Eventually they arrived at a river which though not especially fast, was quite deep, and very wide. Murphy could have walked across the bottom but Caitlin couldn’t. So the cyborg cut some trees down and Caitlin used vines to bind them together. The process consumed two hours. By the time they crossed, Pylo II was hanging low in the western sky.
Once the march resumed Murphy was on the lookout for a place where they could hole up for the night. The drone spotted a possibility fifty yards east of the game trail they were on and Murphy went to investigate. The jumble of rocks didn’t qualify as a hill. But it was home to a clearing that was protected on three sides. And that was pretty good.
They settled in as the sun set. And it wasn’t long before they had a fire going—and Caitlin was eating her last MRE. The entrée was pork and beans this time… And a lot better. “We should arrive in Keebler’s Gap tomorrow,” Murphy told her.
“Yeah,” Caitlin replied. “That’s good.”
“You don’t sound very excited. Your father might be there.”
The fire crackled and shadows danced on the rocks around them. “Maybe he will,” Caitlin allowed, “and maybe he won’t. There’s been no sign of him so far.”
So there it was. Caitlin had doubts about her father. “He has a planet to run,” Murphy reminded her. “And things aren’t going well.”
“That’s what I tell myself,” Caitlin said. “But I don’t know if that’s the problem. Mom and Dad split up about a year ago. Dad wanted to take the position on Saa-Na and Mom refused to go. I lived with her for six months, and we fought all the time. So I came here. But Dad’s so busy that I rarely see him. Maybe I should go back.”
Caitlin looked away, and Murphy knew she was crying. “I think you should talk to him,” Murphy said. “Tell him how you feel. Give him a chance.”
Deep down Murphy wasn’t sure that Governor Smith deserved another chance. But it seemed like the right thing to say. Caitlin wiped her face with a sleeve before turning back. “That makes sense, Murph… We’ll see how things go.”
The moons rose and arced across the starry sky as animals, birds, and insects battled to survive in the surrounding jungle. At one point Murphy heard a boom as one of the legion’s fly forms broke the sound barrier. Caitlin slept through it. She was a good girl.
What would Ellie and I have had? Murphy wondered. A boy, or a girl? I would want either one to be like Caitlin. Are you out there, Ellie? Among those stars? I miss you. There was no answer.
Hours passed. And Caitlin was awake and hungry by the time Pylo II rose. “Your breakfast is waiting in Keebler’s Gap,” Murphy told her. “Mount up. Let’s go.”
The freshly charged drone was up and scouting ahead as the pair continued south. Murphy had just waded across a river when the alarm came in.
As Murphy switched to the video feed provided by the drone, he saw a machine the size of an apartment house, which was traveling on massive wheels. The leviathan ate the jungle as it ground forward. Rotating blades fed trees, bushes, and rocks into the construct’s gigantic maw where they were converted into mulch prior to being spewed out of side-mounted chutes. And the monster was headed their way.
Murphy paused to tell Caitlin about what he was watching. “That’s a Madsen Company scalper,” she responded. “The company uses them to clear land before they open a strip mine.”
Murphy considered that. Was the company preparing to open a new mine even as it fought a war with its employees? No, that was absurd. So what were they up to?
Then it occurred to him. What if the Worker’s Army had control of the machine? Yes, that made sense. Murphy’s first impulse was to run. But, from what he could see, the scalper could travel just as fast as he could. And it was surprisingly agile. “How do those things work?” Murphy inquired. “Are there people aboard?”
“No, not normally,” Caitlin replied. “The scalper should be accompanied by a drone similar to yours only a lot larger. The operator would use it to scout ahead, and relay control signals to the machine.”
“That makes sense,” Murphy replied. “I think they intend to run over us. So I’m going to get their attention. In the meantime, I want you to head east, and circle around. Then, once the scalper is committed, I’ll head west.”
“No,” Caitlin said. “I’m staying with you.”
“I’m in charge here,” Murphy replied sternly. “Get down.”
Caitlin dropped to the ground. “Please, Murph… Let me come.”
“Thanks,” Murphy said. “But no thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in Keebler’s Gap.”
Caitlin stood and stared as Murphy left her. He was jogging now, running west. The juggernaut turned to intercept him. And it did so quickly. Then, when Murphy veered to the east, the scalper changed direction again.
Murphy’s suspicions were confirmed. After selecting the most intense heat source the drone was locked onto it. I need a hill, Murphy thought. A slope so steep that the scalper won’t be able to climb it. Then I’ll fire at one of its tracks. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
But when Murphy ordered the drone to show him a 360 there were no hills to be seen. None close enough to use anyway. Meanwhile the distance between Murphy and the scalper had begun to narrow. And as the cyborg topped a rise he could see the gigantic machine without any assistance. You need to buy time, Murphy thought. So Caitlin can circle around.
The scalper was huge by then. The machine’s engines roared, its rotors clattered, and the ground shook as it continued to advance. Murphy fired both of his weapons to no effect.
As the scalper’s shadow fell across him Murphy knew he was going to die. He could run, but why? Ellie was waiting for him. He hoped so anyway. So Murphy cut all of the incoming video feeds and replaced them with an image of Ellie’s smiling face. I’m coming, hon. I love you.
The noise grew even louder and Murphy felt a wave of heat embrace him as the scalper bore down on him. Then Murphy heard three shots fired in quick succession. As video was restored Murphy saw that the three-story-tall machine was looming over him! The scalper’s engines continued to run, but the rotors were motionless, as were the behemoth’s massive treads. “Murph? Are you okay?” Caitlin had to shout in order to be heard.
Murphy turned to discover that Caitlin was standing behind him. The assault rifle was cradled in her arms. Then Murphy understood. “You shot their drone down! The one they use to control the scalper!”
Caitlin grinned. “Lead the target. That’s what you taught me… And I was lucky.”
“You were supposed to circle around.”
“I’m a teenager… And a disobedient one at that. Ask my mother.”
Murphy couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on… Let’s get out of here.”
They followed the path the scalper had left for a while, veered south, and arrived in Keebler’s Gap two hours later. A squad of legionnaires was waiting to receive them as was a middle-aged civilian. A bandage was wound around his head and his left leg was in a cast. He came forward on crutches. “Caitlin! Thank God, you’re all right.”
Murphy watch Caitlin hug him. “Your head… Your leg… What happened?”
“A suicide bomber blew herself up sixty feet away from me,” Governor Smith answered. “Two pieces of shrapnel hit me… One of them knocked me out. My chief of staff thought it was best to keep my condition secret for a while. And, by the time I came to, you were hiking out.”
Murphy felt a sense of relief. Caitlin’s father did care.
“There’s someone I want you meet,” Caitlin said. “Corporal Murphy saved my life.”
“And your daughter saved mine,” Murphy said. “She’s a remarkable young woman. You have every reason to be proud of her.”
The governor started to say something, but Murphy turned and walked away. He didn’t want to linger… He didn’t want to see Caitlin with her father… Or to think about the daughter he would never have. Murphy’s mission was complete—and the legion was waiting.
That would have to do.
A truly legendary story by a legendary author, “The Game of Rat and A A truly legendary story by a legendary author, “The Game of Rat and Dragon” first appeared in the October 1955 issue of Galaxy magazine and went on to win the Best Short Story Hugo in 1956. It has made many appearances since because it still holds up as great writing, and great space opera. It’s a personal favorite of many, including this editor.
THE GAME OF RAT AND DRAGON
CORDWAINER SMITH
I. THE TABLE
Pinlighting is a hell of a way to earn a living. Underhill was furious as he closed the door behind himself. It didn’t make much sense to wear a uniform and look like a soldier if people didn’t appreciate what you did.
He sat down in his chair, laid his head back in the headrest, and pulled the helmet down over his forehead.
As he waited for the pin-set to warm up, he remembered the girl in the outer corridor. She had looked at it, then looked at him scornfully.
“Meow.” That was all she had said. Yet it had cut him like a knife.
What did she think he was—a fool, a loafer, a uniformed nonentity? Didn’t she know that for every half-hour of pinlighting, he got a minimum of two months’ recuperation in the hospital?
By now the set was warm. He felt the squares of space around him, sensed himself at the middle of an immense grid, a cubic grid, full of nothing. Out in that nothingness, he could sense the hollow aching horror of space itself and could feel the terrible anxiety which his mind encountered whenever it met the faintest trace of inert dust.
As he relaxed, the comforting solidity of the sun, the clockwork of the familiar planets and the moon rang in on him. Our own solar system was as charming and as simple as an ancient cuckoo clock filled with familiar ticking and with reassuring noises. The odd little moons of Mars swung around their planet like frantic mice, yet their regularity was itself an assurance that all was well. Far above the plane of the ecliptic, he could feel half a ton of dust more or less drifting outside the lanes of human travel.
Here there was nothing to fight, nothing to challenge the mind, to tear the living soul out of a body with its roots dripping in effluvium as tangible as blood.
Nothing ever moved in on the solar system. He could wear the pin-set forever and be nothing more than a sort of telepathic astronomer, a man who could feel the hot, warm protection of the sun throbbing and burning against his living mind.
Woodley came in.
“Same old ticking world,” said Underhill. “Nothing to report. No wonder they didn’t develop the pin-set until they began to planoform. Down here with the hot sun around us, it feels so good and so quiet. You can feel everything spinning and turning. It’s nice and sharp and compact. It’s sort of like sitting around home.”
Woodley grunted. He was not much given to flights of fantasy.
Undeterred, Underhill went on, “It must have been pretty good to have been an ancient man. I wonder why they burned up their world with war. They didn’t have to planoform. They didn’t have to go out to earn their livings among the stars. They didn’t have to dodge the rats or play the game. They couldn’t have invented pinlighting because they didn’t have any need of it, did they, Woodley?”
Woodley grunted, “Uh-huh.” Woodley was twenty-six years old and due to retire in one more year. He already had a farm picked out. He had gotten through ten years of hard work pinlighting with the best of them. He had kept his sanity by not thinking very much about his job, meeting the strains of the task whenever he had to meet them and thinking nothing more about his duties until the next emergency arose.
Woodley never made a point of getting popular among the partners. None of the partners liked him very much. Some of them even resented him. He was suspected of thinking ugly thoughts of the partners on occasion, but since none of the partners ever thought a complaint in articulate form, the other pinlighters and the chiefs of the Instrumentality left him alone.
Underhill was still full of the wonder of their job. Happily he babbled on, “What does happen to us when we planoform? Do you think it’s sort of like dying? Did you ever see anybody who had his soul pulled out?”
“Pulling souls is just a way of talking about it,” said Woodley. “After all these years, nobody knows whether we have souls or not.”
“But I saw one once. I saw what Dogwood looked like when he came apart. There was something funny. It looked wet and sort of sticky as if it were bleeding and it went out of him—and you know what they did to Dogwood? They took him away, up in that part of the hospital where you and I never go—way up at the top part where the others are, where the others always have to go if they are alive after the rats of the up-and-out have gotten them.”
Woodley sat down and lit an ancient pipe. He was burning something called tobacco in it. It was a dirty sort of habit, but it made him look very dashing and adventurous.
“Look here, youngster. You don’t have to worry about that stuff. Pinlighting is getting better all the time. The partners are getting better. I’ve seen them pinlight two rats forty-six million miles apart in one and a half milliseconds. As long as people had to try to work the pin-sets themselves, there was always the chance that with a minimum of four-hundred milliseconds for the human mind to set a pinlight, we wouldn’t light the rats up fast enough to protect our planoforming ships. The partners have changed all that. Once they get going, they’re faster than rats. And they always will be. I know it’s not easy, letting a partner share your mind—”
“It’s not easy for them, either,” said Underhill.
“Don’t worry about them. They’re not human. Let them take care of themselves. I’ve seen more pinlighters go crazy from monkeying around with partners than I have ever seen caught by the rats. How many of them do you actually know of that got grabbed by rats?”
Underhill looked down at his fingers, which shone green and purple in the vivid light thrown by the tuned-in pin-set, and counted ships. The thumb for the Andromeda, lost with crew and passengers, the index finger and the middle finger for Release Ships 43 and 56, found with their pin-sets burned out and every man, woman, and child on board dead or insane. The ring finger, the little finger, and the thumb of the other hand were the first three battleships to be lost to the rats—lost as people realized that there was something out there underneath space itself which was alive, capricious, and malevolent.
Planoforming was sort of funny. It felt like—
Like nothing much.
Like the twinge of a mild electric shock.
Like the ache of a sore tooth bitten on for the first time.
Like a slightly painful flash of light against the eyes. Yet in that time, a forty-thousand-ton ship lifting free above Earth disappeared somehow or other into two dimensions and appeared half a light-year or fifty light-years off.
At one moment, he would be sitting in the Fighting Room, the pin-set ready and the familiar solar system ticking around inside his head. For a second or a year (he could never tell how long it really was, subjectively), the funny little flash went through him and then he was loose in the up-and-out, the terrible open spaces between the stars, where the stars themselves felt like pimples on his telepathic mind and the planets were too far away to be sensed or read.
Somewhere in this outer space, a gruesome death awaited, death and horror of a kind which man had never encountered until he reached out for interstellar space itself. Apparently the light of the suns kept the dragons away.
Dragons. That was what people called them. To ordinary people, there was nothing, nothing except the shiver of planoforming and the hammer blow of sudden death or the dark spastic note of lunacy descending into their minds.
But to the telepaths, they were dragons.
In the fraction of a second between the telepaths’ awareness of a hostile something. Out in the black, hollow nothingness of space and the impact of a ferocious, ruinous psychic blow against all living things within the ship, the telepaths had
sensed entities something like the dragons of ancient human lore, beasts more clever than beasts, demons more tangible than demons, hungry vortices of aliveness and hate compounded by unknown means out of the thin, tenuous matter between the stars.
It took a surviving ship to bring back the news—a ship in which, by sheer chance, a telepath had a light-beam ready, turning it out at the innocent dust so that, within the panorama of his mind, the dragon dissolved into nothing at all and the other passengers, themselves non-telepathic, went about their way not realizing that their own immediate deaths had been averted.
From then on, it was easy—almost.
Planoforming ships always carried telepaths. Telepaths had their sensitiveness enlarged to an immense range by the pin-sets, which were telepathic amplifiers adapted to the mammal mind. The pin-sets in turn were electronically geared into small dirigible light bombs. Light did it.
Light broke up the dragons, allowed the ships to reform three-dimensionally, skip, skip, skip, as they moved from star to star.
The odds suddenly moved down from a hundred to one against mankind to sixty to forty in mankind’s favor.
This was not enough. The telepaths were trained to become ultrasensitive, trained to become aware of the dragons in less than a millisecond.
But it was found that the dragons could move a million miles in just under two milliseconds and that this was not enough for the human mind to activate the light beams.
Attempts had been made to sheath the ships in light at all times.
This defense wore out.
As mankind learned about the dragons, so too, apparently, the dragons learned about mankind. Somehow they flattened their own bulk and came in on extremely flat trajectories very quickly.
Intense light was needed, light of sunlike intensity. This could be provided only by light bombs. Pinlighting came into existence.
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