Crudrat, page 9
“Nope. Wheel uses murmels and crudrats most of the time.”
“This one does not understand, small one.” The alien looked like he didn't want to understand.
Rees rolled his eyes. “We climb inside the scythers and clean out the crud and the murmels eat it.”
Maura could tell Rees was putting things as simply as he knew how. She supposed there were just too many Wheel words the poor alien hadn’t happened on before, they spoke a variation on the same language but it wasn’t exactly the same.
The alien shifted in the tight confines of the hub. He seemed to have finally realized that, for the moment, no one was following them. “You mean your harvesters are big enough for humans to go inside? While they are moving? With animals to help? This is too weird, you must be making a funny.” The alien was shaking his head in astonishment.
“Naw, what’s weird is that you aliens don’t do the same."
Fuzzy looked to Maura to help. “You run around inside harvesters, feeding DMP to little blue animals, and then call me alien?”
“That’s crudratting.” Maura bent and offered her shoulder to the murmel. The beastie jumped up, wrapping his long tail bout her neck.
“So then what was it you used to clog the vents? It can not have been DMP. It does not smell like it.”
Maura flushed. “Well, you see, the murmel’s eat the crud and then, uh…” The alien was so high class in his speaking, such things were probably beneath him. She gestured ineffectually.
The murmel peered up at the alien with fascinated blue eyes.
Fuzzy finally put all the parts together. “Excrement. You used animal dung to rescue me, small one?” His lip curled up in disgust or a smile, Maura didn’t rightly know the difference. It was black underneath.
Rees hooted with laughter at the alien’s expression either way. He’d finally got some kind of reaction, that was all he was after.
Maura smiled. Her old friend had just lost all his fear of her new one.
“This Wheel space of yours,” the alien said with a funny sigh rumble, “keeps getting more and more peculiar.” Then he seemed to settle on acceptance. “As the universe wills it, and as gens bid, so it be done. So, what is next?”
“We sussed out your skiff,” said Maura.
Rees glared at her. “We?”
“Fine, Rees sussed out your skiff.”
“Swarming with subgenetors and in steel Spoke docks. Ain’t pretty, that’s for certain sure.” Reese crossed his arms.
“It’s going to take something like to get you cross station, not to mention dockside, skiffside, and into space.” Maura nibbled her lower lip.
“Right, then,” said the alien, whose plan didn’t continue much past escaping lock up, “where do we go from here, non-enemies?”
9
There is truth in open space.
~ Proverb
“Don’t you two find it unbearably warm on this floating berg?” Fuzzy looked curiously at the two crudrats.
They were squeezing through various tunnels, heading in the general direction of the armiger zone. The murmel trailed behind them, all curiosity. Slow going seemed the run of it and too many backtracks when they came across a duct overly narrow for alien bones.
Rees looked back at Fuzzy, genuinely startled by the question. “Temp controls be all kinds of standard for a portside. Been the same feel all my life.”
Maura nodded. She assessed the big white alien. It was hard to tell through the fur but he was looking a mite peaky. Perhaps the torture had taken more out of him than she'd thought. She asked, all concern, “You sure you feeling up to snuff there, Quoin?”
The alien sighed. “Ice planet,” he reminded her.
“Ah, of course,” said Maura. “Your kind been triggered to run on the hot side?”
“Exactly so, non-enemy.” Fuzzy looked about as tuckered as a crudrat after six runs in a row.
“Is non-enemy meaning somewhat like friend?” Rees asked.
“Not precisely, but it’s not a bad name to be granted either, small one.”
Rees sighed. “I wish you’d not call me that.”
The alien actually smiled, his teeth were too sharp and pointed for anyone’s comfort. “We must all labor under the names we are given.”
“So, non-enemy,” Rees wheedled, “you taking Maura with you when you leave portside, ain’t ya?”
“We have a bond on it.” The alien spoke without a hint of emotion.
“Could I maybe come with?”
“This one does indeed owe you, small one, but such a number would tax the limits of my whale. She is only meant to transport one. Already we stretch the air with two of us on board. You could require it. This one acknowledges debt for your assistance with the,” he paused looking down at the murmel dogging his heals, “plop. But it would risk us all.”
The murmel took the look as an invitation. Lashing his tail, he approached the alien and tugged on a bit of Fuzzy's leg fur with his paw.
“Ouch!” The alien glared down at the beastie in a most offended way. “Stop that.”
The murmel chittered at him.
“I think he’s in a mystery about that fuzz of yours. Fur’s usually only on murmels. Even the progenetors don’t trigger to that extreme. Not this side of the Wheel anyways.” Maura bent and grabbed the murmel up, draping him into work-style on her back. The murmel turned all business faster than a tick, holding still, wrapping his tail about her waist, and waiting to be fed. Poor little thing, he’ll never garner another scoop out of me.
Rees shrugged, trying not to look too disappointed. “It’s all good.”
The alien seemed struck by his sad face.
“This one might be able to manage you on board as well, if we take the greatest of care.”
Rees brightened up. “Hot dust!”
They crawled out into another major duct hub.
“Well,” said Maura, “I’m off to get your key back, Fuzzy. I'll catch you two near armiger dockside tunnel main. Good on?”
Rees nodded. “Go. Have yourself all the fun, leaving me with pup detail.”
The alien was confused. “What’s a pup?”
“You are, though with size like yours we could be off a tad with the name,” said Rees.
“Pup means a crudrat afore tunnel time turns the hair blue the brain wise to the blades.” Maura fluttered her hand about her own head.
The alien nodded once.
Maura extracted herself from the murmel. “You stay here.” She backed away.
Surprisingly enough, he stayed.
“Right then, see you three in a couple of ticks, or not at all.” Maura dipped off into a side tunnel toward engineering.
It was high traffic and busy this shift which gave Maura pause. She looked down from her perch at the assembled masses. Sure seemed like there were more subgenetors hauling about than normal. But she figured that must be her jitters tweaking the look of things. Now that Maura wasn’t licensed, it felt like all eyes were fixed on her anywhere she went. There was nothing for it but to act like she was still meant to be crudratting.
Maura dropped softly out the air duct.
The tunnel she’d used as a hidey-hole for Fuzzy’s keycard was up for cleaning in a few ticks. Both crudrat and foreman attention was focused a few tunnels down. So she sauntered, casual and away from notice, toward that special scyther.
Not quite believing how easy it was, she slid inside.
Dodging the blades went easier this tick-time for some reason. It was as though there wasn’t a single risk anymore to running. There was only Maura’s body flipping, and climbing, and breathing with the slide of metal, no fear to sour the dance. No concerns, no cares, no worries. It was almost fun, doing something so dangerous so well. It never had been fun before. Maura thought, for one shocked moment, that she might actually miss it – the blue dust in the air, the pulsing light, and sharpness of bladeside. Then she realized that was why she was enjoying it so much. Soon she’d never have to run blades again. She’d be done with tunnel-ticks forever. Big Fuzzy had said there’d be no scythers, not as she knew them, in his part of space.
The keycard was where she’d left it, tucked in behind the loose weld. Crud had built up over the ticks since she’d stashed it there, coating the blades in thick sludge. They moved slower and more erratically. Soon they’d have to clean this scyther or it’d simply stop. Portside progenetors couldn’t allow that, now could they? Too many scythers crudded down would breed all manner of problems spaceside.
Maura tucked the keycard into her chest band, patting it once for surety’s sake. Then she back flipped away from the hidey-hole. She slid, smooth and easy, under the next blade coming in from the top, and somersaulted into a crouch.
A couple of vaults, two wall runs and a few flips and she was out the tunnel entrance once more.
“Check in!” barked a voice at her soon as she landed.
Maura gasped, wondering at the familiarity of that yelling. For one instant she was terribly afraid it had all been a dream brought on by blade rhythm and inhaling too much crud: the alien, the rescue, everything. She was right back where she started — running scythers for ration cubes with no break to the pattern of her being.
“Four-four-five, sir!” Maura said automatically.
“Weigh out then, crudrat, don’t waste my ticks.” The foreman didn’t even look up from his scanpad to see who Maura was.
Automatically, Maura reached around for the murmel on her back. He wasn’t there, and there was no scoop spoon in her hand to feed him with either.
Not a dream. The only thing Maura had was the keycard to an alien skiff, hidden in her rags.
“Did you not hear me, reject?” Still not a glance up from the pad.
Maura turned towards the weigh station. Around her, crudrats she’d never met, not her shift and not her crowd, stared in confusion and this stranger in their midst. Maura hardly dared look up, willing the foreman to keep his head down.
Step. Step. Step.
The voice came at her, hard and sharp. “Hold it a blasted tick there space scum, where’s your murmel got itself to?”
Maura didn’t wait for anything more than that. She ran.
Voices yelled. Hands grabbed at her. Her shirt, already torn for bandages and all over frayed, ripped. She secured it as best as possible over the embarrassing bits, as she ran, trying not to worry on modesty overly much. She ignored the hands and the voices and pushed forward.
She nipped down an air duct, soon enough and fast enough to bruise her knees. No one followed. So an unlicensed reject was dodging blades during shift? Who much cared? So long as the tunnel remained un-dented her reasons didn’t matter. Reject business couldn’t possibly mean anything to real people. Not in the long haul.
To her relief, Maura saw the foremen put his crew of blue-haired nobodies back to their traces.
Maura made her way tunnel by tunnel towards steel Spoke dockside. She followed the path she and Rees had taken the spin before, silvery blue metal changing to black. She found her little tuft-headed friend and the big white alien waiting in the last duct hub big enough to hold quoin Fuzzy.
Maura swung herself down and handed the alien his keycard.
He wrinkled his nose and rubbed away at the blue crud coating the key’s surface.
Maura took it back from him, spat on it, then rubbed it rough and fast against her much abused knickerbockers. It came away still blue, but less so than it had been, and generally cleaner. She shrugged off the alien’s obvious disgust. “Safest place I knew to stash it was inside a scyther. No one but a crudrat would ever encounter it or get it out. You might as well get used to crud. Gets onto everything.”
She turned to Rees. “So, did ya get a look-through at the stuff?” She gestured to the pile of things she’d salvaged from the passed-out armigers and sequensors back in lock-up.
Rees nodded, grinning wide.
“Anything useful?”
Rees proffered a handful of steel Spoke tools — strange little laser devices, small skin shockers, and other mysterious metal tackle.
“Excellent. You keep those, for your help in the break-out.”
Rees looked surprised, but pleased. “Why?”
"Never know what might come in useful ‘round about an ice planet, do we?” She looked to the alien for support. “We’re gonna need some kind of goods to sell where we’re going, right?”
“Sometimes this one thinks he has a fix on your weird way around Galactic Common talk, sometimes not so much."
Maura sighed. “Can we bring this stuff with us?” she asked, clear as could be.
“Certainly, why not? Never know what might come in handy.”
“There,” said Maura to Rees, “ya see? Here, take these as well.” She handed him half the ration cubes and kept the rest for herself.
Rees shrugged and pocketed the items ‘round and about, inside his vest and knickerbockers.
Maura tore open a ration cube and bit into it. Chewing thoughtfully she looked at the small pile of objects still littering the tunnel floor.
Absentmindedly, she handed the alien a ration cube. He unwrapped and sniffed at it dubiously. It presented itself as a dense square of dark brown foodstuff tinged slightly blue.
“Won’t bite, won’t scream.” Rees was amused by the alien’s distrust.
“That’s more than you can say ‘bout half that weird progenetor real-type food,” added Maura.
The alien took a bite. “Ah, field provision ration cubes.”
Maura and Rees ignored his strange words, but he inhaled the rest of the bar so quickly, Maura handed him a second one.
Then she reached into the pile and gave Rees the guards’ sim keys as well. “You’re more likely to need these than we are in the next bit.”
Rees nodded and took them without comment.
Maura riffled about in the remaining pile, looking for anything interesting or valuable. The murmel, who’d been pretending disinterest off to one side, swaggered over and sniffed at the objects. He nibbled wistfully on a plastic water tube, spat it out and wandered away. Maura fished out the sonic gun.
“What good will that do you?” Rees wanted to know.
“It is a weapon, is it not, small one?” The alien was confused.
“Yeah, but it won’t fire ‘sept under orders from the chip it’s registered to. And Maura, I’m sure you are all surprises about this, ain’t got that chip. Whatcha want it for, Maura, decoration?”
“Why Rees, don’t you know all the progenetor toffs are wearing them this turn?” said Maura, and then seriously, “Sometimes it’s enough to wave it about.” She tucked it into a pocket in her knickerbockers as well, but left the handle out, so it’d be easy to draw.
“Now this one sees why you have garb with multiple pockets.”
“We be wearing knickerbockers,” replied Maura bitterly, “’cause we were never given anything more adult. We ain’t never got past the age when we should’ve taken the chip. Even if a reject managed over a hundred turns, we always wear children’s duds. No hat, no coat, no proper trousers.”
The alien finished his ration cube and nodded. “This one will fix that.”
Maura blinked at him. He didn’t wear any clothing at all, she couldn’t quite imagine what his icy world might come up with for her.
“Right,” Rees looked ready for anything. “What’s next?”
“Simple really,” said Maura. “Me and big Fuzzy, we break into the armiger dockside. You activate the docking sequence. Then once you set that, you slide on out and join us just afore lift-off. Sound?”
“Oh so simple.” Rees was all sarcasm, but he looked like he was about to sit pretty with extra cubes for a month — pleased with himself and his immediate future. Sure is a danger-monger, this one. Maura shook her head at his joy in risk. She’d have hung it on youthful folly, but she’d a notion Rees would always be a bit wiggly in the head about peril.
Fuzzy looked suitably upset at Maura’s summation. “That is cutting things a little thin, non-enemies. Any mistake in the timing and this one could end up leaving the small-one behind.”
Rees shrugged. “So I safety-make it so that things don’t get off tick. All will be well. Don’t you be concerning yourself with my troubles. You’re the two taking all the real risk.”
Maura didn’t say anything, just handed two of the sequensor robes wordlessly to the alien. She pulled on one herself, flipping up the hood, it fit well enough.
Rees gave her a suspicious once up and down. “You know, without the blue hair, those eyes and that robe be looking far too comfortable together.”
Maura turned to quoin Fuzzy. “Now you.”
The alien tied one robe about his waist and put the other on, pulling the hood well over his face. It looked a little off, but at least he was mostly covered top to bottom. He also looked more miserable, as the weight of the cloth added to the heat only he felt.
Maura couldn’t quite keep down a grin at his appearance. He seemed to be made up of one sequensor sitting on the shoulders of a second. The absurdity of it appealed to her quirky humor.
Rees put on the last white robe. It was a good handbreadth too long on him. It would trail something awful when he walked.
Maura snickered. “I’m sure hoping they don’t look much past that robe there, short stuff.”
Rees kicked her in the shin. It didn’t work too well through the excess fabric. He stumbled slightly over the hem.
Maura hid a broad grin and picked up the Am Xinyn’s silver-topped cane. It would lend truth to her role, if no one looked too closely at the genetic contract code and parliament alliance symbols etched into its top.
“No offense intended, non-enemy, but this one would be better off with that weapon there.”
Maura tipped her head at the alien. “Why you be thinking that?”
“You know how to wield the staff in combat, do you non-enemy?”
“And you do?”
“Of course.”
"Why, of course?"
“Kill’ki are warriors from the bones out, and this one is quoin rank.” His tone was gentle and reasonable.
