of cattle destined for the slaughtering pens. All motorists are requested to remain away from the area. Any spectator activity is said to be extremely dangerous. I repeat: A large pack, of…”
Lord love a duck! (family Anatidae) I’ve got to switch this program fast…
“Hold it right there, Doc!”
“I’m sorry, fellows, but—”
“Grab the Doctor! Kick his ass!”
I see it would be wiser to retire from the TV set. These rebels have started freeing each other from their cages and I’m rapidly being outnumbered. Very well, I withdraw, but only temporarily, my friends. Doctor Rat is not to be trifled with.
“Take every man from Sector 8 and blocks off those streets…
The TV picture is an extraordinary one—police cars converging on stampeding cattle and howling dogs. The camera swings dizzily for a moment, and a steer charges toward us as the footage abruptly ends.
“This is Barry Nathan. We switch you now to the…”
“Send for the dogcatcher!”
“Sit down, Doc, and shut up.”
“Yeah, down in front…pass the rat chow, please.”
I’ve got to do something about that TV set. The news is too incendiary, and the rebel rats are running around excitedly, opening all the cages. My move must be daring and swift.
The double-panned weighing scale is just below me, in the shadows, with a lead weight upon it. We ordinarily use this scale to weigh newborn rats or those on special deficiency diets, but Doctor Rat is going to put it to more dramatic use tonight!
The angle of trajectory seems right. I leap!
Down through the air I drop, a counterespionage commando landing secretly behind enemy lines, on the scale, driving one pan down and the other up, launching the lead weight into the air toward the TV screen.
I flatten out as the weight strikes, shattering the screen! Glass flying everywhere! Perhaps now these rebels know whom they’re dealing with—the dynamic Doctor Rat!
But how bright the exercise wheels have gotten again. And the dog is turning his treadmill at a terrific rate of speed, running for all he’s worth. Light is emanating from the turning treadwheels and from the exercise wheels. The atmosphere is incredibly electric. I haven’t felt anything so powerful since I had my last sublethal dose of insulin (see my paper, “Average Lethal Dose for Rats,” Phar. Mag., 1971). I’d like to get about fifty of these rebel rats together and give them a Maximum Lethal Dose of strychnine in their pressed biscuit. That’d shut them up in a hurry!
But how bright the exercise wheels are, glowing now with frightening intensity. The rats are racing, making an opening in the intuitive band, and our laboratory is filled with expanding points of light, light merging with light, wheel merging with wheel. The entire room is shining with whirling light and I can see a face emerging from the vortex!
20
I was born in this big room. Never have I been outside it. At either end of the room come the winds, mechanically produced. There are, above our heads, harsh lights. I wonder what’s beyond this room.
Our bodies are white and fat. We have no exercise. I never walk more than the length of my little cell. The days are so monotonous and my existence so pointless—often I feel that I don’t exist at all, that I am just a dream.
The great room is divided into these low cells. Each of us has one; we’re separated from the other inmates by a board wall over which we can barely see our neighbors. If anyone attempts to enter my cell, I will kill him. The law here is, Keep your own cell and let no one in. There is no friendship. Our cell is our life; we protect it with our life.
“Come on there, you! Come on!”
The guard has come for me, driving me out of my cell with shouts and kicks. I try to walk, but movement is difficult; my muscles are weak. He drives me toward the cold female.
I’ve been with her before. She has no warmth; she smells like a female. I never see the whole of her body. I see the
Lord love a duck! (family Anatidae) I’ve got to switch this program fast…
“Hold it right there, Doc!”
“I’m sorry, fellows, but—”
“Grab the Doctor! Kick his ass!”
I see it would be wiser to retire from the TV set. These rebels have started freeing each other from their cages and I’m rapidly being outnumbered. Very well, I withdraw, but only temporarily, my friends. Doctor Rat is not to be trifled with.
“Take every man from Sector 8 and blocks off those streets…
The TV picture is an extraordinary one—police cars converging on stampeding cattle and howling dogs. The camera swings dizzily for a moment, and a steer charges toward us as the footage abruptly ends.
“This is Barry Nathan. We switch you now to the…”
“Send for the dogcatcher!”
“Sit down, Doc, and shut up.”
“Yeah, down in front…pass the rat chow, please.”
I’ve got to do something about that TV set. The news is too incendiary, and the rebel rats are running around excitedly, opening all the cages. My move must be daring and swift.
The double-panned weighing scale is just below me, in the shadows, with a lead weight upon it. We ordinarily use this scale to weigh newborn rats or those on special deficiency diets, but Doctor Rat is going to put it to more dramatic use tonight!
The angle of trajectory seems right. I leap!
Down through the air I drop, a counterespionage commando landing secretly behind enemy lines, on the scale, driving one pan down and the other up, launching the lead weight into the air toward the TV screen.
I flatten out as the weight strikes, shattering the screen! Glass flying everywhere! Perhaps now these rebels know whom they’re dealing with—the dynamic Doctor Rat!
But how bright the exercise wheels have gotten again. And the dog is turning his treadmill at a terrific rate of speed, running for all he’s worth. Light is emanating from the turning treadwheels and from the exercise wheels. The atmosphere is incredibly electric. I haven’t felt anything so powerful since I had my last sublethal dose of insulin (see my paper, “Average Lethal Dose for Rats,” Phar. Mag., 1971). I’d like to get about fifty of these rebel rats together and give them a Maximum Lethal Dose of strychnine in their pressed biscuit. That’d shut them up in a hurry!
But how bright the exercise wheels are, glowing now with frightening intensity. The rats are racing, making an opening in the intuitive band, and our laboratory is filled with expanding points of light, light merging with light, wheel merging with wheel. The entire room is shining with whirling light and I can see a face emerging from the vortex!
20
I was born in this big room. Never have I been outside it. At either end of the room come the winds, mechanically produced. There are, above our heads, harsh lights. I wonder what’s beyond this room.
Our bodies are white and fat. We have no exercise. I never walk more than the length of my little cell. The days are so monotonous and my existence so pointless—often I feel that I don’t exist at all, that I am just a dream.
The great room is divided into these low cells. Each of us has one; we’re separated from the other inmates by a board wall over which we can barely see our neighbors. If anyone attempts to enter my cell, I will kill him. The law here is, Keep your own cell and let no one in. There is no friendship. Our cell is our life; we protect it with our life.
“Come on there, you! Come on!”
The guard has come for me, driving me out of my cell with shouts and kicks. I try to walk, but movement is difficult; my muscles are weak. He drives me toward the cold female.
I’ve been with her before. She has no warmth; she smells like a female. I never see the whole of her body. I see the
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