Space Station Rat (4 page)

Rat went quickly through small air shafts. They were cozy and quiet. Her whiskers touched the sides. Then she came to the central air shaft. It was like a gigantic toilet-paper tube. It went from all the way
out
to all the way
in
. Lightbulbs set in rows blurred into a fuzzy glow far from Rat. The walls were covered with pipes and wires. Some pipes crisscrossed from one side to the other.

Rat paused to gather her nerve. She did not like crossing to the other side. Of course, she had crossed it dozens of times already—and it was much easier without holding on to a liverwurst. Still, crossing was scary.
Out
ended in a big fan that blew air into the vents. A grate covered the blades, to protect humans, not rats. If Rat fell, she would go right through the grate. Then
chop-chop-chop
…

Rat shivered from nerves and cold. The wind made it too cold to stand there hesitating. With careful steps, she climbed out onto the nearest pipe. The air rushed and roared. It blew her fur all the wrong way. That annoyed Rat. She walked as fast as she dared. Her tail bobbed, just touching the surface of the pipe, ready to wrap around it quick if she slipped. In the middle of the central shaft, the thin pipe connected to a big fat one. This pipe was so big, it was practically flat for a rat. Rat scurried on the broad metal curve of the pipe, confident. Soon she was moving through a quiet and cozy air shaft again.

Rat heard voices. They echoed along the shaft connected to the recreation room. It must be family time. Rat went to see.

Nanny, the boy, and his parents were there. The mother was saying, “No bad behavior? What's gotten into you? I mean, how nice! Isn't it nice, Greg?”

“Ummm … I guess. I'm still annoyed about this, though,” the father said. He shook the plastic bag he was holding. The shredded bits of paper inside flashed yellow. They looked like kernels of corn.

“I
said
I was sorry.” The boy crossed his arms.

“Nanny is concerned,” said Nanny. “The boy is spending sixty-two point three percent of his time in his room. Nanny cannot go into his room. Nanny does not know what the boy is doing.”

The boy said, “I'm e-mailing. I've got a pen pal.”

“Oh darling, that
is
nice,” said the mother. She glanced at her watch. “What a relief you've found something to occupy you just now. There's less than twenty-four hours until solar maximum.”

The father said, “It's so exciting, Jeff. You should come to the lab and see. We're about to look into the heart of the sun!”

The boy flushed red. “Don't you want to know about my pen pal?”

“The boy cannot have a pen pal,” Nanny said. “I monitor all communications. The boy has received no e-mail messages in the past six days.”

“I have, too!” The boy stomped his foot. “Nanny is lying!”

“My report is accurate. I have records—”

The mother fluttered her hands in front of Nanny's glowing green eye. “Oh, no, no more paper!”

“I have the e-mail! Come see! Come on!”

The father looked at his watch. “We don't have time for—”

“Nanny's wrong wrong wrong!” the boy shouted. “Come see! Your stupid Sun will last a billion years!”

“Jeff, I won't have—” the mother began to say.

The loudspeaker on the wall filled the room with the captain's voice. “Attention! All science personnel. Attention! Report immediately to the cafeteria. And bring that boy!”

Nanny's glowing eye swiveled to look at the boy. The parents looked at the boy. The boy bit his lip. They all left the room.

Rat followed them by her secret ways. The closer she got to the cafeteria, the stronger the smell of human became. There were no nice food smells. The sound of many boots moving and a steady beat of words surrounded Rat.
Grumble-grumble-grumble.
The scientists were bothered. They were busy and important and annoyed by the interruption.

Rat peeked out of an air vent.

About twenty scientists were squashed into the room. Rat saw only the backs of their heads because they were looking at the captain. He stood in front of the food machines, scowling. His dark, squinty gaze roamed the room.

Quickly Rat ducked back into the shadows. She did not like those eyes! The fur at the back of her head prickled. She smoothed it down with two swipes of a paw.

The captain said, “We have a thief.”

What a surprise! The scientists quieted.

“What's been stolen?”

“Food,” said the captain.
Thump!
He smacked the front of one of the machines. “The fabricators say more has gone out than the waste machines have collected.”

Rat startled straight up on her back legs at this news. She rubbed her front paws all over her face as if waking up from a bad dream. The machines count poop? How could Rat have known that? Wicked wicked machines!

“What kind of food?”

The captain read from a list: “Peanut butter, smooth. Oaty oats cereal. Swiss cheese. Peanut butter cookies. Some butter. Three rolls of liverwurst.”

Rat had made a mistake. She should have taken only little bits at a time. Too late now. Rat's teeth gnashed together. She sank them into the soft black coating on a wire so that no one would hear them.

Maybe they would blame the boy. They always blamed the boy!

Rat peeked again. Heads turned this way. Heads turned that way. Then all the heads turned toward the door where the boy stood with Nanny and his parents.

“I don't even
like
liverwurst,” the boy shouted. “Tell them, Mom. I
never
eat liverwurst!”

“I think so …,” said the mother. “Nanny?”

“
Mom!
” the boy said.

“He is a naughty boy,” Nanny said. “He never eats his liverwurst.”

Rat did not care if they laughed at the boy. She was worried what might happen if they did not blame him for the missing food. She was not paying attention to what her teeth were doing. They bit the wire too deep.

Flash!

Rat's back arched.

Snap!

Rat saw her tail crack like a whip and a ball of electricity blaze off the tip, before the shock knocked her out.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

T
HE
H
UNTERS

The lights went out with a loud pop.

Everyone feared the worst: meteor hit—
decompression
!

Jeff sucked in a desperate lungful of air. Held it.

The green glow from Nanny's eye revealed open mouths, wide eyes, hands at chests, and couples reaching for each other. Everyone was afraid. Everyone imagined: My next breath is death. We will freeze and shatter like lightbulbs dropped on a hard floor.

The stale breath burned deep inside Jeff.

Dad's arm came around his chest and pulled him into a protective hug that squashed the air out. Jeff struggled, but then he had to breathe.…

And there was air.

And the emergency lights came on.

There was no hole in the wall, no sound of air rushing out into space, no disaster. Jeff slumped into Dad's warmth pressing all along his back. Mom pressed close, too. Jeff's arm brushed her arm. Mom gave his hand a tense squeeze.

“Relax everyone,” the captain said. “Probably just a blown fuse.”

“Hey! There's smoke!”

White smoke floated out of an air vent.

“Emergency! Emergency!” Nanny pushed people aside with its padded gripper arms. The right arm telescoped up. Foam squirted from the end into the vent. The smoke stopped.

“I've got a screwdriver,” Dad said. One more tightening of his hug, then Dad headed for the vent. Jeff followed. Mom and the others crowded behind them. The rip of so many boots at once sounded like ocean waves coming fast against the shore. Jeff got pressed against the captain. He tried not to mind the squashy warmth.

Dad pulled a chair under the vent, stepped onto it, pried the grate off, and handed it down to Jeff. It was slick with foam that smelled of ozone and smoke. Dad scooped handfuls out of the vent.

Dad stood on his tiptoes and said, “I can't see much.”

He put his arm in and fumbled around.

“Wait. I've got something.”

Dad drew out something long and thin. It was a broken wire. “It's been chewed!”

One of the biologists examined it. “These marks are from rodent dentition. From the size, I guess rat.”

“Let me see that!” demanded the captain. Jeff saw, too. Dozens of teeth marks scored the black covering of the wire. The marks came in neat pairs. “Who's using rats?”

“Nobody is,” the biologist said.

That set off a storm of speculation. How did a rat get here? Where did it come from? How was it surviving? Was it a normal rat, or a Modified?

The biologist jumped on that suggestion. “Oh I hope not, they can be the devil to catch!”

“I don't care what it is or how it got here,” the captain said. “I just want it dead before it chews something important. Get the chief engineer here immediately!”

Nanny said, “Nanny will be restored to original form?”

“Yes,” said the captain. “Then Nanny will get that rat!”

“Good,” said Nanny, and the green eye brightened.

Jeff's skin went all tingly. What was going to happen?

The chief engineer arrived, carrying a toolbox. The captain gestured at Nanny and said, “Get rid of that pink stuff. I want my prowler back,
now
!”

A prowler? Nanny? Jeff always thought Nanny had been thrown together from spare parts—just a hasty job to deal with an unexpected problem: him.

The chief engineer grabbed the rim of Nanny's Frisbee-shaped head and pulled it off. Someone gasped.

“Don't worry. It's got its own power supply.” The engineer set Nanny's head on the table, then went to work on the pink foam. Underneath were thin, shiny metal tubes with knobby parts connected by cables.

Jeff watched the green eye watch the chief engineer strip the padding off the grippers. Now Jeff understood: They had turned a ninja robot into a
baby-sitter.
No wonder Nanny hated him!

The grippers snapped off just like pulling a plug out of a socket. With the captain's help, the chief engineer lifted the barrel-shaped part up and away. Hidden inside was a smaller, shiny black body only as tall as Jeff's knees. It was shaped like a motorcycle helmet, the kind with a mirror visor, so you can't see inside. But Jeff saw through the opening on top. Inside were wheels and motors and batteries and wires and other things he didn't recognize.

The captain was in such a hurry that he dropped Nanny's head trying to pop it into place. It clattered and stuck crooked-ways in the opening of the body. An annoyed smack seated it properly.

The grippers were plugged in. With a buzz they shrank and disappeared into the shiny black casing. Now Nanny looked like a super-fancy vacuum cleaner without the hose, but Nanny was a prowler. Prowlers fought like soldiers. They made repairs, inside or out in space. They were very expensive, and there was only one, even on a big space station like this.

“Get back, everyone. Move those tables away,” the chief engineer said. Another wave of boot-ripping tore the air. “Systems check. Go.”

For a few seconds Nanny stood ticking quietly. Then Nanny moved, and everyone jumped. Nanny went sideways, backward, forward, then sideways again. Nanny's head spun all the way around while the bottom stayed still. The bottom spun around while the top stayed still. Then bottom and top both spun, but in opposite directions.

Nanny circled the room, asking, “Target? Target?”

Blasters poked out. They blew holes in the discarded barrel-shaped section. Grippers grabbed it. Twisted it. Slicers sliced it. Stabbers punched holes in it. Nanny tossed it against the wall. Nanny stopped, sleek and quietly ticking once again.

“Wow!”
Jeff said. The air smelled burned. The taste of vaporized metal coated his tongue.

Nanny said, “I am ready for the hunt.”

“But Nanny's too big!” Jeff said.

“Hush, Jeff,” Mom said.

“It's true. Nanny won't fit in the vent.”

Slowly the green eye turned to stare at Jeff. Nanny said, “Ignorant boy, you never study your lessons.”

“Ha-ha-ha.” The captain laughed, then said to Nanny, “Show him!”

Rattles, bumps, and pings sounded inside Nanny. A little robot dropped out of a hatch at the front. It was no bigger than a mouse, except for the jaws. It looked like false teeth on wheels—alligator teeth. Two tubes waved behind the jaws. Two antennae with glittery eyes bobbed behind the tubes. The little robot skittered around the room, then snapped at Jeff's toes.

“Get away!” Jeff cried, nearly falling as he yanked his too-loose boots backward. Mom and Dad stepped back from the ferocious little robot, too.

“Don't worry. It won't eat
you
” The captain picked it up. He put it in his palm and held it toward Jeff. The jaws chattered,
snap-snap-snap.
Between snaps Jeff could hear the tubes sucking air.

“This is a little bit of Nanny that can go almost anywhere. We call it a sniffer. For the next few hours or so, you'll be seeing quite a few of these around,” the captain said. He put it into the vent. It disappeared, nearly silent on its tiny rubber wheels.

“Tracking,” said Nanny.

Would it find the rat right away? If it did, would it bring the rat back alive or dead? Would it bring it back at all? Jeff stared at the vent, waiting, just like everyone else. As the waiting stretched into minutes, some of the scientists got nervous. They wondered, What if the rat is not caught? What if it chews something important?

Mom asked, “Could it damage our equipment, Greg?”

All Mom cared about was her work. Usually that would have annoyed Jeff. But right now he found himself curiously calm and alert. He felt the nudge of an idea. If the sniffer failed …