"Perhaps tens of millions," cried Rootmaster, saliva gushing from his mouth. His little piggy eyes glowed brightly.
"The furnace that burns atoms," breathed Porkditz.
"Yes, the furnace that burns atoms," exulted Rootmaster. "We shall cause it to explode, like the hottest and most violent flatus that ever rippled from the bowels of a pig. It will explode and spread its poison everywhere, among the longghouls, killing them in their multitudes."
"A furnace that burns atoms?" Zandonella looked from Porkditz to the old boar. "Do you mean a nuclear reactor?"
"They take the bodies of our murdered brethren to the furnace," murmured Rootmaster, as though intoning a prayer. "They kill them and slice them and grind their bodies to a pink paste and squirt it into tiny metal turds. Pointy turds."
Metal turds? He must mean tins. Pointy tins. Zandonella remembered the pyramid-shaped tins they had seized in the shoplex. The tins were full of processed pork. "Sputam!" she said.
"That is what the longghouls call it. Our fine, brave brethren ground to paste. They take it to the atom furnace and let the deadly glow of the furnace play over the metal turds."
"Radiation. You mean they irradiate the tins," said Zandonella.
"Yes. Even in death our fallen comrades might find a way of striking back and harming or slaying those who try to eat them. But the glow of the atom furnace finally defeats the brave spirit of our brothers, subduing them utterly, turning them to food."
"They irradiate the tins of Sputam to prevent food poisoning," said Zandonella.
"Spoken like a true longghoul."
"And you think that somehow you'll be able to blow up the nuclear reactor - the atom furnace, as you call it?"
"It will explode with a hideous blast like the richest, foulest fart ever farted by pig," declared Rootmaster with satisfaction.
Zandonella decided the old boar was definitely out of his mind. It was time to call his bluff. "But how can you possibly achieve that, trapped in here?"
"We shall not be trapped in here. We shall leave this place on a glorious mission and lay down our lives. We shall blow up the atom furnace."
"A suicide attack?" said Zandonella. She still couldn't see how it was feasible.
Rootmaster licked his face with satisfaction. "We shall slay the longghouls in the millions, in return for the millions of swine who have died to satisfy their greed."
Zandonella looked at Porkditz. "He can't do it," she said. Porkditz said nothing. He just stared at her with infinite, inexpressible longing in his warm, liquid eyes.
"I can do it; with the help of my brothers in the cabal. And you two are coming with us."
"Coming with you?" squeaked Porkditz.
Rootmaster chortled. "If you could not serve the cabal in life, little brother, you shall at least serve it in death." He shifted his gaze to Zandonella. "And this poor sow possessed by the longghoul witch shall also join us. She is contaminated and she must die. We shall all do it for the greater glory of pigdom. We shall all die together. Rejoice, brothers."
"Rejoice," echoed two pigs in a powerful guttural snarl. The two pigs stepped out of the shadows. They were both boars, both larger than Rootmaster and far younger and stronger. One of the young boars had white and brown colouring and large spots that covered his powerful body. His companion was pink in colour, covered with fine, blond bristles, with one ear irregularly notched at the edge where it had been viciously bitten and torn in a fight.
"Take them with us," said Rootmaster. "They shall die for the cause."
"Are you off to Aquatomics?" said Blue Belle. Her face was smiling out from the screen on the wall of the launch chamber. Blue Streak stood sweating in front of it. He had manhandled most of the latest shipment of Sputam into the detachable cargo hold of the shuttlecraft that was standing nearby, filling the launch chamber. Streak had been working steadily for half an hour and he had just added the two large cardboard boxes containing a dozen litre-sized plastic bottles of gin each. With these, the operators at the irradiation plant would be able to drink themselves silly. Streak decided that he would head back for the farm as soon as he'd made his delivery, before they could start drinking seriously. He would be glad not to be anywhere near those drunken fools in charge of a chunky and powerful nuclear reactor.
He was almost finished loading up the last of the Sputam. Now all he had to do was load one last palette of tins and make sure that the cargo was snugly stored. He would have been finished already if Belle hadn't appeared on the communications screen to wish him goodbye.
"I'm just about ready," said Streak.
"Please darling, be careful," said Belle. She was sitting in the control room. He could just make out Mac the Meat Man moving around in the background.
"I will," said Streak gruffly. His voice had suddenly betrayed him. He was deeply moved by Belle's sudden concern for his well-being. She'd never wished him goodbye like this before.
"Be careful and hurry back." Belle blew a kiss from the screen. She was being very affectionate. She was never normally this nice to him. Streak mentally shrugged and told himself not to question a good thing. Enjoy it while you can.
He blew a kiss back at Belle. On the screen she reached for the control panel, getting ready to break contact. "Wait a minute," said Streak. Belle stopped and looked up at him, a flash of impatience in her eyes.
"Yes?" she said. "What is it?" There was a note of hostility creeping into her voice and Streak felt a familiar sinking feeling. He'd done something wrong but he had no idea what it was.
"I was just going to say, I thought you'd gone to find that pig. The one that disappeared, the Judas pig. Satan's Sow."
"Oh, her." Belle shrugged. "I've been on every camera in the farm using recognition software and there's just no sign of her."
"That's odd," said Streak, scratching his head.
"Never mind," said Belle gaily. "I'm sure she'll turn up." She reached for the control panel again and this time the screen went black. But just before it did so, Streak saw Mac step into shot, moving towards Belle. He stared at the dead screen for a moment before returning to his task, feeling a strange unease that he couldn't identify.
Streak went back to the open cargo hold at the rear of the shuttlecraft. In front of the hold, the last loading palette floated just above the ground, laden with glistening pyramid-shaped tins, packed upside down and right side up in alternating layers so as to form one large cube. He shoved the palette and sent it floating towards the open rear of the craft. According to his calculations, he should be able to fit one more in. The palette connected with the guide track; a metal flange on its underside engaging with a metal groove on the floor of the cargo hold. It locked into place with a satisfying clunk and began to slide forward. But after a moment it came to a sudden halt.
Blue Streak cursed and leaned against the pile of tins, trying to force the palette into the cargo hold. He grunted with effort but it was no good. The palette slid forward a fraction then stopped with a sudden squeal. Streak backed away in alarm. Had he managed to jam the palette onto the guide track? That squeal had sounded like metal binding onto metal in a disastrous lockdown. If so, he would be spending the rest of the day trying to get the damned thing unstuck.
Sweating, he grabbed hold of either side of the palette and tried to waggle it gently free. To his surprise and immense relief, the palette came loose immediately. He pulled it back out of the cargo hold, its hover-unit cutting back in with a hum as it slid free of the craft and back over the floor of the launch chamber, bobbing over its shadow. Streak guided it carefully back to the rear of the chamber and left it parked there for the next trip.
He'd obviously miscalculated; there was no room for it this time. He took one last look at the neat loads of Sputam and then he turned and pushed a button on the hull outside. As he walked away, the hatch of the cargo hold began to slide shut.
As it snapped into place, the hold was plunged into darkness. Shapes moved in the darkness, stirring in
the narrow spaces between the pallets stacked with tins.
"Which of you idiots made that squeal?" demanded Rootmaster. "You almost betrayed our presence to the longghoul."
THIRTEEN
Two minutes after the lurch and roar that indicated take-off, Rootmaster led them forward in the darkness of the cargo hold. The two young boars kept close to Zandonella and Porkditz, forcing them to move and preventing any chance of escape. They were hemmed in between pallets stacked with tins of Sputam and some boxes full of plastic bottles labelled "Jumpin' Juniper - Finest Mega-City Gin". At the far end of the hold there was a glowing amber hexagon on the wall with some lettering on it. The lettering was in Russian, which Zandonella couldn't read even when she was in her own body. To her pig eyes the symbols were utterly meaningless. Rootmaster seemed to have an understanding of what they said, though.
The old boar reared up on his hind legs and hit the glowing panel with his snout. A hexagonal door in the wall slid open, allowing light to pour into the cargo hold. Zandonella could see the cockpit of the shuttlecraft. There were two acceleration couches jammed at the rear of the small chamber and, beyond them, two chairs for the pilot and navigator. Only the pilot's chair was occupied by the young man with the tattoos. Zandonella struggled to remember the man's name, or at least his street name. She had heard it at a briefing only a few days earlier. She wrestled with her swine brain, trying to force it into human patterns of thought. Then the name popped into her head. Streak. That was it. Blue Streak.
Streak didn't notice the door of the cargo hold opening behind him or the five pigs slipping in and concealing themselves behind the acceleration couches. The octagonal door whispered shut, but the sound of it was drowned out by the rumble of the engines and Streak's eyes remained fixed on the screens above the control panel.
One of the screens showed the view from the rear of the shuttlecraft, looking back at the spot from which they had just launched. It showed a glittering spread of greenish water, waves stirring across its surface in the wind, lights glinting in flickering reflections. As they rose higher, the body of water was revealed to be in the shape of a large, ragged star. It was surrounded on all sides by towering factory complexes. Zandonella immediately recognised the distinctive body of water: Condoleezza Rice Municipal Swamp, a drainage basin for the multitudinous toxic effluent from this industrial district. There was a milky spot of turbulence in the centre of the swamp, shrinking now until it was just barely visible, and then disappearing altogether. Zandonella realised that this must be the disturbance on the water left by their shuttlecraft when it had broken the surface, rising from below.
The factory farm was under water. No wonder they'd been unable to find it. It was an ideal hiding place and the space station, designed for use in a vacuum, would have required only minimal modification to make it water tight.
Streak wasn't paying any attention to the screen showing the swamp dwindling and sinking below. Instead he was staring at the centre screen, busy on the communications band. So far the link was audio only. The screen in front of him was a bluish blur with the words "Waiting for Visual Feed" flashing on and off in blinding white. Zandonella was able to read the words with ease. Fear and stress were sharpening the human components of her hybrid mind.
"Come in factory farm. Come in. Mac? Belle?" The tattooed man made some adjustments on the control panel. "Are you receiving me? Urgent. I repeat, urgent."
"Ah, hello, yes," a man's voice, full of forced joviality, came out of the speakers. "We, I mean I, I mean we, we are indeed here, son. We indeed hear you loud and clear. Ah, this is Mac the Meat Man. Over."
"Mac, I saw something..."
The flashing white words on the screen changed to "Visual Feed Established" and they disappeared, to be replaced by the image of an old man with an extremely red, sweating face and large white eyebrows. He said, "Son, shouldn't you be concentrating on flying that old jalopy?"
"I've put it on autopilot. It's on course for the Aquatomic."
The Aquatomic. Zandonella remembered the combined leisure pool and nuclear reactor facility. Its gala opening had been in the news recently and the response of the Mega-City's fickle populace had been sufficiently enthusiastic for the operation to become an overnight success. Zandonella shuddered inwardly. The place would be packed with citizens happily splashing in the reactor-warmed water. Families. Children. They would be the first to die if Rootmaster had his way. She glanced at the old boar crouching beside her. His plan was obvious. He was going to seize control of the shuttlecraft and crash it into the nuclear facility.
The families and children would be the first to die, but only the first. If the Aquatomic reactor exploded, the detonation and ensuing fallout would seal the fate of a vast swathe of people. What had Rootmaster said, tens of millions?
"Well, that's just grand, son," said Mac the Meat Man on the screen. "So why don't I just leave you to it?" The red-faced old man started to reach for the controls that would cut the communications link.
"Mac," said Streak urgently. "Listen to me. I saw something as I was taking off."
"Saw something? What?" There was a sudden note of alarm in the voice from the speakers. "You mean in here in the control room? You saw something in here? With us? I mean, me? I mean us."
"No. Not you in the control room," said the young man impatiently. "I saw something in the sky. During take-off."
"In the sky? During take-off?
"When I launched the shuttlecraft, yes. As I was leaving the vicinity I noticed an incoming vehicle."
"Incoming?"
"Yes." The young man leaned over the control panel and checked some data. "I calculated its trajectory and destination and it seems to be headed straight for the swamp."
"For the swamp?" The red-faced man kept repeating Streak's words like a parrot.
"Affirmative. It looks set to break surface and dive straight down to you."
"Well, then son," said the voice over the speaker, becoming more firmly jovial, "that's good news."
"How do you figure that?"
"It's probably just Leo's shuttlecraft returning from his mission."
"I ran a check on the vehicle silhouette. And yes, it does look like one of our shuttles."
"Well, there you are then, son. It's Leo coming back. In fact we felt a little shudder a moment or two ago and that must have been him docking. The boy is back, the prodigal returns. We shall make him welcome."
"Only do that if you're sure it's him."
"What do you mean?"
"If it's Leo he would have contacted us to say he was coming in."
"Son, you are such a pessimist. If it isn't Leo then who else can it be?"
"Judges."
"Judges? Why, how on earth...?"
"They might have captured Leo's shuttlecraft. And it had a homing device that allowed it to return to the mother ship. Which means the space station. Which means the farm. Which means you."
"Now son, you're just being paranoid. He's just worrying without reason. Isn't he, my dear?"
"That's right. Stop worrying Streak darling," said a young woman in a solicitous voice. The camera automatically panned to take in the new speaker and revealed a half-naked young woman with tattoos all over her torso and breasts.
"Belle," said the young man. "You're undressed."
"Stomm," said the girl, realising she was on camera. She hastily covered her breasts.
"What's going on?" said Streak, his voice shrill with outrage. "Has he taken your bra off? You old bastard."
"He's the least of your worries, creep." Judge Dredd's face suddenly filled the screen. "You're under arrest, and so are your friends we caught here with their pants down."
"I didn't have my pants down," shrilled Belle. She appeared on the screen, still without shirt and bra, but now wearing handcuffs. "Just my shirt off."
"You bitch," said Streak. "You were my girlfriend."
"We never said anything about exclusivity," said Belle.
"
Two-timing me with that old sack of lard. How could you?"
Mac the Meat Man stepped back into shot. He too, was wearing handcuffs. "As it happens, Belle here has something of a hankering for the more mature gentleman. You can hardly blame her."
"Blame her?" A fine spray of spittle burst from Streak's mouth as he addressed the screen. Zandonella could see blue veins standing out on his forehead in rage, like a new set of tattoos. "She's just doing this to get back at me because of that moustache on the tattoo. But she knows it was just an accident. She knows it's not my fault. But she's vindictive. She holds a grudge."
"Look, just shut up, all of you," said Judge Dredd, appearing on the screen again. He stared directly down at Streak from the screen. "As for you, punk, if you're so upset about your girlfriend's amorous adventures, why don't you come back here to discuss it with her."
"I think I will," said Streak.
"Streak, don't do it," shouted Belle. "They'll arrest you."
"That's right, boy," said Mac. "Think of the consequences. The Judges have no idea where you're heading. They didn't bust into the control room until we'd finished discussing your destination. You're free as a bird. Don't throw it all away by coming back here."
"I'm through listening to either of you," said Streak venomously. "I'm coming back there and I'm coming back with a gun. I don't care how many Judges they've got protecting you."
"That's right, punk," said Dredd. "You come back. We'll be waiting for you."
"All right," snarled Streak. "I will. I'm switching off the autopilot and coming right back."
But as he reached for the controls, Rootmaster gave a signal to the boar with the torn ear and the animal launched itself forward, leaping over the acceleration couch and landing on top of Streak. Before the man could react, the pig had sunk its teeth into his arm. Zandonella's keen ears could hear the clipping of teeth on his bones. Streak began to scream as Rootmaster scrambled over the acceleration couch and thrust his bulk up against the control panel, striking at the communications panel with his snout.
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