James Axler – Rat King

Mildred braced herself against the couch on which Doc lay, seemingly comatose.

She swore to herself, shook her head to clear it, then proceeded to strip off

the tape. The electrode underneath wasn’t attached directly to the brain through

a trepanned hole in the skull, as she could see on the others in the room, but

it did seem to have some kind of hook that bit into Doc’s scalp.

“Sorry if this hurts, you old buzzard,” she murmured, “but your hide is so damn

thick that I seriously doubt it.”

Gritting her teeth, she pulled the electrode free, prying the hook from the

scalp. It seemed to be nothing more than a securing mechanism, coming free with

just a slight twist, a trickle of blood marking the spot where it had been

attached.

Doc twitched.

“WE ARE BEING DIVIDED. Another leaving so soon?”

The mass of men who comprised the rat king stood in the comp room, watching

Mildred detach Doc. The mainframe was still sparking, small fires flaring and

dying as the transistor circuits on the motherboard burned out piece by piece.

“We are all leaving,” Doc replied. He was able to walk away from them, to stand

apart. He no longer had the need to mask his thoughts. “By the Three Kennedys,

that feels good,” he said aloud. “For all that I had thought about it, I do not

think I would ever truly appreciated the joys of individuality before now.”

“We can no longer read your thoughts, as you are moving away from us,” said the

Air Force general, stepping forward. “What do you mean, we are all leaving?”

“Look at yourself,” Doc answered. “You are speaking on your own, and you have

moved away from the block. Just as you were when I was first joined to you. Face

the facts. Without a full complement, you are separating of your own accord.

Look how your imaging has focused on things as they really are. This the first

time you have not been through a simulation or a model. Look at the computer.”

Doc pointed a bony finger at the gently smoldering mainframe. “If that ceases

operation, then nature will take the course denied it for so long, and you will

die. As you should. If you stop and think about it, it should be a blessed

relief to you.”

The Air Force general frowned. “But if we die, then the mechanism dies. And if

the mechanism dies, then those who are dependent upon us will also die.”

Doc craned forward, his body language registering the bewilderment he suddenly

felt. “Those who are dependent?”

“Of course. Do we not spend our time in futility, using a fraction of our

capability to keep the life-support systems of the redoubt in working order?”

“Oh, mercy me, has the good Dr. Wyeth thought of this?” Doc blurted, realizing

what it could mean.

MILDRED HAD REMOVED almost all the electrodes and was keeping half an eye on the

tubes feeding Doc and cleaning his blood, wondering which she should disconnect

first, when he started to writhe and moan on the couch, seemingly desperate to

fight his way back to consciousness.

“It’s okay, Doc. Don’t rush it, you old coot—more haste, less speed, as they

always used to say.”

Doc’s eyes opened, staring and unfocused, but still alert. “Haste and speed are

of the essence, my dear Doctor,” he croaked unexpectedly.

“Calm down, you old buzzard,” Mildred said softly, trying to hide the relief in

her voice that he was still alive. The tubes seemed to detach easily enough, and

Mildred silently thanked the recently chilled Tricks for her efficiency.

“I fear you do not understand,” Doc continued hoarsely. “The mainframe is

dying…By leaving the others I am killing them.”

Mildred paused, looking at the desiccated, barely living zombielike corpses on

the other couches. What had Doc been through when he was linked to that machine?

“They belong dead,” she said shortly.

“Perhaps.” Doc managed the ghost of a smile. “But they control the redoubt. When

they die, it dies.”

“Shit,” Mildred said softly, “including the mat-trans.”

“Exactly,” Doc said with a weak nod.

It was then that the first tremor began to rock the redoubt, making the couches