Orz and 62 reached the hatch just as the ground car pulled up alongside. They scrutinized the two occupants as the freighter's loading ramp descended.
The first to debark was a portly little man wearing a stylish orange
tunic that should have been two sizes larger. His companion probably weighed as much but was taller and
better proportioned.
Orz's long legs carried him swiftly down the ramp after it had settled and the portly one came forward to meet him.
"Mr. Samuel Orzechowski?" he asked, mangling the pronunciation.
Orz smiled. "That's right, but you can call me Sam, or Orz, or, as some people prefer, Ratman." And being a client, he thought, you'll no doubt choose the last one.
"Well," the little man replied, "I guess 'Ratman' will do. I'm Aaron Lesno, president of the Traders League and this is Evan Rabb, our treasurer," he said, indicating the man beside him.
"Welcome to Neeka," said Orz.
"Could I ask you something. Ratman?" Rabb hastily interjected. He couldn't take his eyes off 62. "Is that a space rat?"
"A small one," Qrz nodded. "A baby, really."
"Aren't you afraid of. . ."
"Of losing my ear?" he grinned. "Not at all. I imagine you two and the rest of the League are somewhat in the dark as to my methods, and you've probably got a lot of questions. I've found it best in the past to get everyone together and explain things to everybody at once. It saves me time and you money."
"An excellent idea!" Lesno agreed. "We've all been anxiously awaiting your arrival . . . well," he corrected himself with a glance at Rabb, "almost all ... but I'm sure there would be no problem in getting everyone together."
"What did you mean by 'almost all'?" Orz asked.
Rabb spoke up. "One of our more influential members was vehemently opposed to the idea of retaining you."
"Oh, really? Why?"
"Have no fear, Ratman," Lesno assured him with a smile, "hell let you know why at the meeting tonight"
"That’s fair enough," Orz said. "Now can someone come back and pick me up in a few hours for the meeting?"
"Why not come with us now and let us show you around a bit?" Lesno offered. ...
Orz shook his head and gestured over his shoulder to the ship. "Sorry . . . feeding time."
Rabb and Lesno stiffened and
glanced nervously from 62 the open hatch. '"Yes, quite,*' Lesno muttered. "Very well, then, we'll have someone call for you in, say, three hours."
"Thaf’ll be fine. This settled, the two-man welcoming committee lost little time in putting some distance between themselves and the squat little freighter.
"Seems like pretty decent fellows," Orz told 62 as he made his way up the ramp and down the central corridor. As they approached the rat room, 62 began to prance excitedly on his master's shoulder and was literally doing a dance by the time Orz hit the door release.
His several hundred fellow employees inside took up the same excited dance at the sound of the door sliding open. The cages were arranged five high along the walls of the long, narrow room. They were simple, steel-sided boxes with front doors of quarter-inch steel mesh; each was self-cleaning, had its own water supply and was equipped with an automatic feeder.
But Orz had never trusted automatic feeders, so now he went from cage to cage and shoved food pellets through the tiny feeding hole in the front of each. He had to be nimble for the rats were greedy and anxious and a fingertip could easily be mistaken for a pellet. His practiced eye decided how much each rat should get This was important: a rat became fat and lazy if overfed and
would gnaw his way out of the cage if underfed. A rat in either condition was of little use to Ratman.
Fifty cages stood open and empty and Orz placed a few pellets in each; 62 was frantic by now so he decided to give the little fellow something before he jumped off his shoulder and into one of the empty cages. The rat lose up on his hind legs, snatched the pellet from Orz's proffering fingers with his tiny, handlike paws and began to gnaw noisily and voraciously.
Three hours later, Orz flipped a particular switch on the console, checked to make sure the door to the rat room was open, then headed for the hatch. There, after casting an eye through the dusk at the approaching ground car, he secured the hatch, but opened a small panel at its bottom. With 62 perched watchfully upon his shoulder, he was waiting at the bottom of the ramp when the car arrived.
Lesno was alone inside. "Well, Ratman," he said with a smile, "everybody's waiting, so—" then he spotted 62 and his face fell. "Does he have to come along? I mean, he won't get too excited, will he?"
"Don't worry," Orz replied, sliding into his seat, "he won’t bite you." To lessen the man's anxiety he made a point of keeping 62 on his far shoulder.
"Your advertising literature was quite timely," Lesno remarked as they got under way, hoping conver-
sation would take his mind off those two beady eyes peering at him around the back of his passenger's head. "The rat problem was reaching its peak when we received it. I trust that wasn't just coincidence."
"No coincidence at all. I keep my ear to the ground and word got around that there was a space rat plague on Neeka. I figured you could use my services."
Lesno nodded. "We had heard a few stories about you but didn't know whether to believe them or not. Your advertising claims were quite impressive. I just hope you can live up to them."
About twenty exporters and importers were waiting in the conference room on the second floor of the Traders League office complex. It was a motley group of discordant colors, shapes, sizes and ages. Lesno entered ahead of Orz and lost no time in bringing the meeting to order.
"We all know why we're here," he said, tapping the gavel twice, "so there's really no use in wasting time with introductions." He pointed to Orz. "The creature on this man's shoulder is introduction enough. Ratman has arrived and he's going to tell us something about himself and about space rats." So saying, he relinquished the podium.
Nothing tike a businesslike business, Orz thought as he stood up and received a slight spattering of applause. They knew of his claim to be
able to control space rats with space fats and were frankly dubious. But this was nothing new to Orz.
Without even a glance at the audience, he nonchalantly snapped his lingers and tapped the top of the podium; 62 immediately leaped from his shoulder to the podium and began to sniff the wood curiously.
"This," he began, "although a specimen of Rattus interstellus, is not a true 'space rat' in the full sense of the word; but his parents were. Lab-raised space rats—such as 62, here— can turn out to be quite friendly, but they are no less cunning, no less intelligent and certainly no less vicious when cornered. These are the rats I 'employ’ so to speak.
"But first let’s puncture a few of the myths that have grown up around the space rat. First of all, no matter what the spacers tell you, space rats have no psi powers; they don't know what you're going to do next . . . it's just- that their reflexes are developed to such a high degree that it almost seems that way when you take pot shots at one with a blaster. They will respond to ultra-frequency tones but by no means do they have a language . . . they're intelligent, all right, but they're a long way from a language."
His eyes flicked over the audience. These were traders, barterers; they recognized a man who knew what he was talking about, and they were all listening intently.
He continued. "But just what is it that distinguishes the space rat from
other rats?" To dramatize his point, he allowed 62 to crawl onto the back of his hand and then held, the fidgety creature aloft.
"This is the product of centuries in the pressurized but unshielded holds of interstellar cargo ships. Wild genetic mutation and the law of survival of the fittest combined to produce a most adaptable, ferocious and intelligent creature.
"Everyone knew of the space rat's existence, but no one paid much attention to him until an ensign aboard the freighter Clinton was k
ept awake one night by the continuous opening and closing of the compartment door outside his cabin. The ship was in port, and, under normal circumstances, he would have spent the night in town, but, for one reason or another, he had returned to his quarters.
"Now, these doors which divide the corridors into compartments open automatically when you touch the release panel and remain open as long as a simple electric eye beam is broken; when the beam makes contact again, the door closes! The doors naturally make some noise when they operate, and this is what was disturbing the ensign. But, everytime he checked to see who was wandering up and down the corridor, he found no one. Checking with the guard detail he found that he was the only person authorized to be in that area of the ship.
"So he set up watch. Opening his door a crack, he peeked through to the corridor and waited. But no one came and he was about to give up when be spotted this large space rat come running down the corridor. As it approached the door it leaped over a meter into the air and threw itself against the release panel. The door slid open as the creature landed on the floor and it scurried through before the door closed again."
The traders were smiling and shaking their heads in wonder as Orz paused and placed 62 back on the podium. "Since it is doubtful that the rat could have accidentally leaped against the release panel, it must be assumed that he learned by watching. That would make him a highly unusual rat... they thought. Then they discovered that the whole colony aboard the Clinton knew how to operate the doors! Then other spacers on other ships began watching for space rats while their ships were in port-that's when their movements are the greatest; they stick pretty much to the cargo holds in transit—and it was discovered that the Clinton rats were not so extraordinary. These reports fired the interest of researchers who figured they would go out and catch themselves a few space rats and put them through some tests."
The audience broke into laughter at this point. They were all quite familiar with the elusiveness of the space rat
"Another characteristic of the space rat was soon discovered:
viciousness. It took quite a while, but, after much effort and many scars, a number of space rats were caught. And, as expected, they proved virtually untrainable. We hoped to do better with their offspring.
"I was working with the offspring when I heard about a rat problem in the nearby spaceport. Traps, poison, even variable frequency sonic repellers had failed to control them. I went to investigate and found that a good many space rats were jumping ship and setting up residence in the warehouses which ring every spaceport. Another factor was added. In the warehouses they meet other strains of space rat from other ships and the resultant cross-breeding produces a strain more intelligent and more ferocious than even the cargo-ship rat. I managed to catch half a dozen in as many months, mated them and began to go to work on the offspring. Through a mixture of imprinting and operant conditioning, second generation space rats proved quite tractable.
"But I needed more wild rats and tried the wild idea of training my lab rats to help catch other rats. It worked out so well that I decided to go into the business of space-rat control."
He paused and glanced around the room. "Any questions?"
An elderly trader in the front row raised a bony hand. "Just how does one rat go about catching another?" he asked in a raspy voice.
"I'll demonstrate that tomorrow," Orz replied. "It’ll be easier to understand once you see the equipment."
A huge, balding man with a grizzled beard stood up without waiting to be recognized. "I've got a question, Ratman," he said belligerently. "If all you’ve got are a few trained rats, why do you charge so much?"
This elicited a few concurring mutters from other members of the audience. Here, no doubt, was the man Lesno had referred to earlier that day.
"You have me at a disadvantage, sir," Orz replied with a smile.
"I'm Malcomb Houghton and I guess I rank third, or fourth, around here in cubic feet of warehouse space."
Orz nodded. "Very glad to meet you, sir. But let me answer your question with another question: Do you have any idea what it costs to operate a privately owned freighter, even a small one such as mine? My overhead is staggering."
Being a businessman, this argument seemed to make sense to Houghton, but he remained standing. "I just wonder," he began slowly, "if you can train rats to catch other rats, how do we know you didn't land some special trouble-making rats here on Neeka a few months ago to aggravate the situation to the point where we had to call you in?"
The audience went silent and waited for Ratman'& reply. Orz cursed as he felt his face flushing. This man was dangerously close to the troth. He hesitated, then cracked a grin.
"How'd you like to go into partnership with me?" he quipped.
The tension suddenly vanished as the audience laughed and applauded. Orz gathered up 62 and left the podium before Houghton could zero in on him again. He couldn't tell whether the man was stabbing in the dark, or whether he realty knew something.
Lesno escorted him out the door. "Wonderful!" he beamed "I think you're the man to solve our problems. But time is of the essence! The port -residents have been on our necks for months; their pets are being killed, they're afraid for their children and they're afraid for themselves. And since the rats are based in the warehouse district, we might be held liable if we don't do something soon. And"—he put his hand on Orz's shoulder and lowered his voice—"we've been keeping it quiet, but a man went after a few of the rats with a blaster the other night. They turned on him and chewed him up pretty badly."
“I’ll start as early as possible," Orz assured him. "You just send somebody around tomorrow with a good-sized truck and I'll be waiting."
Rabb must have overheard them as he approached. "That won't be necessary," he said. "We're placing a truck at your disposal immediately. I'll drive it over to your ship and
Lesno will bring me back after dropping you off."
Orz said that would be fine and he arranged a time and place of meeting with Lesno for early the next morning on the way back to the ship. A few minutes later he and 62 were standing next to the borrowed truck watching die two League officers drive away.
"Ratman!" whispered a voice from the deep shadows under the ramp.
Orz spun around. "Who's there?" he asked guardedly.
“I’m your contact."
"You'd better come out and identify yourself," he said.
Muttering and brushing off the knees of her coveralls, a tall, statuesque brunette stepped out of the shadows. "Where have you been for the past hour? We were supposed to meet as soon as it was dark!"
"Just who are you, Miss?" Orz asked.
She straightened up and stared at him. "You don't take any chances, do you?" she said as a wry smile played around her lips. "O.K. I'm Jessica Maffey, Federation agent NE97. I’m the one who received a smuggled shipment of fifty of your best harassing rats, drove them into town and let them go in the warehouse district. satisfied, Ratman?"
Orz grinned at her annoyance. "You're Maffey, all right . . . I've got a picture of you inside, but you can't be too careful." He glanced
around. "Let's get inside where we can talk."
"Speaking of going inside," she said, "there's been a steady stream of rats going through that little opening in the hatch."
He nodded. "Good. I activated a high-frequency call before I left. All the harassers you loosed should be snug in their cages by now."
He unlocked the hatch and led her to the rat room. As he busied himself with transferring 62 to a cage and checking on the harassing rats, Jessica looked around. From the darkened recess of each cage shone two gleaming points of light, and all those several hundred points of light seemed to be fixed upon her.
"Three missing," Orz was saying. "That's not too bad. . . accidents do happen." He pressed a button on the wall and the open doors on the cages of the harassing rats swung shut with a loud and simultaneous clang.
"How about a drink?" he offered his guest.
"As a matter of fact, I'd love one! she replied, sighing with relief as they stepped back into the corridor. Orz looked at her curiously. "It gets a little dry and dusty sitting under a loading ramp," she explained with tight smile.
With Jessica seated in his spartont fastidiously neat living quarters her hand around a cold gin tonic, Orz began to talk busines "Federation Intelligence only gave me a sketchy idea of what's going on here. You were to fill me in on
rest, so why don't I tell you what I know and you take it from there."
"Go ahead," she told him.
Drink in hand, Orz paced the room as he spoke. "Let's start with this planet Neeka is a fiercely independent, sparsely populated world which exports a lot of food and imports a lot of hardware. Formerly a splinter world, it agreed to trade with the Federation but refused to join it. They were asked to join the Restruc-turists in their revolt against the Federation but turned them down. They want absolutely no part of the war . . . and I can't say as I blame them.
"However: the Haas Warp gate is right outside this star system and the convoys stack up in this area before being shot through to the battle zones. Fed agents discovered a turncoat feeding information on the size and destinations of the convoys to someone on this planet. That someone, in turn, was transmitting the info to the Restructurists via sub-space radio. He's been stopped temporarily, but as soon as he makes another contact, hell’be in business again. I was told to meet you here and stop him. That's all I know."
Jessica nodded and drained her drink. "Right but subspace transmissions can't be traced so we-had to depend on deductive reasoning. First of all, you're allowed to be pro-Federation, or pro-Restracturist on Neeka, and you're allowed to talk all you want about either cause. Nobody minds. But try to do something to aid either cause, and you wind up