“That place was so . . . so beautiful,” said Ginny in a quiet voice. “Elfin. I don’t know how something as horrible as the Magh’ could come from a place like that.”
Chip gave her a glowing look which she missed because she was looking at the Korozhet. “They don’t,” the Crotchet said. “Those are rare plants from a world previously visited.”
The rest of this enlightenment was lost to them because they had arrived at the central well. In the middle of the well stood a Maggot tower. A Magh’ adobe spike separated from the circles of incoming spiral tunnel arms by a gap sixty feet wide. Off to the right, two levels up, were the remains of a single bridge. The Magh’ were busy destroying it, leaving a single spar to a doorway into the tower. Across the gap in the tower, workers were blocking the doorway, working with frantic haste.
Looking at the four circles above them Chip realized this must have been the finest entertainment in all Maggotdom. The circles were solid Maggot. Actually, Maggot on top of Maggot. Heh. It was a good thing the Crotchet had told them they needed to go down to the base of the tower, or they might have tried to hack their way through that lot. And that would have been impossible.
Chapter 34: Calling out the Cavalry.
“We upped the detection levels in the infrared. One of the guys from over on technical . . . uh, I hope you don’t mind, but half the nightshift is watching . . .”
“I had gathered,” said Fitz dryly. “Go on, Henry.”
“Sorry, Major. This is just the first time anything exciting has ever happened. I mean, we all thought nobody ever actually looked at satellite data. Everybody is so pleased to be, well, involved in something useful. And it is so great seeing our guys really hit back for a change. You don’t know what it has meant to the people here!”
“Believe me, I do,” said Fitz. “I just hope this doesn’t land you all in trouble. Anyway, tell me—you’ve obviously tracked them a bit further?”
“Yep. They haven’t come out of the mound again, but they’re still alive and heading inwards. With slow time-exposure infrared we’ve picked up what must have been a massive fire. Ambient temperature of outgoing air from vents went up by about fifteen degrees in spots. It looked like little flowers on the screen. It must have been one hell of a fire.” Henry’s delight was plain.
Fitz understood the psychology. “Every time I think that must be all, these guys pull another rabbit out of the hat.”
“YESSS!”
The cheering was so loud Fitz held the phone away from his ear. “We’ve got another explosion, sir. Smaller this time.”
“Keep me posted, Henry. And tell the tech who used his initiative, well done. If more people used their brains, we’d get somewhere.”
“I’ll tell him, sir. He just thought he was losing money! The guys are betting heavily on your commandos, sir.”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “They’re not commandos, Henry.”
“Well, Special Services or whatever, sir. They’re great guys, sir.”
“They’re not Special Services . . .”
“If you say so, sir.” Henry’s voice indicated he was very happy to go along with whatever story the major wanted to spin for him, but it would be a frosty Friday in hell before he believed a word of it. “We’ll keep you posted on how your . . . non-commandos are doing.”
Fitz put the phone down. “That’s how bloody myths are born,” he said, savagely. “Well, let’s see if the real thing can do anything to help them.” He dialed.
“Airborne.” The voice on the other side sounded irritated. Well. It was going on 1:00 am.
“Evening, Bobby,” said Fitz cheerfully.
“It’s bloody morning, you mad bastard.” The irritation had been replaced with obvious pleasure.
“Okay. Morning, then. And as it is morning, are your lads up and ready to go?”
“What?” Van Klomp nearly deafened him. “Don’t fuck me around, Fitzy! Have you got a us a real mission at last?”
There was too much hope in that voice for Major Conrad Fitzhugh to tell his old parachute instructor anything but the absolute truth. All of it . . .