Ken Liu: Invisible Planets: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation

My whole idea was founded on guesses. Who knew how these artificial creatures felt about the bonds of kinship? Did adult rats have any child-rearing instincts? How did their new reproductive arrangement—one female mating with multiple males, each of whom then became “pregnant”—affect things?

One male rat appeared. It sniffed the air near the hole as if trying to identify the smell. Then it fell in. I could hear the sound of its claws scratching against the greased tarp. I laughed. Now we had two rats as bait.

The adult male was much louder than the baby rat. If it really had a high IQ, then it should be issuing warnings to its companions.

I was wrong. A second male rat appeared. It came to the side of the trap, seemed to have a conversation with the rats in there, then fell in.

Then came the third, fourth, fifth… After the seventeenth rat fell in, I worried that the hole wasn’t deep enough.

I gave the signal. In a second, men with spears surrounded the trap.

The rats were building a pyramid. The bottom layer consisted of seven rats leaning against the side of the trap. Five rats stood on their shoulders in the next layer. Then three. Two more rats were carrying the baby rat and climbing up.

“Wait!” Pea yelled. Carefully he pulled the string and slowly separated the baby rat from the adult rats carrying it. The minute the baby rat dangled free of the adults, the adult rats screamed—and I heard sorrow in their voices. The pyramid fell apart as the spears plunged down, splattered blood beading against the plastic and rolling down slowly.

In order to rescue a child who was not directly related to them, the rats were willing to sacrifice themselves. Yet we exploited this to get them.

I shivered.

Pea pulled the baby rat back to him. Just as the baby was about to complete this nightmarish journey, a boot came out of nowhere and flattened it against the earth.

Black Cannon.

Pea jumped at him, fists swinging.

Black Cannon was caught off guard, and blood flowed down the corner of his mouth. Then he laughed, grabbed Pea, and lifted his skinny body over his head. He walked next to the trap, filled with blood and gore, and got ready to toss Pea in.

“I think the sissy wants to join his dirty friends.”

“Put him down!” The Drill Instructor appeared and ended the madness.

Because I came up with the plan, I received my first commendation. Three times during his speech, the Drill Instructor mentioned “college education,” but not once sarcastically. Even Black Cannon was impressed with me. He told me when no one was around that all the tails from this battle should be given to me. I accepted, and then gave the tails to Pea.

Of course I knew that nothing would make up for what I took away from Pea.

Farm fields, trees, hills, ponds, roads… we pass like shadows in the night.

During a break, Black Cannon suggests to the Drill Instructor that we divide the platoon in half. He will choose the best fighters and dash ahead while the rest follow slowly. He looks around and then adds, meaningfully, “Otherwise, we might not be able to complete the mission.”

“No,” I say. The Drill Instructor and Black Cannon look at me. “The strength of an army comes from all its members working together. We advance together, we retreat together. None of us is extraneous, and none of us is more important than any others.”

I pause, locking my gaze with the furious Black Cannon. “Otherwise, we’ll be no better than the rats.”

“Good.” The Drill Instructor puts out his cigarette. “We stay together. Let’s go.”

Black Cannon walks by me. He lowers his voice so that only I can hear. “I should have let you roll down the dam with the sissy.”

I freeze.

As Black Cannon walks away, he turns and smirks at me. I’ve seen that curling of the lips before: when he warned me not to drown along with Pea, when he stomped on the baby rat and lifted Pea over his head, when he sliced open the bellies of the male rats.

Black Cannon was next to Pea that afternoon. They said that Pea left the path because he saw a rare plant. But without his glasses, Pea was practically blind.

I should never have believed their lies.

As I stare at Black Cannon’s back, memory surfaces after memory. This is the most difficult journey I’ve ever been on.

“Prepare for battle,” the Drill Instructor says, taking me out of my waking dream. We’ve been marching for ten hours.

In my mind, the only battle that matters in the world is between Black Cannon and me.

It’s dawn again. The battlefield is a dense forest in a valley. The cliffs on both sides are steep and bare. The Drill Instructor’s plan is simple: one squad will move ahead and cut off the rat pack’s path through the valley. The other squads will follow and kill every rat they see. Game over.

I sneak through the trees to join Black Cannon’s squad. I don’t have a plan, except that I don’t want him out of my sight. The forest is dense, and visibility is poor. A faint blue miasma permeates the air. Black Cannon sets the pace for a fast march, and we weave between the trees, among the fog, like ghosts.

He stops abruptly. We follow his finger and see several rats pacing a few meters away. He gestures for us to spread out and surround them. But by the time we get close, the rats have all disappeared. We turn around, and the rats are still just a few meters away.

This happens a few more times. All of us are frightened.

The miasma grows thicker, filled with a strange odor. My forehead is sweaty, and the sweat stings my eyes. I grip my spear tightly, trying to keep up with the squad. But my legs are rubbery. My paranoia is back. Things are watching me in the grass. Whispers in the air.

I’m alone now. All around me is the thick fog. I spin around. Every direction seems full of danger. Desperation fills my head.

Suddenly I hear a long, loud scream in one direction. I rush over but see nothing. I feel something large dash behind me. Another loud, long scream. Then I hear the sound of metal striking against metal, the sound of flesh being ripped apart, heavy breathing.

Then silence, absolute silence.

It’s behind me. I can feel its hot gaze.

I spin around, and it leaps at me through the fog. A Neorat as large as a human, its claws dripping with blood, is on me in a second. My spear pushes its arms against its chest, and we wrestle each other to the ground. Its jaws, full of sharp teeth, snap shut right next to my ear, the stench from its mouth making it impossible for me to breathe. I want to kick it off me with my legs, but it has me completely pinned against the ground.

I watch, helplessly, as its bloody claws inch toward my chest. I growl with fury, but it sounds like a desperate, loud scream.

The cold claw rips through my uniform. I can feel it against my chest. Then a brief, searing moment of pain as it rips through my skin and muscles. The claw continues down, millimeter by millimeter, toward my heart.

I look up into its face. It’s laughing. The mouth forms a cruel grin, one I’m very familiar with.

Bang. The rat shudders. The claws stop. It turns its head around, confused, trying to find the source of the noise. I gather every ounce of strength in my body and shove its claws away, then smash my spear against its skull.

A muffled thud. It falls against the ground.

I look up past him, and see a bigger, taller rat walking toward me. It’s holding a gun in its hands.

I close my eyes.

“You can all have a real drink tonight,” the Drill Instructor said. He revealed a few cases of beer next to the campfire.

“What’s the occasion?” Pea asked happily. He grabbed a chicken foot out of the big bowl and gnawed on it.