«Ummm, yes. At that level, he would comprehend his experiences on Earth just sufficiently that he would not be dangerous to us, too. Equal to an intelligent Earthling. Just about right for our purpose. Then, shall we teach him our language?»
«Wait,» said Klarloth. He studied the psychograph closely for a while. «No, I do not think so. He will have a language of his own. I see in his subconscious, memories of many long conversations. Strangely, they all seem to be monologues by one person. But he will have a language — a simple one. It would take him a long time, even under treatment, to grasp the concepts of our own method of communication. But we can learn his, while he is under the X-19 machine, in a few minutes.»
«Does he understand, now, any of that language?»
Klarloth studied the psychograph again. «No, I do not believe he — Wait, there is one word that seems to mean something to him. The word ‘Mitkey.’ It seems to be his name, and I believe that, from hearing it many times, he vaguely associates it with himself.»
«And quarters for him — with air-locks and such?»
«Of course. Order them built.»
To say it was a strange experience for Mitkey is understatement. Knowledge is a strange thing, even when it is acquired gradually. To have it thrust upon one —
And there were little things that had to be straightened out. Like the matter of vocal chords. His weren’t adapted to the language he now found he knew. Bemj fixed that; you would hardly call it an operation because Mitkey — even with his new awareness — didn’t know what was going on, and he was wide awake at the time. And they didn’t explain to Mitkey about the J-dimension with which one can get at the inwardness of things without penetrating the outside.
They figured things like that weren’t in Mitkey’s line, and anyway they were more interested in learning from him than teaching him. Bemj and Klarloth, and a dozen others deemed worthy of the privilege. If one of them wasn’t talking to him, another was.
Their questioning helped his own growing understanding. He would not, usually, know that he knew the answer to a question until it was asked. Then he’d piece together, without knowing just how he did it (any more than you or I know how we know things) and give them the answer.
Bemj: «Iss this language vhich you sbeak a universal vun?»
And Mitkey, even though he’d never thought about it before, had the answer ready: «No, it iss nodt. It iss Englitch, but I remember der Herr Brofessor sbeaking of other tongues. I belief he sboke another himself originally, budt in America he always sboke Englitch to become more vamiliar mitt it. It iss a beaudiful sbeech, is it nodt?»
«Hmmmm,» said Bemj.
Klarloth: «Und your race, the mices. Are they treated vell?»
«Nodt by most people,» Mitkey told him. And explained.
«I vould like to do something for them,» he added. «Loogk, could I nodt take back mitt me this brocess vhich you used upon me? Abbly it to other mices, und greate a race of super-mices?»
«Vhy not?» asked Bemj.
He saw Klarloth looking at him strangely, and threw his mind into rapport with the chief scientist’s, with Mitkey left out of the silent communion.
«Yes, of course,» Bemj told Klarloth, «it will lead to trouble. Two equal classes of beings so dissimilar as mice and men cannot live together in amity. But why should that concern us, other than favorably? The resultant mess will slow down progress on Earth — give us a few more millennia of peace before Earthlings discover we are here, and trouble starts. You know these Earthlings.»
«But you would give them the X-19 waves? They might —»
«No, of course not. But we can explain to Mitkey here how to make a very crude and limited machine for them. A primitive one which would suffice for nothing more than the specific task of converting mouse mentality from .0001 to .2, Mitkey’s own level and that of the bifurcated Earthlings.»
«It is possible,» communicated Klarloth. «It is certain that for aeons to come they will be incapable of understanding its basic principle.»
«But could they not use even a crude machine to raise their own level of intelligence?»
«You forget, Bemj, the basic limitation of the X-19 rays; that no one can possibly design a projector capable of raising any mentality to a point on the scale higher than his own. Not even we.»
All this, of course, over Mitkey’s head, in silent Prxlian.
More interviews, and more.
Klarloth again: «Mitkey, ve varn you of vun thing. Avoid carelessness vith electricity. Der new molecular rearrangement of your brain center — it iss unstable, und —»
Bemj: «Mitkey, are you sure your Herr Brofessor iss der most advanced of all who eggsperiment vith der rockets?»
«In cheneral, yess, Bemj. There are others who on vun specific boint, such as eggsplosives, mathematics, astrovisics, may know more, but not much more. Und for combining these knowledges, he iss ahead.»
«It iss vell,» said Bemj.
Small gray mouse towering like a dinosaur over tinier half-inch Prxlians. Meek, herbivorous creature though he was, Mitkey could have killed any one of them with a single bite. But, of course, it never occurred to him to do so, nor to them to fear that he might.
They turned him inside out mentally. They did a pretty good job of study on him physically, too, but that was through the J-dimension, and Mitkey didn’t even know about it.
They found out what made him tick, and they found out everything he knew and some things he didn’t even know he knew. And they grew quite fond of him.
«Mitkey,» said Klarloth one day, «all der civilized races on Earth vear glothing, do they nodt? Veil, if you are to raise der level of mices to men, vould it not be vitting that you vear glothes, too?»
«An eggcelent idea, Herr Klarloth. Und I know chust vhat kind I would like. Der Herr Brofessor vunce showed me a bicture of a mouse bainted by der artist Dissney, und der mouse vore glothing. Der mouse vas not a real-life vun, budt an imachinary mouse in a barable, und der Brofessor named me after der Dissney mouse.»
«Vot kind of glothing vas it, Mitkey?»
«Bright red bants mitt two big yellow buttons in frondt und two in back, und yellow shoes for der back feet und a pair of yellow gloves for der vront. A hole in der seat of der bants to aggomodate der tail.»
«Ogay, Mitkey. Such shall be ready for you in fife minutes.»
That was on the eve of Mitkey’s departure. Originally, Bemj had suggested awaiting the moment when Prxl’s eccentric orbit would again take it within a hundred and fifty thousand miles of Earth. But, as Klarloth pointed out, that would be fifty-five Earth-years ahead, and Mitkey wouldn’t last that long. Not unless they — And Bemj agreed that they had better not risk sending a secret like that back to Earth.
So they compromised by refueling Mitkey’s rocket with something that would cancel out the million and a quarter odd miles he would have to travel. That secret they didn’t have to worry about, because the fuel would be gone by the time the rocket landed.
Day of departure.
«Ve haff done our best, Mitkey, to set und time der rocket so it vill land on or near der spot from which you left Earth. But you gannot eggspect agguracy in a voyach so long as this. You will land near. The rest iss up to you. Ve haff equvipped the rocket ship for effery contingency.»
«Thank you, Herr Klarloth, Herr Bemj. Gootbye.»
«Gootbye, Mitkey. Ve hate to loose you.»
«Gootbye, Mitkey.»
«Gootbye, gootbye …»
For a million and a quarter miles, the aim was really excellent. The rocket landed in Long Island Sound, ten miles out from Bridgeport, about sixty miles from the house of Professor Oberburger near Hartford.