by Craig Spence
Bertrand fumbled with the lock, cursing its clumsy mechanisms. “Come on!” he muttered, lining up the tumbler numerals. He finally got it right and yanked the bolt loose. “Airee!” he shouted.
She lingered, gabbing with a bunch of friends over by the school entrance. Girl talk drove him crazy.
“I’m going!” he hollered, wrapping the bicycle lock around his seat post and wrestling the bike out of the rack. He pointed it down the path, jumped on and started pedaling. If Ariel wanted to yak, he wasn’t hanging around.
“Hey!” she protested. “Wait up!”
He almost didn’t. Almost kept right on pumping, getting the hum of the tires up to speed with his racing heart. But Bertrand did skid to a stop.
Ariel ran down the sidewalk after him, red hair flying, eyes burning with indignation. “What’s up with you?” she asked, climbing onto the foot pegs and gripping his shoulder. Was she digging in her nails on purpose? He didn’t care. Standing on the pedals, he set off again.
“Whoa!” Ariel shrieked. “Slow down!”
Bertrand caught some air going over the curb, then zoomed around the schoolyard fence and into the Nicomekl trail system. “Yahoo!” Ariel whooped. The Nicomekl parkway cut cross-country toward Triumph University, avoiding traffic lights, and interfering pedestrians.
“Hey! Take it easy!” Ariel advised. “You’re going to burn out.”
“We’ve got to get there, Airee,” he panted. “There’s no time.”
All afternoon he’d twitched and squirmed in his seat.
Elaine had reported at lunch break that the pups hadn’t been born yet. “Any time now,” she’d said. “There’s no telling when, exactly . . . Libra’s doing fine . . . She’ll be okay, Birdman.”
“Why don’t you phone again?” Ariel had suggested after class.
But Bertrand just wanted to get to his father’s lab as quickly as possible. He wanted to see Libra with his own eyes, not hear another update.
“Have you ever seen anything being born?”
“No,” Ariel answered. “Except on the Knowledge Network. Purr’s fixed, so she can’t have kittens, and Squawk’s a male, thank goodness.” Purr was the Krieger’s ancient cat, Squawk their cockatoo.
“I’m scared, Airee,” Bertrand admitted.
She squeezed his shoulders. “Libra’s fine,” she said.
“How do you know?”
Ariel didn’t answer, but he could feel her shrug. She just knew, that was all. Bertrand wished he could be so sure. He and his dad had talked a lot about how pups are conceived, how they form in the womb, how they’re born. Still, the whole process remained a mystery. “It seems like a stupid way for things to come into the world,” he’d complained.
“It’s a miracle, son,” Professor Smith corrected.
“But you’re a scientist, Dad! You’re not supposed to believe in miracles.”
“The more we discover, the more miraculous everything becomes,” The professor explained patiently. “Science hasn’t taken a single wow out of life’s mysteries. It’s just made the picture more complex and wonderful.”
Was that what his dad researched? Miracles?
His bike lurched forward and rattled down the hill into Campus Green. “Eyeee!” Ariel shrieked. Bertrand let out a yell, too, urging his metal charger across the lawn. Sensing catastrophe, Ariel leapt off the pegs and came to a running stop at the pound gate; Bertrand kicked out the back wheel and laid the bike down in the grass. Before the wheels stopped spinning he’d fumbled open the latch and stormed across the yard through the kennel door.
“Elaine!”
“Shhhh.” Her admonition came from inside Libra’s pen.
“How is she?” Bertrand whispered.
“Fine. But exhausted.”
“Is she? Have they?”
“Yes.” Elaine beamed. “Libra’s a mom.”
What did that mean? His own reaction to the news startled Bertrand. Would Libra be changed? Would she be as much fun? Would she even talk to him anymore? For a second — a second he’d remember for the rest of his life — Bertrand felt the sting of jealousy. He heard the whimpering of Libra’s pups and, instead of the elation he’d planned, a tide of bitterness surged. Hot and flushed, he scolded himself for a thought that dishonoured him and Libra.
Then she was with him. He felt the warmth of her affection glowing inside. She knew! She sensed his confusion and had sent a thought to comfort him. His momentary doubt gave way to astounding joy.
Elaine gestured them forward with a nod. “Come on,” she laughed. “They won’t bite.”
Bertrand stepped into the kennel.
“Aw!” Ariel gasped, overwhelmed at the sight of the pups.
“They’re so tiny!”
They were tiny. They were cute. Now his emotions swung from doubt to utter love. Libra encircled the pups with her body and legs. They whimpered and yawned, but for the most part slept, their plump bodies pressed together for warmth. The result was an indeterminate being made up of button noses, miniature paws, stumpy tails, and round bellies. He laughed joyfully.
It’s okay, Libra signaled. She’d been studying him the whole time with her gentle, knowing eyes.
“Libra!” he gasped. “They’re beautiful!”
Stooping, he stroked the fur behind her ears. Libra smiled, grateful for his affection.
“May I?” he asked, glancing at her pups.
Her answer amazed him. They are yours as much as mine, she said.
Surely he’d misunderstood. He looked directly into her eyes, but she didn’t flinch. Her meaning was inescapable. Yours, she repeated, determined that he know this. Until they’re grown and can fend for themselves. Then they must choose their human life-companions.
She had never communicated such complex thoughts and emotions before, but Bertrand was certain these strange messages came from her.
But . . .
It is so with every dog, excepting our wild ancestors, like the wolves and coyotes. Our pups are not our own. If one human does not lay claim to them, another will, and I want you to claim these pups as your own . . . as your family.
But I’m only a kid! he objected.
You are their older brother. You must be there for them when I’m not.
What do you mean?
The day may come when these pups of mine will need a human protector. Promise you will be that human, that you will not forsake them. Ever.
Libra!
Promise!
The gravity of her command permeated his soul. From jubilation he sank almost into despair, for she’d shown him the wisdom of her kind, with its inevitable tincture of sadness. Dogs know too much of the world’s undercurrent. They smell things and hear things outside the range of human senses. Theirs is a world troubled by shadows people never see, and it was from those shadows that Libra sought protection, not for herself but for her pups.
Promise me, she insisted.
I promise, he vowed, holding her gaze. I will never let anything happen to your pups, Libra.
She lay her head down and sighed.
“It’s okay,” Elaine was saying.
“Huh?”
“You can touch them. Libra knows you. She won’t mind.”
She and Ariel were both staring. How long had he been communicating with Libra? Long enough for them to notice, obviously. He laughed nervously. “Oh yeah,” he said, reaching down and stroking the downy fur of one of Libra’s pups. How indescribably soft! The dog yelped, but after sniffing his finger, settled back into sleep, nuzzling its littermate to get comfortable.
Hindquist smiled, something he did not often do. This was a red-letter day. A giant red-letter day. The SMART dogs had been born, they’d all survived and one could reasonably presume they would live to maturity.
Then what?
His grin wilted ever so slightly, twisting into something resembling a grimace. Seeing this, Charlie Gowler’s cheerful countenance sagged, too. “What’s wrong Boss?” he asked.
<
br /> “There’s nothing wrong, Charlie,” Hindquist said, flashing his most dangerous grin. “Do you think there’s something wrong?”
“No, Boss.”
“What about you, Bob? Is there anything out of sorts in your little world?”
“No, Mr. Hindquist.” The younger Gowler did his best to blend in with the furniture.
“And you, Doctor Molar?”
The doctor shook his head, denying vigorously even the possibility of a flaw in his day.
“Good!” Hindquist rubbed his hands together. “Then we can get on with Phase II of our little enterprise: the Acquisition Phase. You will all have key roles to play.”
They watched warily from their seats around his board room table. He’d outlined the operation in previous meetings, but the time had come for step-by-step analysis and “tasking”, as Hindquist called it. Each of them would be given the precise information necessary to carry out his role, but only Hindquist would have the ‘big picture’, which involved the machinations of The Global Council.
He frowned. Sometimes he wondered if he had the complete picture himself. Were Vladimir and the other Council members keeping something from him? Why were they so pig-headed when it came to the SMART project? They’d seen footage of Libra outwitting Bob Gowler in Campus Wood; the research data from Professor Smith’s computer projected intelligence measures right off the scale for Libra’s pups.
What more did they need?
The Gowler brothers and Doctor Molar watched nervously as Hindquist pondered. They didn’t like his dark moods.
“How is the K-Pack development coming along?” he asked suddenly.
“Very well,” Dr. Molar said. “We are working on two models: one we’re calling the Combat Pack, the other the Spy Pack. The Combat Pack incorporates command-and-control technology into a bullet-proof vest and helmet. It will offer complete two-way communication, video reconnaissance, a full range of weapons, and real time tracking of the animal’s vital signs. The unit’s armor will be explosive, so the animal can be used as a weapon or destroyed if there is any risk of capture.”
“Impressive!” Hindquist enthused.
“The Spy Pack retains many of the command-and-control functions, but the dog will be able to operate covertly. We have modified some of our miniaturized technology for implanting. The prototypes have been tested on lab animals and work well. A SMART dog rigged up this way could be in constant communication with its handlers, but a casual observer would never be able to tell.
“Both versions of the K-Pack will be ready on time, Mr. Hindquist. We can go into production almost immediately.”
Hindquist turned to the Gowler brothers. “And how are things shaping up in your area of responsibility?” he asked.
Charlie shifted in his chair, grunting as he sat up straight and folded his hands on the table-top. “Everything’s going great, Mr. Hindquist,” he reported. “We’ve been practicing with the tranquilizer blowgun and rehearsing our entrance strategy. We’ll be ready.”
“You’ve tested the gun with a lethal dose?”
“Not yet, sir, but I’ve got Bob looking for strays.”
A shadow of impatience darkened Hindquist’s face. “You need to get on with it,” he reprimanded. “And the rehearsals, how are they going?”
“We’ve practiced so much we could do the job with our eyes shut. We know every step by heart, and we’ve been monitoring things at Professor Smith’s lab for weeks now. He’s never there at three in the morning. It’ll be a quick in and out, sir. No problem.”
Hindquist planted his elbows on the table and linked his fingers into a bridge, where he rested his chin. He stared at the Gowler brothers until they both squirmed in their seats.
“I don’t have to remind you how important this mission is, gentlemen,” he cautioned.
They nodded.
“Do not fail.”
When Professor Smith entered the kennel the children and Elaine stopped their chatter. Although he was joyful for Libra and her offspring, Bertrand had not forgiven his father for keeping them in captivity.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Elaine said cheerfully, trying to break the tension.
Professor Smith agreed, stooping to stroke one of the pups.
Bertrand flushed angrily. His father didn’t have the right.
“How utterly innocent newborns are,” Professor Smith was saying. “Lions, eagles, orcas, gators . . . even the most fearsome of predators are innocent at birth. In fact, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that animals never lose that perfect innocence. They kill without malice — without any sense that it might be wrong. They are all perfectly innocent . . . with one exception: human beings.”
He smiled sadly at Libra’s wriggling litter. “We may not be alone anymore,” he mused. “These cuddly creatures will be capable of distinctly human accomplishments. They might even come to know the difference between good and evil.
“Still, they are beautiful,” he congratulated Libra.
The thump, thump, thump of her irrepressible tail greeted the professor’s remarks.
After a long, awkward moment, Elaine coughed loudly. “Now!” she said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “There’s work to do.”
They all stared uncomprehendingly.
She laughed, pleased with the effect. “Beautiful things must have names, and Libra’s pups are not going to be christened SMART 74 through 78. We’re done with that. They must have proper names, and we are going to name them this very moment.”
“Now wait just a minute!” Professor Smith objected.
“All right!” Bertrand cheered, cutting his father off.
“And since you’re so keen, you go first Bertrand,” Elaine seconded, staring defiantly at Professor Smith. “Pick a pup and name him.”
For a second Bertrand’s enthusiasm flagged, then he grinned gamely, turning toward Libra and her litter. As if they were aware of the solemnity of the occasion, her pups stopped their squirming. For a long while Bertrand studied them. Finally he reached into the litter and held up a tiny ball of mottled brown, white and black. “Einstein!” he pronounced.
“No!” Professor Smith groaned.
“Einstein!” Bertrand insisted.
Elaine recorded the name in a notebook. “Identifying features?”
“Extreme intelligence. Inventiveness . . . ”
“I mean physical features, Bertrand — things all of us can see, not just things you imagine.”
He blushed and laughed.
“Ariel. Your turn,” Elaine said.
Like Bertrand, Ariel kneeled in front of Libra and her pups, watching intently. More than once she reached out to pick her puppy, but retreated. At last she grabbed a white and black one, holding it in front of her. “Genie,” she announced.
“Why do you call her that?” Professor Smith wanted to know.
Ariel frowned, puzzled and a little annoyed. “It’s her name,” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s magical, and some day she’s going to be set free.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only one communicating with dogs,” Bertrand smirked.
Elaine went next, choosing a brindled pup with a distinctive black circle around his left eye. “Captain,” she called him, but he didn’t seem to like the name, struggling and growling helplessly in her hands. “Cap for short,” she offered, and the dog settled, allowing itself to be patted. “You will be a trusted leader among your kind.”
“Your turn Alex,” Elaine said, turning to him and holding up one of the two remaining pups. Reluctantly, he accepted the sleeping bundle in the palms of his outstretched hands. The pup nestled into the warm cavity, relaxing back into sleep, utterly trusting. “Breeze,” he decided, surprising even himself with the certainty of his answer. “She will flow gently around and through things, a spirit that soothes and mends. Breeze will be a healer.”
Libra’s tail thumped approvingly. The others stared, surprised he could come up with a n
ame that didn’t include a number.
“Libra,” Elaine cried suddenly. Libra looked up without raising her head. “You must name the remaining pup, and since Bertrand is the only one who can read your thoughts, he must speak on your behalf. Is that okay, Birdie?”
Bertrand nodded. Libra closed her eyes. He settled cross-legged next to her, closing his eyes too and laying his left hand on her neck. Libra sighed happily. They sat like that for quite a long time, meditating.
Then something surprising happened. Bertrand felt a blast of intense cold and found himself surrounded by light.
“What are you trying to show me?” he asked. “All I see is fog.”
“Not fog, son,” Professor Smith corrected. “It’s white light.”
For a second Bertrand couldn’t grasp what was happening. Then he understood and rejoiced. “You see it too, Dad!” he cried.
“Yes,” Professor Smith said excitedly. “More than see it, I am in it.”
“In it?”
“It’s all around me. Like snow. It tingles against my skin.
It’s like a . . . ”
“Blizzard!” Bertrand shouted.
Instantly the telly vanished, the room materializing out of the splintering vision. Elaine and Ariel stared, open-mouthed; Bertrand grinned; Libra’s tail thumped triumphantly.
“You saw it, too!” Bertrand whooped.
All Professor Smith could do was nod like a man who’s just spotted a UFO.
Had any of it really happened? The naming of the pups? The astounding sensations of Libra’s telepathy? Professor Smith raked his fingers through his hair, trying to settle himself in front of the computer. Once before Libra had sent him a telly, but her naming of Blizzard had left him awestruck. There was no denying her intelligence.
He’d set himself a simple enough task: enter the names of Libra’s litter, their order of birth, weight, colour, sex, disposition, health. He squared himself to the keyboard and began again, pecking in the information. B-L-I-Z . . .
“Alex?”
“Shee-oot!” he jumped.
He’d been so engrossed he hadn’t heard Elaine come in from the kennel.
“Sorry,” she apologized.