here are few advantages that a mouse has over a factory-sized machine, apart from perhaps its size. Past its cranes for arms and its great oil-slicked jaws ran the Debussy Mark Twelve as it had never run before. Inside the Debussy’s tiny frame, red-hot cogs screamed like Catherine wheels till steam poured from its eyes and ears. Even as a young man, the minutian scientist that was Faisal had never been one for sport and he’d sensibly made the decision to leave the running of its legs to Whiskers’ more experienced control. Whiskers ducked under pistons and vaulted through the gaps in its clattering gears. They were inside the machine-mind now, the terrible grinding of its metal brain closing on all sides.
“Faster, Whiskers, faster!” screeched Faisal.
Behind them the machine-mind’s spidery sentinels ran on needle-sharp legs. They lunged, over and over, three of the creatures ripping at Whiskers’ fur. Finally they came to an opening of sorts. Within it burned a furnace, bright and hot, and within the furnace was a block of metal alloy too hard to melt.
“STOP – crdzt.”
The voice rang out all about them with the clicking and hammering of gears. The Central Intelligence’s spiders stopped and so did the mouse.
“Leave – drrtz – my mind.”
Faisal regained control of his invention and peered at the furnace in front of him.
“Krddz – please.” This time when the machine spoke, it was almost in a whisper.
“Don’t be frightened. I’m here to help you,” squeaked the mouse. Behind its back its tail wagged, and then it jumped headlong, right into the fire.