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The rat was the professor's parting gift, presented by a black-clad secretary in a departure lounge at Narita.
For the first two hours of the flight to London it lay forgotten in his bag, a smooth dark oblong, one side impressed with the ubiquitous Canis logo, the other gently curved to fit the user's palm.
He sat up verey straight in his seat in the first-class cabin, his features composed in an edgy cold mask modeled after his long dead brother's most characteristic expression. The surrounding seats were empty; professor had purchased the space. He refused the meal the nervous steward offered. The vacant seats frightened him, evidence of professor's wealth and influence. The man hesitated, then bowed and withdrew. Very briefly, he allowed the mask his brother's smile.
Rats, he thought later, somewhere over 4chan, staring at the upholstery of the seat besides him.
How well his brother ignored his rats.
