Rats, Bats and Vats rbav-1

by Eric Flint

  Part of Chip's soul rose. This was a vision into a distant place, a place where a strange sun gleamed pale on an enchanted fungus-world.

  Pistol fanned his nose. "Whoreson. This place doesn't half pong. Phew!"

  "Come on, Chip!" yelled Bronstein. "Open her up! Maggots are coming along. We're probably driving through their sewage farm."

  Chip had little choice but to plow on through the delicate stems, wreaking havoc. But when he saw a spiral downramp, he took it without a second thought. Rats might have no poetry in their souls, but this was too much like destroying a cathedral. The downramp took them out onto a cross passage… and that to a clear tunnel heading inwards.

  "That place was so… so beautiful," said Ginny in a quiet voice. "Elfin. I don't know how something as horrible as the Magh' could come from a place like that."

  Chip gave her a glowing look which she missed because she was looking at the Korozhet. "They don't," the Crotchet said. "Those are rare plants from a world previously visited."

  The rest of this enlightenment was lost to them because they had arrived at the central well. In the middle of the well stood a Maggot tower. A Magh' adobe spike separated from the circles of incoming spiral tunnel arms by a gap sixty feet wide. Off to the right, two levels up, were the remains of a single bridge. The Magh' were busy destroying it, leaving a single spar to a doorway into the tower. Across the gap in the tower, workers were blocking the doorway, working with frantic haste.

  Looking at the four circles above them Chip realized this must have been the finest entertainment in all Maggotdom. The circles were solid Maggot. Actually, Maggot on top of Maggot. Heh. It was a good thing the Crotchet had told them they needed to go down to the base of the tower, or they might have tried to hack their way through that lot. And that would have been impossible.

  Eric Flint

  Rats, Bats amp; Vats

  Chapter 34:

  Calling out the Cavalry.

  "WE UPPED THE detection levels in the infrared. One of the guys from over on technical… uh, I hope you don't mind, but half the nightshift is watching…"

  "I had gathered," said Fitz dryly. "Go on, Henry."

  "Sorry, Major. This is just the first time anything exciting has ever happened. I mean, we all thought nobody ever actually looked at satellite data. Everybody is so pleased to be, well, involved in something useful. And it is so great seeing our guys really hit back for a change. You don't know what it has meant to the people here!"

  "Believe me, I do," said Fitz. "I just hope this doesn't land you all in trouble. Anyway, tell me-you've obviously tracked them a bit further?"

  "Yep. They haven't come out of the mound again, but they're still alive and heading inwards. With slow time-exposure infrared we've picked up what must have been a massive fire. Ambient temperature of outgoing air from vents went up by about fifteen degrees in spots. It looked like little flowers on the screen. It must have been one hell of a fire." Henry's delight was plain.

  Fitz understood the psychology. "Every time I think that must be all, these guys pull another rabbit out of the hat."

  "YESSS!"

  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 dru
m 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.