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Valentine had last encountered them in the Texas hill country. They were an experiment by the Kurian Order in a vast establishment called "the Ranch." The Ranch was in ruins by the time Valentine crossed it, abandoned to the ratbits, oversized rattlers the Kurians had developed to wipe out the ratbits, and other unpleasant fauna cooked up by the Kurian genetic tinkerers.
The Kurians had been looking for something that bred faster, and were hopefully more manageable, than humans. The experiment had produced the ratbits, who turned out to be so successfully enhanced in intelligence and social inclination they launched a revolt, since they were no more enamored of being bred to be eaten than humans.
When Valentine had met them, there was some misunderstanding that led to violence. Their squeaks and chirps were unintelligible to humans, and they communicated by spelling out words with Scrabble tiles, working the tiles with the quick-handed facility of a blackjack dealer.
This group looked a little better groomed than those he'd seen in Texas. They smelled faintly of pine chips. One had patchy-colored fur, and another had nearly black stripes running down its pewter-colored back. The others were in shades of brown to gray, with a mixture of lighter rings around their eyes, noses, and running up their ears.
"Are these from Texas?" Valentine asked.
"I met them there four years ago," she said. "I was a junior member of the Miskatonic team that went into the hill country to see what might be salvaged from the experimental station."
"The Ranch," Valentine said.
"The Ranch is an urban legend," she said. "Well, that there's one, and the Kurians do all their experiments there like a big Manhattan Project. If it exists, it's probably back on Kur, where they can all keep an eye on each other and what's being developed. The station in the Texas Hill Country is where they were experimenting with ratbits to test them in real Earth-wild conditions."
Valentine took a knee, and offered a finger. Each ratbit came up and first sniffed, then touched it in turn. They yeeked to each other. "What are you doing with them here?"
"I'm on Southern Command's rolls as a civilian consultant. Former Miskatonic associate, exozoology, if you want the full resume."
"Exo-you mean Grogs," Valentine said.
The word Grog applied to pretty much any animal brought over from other worlds by the Kurians, though it was more precisely applied to the apelike bipeds of Bee's variety. Valentine didn't mind the inexactitude. You could tell from context whether the word was being used in its general or specific sense. He was part "Indian," to most folks, after all.
"Yes. The cognitives were my specialty. I'm more of a blackboard and bookshelf type than a bush researcher. Had my eye on a faculty chair. I was getting my field experience slot filled when I fell in love with your ratbits, Valentine."
Valentine didn't know much about the intellectual hierarchies of the Miskatonic, he knew interns were at the bottom and department chairs at the top, but where an associate came in between the two he couldn't say.
"They're hardly mine," Valentine said.
"You had the first description of them entered into the rolls. Translagorodent Valentine, they're labeled, in the latest edition of the Guide. Do you know scientific classification?"
"Never figured being in a book," Valentine said, hoping he wasn't blushing in pleasure. His face felt warm. So, his name would be remembered for a minor contribution to science. There were worse legacies. He could have been quietly hung as a war criminal, after all.
Valentine stood again. Pellwell picked up the patchy-colored one and stood, somewhat awkwardly, with it clinging to her shoulder like a big housecat. "You discovered and described them. It's an honor. I believe that they'd be a great help in the war."
The ratbits left on the ground whistled for attention and made chirping noises at the one on her shoulder. It wrinkled its nose at its companions.
"So these are-allies?"
"Of course," she said, pouring out a scoopful of her mix.
"That ratbit trail mix?"
"Some favorites. They'll eat about anything. Don't need much water either, they'll dig for roots. Though I've noticed that if they don't have drinking water, what little urine they do produce-pfew!"
Ratbits reminded Valentine of raccoons. They sat up to eat, using their paws to pick and discard. Pellwell clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and the ratbits all nodded an affirmative.
"You can speak to them?" Valentine asked.
"A few basic words. I think they're exaggerating some of their sounds so I can understand them. Pidgin ratbit for humans only, if you will."
"Why did you bring them here?" Valentine asked. "Shouldn't they be running through mazes in a lab?"
"They've done all that already, both in Texas and at the lab in Pine Bluff. I want to make practical use of their abilities under real field conditions. I've an idea they could be of great help. Like dogs, only better."
"Plenty of opportunities for that in South Texas, I'd think."
She scowled. "Southern Command wouldn't even let me through the door. Ratbits are ideal for reconnaissance, surveillance, sabotage, they're even damn good thieves who can be trained to get electronic spares or medicines or whatnot that aren't easily accessible. I kept quoting your report, and your suggestions that they might be useful."
