The mechanic had been a large, lazy, fat man who’d made his grease monkeys do as much as possible. That was why, when it came to vehicles Chip had the beginnings of an idea. . . . At least when it came to complicated stuff like “put the wheel on the studs and tighten the bolts.” He just hoped like hell the rest of his “knowledge” was accurate. Experience suggested it wouldn’t be. . . .
Chip decided that responsibility shared was probably responsibility quadrupled, but he’d try it anyway. “Bronstein. We need to plan this lot out. Here, Nym. Come and join us—you’re as near to a mechanically inclined rat as the universe has ever seen. I’ve got the wheel back on the tractor. Virginia and Don Fluff have made a whole load of snares. Eamon wants eleven bags of fertilizer. We need to make brackets for putting fertilizer bags, the barbed wire and other stuff onto the vehicle. Eamon also wants holes drilled in pieces of wood for all the bangstick cartridges. We need to drill, and most of all we need to weld. The trailer has a broken hitch. We’re going to need power.”
Nym chuckled. “I’ll just run across to the Maggots’ place with a cable, shall I?”
Chip eyed Nym savagely. The rat had the grace to look embarrassed. “Nym hath heard that rats of few words are the best rats,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
Chip continued. “Now, there is a little generator here . . .”
“We should be careful if it makes low-frequency sounds,” said Ginny. “The Professor says the Magh’, particularly the Magh’tsr and Magh’evh, hear low-frequency sounds over great distances.”
Chip tried glaring at her. She hadn’t been invited to this conference! But she was distracted just then, by Fluff landing on her shoulder, so he wasted a perfectly good glare.
Bronstein, however, gave attention instead. “So what does that mean? Does this generator thingy make low-frequency sounds? What can we do about it?”
Chip shrugged. “Muffle it in something, I suppose. I’m not too sure what a ‘low-frequency sound’ is. Vibrations and stuff, I guess?”
“There are a couple of battered mattresses half under masonry over in the farmhouse,” Virginia volunteered brightly.
“Right, Miss Muffet. Get them,” said Chip, pointing at the door. That would get rid of her.
She went, eager to help, and that left Chip feeling bad again. How the hell did the scion of all that money end up being so like an eager little puppy? It was hard to kick a puppy . . .
His mind turned to other forms of eagerness. She must have some kind of problem. Vat-shagging was a favorite male Shareholder pastime. He’d even heard of Shareholder girls slumming it with a Vat for a night. He’d never heard of a happy outcome though. Not for the Vat involved, for sure.
He pulled his mind back to the task in hand. “Anyway, what I was getting to is this: we need to line up all the projects we need power for. There’s a fair chance we’ll attract Maggots. We need to get the stuff ready, get the tractor going, and move out.”
Bronstein nodded. “As soon as it gets dark we’re going to fly up this ‘valley’ and locate the best place for an access hole. Then we’ll get everything ready. Siobhan and O’Niel are going to go and sow some more rat droppings, and maybe a booby trap or two.”
“Look for a route we can drive the tractor down,” said Chip. “It can’t be too narrow a hole. And how are you going to find the cross passages?”
Eamon smiled nastily at him. “Relax. We have a length of string for that very purpose, indade. And now that we know of the regularity of the thing, the pattern is just too obvious. Oh, and I have been meaning to ask. You do know how to drive this thing, don’t you?”
“Um, yes.” There was doubt in Chip’s voice. “I know how it works. I’ve driven something similar. And Miss Muffet will have lots of driving experience. Cars are for the rich.”
But when Virginia returned, her glasses dusty and with a nasty scratch on her arm, dragging two still-damp foam mattresses, she had to disappoint them.