Analog SFF, July-August 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “So how is Mick doing?"

  “Better, since he's been spending days at my friend Hannah's place. He plays with her puppy all day; it wears them both out, thank goodness. Wish I had a bigger yard. I ought to start looking for another place, but I'm afraid anything with a nice yard will be out of my price range."

  If we pooled our resources and moved in together, we'd be able to afford a place with a yard—but no, this wasn't the time to say it. “It's too bad about Ernest's little dog,” I said instead.

  Tegan nodded. “You know, Ernest is a very strange man,” she observed.

  I nodded. This was certainly true.

  “The man's seen aliens,” Tegan said, “he's seen a glowing aura around people who've been in Los Alamos, he's sure that electrical lines are deadly and that magnets can work miracles, he sees giant talking birds that accompany the spirits of his dead dogs to heaven..."

  “He may really be seeing those birds,” I put in. “Vultures are big and his dogs are all small."

  Tegan grimaced. “And sometimes I wonder about all the rest,” she said. “Wouldn't it be interesting if all those crazy things he believes should turn out to be true?"

  I opened my mouth to make a derisive comment, and then shut it again. I had, after all, seen stranger things with my own eyes. Who knew, really, what Ernest Davenport had seen?

  * * * *

  The next day started well enough. I castrated three horses and vaccinated a trailer-load of cattle, and large-animal work always made me happy. And best of all, not one of these animals was dying. I had just finished with the cattle, and was making sure Aaron cleaned the squeeze chute and swing-around properly, when Kami came hurrying out to the barn.

  “Dr. Clayton,” she said, “there's somebody from your insurance company on the phone. He said it was very important."

  “Oh.” I sighed. Oh well, I had been expecting it. I picked up the barn extension, trying to keep one eye on Aaron, who tended to wander away from work when he was not under close supervision. “Dr. Clayton speaking,” I said.

  “Hello, doctor. This is Roger Slate with the Western States Insurance Group. I'm calling to find out more about this incident involving, let me see, Mr. Donald Miller. It appears he's filed a claim against you."

  “Oh. Yes. He did say he would."

  “Could you tell me in your own words what happened?"

  God, this was embarrassing. “I was on my way to the dump,” I explained, “and I had a load of dead calves on the flatbed trailer. And—ha-ha!—apparently I didn't fasten the hitch correctly. The trailer got away from me and went right into the truck lot; it's incredible really because the flatbed's a two-wheeler, and can you imagine the odds of it being balanced so well it didn't just crash when the hitch came off?"

  I paused, and there was a long silence. Unnerved, I went on. “But it was an accident, of course. Purely an accident."

  Another long silence. I was about to start another panicked monologue when Mr. Slate said, “Um, I see. But what about the cat?"

  “Cat? Oh no, no, no. Calves. There were calves on the trailer. No cats."

  “No cats. I see. And these calves—"

  “Dead. All of them. Or dismembered. Of course those were dead as well."

  “Ah.” Another long silence.

  “It really was an accident,” I blundered on. “And I'm sorry about the damages, but since it was an accident, that really couldn't be helped; I mean that's why they call it an accident, isn't it? I certainly didn't mean for anything to happen to Mr. Miller's property in particular."

  “Well,” Mr. Slate said, “that's very interesting, Dr. Clayton. I believe I'll have my supervisor get back in touch with you later. Thank you for your time."

  Well, that had certainly been an odd conversation. I hung up the phone and went to chase down Aaron, who had left all the castration instruments, unwashed, on the counter.

  In the afternoon I got called out to two calvings, both of which went smoothly and resulted in live calves. I did love a nice calving, and practically speaking, I was just as glad not to have any more dead calves that would have to be hauled off. Maybe I'd be able to put off the next dump run for a while—just thinking about it made me nervous. That insurance agent had been awfully strange, too. Why had he asked that odd question about cats?

  Oh.

  Donald Miller must have filed a claim about his dead cat, from last month. I had blurted out all sorts of information about the wrong incident. No wonder there had been so many awkward silences.

  When I pulled in to the clinic Kami was waiting with a message from another insurance agent, Karl Jones. Undoubtedly this was Mr. Slate's supervisor, seeking clarification. Without even pausing to check on Aaron's progress, I hurried to the phone and punched in the number.

  “Good afternoon,” said the voice on the other end. “This is Karl Jones."

  “Oh, hello. This is Dr. Michael Clayton, returning your call."

  “Oh yes. Thank you, doctor. I was calling about the incident involving Mr. Donald Miller, who has filed a claim against you. Could I ask you to tell me what occurred?"

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Miller brought in his cat in a moribund state. The cat was in terrible shape, with a severe case of pyothorax. Labored breathing, high fever, chest full of purulent material. Whatever the man's told you, his cat didn't get into that condition overnight. When he brought it in it was very nearly dead. All I had time to do was pull out my stethoscope and check the breathing, and the cat died right there on the table. And personally I think I have a lot more cause for complaint than Mr. Miller does. The man immediately began shouting at me, accusing me of murder, when it was Mr. Miller himself who caused his cat's death by letting it get into such a condition. The situation was completely hopeless by the time he brought the cat to me."

  I paused, and there was another long silence that was becoming all too familiar. At last Mr. Jones said, “Ah—murder? I don't see any mention of that in the complaint."

  “Well, that's what he said, whether he admits it or not."

  “I see.” Another long silence. “So, how did Mr. Miller's truck get wrecked?"

  “Truck?” I said in a small voice. “I thought you wanted to know about his cat."

  “No. I don't have anything here about a cat.” A short pause this time. “Just how many claims do you have filed against you, Dr. Clayton?"

  I put down the phone, mortified, and put my head in my hands. Perhaps it hadn't been so clever to put all my insurance policies together in one company, even though they had offered a discount. I wondered dismally how much my premiums were going to rise, and how many more lawsuits I would be dealing with by the end of the year.

  When I lifted my head I found Tegan in the doorway of my office, looking hesitant. “Michael?” she said. “There's no more appointments today, and I wondered if you'd mind if I went home early. I'm feeling tired."

  This was so unlike Tegan that I couldn't think of a thing to say. It would have been par for the course for Aaron, who had once spilled soda on his carpet at midnight and had been too worn out by the ensuing scrubbing to come into work the next day. But Tegan was never tired. She was always bright and enthusiastic and eager to work. That is—she had been, once. She wasn't anymore.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” Tegan said. “I was going to order PDS suture today, but I found out that the Maxon is a lot cheaper. Would you be okay with using that instead?"

  “What?” I stared at her stupidly.

  “The Maxon's a lot cheaper. Should I order it instead?"

  “That would be fine,” I said. “Tegan, what's wrong?"

  She looked startled. “With the Maxon?"

  “No. With you. Can't you tell me?"

  “With me? Nothing's wrong with me."

  “But you've been so depressed lately. I've been worried."

  “Oh, Michael. I'm just tired, that's all. You don't need to be worried.” She turned to go. “Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

 
I sat there in my office, staring into space for another fifteen minutes. I had phone calls to make, bills to pay, charts to write in, and Aaron to supervise, but instead I sat and tried to analyze Tegan's behavior since she'd returned from her leave of absence. Was she really depressed, or was she just trying to keep some distance between us? We'd been in a romantic relationship when she'd left, but now that seemed to have disappeared. She'd gone out with me a few times since she'd returned, for dinner or a movie, but she had been quiet and distant at those times, as if her thoughts were far away. Was it me? Was it her? Was it something that had happened while she'd been gone?

  “Dr. Clayton?” Kami said brightly, leaning into my office. “Howard Winston is on the phone. He says he has an emergency."

  A chill fear settled over me, driving away even thoughts of Tegan, and I closed the door behind Kami and stared at the blinking phone. Howard Winston was one of my closest friends, and a devoted client, but I always dreaded his calls. In addition to horses, cattle, lizards, tortoises, and hermit crabs, Howard kept some very strange pets. A family of sea monsters lived in a large stock pond on his property, and although I was very fond of them—they were delightful creatures—it was hellish trying to provide them with veterinary care. They were a completely unknown species, and every time I treated them I had to rely on extrapolation, intuition, and guesswork, which was not the way I liked to work at all. Howard kept the monsters’ existence a closely guarded secret, and would not allow me to consult with anyone else. With the sea monsters, I was on my own. And Howard had told Kami he had an emergency.

  Praying that something was wrong with one of Howard's horses, I picked up the phone.

  “Oh, Michael,” Howard said anxiously. “I'm so glad you're there. Can you come out to my place? It's Curious; he's really gotten hurt this time, and it's just the most awful mess."

  My heart sank. Not a horse, but a monster, and my favorite monster at that. And judging from Howard's shaky voice, the injuries must be serious.

  “What happened, Howard?"

  “I don't know, but it looks like he was caught in some sort of cave-in, and he looks terrible, Michael, just terrible."

  My hand froze on the phone. Another major surgery on a monster—my worst nightmare—and it sounded as if Curious might die.

  “What are you doing, Howard?” The faint voice was coming over the phone: Lynda, Howard's wife. “You'll give Michael a heart attack. Didn't you tell him it was just a laceration?"

  “But it looks so awful, honey,” Howard protested. “Um, Michael, Lynda says it isn't really that bad. But it looks terrible."

  Lynda had once worked for me, and was a world of difference from Kami. She could be trusted to know what was serious and what was not. I managed to start breathing again, and banished the visions I'd been having of Curious's death.

  “All right, Howard,” I said. “I'll be straight out."

  * * * *

  I called Tegan, thinking she would want to come with me, but she didn't answer, and the machine didn't pick up. Either she wasn't home yet, or she'd gone straight to bed with the phone turned off. Well, as long as major surgery wasn't involved, Lynda would be able to give me all the assistance I would need with Curious. But it was going to be strange, driving the long road to Howard's ranch alone.

  * * * *

  The sun was starting to get low on the horizon by the time I coaxed my truck around the last hairpin turn on Howard's horrendous ranch road. The truck jounced and jerked to a stop near the sea monsters’ hidden pool. Howard and Lynda were waiting for me there.

  “I'm so glad you could come, Michael,” Howard said, blinking behind his glasses and peering past me. “But where's Tegan?"

  “Ah, she didn't come with me. She was tired; she went home early today."

  “Tired?” Lynda said blankly. “Tegan?"

  “Is she all right?” Howard asked anxiously. “That really doesn't seem like her."

  “I know,” I said. “But that's what she said. She was tired, she needed to go home early. Now, let's go have a look at Curious."

  Howard and Lynda exchanged worried glances, but let the matter drop.

  * * * *

  All the monsters were delighted to see me, especially Curious. He plunged into the shallows and crawled half onto the bank, holding out a fin for me to grasp. He didn't really look as if he had been in a cave-in, but his huge spherical body was patterned with scrapes and scratches, and there was a long nasty-looking gash that ran alongside his blowhole. Perhaps he had been trying to get through an underwater passage that he had outgrown, thinking that he was still a smaller creature? I had a sudden sharp pang of nostalgia, remembering when I had carried all ten of the monsters around in a bucket. Now, Curious was more than twice as big as I was.

  I examined him carefully, from his whiskery wrinkled face to his three-pronged tail, and breathed a sigh of relief. Lynda had been right. Curious’ laceration looked dramatic but was actually superficial. I already knew that Curious could handle local anesthesia with no problem, so all I had to worry about was keeping him still through what promised to be a long and tedious suture job.

  I took a new grip on his fin, trying to convey to him what I would need to do. Touch provided some degree of communication with the monsters; we could pick up on each other's emotions, but unfortunately that was all. I longed to ask him what in the world had happened to him, but as was true with so many of my patients, I would undoubtedly never find out. And he didn't seem to be at all concerned about his injuries. Through his touch I could detect pain, but it seemed mild, in the background. More strongly I could feel his trust in me, along with an odd feeling of maturity, or solemnity, which was not something I had felt from the lively and troublesome Curious before.

  The other monsters floated nearby, watching as I started work on Curious's laceration. Lynda sat on the bank beside me, her feet in the water, passing me instruments and suture. Curious had rolled obligingly onto his side, so that I could more easily reach my work area, and it would be hard to imagine a more cooperative veterinary patient. He let out a low click or a whistle from time to time, but stayed admirably still. Lynda, who was visibly pregnant now, shifted position more often than he did.

  “When's the due date?” I asked her, tying off a suture.

  “Four more months,” she said. “Four more long months.” She looked at the watching monsters and gave an envious sigh. “The monsters have it so easy. You can't even tell when they're pregnant, and they only have to lay those tiny little eggs."

  "Lots of tiny little eggs,” Howard reminded her. He was sitting a little higher up the bank, studiously not watching me work. “After they hatch you have to raise ten babies, not just one.” He shuddered, obviously remembering the time he'd spent bottle-feeding his family of monsters after their parents had died.

  “Well, there is that,” Lynda said. “I wonder how Caddy and Megamouth are getting on?"

  I wondered that too. Caddy and Megamouth, two of the monsters, had mated last year, and had then moved out with the resulting offspring. None of us had any idea where they'd gone. There were vast water-filled caverns below ground here, connected with a maze of watery passages, some, apparently, too small for a very large monster to pass through. I didn't know how far the underground network extended, but I suspected that it was very far indeed. Caddy and Megamouth and their family could be almost anywhere.

  * * * *

  After an hour's steady work, I finished suturing Curious's laceration. “That's it then,” I said, struggling stiffly to my feet. Curious, looking as relieved as I felt, rolled gratefully into the water and swam out to his siblings. They splashed and touched noses, but didn't start any furious play. Were they being restrained because of Curious's injury, or was it something else? I remembered the odd solemn maturity I'd felt from Curious, and wondered.

  Lynda gathered my dirty instruments, wrapped them in a towel, and put them in my bag. “Here you are, Michael,” she said. “Thank you so much. Would
you like to stay for dinner? We're grilling steaks, and there's peach cobbler for dessert."

  Ah, dinner. I was starving, my back ached, and my feet were sopping wet. I pictured myself at Howard and Lynda's table, with a fire crackling nearby and delicious food piled high on my plate.

  “Yes, please,” I said happily, and my pager went off.

  Not now, I thought, but there was nothing for it. I steeled myself and reached for my cell phone, hoping this would be something simple, like a puppy that had lost a baby tooth or a cat with an abscess. After an hour's drive and an hour's hard labor, surely I deserved a few minutes to eat. Nervously I punched in the number and waited.

  “Hello, Dr. Clayton? This is Ernest. Ernest Davenport.” The man's voice was anxious, and I groaned inwardly. Since Ernest had no phone, and had to trek to a neighbor's to use one, his calls were rarely about trivial problems.

  “Hello, Ernest,” I said with a sigh. “How can I help you?"

  There was a long pause. Then Ernest whispered, “I don't know if I should tell you over the phone."

  “I see,” I said blankly. “Is there a problem with one of your dogs?"

  “No, no. Nothing like that. My dogs are fine."

  I tried to remember if Ernest had any other pets besides his dogs. He'd only brought dachshund crosses, one after the other, to see me, but of course I had no idea what sort of other creatures he might have at home. “Well,” I said, “I'm glad nothing's wrong with your dogs. Do you have some other emergency?"

  “I don't know. I just don't know.” Ernest took a deep breath. “Dr. Clayton, I need for you to come out to my place."

  “You do?” I said, astonished. Ernest had never divulged his address to me, in spite of Kami's efforts, and Lynda's before her, claiming that this was private and confidential information.