VIRGINIA WAS GAZING out at the high ridges of the Magh' mound that hemmed them. Chip, standing a few feet behind and to the side, studied her for a moment. He was beginning to realize that the girl—young woman—had the sort of looks that grew on you. On him, anyway. Now that she was not frantic with fear, her face was more very-pretty-elfin than gaunt. And while her figure was tall and slender, it was most definitely female. Almost uncomfortably so, in fact. He did not need to get himself—
She must have become aware of him watching her. She turned to him. "Last night I thought we were out. But we're just as trapped, aren't we? Trapped between those." She pointed at the mounds.
"So we go over the top," he said, with an easiness he did not feel. "I've been over the top of that one. Or maybe we'll go through. We've been through, too. Thirty-two more humps and we're at the sea."
"The sea!" She seemed aglow at very idea.
"Yep."
"That's so romantic!" she said, dreamily. "The sea . . . and freedom!"
He realized she had a hand on his arm and was staring into his eyes, her head slightly tilted to one side. He reacted like a man who has just found a rattlesnake in his path. He backed off, and kept backing. "Uh. Got stuff to do."
He retreated to the workshop, where he found Nym fiddling and Doc contemplative. He was relieved it wasn't Fal. But Nym was good value, for a rat.
"I've got a problem, guys."
Doc nodded. "The human condition is problematic."
"It's worse than a human problem, Doc," said Chip, despondently. "It's a woman problem."
Doc squinted at him. "Preposterous. How can there be a problem between thesis and antithesis? Simply resolve it with a synthesis, which in this case is obviously—"
Chip scowled fiercely. "Thanks, Doc! With friends like you, I don't need enemies." He turned to the other rat in the workshop. "Nym, that woman is driving me crazy!"
The big rat looked up from his oily fiddling. "They like to tease, to fain disinterest. But she fancies you, Chip."
"Disinterest!" Chip buried his head in his hands. "She can't keep her effing hands off me. She paws at me."
Nym was distinctly puzzled. "Well, what is the problem then? If it's lessons you need, Fal's your man. . . . Mind you, I'd have thought that Dermott gave you sufficient instructions. She used to call them out loud enough for the rest of us to appreciate."
"Will you leave Dermott out of this?" Chip's voice had a dangerous edge to it.
"Surely. I did but mention her gentle instruction." The rat grinned.
"I don't know why I bothered to speak to you," muttered Chip, turning to leave.
The rat took his sleeve with an oily paw. He pointed with his nose to an oilcan-armchair. "Tell us, Chip."
"You wouldn't understand."
"You'd be surprised," said Nym.
That was true enough. He had been surprised by Nym before. "Okay. Well, do you understand the concept `fraternizing with the enemy'?"
Nym looked at him quizzically. "Giving the naked weapon to a Maggot?"
Chip smothered a snort. "That . . . wasn't quite what I meant. Um. But say I was doing that. You'd say I was a traitor, right?"
The big rat snorted. "I'd say it was a dead Maggot, or you're in grave danger of . . . coming short." Nym clutched reflexively. Doc grinned.
"Besides, I have seen excretory orifices on them but no reproductive organs," said Doc, pushing the pince-nez back on his nose.
"You haven't gone strange on us and want to bugger Maggots have you?" Nym asked warily. "We haven't been under shell-fire for days. What does this have to do with Dermott or that Virginia Shaw?"
"As far as I'm concerned, the enemy aren't just the Maggots," said Chip fiercely. "Look at it this way. Why the hell do you think we're conscripts? A good kid like Sandy Dermott is dead, instead of back at school, but `Miss Virginia Shaw' is living it up in her mansion, eating at Chez Henri-Pierre, having a good life? We're cloned cannon fodder to the goddamn Shareholders. And then she has the cheek to say, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth: `Anyone can become a Shareholder.' Oh, yeah. I can buy a basic share as soon as I'm debt free. All I've got to do is pay off the cost of turning me from a tissue scrap to human, and of educating me into cannon fodder to die for them. Which would take me the rest of my life, even assuming I don't get killed in the war."
"You could be worse off. Such conditions are relative. You could be a rat, created for a war in the Company laboratories." Doc stretched himself out, leaning against the tractor's wheel.
Chip thought about this. "And how do you feel about that?"
"Philosophical. If there was no war there'd be no rats . . . or bats. But that is the nature of we short-lived creatures. Though the bats find it a bone of sore contention."
Nym got back to the point. "So if I understand this right, you don't want to prong this wench because she's Company."
"Yep."
The big rat grinned. "But you do, because you're as lecherous as a monkey."
Chip looked embarrassed. "Uh. I'm not used to being chased. Hell, I'm not much to look at. I've never had to fight a girl off before."
Nym wrinkled his forehead. "So why do so? 'Tis not hurt you'll be doing to yourself."
Chip blinked. "Because . . . it'd be treachery to Dermott. Besides, if we ever get out of here, the Shareholder's dear family would see me going over the top, on my own, at a ten thousand Maggot charge, just for touching her. She doesn't understand. To her it's just a game. Something to idle away the time. Nothing to it but a quick bit of amusement."
Nym scratched his long nose. "Your Dermott is dead. And you humans make life hard for yourselves by not having a rattish outlook on life."
She was puzzled by his reactions. She knew she wasn't very pretty, but there wasn't a lot of competition. And he was the most heroic man she'd ever met. Not that she'd been allowed to meet many men . . .
But Virginia had decided. He was her beau ideal! She'd have to make him notice her, at least. He'd called her gutless and ineffectual. Well, she'd show him that she wasn't. He seemed to like that bossy bat. So, if that was what he wanted . . .
She went inside and found several bleary-eyed rats and bats eating. "Right, let's get moving. We've got a long way to go before we reach the sea. Bat, I want you to organize the food into manageable parcels."
The silence was absolute. The array of bats and rats looked at her. She'd assumed Chip must be in the alcove. Now she realized that he wasn't.
Fal leaned back and put his paws behind his head. He yawned artistically. "Pistol, tell her I am a trifle deaf."
"I would rather tell her to shog off, Fal." The one-eyed rat put his feet up on the table. "Who do you think you are, wench?"
"I am Virginia Shaw, and I'm a human, rat. And you've got to listen!"
"Oh! Hear that, Fal?" demanded Pistol. "She's a Virgin Shore. Her face hasn't had boat keels up and down it, after all. It must look like that naturally."
Fal snorted. "Are you Shaw she's a Virgin? Mind you, with that homely face and bad complexion . . ."
"And she reckons she's human. Couldn't be!" Pistol sniggered.
This was all going badly wrong. "You'll do as I tell you!"
"She's got nearly as loud a voice as the Duke of Plazo-Toro," said Fal, with no obvious sign of cooperation. "So where is your ridiculous little fanny-licker, Virgin-ear?"
Pistol laughed coarsely. "Heh. When he's on top, it must be Ridiculous on the Virgin, instead of Virgin' on the Ridiculous!"
Virginia felt herself blushing from the roots of her hair to her toes. She grabbed for Pistol and snatched him up.
Pistol made no attempt to dodge. He just showed a row of sharp teeth, ready to sink into her thumb. "Well," he said conversationally. "Now you've got me. What are you going to with me? You want me to come and sort out that ear of yours, my sweet wench?"
"Screw some sense into her head," said Fal, scratching himself.
"Belike if ever there was a human that would have benefited from a soft-cyber, it's this one," Behan commented.
This was all going wrong! Virginia, to her horror, found herself bursting into tears. Behan's remark had cut right to her heart.
Fortunately, Bronstein intervened. "That's enough! Leave her alone. You let go of Pistol, girl. When you attack something either kill it immediately or incapacitate it so it can't hurt you." The bat unfurled her wings. "Now come," she commanded. "It is high time you and I had a talk. And stop that drizzle, right now."
Meekly Virginia followed after the fluttering Bronstein, leaving the derision behind her—but taking resentment and misery along.
They came to a place that commanded a view across the landscape, an old veranda. The bat hung herself on a trellis wire. "I like to perch here. It allows me to keep an eye out for Maggots. We are still in enemy territory, you know. Now, it's high time someone explained a few facts of life to you."
Virginia looked at her sullenly, wiping the tears away. Then she sat down cross-legged with her back to the wall. "I don't have to listen to you."
Bronstein hissed, showing teeth. "Human brats appear short of a few lessons in elementary survival, never mind manners. Now, listen or I will bite you. It is a lot of silly human ideas that you seem to have about leadership and the right to command. Maybe they work for you humans, although for the life of me I cannot see how. Why who your father was, or how much money you have, should gain you any respect, I myself cannot see. But if that's the system you humans wish to use among yourselves, that is your problem. But here, you are among rats and bats, and respect is earned. Leadership is conferred by those who respect you, not by some piece of metal or cloth or right of birth."
"But I'm a human!" protested Virginia coming up with the age-old defense . . . which is no defense. "We made you!"
The bat shrugged. "So? We may be artificially engineered creatures, with what Chip calls `head-plastic' in our brains. But it doesn't matter what we came from, it is what we are now. Now for heaven's sake stop trying to push everyone around, especially the rats. You won friends and respect last night. Your arrogance has lost it for you this morning. Just because you're a human, and I have a soft-cyber implant doesn't mean . . ."
"I've got one too," said Virginia, her voice scarcely audible.
Bronstein was a bat. They can hear crystals grow. She cupped her wings to her ears. "What?"
"I said, I have a soft-cyber implant too."
"But . . . but . . . you're human!" The bat nearly lost her grip on the trellis wire.
"Not if you define someone with an implant as not being human. By that definition the rats were quite right. I'm not human. I'm just a piece of head-plastic," Virginia said quietly.
"But . . ."
"You don't believe me. But it's true," Virginia blurted bitterly. "I was brain-damaged in an accident. My parents thought the soft-cyber implant would make me a good little robot, and no embarrassment to them. But I'm not! I'm a person! I'm still the same person I was before, it's just that I can think again. I am the same . . . but more."
The bat stared silently at her for almost a minute.
Virginia got up and stared back. "Well. What are you staring at? I know I'm a freak, but you don't have to stare. It doesn't show on the outside."
Possibly for the first time ever, Bronstein sounded apologetic. "No, to be sure, I am staring at the first human being who can really understand that we are neither trained animals, nor cattle for slaughtering in a war. We are people, even if we are not human."
Virginia had never thought of it that way. Even Fluff had just been a clever and beloved pet in her eyes. With sudden insight she realized he wasn't that in his own eyes. She'd bitterly resented the fact that her parents considered her to simply be a less embarrassing talking doll now that she had the implant. She wasn't a doll, and Fluff wasn't a pet.
"Well, this is going to be something to tell the others." Bronstein's tone said she was both delighted and excited by the prospect.
Virginia cringed. "Please don't tell Chip. Please!"
The bat scratched her head with a wing-claw. "Why not?"
This was terribly difficult, Virginia found. More difficult than admitting she had an implant. "Because . . . because then he'll think that I'm just a talking doll. And I . . . want him to like me."
The bat nearly fell off her trellis wire again and had to flutter both wings to regain her balance. She shook her black head. "You humans are nearly as bad as the rats. You should be more like bats. Take a longer-term view of things. Connolly! Holy Erin! I mean, he's a decent enough human as humans go, to be sure, but it isn't like his face has interesting and attractive folds. He's rather ugly, to be honest with you, girl. Under that rat's-tail fur his face is quite smooth, I promise."
"Just don't tell him," Virginia begged. "And, um, I don't think he's ugly."
The bat looked the human female up and down. The black crinkled face crinkled some more, in sympathy. "Well, maybe some nice facial folds will still develop. You haven't got many yourself. Anyway, I suppose the important thing is that you like his face. What does he think of yours?"
"Most of the time he doesn't even know I'm alive, never mind notice my face. And the rest of the time he treats me like a bad smell." Virginia twisted her slim fingers.
"Then you must make him notice you." Bronstein, as always, was good at decisiveness.
Virginia grimaced. "That's just what I was trying to do, in there. All I managed to do was to get those two rats to be beastly about my name. And then he wasn't even there."
The bat looked at her with wide, dark eyes. "Why in Erin's name did you think that would impress him? And pay no attention to those foul-mouthed rats. That's just the way they are."
Virginia finally ventured a small smile. "Because he likes you. And that's the way you are."
Bronstein's mouth fell open. "Me? ME!! You think I'm bossy? That's RIDICULOUS, I tell you! I'll not hear such talk!"
"Yes, ma'am. If you say so." Virginia looked down demurely.
They were all gathered together in the tasting room, even the Korozhet, when Chip came back from his long sulk.
Eamon was holding forth. " . . . so, indade, I reckon we should go through, rather than over. We'll battle to get the Korozhet up and down."
"That is most wise," said Pricklepuss, as if it hadn't nearly got them all killed, and, in a way, been the death of Phylla.
Chip was feeling distinctly otherwise, a common male problem when the testicles are going one way and the mind another. "NO."
"What do you mean `no'? It's decided." Behan's tone was as snappish as the words.
Chip looked at Behan with distaste. Of all the rats and bats, even surly Eamon, Behan was the only one Chip genuinely disliked. The bat was a camp follower if there ever was one. "I mean there is no way I am taking Pricklepuss screaming-mee-meemy on a sneak back through the Magh' tunnels. We go over, and one mistimed shriek or squeak and I'll let go of the ropes."
Siobhan shook her head at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Chip. Tell him, Bronstein."
"I don't want to interfere," said the bat.
Chip almost choked. Bronstein? Not want to interfere? Ha! So she didn't like the idea either. He wondered why she didn't simply ride roughshod over it, then, like she always did.
He decided it must be more bat politics. Chip knew that Bronstein was neck deep in one crazy bat faction, whereas Eamon was a mover-and-shaker in the other. Knowing Eamon, the shaking was probably done with a nice firm grip on someone's throat. Well. Bronstein had backed him up often enough. He'd be glad to be her hired lance for a change.
Chip folded his arms across his chest and said: "You can't do it without me. And I won't do it. And that's final."
Knowing Bronstein was solidly behind him, Chip stood as firm as any pylon, through all the threats, imprecations and cajolery. The truth was that he held the trump cards. Without him to do the camel work, carrying the food, carrying the Korozhet, doing the dexterous work like cutting holes, they couldn't do it. And Bronstein must have wanted his support badly, because, after not saying anything—would wonders never cease?—she fluttered out while the argument raged.
Eventually he won. "Look. We aren't being chased. We can follow the space between the mounds back towards the front. The mounds are much lower there, and not as steep. We can do three a night. The bats can fly the line up—it's thin and light enough for them to carry—the rats and the galago follow, and when they're up, they haul up a decent anchor, and then a rope. Miss Shaw and I climb up, using the rope as a safety line. We'll use those sliding prussik loops—you know, those knots that slide one way, that Nym was telling me about, the ones we didn't need to use getting out last time. Then we haul Old Crotchet up. Lower him down the other side. Easy. Whereas if we cut our way through, we're bound to get caught sooner or later."
Then, just when he'd won, the Crotchet turned the whole thing on its head. "I have been thinking. Miss Virginia, and other good allies in this fight against the vile Magh' scourge, the human male is right. We could escape. But should we? We have within our spines' grasp the most stunning victory. We should not seek to save ourselves, but indeed, strike a blow for our peoples! Never before has a battle-capable group stood within the force field. We can strike at the brood-heart itself! We can strike a brave, heroic blow for Humanity!"
Chip snorted. At least he knew where he stood as to allies. He could just see the bats striking a brave blow for the sake of Humanity. As for the rats, they had a sensible grunt attitude towards volunteering, never mind volunteering for suicide missions. "Oh, that's really a fine idea, Mr. Pricklepuss," he said sarcastically.
"Okay!" piped Siobhan. "So we're all agreed, then?"
Chip was startled to realize she wasn't being sarcastic. Then his startlement turned to outright shock when all the other rats and bats immediately chorused their own support for the Crotchet's loony scheme. For all the world, they sounded like fanatic enthusiasts!
"All right then," he said coldly. He played his trump card. "I'll just go and find Bronstein and tell her that the Korozhet has decreed that we all go on a suicide mission."
He stormed out to find her. She'd put a stop to this nonsense!
Bronstein was on her favorite terrace, peering into the distance. Before Chip could tell her how ridiculous everybody was being, she turned on him. "Do you find me inclined to enforce my will on others?"
Chip grinned. "Yeah. So what?"
"It is a bad tendency in a neo-anarcho-socialist," said Bronstein morbidly. "Down that path lies totalitarianism."
"For foxache, Bronstein! What has got into you now? Sure you boss people around. So what? Has Doc infected you with his philosophical crap? We're in shit and someone's got to make decisions. So you do. Somebody's gotta do it, and you do it pretty well. No one is making us listen to you."
"But do I interfere too much?" asked the bat querulously. She seemed to be seeking comfort from Chip.
But Chip had other things on his mind. "Is piss warm and wet, Bronstein?" he snorted. "Interfering is what you do best—and naturally. Like Eamon thinking of ways to blow things up. He wouldn't be same big stupid bastard if he didn't, and you wouldn't be Bronstein if you didn't interfere. Now can we quit thinking about eternal verities and get you to come and interfere in the insanity that the dumb Korozhet is talking them into now? He wants us to forget escape and go and attack something called the `brood-heart.' "
"The Korozhet said that? I think it is a good idea, then. Like going through instead of over was."
Chip gaped at her. The whole world had gone mad!
The Korozhet used one of her spines to scratch on the dirt. "My species have spent many years studying the Magh' and I too have gained great insights as a captive. I am an academic rather than a warrior, and I know I am too emotional and frail for such exploits, but we must impale the opportunity!"
The alien tapped the diagram. "The Magh' tunnels are built according to a rigid pattern. We know from our victory and conquest of a scorpiary on Korozhet-prime that they are built like this. Each spiral arm has `highways' which follow a central passage to the middle of the scorpiary. Every three hundred and two yit—that is about one point three of your yards to the yit—there is a cross passage and a spiral road leading up and down. The largest of the highways is always just below ground level. If we can follow it, it will lead us to the brood-heart where the Magh' group-mind breeders are."
Virginia shook her head. "Group-mind?"
"Indeed, Miss Virginia. It is one of the things we Korozhet have long suspected, but it was confirmed while they were torturing and questioning me. All the Magh' within this scorpiary are effectively one being. The `head' of that `being' is the breeder-caste."
"Then how come one of you Crochets gave that talk on forces radio saying they were a number of allied species?" demanded Chip. His tone was both skeptical and sarcastic.
The Korozhet was not at a loss for an instant. "This has been an ongoing argument within Korozhet ranks for many years. I can now confirm that the multi-speciesist theory is quite wrong."
"So you're telling us that if we get to the center of the scorpiary, kill the breeder-caste—we win the war. Ha. Tell me another one!"
"No. That might have been true when the Magh' ship landed, but they rapidly began growing new scorpiaries. That is what the long tentacles of conquest do: Seed new brood-hearts. But you will destroy several million Magh' as an effective enemy. Now, your trip to the brood-heart will require that you traverse considerable distance . . ." The alien poked at the diagram.
"Shtupid idea." Pistol was distinctly full of alcohol. But, at least, thought Chip, he'd come to his senses. The idea wasn't just stupid. It was insane. They'd go round in ever-decreasing circles to get to the middle of the scorpiary. Many miles to try and sneak into the group-mind "brood-heart." Of course, they'd be detected. Then, if the Crotchet was right, the whole damn lot would be trying to stop them.
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Chip.
"Yesh." Pistol blinked owlishly. "Why go round, and round, and round like a whoreson Maggot? Take a short cut!" And with the tip of his tail he drew a straight line across the dusty whorls.
"He's drunk again," sneered Behan. "Never mind being killed by Maggots. If we stay here much longer the daemon drink will have away with those rats." His tone suggested that might be a good thing.
Bronstein, however, looked thoughtful. "To be sure, but he's right though. If we blew down a few walls we could make what looks like a long way . . ."
"Roughly one hundred thirty-two miles," Virginia put in, looking up from fiddling with the standard issue mini-GPS. Some Shareholder family had the contract . . . Chip had to acknowledge that the Shareholder-girl was terrifying with numbers. She seemed to have an innate grasp of formulae that made Chip's brain hurt just looking at them.
"Yes. Say one hundred thirty-two miles, to a short distance, say . . ."
"Roughly seventeen point two miles."
Chip looked at her in amazement. That's what I call mathematics. How she does it, I don't know. I'd still be here next week counting toes.
The Korozhet tapped the drawing in the dust again. "Taking a short cut is an excellent idea, but unfortunately that is impossible. You do not have sufficient explosives, and even if you did have you couldn't carry them."
Chip smiled nastily at the Korozhet. He still thought the whole idea was nuts, but he couldn't resist the chance to stick it to the snooty alien.
"That's where you're wrong, Crotchet. We've got all the explosive in the world, and we can transport it!"
Eamon looked startled. "Er, Chip, even you and Virginia can't carry that much."
"Would a tractor load do? I'd think that would be enough even for you, Eamon."