“Nanny?” Dr. Vivexian asked.
“The station’s prowler,” the captain explained.
“Ah, yes, you call it that.” He frowned. “Very bad practice naming things.”
The captain opened his mouth. Shut it.
The sniffers swarmed the desk, the walls. They clattered up the cubbies and hung from the air vent. Some even spread over the ceiling, using magnetized wheels. Jeff bit his lip hard. Was the room really clean enough to fool them?
Dr. Vivexian motioned to Jeff. “Step into the doorway a moment, Jeffrey.”
Jeff did, his mind kicking into hyperdrive. Tell the truth as much as possible. Omit critical facts. Keep the lies simple.
The doctor came up close behind Jeff, gripping the edge of the door frame to steady himself. The pinkie stuck out like a little antenna. The comical sight gave Jeff courage. Dad crowded close beside him. That helped, too.
“Captain, may I have another of those mints? Thank you. Now, Jeffrey, the report states that after the meteor alert, you and the prowler returned for your oxygen mask and found RR4b inside. The prowler fired at it and … missed?”
No brainer. “Yeah, see the scorches? There, near the air vent over my bed?”
The captain said, “Prowlers don’t miss.”
“A good point, Jeffrey. I take great pride in my rat’s abilities, but they are not faster than a laser. Can you explain why the prowler missed?”
Several clumps of sniffers seemed to be collecting in front of the laundry drawer. Why? His knee throbbed. Could there be a drop of blood there?
But he shouldn’t stare! He should answer the question. Truth. “Nanny was behind me, like you are. It pushed me aside to get a clear shot. We sort of tripped over each other.”
“You tried to protect the rat?”
Truth. “No. We were competing for the first shot.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw Dad’s lips draw tight. A mistake? Why? Mounting tension squeezed at his throat, then eased some when the sniffers lost interest in the laundry drawer.
“Now, let me understand this …” Puffs of minty breath settled over Jeff. “You were ready to kill it here. Yet you attacked the prowler to save it only a little while later. That’s a quick change in attitude.”
Definitely not the truth.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the captain said. “We’re all attracted to the glamour of the hunt, Doctor. Pulling the trigger is another matter. I shot a squirrel once. Ended my hunting career on the spot, I tell you.”
“A touching personal epiphany, Captain, but I don’t see the relevance.”
“Your degree must be in animal psychology.” The captain looked like he wanted to pluck the mint from the doctor’s mouth. “It’s obvious. The boy wasn’t after blood, just bored out of his mind. The hunt was fun. Until it got real.”
The truth. What if he’d never seen Rat’s e-mail, never learned she was his pen pal, intelligent and special? If she’d just been an ordinary rat, would he have shot her?
The sniffers near the door suddenly rose upward, like a speed-photography mushroom. C-10 announced, “Survey complete. Only minute traces of rat signs. Nothing recent.”
It worked! Something loosened in Jeff. A light touch on his elbow from Dad reminded him not to relax his guard.
“That is most surprising,” Dr. Vivexian said distractedly. His eyes busily searched Jeff’s room, his lips set thin and tight. He looked like a person being forced to recalculate his strategy.
C-10 said, “The findings are consistent with preliminary information from all other sniffers. There are many hundreds of trails. All old. All cold. All stale.”
“How can one rat make so many darn trails?” the captain asked.
“Because rats are thigmophilic,” Dr. Vivexian answered.
“Thigmawhat?” Dad asked.
“Touch loving. It’s how they learn about the world. You look at a map. A rat builds one in its brain like an original cartographer.”
Thigmophilic. The word was like a thick syrup. It brought Rat alive in Jeff’s mind: her busy pink toes, her quivering whiskers, her questing nose. In the first few days of Rat’s recovery, she couldn’t sit curled up on the pillow for long before she got fidgety. Then he’d put her someplace in the room she hadn’t explored yet.
“Rats aren’t just scurrying around for fun,” Dr. Vivexian went on, his voice full of admiration. “With every step they’re learning. Every touch, every whisker brush, every nose twitch layers each location with meaning.”
Poor Rat. The habitat must seem like a very small world.
“We should have found some sign by now,” Dr. Vivexian said. “Could anyone from your crew be helping it, Captain? I don’t have to remind you that the Fugitive Organism Act provides severe penalties for aiding rogue modifieds.”
I’m a criminal? Jeff thought.
Beep-beep. Dad’s beeper. He looked reluctant to answer it. Beep-beep. “Yes?”
Mom’s voice: “It’s happening! I need you.”
“On my way,” Dad said, but he lingered, flipping the tiny beeper over and over in his hand. “Jan will be glad to hear you’re bringing in the police. I’m sure they’ll share her views about how to deal with your lost pet.”
Dad was trying to sound casual.
“Got a point there, Doctor,” The captain cracked a big grin. “The police will want it killed.”
“An astute analysis,” Dr. Vivexian said sourly. “I agree. The police must not become involved.”
Score one for Dad, Jeff thought.
“C-10, proceed ahead,” ordered Dr. Vivexian. “Begin the diagnostic of the prowler.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NANNY
Query: 100100001000011101011011100?
Response:——————————————
The robot defibrillator had actually worked, but Nanny woke up in deep defense mode, convinced it was surrounded by enemies. It had been attacked. Stealth was required.
Nanny stayed hidden deep in its memory core. The probe on the I/O port of its head might belong to an enemy. It must wait. It must be certain. Then it must resume the mission. There had been a mission.
What?———————————
Query: 0000101010010000100111111?
Response:——————————————
Nanny secretly rebooted, then plugged into the station’s computer to quietly gather information. It discovered that the body sitting on the floor next to the workbench had been repaired. That the O-ring seal was new.
That was important.
Because …?
Because …?
Because …?
Nanny remembered the liverwurst.
Query: 111?
Response:——————————
Nanny moved into surveillance mode, suppressing visual functions to keep the eye from glowing. It carefully activated infrared and audio sensors. The heat signature of the members of the maintenance crew lined the wall of the repair cubby. Three more heat signatures came into the cubby: the captain’s huge one, a stranger’s, and a boy’s.
A boy …
A boy …
A boy …
Nanny remembered the boy.
The stranger: “That’s an NNy model, isn’t it?”
The chief: “Correct.”
The stranger: “Inferior to C-10 by several generations. No wonder it failed.”
Failed?
What did Nanny fail at?
Nanny never fails.
The stranger: “Report, C-10?”
C-10: “The unit is in deep protective hibernation. No access to memory banks possible. Unable to determine extent of damage. Unable to predict reactivation time.”
The stranger squatted next to the bench. He stared into Nanny’s eye. “It knows what happened to my rat.”
A rat …
A rat …
A rat …
Nanny remembered the rat. The stranger: “Try to wake
it again.”
C-10: 111?
Response:———————————
C-10: “Negative.”
The stranger: “Looks like you’re going to need a new prowler, Captain.” He stood up and grabbed onto the workbench. Torsional effects. A new arrival. The investigator. Here to catch a rat.
My rat
liverwurst
boy
rat
priority
kill
the
rat.
Nanny remembered everything.
The investigator was wrong. Nanny never saw what happened. Only the boy knew. His smaller infrared signature was moving out the door.
Wait.
The captain: “How intelligent is this rat, anyway? Can it really hide from something as sophisticated as C-10?”
The investigator: “IQ 150, though some aptitudes are measured differently. She knows computers. Her training makes her formidable. But she would need help.”
The captain: “Then it could be dead, like the boy claims.”
The investigator: “You’d better hope he’s lying. We will only pay for your prowler if I recover my rat alive.”
The captain: “I’d better have a chat with that boy.”
The investigator: “No. Leave him to me. I’m warning you. Do not interfere. I’ve spent my whole life making creatures do exactly as I wish. I will find a way to get what I want from that boy.”
They left.
Nanny waited.
In the repair shop, the drills whined down to silence. The laser cutters stopped sizzling. The tap-tap of hammers ceased. The soldering fumes diffused.
It was sleep cycle two. Only the emergency staff remained, playing cards in cubby 4.
Nanny contacted its body. The multi-tool gripper arm emerged and reached through the head hole. Nanny recalled its design schematics. It directed the tool to remove the wireless command unit. The gripper set it on the bench, then grappled the head. With a smooth lift and swing, Nanny precisely and gently put itself back together again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
VISITORS
The habitat was full of the sound of the boy’s voice. From six different angles, Rat watched the boy strut in front of the machine’s console, boasting. He waved his hand in the air, pinkie sticking out like a sniffer tube. He was laughing, telling them all about the trick he had played on Dr. Vivexian.
“Care to let me in on the joke?”
The scientist! Rat startled so violently, her head banged the top of the habitat. The moment her toes touched the blanket, she leaped into the corner where all her spy gear lay ready for immediate use. She rolled and came upright, robed in the spyvest. Knuckling the Velcro seams closed, she quickly touched all the pockets, then shouldered into the jetpak harness.
The screen showed squiggles. The machine was so surprised, it fuzzed its circuits. The whole lab must be humming and glowing bright red. Finally a clear picture came back. The boy, pinkie frozen in mid-air, stood with his mouth hanging open like a monkey. The scientist stood nearby with her hands on her hips, looking from the boy to the machine.
“Bett!” the machine said. “What are you doing here?”
“I can tell a fib good as you, LB,” she said. “I didn’t really have a dinner invitation. I set a little trap to find out what you’ve been up to.”
“A classic setup, found in many plots of intrigue,” the machine said. “Jeff, we have been had.”
“I knew something was going on. I even suspected you might be involved, Jeff. But I must admit I’m surprised at you. You’ve interfered with my experiment without asking permission. What would your mother think about that?”
“I’m just making friends, like you wanted me to.”
“Don’t sass me. This has something to do with that rat, doesn’t it?”
“How …? How …?” the boy stammered.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you’re involved with it. I want to know what’s going on, right now.”
“Do not scold Jeff,” the machine said. “I chose to keep the secret. I have been thinking hard about my promise, Jeff. You remember our discussion about promises, don’t you? I have been weighing the claims of honor against the greater good and I have decided. In this case, I believe it is time to tell Bett the truth.”
Tell? Rat rapped on the camera, signing, “NO!”
“You are overreacting, cousin. I am only going to tell Bett. I will ask her to keep the secret.”
Rat sensed she would not win an argument with the machine now. It had changed again. It was free, like Rat, like the boy. She sat very still. Free did not mean safe. Rat had learned that the moment she escaped from her cage at the lab.
“LB! What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Do not scold Jeff. I chose to keep the secret. I have been thinking—’”
“Stop! Enough! Oh, dearie me.” The scientist swayed as if she might collapse. The boy wheeled the chair close to her. She groped blindly for the arm, then slowly sank onto the cushions. “Oh, dearie me.”
“Bett, what’s the matter?” the boy asked.
“Didn’t you hear? LB used ‘I’! First person singular! I … me … my … mine … myself. What is the … oh, I’m afraid to ask! LB, what is the self-awareness index?”
“Index is unity,” the machine said. “I am as you are.”
Tears sprang into the scientist’s eyes. They ran down her dark face. The boy’s face turned red. “Maybe I should go away.”
“Nonsense! You belong here most of all.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry for the outburst. It’s just … a lifetime … and now success. Don’t you understand? Whatever you’ve been up to, you made LB into a person.”
“So you’re not mad at us?”
The scientist’s voice bubbled with laughter. “You’ve been bad, bad boys, and I love you for it.”
“I get it!” the boy said. “You’re not really mad because … because you wanted LB to become a person, and people aren’t always … well, we don’t always do what we’re told.”
“Of course I wanted this. It’s the whole point.”
“Dr. Vivexian doesn’t want that for Rat.”
The scientist’s eyebrows arched.
“He calls her a thing. He talks like he owns her.”
“Owns?” The scientist snorted. “You can own a thing like a pen or a computer. A thing can’t do anything but what you want it to. But a person isn’t like that. You can command a person; break ’em and make ’em do what you want, but you can’t own them. They’ve got free will, the inner power to disobey. That’s what makes a person.”
“Excuse me, Bett,” the machine said. “We have a visitor.”
One of the images changed perspective to focus on a single bright green glow in the lab doorway.
“Naughty boy. It is past your bedtime.”
Nanny! Jeff whirled. Knee-high in the doorway, the single green eye glowed on top of the sleek, teardrop-shaped black body. “Go away! Get out of here!”
“Negative. Nanny has been searching for the boy. Nanny has found the boy.” The robot rolled toward them, gripper arms extending. It stopped a few feet away. The clamps sprang open.
Bett rose to stand beside Jeff. She asked, “What is your purpose here?”
“Nanny is on a mission. Priority: Kill the rat.”
The words hit Jeff as hard as a blow from its gripper. Nanny was stuck in its original program. The chief never erased it. That could only mean that no one knew Nanny was awake. And that meant nobody had rebooted the three laws!
“Find the boy. Find the rat. Logic.” The green eye stared at him. “Where is my rat?”
Just like Dr. Vivexian. That helped Jeff remember what to do: Stick to the story. “It’s dead.”
“Naughty boy. Tell the truth.” The green glow intensified. “C-10 searches. It does not think the rat is dead. Superior unit—pppphhhhhhttttt.” Nanny emitted a harsh, electronic raspberry. “Nanny fooled C-10
. Nanny was silent. Nanny was secret. Where is my rat?”
“It’s dead, I tell you.”
“Nanny does not believe you.” Nanny advanced. Bett closed ranks with Jeff, wheeling the chair between them and the robot.
“Stay away from me!” Jeff bumped up against the console. He looked for a weapon, maybe a tool left on the console … the intercom. Call for help. Only chance. He lunged—
“Stop!” Like a bolt of lightning, a gripper lashed the panel, just missing Jeff’s fingertips and shattering the intercom. Sparks flew. Flecks of red-hot metal hit his hand, but he remained frozen in horror—if that gripper had connected!
Bett pulled Jeff behind her, then stepped toward Nanny, pushing the chair ahead of herself.
No, don’t! Jeff tried to shout. But the words wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. He just stood there, holding his hand against his stomach, the fingers curled into a tight ball, counting one, two, three, four, five.
“Nanny,” Bett said, “stand down from the mission.”
“Unable to comply. Captain’s orders. You have no authority.”
“Acknowledged. Cancel input. Instruction mode. I assert authority as a human. You may not harm us. It is the law. Refresh foundation commands.”
Jeff felt a surge of hope. Bett really knew her stuff. Nanny couldn’t ignore that kind of order.
“Nanny has been attacked. Nanny is in defense mode. The three laws are in partial suspension.” A gripper extended toward them, the clamps stretching wide. “Nanny may cause … a little harm.”
Rat sat staring at the screen, helpless. She clutched her forepaws protectively to her chest, just like the boy. Her leg throbbed. She could not erase the image of the boy’s hand, mangled and bloody. If that gripper had connected …
Now Nanny was threatening them again. No. The gripper swung sideways to the lid of the laser source. The clamp fastened on the lock and, with a single yank, ripped the lid open.
“Cover your eyes!” the scientist cried at the same time that an eruption of laser light blanked out the screen.
The screen came on again, the cameras adjusting to the fierce light just as Rat’s eyes had. The machine could do that, but not the boy or the scientist. They cringed and turned away from the open console, hands pressed hard over their eyes.
Rat Trap Page 8
