“The first two letters are …” Rat signed them using the binary code that made up machine language.
S was 01110011.
U was 01110101.
“Bett is returning from tea. LB must close the link so she does not accidentally discover you. Quickly, how many letters are in your word?”
“Eight.”
“LB will try to guess the word from these hints. Bye.”
The screen went blank, but before the audio cut out, Rat overheard part of their conversation.
“What have you been thinking about, LB?”
“Thinking?” The machine responded with a hiccup. “You want to know what LB was thinking while you were away at tea?”
“Of course. Don’t I every day?”
“LB was counting nanoseconds. Would you like to know how many nanoseconds LB counted?”
“No.” The scientist sounded annoyed. “Really, LB, you’ve become as uncommunicative as a teenager!”
Rat had never wondered before, but now, when it was too late, she did: Was the machine any good at lying?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAST MINUTE
The shuttle would be docking in fifty-seven minutes. With pocket computer in hand, Jeff hurried to complete the list of last-minute items. Everything had taken longer to do than he’d thought it would. Everything had been harder than expected.
Item: Empty laundry drawer/leave open.
He scooped armfuls of clothes out and dumped them into the laundry chute.
Item: Dispose of boring wires.
He snatched the licorice-like pieces from beside the computer. He double-checked that none had slipped between the keys or fallen on the floor, then tossed the handful into the reclaimer. He checked again for chewed bits.
Item: Pillow into reclaimer.
Jeff put his hand into the deep, cold hollow in Rat’s pillow. Poor Rat. The habitat really freaked her.
“Less than a day, Rat,” he whispered. That’s all it would take to unload and refuel the shuttle for the trip back to Earth. With LB’s help, Rat would tough it out.
Jeff was the one on his own now.
He hugged the pillow hard to his chest, then smooshed it into the reclaimer. The machine gulped. A lot of trash, but Rat had programmed the computer to forget even that.
Item: Old clothes into laundry/shower with antiseptic/wear booties/new clothes.
Jeff stripped, smiling as he slipped his bare feet into the too-big boots. Rat had thought of everything! He couldn’t throw away these Velcro boots. They were the only ones that even came close to fitting him.
So into the shower with them. The warm water pooled inside. Jeff soaped the boots along with his body. His eyes watered as the steam carried the scouring fumes up his nose.
Quick now. Dry the body. Dry the boots. They were waterproof, at least. No squishing when he walked.
Clean underwear. New jump suit.
A glance at the clock: twelve minutes to spare.
“How about that, Rat?” he said, surveying the empty room. Except for the three sunspot posters, it was as clean and bare as the day he had arrived.
Last item: Activate Scrub-a-Dub/crash pocket computer/leave on desk.
On the main computer, Jeff called up Scrub-a-Dub. He activated it, and 180 seconds flashed on the screen, then started ticking down by seconds. Besides the hundred other things it did, Scrub-a-Dub would also create a false fire alarm, flooding the room with fire foam. The chemical would wipe out any lingering Rat sign.
Just as Jeff crashed the pocket computer, there was a knock at the door—but not in code!
“Who’s there?”
“It’s your mother.”
“Mom!” She was dressed in a conservative pantsuit and carrying a briefcase. Her hair was in a tight bun with a restrained highlight of green at each temple. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a fine way to greet—whoa! Look at this place! Packed and ready to go, huh?” Mom stepped into the room, saw the posters, and froze. “Oh, Jeff! You picked some of the best ones. I didn’t think you even cared. Now look,” she said, dabbing her eyes. Black smeared along her forefinger. “You messed up my makeup. And I want to look super sharp for that investigator.”
That explained the power suit. The investigator was from an important research company. Mom wanted to impress him. After all, you never knew who might end up sitting on a funding committee.
Mom went into the bathroom. Following her, Jeff glimpsed the computer: 90 seconds. “We don’t have time—”
“Of course we do.” Water splashed in the sink. Mom called out over the sound. “The captain told me the investigator wanted to question you. It sounded so official and severe, I thought you might like some company.”
“Gee, Mom!” Jeff’s eyes moved from the bright numbers—45 seconds—to the nozzles in the ceiling. She’d have a lot more to fix than eyeliner when that foam let loose!
She mistook his small whine of alarm as a protest. “Silly, I know. You’re getting so big that that probably feels like hand holding.”
“No.” In fact it reminded him of Bett’s fierceness, defending LB against the mysterious caller. It made him feel great. “I just expected Dad.…”
“I made him watch the computer. I’ve been studying up on modifieds, and I have some questions for the investigator.”
“You do?”
“You haven’t felt sick or anything, have you?” Mom pressed a still-moist, soap-smelling hand against his forehead. “No headaches or cramps?”
Only fifteen seconds to splatter. Breathing fire foam would make them sick for sure! “Nervous, that’s all. Being late won’t help. Let’s go!”
Jeff snatched the briefcase off the floor, took Mom’s arm, and headed out the door. He managed to seal the door behind them just in time. A loud whoosh, like a whole school bathroom of johns flushing at once, came from inside his room.
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“Who knows? This place is always making weird noises.”
The captain was already waiting in the reception area when Jeff and Mom arrived. It was a medium-sized room, much like the waiting room in a hospital. A hatch twice as wide as a man filled one wall. It opened onto the long airlock tunnel leading to the shuttle dock beyond Outer Ring. A red light above the hatch showed the tunnel was still filling with air.
Jeff stood between Mom and the captain with hands behind his back, secretly making a sign with his fingers: You will succeed. Over and over, like a chant. It meant a lot to him, Rat saying that.
A tinkly chime. The light turned green. Slowly the hatch began to rise. When the gap was about three inches tall, a row of ten sniffers rolled over the threshold and stopped: ten square, mouse-sized bodies on wheels, with big alligator jaws. Ten pairs of glittery eyestalks and ten pairs of ribbed sniffer tubes peaked over the jaws. The tubes snuffled. The jaws tapped quietly together.
Strange. Sniffer teeth should clatter. These ones were making a kind of lip-smacking sound. Jeff bent down for a closer look. Blue rubber dentures were fitted over the steely teeth.
The hatch continued to rise, revealing a pair of designer booties. They looked like cowboy boots made of glossy black leather. Studs of hammered silver traced the double spiral of the DNA helix up the tall sides.
More sniffers came out. Ten by ten they came—an army!—orderly as fire ants. They flowed around the booties like a river around a boulder.
“Goodness!” Mom said. Clutching Jeff’s elbow, she pulled him away from the advancing robots. They broke off into dozens of columns and disappeared down corridors or swarmed up the walls into the vents. So many! Enough to patrol every ring.
The hatch rose past sharply creased black pants, a gray tunic with arms crossed over it, one finger tapping impatiently. Then tight lips in a round face, topped with a head of thick black hair. The man’s lips slipped into a pleasant smile. Blue eyes found Jeff. The impatient hand fluttered, as if whisking away a bug, but the finger motio
ns spoke the special sign language of the lab: “Where’s my rat?”
Reflexively, Jeff’s mouth began to open, the well-rehearsed answer on the tip of his tongue.…
“Dr. Vivexian, I presume. Welcome aboard,” the captain said, bumping Jeff aside and jolting him to his senses. I’m not supposed to know that sign language!
Only the captain’s clumsiness saved him from falling into Dr. Vivexian’s trap.
“You must be Dr. Janice Gannon.” Dr. Vivexian made a slight bow to Mom. “An honor.”
Mom was startled. “You know who I am?”
“Come, come. Such false modesty. There are those of us who closely follow your work.” Dr. Vivexian turned to Jeff. “And this must be our hero. Jimmy, isn’t it?”
“Jeffrey,” Mom corrected.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Dr. Vivexian offered his hand, fingers held tight together like a spear. Challenge flashed in his eyes. “I want to thank you for saving my rat, Jeffrey.”
I’ll bet he knew my name all along! He’s trying to psych me out!
“Jeff,” Mom said as the moment turned awkward, “where are you manners?”
“I hope I did, sir. Save it, I mean.” He shook hands the firm, confident way Dad had taught him to and poured out the words he’d memorized. “I stopped Nanny, but it got away. It was hurt pretty bad. It’s probably dead.”
“We will soon know.” Dr. Vivexian withdrew his hand. “C-10 has gone to fetch the sniffer that caught the rat.”
“C-10?” the captain asked.
“Ah, yes, you might not be familiar with collective intelligences way out here,” Dr. Vivexian said. “Any ten of the sniffers you just saw can combine into a robot smarter than a prowler. For convenience, C-10.”
“Doctor,” Mom said, “since you are familiar with my work, you must understand what a critical time this is.”
Jeff should’ve guessed! Mom didn’t really come to stand by him. She was here to protect the Project.
“Of course,” Dr. Vivexian said. “And if I’m not mistaken, solar max has already passed. Your findings?”
Mom gave a sharp twitch of her head. “Not conclusive yet. There’s so little time left. Nothing must delay me. That creature of yours already damaged a stabilizer. What if it takes out a computer or imager?”
There she goes again, getting it all wrong! He should interrupt. Make her look stupid. Pay her back for pretending she was here for him.
“… regulations,” Mom was saying. “Rule forty-four requires extermination of modifieds that escape into the environment. You’ve got to kill it quickly.”
Jeff flinched at Mom’s terrible words, but he watched Dr. Vivexian carefully.
“Our lawyers have reviewed the regulations as well. This hardly qualifies as the environment, does it?” He gestured around them. “It’s more like an elaborate cage. Almost Victorian from what I saw as we approached. Rather quaint and antique.”
The captain harrumphed.
Mom pressed on. “Then what about rule eighty-eight?”
“Rule eighty-eight? My, my, you have done your homework. But I hate to think of my rat being such a distraction from your work.” Dr. Vivexian lightly touched Mom’s elbow. “I tell you what. Make a list of all the systems vital to your work. I’ll have sniffers patrol them and your lab.”
That was a good waste of sniffers.
“They won’t touch anything, will they?” asked Mom.
“Of course not.”
Mom bit her lip. Her anger faltered.
“Go back to your work, Dr. Gannon. Leave the rat to me and C-10.”
As if on cue, a column of sniffers suddenly filled the corridor, spilling from the vents and forming a line right up to Dr. Vivexian’s feet. In the distance, Jeff saw something small and dark moving along the top of the column. The sniffers passed the object to each other the way ants might pass a dead beetle to their nest.
It wasn’t a beetle, though. It was one of Nanny’s sniffers, the one that had caught Rat by the leg. Its jaws gaped, dark with dried blood. Bright lavender hairs bristled from between its teeth like eyelashes.
Jeff’s skin crawled, remembering.
Dr. Vivexian knelt to inspect it. He plucked some of the lavender hairs. “C-10, report.”
Ten sniffers came into a huddle, then piled one on top of the other, locking together like building blocks. The assembly spoke from some hidden part of the top sniffer. Its voice was a strange, slippery mesh of harmonics.
“DNA match is perfect,” it said. “Specimen RR4b has certainly been on this space station.”
Specimen? Like a bug? Like a bacteria?
“But is she alive?”
“Unable to confirm at this time,” C-10 said.
Looking up from the hairs in his fingers, Dr. Vivexian’s gaze fixed on Jeff. “Why didn’t you shoot it?”
Not the question Jeff anticipated. The sound of Rat and the sniffer struggling came back to him, a vivid echo in his skull. Thump-clatter-scratch-scratch-thump-clatter.
“There was this sound ... and … so … much … blood.”
Dr. Vivexian stared, eyes narrowing, cold and observant. “That’s all?”
“It screamed.…” The words barely came out a whisper. “Don’t you care?”
“Care?” Dr. Vivexian dropped the hairs. He stood, dusting his hands together. “About what? Your squeamish reactions to a little blood and pain? Not at all. What happened after you disabled the prowler?”
“After?” Jeff said. “Nothing happened after. Nanny went haywire. I looked back. The rat was gone.”
“Doctor, about that blood?” Mom stepped between Jeff and Dr. Vivexian. “I’m concerned.”
The fringe of Mom’s suit jacket brushed across Jeff’s hand. He resisted the impulse to grab hold.
Dr. Vivexian replied. “About transgenic crossover? That requires contact. The boy just said—”
“Some blood might have splattered on him in the struggle. Besides, it’s not just blood. The rat came to Jeff’s room. Many times, apparently. It might’ve left droppings. Dander. Any danger of pathogens?”
Jeff never even suspected that Rat could be dangerous to him in that way. His knee began to throb. Five points of pain. Rat had scratched him. Bitten him.
“Hey! What are you two going on about?” the captain asked. “No one told me it could be infectious!”
He’d breathed her breath. Kissed her nose.
“Really, Janice—if I may be so familiar. The boy is quite safe. Everyone is. My rats are very clean.” Dr. Vivexian made a quick, dismissive move of his head. “Now, about Jeff’s room. That must be our next stop.”
“Wait until you see it,” the captain said. “A real rat’s nest!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MORE QUESTIONS
How am I going to explain the neatness? Jeff knew what to say about the fire foam, but he hadn’t guessed the clean room itself might be a clue. Darn the captain.
Rrrrrip, rip, rip.
The captain, Mom, and Dr. Vivexian started walking toward the door. Jeff hung back—watching, waiting. He saw the exact moment when Dr. Vivexian’s step wavered. His raised foot lingered in the air uncertainly. The polished boot tip drew a squiggly circle, then came down crossways over the other one. He staggered. The captain—alert and ready—caught the newcomer by the elbow.
“I … I suddenly feel quite sick,” Dr. Vivexian said through clenched teeth. He had turned white. His forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat.
“That’ll be the torsional effect from the spin. Our angular vector is always shifting. Plays havoc with the inner ear. Takes a bit of getting used to,” the captain said.
“I am aware of the science, Captain. Is there some relief?”
“The body adjusts,” the captain said with a shrug. He pulled a barf bag from his pocket. “Meantime, you may need this.”
“Really, Captain!” Dr. Vivexian eyed the bag with disgust. “Don’t you have anything more effective?”
�
�Usually better to get it over with,” the captain told him, but he reached in his pocket again. “Here, try a mint.”
Mom caught the first car that came along. Back to work. While they waited for the next car, Jeff offered some advice. “It helps sometimes to keep your pinkie straight and tense. Like this.”
Jeff mimicked a little old English lady drinking tea out of a fancy cup.
“You’re joking.” Dr. Vivexian looked to the captain for some clue.
“He’s the expert.” The captain kept his expression carefully neutral. “He can actually run around this place.”
The torsional effects were even worse in a moving elevator as it swooped across the momentum vectors. With his left hand, Dr. Vivexian gripped the handrail. His knuckles turned as white as his face. In his right hand he held a handkerchief, pinkie extended, and dabbed repeatedly at the corners of his mouth.
The captain asked, “So what makes this rat worth all the fuss, Doctor?”
“This rat has a destiny.” The mint clicked against his teeth as Dr. Vivexian struggled out a reply. “It is the prototype … a new generation of bioengineered … creatures. If it proves a success, Rodengenics will produce thousands more.”
“Thousands, huh?” The captain grunted. “Well, you’d better make sure the next batch has an instinct for staying closer to home.”
Batch. Like bread dough. Jeff looked hard at Dr. Vivexian. This man made Rat.…
The elevator stopped. Dad was waiting there. Jeff was glad to see him, especially when he noticed what else waited in the corridor. The carpet was dark with hundreds of sniffers, stuttering impatiently.
Dad and Dr. Vivexian introduced themselves, while Jeff keyed in the lock code. The door opened. The fire foam was gone, even most of the stink. The sniffers surged inside, like spilled beans.
“Is this the right room?” Dr. Vivexian asked. “From the way you spoke, I expected a pigsty.”
“I don’t believe it!” The captain stuck his head inside. He sniffed, loud as a gobbler. “What’s that stink? Fire foam? What’d you do, have a bonfire in here?”
“No. It just goes off,” Jeff said. “It’s been like that since Nanny shot at the rat. That’s why I have to keep my stuff put away. Otherwise everything stinks.”
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