Rat Trap

by Michael J. Daley

“I’m not stealing that food. It’s on my account. I’m paying for it. I mean, Mom and Dad are.”

  Startled, Rat sat straight up, then threw herself at the keys.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  She scrambled to enter a series of commands, pausing only long enough to type: FOOD ACCOUNTS. INVESTIGATOR WILL CHECK.

  “That’s right! And everyone knows I don’t like liverwurst. What can we do?”

  MUST ERASE DATA TRAIL. NO MORE TALK. GO.

  “No.”

  YES.

  Rat spun away from the keys. She lurched to the edge of the desk. Her mouth opened wide, baring sharp teeth. A sound came out. A loud, viperous hiss.

  Jeff jumped backward. It was only the second time he’d ever heard Rat make a sound. When the sniffer had caught her leg, her scream had called him to the rescue.

  But this!

  Get away.

  Fast.

  Out the door—run!

  Jeff’s knee smarted as the skin flexed, breaking open the five scabs.

  Run!

  Leave the sharp toes and ferocious teeth far behind.

  The rip of Velcro became a steady drone. His calf muscles grew warm, then burning. Lungs demanded more air. The color-coded section markers of Ring 9 came and went, came and went: hydroponics unit two, power substation, personal storage, living quarters block C, observation lounge …

  Jeff knew the space station better than anyone coming here from Rodengenics. He ought to be able to think of a way to outsmart the investigator. He had to. He couldn’t let Rat kill somebody!

  Jeff slowed to a walk. He breathed in deep to quiet the heaving of his chest, noticed the bright blue walls of the science section. He’d left his room running away from the science section, but here he was. He’d gone all the way around Ring 9. It was easy to go in circles on a space station.

  Jeff stopped and pressed his head against the elevator control panel.

  What if he just visited?

  Yeah. Case the joint. Isn’t that what bank robbers did before a heist? Of course it was.

  He would just look.

  He didn’t have to take the laser.

  Not yet, anyway.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ONE UGLY LEG

  Rat coughed. Her throat hurt. It felt scraped, as if she had swallowed a food pellet sideways. Rat had never been so angry before!

  She feared the scientists. Hated them. Cold feelings. Desperate and silent.

  But the boy …

  What was the matter with the boy, anyway? He saved Rat’s life before. Why did he hesitate to help her now? Did he want her to get caught? To live in a cage again?

  Rat stared at the door. On this side, she had control of the boy. On the other side, anything might happen.

  Rat looked down with disgust at the cast on her leg. Without it, she could follow the boy, sneaking and slinking through the vents. Even better, she could do the job herself. She would have the laser by now. She might even have tested it on something. No. Bad idea. The space station had ways of knowing when guns were fired.

  Rat pulled a snip of wire from a box near the keyboard. The boy got them for her so she could be nervous safely. Twirling the wire like a corncob, she nibbled every bit of black off. Not as calming without the dangerous little tickle of electricity.

  She reached for another—recoiled. Shook herself. Trouble coming, and she was dithering like a hamster. She had grown soft. Nothing had threatened her life for several days. And now she dithered when a job needed to be done!

  Work!

  Rat snipped the wire in half with one powerful bite. Tossing away the pieces, she turned to the keyboard. She needed to program a worm to track down and erase everything in the space station’s computer that might give her away. A huge job. Better start with a little practice worm just to wipe out all traces of her search for the laser. She positioned herself on the keyboard, and right away the cast clunked against keys she did not want pressed.

  Look at that! Her own leg making bugs!

  Rat flopped onto the keys. The computer beeped in protest at the crazy input. Rat ignored it. Arching her back, she seized the cast with her forepaws. It took only a minute to shred it.

  The leg looked ugly.

  The hairs were matted, dull, and dingy. There wasn’t any hair at all over the long white scars. The skin sagged loosely over the shriveled muscles.

  Ugly, but the bones were straight.

  Toes wiggled;

  ankle flexed;

  knee bent;

  painless!

  Good leg! Healed leg!

  Rat twisted off her back onto all fours. Her body stood even, not lopsided. She squared up. Steady. Ready. Go!

  Rat leaped onto the chair and scurried around and around the frame in a spiral to the floor. She ran across the room, switched back, ran across again, zigzagging. A powerful spring landed her on the bed.

  Rat could sneak again! Run again! Scamper and scurry and jump again!

  Rat leaped up the stacked cubbies, up to the ceiling, and into her air vent.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LB

  Jeff keyed the location of the Photonics lab into the elevator panel, then hesitated. No. He had to go. If he couldn’t think of a better plan, Rat would need the laser. For self-defense, if nothing else. It was only fair.

  “Proceed,” Jeff said. The car started moving in.

  Would the old lady be there? Did she work alone or with a staff? And what if someone was there? Then what?

  Sneak, Rat said. Oh, boy.

  The indicators flashed Ring 8, Ring 7, Ring 6. …

  The space station was like a tree trunk. Over many decades it had grown ring by ring from the central hub. Each ring as you went in was older than the last, and like the rings of a tree, they were mostly dead. The rings wore out from the stress of space and being so close to the sun. So a new one, called Outer Ring, was always under construction. The old rings were cannibalized to help build it.

  Reaching Ring 5, the car moved sideways through several sections, then stopped. Straight across the corridor, the door into the Photonics lab stood open. Lights off. Nobody home?

  Jeff’s heart gave a thump. Sweat broke out on his skin. Maybe this was his chance …

  He shuffled across the corridor. If you walked normally in the half-gravity, the extra muscle power would bring your knees smack up against your chin.

  Jeff stopped at the threshold. The room had a high ceiling and was about the size of a tennis court. It was filled with concentric circles of ball-shaped processing units, as tall as Jeff, all connected with thick cables. Everything glowed a faint red. It looked like someone had spilled a bowl of giant spaghetti and meatballs with glow-in-the-dark sauce. The glow must be from the laser source.

  Where was it?

  Jeff didn’t have a clue. Rat’s fault, chasing him out before he’d really studied the diagram. He didn’t have Rat’s or Mom’s memory. He’d have to search.

  Jeff called “Hello?” to make sure no one was there and, getting no answer, began shuffling toward the nearest cabinet, careful not to let his feet tangle in the cables.

  “BOO!”

  Jeff yelped. Sprang into the air.

  He slammed into the ceiling, then dropped onto a pipe. Directly below him someone laughed and laughed. The lights came on. From his perch on the pipe, he looked down on a head of white hair styled in neat cornrows. It was the old lady he’d met, only she wasn’t in a wheelchair anymore.

  “Oh, dearie me. I always forget the gravity factor.” She swiped tears from her eyes, making her cheeks glisten. Her face was as dark and wrinkled as an overripe avocado. “Can you get down by yourself?”

  So much for sneaking. Jeff let go. What would have been quite a drop on Earth ended in a mild jolt. “I called—”

  “Storage room.” She waggled a parts packet at him. “But I heard you. Yes, indeed. Couldn’t resist.”

  She poked her head out the door. “You alone?”

&nbs
p; Jeff felt a stab of that old anger: Nobody cared about a boy on this stupid space station. She really wanted Dad. And why not? He was the computer expert.

  “Oh, well, you’ll have to do,” she said, but with mischief in her voice. She was teasing! “Come meet LB.”

  “LB?”

  She put an arm over his shoulder. Her skin smelled of the almond moisturizer everyone used to combat the space station’s dry air. Leaning close, she whispered, “Stands for Lite Brite, but don’t ever call LB that, you hear?”

  “Why not?”

  “Lite Brite was a toy when I was a little girl. Used pegs of light to make pictures. Seemed a dandy name early on, but LB’s got too much dignity now.”

  She led him past the big round processors to the central console. It was mostly a jumble of half-assembled electronics, but one panel looked more finished. It contained a speaker grill and monitor screen. On the counter in front of these was a notebook-sized square lid. In the center of the lid was the keypad of an electronic combination lock. The lid was painted bright yellow with black bars and the warning: DANGER. BLINDING HAZARD.

  The laser!

  The woman said, “LB, there’s someone here who would like to meet you.”

  A quiet, synthesized voice came out of the panel, neither male nor female and far more natural than Nanny’s. “Is that a true statement or a figure of speech?”

  “I wouldn’t answer that question,” she warned, “unless you like philosophical discussions. LB, this is Greg Gannon’s little boy … ah …”

  “Jeff. I forgot your name, too.”

  “Beatrice Wagg. Bett to you or I’ll pout.” She pulled a very good pout, too, before a laugh bubbled up to spoil it. “LB, meet Jeff.”

  “LB is interested to meet you, Jeff. LB has never met a little boy before.”

  “I’m not little. I’m twelve.”

  “LB is three years, two months, four days, five hours, two minutes, and 28 sec … 29 … 30 … 31—”

  “Oh, dear.” Bett smacked the panel.

  “Thank you,” LB said. “Human speech is full of ambiguity. Little can mean young or small. Perhaps Bett meant you are little for a twelve-year-old boy?”

  A bar of light scanned Jeff from head to toe, like being photocopied.

  “You appear to be within the first standard deviation of the height/weight bell curve for male Homo sapiens modernus. Please remove your clothes so LB can more accurately—”

  “LB, that’ll do,” Bett said. “I hope you’re not shocked. Young people are so sensitive at a certain age.”

  Jeff wasn’t shocked. Bodies interested him, too. He asked, “Does LB use fuzzy logic?”

  “You beat Nanny using that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Careful! Jeff didn’t want to encourage more questions. Being an expert in artificial intelligence, Bett might be able to read between the lines. Then another worry occurred to him. “Um, LB and Nanny weren’t friends, were they?”

  “No,” LB answered with a sad intonation to its voice. “Nanny avoided LB.”

  “Nanny sensed something odd about LB,” Bett said. “I know that bothers you, LB, but it gives me hope I’m on the right track. You see, Jeff, LB is light years—” she paused.

  Jeff smiled to show he got the pun.

  “Yes, light years ahead of fuzzy logic,” Bett continued. “I work with holographic models. I want more than intelligence. I want awareness.”

  They’d learned about that theory in class. It was fringe stuff. Doubted by most AI scientists. So Bett was a maverick, like Mom. Too bad Mom wasn’t as happy. Of course, Bett wasn’t trying to save the world.

  “Lost you, didn’t I? I dare say your father would understand. Too bad he didn’t come along.”

  “Too busy.”

  “Yes. He and your mother have taken a long, lonely road, Jeff. Your mother especially. I wonder if she’ll discover she’s been the servant of truth. Is she close to an answer?”

  Jeff nodded. “What if she’s wrong?”

  “What if any of us are? What if LB never progresses beyond a mere bundle of talkative photons? Sorry, LB.”

  “LB is not offended. LB understands our objective. Your statement is justified: The self-awareness indicators remain ambiguous.”

  “Of course.” Bett bent her head, solemn and disappointed. “It’s the risk all scientists take. The point is to find out. That requires a certain kind of courage.”

  Jeff wondered what truth the scientists at Rodengenics were after when they made Rat. And was it fair to Rat? Mom’s research didn’t do anything to the sun. She was just finding out. But Rodengenics, and Bett, too, wanted to make something … something alive. What if Bett succeeded with LB? He’d be stuck in a box. Just like Rat in a cage.

  “Well, you didn’t come to chew on the soul of science with this old woman, now did you?” Bett rallied, mistaking his long silence for boredom. “You want to see the laser. Heavens, don’t jump so!”

  “How did—?”

  “I don’t read minds, if that’s what spooked you. It’s statistical. Everyone wants to see the laser.”

  Bett tapped a combination into the lock on the lid, then reached under the console to take two pairs of welder’s goggles off a hook. She handed Jeff a pair. He couldn’t see anything through the goggles until Bett lifted the panel. There it was: the primary laser source, glowing like a blast furnace. He stared at the energy source that powered LB’s circuits. It was like a heart, pumping light instead of blood. He couldn’t steal that! It would destroy LB.

  But now what? How was he going to save Rat? He really might have to ask Dad for help.

  “Going so soon?” Jeff didn’t even realize he’d started for the door. Bett was giving him a quizzical look. Of course she would. LB was so cool, how could anyone just hurry away? But all she said was, “I know. I know. You’ve got busy boy stuff to do. But LB doesn’t visit much with anyone but me. Won’t you ask a question or two before you go?”

  Slowly Jeff approached the console. “LB, is it ever okay to break a promise?”

  “The question is highly abstract,” LB said. “Would you care to supply specifics?”

  Bett grabbed a clipboard.

  Jeff shrugged. “Just asking.” He’d let his guard down. He should’ve asked LB something dumb: So, what’s it like to have spaghetti for brains? Then Bett would be laughing, not suddenly watching him like a hawk.

  “Very well,” LB said. “The question can be analyzed using various systems of thought. In a hierarchy of values, the greater good outweighs the promise. By contrast, the view that one’s word is sacred puts personal integrity above all other values. Is the response sufficient, or shall LB continue?”

  “No, that’s really interesting. Thanks.”

  “It is not very interesting to LB. LB reads these things in books. LB has no practical experience with broken promises or values or the greater good. Would you like to make LB a promise, then break it?”

  “Ah ... some other time.”

  LB said, “That’s a promise, isn’t it?”

  Like a good scientist, Bett had stayed out of the conversation. But she hooted now. “Oooo, you’re in deep, young man!”

  “I guess I am,” Jeff said, thinking more of having to face Rat empty-handed than of LB’s clever word trap.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON A MISSION

  A good smell filled the air vent leading to the Photonics lab. A food smell. Unexpected. Rat had imagined hot electronics and ozone. Those smells were there, too, but strongly masked by the good smell. She thought it might be corn, but not like any corn she had ever eaten. Corn transformed somehow.

  It was a rat-sized vent. Cozy and close. A small flick of her tail touched top, bottom, and sides. Her whiskers brushed along the metal, making a soft shish. Her sharp toenails tapped out a steady click-click-click, click-click-click.

  Three beats, not four. Rat kept the weak leg tucked up, sparing it for when it was really needed. Moving along on three legs was a
wkward at first. It put a diagonal twist into her gait, and the three beats. Now it seemed easy. The half-gravity of Ring 5 helped.

  As a rule, Rat avoided the weak-gravity parts of the space station. Scurrying was difficult on the slippery metal. No carpets here! Sniffers never slipped. They had magnetic wheels. Nanny, too. But she did not have to worry about Nanny or sniffers right now. The danger ahead was a more familiar one: a scientist. A scientist to fool, to outwit, to steal from.

  The vent branched: The left one led to the living quarters, the other to the lab. The food smell poured out of the left one. It saturated her nose with a pungent, sweet toastiness.

  Rat began to drool.

  She knuckled the wetness away from the corners of her mouth. Wiped her paws dry on the spyvest. She must not get distracted. She was on a mission. Maybe she should have had a snack before leaving.

  How life with the boy had changed her! Acting like a starved rat when she had already eaten once today. Perhaps the routine had not been a good one after all. Rat felt … unfocused … and strangely reluctant to correct that. A dangerous feeling with the investigator coming. She needed her old sharpness back.

  Still, she followed the smell to the living quarters instead of heading for the lab. She pressed her eye against the grate. The grate was high up, twice as high as in the boy’s room. The door into the lab section was shut tight. The scientist sat at a table with a square pan in front of her. The pan held something yellow as the sun, whose surface heaved and cracked, patterned like sunspots. Rat detected egg and milk and corn and sugar. Raw and cooked.

  On a counter along the wall rested a bowl with a coating of pale yellow stuff clinging to it. The raw smells came from the bowl. There was a stove. In the lab, the scientists used stoves to heat things. Rat made the connection. This scientist mixed and cooked her own food, something Rat had never seen before! It smelled better than anything the boy had ever brought from the food machines.

  The scientist cut a square from the pan, split it, and slathered it with butter. Rat nearly swooned at the fresh rush of smells. The scientist took a bite, and her cheerful voice spilled out through the crumbs. “Oh, Lordy, Bett, this cornbread is to die for!”