Of course they’d had to be loyal to the Korozhet, but now that it was gone, well, bat-interests must come first. Eamon had been quite eloquent about it, for once. “Indade, it must have been a rat who killed her. There was nobody else who could have taken her pack. It was probably that Doc. I’ve no trust in his pontifications.”
The argument had been unanswerable. Who else? The other plausible answer nagged at her, but that was impossible. Absolutely unthinkable.
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’.