Dogs of S.T.E.A.M.

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “That’s what I thought too,” Artemus Gordon said. “But what if they tried to cross that area with the machine, coming from the east? Could they get across without being noticed?”

  “It’s possible,” Gearhead said. “Even with all the patrols out, London is huge and there are plenty of alleys and by-streets where they could go without being seen.”

  “And if they were seen by one or two dogs, those witnesses could easily be taken care of, couldn’t they?” Yoda pointed out.

  “Yes, I fear you are correct, Yoda,” Gearhead admitted. “Life is not sacred to Lord Cerberus. Any dog who crosses his path is more likely to be put down than not.”

  “Where is this leading?” Yoda asked.

  “If Lord Cerberus has a lair in Westminster or Soho, or even the City, he has…”

  “No, not the City,” Gearhead countered. “There are almost no residences in London’s financial district, but it is too well patrolled. Not only is there the City of London Police and its City Canine Division, there are at least two or three private sentries, Companion and canine, per block, all posted by the banks, counting houses and mercantile concerns headquartered there.”

  “All right, if we eliminate the City and just include Soho and Westminster so much the better,” Artemus Gordon said. “By going to either of those two places, he puts himself convenient to several of the tallest buildings, especially…” He sorted through the plans he had been given, found the one he was looking for, and pushed it to the other dogs. “Especially this one.”

  “Hey, that’s…” Again Yoda searched through his mental vault of old British films and Doctor Who episodes. “That’s Big Ben.”

  “It’s the North or Clock Tower,” Gearhead corrected. “Big Ben is the nickname of the bell inside the clock mechanism.”

  “Potato, po-tah-to,” Yoda snapped. “Either way, it’s a big old tower in the heart of London.”

  “Not that old,” Gearhead protested. “Less than thirty years. It went into operation in 1859, just ten years after the rebuilding of the Royal Palace at…”

  “More than century,” Yoda interrupted. “Even longer if you start counting in dog years.”

  “From my point of view, it’s…”

  “And it’s tall, really tall, just over three hundred feet,” Artemus Gordon pointed out hurriedly. “According to what I can make out, if he could get the machine in, he would be able to make it almost all the way to the top without being seen.”

  “Yes, and he would be higher than he could ever hope to get in St Paul’s,” Gearhead said. He shouldered the dog affectionately. “It looks like you on onto something. Well done, Artie.”

  “Really I would rather be…”

  “Of course, that does not mean we stop looking for alternate sites, since you’re talking about invading a structure that is part of the Houses of Parliament and the Royal Palace,” Gearhead said. “I agree, this looks quite promising, you may even be correct, but we must give Quigley several…”

  “And Levi,” Yoda interjected.

  “Oh, yes, your alpha as well,” the Corgi-mix amended. “The two of them have hit it off quite well, it seems.” He paused a moment in silent contemplation. “I suppose we owe it to both of them to try to do as well by each other, follow their example, so to speak. Shall we put our differences aside, Yoda?”

  “Fine by me,” Yoda agreed. “I would rather have you as a friend than a foe, or even a frenemy.”

  “A what?”

  “I can understand how the thought of being fictional might be upsetting.” Yoda recalled how he felt as he had listened for the softly clacking keys of a typewriter in the sky. “Yeah, it’s really upsetting. Let’s forget about it, and just agree that both of us are real, not characters in a book. Deal?”

  “Fine by me, as well,” Gearhead agreed, wishing he could completely rid his mind of doubt, and fully understand the other dog’s unique and confusing argot. “Considering the emergency in which we find ourselves, perhaps we might postpone a telling of Gelert’s life until a more opportune time.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Yoda said. “If it’s as important as you say it is, it’s something I want to know.”

  “It’s the foundation of our world,” Gearhead asserted.

  Yoda had annoyed him greatly at first, not only because of his comments about his Companion and their Time Machine, but with his overall attitude. Now, he had to admit that Yoda was not such a bad chap when one got to know him, even if the Pomeranian’s words did at times leave him shaking his head. But his friend Artie he had liked from the very beginning. He seemed a bit timid, even naive, but no more than he himself had been when first recruited by S.T.E.A.M. There was certainly no shortage of courage in the Gordon Setter, charging into that chapel alongside him as he had.

  “Well, let’s all get back to work then,” Gearhead said. “You’ve done a great thing, Artie, a cracking good piece of deduction, but we need to give Quigley…and Levi…as many options as possible. But well done, you. See what else you can come up with. We’ll make a S.T.E.A.M. agent out of you yet.”

  “I wish you would call me…”

  “There is one thing I would really like to know before we dig in,” Yoda said. “Why S.T.E.A.M.?”

  “Why…” He looked momentarily confused. “Oh, I see what you mean, old chap. It means Sentiently Teamed Extraordinary Animals Ministry—S.T.E.A.M. And do you know why those terms were chosen?”

  “Because someone thought it was cool to spell out ‘steam’,” Yoda guessed. “And it sounds awesome to say ‘S.T.E.A.M. dogs’ to some dirt-bag mutt before chucking him into the pokey.”

  “I dare say you are right in application,” Gearhead said. He did not totally understand Yoda’s vocabulary, but he got the gist of it. “But it’s more because it ideally describes who and what we are. We are sentient, we are assigned to teams, and we are extraordinary animals in every way.”

  Yoda’s gaze narrowed. “Yes, but you’re assigned to packs, not teams, and you use only dogs, not animals in general. So, shouldn’t it really be S.P.E.D.M.?”

  “Absolutely not, Yoda.”

  “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t spell ‘steam,’ would it?”

  Yoda laughed so hard he nearly fell over. “No, I don’t suppose it would. Well, let’s get busy and fry some bacon before the pan gets cold.”

  Yoda plunged happily into the documents he had been assigned. Gearhead sniffed the air but did not smell any bacon, though he would have liked to. He looked to Artemus Gordon, but the dog shrugged and returned to his task. What other linguistic horrors did the future hold? Gearhead shook his head and turned his efforts to finding a solution to their problem.

  * * *

  “Do you think we’ll get back home?” Groucho asked.

  “Less talk, more observation,” Smokey advised softy.

  “Oh, I am,” Groucho assured him. “I just wondered if you think we’re stuck here.”

  “No, Levi will find a way; he is clever.”

  “Hard to believe we’re more than a century before I was born. Hey, I could even meet my great-great-great grandsire and…”

  “Did you know your parents?” Smokey asked.

  “No, not really,” Groucho admitted. “I remember getting milk, then food that was brought back. When the food stopped coming, we came out from under the bush where we were birthed and started fending for ourselves. Dum-Dum and I had to help Little Kitty with food or she would have starved. Never meant to be feral.”

  “If you don’t know your parents,” Smokey said, “you would not know your ancestors.”

  “I suppose so,” Groucho sighed, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “But I’ve always wished…”

  “Wishes are less important than hope,” Smokey said. “Every fool cat has wishes, but wise cats have hopes.”

  “Can’t wishes come true, Smokey?”

  “Only if you have hope,” Smokey said. “Had I merely wished for a better life, I would e
nded up caught in a cat-snare in the meat district of Riga or bested in a dark alley by some young tom seeking to make a reputation for himself.”

  Groucho almost laughed at the idea of any cat beating Smokey in a fight, fair or foul, but the serious note in his friend’s voice kept him silent. They continued prowling the chill London night, seeking signs of Lilith. They bounded from corner to corner, from rooftop to rooftop flitting along streets and drainpipes like shadows.

  “Have you ever been to London, Smokey?” Groucho asked.

  They had paused to rest upon a cornice of the London Library overlooking Regent Street, just south of Soho. A few steamers and horse-drawn cabs made their way slowly. A rising mist softened the glare of the gas lamps, reducing them to radiant halos.

  “Many times on freighters.” The black-and-silver tom surveyed the scene below. “But, of course, it was not like this.”

  “Yes, I imagine not.” Groucho gazed at the street . “A simpler time, I guess.”

  Smokey chuckled. “Not so simple, I think. Those dogs do much the same work as our friends, but can you imagine Levi allowing any Companion to do more than open a door? The relationship is complex, and I wonder if by working so closely with Companions they are not exposing the Companions to dangers they would not otherwise face.”

  “Like when Levi let K-9 agents help with the Master,” Groucho ventured, “but made sure the regular police were not involved?”

  Smokey nodded as his gaze swept the night.

  “At least it’s a different world,” Groucho suggested.

  “Upon the surface,” Smokey agreed. “But cats still face the same dangers they always face in a city, and Companions still rush about aimlessly in a…”

  Groucho felt Smokey tense, felt his own muscles tighten. The big tom had stopped sweeping the darkness. Groucho followed the line of Smokey’s laser-straight gaze and saw vague shapes moving furtively in the mist, keeping mostly to shadows. Listening intently, he heard the faint creak of an axel turning, the fainter crunch of a wooden-spoked wheel against the roadway.

  “Is it…” Groucho started to ask.

  Smokey motioned for silence and leaned forward. His eyes widened and the vertical slits of his pupils dilated. Like all cats, Smokey was slightly nearsighted, which made it difficult for him to pick out faraway details, but his vision was shifted toward the ultraviolet and there was a small structure behind his pupils called the tapetum. It reflected light back into his eyes, light otherwise lost. It was the secret of cats’ superlative night vision.

  Groucho followed Smokey’s example.

  To them, mist evaporated and the gaslight dimmed. Although they could not identify the individual dogs pulling the small cart or the ones providing security, they easily picked out the misshapen runt who had interfered with Yoda at the church, and there was no mistaking Lord Cerberus in the lead for any other dog in the world. The machine rested in the back of the cart, and the dark lump atop it could only be Lilith.

  “Kikmora.” Smokey whispered.

  * * *

  Lilith shifted uneasily atop the Time Disruptor as they slowly made their way out of Soho towards their ultimate destination. She lifted her head and gazed about warily.

  What is it, Lilith? Lord Cerberus queried, though the other dogs noticed nothing but the slightest pause in his fluid gait.

  I do not know, there is something… She stood and swept her gaze through the misty darkness. Her acid-bright eyes flared as she penetrated the night. Someone is watching…I can feel…

  In Soho, after repairs to the machine had been effected, they switched the makeshift sled for a quieter, less noticeable dogcart. Even though the streets were patrolled by canines from Scotland Yard and the military, as well as packs dispatched by S.T.E.A.M., they evaded detection by keeping to alleys and side roads, utilizing Lord Cerberus’ keen senses to avoid their foes. Now that they were beyond Soho’s ancient boundaries and nearing their goal, wider avenues predominated and larger buildings afforded their enemies more vantage points from which to watch for them.

  We must not be denied our destiny in this timeline, he thought. Do what must be done. And do it quickly.

  To the dogs escorting the Time Disruptor across London, it seemed as if Lilith leaped from atop the machine, bounding into the night, for no discernable reason, but they had learned long ago not to question her actions. To do so meant risking a clawed face. When her claws wounded, a painful death followed close behind.

  Lilith vanished into the darkness, leaving the group to continue without her. She would catch up before the appointed hour, for it was vital she be at Lord Cerberus’ side, at the vortex’s focal point, when he activated the machine. If not, she would be caught in the changes sweeping the timeline, endangering her very existence. She and Lord Cerberus had suffered through many travails together, but she knew he would not delay his plan one moment for her benefit.

  She and her kind had served the Lords of Sindhu for countless generations, ever since both species had emerged from the primeval jungle. By serving the canine masters of the subcontinent the cats of Sindhu had escaped the subjugation that came to every other beast. There was, of course, a price to pay, changes to mind and body, an abandoning of the precepts of Primal Cat, but it was a small price to pay for survival and triumph.

  Lilith was telepathic only when communicating with the Lords of Sindhu, and only fully so when touching Lord Cerberus’ mind. With other species she had to vocalize, hence the value of her race to the Lords of Sindhu, though she could gather vague impressions of feelings and emotions, except fear, of course. Sensations of terror and dread came to her clearly, and she savored them, lingered over them as if they were savory delicacies.

  Guided only by an impression, Lilith ran alongside a building, then clambered up a vine-covered wall onto a ledge. She passed grated windows totally uncurious about anything inside. She made her way up, story after story, following the sensation that had alarmed her. As she topped the building, crawling over the parapet, she flattened her body, drawing her ears back, ready to pounce upon any foe at the slightest detection of danger.

  She gazed across the rooftop, but saw nothing that would have aroused any unease. She looked back and saw the dogcart moving out of sight. She started to turn and make her way down.

  “Kikmora.” a soft gravelly voice murmured.

  Lilith whipped around, eyes ablaze, fur bristling, claws fully extended. The pale lightning pattern emanating from her face and wrapping around her body almost seemed to flicker.

  “Show yourself,” Lilith demanded.

  A cloud of black and silver that had seemed nothing more than part of the swirling mist separated itself from the night and moved toward her. It resolved into the form of a very large cat. She did not understand how she could have missed him.

  “Kikmora,” Smokey murmured again.

  “Now, that is a name I’ve not heard for ages,” Lilith said. “I do not know you, but why should I? You are merely a mortal cat.”

  “All cats are mortal,” Smokey said. “All cats have but one life, contrary to what many believe, as I must remind a young friend of mine from time to time.”

  Lilith sniffed the moist air, shifted her gaze, then looked back to Smokey. “Yes, there was another. Where is he?”

  “Away from the field of battle,” Smokey replied. “Carrying out an errand, though reluctantly.”

  “He has left you to die alone.”

  Smokey shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”

  Lilith sneered at the big tom. “Others have stood against me, but all have fallen. To those who think of me merely as a cat, I bring lingering death by my very touch; even those who know I was bred to battle the enemies of the Lords of Sindhu make the mistake of thinking I can be defeated by tooth or claw. That which is mortal cannot kill that which is not.”

  Smokey grinned, the pink tip of his tongue extending slightly in mirth. “We shall see.”

  * * *

  Groucho’s lungs bu
rned, his muscles ached, but he dared not slow down. He had to reach S.T.E.A.M. headquarters, had to bring Levi and the others. He had to save Smokey.

  It was the hardest thing he had ever done, leaving Smokey to face Lilith alone, but he knew they could not defeat Lord Cerberus without the dogs. He did not know if Smokey could actually defeat Lilith, but if Smokey could not, he did not know who could.

  The Calico ran not as if his own life depended upon reaching Levi, but as if Smokey’s did. Of the two, he knew which was most important to him.

  Chapter 11: Deadly Claws

  1887

  London

  Earth 2

  “Quite impressive,” Quigley said. “Very thorough.”

  “Thank you, Guv,” Gearhead acknowledged.

  “Wouldn’t have been able to do it nearly as quickly without Artemus Gordon’s help,” Yoda pointed out.

  Quigley glanced at Gearhead.

  “Yoda’s right, Guv,” the Welsh Corgi-mix agreed. “Without Artie to lend a paw, we’d still be up to our withers in paper.”

  “Well done, then, Artie.”

  Artemus Gordon yawned nervously. “Thank you, sir, but if it’s all the same, I would rather…”

  The door banged open, startling nearly all the dogs. Quigley and Levi turned to see Groucho stagger in on stiff legs, stumble, and collapse to the floor. Still startled by the very idea of a cat in their headquarters, the dogs of S.T.E.A.M. were slow to respond. Yoda, along with Sunny, who had recently returned from patrol, were quick to rush to the Calico’s side, but Levi was quicker.

  “Take it easy,” Levi advised. “Breathe deeply and evenly.”

  “What has happened?” Quigley demanded, trying to edge past Yoda and Sunny, but failing. “Where is the other cat?”

  “Where is Smokey?” Levi asked.

  “We…we found Lord Cerberus, but then…” Groucho gasped. “I didn’t want to leave him…not to face her alone…”

  “Lilith?” Quigley asked. There was a grim note in his voice, for he knew all too well what happened to those who contended with Lilith’s deadly claws.