Einstein Dog

by Craig Spence

  Satisfied Amosville was clean, she headed down to the water obstacle. She could have rounded the pond, but Bob would be expecting that and she hoped to gain the element of surprise by mounting an amphibious attack. She sliced into the water, adjusting the buoyancy of her vest to keep her gear dry. In less than a minute she reached the far shore. Genie cocked her head and listened. She clacked again, calling up the directional amplification function of her helmet.

  There! Swiveling her head left and right, she pinpointed her quarry’s distance and direction: about fifteen metres straight in from shore, dug in at a low berm that ran between the forest and the desert. The spot provided good cover from front and back, but was exposed on the flank, her angle of attack.

  He’s really afraid, she noted. Hindquist must have threatened him with some truly dire consequence. In dozens of trials, Bob had not managed a single hit; she, on the other hand, could have painted a mansion with all the dye she’d spattered on him. If she’d been feeling generous, she would have let him have a win.

  Genie wasn’t in a generous mood, though. She wanted to humiliate Bob Gowler.

  She slipped into the underbrush, creeping toward his foxhole. Less than five metres from his position the vegetation thinned. Bob lay on his stomach, keeping an eye on the desert approach. She could have pumped a couple of rounds into him then and there; would have if this had been a real encounter.

  She held her fire, though, wanting to see his look of surprise when he realized she had beaten him again.

  She advanced into the clearing, keeping him in her sights as she snuck up to a position less than three metres to his right and slightly behind.

  “Woof!” Genie said.

  Bob twisted and screamed, jumping to his feet in one motion. Dropping his paintball gun, he held up his hands in surrender.

  Code Red. Take no prisoners. Kill. Genie’s training kicked in.

  “Don’t!” Bob pleaded. “Don’t shoot! I don’t want to — ”

  She clacked her teeth three times in quick succession; three rounds spurted out of the rifle.

  Genie couldn’t comprehend what happened next.

  Three red puncture marks dotted the front of Bob’s shirt.

  This isn’t a paintball unit, she thought, watching him spin round and collapse like a rag doll. Why wasn’t he standing there, looking stupid? Why wasn’t he grinning sheepishly at the enemy who had bested him again?

  Then, like a sickening implosion, the truth closed in. She couldn’t breathe.

  Live rounds! she gasped. They outfitted me with live rounds!

  She charged over the berm and up the ridge of the first dune to where she could see the control room. Frank Hindquist regarded her, a mixture of pride and amusement distorting his chiseled features.

  “Well done!” he congratulated, his voice taunting in her headphones.

  You tricked me! she howled, her fury aimed at him like a shockwave. She trained the crosshairs to her rifle on him. Wondered if the glass in the tower was bulletproof. You tricked me into killing him.

  “Into doing something necessary,” he corrected. “You are now ready for your first mission. Ready to take up the threads of your destiny.”

  Just a couple of clacks and he would be dead, too. She kept the rifle aimed at him. Every shred of decency that remained in her urged Genie to shoot . . . But she couldn’t.

  Hindquist grinned. “I thought you would make the right decision,” he said.

  Suddenly, as if her will had collapsed, Genie felt herself sliding, tumbling down the shifting slope of the dune. She wanted to die, begged her fragmenting consciousness never to return, to simply dissolve forever.

  Even as she toppled, though, she knew she would awaken, and that her future would be something she could never have conceived. In her heart she knew Bob’s murder had not been a completely accidental act on her part; she was guilty too. Now she would be Hindquist’s dog, and everything would turn out as he had decreed.

  At least the nights are warm, Einstein thought, counting his blessings. Imagine if you’d run off in the middle of winter, when it does nothing but blow, and thunder, and pour buckets.

  He shivered just thinking about it. As a domestic he’d often seen strays slinking out of the Nicomekl, but Einstein never imagined he might find himself in such circumstances, estranged from his home and his humans. Now he took comfort in the knowledge that he’d always treated strays kindly.

  Enough daydreaming, though, he snorted. I’ve got to fetch my dinner.

  He cocked his head at a plump squirrel, scrabbling around the base of a maple in Nicomekl Park. Don’t worry, he chuckled at the uncomprehending creature. There were plenty of squirrels, of course, and frogs, and field mice. All these creatures were his friends, though. They trusted him and he didn’t have the stomach to betray them. I’d rather die than start snacking on the local wildlife.

  That left one option: dumpster dining. He trotted down the path that led out of Nicomekl Park toward Fraser Highway and Langley’s restaurant district. What will it be tonight? he mused. Oriental? French? Italian? He decided on seafood, making for a fish and chip shop on Salt Lane.

  It had taken the better part of a week to lope back from the Okanagan to Langley, and he still wasn’t sure it had been right to come at all. But he knew Langley, and probably had a better chance of surviving in his hometown, even if it was closer to the enemy. It’s also closer to my best friends, he reminded himself, and they might need him on short notice. So Langley it was.

  In time he might be able to establish contact with his family. Not yet, though. AMOS would certainly be watching and any attempt to communicate would endanger the Smiths as well as him. The only thing to do was survive and bide his time.

  Passing by the brightly lit front window of the Codswallop Café, Einstein glanced in at the patrons forking in home-cut fries and chunks of battered fish slathered with tartar sauce. He licked his chops and hurried on, turning into a narrow gap between the Codswallop and a pawnshop next door. Darkness had gathered in the brick and mortar canyon, but Einstein saw no reason to be afraid. If AMOS operatives had been onto him, he would have known; there wasn’t a human alive who could tail a SMART dog without being spotted.

  Halfway down the gap, though, these careless thoughts evaporated and the hair stood up along the ridge of Einstein’s back. Eyes! In the waning light at the far end of his route a pair of eyes glinted.

  Uh-oh. Einstein swallowed. No sense picking a fight. Plenty of dumpsters in this town. Maybe I’ll go up to Han’s and eat Chinese. He turned just in time to see a silhouette move into the other end of the canyon.

  Trapped, Einstein thought. Shoot!

  He’d been careless. It was no time for self-criticism, though. He had to think very seriously about his next move.

  The best chance would be to take a run at the street end of the gap, bowling over his opponent and making for the open. If he could get out onto Salt Lane he could make a run for it. More room to manoeuvre, he calculated. And if he did get knocked down, the noise of a fight would draw humans, who might intervene. He didn’t want to think what would happen if he got swarmed in the alley behind the restaurant. He was about to charge when another dog joined the figure at the street end of the tunnel.

  Change of plan! He turned again to face the lone challenger at the lane end. Stiff-legged and growling, his adversary advanced steadily. Behind him, the other two had broken into a run and would be on him in a second. Time to move.

  With bared fangs he launched himself at the lone assailant. One miniscule glimmer of hope remained, but it depended on his adversary bracing for a furious, head-on attack. Adrenaline kicked him into high gear, but Einstein’s mind remained clear and calm as he closed on his adversary. Wait, wait, he told himself . . .

  Then it happened: his opponent crouched, lowering his centre of gravity in preparation for the inevitable collision.

  Now!

  Einstein vaulted up and sideways, a movement that momentarily
confused his foe. Springing off the wall, he barrel-rolled and righted himself, landing behind enemy lines.

  Yahoo! he whooped.

  His attacker barked furiously.

  At full tilt Einstein rounded the corner into the alley behind the Codswallop. He’d bought himself a fraction of a second, no more. A lone dog couldn’t outrun a pack on open ground. Packs were a formidable kind of creature that encircled and engulfed, cutting off angles and pouring around corners. Packs killed! He’d dodged them, but now he needed obstacles, diversions to disperse them and throw them off. He didn’t stand a chance in the back alley.

  Light! The bright rectangle of the restaurant’s open kitchen door. Cooks, tables, chairs! Einstein streaked into the Codswallop.

  Get him! the enemy leader barked in hot pursuit.

  “Hey!” a human in a white uniform yelled.

  “Ayeee!” a waitress screamed.

  Einstein’s claws scrabbled on the polished tile as he skittered into a kitchen helper carrying a stack of dishes. Suddenly it rained plates. They crashed and shattered on the floor, startling his pursuers as they swarmed into the kitchen. The split-second pause gave Einstein the opportunity he needed: he barged through the swinging doors into the dining room.

  “I’ll kill you!” the chef bellowed. “I’ll kill every last one of you damned mutts!”

  Now the pursuers were pursued. The leader tumbled out of the kitchen, followed by his partners and the red-faced cook wielding a meat clever. Einstein darted under the nearest table, but was exposed when the screaming patrons tipped it over, desperate to get away. Shouts, the clatter of falling cutlery, the thump of the chef’s cleaver . . . Einstein couldn’t ask for more diversions than they’d triggered in the Codswallop Café, which was quickly being reduced to chaos.

  One problem, though: if he couldn’t escape the pandemonium he’d brought down on the place, it was only a matter of time before the chef’s cleaver found its mark.

  Summoning all his speed and courage, he accelerated across the room toward the diners he’d glanced at earlier from the other side of the front window. The wide-eyed couple watched his charge in disbelief, the man still holding up a glass of wine, the woman a forkful of fish. Einstein launched himself, bounded off the teetering table and crashed through the window in a shower of glass onto the sidewalk outside. He didn’t stop to examine his wounds. Gathering all his strength he ran for his life, chased by the rants of the apoplectic chef.

  As he pulled away he became aware of other sounds following him: the steady patter of canine paws. Einstein glanced over his shoulder and, sure enough, the pack was still on his tail. Far from looking savage, though, his adversaries were laughing hysterically.

  Slow down! the leader gasped.

  Talking dogs! The realization struck Einstein like a lightning bolt. But he didn’t slacken his pace. Leave me alone! he growled.

  No! Please. I promise we won’t hurt you. Dog’s honour. Ha ha ha! Never seen anything so funny in my life. Did you see the look on his face? Ha ha ha.

  Einstein stopped dead.

  Cap?

  He turned, allowing his pursuer to come nose-to-nose.

  Cap? Is that you?

  Cap frowned, then grinned. Einstein?

  The two of them were still yipping and wagging joyfully when Breeze and Blizzard caught up. Barking and yowling, they joined in the celebration. Libra’s litter was back together . . . all of them, minus one.

  “Life goes on,” Bertrand supposed. “Even without Einstein.” He sighed, sipping at his mocha. “But I miss him, Airee.”

  “Me too,” she consoled.

  They were sitting in the courtyard of McBurney’s Coffee Shop, a place they’d often chosen in the past because Einstein could join them.

  “Everywhere I go reminds me of him.”

  “If we only knew where he was and what he was doing, that would be a relief,” Ariel said. “It’s not knowing that’s driving me crazy.”

  Bertrand had seen a show once on the Knowledge Network about people who had lost an arm or a leg. For a long time they would try to grab something with a hand that wasn’t there or walk on a leg that had been amputated. “That’s what it’s like not having Einstein around,” he explained.

  “He’ll be back,” Ariel said with as much conviction as she could muster. “And the three of us will free Genie and the others. You’ll see.”

  Bertrand had to believe it. Einstein would get in touch. Somewhere, sometime he would send a message.

  Whump!

  The paper boy, doing his route up Fraser Street, decided they needed a copy of the Langley Advance and had tossed it onto the table as he cycled by.

  “Thanks!” Bertrand shouted doubtfully, recognizing the boy from school. Then he looked at the front page headline and gasped.

  DOGS TRASH EATERY,

  TOUGHER BYLAWS SOUGHT.

  Stunned, he and Ariel read the article: plates smashed, tables knocked over, windows shattered, a pack of four dogs. They couldn’t doubt Einstein was involved, but none of it made sense.

  “Unless he’s formed a gang,” Ariel suggested.

  “He doesn’t need a gang!” Bertrand protested. “And a stunt like this certainly wouldn’t help him.” He jabbed at the newspaper in disgust. “Einstein knows he has to lay low, not smash plates and get himself plastered all over the news.”

  A strange sensation interrupted Bertrand’s train of thought. He cocked his head like a dog listening to a high pitched whistle.

  “What?” Ariel wanted to know.

  “Shhh!” he hushed. “I-I can’t be sure, but I think someone’s beaming me a telly.”

  “Einstein?” Ariel asked, excitedly.

  The transmission shimmered in Bertrand’s brain: rattling leaves, dappled light. Whoever was sending it did not want to show herself, but did want him to go someplace, someplace vaguely familiar.

  “Come on,” he said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t know, but we’re being called by a SMART dog, Breeze I think.”

  “Breeze! But . . . ”

  “Quiet,” he shushed. “AMOS might have us under surveillance. We don’t want to give ourselves away.”

  Suddenly, as they mounted their bikes, the mental fog cleared. He recognized Nicomekl Park. He was to go there.

  Not directly, the SMART dog warned, talking now. Twist and turn. Cover your tracks. I’ll follow and watch for a tail.

  Bertrand passed on the news to Ariel. “It is Breeze. I’m sure of it,” he said. “But she’s sending talkies just like Einstein and Genie.”

  They whirred along in silence for a while, both wondering what kind of rendezvous they were headed for.

  At last they wheeled under the canopy of trees into the Park. Stopping at a concrete picnic table, Bertrand scanned the clearing behind them for any sign they were being followed. Nothing. Then another mental image took shape. He recognized a warren inside a blackberry thicket with a grove at the far end. The trunk of an enormous Sitka spruce occupied the centre of the clearing.

  “Where to now?” Ariel asked as they set off again.

  “The Grove.”

  They pedaled down a rolling green onto the path that followed the curve of the Nicomekl. About halfway between First and Second Bridge they dismounted and wheeled their bikes into a dim, musky tunnel formed by overarching vegetation. Bertrand shivered, partly because of the coolness of the air, partly because he was excited. At the entrance to The Grove he stopped to reconnoitre. The spot was deserted, unless someone lay in hiding behind the trunk of the spruce.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Wait, I guess,” Bertrand said, although he wasn’t sure himself. “This is the place I was told to come to.”

  “Told by who, though? Was it really Breeze?”

  “Hello!” Bertrand hollered.

  Not so loud! a familiar voice scolded from deep within the thicket. We’re waiting just to be sure you weren’t followed.

 
“Einstein!”

  Not so loud! Einstein repeated.

  “It’s him, Airee!” Bertrand cried, hugging her excitedly because there was no one else in the vicinity to hug. “It’s Einstein!” “Einstein?”

  “Yes!” he whooped. He heard other voices, too. “And Cap, and Blizzard, and Breeze,” he reported. “They’re all here!”

  “And Genie?” Ariel asked hopefully.

  Bertrand listened, but slumped perceptibly. “I don’t hear Genie,” he said.

  A shadow of sadness clouded Ariel’s eyes, then she smiled bravely. Incredibly bravely, Bertrand realized, filled with admiration for his friend.

  They spent a long time catching up. Cap listened to the stories of Einstein, Bertrand, and Ariel, then told the stories of himself, Blizzard and Breeze, how they’d been condemned by Hindquist and freed by Bob Gowler.

  We’re perfectly able to fend for ourselves now and we’re going to stay free, he concluded.

  “You mean you want to stay wild?” Bertrand asked.

  Yes. We’ve had enough of humans, present company excepted.

  Bertrand couldn’t argue, not after what had happened to the dogs at AMOS. But it seemed a shame that Einstein’s brothers and sister would be banished to the wilds, hated and hunted by humans.

  At last Bertrand asked what had happened to Genie, a subject Cap and the others seemed to be studiously ignoring.

  She’s still with Hindquist, Breeze said.

  And gone over to his side, Cap added contemptuously.

  She’s his dog now, the first in what’ll be a long line of “canine operatives”.

  What are ‘canine operatives’? Bertrand asked.

  That’s why he kidnapped us. He wants to create an army of SMART dogs, all of them loyal to him. He’s got a training facility all set up, and his head scientist, a cursed creature named Molar, has developed special gear that transforms dogs into four-legged killing machines. Genie is the prototype. So much for her superior intelligence.

  Cap! Breeze growled. She’s our sister.

  She’s our enemy, he shot back.

  They both raised their hackles and bared their fangs. There might have been a fight then and there if Einstein hadn’t intervened.