“Surely you think dying nobly for a good cause is better than starving to death slowly?” she retorted, staring at him challengingly.
“Indade!” said Eamon.
“Hear, hear!” Siobhan clapped her wings.
“Anything is better than starving,” added Fal, with feeling.
Chip tried a different tack. “What you and the Shareholder high command don’t understand is it takes a lot of skill to kill a Maggot in a slowshield.”
Virginia sniffed. “I must show you what I found when I ran for the fire extinguisher.”
She walked into the workshop, her head held high, her fine-boned face set in a determination that shone in those glasses-magnified eyes. She emerged with a serious weapon. A chainsaw. It was a small one, perhaps intended for vine trimming. “I’ve seen these used. I don’t believe I need much skill. And if I have to walk behind you all the way, I’m coming along. Accept it.”
She was a mystery to him. Like lace on a suit of armor. The first bit might be froth and tears and romanticism, but there was a steel underneath it all that he could not match. Chip wasn’t a fool. Short of tying her up he saw no way of stopping her. That wouldn’t stop him trying. Still, the rats did their best . . .
“Methinks ’tis—Virgin Chainsaw-chick!” cheered Pistol, giving her a lewd one-eyed wink and a ratty-wolf whistle.
“What about giving our Chip a quick circumcision of the puissant pike?” sniggered Fal. “Just to prove to him you know how to use it, you lusty jade.”
“But do it properly, my sweet little rouge. Don’t take any short cuts!” Pistol laughed so much he fell off his perch on the trailer.
She bent over and put the chainsaw down. Pulled the cord. Miracle of miracles, it started. She picked it up and gunned it. Her heavy glasses shone through a cloud of blue two-stroke smoke, and her slightly skew teeth were revealed in a feral smile. “I’d rather use you as an example, rat. How would you like an instant sex change?”
Pistol scurried away.
“You’re learning, Ginny,” approved Melene.
* * *
“It’ll roll.” Chip kicked the tractor wheel. “The damn thing is heavy, sure, but I can move it on my own. The two of us should be able to push it easily.”
“So? What’s the problem then, Chip?”
Virginia studied him as he stared at the wheel. She was learning to read him. That realization both pleased and surprised her. The romances had never mentioned that necessity. . . .
Chip never approached a situation with a “how-shall-we-do-it” question. Instead he always stated the possible facts that pertained to the problem. Set out the building blocks for his solution . . .
He breathed in, sucking air across his teeth in a pensive hiss. “So just who is going to drive?”
That was a question! Ginny thought about it. “We could put Nym on the brake pedal?”
Chip shook his head. “In most respects, he’s an exemplary rat. But entrusting Nym with mechanical devices is like giving a backsliding alcoholic a bottle of gin to look after. The mad rat would try to drive the thing.”
There was a lot of truth in that, Virginia acknowledged to herself. She’d seen Nym perched on tip toes on the saddle of the tractor, clinging to the steering wheel, making odd brmm-brmm noises. When he’d realized she was looking at him he’d pretended to be clearing his throat. Nym seemed to assume that since he adored mechanical devices they returned the affection. Virginia started to snicker, until she realized that she had made much the same mistake with her romantic inclinations toward Chip.
“Doc, then? Or Melene? She’s very sensible.” Virginia felt herself blush remembering the very frank talk Melene had had with her. . . .
Chip pulled a face. “Doc would probably get distracted by the philosophical contentions of whether to push the brake pedal or not to push the brake pedal. Melene would be good, but she’s by far the lightest rat. That’s a stiff pedal, that. I think it’ll have to be fat Fal.”
“But Fal . . . he’s so . . . so like Hindley,” she shuddered.