But it hadn’t been a brief shower, and Chip was growing tired of being a one-man tent to a bunch of bickering rats and bats. His issue poncho had kept them all dry. Well, sort of dry. Like most raingear it had a seam around the neck ensuring a slow Chinese water-torture drip. For near on two hours they sat there, until the rain lifted in the late afternoon.
The rain was not welcomed by the Maggots, either. The minute it stopped, Maggots appeared on the outside of the tunnel-mounds, doing repairs. Clinging as they did to the outside of the tunnels, the Maggots had a wonderful vantage point. The bats flew off to disable them . . . and flew back. “They’re blind. They don’t have eyes. We can press on.”
Unfortunately that wasn’t true either. Between the hill slope of the wasteland and the scorpiary walls was a lovely new lake of muddy water.
“We’d better get swimming,” said Chip, not happy with the idea. He hadn’t swum much. Trips to the coast were for Shareholders. Part of his Company-sponsored education had included “swimming.” But it had stopped at the level of “drown-proofing.” Chip couldn’t even see the other side of this body of water. It was lost around the corner of the Maggot-mound spiral.
“The water looks cold,” said Melene. Gingerly, she touched it with her tail tip. “Freezing!”
“One must be philosophical about this,” said Doc, looking as if this he’d rather be anything but.
“Water’s not good for you,” pronounced Fal, edging away. “Shrinks the skin. As pleasingly rotund as I am, I can’t afford that.”
Fal eyed the bats. “Can’t you give us a lift?”
“You’re far too heavy,” said Eamon, sizing him up.
“We could sit on Chip’s head,” said Phylla hopefully. “He could ferry us across, one by one.”
“I’m not sure I can swim that far,” replied Chip. “Not even once, let alone six times.” He sighed heavily. “But it’s swim or die, I’m afraid.”
“We bats can fly,” stated Eamon. “I do not really know why we’ve stuck together so long anyway.”
“Eamon,” protested Siobhan, “we cannot just be leaving them!” She was plainly incensed, to dare to challenge the big bat directly. Normally, only Bronstein would do that.
“Be easy, Siobhan,” said Bronstein, perching on Chip’s shoulder. She wrinkled her face in that exquisitely grotesque manner by which bats expressed a sneer. “Eamon can leave if he has not the stomach for this.”
The big bat rose to that fly beautifully. “I can fight with the best, and certainly long after you’ve decided to wing your way hence!”
“To be sure, you can fight,” said Bronstein, dismissively. “But can you die well?”
“I can fight and die as well and as nobly as any son of the revolution! I can die with both courage and dignity.” The bat spread his wings, assuming what he apparently considered a dramatic and heroic stance. To Chip, he looked like Dracula suffering from hemorrhoids.
“It’s eating too much Maggot,” snickered Pistol, mimicking the stance. “It’s made me constipated too. Got any laxatives for us, Doc?”
Chip suddenly hooked on. “Die artistically.” That’s what she’d said. “Shut up, Pistol.” He winked hastily at the one-eyed rat. Then he turned on the affronted-looking bat, and said “You can die with courage. But can you die with drama?”
“What?!”
“With great agonized howls and much flip-flopping before you are finally still,” said Chip.
Eamon was affronted. “I? Die like some coward slave! Have you lost your wits, primate?”
“I knew he couldn’t do it,” Chip said to Bronstein in a stage whisper. Bronstein furled her wings with her own dramatic, dismissive flair. “Yes,” she sniffed. “Clear enough, ’tis beyond him.”
“Yeah, we rats will show you how it’s done. Leave it to us!” Pistol hadn’t figured out what was going on. But he could play along as well as the next rat.
“Bah!” hissed Eamon. “Anything you rats can do we bats can do better.”
“Anything?”
“Anything!” Eamon paused. “Except drink and fornicate.”
“We always master the important things,” pronounced Fal.
* * *
It was, Chip decided, the finest dramatic production ever to grace the planet of Harmony And Reason. Perhaps it was the nature of the rats’ downloads. Whatever the reason, the rodents were actors par excellence. The fight between Fal, Nym and Pistol was worthy of the Globe Theater itself. Chip was glad he managed to land himself a brief cameo appearance, “dying” quickly, so he could watch the rest, peeping as he lay still on the muddy shore.