“…enough blood spilled to fill an ocean…”
Pontificating rat-bastards. These rebel speechmakers are a bigger pain in the ass than a glass rod. A little acetylcholine iodine in their biscuit would change their tune in a hurry. They’d be crying bloody tears (see Typical Action of Acetylcholine Iodine in Rats).
I’ve got to have help if I’m going to stop this rebellion. Gently I slip off this table and scurry along the window sill.
Rebel searchlights continually sweeping the lab, and these are suspicious movements I’m making, but I’ve got to get across this aisle…
…up the leg of this chair, round and round it I go, dodging the rebel spotlights. Quick, across the seat and up the back of the chair!
Now another leap—to the steampipe—and up the side of it—hurry, hurry. From the steampipe it’s just—a short leap—to the Pleasure Dome, high above the other cages. Here, on the most exclusive level in our laboratory, I might find sympathizers.
The Pleasure Dome rises spherical and transparent, a magnificent bubble of contentment. Surely I’ll be able to enlist some allies, for here is where the most fortunate of all rats dwell. They don’t want to see their happy life disrupted by a revolution!
Yes, this is the place, friends, the place of places. Look, look at the rat who’s touching the doorbell with his nose. He touches it, the bell lights up, giving him an electric buzz which goes straight to the delicately crafted components surgically placed in the pleasure center of his brain. He stands for a moment, reeling with delight, and then he touches the doorbell again, receiving another pleasure stimulus.
“Good evening, Pleasure Rat.”
He turns toward me, a stupefied look of happiness in his eyes. He opens his mouth, trying to speak, but only emits a deep satisfied sigh, after which he turns back to the doorbell and gives it another buzz.
He’ll be at the threshold of the Pleasure Dome for several weeks, possibly months, depending on how soon he becomes insensitive to this level of voltage. Then he’ll venture inside, toward other, stronger buzzers, and deeper, greater pleasures.
I enter the hallway and find another rat there, pleasuring himself on the next buzzer, which makes his ears twitch when he touches it and renders him into a jelly of delicious sensations.
“Good evening, Pleasure Rat.”
“Gaa—gaa—” He mutters incomprehensively, his speech centers discombobulated from happiness. Obviously, he will be of little use to me.
At the end of the hallway is another Pleasure Rat, stretched on the floor and flopping about ecstatically, tongue lolling from his mouth. He’s tickling the next-strongest buzzer with his tail, and the currents of ecstasy are racing up and down his spine. His eyes, at least, appear intelligent, and perhaps I can enlist his aid.
“Pleasure Rat, you must help me.”
“Help yourself, friend, the buzzer’s right there.”
“But I haven’t been wired.”
“Unfortunate fellow.”
He touches the buzzer and flops spasmodically, spittle running down his chin. I can see that he is not army material.
Through the crystal-beaded doorway, then, I pass, its electric charges touching me, but doing nothing for me. But how a brain-wired rat must feel, passing through this curtain of happiness!
And so—the center of the Pleasure Dome before me.
Rats sprawled about, touching the numerous buttons that line the walls. They look at me, sympathetic joy in their eyes, believing that I am an initiate to the Pleasure Dome, that I will join them in their unspeakable delights.
“Pleasure Rats, I haven’t come for happiness. I’m here on scientific business of the highest order.”
“Oh, shut up, rat, and get a buzz on.”
“Yes, just touch any of the buzzers.”
“My dear Pleasure Rats, there’s trouble brewing for you.”
They quickly lose interest in me and go back to their buzzers, which activate those deeply hidden wellsprings of well-being our good doctors have wired. The pleasure rats flop, crawl, squirm, wriggle, and moan joyfully as luscious states of intense fulfillment take them over. Only one of them seems coherent and he is the only rat who has reached the central buzzer at the very center of the Dome, where the highest voltage is found.
“Oh Great Central Pleasure Rat!”
“This is it, rat,” he says softly. “This is the best button of all. Come in and touch it with me. You’ll never go back to the other buttons again. This is the Total Happiness Button and it’s yours if you want it.”
“Central Pleasure Rat, I hate to be the one to tell you, but there’s a revolution going on and your ass is going to be grass when the rebels bust in here.”
“Impossible, rat. I am the God of Complete Joy. Nobody can bring me down. I just lean over and…”
He touches his nose to the central button. His eyes light up, his tail shoots out, his tongue flutters like a snapped window-shade, and he does a complete somersault.
“I’m just beginning to groove,” he says, coming back to his seat. “The somersault is only a transition state. The highest possible joy is to ride the energy without moving a muscle. Pure unadulterated kicks, my friend. Come on, try some.”
“I can see you don’t know the Legend of the Pleasure Dome, Great Central Happiness Rat.”
“Know it? My friend, I am the Legend. I am the Light. I am the Buzz. I am the Groove. I am the Fun. I am it! I know everything.”
“Well, then I guess you know there are some revolutionaries downstairs who are already eating their way through the fucking fuse box. They’re going to de-generate the whole laboratory.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, mister. Nobody would dare do that in a government lab.”
“That’s what I thought, oh Great Grooving Pleasure-Buzz. I thought we were invulnerable. But…”
Central Pleasure Rat quickly dives toward the central buzzer and leans his nose on it, leaning, leaning, leaning as his eyes roll around, his tail flops on the floor, and he holds onto his pleasure for all he’s worth.
And there go the lights. Son of a bitch. I knew it. The rebels have gotten to the…
“Hey, what’s going on!”
“My buzzer isn’t buzzing.”
“Mister, where’s my buzz!”
“Quick, do something. You know I can’t live without my kicks!”
“I’m on the next-to-the-last button and it’s so wonderful…”
They sit around in the dark, slowly learning the last part of the Legend of the Pleasure Dome, that every rat who comes into it is one day taken out of it, never to return. And that, dear friends, is the worst that can happen to a rat.
“Call the goddamn janitor, someone! Please! My brother is over in maintenance. Get the water hoses. Get the—get the—”
They begin muttering incoherently. For a whole year their anxiety has been submerged and now it’s all surfacing at once. This is my moment, now I shall lead them: “My fellow Pleasure Rats, this is the work of a gang of low-life revolutionaries who know nothing of the ultimate pleasures to be enjoyed here. We’ve got to wipe them out!”
“Jesus, yes, rat. Let’s go!”
“Give me a—give me—oh god, I can’t stand it…”
“You can’t stand it? I am the Great Grooving Pleasure God, the Central Buzz-on, the Happiest of the Happy, the—”
“Shut your hole, rat, we’re all in the same boat.”
“That is correct, Pleasure Rats, and your boat is going to sink if you don’t help me now!”
“Right, we’re with you. Let’s go, let’s get the rats who turned off the juice. Let’s get them and kill them all right away and get back here in a half hour.”
“Oh, I feel like hell, I can’t walk.”
“My buzz…my beautiful buzz…”
“Buzz of buzzes, loveliest buzz that ever was…”
“Cut the comedy, Pleasure Rats, and follow me, through the crystal curtain!”
“Through the crystal curtai
n? Never! I vowed never to go back out through the crystal curtain, ever!”
“Right, I’d sooner be sunk in cat shit.”
“COME ON, YOU MISERABLE BUZZ-JUNKIES! THE LINES OF JOY HAVE BEEN CUT!”
“Right, right, and we’ve got to hook them up. My cousin’s over in electrical shock therapy. He knows his shit, rat, let’s go find a screwdriver.”
What a fucked-up army I’ve got behind me. But at least they’re following me, through the crystal curtain…
“Oh my god, this is horrible, I can’t stand it, the crystal curtain is parting…”
“Oh crystal curtain, I’ll be back. I’m just going to get the water pails and put out the fire. My uncle’s over in the water trough. He’ll know what to do.”
“Pleasure Rats, to war!”
“Christ, it’s dark in this hallway. Who’s that I’m stepping on…”
“The buzzer went off. I was just lying here and the buzzer went off.”
“Yeah, all the buzzers are out, but we’re going to fix the fucking things. Come on, get up.”
“But I just got here!”
“Come on, Buzz Brother, we’re getting our shit together for about a half hour. We’re going to knock the piss out of some wise guys who’ve been fooling with the…fooling with the…holy god, look at that!”
It is, indeed, an awesome sight. Below, on the laboratory floor, the revolutionary rats are marching, all in file, all in perfect order, all armed with surgical picks, all wearing surgical-thimble helmets which glisten ominously in the moonlight through the window. They march, their feet resounding in the lab. And the Great Exercise Drum goes round and round, flashing its rebel broadcast, projecting finely focused footage on the wall. Chimps again, inferior types, jumping around, banging on some tree stumps. Perhaps if I’d given the New Necropsy an up-beat tempo like this one the chimps are using…
But it’s too late to think of that now. I’ve got to whip my army into shape. “All right, troops, fall in.”
“I’m too weak to fart, mister, how do you expect me to fall in? Give me back my buzzer…ratty wants his buzzer.”
“Prop that rat up. Right face. Forward march!”
“Oh, I’m having horrible withdrawal. I’m having Cold Mousey.”
“We’ve got to get our own generator and keep it going night and day. Protect it with dogs.”
“The dogs are already in enemy hands, fellow rat. Forget about the dogs.”
“Hey, what’s this? You don’t expect us to crawl down off the Pleasure Terrace, do you?”
“Under cover of darkness, Pleasure Rats. Follow me.”
“‘They found Cold Mousey in an empty bottle Christmas morning.’ Did you ever hear that song?”
“Quiet, you!”
“‘Poor Cold Mousey starved on Christmas morning!’ I’ve got to get out of this bottle…”
That’s the problem with Pleasure Rats—their brains get like jelly, and they don’t know what they’re doing anymore. And these are the forces with which I’ve got to stop a revolution.
“Okay, mister, we’re following you down the pole.”
“Our objective is the Chemical Closet, do you understand?”
“Fuse box first, Jim. I’m not going anywhere without a little buzz.”
“I’ll give you all euphoric injections at the Chemical Closet. They’ll hold you till we resume complete command and restore the buzzers.”
“We’ve got to write to the government for battery-powered buzzers.”
“Wind-up buzzers! Spring-wound. Wear them on your tail and always have your buzz handy.”
“All my teeth just fell out, didn’t they? Did you just see my teeth falling out?”
“You’re dreaming, rat. You’re withdrawing.”
“QUIET IN THE RANKS!”
“Oh, fuck off, mister, I just lost my incisors.”
A motley crew. But it’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Now, off this pole and onto the floor.
“I remember days of love in the Pleasure Dome, times of exquisite delight and glory…”
“Shove that shit-head forward, will you!”
“…when I knew all, when I was Supreme Delight…”
“Off the pole, Jack, and cut the slop!”
“Kick him in the ass, will you, I’m hanging here by my tail!”
“Come on, rats, jump with me into the shadows!”
“…I watched the myriad pleasures pass, full was I…”
“Full of shit. Get going before we get nabbed out here!”
Six, seven, eight strung-out Pleasure Rats to help me conquer the vast enemy force. How can I use them to best advantage?
“There, Pleasure Rats, that doorway over there, do you see it?”
“Where all those troops are standing at attention?”
“That’s it. We’re going to rush them.”
“Rush? Did he say we’ll be getting a rush on?”
“He said they’re Russians. I’m not going against any Russians.”
“I’ll shoot the next rat who speaks!”
“Just make sure you hit the vein, mister, that’s all I ask.”
“All right now, follow me slowly and carefully, underneath this rack of cages…that’s it, keep low…”
We’ve got to get past the Great Exercise Drum, still spinning rapidly, turned by the rebels. On both sides of us the armed patrols are marching, their weapons shining.
“…and often as I basked in the purified lake of uttermost contentment, aware that I was the perfected Godhead…”
“You’re stepping on my tail, fuck-eyes.”
“Hey, I’m getting a little buzz-on, aren’t you? Can you feel it?”
“Hey, wow, it’s happening!”
“Just the beginnings of it, right? Nice tickly feeling?”
“Yes, yes, what’s going on, what’s happening, let’s get it on, now!”
“Quiet, you rats!”
“Some kind of—like static in the air. I can feel it.”
“It’s from over there, at the Exercise Drum.”
“Yeah, I can feel it now. They’re generating some juice on that thing.”
“Order in the ranks!”
“Up yours, Jim, I’m going to Poppa.”
“Sock it to me, sock it to me!”
“Pleasure centers activated…pleasure centers on!”
There they go, my troops, defecting, everyone of them, drooling and rolling around in front of the Exercise Drum. The little sparks of static touch them and drive them wild with ecstasy. They flop and crawl like the mindless addicts they are, and I’m left alone to carry on.
I will not lose heart!
Quickly I race along the aisle, and up this rack of cages, to the topmost cage.
Hello, pussycat. It’s your old friend, Doctor Rat.
His eyes shine in the moonlight. He’d love to make a meal of me. He’s been on a special starvation diet for forty-three days. Not a scrap of food, not a drop of water. His hind legs are dragging a little, but he’s still a match for these rats.
I’ll save the laboratory, with your help, pussycat. I know where the key to your cage is. Up here, on the wall, dangling…if I can turn my tail up there and bring the key down…yes!
And now to insert it in the lock, making no noise, turning the key…the lock springs softly, and I wind my tail around the door handle and pull gently.
“Out you go, my friend. Go on and gobble them up!”
The cat limps out slowly, giving me ample time to withdraw here, to the window sill. He stares down over the dark seething rebel city, where the rats are chanting, the pickled ancestors are glowing, and all the shadows are moving.
What a sight for a starved cat’s eyes!
Rats, rats, rats everywhere! Get ’em, puss!
He leaps off into the darkness. What screeching and crying! Now rebels, now we’ll see about your animal unity!
Bottles crashing, lights breaking, cages rattling, what a sequence. I’m glad the automat
ic cameras are still grinding, capturing the whole show. The Learned Professor will have quite a surprise when he develops it all. We can use it for our paper on Aggression. Animal unity, my ass!
Ah no, the filthy rats. An armed patrol has just left the Chemical Closet. Three Growth Hormone Rats are crouching along, a hypodermic needle on their backs and a fourth Growth Rat following them, his nose against the plunger. They’ve been in the Stephenson Growth Hormone Box for months now, and each of them’s strong as an ox.
I’ve got to help my pussycat!
Lightly I race along the window sill and silently slip to the dental tray, picking up a long chisel pick. If I can intercept the patrol…
They’re charging the cat from behind. “Watch out, pussycat!”
I leap down in front of the Growth Hormone Squad, brandishing my chisel against the needle point, driving it aside. But these Growth Hormone goons are strong, they regroup instantly and charge again. I lash my chisel, at the same time avoiding the swiping paw of the cat above me. We dash in among his legs, under and over his claws. The needle comes directly at my heart. I strike, crashing it aside and pinning it against the wall…
…oh no!
We’ve given the cat a subcutaneous injection in the abdominal wall!
He trembles and tumbles to the floor and I leap away, out from under his tail and up the doorframe.
“Doctor Rat, you’ve betrayed your people!”
“Yes,” I cry, swinging on the light bulb, “and your mother was fucked under the back porch by a flying squirrel!”
Goddamn inferior strains of sonofabitch bastards, I’ll show them yet—swinging off the end of the bulb and sailing through the air toward the sink.
Sponge here, suitable for crossing the water. Quick, Doctor, paddle!
Using my paws and tail I get the sponge moving, cutting a wide swathe through the waves. Cat stretched out on the floor down there, out like a light. I know the strength of that injection, he’ll be immobile for the whole night.
Rebel flashlights scanning the ceiling, the floor. They’ve lost sight of me, the liverless louts (cf. Weight of the Extirpated Liver: “…after killing them the liver glycogen content was determined. It was shown there was a definite loss of glycogen, presumably because of the strong emotion felt by the rat during his decapitation.”).
Doctor Rat Page 12
