Analog Science Fiction and Fact 01/01/11

by Dell Magazines

  “By put down, you mean . . .” The word is hard for her to say. “Exterminated.”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  She shakes her head, trying to settle the concept into her mind. It doesn’t f it well with her, and hadn’t with us. We spent that first year under a black cloud of disbelief and grief bound by a sense of guilt, even though none of the choices made were in any way ours.

  “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “They believed they were restoring the proper order of things. Canines on top, primates below. They left monkeys and gorillas and all non-human primates alone. Just people were wiped out. The bad uppity primates who had committed the sin of becoming the dominant species. They also left our wild brethren alone. Wolves, coyotes, and the rest remain as they were.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” I agree. “We did not ask for any of this. It was imposed on us for our own good.” I hold up my hands. “We were physically altered as well. Given the ability to walk upright. Our paws changed to hands. Our brains changed to work more like yours do. All of this was done to us by a technology we couldn’t and still can’t understand, and we were dropkicked into running the world almost overnight. They did all that to us, to the whole planet, then just left us to cope as best as we can.”

  Viola Spooner took a deep breath before saying, “So the President. He’s a dog?”

  I smile. “He was a dog. The term we use to describe what we’ve become is canifolk. A sort of amalgam of canine and human. Dog is considered derogatory.”

  She pales. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  My smile widens. “You didn’t. I think you’d like President Bill. He’s a border collie/husky mix, not a purebred. He’s smart and funny, and as president he’s trying to manage the biggest, strangest flock ever assembled, doing his best to hold this country together.”

  She shakes her head. “This is like some sort of bad movie.”

  “Planet of the Apsos,” Chloe suggests with a snicker. “Dawn of the Dalmatians.”

  “It’s not so bad as that,” I say with a chuckle, “But there is no guarantee of a happy ending.”

  “Or popcorn,” Chloe agrees.

  I lean forward, wishing I didn’t have to end this brief light moment, but I do not know how much time I will be given with her, and there are questions I need answered. “So tell me, how is it that you came to be here?”

  “Luck, I guess.” She makes a face. “Not sure if it was good or bad. Based on what you’ve just told me, when this invasion happened we were several miles underground on a long-term study of a cavern system’s ecosystem.”

  This makes sense. In the early days there were reports of humans who managed to escape being put down because they were deep underground in mines. The reports from China and South Africa were considered fairly reliable, from other places less so. In all the cases I was aware of, the people who came out found canifolk instead of people, became hysterical, and did not survive the ensuing chaos.

  “What happened when you came out?”

  “Talking dogs—” A wry look. “Sorry, canifolk grabbed us and took us prisoner.” She touches her face. “They weren’t particularly gentle. We were brought here, locked up, and have been here ever since.”

  “Dogs probably does describe your captors,” I say to lighten the tone slightly. “Back before the Change there were a number of members of the Blood Patriot movement in the area.”

  “I remember them. Bunch of paranoid survivalist secessionist whack-jobs.” She chuckles sadly. “Of course that was my view as a life-long NPR listener and contributor to the Southern Poverty Law Center.”

  “The SPLC is a lot smaller than it used to be, but NPR hasn’t changed all that much,” I tell her. “Your description is quite accurate. Some of the canifolk in this area took up the cause of their former masters, formed a pack—a militia—and took over. We really weren’t prepared to deal with this when it happened. Now we mostly try to contain it. As is typical of areas ruled by fanatics, the place is falling apart. Wolf wants to use you and your friends to stave off collapse. The leader of this mess is the self-styled General Wolf.”

  “You’re here because he’s losing his power?”

  “He has real problems and wants to sell your safety.”

  “We’re nothing but trade goods?”

  “He doesn’t have much else. Remember North Korea? That’s the sort of state operating here. A hard core of fanatic true believers, the rest of the populace cowering in the shadows. The infrastructure is crumbling. Chronic food, water, and fuel shortages. Grid falling apart. The rest of the country is carrying on a version of the trade that went on before the change. This is an economic black hole. We’ve resisted all offers to trade with Wolf. You are the offer we’re not supposed to be able to refuse.”

  “By selling—” She frowns. “You said by selling our safety.”

  I nod.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That’s the phrase that was used when we were informed of your existence. As for its meaning . . .” I stand up. “I’m about to go find out.”

  She looks up at me. “Will you get us out of here?”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I answer truthfully.

  She waves her arm to take in her companions. “We’re dying here.”

  It is difficult to keep my voice even as I say, “I know.”

  When we return to the outer room Buddy is no longer alone. He has retreated over to one corner, dispossessed by more visitors. He looks frightened and worried.

  “Pathetic things, aren’t they?” Wolf says as Chloe closes the door behind us.

  “Sad, certainly,” I reply as I take my first real look at the ruler of the Bad Lands. All images of him that make it out of here have been shaped for propaganda purposes. In each and every one of them he looks like he is posing for a statue, or to become the face on money.

  In person he is less impressive. Smaller. Older. His jowls droop and are frosted with white. He is seated in what can only be described as a palanquin. This makes me wonder if he is carried because of style or disability. A bodyguard stands at either side of and behind him; more Dobermans with Tazers, truncheons, and cold, forbidding stares.

  Wolf gestures for us to sit. It will not do for him to have to look up at us. I retrieve a chair and sit facing him. Chloe places herself beside and slightly behind me.

  “Billy-boy didn’t waste any time sending someone out here,” Wolf says with a smirk.

  I shrug. “No reason to dawdle. We have the means to move quickly and efficiently.” This is a deflection and a dig: We have planes and pilots at our disposal, and he does not.

  “You must want them very badly.”

  “We wanted to verify their existence.”

  His eyes narrow. “My word wasn’t good enough?”

  It would be easy and pleasant to inform him that his word has the same intrinsic value as the leavings in a cat pan after a mouse dinner, but it will annoy him almost as much to sidestep his question. “You obviously expected someone to come out and see them. Maybe not this quickly, but at some point.”

  He frowns, then forces a smile. “So now you have seen my little menagerie.”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  I spread my hands. “I have seen them.”

  “Well,” he says impatiently. “What are they worth to you?”

  I am silent long enough to further irritate him, and the answer I give him is not calculated to improve his mood. “I think the proper question should be this: What are they worth to you?”

  He scowls and shakes his head. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

  “I have no answer. You contacted us, letting us know you have been holding these people prisoner, and offering to negotiate for their safety. From this we concluded that you must have some sort of price in mind. I’m here to decide if it is worth paying.”

  Wolf is not used to any resistance to anything he s
ays or does, and does not like my attitude or answers. He bares his teeth. “This place is mine. I set the rules here. In my lands, and in these negotiations.”

  “Then set the rules for what the humans are worth. If anything.”

  “Anything? They’re worth a lot.”

  “Are they?” I shake my head. “This is no longer their world, and there really isn’t any place in it for them. There aren’t enough of them to breed and build up a viable population. At best they could become curiosities. Zoo exhibits. Lab specimens. Something to haul out and parade around on Change Day. We’ve done just fine without them so far. We can continue on the same way.”

  Wolf grips the arms of his chair, eyes popping in distress at my dismissal of their value. “But they’re humans!”

  We are born to hunt, to track down our prey and zero in on any weakness. In that one word and the way he says it, in his posture and the smell of him, I see and know all I need. It is as if I have become a bloodhound, and now the trail through this situation is there before my nose, luminous and palpable.

  “You have never gone near them, have you?” I say, notes of mockery and wonder in my voice. “You’ve kept them locked away, out of sight and out of mind as much as possible.”

  He strikes an indignant pose. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re afraid of them.” This comes out as both a challenge and an accusation.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Wolf growls, but his denial rings so falsely that even his bodyguards shift uneasily.

  “Then you won’t have any objection if I have one of them join us for this talk.”

  “I see no need for that.”

  “I do. We’re debating their value. We should hear what one of them thinks they’re worth.” I turn toward Chloe. “Please ask Viola Spooner to come out here.”

  She frowns slightly, unsure what I’m up to, but starts to rise. Her hesitancy is just what I need.

  “It will be fine,” I tell her. “If Ms. Spooner is afraid, explain to her that nothing worse than what came out of our flyover at Topeka will come of it.”

  She gives no overt sign that she has understood my hidden instructions. “No need to be a chicken-shit like you,” she says.

  “I prefer the term ‘overly concerned.’ No one will get hurt, or be allowed to behave badly.” I glance back at Wolf. “You will of course guarantee her safety.”

  The rebel leader looks like he’s having his nose rubbed into something nasty. “I still see no need for this.”

  “You want to bargain. This will be part of the bargaining process or we’ll go back to Washington.”

  “Go back empty-handed.”

  I shrug. “That’s the way we came. You’re not offering anything we haven’t been getting along fine without so far. But you, you need something for these prisoners. We might want them, but we don’t need them.”

  When he makes no reply to that I give Chloe a nod. She goes to fetch Viola Spooner.

  “Things are really going quite well,” I say as I face Wolf again. “It was pretty rough at first, you know that, but we’re more organized every day. No food shortages. In fact, ordinary citizens can easily find and reasonably afford such treats as fresh beef. Even steak.”

  When I say that magic word all three of Wolf’s guards get haunted looks in their eyes. One licks his chops.

  “Beer is available,” I continue as I sit down. “As is ice cream. Most communities have their own medical center. There’s been a craze for keeping cats, even having cat shows.”

  Wolf has been staring at me all through this recitation. “Why are you telling me this shit?” he demands gruffly.

  “Just passing the time. I’m not sure how much news reaches you out here.”

  Wolf starts to say something, shakes his head. “Enough of that crap. I have questions, and I want them answered.”

  I settle myself comfortably. “Ask away.”

  He leans forward, trying to make me feel pinned down. “Why were you the one sent here?”

  I laugh. “That’s easy. I was available.”

  He does not smile. “Don’t bullshit me. You’re obviously one of Bill’s inner circle. In answer to your earlier question, I do keep up on what you call news. You’re never mentioned.”

  I laugh again. “I never do anything worth mentioning.”

  “Or nothing that leaks to the media.”

  “You overestimate my importance. I got sent because I’m disposable, more of a historian than anything else. Avoiding mistakes of the past and all that.”

  Wolf is shaking his head, refusing my answer. “I’m no fool. Billy-boy sends some big, tough, smart-mouth German shepherd, and I’m supposed to believe he’s some sort of drone? If you were disposable you’d be a Chihuahua.”

  I waggle an admonishing finger. “You’re being breedist,” I say mildly.

  “Spare me your bleeding-heart garbage,” Wolf snaps irritably. “Better to be big and mean and pure-bred than some small, weak mongrel.”

  I smile. “I can see where sentiments like that have been your key to building a utopian society like this one.”

  The ears of the Dobermans prick up as Chloe comes back to join us, bringing Viola Spooner with her. When they see the human their ears go down. Wolf’s nostrils flare, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

  I rise to meet the human, smiling in welcome. “Thanks for joining us, Ms. Spooner.”

  She gives me a nervous nod. “You’re welcome.”

  I direct her attention toward our host. “I’d like you to meet General Wolf. He is your de facto owner, and seems to think you’re a quite valuable commodity.”

  She clears her throat, then says, “Do we have any voice in this?”

  “Probably not.”

  She faces Wolf. “I hope you can find it in your heart to release us from this unconscionable imprisonment.”

  He stares back at her, face impassive and body stiff. “You have not been mistreated.”

  “Not since the roughing-up we got when we were captured.” One hand strays to her lopsided face. “But we have not been treated properly, either. Bad food, confinement, no medical care. One of us has already died, and the rest of us aren’t in very good shape. You have no right to treat us like this.”

  Wolf’s eyes narrow. “No right? I run this place, and that’s all the right I need. I could have the lot of you taken out, shot, and left for the buzzards. My order would be instantly obeyed because what I say is law.”

  “No buzzards left, dude,” Chloe points out helpfully. “You guys ate them all. Me, I prefer fried chicken. Had me some two nights ago, extra crispy, along with biscuits and asparagus.” She shakes her head. “Fact is, I like asparagus almost as much as chicken. Weird, huh?”

  “Shut up,” Wolf snarls, angered that his threat has been so deftly defused by Chloe’s amazing ability to wield her irreverence like a peculiar martial art. “I will kill them if I don’t get what I want.”

  I face him and spread my hands. “Then we’re back to square one, aren’t we? You still haven’t told me what you want. Quit wasting time with threats and name your price.”

  Wolf chews on his words before speaking, jaws working on them like a bone. I can see the greed in his hooded gaze, powering his calculations. I already have a good idea what he is going to ask for; his situation dictates his desires the same way someone stuck down a deep hole will almost certainly ask for a rope or ladder.

  “I want . . . a package of things. I want the embargo to end, and regular food shipments to start arriving. I know troops have been massing on my border—” A hard look at me. “I want them to back off, and a declaration of non-intervention. I want cell phone service restored. That’s the top of the list.”

  “I see,” I say, letting my words drip carefully measured sarcasm. “You want the means to keep your cheapjack Taliban-clone amusement park from crashing down on your head.”

  It takes visible effort for him to not respond to my insult. “Call it wha
t you want,” he says at last. “I get what I want, you get the humans. I don’t get what I want, they’re dead meat.”

  I let the threat hang there a moment, then begin dialing the pressure up by saying, “You wouldn’t do that. Quit spouting nonsense.”

  His eyes blaze. “I will!”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s one thing to have anyone who frightens or disagrees with you executed, but save the posturing for your toy army. I don’t buy it.”

  “Don’t push me. I’m warning you.”

  “Give me a break. I’m not one of the credulous dimwits you surround yourself with. So get the shit out of your mouth, you old pussy, and talk straight.”

  Wolf shoves to his feet, lips peeled back in a snarl. “I’ll kill them myself! I’m warning you!”

  I laugh in his face. “Put up or shut up, you neutered old gasbag.”

  Wolf literally trembles with rage. His guards twitch uncertainly. They have never seen anyone treat their master like this, and have no idea what to do about it. Chloe stares at me, wondering why I am poking a monster with a stick. Over in the corner Buddy whimpers a low and frightened note.

  Viola Spooner and I lock gazes for just a moment. There is deep fear in her eyes, but there is also an understanding of the gamble I am taking, and her part in it.

  This brave woman faces Wolf and takes a step toward him.

  His hackles go up and he lets out a warning growl.

  She raises her hand. Points a finger.

  Wolf’s growling grows more menacing and he coils himself to spring. His guards bare their teeth.

  “No!” she calls sharply, then follows that up with the words I have been waiting for: “Bad dog!”

  Wolf crumples like he has been shot, hitting the floor and cowering. Behind him his bodyguards whimper and lower their heads.

  “Bad bad dog!” Viola Spooner hisses at him, and the lash of her displeasure keeps Wolf and his bodyguards down as Chloe, Buddy, and I move in to render them incapable of causing any more harm. One guard tries to resist and starts toward Viola Spooner with bared teeth, but Buddy lands on him like a concert grand piano landing on a piano stool made of toothpicks, the old protector of the humans never wavering in his loyalty to them.