by D.L. Morrese
~*~
Two years later, Kolby remained a stupid-looking kid, but he had pretty much grown into his teeth. He was still short for his age and other children sometimes bullied him because of his size, because of his looks, and because, even in this poor village, he and his grandmother were poorer than most. MO-126 wished he could do something about that, but here people measured wealth in goats or sheep or acres of land, and Kolby and his grandmother could claim none of these. He thought about trying to find a wild goat or two and bring them back, but this would be far too unlike normal dog behavior not to raise questions and, of course, wild goats were wild. They could be difficult to deal with. Most likely, any he brought back would simply end as a rather tough, stringy dinner, which would not be a complete failure but would not help them in the long run.
A possible solution presented itself from an unlikely source. A strange little old man wearing a pastel yellow robe with a rope tied around his waist as a kind of belt came to the village one sunny afternoon. MO-126 recognized him. Well, not him, personally, but he knew what he was. A Tsong monastery stood about a day’s walk northwest of the village, and this man was obviously a Tsong monk, although those he met before called themselves Listeners. He knew there were also monks collectively known as Counselors, Teachers, and Wise Ones. He was not sure if these labels represented ranks, specializations, or duties, but he was fairly sure the Wise Ones were nominally at the top of their fuzzy hierarchical pyramid.
Humans like to pretend that they understand the universe, so the cleverest among them invent all sorts of things from physics to philosophy, reason to religion so that they can believe they do. Tsong was a bit closer to the latter, but unlike many, it was a fairly benign belief system. It made no outrageous demands, did not claim to possess absolute Truth, required no sacrifices of the more bloody variety, and, in its purist form, it recognized no gods. It did have something they called the Tune, or sometimes the Cosmic Tune, which was more a name to describe the flow of natural events than it was a deity, as far as the android dog could understand it, but they never attempted to persecute those who did not dance to it.
The wrinkled visitor walked calmly to the center of the village and simply stood there smiling while a small crowd gathered around him as if expecting him to do a trick or provide some other kind of entertainment. MO-126, Kolby and Gumper were among them. The boy watched with rapt attention at seeing someone new and a bit strange, and the android dog regarded him with suspicion. The Listener’s gaze lingered uncomfortably on him a couple times.
He willed himself to look more doglike, and the Tsong Listener returned his attention to the people around him.
“My name is Safron,” he eventually began. “I come to you from the Tsong Monastery of Hill Flower.” He waved an arm in a generally westward direction.
“Sing us a tune!” a voice from the crowd shouted.
The benign smile never slipped from the Listener’s face. “The tune that can be sung is not the Cosmic Tune. The dance that can be danced is not the Cosmic Dance,” he said as if quoting. In the ensuing silence, he paused for a deep breath. “I hear Harmony here, although with a few sour notes, perhaps.” His glance shifted unerringly to the young villager who spoke earlier, which caused others to laugh, if a bit nervously.
“I have been sent to invite you and others I may pass in my travels to participate in a herding event that will take place at our monastery in a few weeks. The reason for this, other than to meet you and have people from different villages join together in one place and one time in peace and harmony, is because our old building needs a new roof.”
He went on to explain that the project required funding and that they were holding the herding event to raise it. Half of the entrance fee would go to the winner and the other half to the monastery for their new roof. He briefly described the contest—a trial of dogs and handlers to be judged by the monastery’s senior monks, their Wise Ones. He also said there would be food and entertainment available, which seemed to excite several people. Humans, MO-126 noticed, tended to find comfort in routine, but people also liked a break from it from time to time. The event the Listener described was probably the biggest diversion anyone here ever heard of or even imagined before. The monks were likely to get a good turnout.
After answering questions from a few villagers, he turned one more look toward the android dog as if wondering what he was.
MO-126 stared back at him. If there’s anything odd here, he thought, it’s you. I’m just a dog. I have the fur and the tail and a complete lack of useful thumbs, see? I can say “woof” in seven different canine dialects. All normal dog stuff. I’m not the one who’s been talking about cosmic tunes and harmonies and a bunch of other mystical musical stuff. Then, he reconsidered. He might be being a bit too sensitive, maybe even paranoid. The Tsong Listener was probably just estimating his potential as a contestant. Maybe he was making bets on the side, or something. Or perhaps MO-126 simply looked too intelligent for a normal dog. He could correct that oversight. He lifted a hind leg to scratch an imaginary itch and, for good measure, bent double to do a bit of undignified licking.
“What do you think, Doggy?” Kolby asked him. He always called MO-126 ‘Doggy.’ The kid really possessed no imagination, but the android dog liked him. He found him cute in a homely sort of way, nice to his granny, and he usually meant well. The android dog considered him one of the better examples of humanity, someone who would help if he could and not bother anyone if he could help it.
It actually did not sound like a bad idea. MO-126 felt confident he could do well in a sheep herding competition, and money was almost as good as sheep or goats because it often could be traded for them or other things with real value. The entry fee presented the immediate difficulty.
As it turned out, this might not be as big of a problem as he expected.
After the monk left, Gumper subjected the android dog to a long, calculating stare, and then turned to Kolby.
“You think your dog can win this?” he said.
“I’m sure he can,” the boy said.
“Yeah. I think so too. Here’s what we’ll do….”
Gumper volunteered to pay the ten copper pieces required for entry for half interest in the prize money should MO-126 win or extra work without pay from Kolby if he didn’t. It was hardly a generous offer, but it got them the coins they needed.
Twenty days later, Kolby, Gumper, MO-126 and people from villages all around the area gathered outside the Tsong monastery. Lines of tents, carts, stands, crude booths, and parked wagons from which the owners peddled their wares created temporary roads where hundreds of people mingled and shopped. Game agents and vendors called out what they offered in imaginative and enticing ways over the general din. Smokey clouds lingered above outdoor cooking pits, and the smells of charred meat and sweaty people filled the air.
“Close your mouth, boy,” Gumper said. “You’re letting flies in.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Kolby said, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, trying to take it all in. “Where did all these people come from? Why are they here?”
“I suspect most came to watch the herding event.”
MO-126 did not entirely agree. Most, he suspected, came to watch other people, which were, he must admit, somewhat more entertaining than sheep. He saw a few people with well-behaved dogs beside them, but most of those wandering among the makeshift businesses were accompanied only by other people, usually in groups of the same gender eyeing other groups of the opposite gender with varying degrees of subtlety.
Gumper asked a vendor trying to sell him a sausage on a stick where contestants for the sheep herding event needed to register. The hopeful purveyor of the greasy delectable used it to point in the general direction of the large stone monastery.
“Up there,” he said. “Them singing monks have a shed painted in black and white stripes where they’re taking names and coins. Can’t miss it. Sure you don’t want a sausage? Fresh! Make y
ou a deal. How about three for the price of two? Can’t beat it.”
“Maybe later. We need to take care of this first.”
“Might be all sold out by then. They’re going fast,” the man persisted.
MO-126 wished he could tell them what the odor suggested was in the sausage, but it proved unnecessary. Gumper turned away and Kolby followed, leaving the sausage man free to accost another prospective customer.
A young monk, several of which wandered about the fair, approached them and asked if they were here for the trials. He reconfirmed what the sausage seller said and pointed to a line of colorful flags visible above the crowds and stalls.
A short queue of people and dogs stood in front of the black and white shed. MO-126 suddenly felt a bit less confident about his prospects of an easy win in the competition. Most of the handlers here were older than his boy, and the dogs were a mixed assortment of sleek and powerful animals especially bred and well-trained for the tasks awaiting them.
One of them turned an almost too intelligent face toward him. The android dog sent a silent signal using his short range communication system, just in case. He received no reply, but the real dog continued to eye him with a superior air.
Just some kind of canine dominance thing, then, MO-126 thought. He attempted to ignore the other dogs after this while at the same time standing a little more erect and trying to assume a nobler bearing.
The line crept slowly forward while vendors with fruit and drink and even little pies and pastries attempted to sell their comestibles to those waiting. They were having more success than the android dog expected. Gumper even eventually broke down and bought a couple of ripe redfruit for himself and Kolby.
Three smiling monks with wrinkled faces and smooth, pastel robes awaited them when they reached the front of the line.
“What are the names of the contestants?” one of them asked Gumper.
“Kolby,” Gumper said.
“Is that the handler or the dog?” the Tsong monk asked.
“That’s the boy. He calls the dog ‘Doggy.’”
“Doggy, I see.” The monk provided no indication that he found this especially amusing because his smile did not change. MO-126 considered it possible that the monks’ ever-present smiles indicated that they found everything amusing.
The monk wrote the names on a sheet of parchment, which Kolby stared at with amazement. The boy knew about writing, of course, but his grasp of the subject was only slightly better than the one he held on general relativity or quantum mechanics.
“And the name of the village Kobly and Doggy are from?” the Listener asked.
This posed a tougher question and Gumper paused before he could come up with an answer. Place names were of little use to people who seldom traveled.
“Miston,” Gumper eventually said.
“Really?” Kolby asked him.
“Yeah. Can’t say I know why.”
Neither did the android dog. Human names for places, and even for most other things, seemed pretty arbitrary to him, but the monk dutifully wrote it next to their names.
“Age of dog and handler?” he asked.
“Kolby is, um, let me see….”
“Thirteen years,” the boy said. He might not know much about letters, but he could make his way around numbers as long as they didn’t get too demanding. He could count eggs and even do simple addition and subtraction, provided no one confused him by pointing it out. He could tell if sheep were missing or add lambs to know how many were born. Sometimes this involved the assistance of fingers as counters, but he could do it.
“And the dog?”
Fifteen thousand, four hundred and fifty in human years, MO-126 thought, which reminded him that he had not visited a hub terminal in a while and probably should go in for a routine checkup some day. Those he visited in the past remained operational, and the maintenance bays and their automated diagnostic tables still functioned. The hub terminals did not require oversight by the PM, which apparently burned itself out over a thousand years ago, so they should continue to be of use for many years to come. Corporation technology was pretty durable.
“Um, I’m not sure,” Kolby said. “He was grown when I found him. I’d guess about five or maybe seven.”
That reminded MO-126 of something else, but that decision could be put off for now.
“I’ll put down six,” the monk said. “How does that sound?”
“About right, I suppose.”
“The entrance fee is ten copper coins,” the monk reminded them.
Gumper handed them over.
“The contest begins tomorrow at noon. Be at the field at sunrise and you’ll be shown the course, given instructions, and told where you are in the lineup.” He pointed to a large, cream colored marquee tent in the distance. “A communal tent is available for you to sleep in tonight, if you wish, or you can set up your own tent outside. Do you have any questions?”
Neither of them did, and they went to the campground to find a spot. They brought their own tent, a borrowed one anyway, which they slept in the night before on their way here. It was intended to accommodate two people, but it was big enough for two people and a well-behaved dog. MO-126 normally slept with Kolby now, and last night was no different. He himself didn’t need to sleep, but he enjoyed the downtime and used it to relax and for quiet contemplation.
Several people and almost as many dogs wandered about the competitors’ campground already, erecting tents, cooking meals, and talking. The monastery complex itself stood on a low hill about a quarter of mile away. The oldest of these stone buildings were built only a handful of centuries ago, but the people here probably regarded them as ancient. The vineyards, pastures, fields and gardens surrounding them were enough to sustain the monks, but nothing more. They did not produce a surplus to sell to meet material needs, of which they apparently had few other than a new roof once in a while.
Gumper quickly found a vacant flat spot not far from a well and began erecting the tent.
“Once we get this up to claim our spot, we can go see more of that fair they have,” he said.
Kolby helped with the tent, and then man, boy, and dog went to explore the fair. They found many different foods on offer, and all sorts of games, which to the android dog’s eye seemed especially difficult to win. There were ostensible fortunetellers, herbalists who claimed miraculous curative powers for the contents of their jars and bottles, minstrels of varying skill, magic acts, jugglers, and storytellers. MO-126 sent a signal just in case any of them were NASH androids, but he received no replies. He thought something like this might attract any in the area. Perhaps there were none.
Gumper, due to his frugal nature, and Kolby because of his lack of money, avoided most of the places where the main business, like most businesses, was to transfer coins from the purses of the customers to the pockets of stall owners. They did spend some time later that night at the campsite’s bonfire, talking with a few of the other contestants. They knew no more about tomorrow’s event than the android dog’s humans did.
Early the next day, the competitors met near a fenced area encompassing about four acres. Inside it were three pairs of panels rather like short lengths of fence, a pen, and a herd of a dozen sheep. Three monks outside explained the rules. MO-126 listened intently and realized this would not be as simple as he thought. He felt certain he could complete the tasks, but he was not so sure he could do them better than the others. Several men and a couple of women with their dogs appeared quite confident as a monk described the course to them. Because of the number of contestants, the trials would take place over three days. The team of Kolby and Doggy would be the final competitors on day three.
The monks walked them through the course, showed them the post where the handler would stand, the place where the sheep would be at the start of the trial, the panels through which they must be herded, and the pen where they must be at the end. He held up a glass timer filled with fine sand and tipped it.
; “This is how long you have to complete the course. Points are not given for speed, but no points will be awarded if all sheep are not in the pen by the time the last of the sand reaches the bottom of this glass.”
MO-126 watched as the sand trickled. It took fifteen point forty-two minutes. Now some of the contestants began to look concerned, and the android dog’s confidence grew. He and Kolby practiced with the sheep back at their village over the preceding weeks. Mostly, at least as far as MO-126 was concerned, this was to train Kolby. He could now make an almost convincing display of giving appropriate calls and gestures. They should do well. They never ran a course quite like this one in their practice sessions, but they attempted something much like each of the component pieces at one time or another. MO-126 added the average times it took them for each of these and knew he could do the course with even a few minutes to spare, if the sheep cooperated.
“Are there any questions?” the monk asked.
The android dog had none, which was just as well since he could not ask them. Gumper decided they should stay and watch. After seeing the other contestants, he may have been concerned about the safety of his financial investment in this endeavor. Kolby readily agreed. No one asked MO-126, but he too thought it a good idea. He wanted to evaluate his competition.
They had just enough time to grab something to eat before the first run, so they did. When they got back, a handler and her dog were approaching the judges’ platform. Five old monks sat at five small tables, each with a younger monk standing nearby holding a stylus and a wax tablet to note their scores. The handler told them her name and her dog’s name, and then turned to take her spot at the post. MO-126 must admit she was beautiful—a bit taller than average, athletically lean, great legs, glossy hair…. The human wasn’t bad looking either.
“Begin!” shouted the timekeeper, turning over the glass.
The woman made a complicated gesture with her hand and arm and barked a command to the dog, which rushed toward the sheep, fanning wide so as not to cause them to scatter or move too soon or in the wrong direction.
The android dog watched appreciatively. The bitch sure moved well, crouching low but still running fast as she circled the flock, then lifting to a commanding posture behind them. The sheep immediately took notice and began moving at a brisk pace straight toward the handler. The dog maneuvered them through the gap between two panels, deftly redirecting one that tried to go around. They never broke into a run, but they did not dawdle, and they never deviated far from the path the dog chose for them. MO-126 was impressed. The only way he suspected he could do better would be to get to the sheep a bit quicker, but that did not count in the scoring.
When the flock reached the handler, she gave another brief command. The dog circled the sheep around the post and drove them away through a second pair of panels at the left side of the contest field and, from there, through a matching set of panels on the right side. The layout formed a roughly equilateral triangle, and the sheep moved quietly and steadily between each point. MO-126 studied the many elements of skill and finesse in the dog’s movements carefully. The bitch was better at this than he was. He felt little doubt of that. If he and Kolby went first, they would have lost, but the android dog held one great advantage. He learned quickly, and this demonstration taught him much, both about sheep herding and about not being overconfident.
The final step of the trial required the dog to herd the sheep into a pen. It carefully maneuvered them into position and guided the complacent flock inside. The handler moved from the post to close the gate. She looked pleased and a bit smug, and deservedly so, the android dog thought.
A sudden storm of applause showered from the crowd watching. MO-126 would have joined in if he had the hands for it. He hoped all the contestants were not this good.
Not long after, the announcer called out their score—ninety-five out of one hundred, and MO-126 wondered where they could possibly have lost those five points. Their performance seemed perfect to him. He’d have to pay even more attention to the next contestants.
They watched the remaining trials that day and the next. The announcer called ‘time’ on a few competitors who did not complete the course before the sand ran out, but most finished. None were quite as good as the first, which made MO-126 wonder if the monks intended this. Perhaps, through some kind of intuition or acute observational skills, they chose the best to go first, and, for dramatic purposes, last. Or perhaps this was just wishful thinking on his part. Regardless, he felt grateful that they would be the last to compete. He needed to learn all he could.
The unspoken point, apparently, was not just to get the sheep to go where you wanted, but to do it as calmly and efficiently as possible. Contestants lost points for scaring the sheep, for making them run, for letting them stop, for not keeping them together or in a line through the panels, and for other, more subjective things like the style of both handler and dog. The judges seemed to favor subtlety.
That was fine. He could be subtle, with people, anyway. With sheep it might take more concentration to detail because they reacted without thinking. Of course, they had little choice in the matter.
In the morning, Kolby’s nervousness showed and Gumper tried to be reassuring. He wasn’t good at it.
“Don’t worry, boy. That’s a good dog you have. He’ll do fine.”
That’s it. Put all the pressure on me, MO-126 thought. Unfortunately, the old man was right. Telling Kolby that he was a good dog handler would be an obvious lie. Even Kolby, who was at least bright enough to know he wasn’t bright, knew better, especially now that he’d seen the other handlers.
The boy knelt and hugged the android dog. The kid was relying on him.
“You can do it, Doggy,” he said, probably more for his own benefit than the android dog’s. “You’re the best.”
Talk about pressure.
“You know what to do, right?” Kolby said hopefully.
Yeah, kid. I was paying attention. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. He could say none of this, so he just wagged his tail and tried to look confident.
The contestants on the final day were good. MO-126 observed some of them practicing back at the campsite, and they, too, learned from those who went before, but none were better than the first contestant on the first day. She remained the one to beat—her and her dog. Both of them watched attentively from within the crowd of spectators.
Finally, the team of Kolby and Doggy took the field. Upon seeing the boy, some began to wander away. They no doubt believed the competition as good as over. The current frontrunner beamed confidently.
MO-126 held nothing against her, or her partner, but he needed to do this for his boy. The prize money could change his life. Without it, his prospects were limited to a life of doing odd jobs for others in a tiny village. With the money, he at least could have a shot at a bit more. With a couple goats and a few acres of land he might make a life for himself. It would not be a grand life, but it would be an opportunity, one denied to him now.
The problem was that he was a nice kid, considerate of others, but not overly smart or creative. He possessed no special skills. He wasn’t even ruthless or ambitious, which some people, lacking any positive traits, can use to get by, albeit normally at the expense of others. MO-126 did not like people like these. They tended to think they were somehow more important or more deserving than other people. This was not only objectively wrong, but objectionable in every respect.
Kolby stuttered his introduction to the judges, all the while with his hand on the android dog for emotional support. The Wise Ones’ ever present beatific smiles revealed no reaction to the bumbling lad. All of them seemed to be paying far more attention to the dog next to him. MO-126 decided this was not the time for his stupid dog act, so he stood at attention and tried to ignore them.
Kolby went to the handler’s post and took a deep breath. MO-126 did not need to. His micro-fusion reactors were fully operational. He surveyed the competition field, note
d the location and behavior of the sheep, distances, condition of the ground, even the wind direction and velocity. It took only a few seconds for him to calculate the optimal strategy for completing the trial.
“Begin!” the announcer shouted.
“G-g-go, Doggy,” Kolby said softly.
The android dog raced off, circling wide around the flock, emerging behind them and then giving them ‘the eye.’ The sheep, which must be used to this by now, immediately moved in the desired direction and through the first pair of panels in a fairly straight line. When he circled them around the post, Kolby stared with his mouth open, again. He did manage a nod, which provided enough, MO-126 thought, to suggest a command, and he herded the sheep through the rest of the course. Most of what he did duplicated the moves of the first contestant, but he did incorporate things he learned from some of the others.
Now, Kolby only needed to walk over and close the gate to the pen. MO-126 hoped his boy would not be too stunned or nervous to complete this last step. He glanced over his shoulder as the final sheep entered the pen and felt relieved to see Kolby approaching steadily, albeit with a stunned expression.
Just don’t run or trip over anything, MO-126 thought, and we should do all right.
He didn’t. The gate creaked shut, and the crowd roared.
Kolby moved as if dreaming to the judges’ platform to learn their score. His partner was more aware and optimistic. He knew he performed well, but was it good enough?
One of the judges spoke. “That is a unique dog you have.”
“Um, thanks,” Kolby said.
“Strange,” one of the other monks said to his neighbor. He whispered too softly for others to hear, but the android dog’s sensitive auditory sensors managed it without difficulty.
“Like that storyteller a few years ago,” the Listener whispered back.
“But not out of Tune.”
“A leading voice in some future phrase, perhaps?”
“A cadence yet to be played. Yes, I believe you are right.”
“The etude it is improvising may prove to be a melodic line.”
MO-126 could make little sense of this, other than that they apparently approved of his performance.
With a nod from one of the monks, the announcer yelled out their score. They were given the full hundred, which, coincidently, was also the prize money, a bag of one hundred copper coins. Gumper would get half of them, of course. It did not represent a fortune, but it should be enough for a couple goats.
“Congratulations. You have played well. May you always dance in step with the Tune,” the oldest monk said.
Kolby thanked them and walked away. Gumper soon joined them.
“Strange little guys,” he said as they made there way back to the campsite through several distractedly accepted congratulations from people along the way.
“Woof!” MO-126 barked in agreement. Strange was one of humanity’s defining characteristics, however, so he did not dwell on it.
“That’s a fine dog, you have there,” said a husky but feminine voice behind them.
The android dog and the two humans with him turned as one to see the woman who just lost the contest because of them. She stood almost a head taller than Gumper and appeared close to a decade older than Kolby. Her dog stood calmly beside her with appraising eyes focused on MO-126. The look made him uncomfortable.
“My name is Andrea. I’m from a village south of Sandshores, which I’m sure you never heard of.” She pointed vaguely north.
MO-126 knew the place. He had been there once prior to project termination and a few times afterward. It started as an offshoot settlement on the coast a little over two thousand years ago. The last time he visited, about a century earlier, it was a trading town with a permanent marketplace and docks for boats.
“Um, I’m Kolby. From, uh, Miston,” he said.
“Never heard of it.” This did not surprise MO-126 at all. People seldom traveled far from their birthplaces.
“I don’t think it’s near anything,” the boy elaborated. It wasn’t. Miston held nothing of special interest and was not on a direct route to anyplace that did. The android dog liked that about it.
“Well, wherever it is, you raise fine dogs there, if this one is any indication. Congratulations on your impressive performance, by the way. I thought I had the competition won.”
“So did I,” Kolby admitted. “You were very good.”
“I know.” She reached down to pet her dog. “Comette and I have won a few trials like this before. I can’t say I’m not disappointed about losing this one, but I’m glad I got to see your dog in action. His name is Doggy, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I called him that the first time I met him. He seemed to like it well enough, so I never thought about giving him another. I know it’s not much of a name.”
She shrugged. “A name is just a name. At least his means something. Have you ever considered breeding him?”
Oh-oh, MO-126 thought, taking an involuntary step backward.
“How much for the stud fee?” Gumper interjected.
Andrea smiled. “Comette’s not in heat now, but for a stud like yours, I could come see you when she is.”
They continued talking about timing, directions, financing, and puppy division while MO-126 searched his files on dog behavior, looking for the proper way to signify that he did not wish to participate in a procreative endeavor. He came up empty. Except for illness or injury, male dogs apparently never turned down an arranged liaison with a bitch in heat. Even neutered ones would attempt it. He needed to improvise.
He cautiously approached Comette. She let him, and they exchanged a few noncommittal sniffs. Suddenly, he let out a yelp and collapsed in as good an impression of a faint as he could manage. For good measure, he twitched all four legs frantically before letting them fall still.
Kolby rushed to kneel at his side even before his legs stopped moving. “What’s wrong, Doggy?” he said with panic in his voice.
MO-126 felt terrible for putting him through this, but he felt it would be best to stop Andrea’s plans now before things became more complicated.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked with suspicion.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Gumper said. “He’s probably just tired or something. It’ll pass. He’s fine. Now about that stud fee….”
MO-126 let his tongue roll out of his mouth.
“That dog is having seizures,” she said. “It must be in his blood. It’s a shame. He’s a good herder, but best I find out now. You might want to get him some water.”
The android dog cautiously opened one eye to see her and her dog disappear into the crowd that had formed around them. When he felt sure she was gone, he got to his feet, shook himself off, and licked Kolby’s hand. Sorry kid, but it wouldn’t have worked out. I’m not the fatherly type.
The boy hugged him, which only made the android dog feel worse.
“He seems fine, now,” Kolby said ostensibly to Gumper.
“Stupid dog. He probably just got overexcited near a fine bitch like that. That’s one stud fee we’ll never see.”
“But we won the contest. We don’t need it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having more,” the old man said.
Maybe not, MO-126 thought—to a point, anyway. The prize money brought Kolby nowhere near to wherever that philosophical threshold might be, so it did not matter, but he did now have enough for a start at a better life.