Einstein Dog (4 page)

“SMART dogs, Vladimir. Yes, that's right.”

“I really don't think the Council has time for that, Frank. I don't mean to be . . . well . . . dismissive, but we've got too many things on the go as it is. There's the non-conventional weapons project, T-Network expansion and the East European Destabilization Plan, just to name a few. I hardly think our fellow councillors are in a mood to waste . . . er, spend time talking about dogs, even if your SMART dogs can do tricks, eh?” “I'm disappointed,” Hindquist responded bitterly. “I thought you'd understand.”

“I do understand . . . ”

“But you're meeting with resistance,” Hindquist said hopefully.

Petrovitch nodded gravely, his jowls shaking.

“Idiots,” Hindquist muttered.

“Now, now, Councillor. We mustn't allow our little disappointments to disrupt the Fellowship of the Council. That would be disastrous. Unity and secrecy are our strengths.”

“I know,” Hindquist grumbled. “But how am I going to get them to see the importance of this discovery? Intelligence-gathering and counter-insurgency have always been the weaknesses of empires. If the Romans had known where to apply their might, their empire never would have crumbled. Properly trained SMART dogs, equipped with the most sophisticated technology invented, could help us achieve global domination. They would be cheap, obedient, and capable of infiltrating just about any region. They could be our eyes, ears, and noses . . . ”

“Not to mention our teeth,” Petrovitch chuckled.

“Yes! Yes!” the councillor for America North cried, heartened by his colleague's comprehension.

“That's all very well, Councillor,” Petrovitch said coolly, “but the others do not share your vision. In fact, and here I must caution you, they question your judgment.”

“Then I must prove my point!” Hindquist shouted, banging his fist on his desk.

Petrovitch shook his head. “You must be careful, Frank,” he warned. “Remember, we are at a critical stage. We cannot afford any missteps.”

“Neither can we afford to sit on our hands when an opportunity presents itself, Vlad.”

“So you intend to pursue this project?”

“I do.”

“You will be acting on your own initiative, then.”

Hindquist shrugged, as if he were pleading guilty. “I hope to bring the Council round to my point of view,” he said. “I
was
hoping to have your support.”

Petrovitch nodded curtly.

“Does that mean I
do
have your support?”

Before the Russian could answer, the screen flicked back to the AMOS logo. “Damn!” Hindquist cursed. If only the idiots could understand the significance of his find. If only!

A beep jolted him from his frustrated daze. He switched on the link to the outer office. “Yes?” he grumped.

“Dr. Molar is here to see you, sir. And the Gowler brothers.”

“Send them in,” he sighed.

Hindquist wondered why he kept the Gowler brothers on. As for Doctor Molar, there had to be scientists of greater stature who would be keen to work for AMOS. He sighed, ushering the three through to his conference room. The day would come when AMOS and its affiliates would have their pick of the world's best minds. For now he'd have to make do.

Bob Gowler gawked at the conference room video screen as if he wished the AMOS logo might be replaced by Looney Tunes. Seeing Hindquist's look of displeasure Charlie swung his ham fist, clipping his brother smartly on the back of the head.

“Ow!” Bob complained.

“Close yer yap and park yer butt on that chair,” the elder Gowler ordered.

Bob yipped, but obeyed.

Doctor Molar watched this exchange with amused interest.

“Gentlemen!” Hindquist began. “The work you have done so far has advanced our cause significantly. Well done.” He paused to let the compliment penetrate the porridge of the Gowler brothers' brains. They were more used to threats and commands than words of praise. When Bob's pout gave way, first to a look of surprise, then to a smile, like a child discovering an unexpected A on his report card, Hindquist continued. “Now the real work begins,” he said, picking up the video remote and clicking to bring Cornelia Zolinsky up on the screen.

“Hey, that's the dean lady,” Bob cried.

“Three points for the bozo,” Charlie growled. “Now shut up and watch.”

“You needn't be so rude,” Doctor Molar chastised. “Kindness gets the best results, even with lower life forms.”

“Yeah? Well you
needn't
go sticking your scientific nose into other people's business,” Charlie threatened.

“I advise the three of you to SHUT UP!” Hindquist exploded, pausing the surveillance video. He glared them down and then resumed his presentation. “Charlie, I want you to note the layout of our target as we go through the video.”

“Target?”

“Yes. You need to gain access to Professor Smith's laboratory. I want you and Bob to install some remote sensing equipment and copy data from his computer hard drive.”

“Bug the joint and steal some industrial secrets,” Charlie translated.

“Precisely. We're heading toward the entrance of the Stafford Building now. Watch closely,” Hindquist admonished, pointing out the woefully inadequate security at Triumph University.

“Doctor Molar, you'll be interested in this next bit,” he noted as Professor Smith began his guided tour of the SMART lab. “This is where they test the dogs. With the information from Professor Smith's computer and this layout I think we should be able to duplicate his laboratory here at AMOS, don't you?”

The scientist bobbed in agreement. “I think we'll be able to do better than that, Mr. Hindquist,” he said defensively. “I think we'll come up with some ideas of our own.”

“Good!” Hindquist smiled. “And with a brand new litter of SMART dogs as breeding stock, I think we should be in business in no time. That part's easy.”

“That part?” Doctor Molar swallowed doubtfully. “You mean there's more?”

“Oh, just one or two minor inventions, Doctor. Nothing you can't pull out of your thinking cap between now and when the next generation of SMART dogs are ready for training.” He paused, enjoying the anxious look from his Director of Research & Development. “I want you to equip our SMART dogs with the latest in surveillance and assault technology: cameras, weapons, radios . . . everything they'll need to be the most deadly canines on four paws. The equipment must be light, durable, and easily maintained. It must allow complete command and control as well as efficient information transfer back to base.”

“And you expect me to have this ready when?” Doctor Molar sputtered.

“Oh, nine or ten months ought to be soon enough, a year at the outside. I've even got a name for your inventions: the Canine Spy Pack, or K-Pack for short.”

“But . . . ”

“I know you can do this,” the president of Advanced Military Ordinance Supply insisted. “We've already developed prototypes for human use; it shouldn't be too difficult to adapt them for dogs.”

Doctor Molar reddened, but stifled any objections. Arguing with Frank Hindquist was risky at the best of times, but most hazardous when he smiled stiffly, as he was doing just then.

“That's all for now gentlemen,” Hindquist said. But as the Gowler brothers headed for the door he added, “I want you to increase surveillance of the SMART facility. I want to know everything that's going on there, understood?”

“Yes sir,” Charlie answered.

“Don't worry, girl.”

Bertrand tried his best to cheer Libra as they left the pound, but she couldn't muster even a single wag of her drooping tail. She had never given way to despair before, despite the many disappointments that had come her way. But ever since Hindquist's visit her spirits had sagged. Not even an outing on Campus Green could cheer her up.

“Why did you attack him?” Bertrand wanted to know.

The sudden gush of her emotions overwhelmed him: fear mixed with hatred. What struck Bertrand most about Libra's telly was the
scent
of Hindquist, a sour stench that made Bertrand wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Gawd,” he said. “Close the door and turn on the fan! What is that stink?”

His reaction drew a little smile out of Libra and a twitch of her tail. But the flicker of joy quickly died as a new wave of emotions welled.

“Evil,” Bertrand translated. That was the only word to describe the surge of hatred that electrified the air between them. He sensed something ancient about Libra's fury, an instinctive reaction in her species masked by centuries of adaptation to humankind, but which still lay coiled in her belly.

“What does he want?”

Libra stopped to think. After a moment an image began to materialize. A team of dogs appeared in a telly. They were hitched into a harness, like sled dogs, but instead of an elegant craft gliding over the snow on polished runners, they heaved a massive stone statue of Hindquist on a sledge through a blazing desert. Taskmasters whipped them, driving the scrawny, exhausted animals on. Then the view zoomed out and Bertrand shuddered, because the panorama now included hundreds of similar teams being driven remorselessly on with lashes and curses — not only dogs, but humans, too, and horses, oxen, cattle, every conceivable species.

Animals that had served their purpose were summarily executed, their carcasses littering the dunes.

“How can you know this?” Bertrand pleaded.

The image dissolved, but it left behind a certainty as cold and hard as naked steel: Libra would never escape the SMART lab; she would never be going home with Bertrand. Professor Smith's research had acquired a new and sinister purpose which none of them understood.

“We can't give in, girl,” Bertrand coaxed as they resumed their walk. But he couldn't blame Libra for feeling the way she did. Professor Smith refused to say when she might come home, nor would Dean Zolinsky relax her strict rules. Bertrand and his father had argued about it again just before Bertrand and Libra set out on their walk.

“I will be seeing the dean this very afternoon,” Professor Smith had said, “but the prospects of an immediate re-evaluation are not good. Dean Zolinsky was very annoyed at Libra's outburst, and as you know, the dean is not inclined to forgive. She's a stern, angry woman.”

Bertrand hugged Libra again. “I know I'm not supposed to let you off-leash, but don't you worry,” he said. “That stupid old witch isn't going to stop us from having some fun. Out of sight, out of mind.”

As a treat he planned on taking her to Campus Wood, a fringe of forest south of the green. “Who's to know you're running free in there?” he said cheerfully.

They were being followed. Libra was sure of it. She snuffled, picking up traces of human scent. She sniffed some more, analyzing the forest air: a squirrel, Douglas fir, the pungent soil . . . sweat! Whoever trailed them was pushing hard to keep up.