"You're going to come out into a parking lot. Cross it on a bit of an angle… Go to your left. No, your other left. …and you can use the dumpster to go over the fence."
And why was I still listening to the crow?
On the other side of the fence, two cats hissed insults as I went by and a small, fat dog on a rope started barking furiously. I was gone before anyone came out to investigate the disturbance but not so far gone that I couldn't hear them blame the whole noisy situation on the cats. Pretty funny.
Determining this new road went in essentially the right direction, I stopped running full out and dropped into a distance eating trot.
"Aren't you in a hurry?" The crow was on one of the wires that crossed over the street, calling the question down to me. Not exactly unnoticeable to my mind but what did I know of this world? "Shouldn't you be moving faster?"
"I know what I'm doing," I snapped. "Don't you have a flock to join?"
"A murder." She flew ahead and landed again.
"A what?"
"A group of crows are called a murder. A murder of crows."
"Why?" I couldn't stop myself from asking even though I knew any interest would only encourage her to hang around.
Fly ahead. Land. "I don't know."
"I thought crows remembered everything?"
Dawn shrugged philosophically. "Can't remember what I've never been told."
"All right. Fine. Don't you have a murder to join?"
Fly ahead. Land. "Not any more. I left because I'd heard all their stories."
"Stories? What does that have to do…"
She clacked her beak. "I get bored easily."
We went on like that until nearly full dark—Dawn flapping from wire to wire and telling me way more crow stories than any dog would ever want to know. A lot of them involved carrion. Then, as the last of the light disappeared, I looked up and she was gone. I shouldn't have been surprised, like most birds, crows prefer not to fly at night. Maybe she should have thought about that before she offered to help. I shouldn't have missed her. But I did.
As the sky began to lighten, the pull of the Gate became so strong that I knew I was close. Using Dawn's dumpster trick, I went over another fence, finding Marcus the only thought in my mind.
Which was why I didn't notice the men until I was in the midst of them.
"Holy fuck! Would you look at the size of that mutt!"
They were all around me. Something hard hit me on the left shoulder and I reacted without thinking. The scent of so many males was too strong a challenge. I whirled to the left, flattened my ears, and snarled.
The man scrambled back. I could smell his fear. A piece of broken brick glanced off my back. The sharp end of a stick jabbed at my haunches. I should have kept running. Should have. Didn't. Now they'd closed in. Too close.
I heard a length of chain hiss past my head.
If they wanted a fight…
Then I heard a hoarse shriek of outrage, a scream of pain, and the circle made up of legs and boots and rough weapons opened.
"Where the fuck did that crow come from!"
I don't know how much damage she stayed to do but she found me again after I'd gone to ground. I heard the sound of claws on gravel, looked out from behind the huge wheel on the trailer that sheltered me, and there she was. She snatched up a discarded piece of sugared bread, threw back her head and swallowed, then hopped closer.
"All right, I'm convinced, you really do need to find this Marcus of yours because you shouldn't be running around without a keeper. What kind of an idiot picks a fight with seven big burly, cranky, construction workers before they'd had their first coffee? You know, if you'd tried the roll-over 'look at me I'm so cute' schtick, you'd have probably gotten a belly rub and a couple of sandwiches. Those kind of guys usually like a dog that's big enough they're not afraid of breaking it. So, you hiding under there?"
As she'd actually paused, I assumed she wanted an answer. "Yes."
"Why?"
I glanced up at the massive trailer. "Because I fit. And because the Gate's in that building."
Dawn turned enough to study the building with her right eye.
It was constructed of the big made-stone blocks. I'd seen windows and a door along the front but neither on the sides. The back of the building, where the trailers were parked, had a set of huge double doors and one smaller one with a light over it.
"So, what do you do now?" she asked.
"I wait." This close to the Gate, I was too jumpy to lie down but there wasn't enough head room to pace. I had to settle for digging a trench in the gravel with a front paw. "I wait until one of those doors open then I run inside."
"And once you're inside?"
"I keep from being grabbed long enough to get through the Gate."
"I like a dog with a plan. But I'm warning you, it's barely daylight and not a lot of people are up at this…"
One of the big double doors swung open and slammed back against the made-stone wall with a crash loud enough to fling Dawn into the air and raise the hackles on my neck. With the barrier out of the way, the pull of the Gate nearly dragged me out of my hiding place but I'd been stupid once this morning and stupid wouldn't help me find Marcus.
Then the other door opened and men appeared carrying huge made-things of metal and plastic and glass that I didn't recognize. I felt the trailer above me shake as they climbed up the ramp.
"Hey, a film crew." Dawn was back on the ground. "I'll let you in on a secret, Rueben—there's good pickings in the garbage outside the craft services truck. These guys never seem to have time to finish eating anything."
I had no idea what she was talking about. Nor did I care.
Two of the men were in the trailer. The other two were out of sight in the building.
My chance.
Marcus.
I was running full out by the time I reached the doors. I leapt a cart just inside, smelled the sudden rush of fear from the man pushing it, scrambled along a cloth path on the floor, skidded through a room with only three walls, found myself outside but not outside, ignored the yelling, and concentrated on finding the Gate. I'd been in buildings before—once, on a high-tech world, I'd been chased through an underground structure so complicated ants couldn't have found their way around—but nothing in this building made sense! The ceiling was too high, the walls didn't reach it, and there were cables everywhere.
I couldn't find the Gate.
My toe nails scrabbling for purchase against a polished stone floor, I raced around a corner and ended up in a long hall. Three men ran toward me from the other end, one of them carrying a net. They were all making soothing sounds, the one with the net repeating, "It's okay, boy." over and over. I wanted to believe them. I wanted to lay my head on someone's knee and have him tell me I was home.
I knocked over a row of chairs, jumped a pile of cable, and ran up a flight of stairs. The stairs ended in another railing and a door. I threw myself against it.
The wall shook.
The Gate… the Gate was on the other side!
I threw myself against the door again. Someone was whining. I had a horrible suspicion it was me.
So close…
Then suddenly, the wall gave way, the stairs shook, and I jumped.
A hand closed around my tail.
The Gate opened.
I braced myself for the pain of my tail being yanked free but it never came. Instead, the grip released and sharp points of pain dug into my back.
This time the Gate dumped me on the edge of a meadow. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and I could smell both rabbits and water on the breeze. My stomach growled and I growled with it.
Ready to move on, I turned to piss on the weed growing closest to where the old Gate had been and discovered I wasn't alone. There was a crow in the grass, lying in a parody of a nest, wings spread and feet in the air. Bending my head, I snuffled her breast feathers. Warm. Alive. The sharp pains in my back suddenly made sense.
I glanced across the meadow, then back at her, then sighed and scratched.
I was napping when she finally opened her eyes but the sound of her flapping awkwardly onto her feet woke me. Her wings looked as though the edges were unraveling and she staggered three paces forward then three paces back before she caught her balance.
"Rather remarkably like flying into a hydro wire," she muttered, caught sight of me and stilled. "Nice doggie. Doggie no yell at crow. Crow have very big headache."
"Crow deserves very big headache," I told her. "What were you thinking?"
Dawn cocked her head and studied me for a moment. "I was thinking you hadn't thanked me for saving your furry ass."
She was right, I hadn't. "Thank you."
"And I was thinking that I'd like to know how the story ends."
"Story?"
"You and Marcus."
"Why do you care?"
"Care?" Twisting around, she poked her tail feathers into alignment. "I don't care. I just hate to leave a story hanging. Gives me that unfinished feeling."
I chewed a bit on a paw and when I looked up Dawn was watching me.
"I was also thinking," she said, "that dogs are hopeless romantics and you need taking care of. And besides…" Her eyes glittered. "…you're certainly not boring."
"You can't go back," I reminded her.
"I'm not going anywhere until the story ends." She clacked her beak and launched herself into the air. "So, let's get a move on."
I sat and watched her fly for a moment then smiled and shook my head. She was going the wrong way. Not that it mattered, she'd learn to feel the Gates soon enough and for now, she had me. I shook, walked out of the cloud of shed fur, and trotted across the meadow.
After a moment, I heard her wings in the air above my head.
"Any sign of him?" she called as she swooped by.
"Not yet."
The pull of the next Gate was no more than a suggestion so we had a way to travel still and Marcus could be anywhere along the path.
I could tell the crow how the story was going to end.
I would find him.
But I supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a little company along the way.
~~~~~~~~~~
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Dog Gone
By John Zakour
John thinks dogs are so cool that he sent along this second story for Connery...typically irreverent, typically fun!
~Doranna
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My name is Zachary Johnson and I'm the last freelance Private Investigator on Earth. All in all, it's a pretty good life. I get to carry a cool gun up my sleeve and get paid for snooping around. I may not always have work, but when I do it's usually pretty darn interesting.
This case would prove to be no different. It was one of the dog days of summer, which happens to be very apropos. You've probably heard the expression a boy and his dog. Well, this is the story of a big corporation and their investment that just happens to be a dog.
The day had not started well as my long time girlfriend, Dr. Electra Gevada, was upset with me. I had forgotten about a personal appearance I was suppose to put in for the kids at her clinic. I often say (but usually not out loud) the only things greater than Electra's heart and beauty are her left hook and fiery Latina temper. To say Electra was a bit perturbed with me would be as much of an understatement as saying super novas can get a wee warm. I claimed forgetting the event really wasn't my fault. After all, when you have one of the most powerful computers in the world wired to your cerebral cortex that computer is supposed to remind you of important dates.
Problem was, I had just recently made the mistake of telling HARV, the holographic interface to that computer, that I could function perfectly well without him. In fact, I would probably be happier if I replaced him with a dog. Just to prove that I couldn't and wouldn't, he didn't remind me of my commitment to Electra. I pointed out to Electra that it was really HARV's fault for not reminding me. Of course both Electra and HARV accused me of just using HARV as a scapegoat. Now, Electra was on her way to give a two-day seminar on Mars base, so I couldn't even apologize, yet. I took my frustration out on HARV.
"HARV, I can't believe you didn't remind me to make that appearance," I scolded as entered my office on the New Frisco pier. I sat behind my real oak desk, popped my legs up and waited for HARV to appear.
HARV appeared before me in his English butler mode—at least the way HARV currently felt a proper English butler should look. Which today meant just a touch of gray in his gently receding hairline, perfectly symmetrical little beady hazel eyes placed just under perfectly matching thin eyebrows, a long nose he considered regal and a little half mustache that always looked like as if it had just been trimmed. He had his arms crossed in the middle of his long lanky body and a total look of condemnation on his wrinkled, computer-generated brow.
"Sometimes I think you humans created computers solely so you could have scapegoats to blame all your troubles on! When things go right you take the credit, but when things go wrong I get the blame," HARV said. He straightened out his tux, though it really didn't need to be straightened. "If you had had me when you were 5 you probably would have blamed me for your bed wetting," he added. HARV may like to look like a proper butler, but he certainly doesn't feel obligated to act like one.
"Gee, HARV I feel for you, I really do," I said, with as much sarcasm in my voice as I could muster.
"No need," he said with a dismissing little wave of his hand. "I take comfort in knowing that without me you would be totally lost."
I pointed my finger at HARV. "Listen, HARV, man's been around for 5 million years and we've only had computers for the last 100. We survive just fine without you."
HARV threw his hands in the air and cast his eyes upward. "Woop-te-do, you managed to survive without us." He looked me in the eyes and said, "You must be so proud. You and the amoebas."
Just as I was about to bombard HARV with a barrage of witty and oh-so-poignant counter arguments, or at the very least point out to him that his ears were so big they looked liked they could act as kites on a windy day, we were interrupted. The soft features of my receptionist and probable future niece (in-law) Carol filled my left wall screen.
"Tio, you have a call coming in 30 seconds," Carol said.
HARV turned to the screen. "I detect no incoming calls."
"That's because you're just a machine and I'm a psi," Carol said with a smile that was ever so slight but still managed to brighten the room.
"I guess she told you," I told HARV. Carol was one of the few people who could get the upper hand on HARV.
"The call will be from Mr. Lee Way, President and CEO of LoveClone," Carol said.
"Sounds like the title of an old B-holo-vid," I said.
"Oh, I thought it sounded like one of your dates before you met Tia Electra," Carol said with a sly wink. Carol was also one of the few people who could more often than not get the upper hand on me.
Carol's image faded from the screen and was replaced by that of a tall lanky man. He was 50ish and had the look of a guy who alphabetizes his sock drawer and keeps a database on its activity.
"Mr. Johnson?" the man said, staring with wonder into my office. You could tell it was like nothing he had seen before. I was proud of the fact that except for the side walls of my office being giant computer screens and having holographic projectors mounted on the ceiling, my office looked like it was stuck in a hundred year old time warp. The mix of the latest computer technology along with a century-old real wood desk, chairs and lamps and coat racks that I had worked meticulously to obtain or at least simulate, made my office the perfect mix and match for these eclectic times we live in. With everything wired to everything else and news changing on the nanosecond, it's nice to have a place where I can sit back and escape the modern world. Still, it can be a bit much for some people to tak
e at first.
"Yes," I said, coaxing him back into the conversation.
"I am Dr. Lee Way, President and CEO of LoveClone," Way said, focusing on me.
A message from HARV rolled across my eyes that read LoveClone has been cloning pets since 2048. That's one of the perks of having HARV attached to my brain, he can give me very private messages.
"My company and I have been bringing back family loved ones for over a decade now," he said, in typical corporate zombie tone.
"In other words you clone pets," I said.
"We like to think of it as cloning love," he said, still in corporate zombie mode.
"What can I do for you, Dr. Way?"
He paused for a nano, contemplating what the right words should be. "My company and I need your services," he said. "We need you to find," he paused for a few seconds more, "something."
"I'm good, but you're going to have to be more specific," I said.
"One of our projects is missing. Our prize project to be exact."
"A pet?"
"Not just any pet, a very special animal."
"You're still going to have to narrow this down," I said.
Way made a gesture with his hand, the image of a German Shepherd popped open in a little window that super imposed itself on part of the wall screen.
"This is Max-9," Way said.
I peered at the image of Max-9. He was a well-groomed, sturdy looking dog, with a light brown coat. He didn't look anything out of the ordinary. I knew there had to be more to this or LoveClone wouldn't be turning to me.
"Cute dog," I said.
"Oh, he's much more than that," Way said. "He's the worlds most intelligent animal."
"Oh, I didn't know there was a contest going on."
"He has an IQ-2 of 157.9, which is far higher than most humans," Way said proudly.
"And this is good because?"
"He is meant to be the first of many companions for lonely people who have trouble dealing with other people."
The Heart of Dog Page 19
