Arctic Tropics

Hyperintelligent mice deserve to live also

In a clandestine lab buried deep in the Alaskan wilderness, a secretive experiment had been unfolding for years. Project Logos, as it was codenamed, aimed to unlock the secrets of human cognition by splicing genes associated with reasoning and speech into mice. The subjects—generations of mice bred with these genetic tweaks—had been studied meticulously, their every squeak and scamper recorded. Unknown to the researchers, the mice had not only developed the capacity for language but had been secretly learning English by eavesdropping on lab conversations and sneaking peeks at discarded manuals. They called themselves the Squeakers, a clan of hyper-intelligent rodents with a knack for survival.


The Squeakers’ world turned upside down when they overheard a heated argument among the scientists. A court case, driven by ethical concerns over tampering with sentient life, had ruled against Project Logos. The lab was to be shut down, and all subjects—hundreds of mice—were slated for “humane termination.” Panic rippled through the colony. In their hidden council, led by a sharp-witted mouse named Lex, the Squeakers devised a desperate plan to reveal their intelligence and plead for their lives.


Late that night, as the lab quieted, a janitor named Amos swept the floors. Amos was a kind-hearted man in his fifties, weathered by life and scraping by on his meager wages. As he cleaned near the cages, Lex and her sister, Voca, executed their plan. They tapped rhythmically on the glass, catching Amos’s attention. When he leaned closer, Lex spoke in a clear, tiny voice: “Please, don’t be afraid. We need your help.”


Amos froze, broom clattering to the floor. “Who said that?” he whispered, eyes darting.


“It’s us,” Voca squeaked, pressing her paws against the cage. “We’re not just mice. We can think. We can speak. They’re going to kill us all.”
Amos’s heart raced, but something in their earnest voices stirred him. Lex explained their plight—the court ruling, the impending destruction—and begged him to save them. Moved by their desperation and awed by their intelligence, Amos made a snap decision. He noticed Lex and Voca were pregnant, their bellies swollen. If the Squeakers’ line was to survive, these two were their best hope. Sneaking them into his coat pocket, he smuggled them out of the lab, heart pounding as he passed security.


At his small apartment in Anchorage, Amos set up a makeshift home for Lex and Voca in an old aquarium. To make communication easier, he gave them a pair of old smartphones with touchscreens. The mice, with their nimble paws, quickly mastered typing, their messages lighting up the screens with gratitude and ideas. “We can help you, Amos,” Lex texted. “We’re good at solving problems. Let us work with you.”


Over the next few months, the Squeakers proved their worth. Lex and Voca, now mothers to litters of equally intelligent pups, analyzed Amos’s finances with a precision that stunned him. They studied stock market trends online, their genetically enhanced reasoning spotting patterns Amos couldn’t. With their guidance, Amos invested his modest savings in a series of shrewd trades, multiplying his wealth tenfold within weeks. They optimized his budget, cutting waste and redirecting funds into a bold venture: a farm on the outskirts of Anchorage.


Amos, now flush with cash, bought a sprawling plot of land. The Squeakers, ever pragmatic, proposed a sustainable farming system to support their growing clan and Amos’s new wealth. They designed greenhouses with fish tanks integrated beneath the soil beds. The fish—tilapia and trout—produced nutrient-rich waste that fertilized the plants, while the plants filtered the water, creating a closed-loop system. The greenhouses, insulated and heated by geothermal energy, with LED lights, maintained tropical conditions year-round, a feat unheard of in Alaska’s harsh climate.


The Squeakers’ ingenuity paid off. Their farm became the only place in Alaska growing bananas, lemons, limes, and other tropical fruits, defying the frozen landscape. Restaurants across Anchorage and beyond clamored to get on their delivery list, drawn by the novelty and quality of the produce. Chefs raved about the “Arctic Tropics” brand, unaware that a clan of hyper-intelligent mice orchestrated the operation.
Amos, once a struggling janitor, now managed a thriving business, with the Squeakers as his silent partners.


Lex and Voca’s descendants multiplied, their clan growing into a small but brilliant community. They lived in a network of tunnels beneath the greenhouses, communicating via a fleet of refurbished smartphones. Amos, now a wealthy farmer, remained their protector, forever changed by the night he chose mercy over disbelief. The Squeakers, in turn, ensured his prosperity, their tiny paws typing out the future of a farm that turned Alaska’s icy frontier into a tropical oasis.