in which rats sell out to the only bidder
When Tark saw that Clint and Arnie were having trouble prying off the manhole cover, he let a circular beam of light from his toe finish the job. It was red, so the raccoons didn’t see it, which made the act of lifting the cover up and then easing it off to one side seem all the more magical to them.
‘Hey,’ said Clint, giving Arnie a High-Five. ‘We don’t know our own strength, eh?’
Number 12 took one sniff of the darkness below before backing off. ‘Not good for my sinuses. I’ll just stand guard up here, while you guys—’
‘I didn’t know you had sinus problems,’ Wanda said.
‘Neither did I,’ said Number 12. ‘Until now. That hole smells worse than a camel stable after mealtime – and that’s saying something!’
‘You’d better come along with us,’ Rocky said to Number 12. ‘The streets aren’t safe to hang around on your own.’
‘Ha!’ snorted Number 12. ‘If I could make it on my own for years in the Australian Outback, I can handle anything that New York has to dish out.’
‘With all due respect,’ said Wanda, ‘that was when you were in your prime.’
Number 12 kicked the nearest lamppost, which clanged like a church bell. ‘You see? Haven’t lost the touch. Any muggers would have to be wary around me!’
‘True,’ said Tiger. ‘But we can’t have Mick picking us off one at a time.’
‘Anyway,’ said Number 12, poking his head down the hole, then drawing it out again with something of a forced sneeze. ‘I won’t fit.’
Tark pointed his magic toe at the hole and instantly it widened into a tunnel, complete with track lights running along the ground. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Is that better?’
‘Well...’ Number 12 said, doubtfully.
‘I’ll keep you company,’ Syd urged, hopping onto Number 12’s back and then onto his head.
‘Get off!’ Number 12 grunted, shaking his head until Syd went flying. ‘The day I need a crow’s company is the day I retire for good!’
No sooner had they entered the tunnel than they could see pencils of light up ahead and hear high-pitched engines squealing toward them.
‘What the—!’ exclaimed Rocky.
In a matter of seconds, even before Tark could raise his toe, they were surrounded. The headlights were blinding, so it was all that Tiger could do to make out shadowy rats – dozens of them – on what appeared to be souped-up rat-sized scooters. The revving engines echoed off the tunnel walls, and it was so loud that Tiger had to put his paws up over his ears and press hard to dampen the noise.
They were the largest rats he’d ever seen, but maybe they grew big in New York. They shrank a bit overall once they took off their goggles to stare at their captives. Their eyes were red, not a piercing red like Eudora’s but more of a glinting ruby.
‘How dare you,’ said the first rat, in a surprisingly deep voice. ‘How dare you!’
‘How dare we what?’ asked Tark, stepping forward with his toe pulsing with yellow that Tiger knew to be a warning.
The first rat revved his engine, making the scooter spin around so fast it lifted off the ground, coming down to rest where it started.
‘Your permit for excavation is denied!’ a second rat declared.
Judge Wanda sidled forward, hopping onto the back of the second rat’s scooter. ‘A permit cannot be denied,’ she said, ‘if we never applied for one!’
The second rat wheeled around, and stood on his tiptoes so he could eye Wanda directly. ‘So you admit to being in violation of our planning laws?’
Rocky cleared his throat. ‘Ahem,’ he said. ‘I... I mean, we invited them here.’
‘We might have known that,’ said the first rat. ‘You raccoons always take liberties. Just because you live above ground and think you’re so... sanitary.’
‘And we wouldn’t have bothered,’ said Clint. ‘Except that our guests have a matter of some importance to discuss with you.’
‘We know who they are,’ said the second rat. ‘The Project Earth-mend Crew, right?’
Tiger was impressed. The rats were definitely clued in.
But, before he could speak up, Tark took over. ‘What if we are?’ he said.
‘Then you’re too late,’ said the first rat.
‘Meaning?’ said Judge Wanda.
‘We’ve already signed up,’ said the rat, ‘to the other side. Pied Piper Mick is his name.’
‘Pied—?’ asked Tiger, though he knew the Mick part was not good.
‘You need to read more and play video games less,’ Wanda grunted. ‘The Pied Piper entranced the rats of Hamelin and then he took the children of the village deep into his mountain home when their parents didn’t pay him enough for getting rid of the rats.’
‘Oh,’ said the second rat. ‘We thought he made it up – the name?’
‘What exactly did he sign you up for?’ Tark demanded.
‘The Great Cleansing,’ said the second rat.
‘Is that what he’s calling it now?’ said Number 12, narrowing his eyes. ‘Cleansing?’
‘I thought rats liked it... dirty,’ Syd chipped in.
The rats as a whole gave a low growl.
‘We’ve had some bad press,’ said the second rat. ‘We’re actually one of the cleanest creatures around, except maybe for raccoons, who are, I must say, a bit obsessed with washing up.’
‘The facts speak for themselves,’ Arnie said, glaring at him. ‘We didn’t spread plague!’
‘Nor did we,’ said the first rat. ‘That was down to humans – filthy creatures that they are – coughing and sneezing on each other. They needed someone to blame, so that’s where we came in. But, if it was down to us, how come so many people died in Iceland where rats couldn’t be bothered to live?’
With a sweep of his toe, Tark brought up a web browser holograph. A quick search found an article in the Daily Mail, UK, that supported what the rat said.
‘That’s just a theory,’ stammered Arnie, squinting at the holograph. ‘I still reckon it was you rats picking up fleas from the garbage and then spreading them.’
‘Well,’ said the second rat, ‘if you raccoons are so clean, what about rabies?’
The raccoons looked at each other and dropped their gaze.
‘We’re... uh, working on that,’ said Rocky. ‘But don’t change the subject. What exactly did Mick tell you this Great Cleansing was all about?’
‘Nothing much,’ said the second rat. ‘Just the end of the human race.’
He tittered at first then broke out into a proper laugh. Soon after, the other rats joined in.
‘No more rat traps!’ one cried out.
‘No more poisons!’ called another.
‘No more Disney cartoons,’ laughed yet another.
A few of the raccoons sort of smiled, but glares from Rocky, Clint and Arnie quickly wiped it off their faces.
‘Exactly how do you suppose Mick and his mob will cleanse the humans without wiping out the rest of us?’ Rocky snarled.
The rats looked at each other.
‘He swore an SRO,’ said the first rat.
‘An SRO?’ said Tiger. ‘What’s that?’
‘A Sacred Rat Oath,’ said the first rat, showing more of his front teeth than usual.
The other rats sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Yes,’ they muttered to each other. ‘He swore an SRO!’
‘It’s very sacred,’ the second rat assured them. ‘And binding – for all eternity.’
‘Only one problem,’ said Judge Wanda. ‘He’s a robot, not a rat!’
‘No,’ said the second rat. ‘He’s definitely a rat. He knew all the rodentia codes and the secret paw-shake.’
‘Well, I’ve never seen a robot with a tail,’ said the first rat.
‘Or a cowboy hat,’ nodded another rat behind them.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Tiger. ‘Since when do rats wear cowboy hats?’
Both rats started to speak at once.
‘You go ahead,’ said the first rat.
‘No, you were first, as usual,’ said the second rat. ‘Be my guest!’
And then neither of them spoke.
‘Let me explain it to you,’ Tark said, slowly. ‘Mick is an ET. As in a—’
‘ET?’ the two rats said at once. ‘We loved that film!’
Tark held up his toe, which was throbbing even more ruby-red than the rats’ eyes. ‘Listen – this is important. Mick is an Abell 2218 starship commander. The Abell 2218s are an advanced robot species programmed to destroy Earth, not to cleanse it. Mick has the power to shape-shift into any being he likes, and to adopt their language. Face it – you’ve been sucked in!’
The first rat cleared his throat. ‘Be that as it may, if it hastens the day when rats inherit the Earth, so be it!’
‘Yes,’ said the second rat, puffing out his chest grandly. ‘Rats, out of the gutters. Rats, out of the landfills. Rats, out of—’
‘You’re not listening!’ Tark said, his toe throbbing even more brightly. ‘Mick’s robots may be advanced, but they’re not advanced enough to cleanse selectively. Do you really think rats will be spared during the firestorm?’
‘Firestorm?’ said the first rat. ‘He didn’t say anything about a firestorm!’
‘What exactly did he say?’ said Tiger, not surprised at how stupid rats could be.
‘A shower,’ said the second rat. ‘That’s what they’ll use. “Think of it as a kind of carwash on a global scale,” he said. “Cleansing everything.”’
‘You mean drowning everything?’ said Tark.
‘Only... briefly,’ said the first rat. ‘Forty days and forty nights at most, after which there’ll be lots of clear days and sunshine to dry things out.’
‘And how exactly will you rats survive the flood?’ asked Number 12. ‘Will your scooters float?’
‘Of course not,’ said the second rat. ‘Follow me.’
The rats led the way to a humming control panel just inside the opening of the tunnel. After a nod from the first rat, a big albino rat at the control panel pushed a few buttons. There was a whirling sound, a whoosh of air, and then the albino stood up and gave a short bow.
‘That’s it?’ said Tiger. ‘I don’t see anything!’
The second rat motioned to one of the rats to head for the entrance. The rat hesitated but then took off on his scooter. But just as he reached the entrance, he seemed to hit an invisible wall and collapsed in a heap. Now on its side, the scooter coughed and died, though its wheels kept spinning.
‘An Anti-Matter Membrane,’ Tark said. ‘Simple, a bit primitive, but effective. Water-tight, too.’
‘Yes,’ said the first rat. ‘And Mick has installed them in every rat tunnel in New York. For free!’
‘Very nice,’ said Tark. ‘Only one problem, though.’
‘We’ve tested them,’ the second rat protested. ‘No water gets through!’
‘Or anything else,’ said Tark. ‘AMMs are fine when you have a source of fresh air, but not so life-friendly when you don’t. I don’t suppose Mick mentioned that to you?’
‘He might have just forgot?’ offered the second rat meekly.
‘Forty days and forty nights is a long time, when your air supply is limited,’ said Rocky, thin-lipped, even for a raccoon.
‘Quite,’ said Tark. ‘And the smell will get pretty high down here, especially after you rats start dropping – if you’ll excuse the expression – like flies!’
‘You would say that,’ said the first rat. ‘After all, you’re in league with the humans, and they just want to keep things as they are – with them up there, and us down here!’
‘I thought rats liked dark, dank places,’ said Tiger.
‘Only in Disney cartoons,’ the first rat glowered. ‘We need Vitamin D, too!’
‘Mick won’t leave us down here to die,’ said the second rat. ‘He respects us.’
‘Oh, really,’ said Judge Wanda. ‘And what makes you think that?’
‘He knew that we’ve been around a lot longer than humans. Since the Paleocene, actually.’
Tiger had no idea what the Paleocene was, but he wasn’t game to ask since cats were supposed to be better read than rats.
‘Hmm,’ he said, instead. ‘That long ago, eh?’
With a flick of his magic toe, Tark summoned another holograph, with the heading Paleocene, then zoomed in a bit on the timetable until they could see images of several Rattus species, some large, some smaller, but none looking very friendly.
The rats closest to the holograph stood up on their hind legs and saluted their ancestors and hummed something like a national anthem, but drifting in and out of key until it made Tiger’s ears hurt.
‘Not bad,’ Tark said, pointing at the timeline. ‘It says you’ve been around for nearly 55 million years.’
The first rat chuckled. ‘Not us personally,’ he said. ‘But, yes, we’ve been around much longer than humans.’
‘Ha!’ said Tiger. ‘That’s nothing – cats have been around for at least 65 million years!’ The research he’d done on Wikipedia one night when Alexander had fallen asleep next to his laptop also mentioned that ancient dogs had appeared around the same time, a point that Cleo from Next Door never let him forget, but there was no point in bringing that up now.
‘IN ANY CASE,’ said the second rat, getting impatient, ‘Mick said we deserved respect – much more than humans have shown us over the years.’
‘Flattery!’ said Number 12, foaming a bit at the mouth. ‘Can’t you see he just wants to turn one species against the other? Divide and conquer?’
The first rat shook his head vigorously. ‘This is the way it’ll work. First, the Big Flood comes, wiping out the humans and their pollution, then we come out into the sunshine to rule a cleansed Earth. Rattus Rule!’
The other rats joined in with a shrieking chorus of Rattus Rule, Rattus Rule, until it was deafening for the Crew.
‘Stop. STOP!’ Tark commanded. ‘We get the point. But Number 12 is correct. Mick and his starships come from a galaxy where no water exists, so they wouldn’t know the first thing about starting a flood. Volcanos, they know. Lava floes are their playthings. You and your species will be safe down here, for a while. Until the lava arrives, to turn your bunkers into ovens. Billions of roasted rats will not be a pretty sight – or smell!’
Tiger’s nose twitched with disgust. In his youth, he’d had his share of mice, and even the odd rat, for snacks, but even then their meat was rather stringy. Barbecued pigeon he could imagine, but not barbecued rat, even with a honey sesame sauce.
‘It’s a trick!’ cried the second rat, showing his very long teeth. ‘We’re this close to world domination. I say we stick with the Accord!’
‘Which Accord?’ said Judge Wanda, seizing on it. ‘Did you sign anything?’
The first rat hesitated. ‘Yes. He had this glass plate thingy and told me I had to put my right paw on it to commit for all Rattus. It flashed green when I did, and Mick said the Accord was signed.’
‘No matter,’ said Tark. ‘Inter-Galactic Command regulations require a cooling off period of 20 Griffon days during which you can change your mind.’
‘What’s that in Earth days?’ asked Tiger.
Tark scratched his head. ‘Depends on which of our moons is closest to the horizon when the pact is signed. Call it one of your Earth months and you’ll be close enough.’
The first rat ground his teeth. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ve signed for us, and that’s that.’
‘But if Mick tricked you into thinking you’d be the supreme species after the flood,’ said Judge Wanda, ‘you have every right to tell him that it was done under false pretenses!’
Tiger could see that they were getting through to the first rat, but the rest of them still seemed keen on global domination, or the little that would be left of it after Mick’s starships attacked.
‘It’s not as simple as just backing out,’ said the first rat. ‘There are processes to be followed. Motions to be written. Votes to be taken!’
‘Yeah,’ said the second rat. ‘We’re pretty democratic down here, despite what the humans might think.’
‘Wow,’ said Tiger. ‘I had no idea of that!’
‘Of course not,’ said the second rat. ‘What else would we expect of a domesticated species.’
Tiger wasn’t sure what “domesticated” meant, but he suspected it might be even worse than being regarded as an Introduced one. This was not the time to argue the point, though.
Tark narrowed his eyes. ‘We’ll leave it with you, then, and hope for a speedy decision. Remember, Mick’s forces could attack any day – even any hour – now!’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ the first rat said quickly.