Rat Trap (10 page)

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!”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

M
ORE
Q
UESTIONS

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.”

“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.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

N
ANNY

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.”