Voyage of the Dogs

by Greg Van Eekhout

  There was an awful screech that Lopside felt all the way down in his bones, and with sickening terror, he saw the fissure grow another inch. Even worse than the screech was a cold whisper. It was the unmistakable sound of air leakage. The fur on his face rippled in a distinct breeze. The crack was growing, air was escaping, and Lopside was pretty sure the entire dome would shatter.

  He clamped down harder on the nozzle, squeezing the lever and firing emergency foam without any thought to direction or target. He just needed to get the foam out of the tank, all of it, right now.

  His jaws ached and he whipped around on the end of the hose, but he held on.

  The foam started coming out of the nozzle in sputters, and then stopped coming out entirely. The tank was empty. And with another shriek, the fissure expanded.

  Daisy’s nails scratched against the plasteel surface as she scrabbled for something—anything—to hold on to as suction drew them closer to the crack. But along with Daisy and Lopside, the escaping air pulled in wads and blobs of sprayed foam. Lopside had been counting on this. The foam started to clump over the crack, and each clump that made contact stuck there.

  “Good dog,” Daisy barked, realizing what Lopside had done.

  More wads of foam drifted near them, and they batted them with paws and noses and tails to direct them over to the crack.

  Eventually, the foam coated the fissure and began to harden in place.

  The hiss of leaking air stopped.

  The crack was sealed.

  Lopside and Daisy shared silent, breathless grins. Daisy’s slobbery tongue hung from her mouth in joy.

  “The next time I get a biscuit, consider it yours,” Lopside said.

  “Okay! I’d offer to share it, but I’m really hungry.”

  “You know we don’t actually have any biscuits? These are just imaginary biscuits.”

  “Then it’s pretty stingy of you to only give me one.”

  Lopside could produce no argument against this accusation. “Prepare for landing,” he barked.

  Daisy coiled her body and thrust out her legs, pushing off from the dome.

  They descended slowly, like balloons who’d lost most of their helium, and Lopside looked forward to a soft landing.

  And then gravity took its hold again. Lopside felt like a big paw was pressing his belly, and they crashed the last few feet to the deck.

  Daisy broke his fall, and he lay on top of her for a while, catching his breath.

  “Ouch,” Daisy barked.

  Bug came over and licked her nose. “Sorry. I think I mistimed turning the gravity back on.”

  “Ouch,” Daisy agreed.

  Glancing up at the repair, Lopside doubted the scum of dried emergency foam would be enough to save them. All they’d done was patch over another problem. Maybe the patch would last only a few hours or a few minutes. But right now, at this moment, the pack was still alive. Lopside laid his head on the deck and gave himself permission to be proud of that.

  Fourteen

  LOPSIDE IMAGINED SLEEPING NEXT TO a giant aquarium. And he imagined there was a crack in the glass. And the only thing repairing the crack was a smear of dried toothpaste. And swimming inside the tank was a pack of dog-eating sharks, venomous jellyfish, and electric eels. And the eels had laser eyes, because why not? Death and mayhem and laser eyes held at bay by nothing more than toothpaste.

  Outside the dome, the star HD 24040 shone weakly like a speck of ash. The ship was still traveling from the momentum of the disastrous pulse engine firing, but the burn had been too short. Exactly how far they were from Stepping Stone, none of them knew. The agricultural dome was only equipped with short-range sensors, enough to scan the planet from orbit to find a safe landing spot, not reach out across billions of miles of empty space. Bug was working to increase their range, and all of them were working to maintain hope. It would take a miracle to reach the planet, and it was everyone’s job to survive long enough to give a miracle a chance.

  But they couldn’t work around the clock. Their top priority was to make the dome’s resources last as long as possible, and to make themselves last as long as possible. That meant enforced rest periods to conserve energy.

  Daisy lay curled in the tightest ball she could make, her nose buried under her tail. “What are you most looking forward to about Stepping Stone?”

  Bug was snuggled up beside Daisy. “I’m looking forward to cattle. I mean, I know we only have two cow embryos in the freezer, and two cows aren’t really enough to count as a herd, but if they have babies, we’ll have more cows. I want a hundred cows.”

  “That’s a lot of cows,” Daisy said.

  Bug scoffed. “It’s in my breeding. I can handle them. We corgis herd cattle by nipping their ankles to keep them in line, and I’m good at nipping ankles.”

  A wave of warm feelings for Bug passed through Lopside. They’d fought over shutting off the freezers barely more than a day ago, but it already seemed like a distant memory.

  Lopside climbed up Daisy’s back and curled atop her like the top layer of a cake. He rose and fell with her breaths. “What are you looking forward to, Daisy?”

  “I want to run,” she said. “Not like I do here, skidding a lot and bumping into things. I just want a big space where I can run and run and run, so far and so fast that I’m not even thinking anymore. Just running.”

  Lopside closed his eyes. He could picture it, her limbs carrying her over the ground like a galloping horse. He hoped she would have a chance to run on Stepping Stone. He hoped she would have a chance to grow out of her puppy awkwardness under a new sky.

  “How about you, Champion?”

  Lopside figured she’d say she was looking forward to fulfilling the mission. Or searching and rescuing. Something a pack leader would say. But Champion thumped her tail on the deck.

  “I want to swim,” she said.

  Lopside snuffled, surprised. He hated water. Water always washed good stink off him. The only good thing about being abandoned by Roro and the human crew was that he hadn’t had to take a bath since before they went into hibernation.

  “I’m a retriever,” Champion went on. “I was bred to leap into water and swim. There’s water on Stepping Stone, and I’m going to swim every day.”

  “It’s too bad we have to ration water on the Laika,” Bug said. “We could fill a tub for you.”

  Champion barked a small laugh. “Thanks, Bug. It wouldn’t be the same.”

  She sighed, and Lopside could tell she was lost in thought.

  “What are you looking forward to, Lopside?” she said after a long while.

  Lopside didn’t know what to say. Life on Stepping Stone wasn’t supposed to be easy. They’d have to grow their own food. Sometimes there’d be cyclones and violent lightning storms. And there’d be plenty of unknown risks as well. But at least on Stepping Stone he wouldn’t have to be scared of the sky cracking open and losing its atmosphere. He wouldn’t always be hungry. He wouldn’t always be cold. He’d be home.

  “I just hope there’ll be rats.”

  The pack fell silent. Lopside listened to their breathing and the small noises of the dome systems. He thought he was the only one awake when Daisy let out the tiniest whine.

  “We’re probably never going to get there, are we?”

  No, probably not, Lopside thought.

  But that was not what he said.

  “We’ll get there somehow. You’re going to run, Daisy. And Bug is going to manage massive herds of livestock. And Champion’s going to swim. We are going to be home. So we’d better be ready for landing.”

  Champion licked her paw. “That’s right.”

  “That’s right,” Bug agreed.

  “That’s right,” Daisy said with a happy lolling tongue.

  “That’s right,” Lopside said.

  Fifteen

  WARNING: SINGULARITY CORE COLLAPSE IS imminent. Warning: Singularity core collapse is imminent.

  Lopside stood atop the control p
anel and stared at the blinking red letters. Considering the dire message, the alarm that woke him should have been screamed with a great, dramatic clanging that left no doubt the Laika was on the verge of utter destruction. Instead, it was just a small beep, barely enough to annoy him out of slumber. The other three dogs still snoozed and snored in a furry mound.

  Maybe he was worrying too much. He didn’t really know how big an emergency this was, so calmly and quietly, he jumped down from the control panel.

  “Bug? Bug, wake up,” he said, nudging the corgi with his nose. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Go ’way,” Bug growled, taking a swipe at Lopside’s face with his chubby paw.

  “Okay, but just one question. How bad is ‘Warning: singularity core collapse is imminent’?”

  Bug’s eyes bugged out. Still dizzy from sleep, he made a wobbly run to the control panel.

  “So? Is it bad?”

  “EVERYONE WAKE UP WE’RE GOING TO DIE!” Bug barked.

  “So it’s pretty bad.”

  Champion and Daisy jumped up as if their tails were on fire. They raced over to the control panel, and Bug filled them in: “That unstable singularity core in the Tesseract motor I was worried about? It must have finally failed, which means the entire engineering module is being flooded with anti-gravitons. Which means in a few minutes the Laika is going to explode.”

  “Please tell me there’s good news,” Champion said.

  “That was the good news.”

  Lopside didn’t want to hear the bad news, but Bug provided it anyway.

  “If I’m wrong, instead of an anti-graviton explosion, the Tesseract motor is going to collapse in on itself, taking us and the entire ship with it, and we’re all going to be crushed like—”

  “Like a bug,” Lopside finished for him.

  “No. Smaller than a bug. Smaller than an atom. More like a single, eensy-weensy, almost-impossible-to-imagine point in space. A massive explosion is the best-case scenario.”

  Bug was panting with fear now, and Lopside’s own breath quickened.

  Champion licked her lips. “Options?”

  The dogs stared at one another in silence. No one had an idea, and as the silence stretched, the desperation of their situation became even more clear.

  “We can shelter in the garbage chute,” Bug said finally.

  That made no sense to Lopside. “If the Laika explodes or collapses, we’re still dead in the garbage chutes.”

  “Yes,” Bug agreed.

  Lopside growled. “Then why did you suggest it?”

  “The silence was killing me. Okay, what about using Rover Two as a lifepod?”

  The Rover Lopside had taken out to redirect the communications dish was no longer in an accessible part of the ship, but Rover Two was in the secondary airlock attached to the dome.

  But the Rover couldn’t save them.

  “I’m the only one who fits in the Rover,” Lopside said.

  “I know, but better one of us survives than none,” Bug said.

  Bug’s go-down-with-the-ship statement was a harsh reminder that the human crew had done exactly the opposite. They’d abandoned the ship with the dogs still on board.

  “I’m not leaving the ship without the pack.” Lopside spread his legs, daring anyone to even try to move him.

  “Affirmative,” Champion said.

  At least a full, precious minute had passed, and they were still no closer to a solution.

  “Any ideas at all? Daisy?” Champion asked. If they were hoping for Daisy to come up with a good idea, then things were really desperate.

  Daisy spit out her ball. “Isn’t the dome designed to detach?”

  It was, but not in a situation like this. The mission plan called for the Laika to establish orbit around Stepping Stone. Only then would the dome separate from the rest of the ship and use its descent thrusters to land softly on the surface of Stepping Stone. The dome’s engines weren’t designed for long-range travel.

  But what other choice did they have?

  They all looked at Champion, waiting for her decision. Lopside was glad he wasn’t lead dog. He could see the weight of the impossible choice on Champion’s face. He could smell her stress.

  She focused her eyes on him. They were pleading.

  “Make the decision,” Lopside said. “We trust you.”

  She smelled of gratitude, and then she was fully Champion again. She gave the order with commanding authority: “Separate the dome.”

  The pack snapped into action.

  Separating the dome required more than throwing a switch or two. It was a complicated process, and Lopside hoped he remembered his training.

  Daisy volunteered her back as a ladder to help Lopside and Bug climb onto the control panel. Bug pressed multiple buttons, and Lopside hit a few more. “Releasing dome anchors,” intoned a computerized voice.

  A deep groan rumbled beneath the deck, followed by huge mechanical noises, the sounds of massive steel hooks that connected the dome to the rest of the ship. KRUNK. CRONK. KRARK. WHEEZE. KRUNK.

  “I didn’t like that cronk,” Champion said.

  “The cronk is normal,” Bug assured her. “I’d be worried if it didn’t cronk. It’s the krark that scares the tail off me.”

  Lopside and Bug continued to press buttons. The deck vibrated with a low hum that felt like an earthquake as the dome thrusters powered up. Then, a gigantic whirring sound as the thrusters swiveled in the direction Lopside had set them to.

  “Thirty seconds,” the computer said.

  Lopside raised his paw to press the final button. He held it in midair.

  Maybe the computer was wrong. Maybe the sensors had malfunctioned, and the Laika wasn’t going to destruct after all. What was he doing? He was about to abandon the ship for a plasteel shelter with barely any engine power. With a single button, he could be killing his pack.

  He brought his paw down on the button.

  The computer said something, but he couldn’t make out the words over the roar of the thrusters firing. Ordinarily, the thrusters would fire just enough to nudge the dome away from the Laika. In simulator training, it was just a gentle drifting sensation. But gentleness would kill them now. Lopside had set them to fire with full power.

  The force was like the press of a giant hand. Lopside’s lungs flattened, struggling to draw air. Everything in the dome shook. The dry crops crackled and crunched like brittle paper. Steel groaned. Neatly stored supplies tumbled off shelves.

  With tooth-gnashing effort, Lopside forced himself to turn over on his back to look out the dome at the Laika. His eyes landed on the repaired crack. Flakes of emergency foam shook loose and fell like snow.

  He watched the Laika recede as the dome pulled away. The ship didn’t look so bad from here. Even the hole in the hull didn’t look too big. It was hard to believe the ship was so badly damaged they’d had to leave it behind.

  But it was.

  There was a flash of silver-white light and an expanding plume of glitter, pinpoints smaller than stars.

  Everything that the Laika was came apart in fragments—the engineering module, the command-and-control module, the crew quarters. The medical module and the hibernation chambers. The hull panels, the deck plates, the control panels. The gangways and tunnels where Lopside searched for rats. The chairs and tables in the galley where the crew shared meals. The bunks and the pillows and blankets where they slept. The beds and blankets and toys in the kennel, where Roro read them stories. All of that was gone. Now, it was just a collection of junk flying in all directions.

  Because sound didn’t travel through space, it happened in silence.

  The dogs matched the silence, barkless and breathless, watching the loss of their ship.

  And somehow, at that moment, Lopside forgave the humans. Not until he witnessed the destruction of the Laika did he understand how scared they must have been when they scurried into their lifepod and left the ship behind. They must have been desperate. T
hey must have been sad.

  Lopside let out one brief, mournful howl. It was not a howl for himself, but a howl for the humans.

  Debris from the Laika chased the dome through space like a pack of angry squirrels. Just one screw, or a bread knife from the galley, could strike the dome and crack it wide open. Lopside urged the dome’s thrusters to outrun them.

  “How long will the thrusters keep firing?” Champion asked.

  “Until they run out of fuel,” Bug said.

  “And how long is that?”

  “I don’t know. They’re designed to land the dome on the planet, not fly through space. Another minute, maybe.”

  The dome shuddered and jangled. It wasn’t going fast enough. The squirrels caught up, and Lopside flinched at every impact as small fragments of the Laika hit the dome.

  It wasn’t fair. He thought about all the things that had to happen for him to have arrived at this moment, in this place. He had to be adopted by the family with the man and the woman and the boy who smelled like chocolate milk. The man had to leave him by the tree in the park for Roro to jog by and find him. Lopside had to work hard and prove himself worthy of space travel.

  He and the other dogs had trained so hard. They’d survived so much. But Lopside didn’t think they’d survive this.

  More debris struck the glass, leaving little white clusters of cracks.

  “We’re good dogs,” Lopside said to his packmates.

  Champion looked at him with soft, brown eyes. She understood he was saying good-bye. “Yes, we are all very good dogs.”

  “Even Daisy,” Bug said.

  “Even Bug,” Daisy said.

  They sniffed each other’s butts and waited for the dome to shatter.

  Sixteen

  THE DOME DID NOT SHATTER, and for another day or another hour or another minute, the Barkonauts were still alive. That was their mission now: to survive as long as possible. If they failed to survive, nothing was possible. But if they succeeded . . . ?

  To save power, they turned down the heat so low that their breaths frosted, and they dimmed the solar lamp to nighttime levels. They turned the gravity generators down to half.