RAT RACE
BY GEORGE O. SMITH
Illustrated by Cartier
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, August 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"You're nuts," came the reply, but the voice on the telephone wasjovially reproving rather than sarcastic. "I can't do anything aboutthis order."
Peter Manton blinked. "But it has a Four-A-One priority."
Brannon nodded—invisibly, of course—and said, "Sure you have a toppriority. Anything your lab wants has top. But darn it, Peter, the bestpriority in the world isn't going to buy you a dozen mousetraps thatare nonexistent."
"But—"
"Besides which, that building you're in is about as rat-proof as asealed gasoline can. There isn't an item of comestible in the place."
"I know that. And the mice can go hungry for all I care. But the micedon't seem to understand that bringing food into the place is not onlyforbidden by law but dangerous."
"But there ain't a mousetrap in the country. Ding bust it, Peter,mousetraps take spring wire, and labor. The people who used to makemousetraps are now making bombsights and tanks. Besides, Peter, overat that laboratory of yours there should be enough brains and gear toreally build the Better Mousetrap. If you can spot a plane at fiftymiles, split atoms, and fire radio equipment out of a cannon, you oughtto be able to dispose of a mouse or two."
Peter grinned. "You mean spot 'em with radar, and then shoot 'em downin flames with proximity fuses loaded with plutonium war heads? Thatmight be a little strenuous, don't you think? Like cutting the throatto stop the spread of impetigo."
"Well, if you have mice over there, you think of something. But toppriority or not, we can't get you your mousetraps!"
Peter hung up unhappily. He turned from his desk to see an impertinentmouse sitting on the floor watching him out of beady black eyes. Peterhurled a book at it and swore, a rare thing for him.
The mouse disappeared behind a bank of filing cabinets.
"That's right," he grunted. "Go on—disappear!"
The word struck home. Peter blinked. And remembered....
It was dark, though not too dark for the mouse to see his surroundings.It was hungry, and it was beginning to understand that of the manyplaces occupied by man, this was one place where man left nothing thatcould be eaten. This evening, however, the situation was changed.There was a faint smell of food in the place, relatively great comparedto the sterile atmosphere of previous days.
The mouse located the odor. A small wire tunnel closed at the far end.A nice, rancid bit of bacon hung there.
The mouse was no fool. He inspected the wire tunnel carefully. Three ofhis brothers had been taken away by various metal contrivances and hewas not going to follow them if he could help it. The mouse sniffed thewires, climbed the top of the little cage and raced around it, pokingit and bumping it. Often a trap could be sprung by poking it with afoot—just jarring it. That left the bait safe to eat.
But this seemed innocuous. No springs, no wires, no trapdoor, nomirrors. Just a little tunnel of wire cloth about six inches long andtwo inches in diameter.
The mouse entered the tunnel; headed for the bit of bacon.
Nothing happened, and the mouse gathered speed. It paid no attentionto the silvery metal ring that encircled the inside of the tunnel,and would not have known what it was anyway. T