Einstein Dog (2 page)

“He's in a meeting with Dean Zolinsky,” Elaine said.

“Oh!
That's
what's wrong,” Bertrand groaned.

Dean Zolinsky headed up the Biology Department at Triumph University. She was Professor Smith's boss, but she and the professor did not get along. “She's a loud, pushy specimen,” Bertrand's father had once complained in a huff to Elaine. Dean Zolinsky was also the main reason Libra could not leave Triumph University: she would not give her permission.

“Your father was quite pleased to go and see the dean this time, Bertrand,” Elaine said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She has good news for once. Apparently a large medical supply firm has seen the value of the SMART project. They're going to provide funding for us to continue our research. Isn't that wonderful?”

Wonderful for you, maybe, Bertrand thought.

What his father and Elaine were doing
was
important, he realized. And Libra wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for their Sequenced Mental Acceleration Research Trials. But that didn't make it right for them to keep her cooped up in the research kennel.

Elaine squeezed Bertrand's arm. “I know you want her home,” she said, “and, believe me, Alex wants that too. But we're scientists, Bertrand, and Libra is a very special dog. She has work to do here.”

He wanted to pull away, but a welter of confusing emotions froze him. Elaine was so nice. And she really did care for Libra. And for
him
. And for his dad . . .

“Not so much as she cares about Sequenced Mentally Accelerated Research Trials,” he thought, the complicated pull of his emotions stretching him tight as the skin of a drum.

Bertrand heard the chatter of swallows skimming Campus Green; he smelled new mown grass, people, squirrels, other dogs . . . Libra wanted to go for a walk.

Her tail twitched when he glanced her way, but she suppressed the urge to jump up or whine. Bertrand knew that if just he and Elaine had been in the room Libra might have run in a few circles and licked their faces until they gave in to her demand, but Libra was reserved with Ariel present. She didn't want anyone to think of her as just a dog.

“Okay,” he said out loud.

“Huh?” Ariel looked puzzled.

“Libra would like us to take her for a walk,” he announced.

“Oh.” Ariel made a supreme effort not to roll her eyes.

Not only did she doubt Libra's ability to send “tellies” — mental images, complete with sounds and smells — Ariel also saw it as her solemn duty to discourage Bertrand from believing he could communicate in Dog. “You can speak to her all you want,” Ariel would say, “but Libra can only understand what a dog is capable of understanding.” And that was that. Any claim to the contrary she took as an affront to human intelligence.

Bertrand often pleaded with Libra to prove her powers of comprehension. It would take only a nod of her head in response to some skill-testing questions, or the execution of a few tasks no ordinary dog would be capable of. But she refused.

“Could you please get your leash?” Bertrand asked, ignoring Ariel's skeptical glance. Libra stared blankly, tilting her head like a dumb pooch confused at the babble of human speech. Elaine chuckled. “Gawd!” Bertrand complained, fetching the leash himself from its hook by the door. “You are a pain.”

As he clipped it to her collar, a telly materialized of Libra sticking out her long, pink tongue. Despite his annoyance, he had to laugh. It
was
funny, the notion of a dog defiantly giving a human the raspberry. Funny to him, at least.

“What are you laughing at?” Ariel exploded. “You always play this stupid game, all three of you!” Her outrage provoked even greater peals of laughter. Ariel flushed and, without another word, stomped indignantly out of the kennel.

“Oh-oh!” Bertrand fretted.

“Go catch up to her!” Elaine scolded, as if she weren't as responsible as he for the outburst.

Before he could protest the point, Libra tugged him out the kennel door, through the pound and onto Campus Green.

“Hey! Wait up!” he called after Ariel.

She slowed enough for them to catch up, but didn't turn.

She needed time to cool down.

When they were far enough away from the main campus, Bertrand let Libra off-leash. She danced and pranced around, daring them to catch her. Soon enough Ariel was enticed out of her snit. She and Bertrand laughed and squealed, knocking each other over in their wild attempts to catch Libra. All was well again. Or so it seemed . . .

If the children and Libra hadn't been so busy playing they might have noticed a white van parked at the far end of Campus Green. If they'd looked even closer, they would have discovered a beady glass lens, disguised to look like a search lamp, tracking their every movement. The van jiggled and bounced as if someone were moving about inside. The cause of this commotion was two scruffy characters hunkered over a bank of video screens. One of them was talking into a satellite phone.

“Yeah,” he was saying. “We've got the kid and the dog under direct surveillance, sir.” As he spoke, he watched one of the screens and saw Bertrand, Ariel, and Libra romping. “When the time comes it'll be easy,” he chortled. “They're innocent as babes, Mr. Hindquist. The professor doesn't have a clue, either.”

A loud babble forced him to hold the phone away from his ear. When it subsided the man said, “I know it's a SMART dog, sir, but we're in a truck, a hundred yards away. The kids can't see us and no dog is
that
smart.”

Another tirade erupted from the earpiece. Then there was an audible click and the line went dead.

The man snapped his phone shut, and without warning smacked his partner on the back of the head, knocking the earphones forward.

“Ow!” the technician squawked. “What was
that
for, Charlie?”

“Mr. Hindquist says smarten up, you idiot!”

“Smarten up! What did
I
do?”

“You weren't being careful enough, Bob.” Charlie chuckled, a cruel grin spreading across his pudgy face. “Don't you know that a SMART dog can smell mouse farts upwind from half a mile away? She can hear you, even if you
think
of talking? She can see you even before you step round a corner?”

“Jeez!” Bob grumbled, straightening the headset.

“Just passing on orders,” Charlie shrugged. “When the president of AMOS gives me a warning, I pass it on, okay?”

On Fridays Professor Smith invariably whipped up a dinner of ‘Leftover Stew' by dumping all the week's uneaten goop into a single pot and warming it up. Of all his father's menu items, this was Bertrand's least favorite, but there always seemed to be enough leftovers in the fridge to make a substantial glob of the stuff. In fact, quite often there were leftovers of Leftover Stew in the pot.

Mr. Smith leaned over the bubbling concoction and inhaled the fumes. “Needs a little something,” he pronounced.

Bertrand winced as his father sprinkled salt into the simmering lava. He refrained from saying anything, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation about the merits of ‘sustainable cooking'. If
that
happened, they would never get around to discussing what he really wanted to talk about: Libra.

He'd tried to raise the subject earlier, at his father's lab, but never got a chance. First, Ariel had invited herself along; then, when Professor Smith returned from his meeting with Dean Zolinsky all he'd wanted to talk about was the research grant from Advanced Medical Operating Systems.

“The president of AMOS, a Mr. Frank Hindquist, will be coming to visit us,” he'd said excitedly. “We'll have to be ready to impress him . . . especially you, 73. He'll definitely want to shake paws with my favourite SMART dog.”

Bertrand winced, remembering how excited Professor Smith and Elaine had been. He didn't like the looks of this. Didn't like it at all.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“When can we bring Libra home?”

Professor Smith's back stiffened and his spoon fell into the pot, requiring him to dig around in the cutlery drawer for another.

“Dad?” Bertrand nudged.

“Oh. Umm. I don't know yet, Bertrand,” Professor Smith mumbled. “I'm doing my best to get SMART 73 out, but it's a ticklish business.”

Professor Smith had almost fished out the first spoon, but it slipped back into the pot, causing him to mutter under his breath. Here we go again, Bertrand thought glumly. How many times would they have to have this argument?

“Why can't she come home?” he pressed.

“Bertrand! Please,” his father answered wearily. “We've been through all this before. There's no point arguing. She certainly can't come home tonight.”

“Why not?”

Sighing, Professor Smith shot him an angry glance.

“We could bring her home just for the night, Dad, then you could take her back in the morning. No one would even know . . . ”

“Bertrand!” Professor Smith groaned, giving up on the spoon and turning to face his son. “You must learn to think things through and not just blurt out whatever comes into your head. You know we
can't
simply take 73. You
know
that!”

“No I don't!” Bertrand flushed.

The professor bowed his head, summoning patience. He rarely raised his voice, and whenever he did it seemed to drain him. Bertrand sensed his father's exhaustion and disappointment. He felt badly, pushing so hard, but Libra needed an ally. All he had to do was remember
her
, caged in that dark, lonely kennel, and his determination flared.

“SMART 73 belongs to the university, Bertrand,” Professor Smith explained in a slow, deliberate voice. “Bringing her home without authorization would be theft.”

“But we'll return her!” Bertrand wailed.

“It would still be a very serious breach, son. You know that. If anyone discovered we'd brought 73 home, I would face disciplinary action. She is a research animal and the effects of her getting loose into the general population would be unpredictable at best, and quite possibly disastrous.”

“Libra wouldn't hurt anyone. You know it. She makes the world a better place. She would make this
house
a better place.”

Professor Smith sagged, leaning against the stove. “I'm sorry, Birdie,” he said. “I know how you feel, but . . . ”

“No you don't!” Bertrand exploded. “You just
say
that! You've been saying it for months now.”

“That's not fair!”

Bertrand sulked, but the hurt in his father's eyes stopped him saying more.

“I said I would do my absolute best to bring Libra home,” Professor Smith explained. “You must remember that, Bertrand, and trust that I'm living up to my promise. I said I couldn't guarantee her release, because the matter is outside my control. It's up to the university, and getting anything through the university bureaucracy is like threading rope through a needle, I'm afraid. As for the idea of spiriting 73 home for evening outings . . . do you really want to take that chance?”