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"We'll fence off one end. Just enough to keep the rats in." The King's eyes
sparkled. "Just think. Fifty of these big bastards a week to sell. Why, we've
got a gold mine. You know the old saying, breed like rats ..."
"How often do they breed?" Miller asked, absently scratching his pelt.
"I don't know. Anybody know?" The King waited, but they all shook their
heads. "Where the hell we gonna find out about their habits?"
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"I know," Peter Marlowe said. "Vexley's class."
"Huh?"
"Vexley's class. He teaches botany, zoology, that sort of thing. We could ask
him."
They looked at one another thoughtfully. Then suddenly they began to cheer.
Max almost dropped the fighting blanket amid cries of "Mind the gold, you
clumsy bastard," "Don't let go, for Pete's sake," "Watch it, Max!"
"All right, I got the bastard." Max drowned out the catcalls, then nodded at
Peter Marlowe.
"For an officer, you're all right. So we'll go to school."
"Oh no you won't," said the King crisply. "You got work to do."
"Like what?"
"Like liberate another rat. Whichever sex this one isn't. Peter and I'll get
the info. Now let's get with it!"
Tex and Byron Jones III prepared the slit trench. It was directly under the
hut, six feet deep, four feet wide and thirty feet long.
"Great," Tex said excitedly. "Room for a thousand of the bastards!"
It took them a few minutes to devise an efficient gate. Tex went to steal
chicken wire while Byron Jones III went to steal wood. Jones grinned as he
remembered some fine pieces belonging to a bunch of Limeys who weren't too
careful about guarding it, and by the time Tex returned, he had the framework
already made. Nails came from the roof of the hut, the hammer had also been
"borrowed" from some careless mechanic up in the garage months ago, along with
wrenches, screwdrivers, and a lot of useful things.
Once the gate was in position and neat, Tex fetched the King.
"Good," the King said as he inspected it. "Very good."
"Damned if I know how you do it," Peter Marlowe said. "You work so fast."
"You got something to do, you do it. That's American style." The King nodded
for Tex to get Max.
Max crawled under the hut to join them. He gingerly dropped the rat into its
section. The rat whirled and frantically sought an escape. When there was none
to be found, it backed into a corner and hissed at them violently.
"It looks healthy enough," the King grinned.
"Hey, we got to give it a name," Tex said.
"That's easy. It's Adam."
"Yeah, but say it's a girl."
"Then it's Eve." The King crawled from under the hut. "Come on, Peter, let's
get with it."
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Squadron Leader Vexley's class had already begun when at length they tracked
him down.
"Yes?" asked Vexley, astonished to see the King and a young officer standing
near the hut in the sun, watching him.
"We thought," began Peter Marlowe self-consciously, "we thought we might, er,
join the class. If, of course, we're not interrupting," he added quickly.
"Join the class?" Vexley was bewildered. He was a bleak, one-eyed man with a
face of stretched parchment, mottled and scarred by the flames of his final
bomber. His class had only four pupils and they were idiots who had no
interest in his subject. He knew that he only continued the class as a sop to
indecision; it was easier to pretend that it was a success than to stop. In
the beginning he had been enthusiastic, but now he knew it was a pretense. And
if he stopped the class he would have no purpose in life.
A long time ago the camp had started a university. The University of Changi.
Classes were organized. The Brass had ordered it. "Good for the troops," they
had said. "Give them something to do.Make them better themselves.Force them to
be busy, then they won't get into trouble."
There were courses in languages and art and engineering  for among the
original hundred thousand men there was at least one man who knew any subject. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]