Chapter 53

The Korozhet ship, within its portal,
and deep within its noisesome bowels.

"The one thing the Crotchets fear more than anything else is a slave revolt."

Yetteth's words still echoed in Chip's mind. Perhaps if he'd known that before . . . 

Deep down inside, he knew that was self-deception. Even the smallest bending of the truth had been difficult to near impossible. How Ginny had managed to actually directly defy the compulsion in her head was beyond him. But he knew, after what Yetteth had told him, that out there he'd caused a war. He knew that humans had fought back—and apparently successfully. At least, from what he could tell, the Korozhet on the ship seemed in a bit of a panic.

He was ready to bet that if she wasn't dead, Virginia Shaw would be among them. Yetteth had seen one dead rebel rat. That could only be one of Chip's comrades. He hadn't been able to work out who it could have been, so he feared for them all.

Now, with the Korozhet ship in uproar, locked down into battle status, Chip was trying to do the unthinkable. Sabotage. It was as awful a thought as rebellion.

A slave would sooner die than do that. Well, he could always do both at once, if need be. Chip Connolly had no particular faith in paradise hereafter. On the other hand, he had a lot of faith in his fellow soldiers, and in Ginny. But with a force field between them there was not a lot they could do.

So he had to remove that obstacle.

How?

At the council of war Darleth took something of the lead. After all, the Jampad had more experience fighting Korozhet than anyone else. Now that her Ratafia was able to fight—and now that her Lieutenant Ariel had been murdered—Darleth was dead keen for direct engagement.

So, surprisingly, were the Ratafia. Ariel had earned herself a great deal of respect. And the Ratafia, as an almost entirely rat organization, had discovered honor. It was a concept that the rats tried their best to rationalize around, needless to say.

"If we let them deal thus with our Capo—why, then there is neither honesty, rathood nor good fellowship in us." Sally Lunn slipped a small dagger into the top of her fishnet stockings. "And a girl like me needs a great deal of rathood. Besides this new computer-virus hath left me feeling all shook up."

Meilin's Vat Liberation Organization, with a cell and communication structure designed to survive all that the Special Branch could throw at it, had stood up to the Korozhet bombing better than the ordinary civil structures. "We've got lines of communication now and we're organizing. But—and this is a 'but'—if those missile launchers on the ship get firing full pace again we'll have problems. Still, we've found another three thousand two hundred troops who were out on pass when this went down. My people are moving them forward, Major Fitzhugh."

Despite being outranked by several officers, Fitz had simply taken over command and Van Klomp was content to let him do so. "Strategy and tactics are his field, Colonel. When you've been organizing logistics—like you have—you are maybe less good at it than he is."

"I accept that. But you've also got field-command experience, Colonel. You ought to do it."

Van Klomp had just shaken his head. "I'm too big, Colonel. Big men like me have simple strategy and tactics in a fight. I wish like hell we had that lance corporal of mine. Connolly. If he was here I'd make Fitz listen to him. He's a small man, but he wins. In the meanwhile we've got Fitzy. So long as we can stop him thinking he's invincible."

Liepsich had come out of his hidey-hole, insulted them all, and gone back into it to prepare as many radio transmitters with preset virus replays as possible.

Nym and a squad of mechanics were working on the golf cart.

"It's not properly speaking a golf cart any more," admitted the sergeant. "The steering, accelerator pedal and the bonnet ornament are still the same. But everything else—from the chassis to the engine, is either reinforced or carrying so much chrome it's more like a half-baked APC. He's very proud of it."

The sergeant jerked an oily thumb at an equally oily Nym. "Its amazing how like one of the boys he is. He drinks beer. And we're teaching him about football. I hadn't realized what the critters were like. I thought they were some sort of trained animals."

"They're more than animals, but they're not the same as people either, Sergeant. Well. Not the same as humans, I should say. I think we're all going to have to start redefining the word 'people.' "

"Yes, Major. But you can get on with rats. Bats are weird."

"It's bats that are what is worrying me right now. According to radio reports, at least twenty thousand are AWOL from the front lines. Amazingly, the rats are standing firm against the Magh', but I have no idea if the bats can do the same. Fortunately, the bats can't possibly fly here in time to make a difference, even if the soft-cyber-virus hasn't sorted it out."

Fitz took a look at Nym lovingly polishing a running board. "Does the rat realize it's not likely that the golf cart is going to survive all this?"

"Oh, he knows, sir. But it's the first car he's ever owned. He's real proud of it."

Two hours later the golf cart drove slowly onto Webb Fields. There were some seventy-two rats in, around and on top of it. And one human. And two bats clinging like windshield wipers to the candy-striped awning. Ginny knew that just one blast of the heavy-lasers would destroy the golf cart and all of them. They trundled forward toward the Korozhet ship.

On cue, a fusillade rang out over their head from the far edge of Webb Field. The lasers on the walls of the huge ship above winked on. Ginny winced.

But the Korozhet fire was being directed at the small-arms fire that was apparently trying to stop the golf cart from reaching the Korozhet ship. Darleth had obviously been correct. The Korozhet could detect soft-cybers. She just hoped that the rigged fusillade had indeed been remote from those rifles. But Fitz and Van Klomp both knew that fire on the ship drew fire.

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.