THE PIECE OF MASONRY fell. Lumifungus light streamed into her dusty darkness. He stood there framed by the light. A hero. Her hero. He was Heathcliff, Heathcliff—to the life! She climbed out and fell into his arms. . . .
"Will you two stop behaving like rutting rats!" snapped someone. "We've got to move!"
She looked up. Focused with difficulty though her dusty glasses. And screamed. Briefly. Her hero clapped a hand over her mouth.
It was a huge bat, with a wingspan the size of a full arm-stretch. A satanic apparition, black and evil in the eerie tunnel-light. The monster's long canines gleamed white and cruel. She cowered against her savior.
He was quite muscular, she noted with satisfaction. Just like a hero should be, if perhaps a tad on the wiry side. But why was he pushing her away?
"It's only Bronstein," he gruffed. "Come. We don't want to get you captured again."
"But it's a bat! A giant bat!" She shuddered. "Won't it get into my hair?"
He picked up his pack. "Don't call Bronstein an `it.' And I don't know about your hair, but she can certainly get up my nose."
"Stupid humans," muttered—Bronstein?
What kind of name was that, for a monster?
"Call the rats, Chip, we must go."
They began jog trotting down the passage, the hero hurrying her along. Virginia was a bit nonplussed. The hero was called—Chip? What kind of name was that for a hero?
She started at the sight of the cat-sized rats that joined them, but managed to refrain from comment. Now that she thought about it, she'd heard about the rats and bats that humans had bred to fight against the Magh'. These looked like fighters, just in the way they moved. Not just fighters, but battle-scarred and battered fighters. They all wore harnesses, packs and bandoliers. Briefly, she wondered where their leashes were.
Fortunately, they hurried her onwards before she asked.
"And Fluff? Where is Fluff?" Virginia asked anxiously.
The galago leapt onto her shoulder. "I said to you, `never fear, Fluff is here,' mi Virginia. Now we must run, before the Magh' come."
"Hear that girls?" sniggered Pistol. "Don Macho-shrimp is called Fluff!"
Fal laughed. "Heh heh. Fancy a bit o' Fluff on the side, eh, Phylla?"
"Don't you mean a Fluff on the bint?" asked Nym.
"Come on, rats!" said Chip. "Time for that later. We want to get out before the Maggots stir."
The girl looked at him, startled. "But why are we going out? We must still rescue the Professor."
Chip looked her. "No, Miss Muffet. What we've got to do is get the hell out of here. Now."
Virginia gasped. "But . . . he's my tutor. You can't just leave him here." She stared in fury at Chip.
"Tutor!" Chip laughed. "I'm not surprised you're a bit crazy, having been stuck in there."
She stopped and stamped her foot. She was not used to being disobeyed. She vaguely remembered that the servants used to play mean tricks on her, before . . . But no one would ever have dreamed of directly countering an order from her. "You WILL go and rescue him now!" she shouted.
He grabbed her shoulder and hauled her onwards. "I will give you a smart slap if you don't shut your face, and get a move on."
She wrenched herself free. "Do you know who I am?"
He lowered his head and shook it, looking like an irritated, if small, bull. "I couldn't give a toss if you are the Queen of Sheba. Or even the Managing Director's daughter, for that matter!"
"Well, that is just who I am," she informed him imperiously.
He snorted. "The Queen of Sheba? Well, get a move on, your royal majesty—or you'll be Maggot-crap."
"I am Virginia Shaw! And you'd better listen to me, you . . . you . . . Vat-born scum!"
He looked into her face, and gave her a crooked-toothed grin. "Oh yeah. Tell me another one, mademoiselle Shareholder." He snorted derisively. "Your teeth are a giveaway, kid. So you're the only Shareholder on the planet with skew teeth."
Virginia tightened her jaws. How could she tell him that before the implant she'd been too impossible about the orthodontic brace? That her parents had given up, when she utterly refused to cooperate. "I am Virginia Shaw," she repeated sullenly. "Ask Fluff."
"I wouldn't trust that little thing's piece of head-plastic to speak my weight," he said dismissively. He tugged on her arm, trying to get her to walk.
She hit him. She'd never hit anyone before. It made a very satisfying swat noise on his cheek and stung her hand.
Then—she was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But you mustn't insult Fluff. I am Virginia Shaw. Really."
"S' okay." Chip grinned at her. "I wasn't insulting the little fella. Just that alien-built rubbish in his head. Let's at least keep walking."
She swallowed. She definitely wasn't going to tell him there was a soft-cyber chip in her own head. "I know it doesn't look like it, but I truly am who I say I am! We must rescue my tutor."
From his perch on her shoulder the galago supported her. "She is, señor. Is absolutely true. Ask her about Pygmalion House if you do not believe."
"I wouldn't know what that looked like," said Chip. "So she could tell me anything. Good try, little one."
Dejectedly, she said: "It's true, Fluff. I don't look like a Shareholder, do I? I could tell him about Pygmalion House, or Maxims or Chez Henri-Pierre . . ."
"Ha! Tell me about that. If you can tell me about that I might believe you, indeed." His tone was again derisive.
She decided to ignore the tone and give him the answer. She had to do something. "Well, it has mirrors everywhere, these delicate little tables and spindly little bentwood chairs with velvet cushions."
He looked startled. "What color?"
"The cushions?" He nodded. She thought a moment. "Sort of red-pink. I didn't like it much."
"Cerise," Chip growled. "Hated it myself."
That was startling too. He should have no idea . . . "How would you know? Vats didn't . . . I mean . . ."
He gave a wry, bitter grin. "You mean Henri-Pierre had a `no dogs or Vats' policy. I worked there. Tell me about the food."
She'd swear she'd never seen him before. He couldn't have been one of the waiters or he would surely have recognized her. Her heart fell at the mention of the food. It was always so . . . fussy. Besides it reminded her just how hungry and thirsty she was. "You haven't anything to drink, have you?"
He slapped his forehead. "I should have thought. Here."
The water in his issue-waterbottle was tepid and silty. She'd never tasted anything so wonderful. "The food all had those long French names. I had the duck breast with mango slices, sometimes. The breasts were cut into this fan. Somehow, some of the slices were slid out to make a butterfly. The mango was cut into a flower around it. It was always so pretty it seemed a shame to eat it."
It was his turn to stop. "I used to do the cutting . . . my God, you really must be . . . I heard about it on the radio." He stepped back, away from her. "Hey, Bronstein. Guess who we just rescued."
The bat gave an impatient flutter. "To be sure, some stupid human who wants be caught again. Keep the noise down and keep moving, Connolly."
"It's the arch-enemy, Bronstein. The Company in person. The Goddamn managing director's daughter!" Chip edged away from her.
The bat snorted. "Stop fooling, Connolly. We don't have time," she said impatiently.
Chip shook his head. "I'm not fooling, Bronstein. It's true. She knows Chez Henri-Pierre. And who else would have a fancy talking pet? Think about it."
Virginia had had enough. "When you've quite finished insulting me, can we go and rescue my tutor? NOW!"
The bat spat on the tunnel floor. "Come on, Connolly. Let's get moving."
"Are you going to do what I ordered you to!?" she shouted.
"No. I wouldn't do anything for you even if you asked me nicely. And if you shout again I'll kill you," added the ugly bat, in deadly earnest.
To Virginia's shame, she started to cry.
If she hadn't started to cry, thought Chip savagely to himself, they wouldn't be having a confab in one of the alcoves. A whispered one-way argument instead of running. He should never have comforted her. Let her have her drizzle and get on with it. It was all very well her claiming that she had nothing to do with the Company's policies. That was true, he supposed. Like her claim that the Company had been set up to build a new and better world for humans. That was true, in concept, even if as far as he was concerned, the practice was flawed to hell. But the idea that they couldn't abandon her precious tutor was going to drive him to drink.
He tried patience and a reasonable tone. "Look, kid. We can't. We need to get out of here. I'm sorry but whoever this guy is, it's just too bad."
"Heighdy! Lack-a-day-dee! We're not sticking our noses out to help some old geezer," said Fal, being honest instead.
Neither approach had any effect. She sniffed. "How can you refuse to help one of the Korozhet? They've done so much for us."
Chip was rather taken aback at this, if no more interested in rescue. "Your tutor is one of them? Those pricklepusses?"
She stamped her foot. "Of course he is! Don't you know anything?"
"We must set up a search pattern," said Eamon.
Chip's mouth fell open. The big male bat had been all for summary justice when he found out who she was. Now he was talking about searching. "Are you crazy? We need out of here."
"She says her tutor is a Korozhet. Is that true, little one?" said Eamon—who had insisted on not being out on flutter patrol because he wanted to scotch any plans this vile human might try to get them to agree to.
"Upon my honor, señor, it is," said the galago.
"We'll take the lower passages," said Fal.
"Has that piece of plastic crap in your heads fried?!" demanded Chip furiously. "It's a Korozhet. So what? You're all behaving like they're something great. What the hell have they done since the war started but sit in that ship of theirs?"
"They provided weapons, slowshields and soft-cyber units," snapped Virginia. "Humanity on Harmony And Reason would be history without them!"
He wasn't buying it. "At a price! At a hell of a price! Anyway, we have absolutely zip chance of finding the alien. We might as well get moving and head out, collect chow, and head for the sea."
The galago raised himself up very erect on her shoulder. "You must not insult them like that, or I will challenge you to a duel!" He slouched, slightly. "And I know where the Professor is."
"Oh Fluff! I knew I could rely on you!" Virginia hugged the small primate. "Where is he? We mustn't waste another minute!"
"There are many Magh' guarding him," he said doubtfully.
She clapped a horrified hand to her mouth. "Oh, Fluff! We must rescue him, at once!"
"You are utterly insane," pronounced Chip.
And found himself a voice in the wilderness. For no reason he could understand, all the bats and rats were entirely in favor of the girl's idiotic proposal. Insane!
They followed the galago. He led them up. And up.
"We're nearly at the level where we came in," muttered one of the rats. Their sense of direction was uncanny.
They crossed the wide main passage hastily. There were few Maggots about, but there was no sense in looking for extra trouble.
Just on the far side of the tunnel in the side passage, Melene paused and sniffed. "Mothballs. And diesel. We must be near that booby trap of yours. What did you use the mothballs for?"
"Didn't. You're smelling something else," insisted Siobhan.
"Hush, we are nearly there, señores. Prepare to fight! There were Magh' here in numbers last time."
Pistol twitched his nose. "Doth think perhaps we've got lucky?"
Indeed, they had. There was not a Maggot in sight. "He was in there." The galago pointed to an open chamber.
"They'll have hauled him hence," said Behan gloomily.
"Let's check it out. If he's in there, there'll be Maggots." Chip took out the Solingen. "Stay back, girl."
"I want to help," she said.
Chip restrained her gently. "You'll be in the way. Please . . . stay out."
She noticed their postures had changed. Suddenly they looked like a very deadly crew. The big bat said: "Okay. Let's go."
Nobody ran. That didn't help with slowshields. They just moved fast.
There was a terrible scream.
Virginia and Fluff ran into the room. The Korozhet, sitting in a shallow bath, shrieked again.
"Professor! It's me! Virginia! We've come to rescue you."
"Eeeeeeeee!!!!!"
"Shut up or I'll knock your goddam spikes in, Pricklepuss!" Chip swung the four-pound hammer in a menacing arc.
The Korozhet at least stopped screaming. "Virginia! Oh, Miss Virginia! I was so overcome with excitement. We Korozhet are so emotional. I could not contain my delight at seeing my saviors! Have you come to rescue me from this terrible torture?"
Chip looked at the alien in its shallow waterbath. How did you tell whether a ball of prickles is in pain? "What's wrong?" He sniffed. The place smelled like the clothes he'd taken from the poor box, before he'd been apprenticed. The smell brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.
"This liquid immobilizes my spikes," the Korozhet explained.
The rats were already trying to lift the alien. He was too heavy for the efforts of Virginia and the rats, and Chip had to give a hand.
Lifting it by the base of two of the hollow spikes was the closest Chip had ever been to one of the aliens. Sure, they'd given the colonists at least a breathing space, and a chance to halfway prepare for the Magh' invasion. They had even visited Chez Henri-Pierre, in the early days, before the war. He, along several of the other kitchen-vats, had risked thick ears from Henri-Pierre to steal a closer glimpse than they'd gotten as part of the cheering crowd at that first Korozhet motorcade.
Like most Vats, Chip had seen the arrival of an FTL ship as the end of the Company monopoly. Hah. When it had arrived the Korozhet ship's engines were apparently virtually still smoldering from their race to beat the Magh'. The ship had lain in state till weeks ago, being repaired. He'd heard over the radio that it had lifted at last. Well, if this Korozhet was here, they must surely be coming back.
He began to help Virginia dry the spines with some cloths that had been piled near the tank. Not much of a critter if it could be trapped by a bowl of water. Still, it seemed to be well-spoken. It also seemed innocuous enough, although he wished like hell it hadn't screamed like that.
"Maggots!" Siobhan called from the entrance. "Maggots coming."
"We've got to run," said Chip to the alien. "Can you move fast?"
"Yes, the Professor is wonderfully fast on his spikes," Virginia informed him cheerfully.
The Korozhet mournfully contradicted. "Alas, not now, Miss Virginia. My joints are still very stiff. Also I have changed sex. I am now female. Please remember that."
Chip grabbed Virginia's spike-caressing arm. "Come on. Take one side. We're going to have to carry it, even if it is a little double-adaptor. The rest of you will have to deal with the Maggots."
It was possibly the most awkward bundle Chip had ever carried. They were sure as hell not going to make good speed like this. Glancing back hastily, Chip saw Eamon dive onto a Maggot-scorp. There was no way they were traveling around the scorpiary undetected any more. "Hell, Crotchet, I'm going to drop you any minute! Stop wriggling those spines."
"I am most sorry. I am trying to get life back into them!" It sounded most contrite. Chip would rather it had just stopped wriggling.
"Down this side passage! Quickly!" called Behan.
They bundled off at right angles. "With any luck Siobhan and O'Niel will lead them straight past!" said Chip, grinning.
"Eeeeeee!!!!!!"
Chip's grin vanished. He menaced the Korozhet with the hammer again. "Shut up! You damn fool creature . . ."
"Eeeee! The pain. I cannot help it! The pain. My limbs are in agony!"
"Move it up!" The rats staggered into the passage, carrying one of their number. "We didn't shake them. Phylla's hurt."
"Here. Get her into my magazine pocket." Soldiers in this war might have no use for spare magazines, but the uniform trousers still had the big thigh pockets.
"Just a cut." Chip could hear the pain in the rat's voice as she climbed into his pocket.
"Run!" shouted Bronstein.
Chip was taking strain. Looking across at his companion, he saw that she was doing well, comparatively. It wasn't just that the alien was heavy, it was also just so awkward to carry. The spines kept poking into him, and the two he held were constantly twitching. Whatever they'd done to this poor creature must have been hellish.
They were crossing a ramp-bridge, above a Maggot aqueduct and lower roadway. "Try to stop twitching, will you? If we drop you here you'll go splat. And we're both close to dropping you." The creature was stilled.
Looking at Virginia, Chip saw it was a question of whether she dropped her burden or fell over first. Her face was looking transparent, she was so pale.
"I believe I can manage to ambulate now," said the alien cheerily.
They put it down with great relief. Ambulate it could. But damned slowly. They got over the bridge less than twenty yards ahead of the Maggots. Never had bat-placed explosives sounded so sweet as when they took the pylon out of the middle of the bridge.
"Yes. Way to go!" cheered Chip.
It bought them minutes. But the alien was just so damned slow.
"How far? asked Chip. He'd like to kick that prickly football along. In his pouch Phylla gave a slight groan.
"Quarter of a mile, more maybe," replied Bronstein. "We've just passed the booby-trapped wall."
"I'm buggered. Gonna drop the rest of this fertilizer."
"There's a hole. Drop it into that." Bronstein waved a wingtip.
Chip didn't argue at this stage. He just did as she told him. Twenty-five pounds lighter, legging it was less of a strain.
"There are some ahead of us!" someone cried.
"And they're closing in behind us. But not for long." Bronstein held a detonator trigger-bar in her claws.
"I'll get the ones in front." Chip groped in his pocket for Fal's lighter while sorting out the hose of the backpack sprayer. He ran out in front, ripped the backpack off, and rammed the pressure plunger up and down. He realized he wasn't going to have time to get it on again. With a shaking hand he flicked the lighter, and pulled the trigger. The flame-torch was just in time. Grabbing the backpack by the straps he took off after the fleeing maggots.
"Run, you fuckers, run!" It was good to be on the chasing end for a change.
Behind, the bats triggered their booby trap. Hah! It was all going like clockwork! Chip brandished his torch, pointing upwards and forwards with the triumphal flame. A thin trickle of alcohol ran down the metal pipe. A little flame followed it.
Chip shook the pipe hastily before the fire got to his hand, suddenly remembering he must keep the flame nozzle pointed down. The little tongues of flame went out. Then the flames leaped back again. They were very little flames and mostly followed the drips, so long as he held the pipe slightly below horizontal. The homemade flamethrower was working really efficiently now, the flame-tongue at least six feet long.
WeeeeWOOOOOMH!!
The hammered-in spray-gun nozzle exploded out of the brass pipe. It ricocheted off the next bend in the passage thirty yards away. A huge gout of eyebrow-singeing flame leapt down the passage after it. Before, the alcohol had merely been atomized and burning. Now the small flames had vaporized the stuff inside the pipe. Chip dropped it and danced away from the flames still coming out of the pipe. The backpack was wet with alcohol . . .
"Back off! RUUUNNN!" He suited action to the words.
The heat still licked at his back. Chip swore. It was all his own fault for thinking it could go like clockwork. In combat, battle plans are by definition screwed. If the enemy didn't mess it up for you, then you did it for yourself. Brilliantly synchronized movements were great for dance companies. Of course getting to the break-out point they'd set up to mislead the Magh'—with the enemy cooperatively doing just what they were supposed to do—had been doomed from the start.
They came back to the caved-in section where the bats had set their "distraction" booby trap. There was a dusty hole through the wall, and the ground underfoot was pure mud. The explosion had resulted in at least one crushed Maggot. A limb twitched at them. Typically, a rat bit through the joint-tissue, and thrust the leg into his pack-straps.
"Through here," called Fal. They slithered up the muddy slope and out of the narrow lumifungus-lit tunnel into a huge hall full of long tanks. The nearest tank was leaking, obviously cracked in the blast. A group of Maggots with large hairy paddle-palps were frantically milling around the crack, trying to stop the crack with their paddles. Their entire attention seemed focused on it. Despite this, Virginia stopped dead at the point where the new adit opened into the hall.
"Go!" Chip pushed.
"I can't," she said, fear in her voice.
Chip could see why. The creature in her way had obviously escaped from a tank—it was alternate rows of tentacles, pincers and spines. And big evil eyes.
The Korozhet flicked the thing aside with a spine. Chip was justifiably grateful.
The Maggots were a lot more interested in their problem with the tank than with a fast leaving bunch of aliens. The newcomers dogtrotted warily past them without any obvious moves from the paddle-palps. The bats scouted ahead as they moved down the long hall full of tanks. Big hungry eyes gazed from the weedy water of the tanks. Occasionally a tentacle would wave from the water.
"You okay, Phylla?" Chip asked when he had the breath.
"I've stopped the bleeding." The rat-girl's voice was subdued. "But I think I've lost half my tail too."
That was serious. Not only was the tail a major part of the rat's balance, but it was a rat's sex symbol, the equivalent of nice legs, a large bust . . . or well-filled trousers to a human. Chip guessed the rat-girl would rather have lost a limb or an eye.
"That trick of yours with the flamethrower may have turned out for the best," said Eamon, grudgingly. "We've come out nearly at the place we set the charges. No Maggots in sight. All we've got to do is go up a level. Then across six hundred yards and we're out."
The Korozhet sighed. "You'll have to leave me, good human, Miss Virginia . . . my spines can take no more. Leave me. Save yourselves."
Virginia was shocked. "But we can't leave you."
"Indeed you must! Save yourselves," said the alien, nobly.
Chip looked at Prickles. Carrying it like they had before would slow them down terrifically. He pulled his shirt off, ripping a button in his haste. He tied the two sleeves together, then cut two slits into the material near the tail. He laid it on the ground. "Get onto that, Crotchet."
The Korozhet twitched spines at him. "I do not understand . . ."
"Just do it!" shouted Chip, pulling the hammer from his belt loops. Whether it understood, or was intimidated, the Korozhet complied. "Right. Now we've got a stretcher, let's go. Take the sleeves . . . Miss Shaw."
For the first time since they'd rescued the Korozhet, they were able to really get a move on.
"Maggots coming!" shouted Siobhan.
They legged it. At first the Magh' gained on them. Then they began to drop back. "Unfit, these Maggots," said Melene.
"They cannot run for long. They respire through booklungs, which are less efficient than yours," the carried Korozhet explained. "They accumulate oxygen in the respiratory system slowly during normal sluggish movement, and use it rapidly in bursts of speed."
Bronstein fluttered in front of them. "Here we are, comrades. Up . . . Where are you rats going?"
"Span a bit of wire," said Nym. "There is a narrowing back there around that last corner."
Doll sniffed. "If we go up one layer, up that air flue . . ."
"Take this cord up, bat. We'll have to haul the Korozhet."
Virginia looked at the narrow hole in the wall. "We go in there?"
Chip pointed. "In there and up. Somehow. See that hole there? That's full of explosives."
Siobhan came along, shooing rats. "For what are you still waiting then? Up! Up! Eamon has already started the timer. We've got barely a minute now."
The galago bounced off her shoulder and across to the far wall. "Come, Virginia, mi gorgeous, it is easy."
With obvious trepidation she entered the hole, putting a foot across onto the far wall, into the hole Chip had punched with the cold chisel. Chip followed. He edged up the flue, his back on the inner wall, his feet braced against the outer, and a long way down between his knees. It was not sweet, knowing that a detonator was ticking away inside the hollow-block wall underneath his feet. If he moved fast, he'd fall. If he didn't move fast, he'd fly. He crawled out onto the next level with relief. Virginia was already trying to haul up the shirt bundle with her precious Korozhet tutor in it. Chip added his muscle to the task, and, accompanied by bats, the Pricklepuss arrived.
"Move!" shouted Bronstein. Twenty-five seconds later the side wall of the tunnel blew out.
He could see darkness out there. The floor behind them had cracked too, and fallen in to within ten yards of them.
"Phew! That was too damn close. Let's go," said Chip.
"Not so fast. First, Nym, give Chip that Maggot-leg. Can you cut overshoes, Chip? Then we can travel without a scent trace."
"Let's try the flexible saw on the stuff."
It was easier to cut than Magh' adobe. Virginia was nearly sick when he thrust pieces of meaty Maggot-leg over her hand-tooled expensive leather shoes. There was no time to clean the stuff out first. If Chip had looked at those shoes first instead of her ragged clothing, he would have been a lot quicker to believe she was Virginia Shaw.
He stood up. "Right. All aboard."
The rats chose to cling to him rather than her . . . except Melene, who ignored Virginia's involuntary shudder and climbed up to the opposite shoulder from Fluff. Why miss an opportunity?
"Right." Bronstein fluttered in front of them. "Siobhan and Behan will run interference for you. Eamon, O'Niel and I are off to sow a bit of confusion along the way we're supposed to have gone. We'll see you back at the farmhouse."
Chip shook his head."Not more bombs?"
Eamon pulled a face, somewhat improving his gargoyle looks. He held out a bag in one foot, gingerly. "Worse! Rat droppings."
Virginia had never realized how sweet the feeling of the night wind on her face could be. She couldn't believe that they were out and free! She could feel the lessening in the tension with the sudden tired-voiced banter among her rescuers.
"No more explosions! I don't understand why you bats are so set on bangs when you never have any," said a rat from the moonlit darkness.
"We're not sex obsessed like you rats," said a bat loftily, from above.
"But you do reproduce sexually," said the odd rat with the wire frame glasses. "It is in my medical datafile. Once a year, and you practice sperm storage."
This produced a stunned silence from the rats for a few moments. Virginia found herself stifling a giggle. Then the one-eyed one said, "I've a theory why bats think once a year is enough. It's the hanging upside down. Don't get enough blood to their privates to shag."
"No blood to the brain is what you rats have!" snapped a bat-voice. That was the female one that Virginia had come to realize was called Siobhan.
The plump rat beside her chuckled and strutted in the moonlight. "Why would we want our brains engorged and swollen?"
The badinage continued as they stumbled their way across the war-and-Magh'-ravaged landscape.
"So tell me about this sperm storage," piped one of the other rat-girls. Melene, Virginia thought. She was getting better at distinguishing the odd synthesizer voices. "Does that mean you can have an instant poke whenever you feel like it, Siobhan?"
The walls of the ruined farmhouse loomed out of the darkness. Two minutes later the party was in the tasting room.