Brannon nodded--invisibly, of course--and said, "Sure you have a top
priority. Anything your lab wants has top. But darn it, Peter, the best
priority in the world isn't going to buy you a dozen mousetraps that
are nonexistent."
"But--"
"Besides which, that building you're in is about as rat-proof as a
sealed gasoline can. There isn't an item of comestible in the place."
"I know that. And the mice can go hungry for all I care. But the mice
don't seem to understand that bringing food into the place is not only
forbidden by law but dangerous."
"But there ain't a mousetrap in the country. Ding bust it, Peter,
mousetraps take spring wire, and labor. The people who used to make
mousetraps are now making bombsights and tanks. Besides, Peter, over
at that laboratory of yours there should be enough brains and gear to
really build the Better Mousetrap. If you can spot a plane at fifty
miles, split atoms, and fire radio equipment out of a cannon, you ought
to be able to dispose of a mouse or two."
Peter grinned. "You mean spot 'em with radar, and then shoot 'em down
in flames with proximity fuses loaded with plutonium war heads? That
might be a little strenuous, don't you think? Like cutting the throat
to stop the spread of impetigo."
"Well, if you have mice over there, you think of something. But top
priority or not, we can't get you your mousetraps!"
Peter hung up unhappily. He turned from his desk to see an impertinent
mouse sitting on the floor watching him out of beady black eyes. Peter
hurled a book at it and swore, a rare thing for him.
The mouse disappeared behind a bank of filing cabinets.
"That's right," he grunted. "Go on--disappear!"
The word struck home. Peter blinked. And remembered....
* * * * *
It was dark, though not too dark for the mouse to see his surroundings.
It was hungry, and it was beginning to understand that of the many
places occupied by man, this was one place where man left nothing that
could be eaten. This evening, however, the situation was changed.
There was a faint smell of food in the place, relatively great compared
to the sterile atmosphere of previous days.
The mouse located the odor. A small wire tunnel closed at the far end.
A nice, rancid bit of bacon hung there.
The mouse was no fool. He inspected the wire tunnel carefully. Three of
his brothers had been taken away by various metal contrivances and he
was not going to follow them if he could help it. The mouse sniffed the
wires, climbed the top of the little cage and raced around it, poking
it and bumping it. Often a trap could be sprung by poking it with a
foot--just jarring it. That left the bait safe to eat.
But this seemed innocuous. No springs, no wires, no trapdoor, no
mirrors. Just a little tunnel of wire cloth about six inches long and
two inches in diameter.
The mouse entered the tunnel; headed for the bit of bacon.
Nothing happened, and the mouse gathered speed. It paid no attention
to the silvery metal ring that encircled the inside of the tunnel,
and would not have known what it was anyway. There were other things
there, too. Bits of Alnico V, a couple of cubes of Cerise Wax, some
minute inductances and a very small capacitor made of a tiny square of
mica with some silver sputtered on both sides. Down in the center was
a clear crystal with electrodes clamped on it. The whole assembly was
about a half inch cubed and from it on either side emerged the ends of
the silvery-wire loop.
Had the mouse seen all this, it would not have understood. That was not
strange, for even the man who built it was not too certain what it did,
or what it was, nor how it worked.
He knew it worked, and it served its purpose. He was like the man who
daily uses electricity enough to kill him, but is not quite sure of
what goes on in the instant between his snap of the switch and the
arrival of the illumination.
The mouse cared not. All he was after was food.
He paused, uncertainly and checked to see if there were any moving
parts. There were, but they were intangible fields and stresses of
space.
Then the mouse raced forward and passed through the silvery circle.
But did not come out on the far side.
A second mouse, watching, took a sigh of relief. The bait was still
there. There had neither been cry of pain nor was there a captive
warning the rest away in mouse-ese.
He, too, came to the trap, and entered, the odor from the rancid bacon
drawing him with a magnetic force.
He, too, came to the silvery circle, passed through--into nothingness!
Came then another, and another, each pleased in turn that the bait was
his alone for the taking. And as each one entered and disappeared, a
tiny silent counter moved one digit higher.
Came morning....