The eyes were the worst -- foreign points of attention; a blind intelligence peering out with the capability of striking panic and fear into a formidable prey. Beady and small were these eyes -- proportioned well for the small head, but caught in a sightless stare like that of a killer shark. The eyes saw, but focused on nothing; and everything, all at once.

And black. Blacker than black. Black with a promise of plague or some other uncertain and horrible death. Black with a knowing sense of power. Black with control.

Bethany shivered but could not elicit another response from her deadened limbs. She tried to fight the panic. Her mind, however, ran rapid with thoughts of escaping, of conquering, and of dying at the mercy of this thing.

Remembering the concept of the fight or flight response, she consciously took in a slow breath and exhaled. Control could be mastered from within. Unfortunately, control was not taking hold for her at this moment. She could not battle the evil in front of her, nor could she run from it.

In fact, she could not even move! The shiny eyes held her prisoner -- a paralyzed captive within her own body.

Dampness in the bare earth beneath her petite figure seeped through the overall-type crawl suit she wore to protect her clothing and seemed to bite into the gooseflesh on her arms. Lying flat on her stomach, not more than two feet from the eyes, cold dirt chilled her but could not beat the hot fever of terror. Still the black eyes gripped her.

A movement, ever so slightly, a twitching of its tiny ear, brought her heartbeat to an even fuller pounding. Her deliberate, methodical, slow, controlled breathing turned quick with a new threat of hyperventilation.

She would die at that moment, of that she was sure. The vision in her mind's eye of its oily body touching hers, of its disease-ridden claws gripping for a hold tore at her brain.

Trying again to slow her descent into thoughtless fright, she sucked in great gulps of stale and musky air from the dark crawl space beneath the house.

She watched the creature as it watched her.

Brown with streaks of black in the fur, possibly from the natural color of nature, or more probably from greasy dirt, the creature's stocky body gave way to a thick, skin tail with coarse hairs sparsely patched along its length. The nose, also twitching now, was blunt at the end; and fine, clawed toes resembled small hands griping the dirt for traction.

Sweat dripped from Bethany's forehead and down her cheeks as she noted the tremendous size of the creature. It was nearly sixteen inches from head to tail and surely weighed fifteen ounces. At least. Her face itched from drops of sweat and she involuntarily trembled and twitched.

The rat jumped! Its body plummeted to one side of the woman and struck the stone wall. Quickly righting itself, it scrambled down the length of Bethany's body -- without touching her, except with the rigid guard hairs that warned it of all objects in its proximity by a mere wisp of a touch -- and squeezed through a small quarter-size hole at the base of a conduit, leading up into the main body of the house.

Bethany, sucking in air as the rat jumped nearly a foot straight up to make its exit, choked and then let out a harrowing scream -- the first sound she'd been capable of in three long minutes.

A voice rang out behind her immediately and a strong hand grasped her ankle. She screamed again and shuffled away from the touch, further into the tight space.

"Hey, lady! Are you okay in there?" The voice was muffled and there was an edge of concern that sounded much too chauvinistic for her tastes.

Bethany swore softly and took another breath as she quickly looked about her, trying to gain some guise of normalcy. The rat was gone now; it had disappeared into the sanctuary of hidden wall voids and dark holes; running to its colony of still other terrible creatures. She collected her thoughts, and herself, as best she could. She slowed her breathing.

"Hey lady?" the voice said again, a bit more urgent this time.

"I'm fine," she called out behind her and wriggled backwards toward the crawl space entrance, her low-heeled shoes sliding in the dirt and denying her full traction. "Sorry about that. I don't like to be touched when I'm working."

The man scoffed at her -- an unpleasant gurgling sound made deep in his wrinkled throat.

Outside the dark and dirt-covered area beneath the house, Bethany brushed herself off and glanced up at the elderly man before her. He was frowning, his watered-down blue eyes slapping her with prejudice.

She sighed with a toss of red-gold hair from her eyes and remembered that the customer was always right. And that her job was to instill confidence in the company, take care of the customer -- and, to get the sale, of course.

"It's so funny," she began, smiling a false but convincing smile, and continuing to brush the dark brown clay dirt from her overalls as she stood, "I'm not afraid of bugs, or snakes, or mice, or anything! But I cannot tolerate a rat."

"Not a good business for you to be in, being afraid of rats!" he shot back with a smug laugh hooked to his statement. "Not a job for a woman, anyway, the way I see it."

Turning from her, he moved towards the front porch and waved his arm for her to follow.

Well, there goes this sale. Lost his respect. Not a job for a woman! Male chauvinist! She stuck out her tongue to his back.

"I gotta respect you, though," he said, sitting down on the step of his front porch and slapping his knee.

Aha! All is not lost! Maybe he isn't prejudiced after all! She regretted the tongue gesture.

"Most people I know -- man or woman -- wouldn't even try to do what you're doin'!" He stopped and shook his head. "So I got rats, do I?"

"I'm afraid so," Bethany said, a quick shiver running through her at the thought of her brief encounter with her own terror. Reaching for her brief case, left earlier by the step, and sitting beside the man on the first stair of the porch, she began her sales pitch.

* * * * * * * * * *

Keterick felt the usual comfort of the close walls turn claustrophobic, as though the previously calming room had begun to prick him with pointy subliminal pangs of doubt. But it was not the building, he knew, for the panic had been escalating within the police department for some time now.

The complete destruction of a race, if it could be called that, had been suggested; and that sat well with no one -- particularly since there was no real weaponry at his disposal to accomplish the feat. He thought of the innocent bystanders who would be drawn into the battle and sighed hard.

Sitting at his cluttered desk, piled high with frayed hard-back books hiding brown-edged pages, crinkled and worn though few had read the wisdom within, he opened still another treasured piece. Taunt and sore muscles below his neck on the right side of his muscular body cursed him with fire-like pain. He raised his hand to rub the area, and winced at his own touch. Keterick began to read Outer Earth rat biology pursuant to the twentieth century.

So much different from their own species deep inside the planet, but similar nonetheless, Keterick marveled at the rat's ability to withstand gravitational pressures, mineral displacements, and basic genetic changes unavoidable when dealing with natural disintegration and regeneration. Even the human body -- a much superior vessel -- had great difficulty transferring microorganisms through the gap. But not the rat. Not only were there concerns of war-like problems within the Inner Earth, but more and more officials were worried about the spread outward.

Of course, Outer Earthers were unaware of this atrocity. In fact, until recently, even his own race of Inner Earthers had been unaware of this new rat accomplishment! These rats had become a very real threat.

How would he destroy such a menace? His chest swelled with breath and a futile growl rumbled in his throat.

Running a strong hand through his hair, Keterick slammed the book shut and shoved it across his desk, knocking several others to the floor in the process. A soft rush of paper dust filtered up as brittle pages broke away from the ailing linings of glue and altered bindings.

"I can't do this anymore!" he said softly to no one and buried his face, deep with frustration lines, between his arms on the desk. "It's pointless!"

"Not so," said a nearby female voice. "You have the ability. You have the will. You are a Rodenticider -- a killer and none has ever lived that has matched your skill and wit. Even your father. You will find a way."

Keterick did not even raise his head. "Says you." Her dominant and perfect pitch always annoyed him, as did most females in his world. They seemed barely human to him, void of real and spicy personality.

"I say," she answered, touching his tight neck muscle with an expert hand.

The pain of hard work in his neck slipped away and he raised his head to look back at her.

Her first-born hair was golden brown but changed to fire red as he watched, as did her brown eyes turn green. His scent was strong today, and though he had been fighting the normal sexual urge (so that he could complete his research), Keterick now found it newly revived as the female responded to his physical preference. Her own scent coerced him to change his normal blonde characteristics to Oriental flavor, as her taste dictated.

"No," he said, however, and forced the change away. "You're right, of course, a way has to be found to stop the onslaught. And I've no time for your affection."

He swiveled his chair around and away from her and added beneath his breath, "Nor use for it." This one was an overly powerful and manipulative female; and tolerating such women went against his own unusual dominant character.

Of course, that nasty and unyielding dominance had gotten him into the police department in the first place, and more recently he'd won a position in the Rodenticider Division because of his unwavering stamina. His dreams were realized. His father would have been proud, had he lived.

But Keterick felt angry. His job description had not taken into consideration more than localized travel and the killing of the perpetrators of crime. Undercover surveillance, infiltration, and book work were not his strong points -- in fact, weakness abounded along those lines. He hated research and longed for the kill, feeling thwarted at the barren escapades he'd been participating in thus far.

But, still, all of it was necessary if his people were to survive the assault of terror that might be part of their future. And he would triumph as he always did. He had to, for this was his assignment.

"I'll be getting back to work now," he told the female. "Thanks," he added hastily, if not coarsely, and glanced back to her.

Her appearance had changed back to first-born and she nodded, knowing that merely speaking to him about his responsibility would spur him to comply. For it was her job to watch over him.

He knew that she would not be offended by his rejection, nor by his attitude towards his new assignment. Commonplace in the Inner Earth, males desired spurts of encouragement from the decision-oriented females of the race.

It was a pleasant arrangement for all involved. The males preferred to deal with physical pursuits, hard-thinking, and action, while the more subtle females dwelled in the perfecting of combinations arising from emotional and hard-thinking tasks --they quietly made the best decisions for all.

Of course, this arrangement was pleasant for all but those killing in the police department. Rodenticiders were the worst. And Keterick was almost proud of his radical views. As a Rodenticider, he knew his problem and strived to hold down the alien desire to crush those females who tried to evaluate his thinking and combine it with unnecessary emotions -- emotions best kept inside and away from the streets of justice. Difficult as it was, he had been successful. But he wasn't required to quell any such desire with sexual release.

His chosen females were powerful, yes. But they kept their power hidden from him, and used it not against him, but for the good of the Inner Earth. Still, they lacked . . . zest.

He shook his head. He wasn't being fair. Those females making decisions for the police department were also concerned with the survival and happiness of those dwelling on the Inner Earth. He was just stubborn when dealing intimately with their soft and knowing natures. They threatened his personality.

Pulling back before him the book on rodent biology, he dismissed the co-worker from his mind and began skimming through what he'd already read and then focused on the section regarding control of the rat.

He was amazed by the text. The Outer Earth officials had chemicals, bait, and fumigants that actually destroyed the creatures! They had something called anticoagulants! Thinning of the blood! How could they do that?