Eric Flint - Rats, Bats and Vats

Eamon had been unable to accuse the humans. But humans, other than Chip and Ginny-and she cringed even thinking about them-had abused the bat-folk. Abused them terribly for their own evil war. Enslaved them.

She was glad when the tunnel widened abruptly into a narrow shaft. She could concentrate on flying and stop thinking so much.

The air vent was a long one. There was no guarantee that it would lead out. There was no guarantee it would lead to where Eamon suspected either. But by following the air current it was not hard flying. And it beat thinking.

"I've no liking for this," panted O'Niel.

"Oh, it's much rather you'd be riding a tractor than flying as a good honest bat should," said Eamon sarcastically.

"Tractors… are foine beasts… Eamon. I'll… no' have you say a word against them. Anyway… that' no'… what I meant."

Eamon was by far the strongest flier amongst them. He had the wind to hold forth an argument and fly at the same time. "The Magh' must be genetic engineers of great skill. Look at the endless varieties of Maggot they produce. The humans have cruelly made it so that we cannot breed without their intervention. They hold the bat-folk in a vise. We need an ally that can free our bat-comrades from these human chains."

He certainly was full of wind, thought Bronstein. She wrinkled her pug-nose. By the smell of it he was getting some extra from that damned sauerkraut.

"The Maggots… have tried… to kill us," panted O'Niel.

Eamon showed long fangs. "They did but defend themselves against human imperialism, and against ourselves, why, we invaded their home. 'Tis but justifiable aggression and the conduct of honorable enemies."

Eamon pointed a wing. "Here is a cross tunnel. It must lead to the breeders. The eggs come from above. The Korozhet said that the breeders were the brains."

They flew into it. This tunnel was wide enough to fly through, but now they had to push against the air flow. It was none too easy. Bronstein was relieved when the tunnel opened into a big hollow space full of stanchions. They were in a ceiling full of hot, Maggot-scented air. It was of course largely dark, which didn't worry the bats. There were small pinpricks of light from below, however. O'Niel simply flopped. Bronstein was glad to do the same. The plump O'Niel dug into his pack and produced a small bottle.

"What are you doing with that daemon drink?" snapped Bronstein. Eamon had proceeded to one of the pinpricks of light some distance off. Let him. She needed a rest.

" 'Tis mine! 'Twas given to me by Doc. A foine feller that rat.. ."

"He killed Siobhan!" said Bronstein angrily.

O'Niel snorted. "Hwhat nonsense! Why I heard Doc myself, with his poor wits a-beggin' show how he'd tried to cry warning to her!"

"What?" Bronstein sat up. "That can't be true!"

O'Niel looked at her. "Oh, indade 'tis true, I was after being wonderin' hwhat was goin' on meself, when I saw him try. His wits were wanderin'. There'd be no fakin' of that. Now, would you like a drink?"

Eamon suddenly flapped over to them. "Come! Quickly!" His voice sounded very odd. Very, very odd indeed.

The vent was too narrow for them to squeeze through. But it did allow excellent vision to the three pairs of bat-eyes.

The huge chamber below was everything ordinary Maggotdom was not. Quilted and padded with rich fabrics. Well supplied with what were obviously electronic devices. Lit with lights, real lights, not Magh' lumifungus. Around a central pool lounged things which truly looked like real Maggots. Bloated and occasionally twitching. Tended by smaller scurrying Magh'.

There was one other unexpected occupant in the chamber. Seen from above, the Korozhet simply looked like a ball of red spines. The Magh' were a healthy distance off. "A prisoner!" whispered O'Niel.

Eamon's voice was as cold as ice. "Look on the ground next to the Korozhet."

There were two small scruffy bags on the ground in front of it. One was a batpack. Open, and with the contents scattered on the ground. The Korozhet poked through the debris as they watched.

"Siobhan's." Eamon's voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. "What you'd not be knowing, Michaela Bronstein, is that she was my lifemate."

"She told me, Eamon," said Bronstein, quietly. "She loved you, even if she could not abide your politics. She said you were the handsomest bat in all batdom."

"The other bag is Doc's," said O'Niel, in a choked voice.

There was silence. Then, eighty feet below them another scene enacted itself. They heard the Korozhet speak, in a language they should not have known. Yet obviously the language-coprocessor in their heads had no trouble with Korozhet. "I am hungry, client-species. I want fresh food."

Even hidden eighty feet above in the vent, the three bats all felt the compulsion to fetch it something to eat.

One of the little Magh' which was tending a huge-Maggot, detached itself. Watching from above it was obvious that the creature did not wish to approach the Korozhet. But it did.

The bats above became the first part of the human alliance to see a Korozhet kill-and live to tell the tale. They watched as the Korozhet humped its way onto the twitching victim.

Bronstein was the first to speak. She sounded if she was going to be sick. "The creature is still alive!"

O'Niel just scrabbled at the opening, trying to force his plump body through.

Eamon hauled him back. "No! You'll not fling your life away, O'Niel. Vengeance-bloody vengeance-I swear will be mine and mine alone. Treachery!"

"Enough!" snapped Bronstein. "Your vengeance is but a small thing. I'll not deny it to you. But we see the whole of the bat-folk betrayed here. Treachery, I agree. Treachery as black as… blood. An enslavement both vile evil and insidious. An enslavement of our very minds and wills. The bat-folk must know of this… treachery. And I swear our vengeance and hatred forever against the…"

The words dried in her throat. But she could not and would not be defeated by the whiles of soft-cyber bias. She could not proclaim hatred for Korozhet. So she would fight them stratagem for stratagem. "Crotchet." She spat out. She could say that. And she could hate and believe "Crotchets" capable of any vileness.

O'Niel nodded. "'Tis true for the rats too. They are as betrayed as we are."

Eamon stood up and shook his wings. "Yes. Even the rats! Even the humans. We must ally with them! Common cause against a greater evil."

If Bronstein had not still been so choked with anger she'd have fallen on her back, laughing. Who would have thought Eamon could ever even think of an alliance with humankind?

"O'Niel, I do believe I would be liking some of that brandy after all," said Bronstein, quietly.

"Indade. I'd be after having some meself," muttered Eamon.

The plump bat handed them the small bottle. "Drink up. We must go back to our comrades."

Eamon paused in the act of raising the bottle. "Indade. My fellow bats… forgive me that I ever thought to desert our comrades-in-arms. I was wrong."

Bronstein choked on her mouthful of vile brandy.

Eamon wiped himself fastidiously. "That was not called for, Michaela. Now I shall smell like a wino's hat."

"Indade, and a waste of a foine vintage," grumbled O'Niel.

Bronstein smiled. "I just wanted you to smell like our rat-allies. Come. O'Niel's right. Let's go back."

"We can't tell them what we have seen…" said O'Niel.

"And explain that we came to betray humans-to Chip and Ginny?" said Bronstein, distastefully. "No. Least said, soonest mended. We can fight and die bravely beside them instead."

"Amen to that!" said Eamon, fervently.

Eric Flint

Rats, Bats amp; Vats

Chapter 38:

There is just time for…

"WHERE THE HELL have you lot been?" demanded Chip, as the bats fluttered down from the ceiling. "If I didn't know you better, I'd have thought you'd flown off and left us."