Space Station Rat

by Michael J. Daley

  And never again! Rat rubbed fiercely at the spot beside her nose where the fingers had touched.

  Rat paused. The fingers did not get her. Did they find the wire?

  If they did, Rat might be only between dangers.

  Think! If they found the wire, what would they do?

  At the laboratory the scientists used terrible robots for catching animals that escaped. A place with gobblers and Nanny and so many other busy, scurrying robots would have sniffers. Rat could hide from people. They were big and clumsy. Their senses were dull. Sniffers were harder. They almost ruined her escape from the scientists. Small, fast, and vicious, sniffers tracked your smell. And oh how Rat stank! They would find her in a second!

  Rat washed her coat. She washed with a fury. The chemical made her feel sick, but she must get clean or—Rat stopped in midlick. Her tongue poked between her teeth. She didn’t smell like a rat, did she?

  No more washing. She would stink instead. Sniffers did not hunt fire foam. Clever Rat!

  Rat looked left. Rat looked right. She crept back to her nest. With quick sweeps of her paws, she pulled the scattered bedding into a comfortable pile. Rat listened once more, then curled up in a tight ball, careful not to lie on her tail. She would not be safe in her nest for long. Too many of her tracks led here. She must leave soon. She had been hungry and lonely before. Now she would be hungry and lonely and hunted. Though Rat did not shed tears, deep down in her heart, she cried.

  Where could she go? Where would she be safe from robots? Where would she find food?

  Rat looked at the food she had worked so hard for. It must be left behind. But there was one way to take some with her. Rat sliced through the plastic with her teeth. She pressed her nose into the squishy, meaty goodness. The soft food didn’t bother her teeth, and it soothed her belly.

  Good. Good.

  Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they just sent a fix-it and never found the wire.

  Rat shuddered. She could not forget the fingers.

  How could she find out for sure?

  The boy would know.

  Yes, the boy. Rat remembered the tiny gobbler that never came after the cookie crumbs in the room. Nanny never entered the room. Only the messy boy. She could hide there. She would get food.

  Rat listened at all the paths from her nest.

  Nothing sneaking.

  She set off.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HUNTING

  I will not complain, Jeff repeated to himself as he followed Nanny down the empty corridor. But the back of his right heel hurt where the gripper boot rubbed. He was hungry and tired. The strap of the gun dug into his shoulder. I must not complain.

  Where were they? Jeff didn’t know. Nanny did. Jeff dared not bother Nanny with a question like that. Maybe Ring 3—or was that the last one? Somewhere far in, anyway. The tight curve in the floor told Jeff that. Not very far ahead of them the floor seemed to curl up into the ceiling. At least the gravity was weaker this far in. The gun felt less heavy. But he still had to pull hard to make the boots let go of the sticky carpet strip. That made his heel smart.

  Hours ago the captain had handed him the gun. The gun made his parents nervous. They almost wouldn’t let him go. But the captain told them it was a SmartGun. He quickly punched several buttons on it before handing it to Jeff.

  “There now, perfectly safe, even for a boy!” The captain laughed. “Can’t have people blowing holes in the walls, you know!”

  Mom said, “I guess it’s okay.” And Dad nodded.

  Then the captain sent Jeff on his way with this advice: “Stick with Nanny, boy, and everything will be fine.”

  Jeff obeyed, creeping and sneaking behind Nanny through the stale-smelling and silent parts of the space station. When Nanny moved, Jeff moved. His boots made a soft scritch-rip, scritch-rip sound. Nanny’s motor buzzed. When Nanny stopped, Jeff stopped. When Nanny looked around with the one green eye, Jeff held his breath. He strained his eyes and ears into the gloomy bigness, alert to any hint of a rat. It was fun at first. But they had been doing this since the meeting in the cafeteria. That had been just after lunch. Jeff was sure they had prowled right through supper time by now. In and out and around and around, and nothing happened.

  Another jab of pain. He clenched his teeth. Once again he blamed Mom for forgetting, imagining the boots side by side in the front hall, in plain sight. Good for nothing on Earth.

  He bet the blister was huge, the kind that pops and bleeds and gets infected. They would have to cut his foot off. It happened to prisoners on long marches, Jeff knew. And this was a long march! Jeff had never walked so much in his whole life—not even at camp. Maybe they would notice when he lost a foot trying to save the project from some dumb—

  “Ow!”

  Jeff smacked his knee against Nanny’s hard shell. He hadn’t noticed that the robot had stopped. After making an angry, sizzly sound like a hive of disturbed bees, Nanny went quiet.

  The silence made Jeff’s ears throb. No machines hummed. No air fans whispered. The corridor was so dark the colors on the piping didn’t show. Only one tiny bulb glowed yards away. It lit up a closed hatch with a sign saying DANGER—OFF-LIMITS. Another abandoned part of the space station. No reason to search there; even a rat needed air.

  But Nanny did not turn back.

  What was up?

  Jeff forced his eyes open as wide as they could go. His finger curled over the cold, hard trigger. How dangerous the gun felt! The automatic targeting beam came on. It cast a dinner-plate-sized circle of light as bright as sunshine. Briefly the light blazed off Nanny’s laser-proof armor, dazzling Jeff’s dark-adjusted eyes. Then Jeff aimed into the shadowy places.

  Come on, rat!

  But he could barely see, so he hoped the rat would wait a minute before showing up. Nanny was not bothered by the sudden change from dark to light. Nanny had sensors for heat and motion. Jeff despaired, not for the first time since the hunt began: How would he ever get the rat first?

  Something clattered as loud as spilled pennies just above his head. Eyes-handgun all jerked toward the sound. Jeff almost pulled the trigger, but it was just a sniffer in the air vent. Its jagged teeth glittered like a mouthful of braces in the targeting beam. The wormy eye tubes bobbed.

  Jeff let out a whoosh of breath. He slumped against the wall, then slowly sank to the deck. While Nanny talked to the sniffer, he pulled off his boot. The sock came next. Sure enough, a blister as big as his thumb—puffy and white with red all around it. It was shaped like a lima bean, Jeff’s least favorite food after liverwurst.

  Nanny reported, “There is a pattern to the trails. The sniffers need more time.”

  “Can we rest then? I’m starving!” Jeff took off his pack.

  “Nanny needs no food. Nanny needs no rest. Nanny does not get blisters.”

  “So what? You still can’t find it, can you? Even with all those sniffers! Maybe I’d have better luck without you!”

  “Let’s find out,” Nanny said, and zipped up the corridor.

  “Hey! Stop! Come back!”

  Nanny did not take orders from Jeff. It raced beyond the point where the floor and ceiling appeared to pinch together.

  Jeff rolled to his feet, or meant to. But he pushed too hard and lifted into the air. He corkscrewed twice before he caught the floor with the toe of his booted foot. Connected at last, he ran—scritch-rip-thump, scritch-rip-thump. Running with one bare foot in this weak gravity tested all his skill. Every pump of his leg tried to carry him into the ceiling. He struggled and wobbled and began to feel sick to his stomach. He stopped, hands on knees, puffing. Many passages led in and out here. Nanny could have taken any one. He held his breath, listened. No motor noise. He would never find Nanny.

  Who cares? He didn’t want Nanny, anyway. He wanted the rat!

  Scritch-rip-thump, scritch-rip-thump. Slowly Jeff walked back to where he’d left all his things. Food first, then a bandage for the blister, then …

  Jeff tried to
think what to do next. But he had no idea how to hunt for a rat. His only chance was to be with Nanny and shoot first.

  Without him Nanny moved faster, Nanny moved quieter. Nanny would get the rat. He had ruined his one chance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BAD NEWS

  Rat made a nest in the boy’s laundry drawer. She shaped a red T-shirt into a bowl just right for her to curl up in. The boy smelled nice. That surprised Rat. Scientists stank of sharp chemicals, horrible choking perfumes, and rubber gloves. Rat pushed her nose deep into the fabric. The surprise nice smell comforted her. Rat might need the boy’s help if they were hunting her. She was glad he didn’t stink.

  Rat worried when she first dropped into the boy’s room. There were not many places to hide on a space station. It was so shipshape, with cubbyholes, cabinets, and closets. A place for everything, and everything in its place—even in the boy’s room, though he was messy. Usually a drawer would not be a good place to hide. But the laundry drawer under the bed had a vent in back that drew away the smell of old clothes. Rat used the computer maps to find out how the vent above the bed connected to the one in the laundry drawer. She got in through the vent, and could escape that way if she needed to. The drawer had a screen on front. Rat could see out while safely hidden in the shadows.

  Safe at last. The fire foam had protected her, though its scent was going away now. Rat just smelled like herself. She liked that. Life was too strange lately, with too many strange new things.

  She curled into a ball and pulled her tail around under her nose. That hurt. Rat studied the ugly red blister covered with messy butter. At least it was healing.

  What a mistake she had made. But so what? She was new at this—new at being free.

  Rat took a deep breath. She was a rat who lived by her wits. She had gotten the boy to study the food machines. She would get him to help her now. All the muscles under her lavender-colored coat relaxed. Her body was falling asleep, but her mind was not ready. In this safe place her mind wanted to take time to understand.

  If it weren’t for her wits, Rat might still be at the lab. Comfortable. Or maybe dead. In the lab there was always food and water. The temperature was always the same. The scientists taught her sign language, computers, and many other things. But they never taught her about the world outside, or why she was different from the other rats, or who her mother had been.

  And they were evil. One day her neighbor would make perfect sense—for an ordinary rat. Then he would come back from where the scientist took him. He ate and drank and moved around, but he no longer sniffed noses through the bars or talked to Rat. Then one day the cage would be empty, too. This had happened many times. Rat was smart enough to know it might happen to her. But she had not thought about escaping until she saw the television and, later, the window.

  A new lab worker had come. He fed her bits of his liverwurst sandwiches. He always brought a small TV set. He had put the TV on the counter near Rat’s cage while he worked. Rat remembered the first program: a documentary on wheat farming in Iowa. There were miles and miles of wheat the same color as the cardboard they put in the cage for her to chew. After the harvest there were miles and miles of dirt! What a revelation! Places without walls! Places almost without people!

  The weather reports had fascinated Rat. So many new words: cloudy, hot, cold, rain, snow, wind, clear skies, breezy …

  What were these mysterious things? Rat did not know. Until the window.

  The scientist had been in a hurry that day, something forgotten. He had carried Rat into a kind of room she had never been in before: an office. The light inside was yellow, not white like from the tubes in the ceiling. Its brilliance blinded Rat. The cage thunked down. Smells exploded in her nose. She had no idea what these smells were—something like the vegetables they gave her to eat, only more green, more alive. Something like her cage when the shavings hadn’t been changed, only sweeter, crumblier, cleaner.

  When Rat was able to open her eyes, she thought her cage rested in front of a huge TV. She could see trees, grass, and flower beds with black dirt all bathed in a light so brilliant and clear. The clarity made her feel as if her eyes had never seen before. She could see every leaf that fluttered on the trees. They winked silver-green.

  The light darkened, then returned. Rat looked up into the sky—out there was what the TV weatherman had described that morning:

  “And now my forecast for today. High pressure will dominate our region, while a cold front moving in from the north will bring partly cloudy skies and a southwesterly breeze by afternoon.…”

  Rat shook the stupid voice out of her head. It was all so much more beautiful than those words!

  Layer upon layer of odors flowed through the open window. Rat stood perfectly still. Her nose worked delicately, sorting, mystified. The scientist fumed, slamming drawers and cursing. Between his noises, Rat heard a new sound. It sounded like grain pouring into her food bowl, only much softer. This delicious sound came from the leaves of the trees.

  The startling light had gradually moved into Rat’s cage, yellow as crisp new shavings. She stepped into it. Warmth embraced her. Every hair in her coat glittered. Sunlight. From outside. Wildness, anger, and resolve seized Rat. She began to plan her escape.

  And now look at her! Trapped on a space station! It made her want to chew wire, chew lots of wire, chew all the wires!

  The door opened, and the boy’s complaining voice drove everything from Rat’s mind. “It wasn’t fair! You left me alone for hours! Then sneaking up. You scared me!”

  “Noisy, dull boy,” said Nanny. “Lucky we are the hunters. Lucky you are not a rat. Sleep now.”

  “I don’t want to!”

  We?! Rat could not see them. Rat did not let a single muscle even feel a wish to see them. We are the hunters!

  “Annoying boy, you must.”

  “You, too, then. You sleep, and we’ll start again together.”

  “Nanny does not sleep.”

  “Well, go fix something. Just don’t hunt anymore. Not until I can help again.”

  “Nanny does not need help.”

  “Stop saying that! I’m helping them, not you. That’s why it’s important.”

  “Them?”

  “Mom and Dad. The captain. Don’t you remember? The captain said the rat had to be caught quickly before it chewed something important, maybe something that could ruin Mom and Dad’s work. That’s when they really got excited about my going. So I’m helping them.”

  How could Rat have been so stupid, thinking the boy was her friend? He was human. Of course he would help them, not her.

  “Nanny is not programmed to understand. We are wasting time. Go to sleep.” Nanny’s motor hummed.

  “All right already. I know I have to sleep. But I don’t need lots. Come get me in four hours, okay? I’ll set my alarm.”

  “Nanny will work very fast while you sleep. You will not go hunting again.”

  “Oh yeah? You didn’t get it last time you were alone. I don’t think you’ll get it now.”

  Nanny clicked. “You are a stubborn boy. Nanny will return in six hours.”

  “But—”

  The door closed.

  The boy clomped toward the bed. Besides the scritch of his boots, Rat heard a dragging, then a heavy thud as the boy dropped something on the floor. He flopped onto the bed. Rat nudged an eye out of the folds of the T-shirt. She stared at the gun. It looked nearly as big as the boy.

  The gun changed everything.

  The boy got off the bed. The computer started up, followed by typing. Rat guessed he was writing his pen pal. Telling all about the hunt. Stupid boy! You’re trying to kill your pen pal.

  But the boy did not know that. Rat had to be fair to him.

  What would he do if he knew?

  The boy shut off the computer. He took something out of a locker. He came back and sat on the bed. He pulled off his boots. Blood stained the back of his right sock. Rat leaned closer to the screen. The
sock and then a bloody bandage came off. The broken blister looked more painful than the one on her tail.

  The boy set the first-aid kit on the floor. He began to clean his hurt foot. He took sharp, short breaths as he worked. Rat’s own tail began to throb as she remembered how much it hurt to touch. The boy gingerly rubbed on ointment. It looked and smelled as if it would work much better than butter. He put on a bandage, working with careful fingers. Rat never saw the boy do anything so neatly before.

  The boy put the first-aid kit away, set his alarm clock, then fell into bed still wearing his clothes.

  “Please don’t let Nanny find it … please.” The boy whispered this a few times, then his breathing changed to the rhythms of sleep.

  Rat was not so lucky. She slept badly, waking often. She must get the message perfectly right. She dreamed she forgot how to type. Or suddenly, she floated, too light to press the keys. Once the screen filled with paw prints instead of letters.

  Each time Rat woke, the bulky shadow of the gun greeted her tired eyes. A flashing light on its control panel winked rapidly, as if excited, as if to say to her, “I know you are there.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE RAT

  When the alarm rang, Jeff got straight out of bed. He was ready for something to happen. He was ready to make something happen. He grabbed the gun. Lunge. Pivot. Aim.

  “Blam-blam-blam!” He yelled these words even though the modern gun did not make such crude noises. It was more fun than quietly saying, “Zizz-zizz.”

  “I got the moves.”

  Lunge. Hop into reverse crouch. Thwack! The blistered heel slammed against the laundry drawer.

  “Ow!”

  He dropped the gun and fell onto the bed. He rocked back and forth, clutching just above his ankle, trying to throttle the pain. When the throbbing lessened he looked at the clock. Ten more minutes. Would Nanny come? Had there been any real shooting while he was asleep?