“Van Klomp.” The voice was very tense.
“Major! Another explosion! Right from the middle, sir! Right from the MIDDLE!”
There was silence. Then a big exhalation boomed down the line. “Boykie. That’s the best news I’ve had for hours. We’ll get airborne, just in case. I’ve given you the contact frequencies. Stay on it. You got me? Stay on it! And call that corporal of Major Fitzhugh’s.”
But there was no reply from Corporal Simms. Someone just clicked the beeper off. And the office wasn’t answering either.
* * *
“We’re looking for Major Conrad Fitzhugh,” said the lieutenant to Corporal Simms. His voice had that I am going to get answers or you are going to get hurt quality to it. Behind him, the squad of MPs hefted their billy clubs.
Simms reached into his pocket and clicked the insistent beeper off. “The major hasn’t been in this morning,” he said truthfully. “But there is an envelope here, addressed to the military police.”
The MP lieutenant tore it open. Johnny didn’t get to see the letter. But he did see the rat-dropping Ariel had contributed.
* * *
Fitz’s bangstick rested against the force field. An assegai balanced against a twinkle in the air.
* * *
This far from the brood-chamber, it was little more than a dull thump. However, it was plain that the Magh’mmm had felt a great deal more. “Aliens! You said the grub-devourers were dead! You lied to us. You lied!” The hundred or so Magh’mmm chorused.
“I said they lied all the time,” snapped the Korozhet.
“Kill them,” commanded the group-mind.
“No. No!” shouted the Korozhet. “Spare the one with long head-filaments—she is valuable to me.”
The Magh’mmm were past listening. “No. Kill—”
The galago shrieked in his ear-piercing fashion and jumped for the projector platform, trying to pull the mine from his waistcoat pocket as he leaped. He succeeded, but then he had the mine in his hands, and nothing to grab the platform with. He hit the projector with a whuff of breath that even the rats and bats heard. The mine skittered out of his hands and lay half-on and half-off the platform.
The galago stood up, taking the mine trigger bar from the other pocket . . . and slipped. He caught the edge of the platform and clung there by one hand, the trigger bar in the other.
“AIEEE!” His bellow carried a volume which nearly deafened the sensitive-eared rats and bats above. “I die gloriously!”
He pressed the trigger on the bar. Nothing happened. Except . . . one of the scorps who had been guarding Chip and Ginny advanced on him.
The galago shook the trigger bar furiously. “She is not working!”
“BOTH triggers—you idiot!” shouted the bats.
The galago tried and nearly fell in its fumbling haste. “I cannot!” he shrieked.
The Magh’ scorp claw snapped at the tiny creature. Fluff squeaked in terror and flung the trigger bar at the scorp as he leaped in a twenty-five foot bound to Ginny’s shoulder.
The scorp caught the trigger bar with contemptuous ease in one outstretched claw. The bar was taken neatly lengthways, held by the ends. The scorp displayed its strength. The claw closed slowly to crush and splinter the bar.
If only it hadn’t depressed the triggers when it did that.
“GO!” shouted Bronstein, before the debris had even fallen.
* * *
The three-foot-high squat ball of blue fluff which called itself a “Jampad” had chosen a hell of a time to arrive. It wasted no time getting into the spirit of things, though. Those tentacles wielded a mean four-pound hammer.
Bronstein and Eamon missed the Jampad by inches as it took out its guard. They left the fray to O’Niel, the rats, and Chip and Ginny. Eamon took the bridge, and a slash through his wing membrane, in the process of sending a stream of frantic Maggot reinforcements hurtling into the pit. Bronstein dragged him back hastily through the entry where she’d put her mines, as the big bat couldn’t fly.
Chip had dealt with the other scorp guard. The explosion which had blown away the beam projector had also shredded the first one. Ginny waded in to combat with a piece of reinforcing rod. The Magh’ body-tenders, poodle-sized and with tiny little claws, flung themselves into an attack they were never designed for. Now Ginny, with her blunt weapon and more enthusiasm than skill, was the quicker Magh’ killer than master craftsman Chip.