Dogs of S.T.E.A.M.

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Then why did you call yourself Artemus Gordon?” Levi asked. “You could have chosen any name in the world, yet you choose a name that embodies hope, optimism and faith.”

  “When I was a pup, I thought the world was different than what it turned out to be,” Artemus Gordon explained. “If I had known then what I know now, I would have gone nameless…would have wandered into traffic and saved myself a lifetime of misery.”

  “Oh no, dear, don’t even think that!” Sunny cried. “Every life is precious, a gift not to be squandered. We’re all here for a purpose, even if we do not understand that purpose.”

  “Or rise to it,” Levi added. “Regardless of the environment in which you find yourself, you always have a choice—surrender to darkness and futility or strive to reach the light. You may not attain the light, but it is the struggle to do so that is important.”

  “Easy for someone like you to say,” Artemus Gordon moaned. “Good neighborhood, good Companions, good…”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sunny snapped. “If you knew what Levi went through to…”

  “It’s not about me,” Levi interrupted, before Sunny could rub some well-intentioned salt into old wounds. “It’s about you, about whether you submit to circumstances or rise above them, whether you choose to follow your dreams.”

  “My…” Artemus Gordon hesitated. How could this strange dog from outside the neighborhood know anything about his dreams? He did not want to believe Levi’s words, if only because doing so would mean risking more disappointment. He had had enough of that in his life. “How do you know about…my dreams?”

  “We all have dreams,” Levi replied. “Do you want to chase after them, or let them slip away?” He waited a moment. “Will you talk to us about your dreams?”

  Artemus Gordon hesitated. He had lived an isolated life for so long that the prospect of breaking that isolation was terrifying. But, he asked himself, was it any more terrifying than the black solitude itself. He sighed.

  “All right,” he called. “I’ll talk to you.” He looked around at the decrepit house, at the hoarder-like environment maintained by his insensible Companion. He felt an intense feeling of shame. “I am coming out.”

  He smacked the wooden door with his paw, the lock popped, and he ventured into the night. Pausing at the top of the concrete steps, he gazed down at the waiting dogs. He had seen them through the living room window, but not well. The larger of the two was a Golden Retriever, probably mixed with a Collie from the pink on her nose and the paler markings on her muzzle. The other dog was a puzzle—by his chest, head and length of body, he was obviously a Dachshund, but his ridiculously long legs were made for running and jumping, neither of which was any sausage dog’s strong suit. His age was also a stumper, for in this neighborhood dogs rarely reached the age of ten, whether from neglect or violence, but this Levi, with his white ghost-face and white-streaked black fur, was obviously elderly, perhaps as much as nineteen or twenty. Looking at Levi, Artemus Gordon felt an alien emotion—trust.

  “Come on down, dear,” Sunny said. “No one will harm you.”

  Levi said nothing, merely watched him with soft brown eyes. Alphas and alpha wannabes were no stranger to the timid Artemus Gordon, but he had never encountered one who emanated such a strong aura of quiet authority without the threat of domination.

  “We’d like you to come across the street with us,” Levi said when the Gordon Setter reached ground level. “We want to hear your story, but it would be best if all of us heard it at the same time, and in your own words.”

  “Those cats…” His words trailed to silence as he considered the terror of crossing even an empty street, of coming so close to the abandoned church.

  “Smokey and Groucho,” Sunny said. “And there’s also a dog named Yoda. He’s a Pomeranian, and you know how they are, but don’t worry about that.” She smiled as he sniffed nervously at her muzzle. “And don’t worry about crossing the street—I’ll be at your side the whole time. You’re with friends.”

  Reluctantly, Artemus Gordon let himself be guided around the house and across the street. He shivered at the rising spire of the church, but between Sunny and Levi he felt as if he were protected within a warm cocoon. For the first time since being taken from his litter he felt no fear, only a sense of well being, perhaps even a measure of hope. It was strange, and wonderful.

  At first, he did not see anyone. Then he saw the Calico and the black and silver tom from earlier. A large shape rose from the long grass, a weird and wild-haired dog. When they said their friend Yoda was a Pom, Artemus Gordon envisioned a foxy-faced little yapper small enough to fit into a purse, with reddish fur that looked as if he had spent all day with a groomer. Yoda had a pointed muzzle, but his fur was mostly black and appeared as if it had never known the touch of scissors or comb. Most intimidating, however, was his size, three times that of a normal Pomeranian, as if he were some prehistoric survival from a time when Poms ruled the Earth.

  “Hey, what are you staring at?” Yoda demanded.

  “You’re so…huge. Are you a mutant?” Artemus Gordon knew how idiotic his question sounded, and the foolishness of calling huge a dog a third his own size, but compared to other Pomeranians this Yoda was Pomzilla. “Sorry, but…”

  “How’s the oxygen up there?” Yoda quipped.

  “Play nice, Yoda,” Sunny cautioned.

  “So, you’re Artemus Gordon Setter,” Yoda continued.

  “My name is Artemus Gordon, and I am a Gordon Setter.”

  “Sounds screwy to me,” Yoda teased.

  “Shouldn’t you pointy green ears have?” Artemus Gordon said.

  “Grr,” Yoda growled, but there was no malice or threat to it. He could take teasing as well as he could give it, mostly.

  Sunny smiled. “As I said, he’s a Pomeranian; you know how snarky they can be.”

  “Hey!” Yoda protested, but fell silent.

  “We are investigating a trilling sound heard in Otay, most of Chula Vista, and parts of South San Diego,” Levi began. “A number of dogs reported disturbing nightmares and strange visions with the sound. Some saw phantomlike dogs and cats, and several reported a giant hound, claiming he had six eyes, or markings that looked like eyes.” Levi saw a shiver pass through Artemus Gordon at mention of the giant hound. “The trilling seemed to trigger some response in many of the dogs who heard it, but we know only of the ones who resisted its lure, not how many answered it.”

  “Dozens answered the trilling from the church,” Artemus Gordon whispered. “They came leaping and bounding.”

  “You saw this?” Levi asked. “It wasn’t a dream or a vision?”

  “At first I thought it was just a bad dream,” Artemus Gordon admitted. “They came to me first in dream, a giant hound with six eyes and a snakelike tail, and a cat with burning green eyes, but then I saw them…” He sucked in a ragged breath and his panicked eyes darted toward the abandoned church. “The lights…the sounds…the dog that came down out of the sky…”

  Sunny moved close, pressing against him, licking his face and letting him hear the sound of her heartbeat, as she would do to a frightened pup. His eyes returned to normal, his breathing became less frenzied, and his heart no longer tried to burst from his chest.

  “I’m okay, now” he said, embarrassed, even though there was nothing judgmental in their gazes, not even in Yoda’s.

  “Remember that nothing can hurt you now that you’re with friends,” Levi advised. “Start from the beginning. Tell us what happened, leave out no details, and don’t get excited.”

  Artemus Gordon nodded and told his new friends what he had seen before dawn. He told them about the dream that had awakened him, about the trilling, and what he had seen at the old church, the strange lights behind the boarded-up windows. He expected smirks of disbelief, perhaps a caustic comment from Yoda, when he told them about the dog who had flown down out of the sky and into the steeple, but they merely nodded, as if i
t had been expected. He told them about the dozens of dogs and cats who answered the call, how the giant hound and acid-eyed cat had appeared to them, how the summoned animals had all submitted to the strange beings.

  “You say they came from behind the church?” Levi asked.

  Artemus Gordon nodded. “And it’s where they vanished, the ones chosen by the hound with six eyes and a snaky tail. I’ve always heard there’s some way inside around back, a crawlspace or something, but I’ve never looked for it, never wanted to.”

  “I have to take a look inside,” Levi said.

  “Not by yourself, you don’t,” Sunny countered. “I’m going.”

  “I’m not waiting outside,” Yoda declared.

  “Smokey and me are behind you…” Groucho looked at his friend and received a nod. “…behind you all the way.”

  “All right then,” Levi said. “Be wary. Be safe. Let’s go.”

  “Do I have to go home now?” Artemus Gordon asked.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” Levi replied.

  “Then I…”

  “But you’re not going in with us,” Levi interrupted. “All of us are experienced fighters, but we cannot watch out for you.”

  “I understand,” the Gordon Setter said, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “My home…”

  “We’ll find you a new home,” Sunny said. “A better one.”

  They had only gone a few steps toward the church when a trilling filled the air. It was high pitched, so only dogs could hear it, but this close to its source it was almost painful.

  “It’s started again!” Every fiber of Artemus Gordon’s being told him to run, but he drew strength and courage from his new friends and stayed where he was.

  “Great Anubis!” Yoda cried. “Look at the church!”

  Chapter 8: When Worlds Collide

  Present Day

  Otay, California

  Earth 1

  The S.T.E.A.M. dogs followed Gearhead out of the Time Rift, though ‘followed’ was not quite the right word. Legs moved and paws padded, but they felt motionless within a swirling universe. Around them they sensed rather than saw an accelerating panoply of possible worlds. One of those possible worlds was Gearhead’s goal, the alternate reality he had mistaken for their own, in which he sensed the presence of Lord Cerberus, a world more than a century in advance of their own and a universe away.

  The shifting mists of the Rift closed around them. Gearhead felt a desperate urgency. The fissure created by Lord Cerberus’ use of the stolen Time Disruptor was devolving toward oblivion. The little Corgi-mix did not know whether they could survive within the Rift once it closed or would be snuffed out of existence as if they had never been, and he did not want to find out.

  As a frigid nothingness formed behind them the world ahead took shape, acquired substance. They saw buildings coalesce around them, streets that were not lit by gaslamp or any kind of electric with which they were familiar, and parked vehicles obviously not powered by steam engines. It was night.

  They were out of the Rift and there remained nothing to show that it had ever existed. Gearhead breathed a half-sigh of relief, then turned to make sure he had reason to feel relief. He saw Chauncey and Penelope close to him, with Spyro slightly behind them, but no sign of either Quigley or Sergeant Beefsteak. The Corgi-mix almost yelped in alarm, but Chauncey motioned for silence.

  “Don’t draw attention to us, pup,” the Bulldog advised, looking warily at the darkened, ramshackle structures.

  Spyro whipped about, vanished into the night, then returned a few moments later with Quigley and the dog from Scotland Yard. The Bearded Collie’s coat was damp and Beefsteak’s smart vest was streaked with mud.

  “What happened to you two?” Penelope asked.

  “The Sergeant and I ended up in a drainage ditch,” Quigley said. “Just some standing water, fortunately.” He looked around. “Seems we are all present and in good shape. Well done, Gearhead. Now, where exactly are we…and when?”

  “Not exactly sure on the where, Guv,” Gearhead admitted. “As to the when, if the dogs I spoke to earlier are to be believed, then we are nearly one-hundred-thirty years in advance of our own time.”

  “Great Gelert!” Spyro exclaimed.

  Quigley murmured: “We must find some way to immediately contact the Ministry about the situation.”

  “We may be in the American Colonies,” Chauncey observed.

  “Even in the Colonies…”

  “These buildings seem to have a touch of Spanish influence to them,” Penelope mentioned.

  “Still, the Ministry…” Quigley started to say.

  “…may not exist,” Gearhead interrupted. “The events in this world’s past may not match ours. As you pointed out, Guv, there may be nothing to keep Lord Cerberus from dominating this world as he tried to do in ours…presumably the reason he chose to flee to this world. There may be no S.T.E.A.M., no agency to stand against Lord Cerberus, perhaps even no British Empire.”

  The others gasped, except for Quigley, who nodded, reluctantly, and Sergeant Beefsteak whose stolid features betrayed no emotion other than resolve.

  “If we are in this alone, so be it,” Quigley said. “It will not be the first time, and hopefully we shall live long enough for it not to be the last time. You might be correct, Gearhead, but there are still things we must do—find out where Lord Cerberus has set up shop, determine if there are forces with which we may ally ourselves, and take whatever measures we must, either in concert with others or alone, to destroy Lord Cerberus or return him to our world for the execution of justice.”

  “How certain is it we’re in the same world…” Spyro said.

  “…and time,” Chauncey added.

  “…that Lord Cerberus and the others fled to?” the Bull Terrier finished. “There seemed a lot of possibilities.”

  “Passage through the Rift created something like a wake, as a boat upon the River Thames might,” Gearhead explained. “I did my best to follow that wake, so we should not be far in time or…”

  “I think the question has just been answered,” Quigley said.

  The dogs of S.T.E.A.M. turned westward. Not far away, rising over the darkened one-story buildings, was the spire of a dilapidated chapel. From out its summit flowed strange lights similar to what they had seen at the gasworks in London. Simultaneously, a sharp trilling noise slashed through the night air.

  “Well done, Gearhead,” Penelope said.

  Chauncey chuckled. “Sure you don’t have some Bloodhound in your family tree, pup?”

  Gearhead yawned in nervousness. He liked being needed when others turned to him for help or information, but he never felt comfortable as the center of attention.

  “Plenty of time for accolades later,” Quigley grumbled, sensing Gearhead’s discomfort. “Let’s go and do what we came to do. Lord Cerberus may not be expecting us, but take no chances. Watch out for yourselves, and watch out for each other. Spyro and Sergeant Beefsteak, take flank on my point; Chauncey and Penelope, take the wings. Gearhead, bring up the rear and protect our backs.”

  Gearhead grimaced as the others took their assigned positions. Rear security was, he knew, an important mission, as Xenophon and his dogs proved during the Persian Expedition so long ago, but when the quarry lay before them, as it did now, he knew it was the safest place for a smaller dog. He chafed at the care they took for him, but his honor and loyalty would not let his pride stop him from doing his duty, giving his best for the pack.

  As they approached the dilapidated chapel, the dogs kept to the shadows of buildings and bushes. They remained in formation, but it was a loose and flowing arrangement, always taking advantage of the terrain to approach unseen.

  Quigley signaled them to stop once they reached the edge of an expanse of cracked and weed-infested asphalt. Spyro and Beefsteak were to his right and left, one hunkered beside a strange vehicle of this world, the other at the edge of a house which had once been painted white. Chaun
cey and Penelope were at far corners of the asphalt lot, and Gearhead held position where he could keep an eye on everyone.

  They saw another pack approach the chapel. With cats?

  * * *

  The trilling would have drowned out any orders, so Levi used the ancient signals of the canine race, indicating by movements of paws, muzzle and ears who should go where and do what. Sunny and Levi circled around to the right of the building, passing along the edge of a cracked and weed-choked parking lot, while Yoda and the two cats circled to the left, passing between the church and the street, which was now curiously devoid of traffic. Artemus Gordon lingered near the boarded-up entrance, mindful of Levi’s warning.

  Something was going on inside the church, no one could deny that, for lights flashed behind boarded windows and from out the high steeple came scintillating streamers that crackled and popped, as if bursting with latent energy. As the animals rounded the corners of the structure, they noticed a change in the sky. The stars which had palely lit the night had vanished, replaced by slowly swirling clouds. The sodium streetlamps on Third Avenue flickered, and Yoda noted that the ghosts, which had been so numerous on the opposite corner, had ceased their restless prowling.

  At the rear of the church they found an opening, a crawlspace recently widened. Levi, taking point, crawled into the blackness, the others following warily. They were in the church’s cellar, an open-beamed room littered with dust-shrouded crates and festooned with cobwebs. Rats scurried through the dark, but the creatures were too terrified to give any information. The blackness was relieved only intermittently by flashes of light leaking from under a doorway at the top of a rickety flight of stairs.

  Levi and Smokey crept up the stairs; when they reached the door Yoda and Groucho started up. Sunny waited till they were all off the stairs before she climbed, pausing each time the stairs swayed under her greater weight. Once she joined the others, Sunny slipped her big paw under the door and pulled persistently until the door’s catch quietly popped.