no doubt," snorted Chip.

  Even the rats had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well. It might have been our last chance."

  Chip noticed Virginia was looking at him very speculatively.

  ***

  Chip eyed the chamber. It might have looked big to the rats. "I can go in. But then I can't turn around."

  "Go past. Back the trailer in and then go out again forwards. Or go in forwards and then come out backing the trailer the other way," said Ginny.

  "You know a hell of a lot about it for someone who can't drive," said Chip sourly.

  "Just do it!" snapped Bronstein. "And be quick about it."