“I'm afraid I can't do that.”

“You knock that off right now, it wasn't funny the first hundred times, and it hasn't improved with age.”

“OK. But I am being serious,” responded the ship board computer, “I am currently unable to accurately perform that function. My humble MISSING DATA, I will try to work around the MISSING DATA that are developing in my system.”

The errors had obviously begun to spread, as the computer was starting to lose bits of its vocabulary. That Eulus could live with, the thing made awful jokes and had an annoyingly chipper tone in its voice that grated on his nerves. When IBM hired voice actors to record a database of words for interactive computers, IBM told them to speak their lines in an up-beat tone. Admittedly, it did help one get through the dark and lonely tedium of interstellar travel, but during a crisis like this it was a distraction.

Eulus had ruled out viruses, he had already scanned the system thoroughly looking for any trace of malignant coding, but hadn't found anything. And nobody could hide a virus from Eulus. He was acknowledged as the foremost programmer of his time; he had written viruses that eliminated entire armadas of AI fighters during both the second and third AI wars, he had developed the Partial Sentience Matrix that was now used in computers, he had hacked the AI mainframe in the Vega system and was thus able to warn the Sol system before the third AI war. But he couldn't figure out what was wrong with a old model computer with barely enough circuits to run a small ship.

“Well just try, get us to Io, and warn the base what's going on.”

The ship lurched forward as the computer attempted to plot a course for Io, swinging side to side as the failing computer kept readjusting its calculations. A flash of light flew by the port side window. Fermion Missiles don't usually miss, so maybe Eulus' computer issues were a blessing in disguise. A little Toyota Draft like this one just didn't have the engine to outrun even the most modest of fighters though, and the pack on his tail now were more than modest. He had to make it to Io.

On a trip to Pluto to do some checks on the defense systems, three AI fighters left their hiding places in the upper-atmosphere of Jupiter to pursue Eulus. Raids weren't uncommon as the AI still controlled the Vega and Cetus systems, and possibly more since nobody had heard anything from Pyxis or Eridanus in over a century. But Eulus had certainly earned their hatred, so this attack probably wasn't just a coincidence.

“What exactly should I tell the base of your predicament?”

“Buh... there are AI on my tail, what more do they need to know?”

“Perhaps I should describe the fighter class, armament, speed,...”

“You know what," Eulus interrupted, "I'll do it myself. You just get to Io.”

Another missile streaked by. At least they were only using Fermion Missiles, that meant the fighters were still too far away to use their lasers. Eulus laughed, only Fermion Missiles, having all the protons squeezed out of your body and collapsing into a neutron clump was infinitely preferable to plain old lasers. But if they were still out of laser range, Eulus had a chance to alert Io and hopefully save his hide.

Grabbing the tool box, Eulus found the screwdriver and popped open the panel leading to the main hard drives of the ship. He had no idea what he was looking for. Eulus swore under his breath; he was a programmer, not a mechanic. He didn't even know why he was bothering, but it felt better than just sitting around hoping the AI kept missing.

Eulus started wading through the sea of wires hoping something obvious would appear. “That tickles,” remarked the computer.

“Don't you have better things to be doing than cracking bad jokes?”

“Not you, I think I've located the problem, MISSING DATA in panel 7-B.”

“What in panel 7-B?”

“MISSING DATA.”

“Great, thanks,” Eulus said sarcastically.

7-B popped open. Nothing was immediately visible. Eulus prayed it wasn't a nanobot. Not only were they a pain to destroy, it showed that the AI had infiltrated further than assumed. Everybody knew that any household toaster might also be an AI spy, but nanobots being placed into specific vehicles hadn't happened since the AI terrorist actions preceding the first war.

Eulus noticed some flashing off to the left. He shifted through the fiber optic wires to reveal a severed cord, light flashing out of the frayed ends. There was another one a little further back, and another just to the right. Eulus then saw the source of the problem. He crawled back out and, with a push, glided over to the command chair. He picked up the emergency transmitting microphone.

“Io base, come in Io base. This is ship TDE3837, AI fighters in pursuit and firing on me, rat in my computer chewing on the wires.”

The moon based defenses fired after a minute's pause, destroying one fighter and chasing away the other two. “Sorry about the wait there TDE3837, we assumed this was a practical joke until we checked our radars.”

“No, the only one making bad jokes here is what's left of my computer.”

“Yours too? We tried to delete the joke programming in ours, but those morons at IBM coded it into the critical system files. We're sending a tug to get you now.”

Eulus turned off the engine, let out a heavy sigh, and waited for the tug. He put some rations on the floor to try to coax out the rat. It was evidently lucky, and if he could train it, it might end up as better company than these blasted computers.

Mousey, an egotistical little pip-squeak for his 5 months, was drawing up his masterplan to take Mrs Dale's delicatessen shop by storm, sketching a layout of the building into the fine sawdust that covered Cary Carpenter's toolshed floor. Whiskers and Nibbler scurried atop the workbenches to get a closer look, shaking their heads in dismay at what they saw.

"Are you insane?" they squealed, their wiry tails twitching with excited sarcasm. "Debbie Dale's family has been in the business of supplying the world's finest cheeses for centuries. That place will be mouse-trapped to the hilt. You haven't got a cat claw's chance of pulling this one off!"

"No?", retorted Mousey, looking up and giving them a smug, defiant look. He stretched up on his hind legs and waved a large poster in front of their inquisitive noses. "This, my furry friends, is a public invitation to Mrs Dale's annual Cheese & Wine Party. A new promotional exercise; which effectively means that a wide selection of cheese, not to mention other delicious delicacies, will be removed from the safety of the chilled glass cabinets and placed on open display for guests to savour at their convenience... and I shall be one of those guests.

"How do you propose to get in undetected, and out again with the cheese?" they enquired, curious to hear the next ridiculous part of Mousey's escapade.

Mousey gave them a cheesy grin bigger than any Cheshire Cat's. Disappearing for a second under the worktable, he returned pushing a bright mirrored globe. "Easy! Three blind mice could do it! Harry's hamster-ball will be providing the means for entry and escape. The mirror-finish means that I can see without, but nobody can see me within! Once inside the store, I shall find a place to hide and wait for the party to finish. Afterwards, I'll stuff the ball with the leftovers and then roll my way out of there."

Whiskers and Nibbler had heard enough and promptly left Mousey to his delusional ambitions. Skipping frantically over tools and rusty cans of paint and machine oil, they scampered off to inform the rest of the town's animal population.

**

The day of the Cheese & Wine Party had arrived. News of Mousey's plan had spread fast and already there was an audience of animals expecting to enjoy an entertaining spectacle, if nothing else. From every rooftop, window-sill and crevice, all eyes focused on Mrs Dale's delicatessen store.

Mousey was on a roll; making his way ever closer to the shop door. His vision wasn't too good but he could still rely on his acute sense of smell, following the strong odour of cheese as it permeated through the air holes around the outer shell of his globed vehicle. It was hard work navigating the uneven road between the shed and the shop; but the smell of cheese was irresistible to him and he wasn't about to give up now.

After ten minutes, he eventually arrived at his destination. Mousey heaved a final push against the wall of the ball and entered the store, quickly dodging furniture and human legs to settle into a dark, quiet corner underneath one of the shop counters, narrowly missing one of the mouse traps that Mrs Dale had planted. All he had to do now was rest and wait patiently.

Two hours passed by and eventually the noisy natter of human voices began to subside. Customers had sampled the wares, placed their orders and left the store. Mousey peered through one of the air holes and was greeted with a delightful vision. The shop floor was littered with edible morsels - broken biscuits, chocolate cake crumbs and cubes of cheese still speared with cocktail sticks. Mousey began to feel very hungry.

As the last customers left, Mrs Dale bid them farewell and closed up shop. Mousey watched her dainty shoes as she carefully side-stepped over the mess and made her way up the stairs to her living quarters. This was Mousey's chance. Rolling the hamster-ball to the centre of the floor, he twisted open the hatch and jumped out. As quickly as he could, he gathered up the largest pieces of food and lobbed them into the ball until it was almost full.

Outside, the animals were getting nervous, hoping not to hear the loud and chilling guillotine-like snap of a trap being set off. But there was only silence.

Mousey could hear Mrs Dale's heels hammering the wooden stairs as she decended back down. He jumped inside the ball and heaved it back underneath the counter. He hadn't realised how much heavier the ball was going to be and it was harder to control, particularly as the food inside tumbled around about him. The ball proceeded to roll precariously close to the minefield of mouse traps. Too late! Three were disturbed; the spring mechanisms fired loudly, alerting Mrs Dale to the possible intrusion of rodents!

Outside, the audience gasped at the nauseating sound.

Mousey held his breath as he peered out from within. Mrs Dale was on her knees looking straight at the ball and she stretched her arm underneath and grabbed it. Mousey didn't move, but his chest pounded as his heartbeat raced.

Mrs Dale called up to her son. "Thomas! I've told you time and time again not to play with your toys in the shop!" With that, she proceeded to kick the ball out onto the street. All the cheese and cake inside cushioned Mousey from the initial impact of hitting the road, but also pelted him relentlessly as it tumbled about inside. Gathering his wits, he began to push the ball back to the safety of the toolshed.

The relieved audience applauded the greatest cheese heist they had ever witnessed and hastened to the toolshed to congratulate their friend. Out crawled Mousey, somewhat shaken and bruised from his unusual journey. He looked a mess; his fur covered in a sticky coating of chocolate and cheese.

"You did it, Mousey! Now let's enjoy our own cheese party!"

It took a while for the viral outbreak to reach my town, but when it did, the pandemic raced through the population of Prairie Springs. Soon the quiet streets were full of shuffling zombies, like other cities we’d seen on the TV news before the signals shut off.

I always figured when the zombie apocalypse came, I’d grab my pet rat Egon and my bug-out kit, and hole up in a defensible building. I thought I’d have no trouble braining, blasting and decapitating. They’re zombies, after all, not actual humans. I’ve had plenty of practice in computer games.

When it actually happened, I found the transition unexpectedly difficult. I’ve lived in Prairie Springs since I was a kid, and the first zombies I encountered still looked like the people I knew. Mr Grady, who gave me my first paperboy job. Mrs Tiller, my kindergarten teacher. Sally Fernley, the pretty post office girl. It’s harder to smash them with a nail bat when you have memories of what they were before the infection stole their humanity.

I learned fast though. I felt bad about blasting Mr Grady. I didn’t even recognize Mrs Tiller was infected until she attacked and I popped her with my shovel. The worst part about neatly holing Sally Fernley’s skull was finally admitting the impossibility of romance between us. I traded sentimentality for pragmatism. The people I knew were gone, and something else was using their bodies.

I barricaded myself inside Johnson’s convenience store with all the gardening implements, sporting goods and firearms I could liberate from nearby businesses. There was a good visibility through the front door, a solidly locked back door, and plenty of food. Egon was my only company. He sat happily in his cage, eating Doritos and beef jerky, and when it was safe I’d sit him on my shoulders. It was nice company. It gets lonely when everyone you know only wants you for your brains.

My plan was to stay undevoured long enough for my eradication efforts to diminish the zombie population, until it was safe to search for other survivors. Some smart people had headed for remote cabins in the hills, hoping to escape the pandemic. I hoped they’d be OK. It seemed the pathogen was only transmitted by direct contact, but the incubation period was variable and many people unknowingly communicated the infection.

Initially, I’d been pretty confident of making it through. The zombies seemed unintelligent and slow. They struggled to enter buildings and would mindlessly butt up against walls. I used this advantage to trap them, ridding the town of hundreds of slow shufflers. But then I noticed them congregating, and the dynamic changed. Instead of fighting individuals, I was facing massed attacks. Three or four I could handle, but ten or twenty were a different matter.

I was sitting at the milk bar in Johnson’s when I noticed a new intelligence to their attacks. The boarded entrance had allowed me to poke a shotgun barrel out and blast them with no risk, but now the group outside was employing tools. They had claw hammers and pry bars, and they were clumsily attempting to gain entry.

I popped Egon back in his cage and grabbed a couple of readied shotguns from the stack on the counter. It was a simple matter of point and shoot. I was surprised to see them drag the fallen corpses away for better access to the door. The game was definitely changing.

I went back for more shotguns, and noticed Egon’s empty cage. I hadn’t closed it, but usually he stays there unless I take him out. I thought nothing of it, and went back to popping zombies.

I’d blown the heads off the last of them ”“ what used to be Bob Granger from the service station, and one of Nancy Turner’s girls ”“ when I noticed a crowd coming down the street. I thought they must be uninfected because of their speed and purposefulness, but soon discarded that hope. They were zombies, but more capable than I’d seen before. And they were coming to Johnson’s.

I poked more shotguns through the boards. The zombie mass pressed against the door, using a variety of implements against it even as I unloaded shells into them. They dropped, of course, but others took their place, wielding axes and hammers and tree limbs. A few boards fell and between them came flailing arms. I hacked at them with a machete, but they soon enlarged the opening to allow entry. I took up a dependable long-handled metal shovel.

Initially they entered in single file and I dispatched them efficiently, alternating the direction of my shovel swing. Soon they had the double doors completely open and a mass rush was imminent. As they poured through the doors, I jumped up on the bar and grabbed my Louisville Slugger with the protruding nine inch nails.

“Who wants a piece of me?” I yelled, swiping the bat in the air. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

The zombies paused in the middle of the store. I swung the bat again.

“Yeah, that’s right, suckers. Come feel the love.”

Then, as one, they turned and fled back through the door, moaning. In seconds they were gone, leaving only twitching corpses and severed limbs on the floor.

“Tell your friends,” I shouted after them. Then I heard a sound behind me.

I turned. Behind the milk bar, in the storeroom doorway, stood a giant rat. It had Egon’s markings, but he’d never been three feet tall before.

“Holy…!” I said. “Egon! I don’t know how you got huge, but you sure showed those…”

The hiss that emitted from his throat was like nothing I’d heard before, and I looked into his once bright eyes and saw nothing familiar. As he attacked, I planted my nail bat deep into his skull, bringing him up short and dead.

It was only then that I knew I was truly alone.

Nick walked down Main St. It was late, but he wasn't heading home, not yet. His buddy hadn't been at school that day which wasn't that unusual, but put that together with the fact that he hadn't been at home since after school the day before, and Nick was worried. Daniel had been talking all kinds of crazy stuff since his girlfriend dumped him. You'd think he'd be used to it. She dumped him at least once a month.

Nick felt Toker's nose brushing his ear. Ever since he had sneaked the rat past his mother's eagle eyes, they had been inseparable. Toker rode in his hood and peeked out at the world, sometimes playing with Nick's long hair that was the same color as the rat's fur. Toker liked Daniel too. Daniel was the only other person who Toker allowed to hold him.

The night was getting cold and some drops of rain hit Nick's face. He was warm enough for now, but if Daniel was passed out under the bridge, the cold would be a problem. Nick was so worried about Daniel that he wasn't paying attention to the street. Main St. at night could be more dangerous than the residential streets. Sure it was better lit, but there were no nosy adults to peer out their windows and call the police if they thought some punk kid was causing trouble.

The Matt's had him up against the wall before he knew they were there.

"Hey," Matt Boovier said, "Where's my money?" He twisted Nick's right arm up behind his back.

"I don't owe you any money."

"You took my stash." Matt twisted a little harder.

"What would I want with your stash?"

"Yeah," Matt Gardner said, "sucky baby's gone clean. Thinks he's too good for us now."

Matt Hunt didn't say anything. He never did. Nick tried to tighten his stomach as hard as he could, but it still felt like Matt Hunt's fist ground against his backbone. Nick doubled over and tried to breath.

Matt Gardner grabbed his hair and yanked him upright to make it easy for Matt Hunt to punch Nick again. That's when Toker ran up Gardner's sleeve and scratched at his face. The punk yelled and tried to hit the rat, but Nick caught at his arm. Boovier let got of Nick's arm and snatched at the rat. Nick heard Toker squeal and went ballistic. He stomped his foot into the side of Boovier's knee and Matt went down swearing a blue streak. He let go of Toker, and Matt Gardner tried to stomp on the rat. Nick wan't nearly as heavy as Gardner, and his punches just bounced off the other kid like they were nothing.

Nick was shouting, but no one was going to come and help and Matt Gardner's Doc Martins were getting closer to Toker. That's when Matt Hunt stepped up and Nick knew that Toker was dead for sure. Matt Hunt swung his fist in the short deadly arc he was known and feared for, but it didn't connect with Nick. Instead he hit Matt Garder and Garder when down gasping and trying to swear. Matt Hunt carefully picked up Toker and stroked his back.

"Nice rat, what do you call him?"

"Toker."

"Bet your mom loves that." Matt Hunt grinned and handed the rat back to Nick.

"She calls him Rat Thing."

"Yeah, well." Matt Hunt shrugged. "Did you really go clean?"

"It was get clean or go back to work for my uncle in Alberta."

"Huh." Matt Hunt looked at his buddies who were still lying on the ground cursing at the world. "So you didn't take the stash?"

"No, Matt Boovier is just too stupid to remember where he put it. His mother probably found it and flushed it."

"I haven't got an uncle in Alberta," Hunt said, "Was it really that bad?"

"I had to cut my hair and shovel horse manure."

Matt Hunt just nodded.

"We ain't friends," Matt Hunt said after a long silence. "But I'll see you around."

"Toker goes with me all the time." Nick put the rat back into his hood.

Matt Hunt nodded and turned to the two on the ground. He lifted both of them to their feet.

"I'll kill that freaking rat..." Matt Garder said.

"You leave the rat alone." Matt Hunt said.

"He owes me..." Matt Boovier said.

"Nothing," Matt Hunt said, "He's clean. He stays away from us and we stay away from him."

"He kicked my knee..."

"I'd have kicked your head." Matt Hunt pushed the other two Matt's away down the street. Nick could hear Boovier whining and complaining with each step.

Nick shook his head in wonderment and started off toward the bridge. He found Daniel lying under the bridge stoned out of his mind. Nick sat and waited for him to get sensible enough to walk. Toker ran around Daniel and up and down his arms.

"She gone and left me good this time," Daniel finally said.

"She'll come back or she won't." Nick said, "It isn't like it isn't the first time."

Daniel cuddled Toker for a long few minutes.

"I don't want her back," he said, "I can't take this anymore."

"Matt Boovier was looking for his stash."

Daniel looked at the litter around him.

"It's gone now." He started to cry. "He's gonna kill me."

"I have an uncle in Alberta," Nick said, "He could always use some help."

"He's the one who made you cut your hair."

"Yeah, but he helped me get straightened out."

"You think it's time I got clean?"

"Things look different when you're clean.

"Better or worse?"

"Just.....different." Nick picked up Toker and put him back in his spot. The rat nibbled at his ear. "Nah, they're better. Toker here, is all I need now." Nick pulled Daniel to his feet. "It's time you got home."

Gaius Curius Mus peeked from underneath the couch in the den, mostly to make sure the room was safe, but also to see what was going on. It was long after midnight, and Mr. Anderson was snoring in the recliner. Jinx, the loathsome feline, was curled up in Mr. Anderson's lap, and so posed no threat to Gaius tonight.

The television was on. Although Gaius did not understand the Andersons' language—only the phonetic names and some of the emotions—he was completely fascinated by the pictures on the television, especially when the show was about animals. He could understand what the animals were saying, even if he couldn't figure out why they were acting as they did. They rarely sought food or hid from predators; they mostly played while insulting the humans on the show. That's why Gaius enjoyed watching them.

One of his favorites was a show that Lucy Anderson liked to watch after school. It showed a boy named Timmy Martin and a collie named Spook, except that Timmy kept calling Spook "Lassie"—it was all very confusing, but Gaius enjoyed watching it anyway. There was a lot of whistling, and Gaius especially liked listening to Spook, who was always complaining about being called "Lassie" and about not getting fed enough for raising a foreleg or barking. Spook thought the humans on the television were the dumbest animals on earth.

But Spook wasn't on the television tonight. The television tonight was showing a story about rats. Gaius was so excited that he ran back to the nest in the closet to get his sister, Tiberia.

"Tiberia! Tiberia! The television is showing rats!"

"Oh, neat! I have to see this!" said Tiberia. Gaius turned to leave, but was interrupted by a booming voice.

"Gaius Curius Mus! Where do you think you are going?" Marcus Curius Mus stood in the knothole, whiskers quivering. He was twelve months old, and his fur was turning gray at the tips, but Gaius knew better than to cross him.

"Dad! We're going to see the television! The television is showing rats!" Gaius squeaked.

"Rats, eh? Very well, I'll come with you, then," Marcus replied. Soon the three of them were peeking out from under the couch at the television.

The television was definitely showing rats. There were lots of them: hundreds, if not thousands. Mostly they were shown running, yelling things like "There's food over here!" and "Watch out for the cat!" Most of the humans in the movie would scream during these scenes. Other scenes were much quieter, and often, a man named "Willard" would pick up one of the rats and give it some food.

Marcus could make no sense of the show, and quickly tired of it. "I fail to see what you two get out of watching this stuff," he said. "I'm going to get some crackers from the pantry and go to bed. Tiberia, you come with me. Gaius, don't stay out too late!" Marcus warned. "Kids these days, I swear..." he muttered under his breath as he left.

Gaius barely heard him. He was focusing on the rats. Since he'd spent hours watching the television, he could figure out more of what was going on. The big rat that Willard played with and fed was called "Ben" by Willard in the show, even though his actual name was Numerious Octavius Rattus. As near as Gaius could tell, Numerious was a prince of some kind, and all the other rats were his subjects. Toward the end, the show became violent: Gaius watched in amazement as Numerious ordered his legions to attack humans, and was even more amazed to see that the attacks were successful: Willard himself was killed by Ben and his minions. The sight of hundreds of rats assaulting a human stirred his emotions in ways that he had never felt before.

Gaius had never considered that such a thing was possible. Rodents killing humans? It had always been the other way around: The humans were always attacking the Mus family. Gaius crept home as the sun rose, but he was too excited to sleep that day. Instead, he considered what to make of his life, given his new-found knowledge, and came to a decision. Epiphanies, once experienced, cannot be undone; Gaius's new course in life was set.

"Father, I must leave you," said Gaius the next morning. "The show last night has enlightened me. I have accepted its challenge."

"What challenge is that?" Marcus asked.

"The challenge to organize our brethren, the rodents of the world, and to eradicate humans from the earth. Rodentia must rule the world!"

Marcus was dumbfounded. "How on earth do you propose to accomplish this challenge?" he asked.

"It will be difficult," Gaius admitted. "The humans are not nearly as numerous as we are, but they are large; they have powerful weapons, and they live longer. But I must try. We have some advantages. Numerious Rattus has shown me the way. I will attack them one by one, while they are sleeping."

"Gaius, my son, you're old enough to do what you want, but I think you're making a mistake. Nearly three-fourths of my 1200 children have already died from just the usual causes; I doubt that attacking on humans is going to improve matters any. Life is not a show on the television. Why don't you settle down with Sexta Apollonia from the colony in the laundry, and start an empire that way?"

Gaius might have considered that possibility in the past, but today he was steadfast. "I am sorry, Father, but I cannot. I have learned my destiny; I can not refuse it." They touched whiskers, and Gaius was gone. Marcus never saw his son again.

But four weeks ago, Jinx was found dead in the den, his flesh shredded. Lucy Anderson died three nights ago, in the very same way.

Gaius's legions are preparing for their next attack tonight.

Will it be you?

His mount was dead, mutilated by The Beast. She had been faithful and strong, and he had loved her like he did his own children. He wanted so much to bury her, but The Beast would surely kill him if he lingered; his survival was of the utmost importance.

And so the knight ran until he could run no longer. He climbed mountains and stumbled over boulders. He swam across the Black River at the base of Ribbon Falls, almost drowning in its rapids. Every muscle and bone ached from exhaustion, but he could not rest.

The Empire had grown too much. Year after year, their armies marched on. Surrounding states, some mere villages, either fell fighting the might of the Empire or surrendered to keep the peace. The Empire was massive; the Emperor’s power reached the shore of the Great Sea, and then he extended his hand and reached across the water, gathering the distant island nations in his clutches.

And then the Emperor turned towards the snowy peaks on the horizon, where the monsters were said to live. He laughed at the legends and, once again, sent out his forces to conquer. But the legends were not legends, and only one knight remained.

He lay in the dust. The pain had subsided into numbness, and the peace of Heaven flowed into his limbs. He heard voices calling, so far away. The knight closed his eyes against the sun and waited for Death.

Mr. Whiskers lay curled up in his nest, his tail wrapped tightly around him. He tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t; those damned stingers itched something terrible. Grumbling, he freed a pink foot and scratched at his wounds. He managed to dislodge a few more stingers, but mostly his efforts just irritated his already tender skin.

It was the second time this month he had had to clear out an infestation. One more and he might have to find a new burrow.

"Where is he?" the Emperor asked as he charged into the infirmary.

"Over here, Your Greatness." The doctor briefly raised a bloody hand in greeting.

"Can he talk? Did he say what happened?"

The doctor shook her head. "He's unconscious, sir. Been that way since they brought him in."

"Drug him," the Emperor said.

"But sir-"

"Do it!" he growled. "Do it, or I'll have your head!"

Flinching, the doctor grabbed a vial from the shelf behind her and shook out its contents into a crucible. She ground the tablets into a coarse powder, which she poured into a small cup of water. "Come on boy," she said, cradling the knight's head, "open up and drink your medicine. There we go."

The knight groaned as the stimulant coursed through his system. His cracked and bleeding hands opened and closed, grasping only air. He grunted once, twice, then fell silent.

The Emperor reached for the cup of medicine. "What are you waiting for? Give him more!"

"No!" The doctor grabbed the Emperor's hand; the infirmary grew still. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. It will take but a minute more, you see."

The knight's breathing grew rapid and harsh. His eyelids snapped open; he stared into nothingness, bloodshot eyes wide with terror. He opened his mouth and let out a silent scream.

"Good Gods," the Emperor murmured as he laid a hand on the knight's fevered chest. "Sir Knight, can you hear me?"

Tears burst from his eyes at the sound of his master's voice. Weeping, he nodded. His mouth moved as if speaking, but no words issued from his throat.

"Tell me what happened! Where are they, my men who rode with you?" The Emperor leaned in, his ear to the knight's mouth.

The knight gathered his strength and whispered two words: The Beast. His mission completed, the knight lay back and filled his lungs one last time.

Mr. Whiskers sniffed at a blue spruce. It wasn't his favorite, but it would do for a mid-morning snack. He positioned his incisors at the base of the trunk and began to gnaw. A minute later, the tree fell with a small crash. Mr. Whiskers appraised his prize and squeaked approvingly. It was larger than he thought, nearly the length of his tail. He set to work on his snack as a rumble grew in the distance.

The army gathered at the base of Mount Sciurida. The mood was somber in the camp. Even the singing and story-telling by the firelight the night before seemed muted somehow. There was always a crackling of energy on the eve of battle, but fear of The Beast had put a damper on the excitement.

"Sound the horn!" the Emperor shouted as he spurred his mount to a rise on the west of the encampment. Quickly and silently, the army fell into formation. Infantry, cavalry, artillerymen ”“ these were the best of the Empire. They were the juggernaut that crushed enemies and conquered nations. The mere sight of this vast force drove the proudest of nations to surrender.

And now, he could taste their fear.

"My friends!" the Emperor began. "We stand here today as men of the greatest nation in the known world! We have conquered many nations, you and I. We plundered the riches of Nebu and beheld the glorious cities of Yamala. We dethroned the tyrant of Sukaresh and welcomed his countrymen with open arms. We are merciful. We are terrible. And the tribes of man do know us well.

"But we remain unknown to the creatures of these snowy heights. You have heard whispers of The Beast, have you not? We are here to silence those whispers, for whatever creatures roam these mountains will soon fear us as you now fear them!"

Mr. Whiskers scampered over the boulders to where Ms. Fluffy sat staring at the advancing horde. Their tails entwined a moment before they scurried off to prepare for the onslaught.

It was a squirrel.

In the desert.

What is it doing here?

What am I doing here?

It stared at me quizzically, making chattering noises.

I don't recall being in a desert before, so this must be a dream. I heard that pinching yourself in a dream will wake you up, so I pinch myself. I see my fingers moving, I see the skin being pinched, but there is no sensation. I try harder, so hard the skin turns white. Nothing. I'll have to remind myself to edit that Wikihow article when I do wake up.

The squirrel darted off across the sand. At the top of the nearest dune it stopped, looked back at me, then scampered out of sight. On a whim I chose to follow. Not like one direction felt different than any other in this wasteland.

I crested the dune and saw no sign of it. Its tracks were still faintly visible in the sand, so I followed those. Then they disappeared. Not a 'wind swept them away' disappeared, but a 'clear tracks one step, nothing the next' disappeared. Do squirrels fly in dreams? I didn't notice any wings on it, but my imagination conjured up the image of the squirrel using its tail like a helicopter blade. I laughed to myself as the desert floor caved in underneath me.

I landed on my rear, but, as with the pinching, I didn't feel it. The squirrel was there staring at me again.

“A cave?” I asked out loud. It didn't echo. “Ah, I get it now, this must be some sort of vision quest. Cue Darth Vader.” The squirrel started chewing on whatever it had stored in its cheeks. “You are the worst spirit animal ever, squirrel,” I told it.

Either bored or offended, the squirrel ran off down the cave, fading into the darkness. “Go ahead squirrel, I'll stick to the desert,” I yelled after it. Still no echo. I heard its squeaking echoing out of the darkness. If this were in fact a vision quest, that would likely mean something, but I didn't care enough to figure out what. I looked up and noticed that I hadn't fallen very far, the surface was just a couple feet above my head. I jumped and tried to catch the ledge, but it was barely out of my reach. The cave wasn't particularly smooth, so I started climbing. The ledge was just inches away. I climbed higher. The ledge remained the same distance away. I dropped off the wall. Looks like I'm stuck in the cave. I heard the squirrel's echo again.

I started walking down the cave. It suddenly became so dark I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face. I couldn't see myself, couldn't feel myself, as far as I could tell I had become a disembodied voice. Am I dead then?

The squirrel came running back. Oddly enough I could still see it, one little rodent in the middle of a pitch black cave. It stopped at my feet and started chattering at me. I got down on my belly (supposing I had one) and got to eye level with it. It kept chattering at me. “What are you saying, squirrel? You need a name, I don't want to keep calling you 'squirrel.' Unless you object I'm going to call you Pat, because I don't know how to tell the gender of a squirrel.” It didn't appear to object.

I got up and its eyes followed me. Obviously it could still see me, even though I could not. Maybe we're the same, perhaps Pat can't see or feel itself, but it can see me. Perhaps I'm its spirit animal. I laughed aloud, and heard it echo down the cave. That's definitely got to mean something.

I took the lead this time, and Pat followed. It quickly became very cold, and very damp. Strange echoes came from down the cave. Sometimes they sounded like my echoing laughter returning, but with an eerie ring it didn't have earlier. Spider webs hanging from the ceiling brushed against my face, their sickly tendrils caressing my cheeks. These sensations were all the stranger due to the fact that I couldn't otherwise feel my body. It didn't make any sense at all. I paused for a second to realize just how silly that statement was, given my circumstances. I looked back to make sure Pat was still with me. It looked up at me, fear written in its eyes.

Just as I was considering turning back, my face bumped into something quite different; a chain. Not a link chain, but one of those thin, ball chains that hang from ceiling fans and old light fixtures. I grabbed it, remarking at the fact that I felt it in my hand. I pulled.

I hesitate to say that the sign 'lit' up, because the sign didn't illuminate anything. It was as if the sign itself was made out of more darkness, but that that particular darkness had grown sick of being black and decided to be pitch flamingo pink instead. It said;

if one has faith, can one question?
if one questions, can one have faith?

It was written in comic sans. I hate comic sans.

Pat stood up on its hind legs, its mouth slightly agape as if in awe, and looked at the sign made of pink darkness. The sign obviously meant something to it because it ran off, made a left turn, and disappeared.

I continued to look at the sign, but it didn't seem applicable to me. Maybe I pulled the chain meant for Pat, and mine was somewhere else. Maybe this was Pat's cave, and I should have never followed it in the first place. Maybe this was Pat's dream, and now that I no longer have a role I'll just fade away. Maybe I just need to wake up.

So I waited.

Chloe had a pretty good life, for a cat. All of her eleven years had been spent in the home of her Mom. There were men in Mom’s life, a few of whom she would entertain at home (much to the chagrin of Chloe) from time to time, and one of whom actually had the audacity to move in with Mom. But other than this intrusion, Chloe was the head of the house.

The only disruption in Chloe’s world (since she had dispatched her Mom’s live in boy friend with some well placed bites and scratches) also had four, albeit smaller, legs, and a long, thin tail. It was, of course, a mouse.

The mouse lived behind the baseboards in the dining room, a perfect place. The ”˜big’ woman rarely ate there; the ”˜little’ woman had a food bowl and water close by, so it was rather easy to pop out for a meal.

Imagine the mouse’s surprise when the occasional piece of cheese appeared in Chloe’s food bowl; it seems that Mom had once dropped some cheddar on the floor and it had disappeared, so she assumed Chloe had a taste for it. Chloe actually loathed cheese, but the mouse was a connoisseur of the curd, and enjoyed it immensely. And now it was rewarded with a sporadic bit of Edam or Colby or even Monterey Jack.

Mom didn’t know the mouse existed; Chloe spent half of her waking moments (which amounted to almost an hour a day) hunting it down, to no avail.

One summer Mom brought home another male caller. Chloe did what Chloe always does when a new man walked into their lives ”“ she ran and hid. After a time she’d pop her head out, only to run away again when the man would speak or move. Eventually she would come close enough for the man to reach out and touch her, giving her a chance to claw and bite, trying to rid herself of this distraction.

But the man didn’t run. He merely nursed his wounds and sat with Mom, his bandaged arm around her shoulders.

Mom went away for vacation and allowed this strange man to come into her house every day to care for Chloe. Chloe knew when the man was approaching, but not by any cat sense. All Chloe had to do was watch the mouse react. It would scamper out from behind the baseboards and eat a little cat food, standing on its hind legs staring at Chloe, seemingly unaffected by the cat, and when a key turned in the lock and a man’s voice echoed out, “Hey, sweetheart, where’s my kitty?” … the mouse would be off like a flash, into the crack that was the door behind the boards.

Chloe started to appreciate this strange man a bit, but still didn’t warm up to him; at least not until a few days later.

The man brought his lunch when he came to check on Chloe. He ate in the dining room, where no one but animals ever ate. Chloe would lie in the kitchen and watch the man eat his sandwich, always keeping her distance.

One day the man brought a cheese sandwich. Mom had told the man that Chloe liked cheese, so he tried to bribe her with a big hunk of Cheddar. He threw it on the floor on the other side of the table so that Chloe wouldn’t have to come close, yet could enjoy the cheese. Chloe just lay there, watching him distrustfully.

But something else was watching too, and smelled the cheese. And out came the mouse.

Chloe watched as it scurried across the floor. The man, engrossed in his sandwich, never noticed. But he did see Chloe’s reaction, and wasn’t sure what caught her attention. All the man knew was that Chloe was wagging her tail in exactly the same fashion she’d wag it the moment before her claws found his arm, so something was upsetting her.

Upset cat … cheese … and it dawned on him what it may be. Instead of jumping up from his chair and startling what must surely be a mouse, he looked under the table and saw it. He glanced around the room for the domicile of the little furry cheese thief, and saw the opening behind the baseboards.

Chloe watched the man, and the mouse, but had no idea what was going on. All she knew was that there were two rodents in her life, and both were showing their ugly heads.

The man, without scaring the mouse, picked up the place mat he’d been using and tossed it perfectly against the wall, where it landed and blocked the entrance to the mouse house. Then he quickly jumped up.

The spooked mouse ran for the safety of its baseboard home ”“ and right into the placemat. It turned and looked for another escape, but there was none. It saw Chloe on one side of the table and the man on the other. The mouse made a quick decision, one which probably saved its life ”“ it ran away from the cat, and straight into the hands of the man, who promptly put it into the bag that previously held a cheese sandwich.

The man smiled at Chloe, put on his coat and went out the door, and the mouse was never seen again.

When Mom walked into her apartment after her vacation, she was greeted with a most welcome, and totally unexpected, sight. On the couch was the man; and on his lap was Chloe, purring loudly and tilting her head back awaiting another good ear scratching.

“What happened here?” Mom asked, obviously bewildered.

“Well, it appears that Chloe and I found some common ground,” answered the man.

Yes, Chloe knew that the world revolved around her. But apparently the man knew it revolved around her as well ”“ so now he’s Dad.

And the scratches on his arm should heal soon.

My mama said don’t never leave no food out on account of the rats. She didn’t have to tell me no two times! I was skeered to death of them rats what we seen running down the hallway at night when them Shoney brothers come in drunker 'n skunks and passed out in a heap outside our door. They like to make me jump right outta my skin with all that noise, me bein’ near settled down to sleep and all.

Lordy, that was some night! And them were some humongous rats! I ain’t kidding you none. I ain’t never seed none as big as cats afore then. My daddy aimed as good as he could, but his eyes ain’t what they used to be, and that ole shotgun just blowed some more holes in the walls and the floor. Didn’t even wake up them Shoneys. They was out cold! Ever’one else knowed better than to look out in the hall after gunshots. Nope! That’s the time to mind your own business and pull up the covers over your ears. Best not to hear nothing on a night like that.

So now tonight afore I’se going to bed, I et me a snack, and Lord help me, I done left the bread out. Don’t know what got into my head to be forgetting like that. Soon’s my head hit the pillow, I knowed what I done. I tried to let it go and get some sleep, but all I could think about was them rats what we seen in the hallway that night with them Shoneys. Much as I wanted to just curl up and sleep, I knowed I’d never get no rest thinking about them rats what might come a visiting.

I shoved my feet in my wore-out slippers, snugged up in my blanket, and goed out to the kitchen to put the bread away, dreading to see me a big ole rat. I turned on the light, and shore 'nuff, one of them cat-rats was staring right at me from the counter with his beady black eyes. I done stood there with my fingers stuck on the light switch, staring at that there rat, and him just a staring right back at me. Lord have mercy! I swear I ain’t never been so full of fright in my entire life. I plumb stopped breathing; I ain’t lying! My heart was a whopping and a pounding so darn hard, I thought my whole chest was gonna bust right open and the blood be all spurting out every which way. And that ole rat just kept a staring, and then he chewed some, and then he stared some more.

Now I ain’t no wuss in most cases, but that darn rat had me just about peeing my pants. He looked like he could up and jump across the room in one bound and bite my head clean off if he took a liking to the thought. No way was I calling my daddy, neither. He might scare Mr. Rat and make him attack me in my sleep, and anyway, Daddy’d likely blow a big hole in Mama’s kitchen, and it’d be me gonna get the whooping for it. Nope, I was gonna have to do something myself to get rid of that ole rat what was having hisself a mighty fine feast on account of I done left the bread out like I knowed not to.

Well, there we was, me and that rat, having a stare-down, when them Shoney brothers come home. Being as drunked up as they was, they done leant on the wrong door, and that door come a crashing in, spilling them Shoneys right into the kitchen with me and Cat-Rat. One Shoney ended up nose-to-nose with that ole rat, and they done stared at each other in a heap of surprise.

By then Mama and Daddy done come to the doorway and seen what was going on, and ever’body got real quiet-like for some of the longest seconds I ever lived. Then that Shoney let out a ear-splitting scream. I swear that rat done it, too, and I ain’t never seed two rats turn tail and run so fast afore, and never since, like they’s tails was on fire. The second Shoney runt off after his rat-brother, and later that day they moved out to go live with they’s sister over in Hog Holler.

I reckon Mr. Cat-Rat done tole his friends about that shrieking Shoney, 'cause we ain’t never seen hide nor hair of any of them again. Now I don’t worry no more if I forget to put the food away. Leastaways, 'cept for getting a whooping from Mama, that is!

Finally it is quiet. The cat is asleep now and I can see what has been left for me tonight. My nose is telling me that it is something sweet. I love sweets. Most days I find plain rye bread, but every once in a while the little girl human will leave something sweet, like peanut butter. I love peanut butter, my mouth waters just thinking about it.

Into the dollhouse I go, being careful not to knock over her little treasures. There in the little bowl, I look and see what I believe is the same thing her mother human was making tonight; cookies shaped like humans, and they smelled so delicious. The little girl human has left me a meal every night since as long as I can remember. She speaks to my mouse hole in the mornings before school and always reminds me to be neat. I dive into the bowl of treats; tonight’s meal is almost heavenly.

I keep alert for the cat, that beast is pure evil; my tail is still sore at the spot where her claw got me just yesterday. I move to the edge of the dollhouse to watch the peaceful girl sleep. She is too young to understand that no human loves a mouse. I am alone in this house, one by one the other mice have been caught and taken away, but this girl human would call to me and leave me pieces of rye so I have stayed out of the kitchen where the others have gotten caught.

I sniff the air, trying to get a whiff of her scent. I expected the smell of strawberries but something else caught my nose. It was dense, black and sooty. My nose cringed and my mind gave a start. Running into the mouse hole I followed the path down to the first floor, there was the smell, much stronger than before and it was bad. It smelled like death.

The room below the girl’s room was glowing, something was horribly wrong. I peeked out the mouse hole in the kitchen to get an idea of what brought the glow. It was fire! I watched the glow spread up the wall. I ran quickly back to the room with the little girl not knowing what to do. I could not let her lie here unaware. I thought about her human parents, they could save her, but what about the cat?

Creeping out of the mouse hole in the big humans bedroom I saw the cat, sleeping peacefully, unaware that downstairs was danger and death to her and the humans. I climbed up the bedding and frantically issued a squeak, no cat could miss that. I ran.

The cat gave immediate pursuit and my tail was twinging with pain. I jumped for the floor with the cat hot on my tail. More than once she got me in her teeth, I struggled and got free. I jumped back on the human bed and scrambled to the head of it, the cat scampered over the faces of the humans. I heard the mother human give a yelp and immediately she began frantically shaking the father human. Into the wall I ran, out of reach of the cat.

Back to the girl, she was still asleep, coughing now. I could hear commotion in the hall and yelling, the father human was trying to make his way to the girl, she must be saved! The little girl coughed terribly and fell to the floor and crawled under the bed. The father human burst open her bedroom door but he saw nothing, he must have missed her! I stood on the floor squeaking, trying to get his attention, but it was no use.

Sirens, and the sounds of glass breaking, the girl started to cry. It was getting dark and hot. I buried myself in the girls hair and tried to comfort her, my fur was wet with her tears.

I had to do something; and fast. I ran to the top of the stairs where I saw what must have been a human but in some kind of mask carrying a large axe, I stopped a moment and thought of my tail.

I jumped on his face hoping to gain attention; he must have seen me, perhaps thinking I was the cat. He followed my white fur into the room of the girl. He felt under the bed, the girl yelped, and she was found. Barely able to breathe now, I scurried into his pocket and there everything went black.

I awoke with a start; the first thing I noticed was the sweet smell of wood. I thought perhaps I had died and this is what it was like when you die. No, I thought, it is warm here. Opening my eyes I saw what looked to be faces, eyes staring back at me. A cheer broke out among the humans that were watching me.

I stood and realized that I was in a little enclosure. There were wood chips and a little bowl with food just like the one the little girl used to fill for me every night. My tail had a little piece of bandage, it hurt terribly. I thought of the girl and buried myself in the wood chips, I felt so alone.

Some time later, I could hear the noises of humans coming. The only door in the room burst open and the smell of strawberries filled my nose. The little girl, she was alive! I could hardly believe my eyes.

It has been a long time now since the fire and the night I woke the cat. I still live in the cage with the soft wood chips and the warm bedding. The girl comes every day to feed me treats and talks softly to me. I have a name now, Hero, and plenty of peanut butter and rye.