Fredric Brown - The Second Fredric Brown Megapack

“Mitkey, loogk, I giff instructions now und I rebeat effery half hour for a vhile, in gase you gannot get der first time.”

“Virst, vhen you haf heard insdructions, shudt off der set to safe bower. You vill need all der bower left in der batteries to stardt again. So do not broadcast again. Do nodt answer me.”

“Aboudt aiming und calculating, later. Virst, check der fuel left in der dubes. I used more than vas needed, und I think it vill be enough because to leaf der light-grafity moon vill need much much less bower than to leaf der Earth. Und…”

And over and over, the professor repeated it. There were gaps, there were things he himself could not know how to do without being there, but Mitkey might be able to find the answers.

Over and over he repeated the adjustments, the angle of aiming, the timing. Everything except how Mitkey could move the rocket to turn it, to aim it. But Mitkey was a smart mouse, the professor knew. Maybe with levers, somehow—if he could find levers—

Over and over and far into the night, until the good professor’s voice was hoarse with fatigue, and until at last, right in the middle of the nineteenth repetition, he fell sound asleep.

Bright sunlight when he awakened, and the clock on the shelf striking eleven. He rose and stretched his cramped muscles, sat down again and leaned forward to the microphone.

“Mitkey can you—”

But no, there was no use in that. Unless Mitkey had heard one of his earlier sendings the night before, it would he too late now. Mitkey’s batteries—the rocket’s batteries—would be worn out by now if he still had the set connected.

Nothing to do now but wait, and hope.

The hoping was hard, and the waiting was harder.

Night. Day. Night. And nights and days until a week had gone by. Still no Mitkey.

Again, as once before, the professor had set his wire cage trap and caught Minnie. Again, as before, he took good care of her.

“Mine Minnie, maybe soon your Mitkey vill be back mit us.”

“Budt Minnie, vhy can’t you dalk like him yet? If he made an eggsnineteen brojector, vhy did he nodt use it on you? I do nodt understand. Vhy?”

But Minnie didn’t tell him why, because she didn’t know. She watched him suspiciously, and listened, but she wouldn’t talk. Not until Mitkey got back did they find out why. And then—paradoxically—only because Mitkey had not yet taken time to remove the white paint.

Mitkey’s landing was a good one. He was able to crawl away from it, and after a while to walk.

But it had been in Pennsylvania, and it had taken him two days to reach Hartford. Not afoot, of course. He had hidden at a filling station until a truck with a Connecticut license had come along, and when it took on gasoline, it took Mitkey, too.

A last few miles on foot, and then at last—

“Brofessor! Iss me, Mitkey.”

“Mitkey! Mein Mitkey! Almost I had giffen up hope to see you. Tell me how you—”

“Layder, Brofessor. I tell you all, layder. Virst, vhere iss Minnie? You haff her? She vas lost vhen—”

“In der cage, Mitkey. I kept her safe for you. Now I can release her, no?”

And he opened the door of the wire cage. Minnie came out, hesitantly.

“Master,” she said. And it was at Mitkey she was looking.

“Vot?”

She repeated, “Master. You are a vite mouse. I am your slafe.”

“Vot?” said Mitkey again, and he looked at the professor. “Vot iss? She speaks, budt—”

The professor’s eyes were wide. “I do not know, Mitkey. Neffer she speaks to me. I did not know dot she—Vait, she says about vhite mice. Maybe she—”

“Minnie,” said Mitkey, “do you nodt know me?”

“You are a vhite mouse, master. So I speak to you. Ve are nodt to speak except to der vhite mouses. I did not speak, so, until now.”

“Who? Minnie, who are nodt to speak except to vhite mouses?”

“Us gray mouses, master.”

Mitkey turned to Piofessor Oberburger. “Professor. I think I begin to understand. It is vorse than I—Minnie, vot are der gray mouses subbosed to do for der vhite mouses?”

“Anything, master. Ve are your slafes, ve are your vorkers, ve are your soldiers. Ve obey der Emperor, and all der other vhite mouses. Und virst all der gray mouses vill be taught to vork und to fight. Und then—”

“Vait, Minnie. I haf an idea. How mudch iss two und two?”

“Four, master.”

“How mudch iss thirdeen und tvelf?”

“I do not know, master.”

Mitkey nodded. “Go back der cage in.”

He turned again to the professor. “You see? A liddle, nodt mudch, he raises der lefel of indelligence of der gray mice. Der zero-two leffel, vhich iss his—so he iss chusdt a liddle smarter than der other vhite mice, und many dimes as smardt as der ordinary mice, who they vill use as solchers und vorkers. Iss diabolical, no?”

“It is diabolical, Mitkey. I—I did not thingk mice could be so low—so low as some men, Mitkey.”

“Brofessor, I am ashamed of mine kind. I see now mine ideas of Moustralia, und men und mice liffing in beace—they vere dreams. I vas wrong, Brofessor. Budt no dime to think aboudt dreams—ve must act!”

“How, Mitkey? Shall I delephone der bolice und ask them to arrest —”

“No. Men can nodt stop them, Brofessor. Mice can hide from men. They haf hidden from men all their lifes. A million bolicemen, a million solchiers could not vind Vhitey der First. I must do it meinself.”

“You, Mitkey? Alone?”

“It iss for that I came back from der moon, Brofessor. I am as smardt as he iss—I am der only mouse as smardt as Vhitey iss.”

“But he has der vhite mice—der other vhite mice mit him. He has guards, probably. Vot could you do alone?”

“I could vind der machine. Der eggsnineteen brojector vot raised their indelligence. You see?”

“But vot could you do, Mitkey, mit der machine? They are already—”

“I could shordt-circuit it, Brofessor. Referse der derminals und shordt-circuit it, und it vould kick oudt in von flash—und make normal again all der artificially-raised indelligence mitin a mile from it.”

“Budt, Mitkey, you vould be there, too. It vould destroy your own indelligence. You vould do dot?”

“I vould, und I vill. For der vorld, und for beace. Budt I haff an ace up der sleefe, maybe. Maybe I get mine indelligence back.”

“How, Mitkey?”

Little gray man with his head bent low over a white-painted little gray mouse, the two of them discussing high heroism and the fate of the world. And neither saw that it was funny—or was it?

“How Mitkey?”

“Ve renew der vhite paint virst. So I can vool them und get by der guards.”

I vill be in or near der Hartford Laboratories, I belief—vhere Vhitey came from, und vhere he finds der other white mice to vork mit him.

“Und segund, also before I leafe here, I make another brojector, see? Und I raise Minnie’s leffel of indelligence to mine, und teach her how to oberate der brojector, See?”

“Und vhen I lose mine indelligence in shordting der machine at der laboratories, I still haff mine normal indelligence und mine instinct—und I think these vill brings me back here to mine house und mine Minnie!”

The professor nodded. “Eggcellent. Und der laboratories iss three miles avay from here, und der shordt vill nodt affect Minnie. Then she can restore you, hein?”

“Yess. I need vire, der vinest vire you haff. Und—”

Rapidly this time, the projector grew. This time Mitkey had help, expert help, and could ask for what he wanted instead of having to steal it in darkness.

Once while they worked the professor remembered something. “Mitkey!” he said suddenly, “you vere on der moon! I almost forgodt to ask you aboudt it. Vot vas it like?”