Einstein Dog (16 page)

“I'm sorry,” he explained, “but this
is
a crime scene.”

“The mother? How is she?” Professor Smith wanted to know.

“This way,” the corporal said, marching them down the hall and into Professor Smith's lab. “Please don't touch anything.”

Police were busy looking for evidence. Methodically they examined every surface, every nook, every cranny.

“Did you know your lab was bugged?” the corporal said as they crossed the room, heading for the kennel.

“Bugged?” Professor Smith repeated.

“Yes. We found a tap on your phone.”

Before the professor could answer, they trooped into the kennel. “Libra!” Bertrand cried, seeing her unconscious on the concrete floor. She lay on her side, her tongue lolling out, eyes glazed.

He broke from the constable and his father, rushing into the enclosure and kneeling on the floor in front of her. Bertrand patted her matted fur and crooned her name gently. But she didn't respond.

“Do something, Dad!” he pleaded. “Can't you do something?”

Professor Smith exchanged an anguished look with his son, then turned to Corporal Pinehurst.

“We've called a vet,” the policeman said hopefully. “He should be here any minute.”

Bertrand stroked the fur around Libra's face and ears. Her eyes fluttered and focused for a second.

“Good girl!” he coaxed. “You'll be okay.”

She fixed him with a final gaze, refusing to let go of
her
human. For a second Bertrand thought she
would
be okay, that she‘d pull through. But then he realized she was saying farewell. She whimpered. Then her eyes flickered and the light went out of them.

“Libra!” Bertrand hollered. There was a brief catch in her breathing, a long sigh of release, and then she lay perfectly still.

Bertrand's heart stopped and a fierce wail ripped out of him, leaving Bertrand empty and utterly exhausted. He stared at her prone body until he was absolutely certain she would not come back to life, then left her, sinking dejectedly onto the chair by Elaine's desk.

“Bertrand?”

Professor Smith summoned from what seemed a great distance. Bertrand blinked and looked up. At first he did not recognize what his father was holding, but then consciousness returned and he found himself smiling through his tears.

“Einstein!” he gasped.

“The dognappers must have missed him,” Professor Smith explained.

The pup stared straight at him, no longer the cuddly ball of fur it had been just a few hours earlier.

We've both lost our mother,
Einstein said.
And now we belong to each other.

Bertrand nodded.

Our mothers and the others; they'll be avenged.

Bertrand agreed to this too. It was a condition of their brotherhood, a fate they could neither deny nor delay.
No matter how long it takes, we will find them and free them.

Then something wondrous happened. A luminescence warmed Bertrand's soul, transforming his suffering into a noble substance. Sorrow still constricted his heart, but he knew this ache would become a source of power — that to love was to risk terrible pain.

And so Libra died, Einstein was orphaned, and Bertrand bereaved all in a single night.

Hindquist paced up and down the loading dock, glancing toward the AMOS parking lot every few seconds. Things had gone well, by all reports, but with the Gowler brothers you never knew; the reports might have been false. He half expected some stupid mistake, and if that proved to be the case . . .

“Here they come,” Doctor Molar announced.

The van turned in and accelerated across the lot. It pulled up at the dock and Bob Gowler popped out of the back, the portable kennel in his hand. Hindquist's heart sank and he clenched his jaws angrily. Something
had
gone wrong. If there were honours to be claimed Bob would have been at the wheel and Charlie would have delivered the pups in person.

“Hello, Bob,” Hindquist shouted down.

“Hi, boss,” the underling replied cheerfully.

Maybe things were all right after all. Bob didn't cringe. He slid the kennel onto the platform and vaulted up after it. Charlie, with his usual bravado, squealed out of the loading area and sped across the lot.

“So everything went according to plan?” Hindquist probed.

“Yes, Mr. Hindquist,” Bob reported. “Things went
exactly
as planned. In, out, without a hitch.”

“And the cargo is safe?”

“Safe and sound.”

Hindquist resisted the urge to examine the goods then and there. The loading dock was not secure. He gestured for Bob and Doctor Molar to follow and they entered the AMOS building through the Shipping and Receiving door.

Hindquist stepped inside a huge square marked out by a yellow line around the perimeter of the shipping room floor. “Down!” he barked. From below, clicking and whirring sounds responded to his voice command, then the seemingly solid concrete tilted inside the yellow line, becoming a giant ramp descending into a subterranean world. As the mechanism lowered them, Hindquist looked straight ahead, but his mind focused on Bob Gowler. He couldn't detect any telltale signs of fear; the man seemed quite at ease.

Why, then, did the sense of failure persist, like a bad smell?

“You're sure nothing's wrong, Bob?”

“Yes, sir . . . I mean, no sir, nothing's wrong. Charlie checked the pups and said they were fine.”

“But Charlie was driving. How could he check the pups?'

“We switched places.”

“Why?” Hindquist asked casually as they stepped off the platform. He didn't look back over his shoulder, but he felt Bob's shrug.

“I dunno,” Bob said.

Idiot! Couldn't he see the implications? Every action had a reason. Why would Charlie have insisted on stopping and switching places?

Hindquist's nagging suspicion of failure intensified.

Charlie
might
have found everything in perfect order; he
might
have wanted his brother to step into the limelight for a change; he
might
have felt a sudden urge to stay topside and stand on guard for the AMOS facility . . .

“And pigs might fly,” Hindquist muttered.

They hustled through the cavernous netherworld of Advanced Military Ordinance Supply, passing aisle after aisle crammed with missiles, rifles, rocket launchers, chemical weapons . . . not too many armies boasted inventories as complete and sophisticated as AMOS. Generals from around the world turned to Hindquist when they needed the bombs and bullets nobody else would sell them.

As they marched Hindquist mapped out the future of
his
SMART project. First they had to conduct trials to see which of the pups was smartest. Information they'd gathered from Professor Smith's laboratory suggested two were superior to the others. That pair needed to be identified. “I'm only interested in the pick of the litter,” Hindquist thought. The others would be destroyed.

Then training would begin in earnest and preparations to replicate the survivors. The animals would have to get used to wearing Doctor Molar's K-packs and to following remote commands. Above all they would have to be indoctrinated into unswerving loyalty to Hindquist, AMOS, and ultimately the Global Council.

The entourage entered a passageway marked with a sign that read NO ADMITTANCE. An abrupt turn to the right, then another to the left, and they found themselves in a brightly lit laboratory: Doctor Molar's realm.

“Put it up there,” Hindquist ordered. Bob hastily placed the portable kennel on a lab bench. “Months of planning, gentlemen, and years of searching, have led to this moment. These dogs — I hesitate to call them dogs for they have pulled far ahead of the canine pack — these
creatures
shall play a vital role in the civilization I envision. They will give whoever owns them unprecedented powers of surveillance and control over subject populations. Their ears will overhear the plots of enemies; their eyes will search the dark alleys where traitors hide; but above all, their noses will detect the stench of mutiny so that their masters can root it out and destroy those who would undermine the authority of the state.”

He glared fiercely at Bob and Doctor Molar, as if he expected them to applaud. “Open the cage,” he commanded.

Bob obeyed with alacrity, reaching into the cage to grab one of the pups.

“Ow!” he cried. “The little monster bit me!”

“I like an animal with spirit,” Hindquist approved. “I do hope he is one of the bright ones.” He grabbed Cap out of Bob's hands by the scruff of the neck and held the struggling pup in front of him. Then he handed the prisoner to Doctor Molar.

“Next.” Hindquist snapped his fingers.

Cautiously Bob reached into the kennel, this time coming up with Breeze, who dangled limply in his grip. Her eyes twinkled and her tail wagged tentatively. “Placid,” Hindquist pronounced. “Not good material for a military hound. I'm certain she's not one of the smarter ones.” He gestured and Bob handed Breeze to Doctor Molar.

Bob reached into the cage and out came a third pup. Blizzard glanced around the room, taking everything in.

Hindquist's lip curled in disgust. “Frightened,” he snorted. “This one would be scared of his own shadow. Even if he is intelligent, he won't be brave. Hardly worth the expense of feeding, I would say. Next!”

Bob reached in and patted around the kennel, finally catching Genie and pulling her out. She glared at her captor defiantly as Bob handed her over. Hindquist stared back. For a long time he said nothing, holding her up and examining her. Then he grinned. “I hear your thoughts, little one,” he chuckled. “You are trying to hide them, but you cannot stop yourself from thinking what a vile, evil fellow has you in his grasp.

“Perhaps someday you will think better of me, though, once you realize that you are to be the mother of legions who will control the world. That's right! Your descendents will be the overseers of men, who will cower in your presence. What do you think of that?”

He held Genie up high above his head. “What do you think of that?” he repeated.

She peed.

“Argh!” Hindquist sputtered.

Yahoo!
Cap yodeled and the others joined in the laughter.

“Take her!” the president of AMOS roared, handing Genie to Doctor Molar, whose arms were full of struggling pups.

Hindquist wiped himself with his sleeve and hurriedly rinsing his hands and face at one of the lab sinks. “That proves your mettle and makes my point,” he grumbled, “but in the days to come this unruliness will be whipped out of you. Give me the last pup.”

Bob froze as if he couldn't comprehend the order. He looked at the wriggling brood in Doctor Molar's arms, then at the cage, then at his boss, his face white with terror.

“What are you waiting for, dolt?” Hindquist growled. “The last one. Hand it to me.”

“The last one?” Bob echoed lamely.

“Give it to me!”

“I . . . I already have,” Bob stammered, nodding in Genie's direction. “She
was
the last one.”

A cold, suffocating silence permeated the room. Hindquist glared at Bob, then turned to Doctor Molar and counted the captives. “You are mistaken,” he said icily. “I count four pups; there should be five. Hand me the last one.”

Quaking, Bob stooped and peered into the dim recess of the kennel, as if there might be another SMART dog in there. He reached in and ruffled the blanket. Perhaps the pup was hiding under it. But no fifth pup materialized. “The cage is empty, sir,” he reported solemnly.

Hindquist pushed him aside roughly and looked for himself. How could this be?

“You bloody idiots!” he howled. “Get out! Get your brother and the two of you report to my office!”

“Yes sir.”

“Now!” Hindquist roared, enraged at the mere sound of Bob's quavering voice.

Bertrand and Ariel sat with their backs against the knobby bark of a Douglas fir on the Forestview grounds. Einstein sat between them, his tiny body giving off its puppy warmth.