As soon as the water had drained from the supply pipe, Mulch dived in. He followed it to the first joint, then kicked it loose. Clumps of clay fell through, blocking the pipe. Mulch unhinged his jaw. He was back in the earth. No one could catch him now.
The shuttle bay was on the lower level, closest to the chute itself. Mulch angled himself downwards, guided by his infallible dwarfs internal compass. He had been in this terminal before, and the layout was burned into his memory, as was the layout of every building hed ever been in. Sixty seconds of chewing earth, stripping it of minerals and ejecting waste at the other end brought Mulch face to face with an air duct. This particular duct led straight to the shuttle bay; the dwarf could even feel the vibration of the engines through his beard hair.
Generally, he would burn through the ducts metal panelling with a few drops of dwarf rock polish, but prison guards tended to confiscate items like that, so instead Mulch blasted a panel with a concentrated burst from the stolen handgun. The panel melted like a sheet of ice in front of a bar heater. He gave the molten metal a minute to solidify and cool, then slithered into the duct. Two left turns later, his face was pressed to the grille overlooking the shuttle bay itself. Red alarm lights were revolving over every door, and a harsh klaxon made sure that everyone knew there was some sort of emergency. The shuttle-bay workers were gathered in front of the intranet screen, waiting for news.
Mulch dropped to the ground with more grace than his frame suggested was possible, creeping across to the LEP shuttle. The shuttle was suspended nose up over a vertical supply tunnel. Mulch crept aboard, opening the passenger door with Chix Verbils chip. The controls were hugely complicated, but Mulch had a theory about vehicle controls: Ignore everything except the wheel and the pedals, and youll be fine. So far in his career he had stolen over fifty types of transportation, and his theory hadnt let him down yet.
The dwarf thrust the starter chip into its socket, ignoring the computers advice that he run a systems check, and hit the release button. Eight tonnes of LEP shuttle dropped like a stone into the chute, spinning like an ice skater. The Earths gravity grabbed hold of it, reeling it in towards the Earths core.
Mulchs foot jabbed the thruster pedal, just enough to halt the drop. The radio on the dash started talking to him.
You in the shuttle. You better come back here right now. Im not kidding! In twenty seconds I personally am going to press the self-destruct.
Mulch spat a wad of dwarf spittle on to the speaker, muffling the irate voice. He gargled up another wad in his throat, then deposited it on a circuit box below the radio. The circuits sparked and fizzled. So much for the self-destruct.
The controls were a bit heavier than Mulch was used to. Nevertheless he managed to tame the machine after a few scrapes along the chute wall. If the LEP ever recovered the craft, it would need a fresh coat of paint, and perhaps a new starboard fender.
A bolt of sizzling laser energy flashed past the porthole. That was his warning shot. One across the bows before they let the computer do the aiming. Time to be gone. Mulch kicked off his boots, wrapped his double-jointed toes around the pedals and sped down the chute towards the rendezvous point.
Butler parked the Bentley fifteen miles north-east of Tara, near a cluster of rocks shaped like a clenched fist. The rock forming the index finger was hollow, just as Mulch had told him it would be. The dwarf had, however, neglected to mention that the opening would be cluttered with crisp bags and chewing gum patties left over from a thousand teenagers picnics. Butler picked his way through the rubbish, to discover two boys huddled at the rear, smoking secret cigarettes. A Labrador pup was asleep at their feet. Obviously, these two had volunteered to walk the dog so that they could sneak some cigarettes. Butler did not like smoking.
The boys looked up at the enormous figure looming over them, jaded teenage expressions freezing on their faces.
Butler pointed at the cigarettes. Those things will seriously damage your health, he growled. And if they dont, I might.
The teenagers stubbed out their cigarettes and scurried from the cave, which was exactly what Butler wanted them to do. He pushed aside a wizened scrub cluster at the rear of the cave to discover a mud wall.
Punch right through the mud, Mulch had told him. Generally, I eat through and patch it up afterwards, but you might not want to do that.