Space Station Rat by Michael J. Daley Page B

cloth that stank of elastic.
    Gotcha!
    Can’t run!
    Can’t hide!
    It pinned paws flat. It pinched and did not let you move while they did whatever they wanted to you.
    Only the angry voices shouting to be let into the room stopped her from scratching at the boy. The captain! The mother! The father! She was helpless. Only the boy could keep her safe.
    A lurch. The cloth snatched tighter, hurting her leg.
    What is that boy doing ?
    A violent twist. The zipper dug across her back. Then a jounce.
    â€œOkay. Come in.”
    The boy’s voice, heavy with forced tiredness, vibrated against Rat. Clever boy! He was pretending he’d been asleep. Rat heard the door open and a heavy tread. The boy’s breath caught.
    The boy leaned forward, and Rat missed some things as she adjusted to the sudden roominess. But soon she understood what mattered. They were looking for Nanny. The boy was not telling, not about Nanny, not about Rat.
    Rat relaxed into the warm, dark softness of her hiding place. Her body moved with the rhythm of the boy’s breath. It was like a lullaby, taking Rat back. Back, back to memories of a time when the fur in her nose was not her fur, the foot in her ear was not her foot, the tail under her chin did not belong to her. Feel the pulse of a dozen hearts different from her own. Smell sweet milk and sour pee and the warm largeness full of goodness.
    Such sadness for the long-lost goodness.
    Such bliss in the newfound closeness of the boy.
    Rat began to knead his T-shirt with her front paws, lost to the passing of time.

C HAPTER E IGHTEEN
    T OO M UCH A TTENTION !
    Dad leaned against the desk. At least the screen saver was on now! He took the tube from his pocket. He twirled it thoughtfully.
    What did he suspect?
    Dad was good at making intuitive leaps on thin evidence. He didn’t know about the e-mail, and maybe he hadn’t seen or understood the rat’s words; but Dad did find the wire. He’d seen the tooth marks in neat pairs, just like Jeff.
    â€œNow wasn’t that something?” Dad said, looking up at last. “She yelled at him.”
    â€œYeah, she did, didn’t she?”
    â€œA development.” Dad’s smile flashed briefly. “Too bad it took circumstances like this. You do realize how serious the situation is, don’t you?”
    Jeff nodded. He hardly ever lied to his parents, but the damage to Nanny was so bad, and the consequences were so huge, he couldn’t find a voice to admit what had happened.
    â€œImagine! The fate of the world decided by a stray meteor and a missing robot.”
    Dad looked around. Jeff, too.
    So much to hide! He wasn’t doing such a great job, either. The mistakes were piling up: the computer left on, the box a big bulge under the blankets, bandages all over the place, the telescope left lying around.
    â€œAre you sure you can’t help, Jeff?”
    Earlier Jeff had thought there might be a way. But that was before Dad said there were only four hours and thirty-six minutes until solar max. With so little time, what good would it do to tell them where to find a broken robot?
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œHmmm,” Dad said. “What happened to your foot?”
    Didn’t Dad miss anything ?
    â€œI got a blister from following Nanny halfway around this stupid space station!”
    Dropping the tube into his pocket, Dad knelt to inspect Jeff’s foot. A little red seeped through the wrapping. At least that could explain all the bloody bandages on the floor.
    Dad sniffed. Jeff noticed some liverwurst still smeared on his jumpsuit leg. How would he explain that?!
    Dad sniffed again, then with a little shake of his head, examined the foot.
    â€œNice job. That’s right—you got the first-aid prize at camp last year, didn’t you. Bet you’d rather be at camp right now!”
    â€œI guess.” Jeff shrugged, then squirmed from a sudden tickle. What was that rat doing