Eric Flint: The Rats, the Bats and the Ugly

That was enough to lower the dart-spines on the Deep-Purple Tenth-instar High-spine.

"Speak. Revolts? How is this possible? There is sometimes a rare malfunction or a slave of great will who overcomes some of the programming. But it is a rare thing. Our statisticians tell us that it is unlikely in low-order uplift minds in a proportion of less than one in twenty million."

"The humans have a device they call a Platosforms which enabled all of the slaves to rebel."

The High-spine clattered her spines. "This is ascertained? I have worrying reports here that the human media are attacking us, too. Accusing us of supplying both the Magh' and themselves."

"But that is correct, High-spine."

"It is not fitting that a putative subject species be aware of this. Besides this tool might somehow be brought into the ship, or affect the slaves on the ship."

Another one of the High-spines clattered. "The lock detectors do not exclude and incinerate implanted slaves. We could have these rebel slaves on our ship."

"We must begin their destruction immediately," said another. "These humans are not worth the risk of farming any further. The rewards have been great, but risk outweighs the reward."

The high-spine clattered her spines. "Agreed. We cannot take these chances. There is no greater danger to the Overphyle than rebellion of slaves. Begin the firing sequences. Contact the spawnship on the tight-beam. Tell them of this and tell them to order the Magh' advance. Send out the call for our slaves who are in the human army. The humans cannot hold the Magh' without their implanted soldier-creatures. And the soldier-creatures will come to us."

"How do we know if they are still loyal?"

"If they come, they are loyal. They outnumber the humans. And they are better killers."

Eric Flint

The Rats, the Bats amp; the Ugly

Eric Flint

The Rats, the Bats amp; the Ugly

Hell: Because war is that place, no matter where you actually are.

Down in Aladdin's cave, the movement of the missile aiming spines on the top of the vast roundness of the Korozhet ship was detected.

"Condition red. I say again, Condition red!"

Within a minute…

"Missile launch detected. Multiple missiles. Incoming."

All over George Bernard Shaw City, the sirens wailed. Siren systems set up when humans had still thought that this was going to be a conventional war, with missiles and air raids.

Many people had forgotten what they meant. There was chaos, from the streets full of protestors outside the courthouse to the crenelated grandeur of the Military Headquarters. The soup course of the elegant lunch being set on the vast tables caused some inelegant and painful accidents. But that was all. None of the Korozhet missiles would be wasted on useless targets.

The four geological/defense heavy lasers that the slowship had mounted were hooked up to the ship's power plant. They fired. They were energy expensive, never intended for simultaneous power-draw. But as the ship's fusion plant was almost certain to be a target, that made little difference.

Their targets were not the missiles, but their launch spines.

At the same time, not knowing just how the missiles were guided, Aladdin's cave spewed out as wide a range of jamming mechanisms as they could.

Some of it might even have worked. Not, however, for the old human slowship. That and the power plants south of the city were successfully hit. Fortunately, the bunker underneath the slowship had been designed to withstand tactical nuclear warheads. The non-nuclear explosives being used by the Korozhet were powerful, but not powerful enough to penetrate it.

Just as the judge was attempting to take down the rat who was, if not helping Fitz's case, at least giving the judge a novel view of his own unimportance-the alarms started. Then the lights in the windowless courthouse went out, as the ground shook. There was the sound of breaking glass. Fitz had thrown himself down, instinctively. The explosions were large, but not close. The screaming and panic in the courtroom were far louder. Having been a front-line officer took over.

"Quiet!" Fitz's voice was loud, but more like a whip-crack in its force. Only one hysterical screamer remained. "Shut that person up," he instructed.

Someone did.

"Right." Panic kills. If you're in charge you've got to keep your cool or your troops will lose theirs. "This building itself is not under attack," said Fitz. "Is that clear to all of you? This building is not being attacked. There is no cause for panic. Sergeant at Arms?"

"Sir!" said a voice from the darkness.

"Take two MPs and get out there and scout. Ariel," he knew she'd be in here, somewhere, "go with them."

"Sir!" There was relief in that assent. Relief that someone was taking charge.

The door opened. Several people headed after the three towards the rectangle of light.

"Stop right there," snapped Fitz. "The rest of you, stay put. If we get an 'all clear' out there we'll move out. In an orderly fashion. There will be no running. You will all maintain physical contact with someone. Do we have any injured?"

"I'm bleeding," said someone. "Glass I think."

"Right. Move, or help any injured to the light at the door. Doc. Treat them."

As this was happening, the sergeant at arms came back. "Chaos out there, sir. But no shooting. There are some fires. We saw a fire engine go past."

"Right. Sergeant, assist the wounded. Let's get out into the light. If there are any more incoming, all of you, scatter and get down."

He found himself with his arm being held joining the procession towards the outside. It was only when he got into the lighter passage that he realized that it was the hand of his mauve-lipsticked prosecutor, holding him.

"I should kill you now and save myself a lot of trouble next time," she whispered poisonously.

"Just try it," said Ariel, leaping up onto Fitz's shoulder in one of those prodigious bounds that the rats were capable of. " 'Twill be my pleasure to bite you properly. The street is full of idiotic screaming humans, Fitz. One said the missile trails came from the… Crotchet ship. Some of the city is on fire."

Major Tana Gainor let go of Fitz and ran for the doors.

They got out onto the steps and into the light. Several of the wounded were being tended on the steps. It seemed more a case of blood, minor injuries and fear than anything else.

"The phones are down," said one reporter, shaking her instrument.

The sergeant at arms came jogging up. "What do we do now, sir?"

Fitz shrugged. "I'm the prisoner around here, Sergeant. Why don't you ask your judge? I just gave orders in there because somebody had to." The military judge in question was sitting on the steps looking at the milling crowd and the fires burning where the south side power station used to be.

The sergeant at arms tried asking him. Judge Silberstohn, so ready to lay down the law to an obstreperous rat, blinked at him. "I don't know," he said, in a lost, slightly quavering voice.

Lieutenant Colonel Ogata came up, with several of the officers from the panel. "Major, we appear to be having a military emergency. I've spoken to several of the people who were out here when the attack took place. It would seem that the missiles came from the Korozhet ship. I think we can be fairly sure that they've taken out Military Headquarters. They've certainly taken out communications, power and the old slowship. You're the only one of us here with any first-hand combat experience. We need your help, Major. We need it now."

Fitz looked at the scene. "I'd be glad to serve," he said dryly. "However, these leg shackles are an impediment."

Ogata looked down. "Oh. I think we can extend parole, Major. For the duration," he said, with an almost straight face. "I'll put it to the panel to vote on."