“Compared to the front, it’s heaven,” agreed Fitz. “Just see your relief doesn’t let anyone in—not anyone at all, understand? Tell them it is my specific orders, relayed from the general.”
“Yessir.” They saluted, and Fitz drove off.
“Oh dear,” said Ariel. “You forgot to give them the keys.”
Fitz smiled in the darkness. “It’s got his office key on it. I thought I’d have to ask you to climb in through the ducts, but I won’t need to now.”
“You take away all my fun,” she said. “Got any more food?”
He pulled a ration bar from a pocket. He knew just how fast that metabolism was. “Here.”
“Yuck.” She took it anyway. “You forgot to give him his trousers too.”
“I’m planning on wearing those,” said Fitz.
Ariel chuckled. Then she asked: “Why are we doing this? Not that I mind. But why?”
“We?” said Fitz.
“Methinks I should bite you on what’s left of your balls,” she said quietly.
Fitz sighed. “Because if we never win . . . we never can. Maybe if I prove they can advance . . . They’ll learn.”
“I doubt it,” said Ariel.
“I know,” said Fitz quietly. “But I’ve reached point-non-plus. I’m sorry, Ariel, to have dragged you into this.”
She nuzzled him. “I love you.” A moment later, remembering, she pitched the distributor cap out the window. “Even if you do let squatters move in on me.”
Chapter 31: Constipative Innovation.
They’d broken out, and, this time with difficulty, broken in again. The space between the spiral arms was getting narrower and narrower. There just wasn’t the sort of turning space a tractor needed. Then they’d knocked over the guards. And hastily turned down another cross tunnel.
The bats and rats had had to hold off the Maggots while Chip hastily knocked holes. Ginny and the galago poured fertilizer and diesel and inserted the primacord, before clipping on the bat limpet. Chip adjusted it, one minute twenty second fuse . . .
They were getting to be pretty fair sappers, with all the practice. Still, even the tiny HE bat-limpets and thick-cotton primacord were getting low. Chip had the can of floor-tile glue ready and bellowed for the rats and bats as soon as he clicked the limpet relay shut. Ginny, bright girl, was already up getting the tractor started. The Crotchet was holding forth at her again. Well, at least Chip didn’t have to listen.
Bats and rats hurried past, as Chip poured glue. Then he dropped the can and ran. A Maggot was coming and, besides, Nym had managed to get the tractor going. In the interest of the poor tractor he had to get back to it. Somebody tossed a Molotov past his ear.
Panting, he made it to the stabilizer bar, hauled himself up onto the seat, and took over the driving. Even getting the tractor to move along faster was easier now.
Behind them came the sweet sound of detonation.
“Foine! More of the same?” asked O’Niel, a bottle in hand. Maybe he was just getting a Molotov ready.
Chip smiled, his crooked teeth matching Ginny’s. “Nope! Always more of something different. This is like the restaurant trade. Your customers get sick of the same meal again and again, no matter how good. So innovation is the name of the game. First, you bats ‘ud do us a favor if you’d check on whether there are any live Maggots in our tunnel. If not, we can have a little rest.”
Siobhan fluttered up and touched a wing to Chip’s head. “To be sure, the boy’s brain’s overheated.”
“Methinks, ’tis too little sex,” sniffed Fal. He leered at Ginny. “Eh, girl?”
Her dusty glasses twinkled at him. “Why, sir, he never gives me candy.”
It was a joke, but Chip detected just a touch of wistfulness under it all.
“Or flowers, I suppose,” added Melene, dryly.
“Or even a drink,” said Doll.
“Ahem.” Doc cleared his throat. “He’s right, you know . . .”
Pistol clapped. “I agree. I’d liefer get off this candy scale.”
Doc sighed. “Explain to him, Bronstein. The Maggots do not expect us to stop. So therefore we must.”
But Bronstein and Eamon had already flown back down the tunnel.