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

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  A greenish glow flowed over the animals, brighter to the cats since felines saw better in the blue-green portion of the spectrum and dogs the reddish-violet. The harsh illumination streamed from a machine of some kind in the midst of the ruined sanctuary. Around the machine a half-dozen dogs squatted and gazed upward in rapt wonder as globules of energy swirled into the black recesses of the steeple. The machine also appeared to be the source of the trilling that some dogs found so compelling.

  Operating the machine was a dog unlike any they had ever seen, a beast with paws the size of dinner plates and a head bigger than some dogs’ entire bodies. His tail was bifurcated and writhed like a serpent. His fur was short, uniformly brown, and lacked any marks other than the ones above and below his large eyes, markings that did indeed mimic eyes.

  At the edges of the sanctuary, among battered and broken pews, were the bodies of dogs and cats of every breed. Levi frowned, recalling Artemus Gordon’s testimony about all the animals who responded to the trilling from the old church.

  Many answered the call, but few were chosen, he thought. Now we know what happened to those who failed to make the grade.

  Atop the machine, bathed in unearthly illumination, was a large molly-cat wearing a small top hat, a white collar and a bowtie the hue of dried blood. Eyes shimmering like hot pools of acid, she watched the giant dog and his enthralled acolytes with something akin to amusement.

  “A big six-eyed dog and June’s creepy cat,” Yoda murmured softly. “Whadaya know about that?”

  “Kikmora,” Smokey murmured grimly.

  The Pomeranian’s comment was barely audible to those nearest him, and Smokey’s was even softer. There was no way anyone else should have heard them, especially over the trilling, but no sooner were the words out of their mouths than the gargantuan dog snapped his head in their direction, eyes bright with volcanic fury. He uttered a strange warbling noise.

  Immediately, the dogs in attendance turned and surged toward the intruders. Retreating back to the cellar would have been entering a death trap. Their only hope for survival, perhaps even an outside chance of victory, lay in using the openness of the sanctuary to scatter the troops of the giant hound, to keep them from mounting a concentrated attack.

  Only Sunny the Golden Retriever, at eighty-five pounds, came close to matching the forces under the strange dog’s command, but they quickly discovered that size, and even the advantages usually conferred by tooth and claw, could be neutralized by intelligence and skill. All of them knew the fighting techniques that had kept Smokey alive in the rough streets of Central Europe and the more dangerous seaports of the world. Levi, of course, had taught them even more, but none of the killing moves that he himself had only used with the greatest reluctance and only as a last resort.

  Yoda found himself facing a bruiser easily five times his weight, some kind of Mastiff-mix, black with tan on his muzzle. He fended off two direct attacks, giving the monster a gash to think about on the second charge. The dog feinted toward Yoda several times, but the Pomeranian refused to rise to the bait. He knew his best offense at the moment was a good defense.

  “Afraid, little one?” the Mastiff-mix growled. “Afraid I might gobble down a morsel like you?”

  Yoda remained silent and watchful, legs stiff, eyes narrowed. The big dog moved forward again, tried to swing around to his left. Yoda shifted his stance with as little movement as possible, always keeping his gaze trained on his opponent’s eyes.

  The Mastiff-mix dropped back. He was perplexed. By all rights, this little hairball should be quivering with terror; there was no way he should have been able to counter the attacks, much less draw blood. And he did not like the way the Pomeranian stared at him, with unwarranted confidence. If he called for assistance from one of the others, he knew they could quickly dispatch the smaller dog, no matter what fighting skills he possessed, but he would have rather felt the shame of defeat than ask anyone for help.

  Facing the Mastiff-mix, Yoda thought of all the samurai films he had ever watched. It was not the size of his opponent, he knew, that was important, or even the length of the other dog’s ripping fangs, but the purity of his own heart, the calmness of his mind, the intensity of his concentration. He thought he could hold this one at bay until Levi or Smokey could get away to help him, but only if the beast did not receive help himself.

  Yoda heard a whooshing sound, but did not turn his gaze from his adversary. Consequently, he did not see what slammed into him, but he heard the enraged roar of the Mastiff-mix.

  “Snitch, you miserable cur!” the dog shouted.

  As he tumbled head over tail, Yoda glimpsed the face of the interfering dog. He owed Ajax an apology, and hoped he lived long enough to tender it. The dog was no bigger than Yoda, but there the similarity came to a dead stop. Snitch was as hairless as Yoda was magnificently and wildly furred. The new dog’s head reminded Yoda of a misshapen gourd and his eyes bulged wildly, but his teeth were nothing short of grotesque, like the deadly spines of some poisonous plant. The whooshing sound Yoda had heard, did not come from Snitch but from the device strapped to him, a coppery canister leaking steam. Yoda saw Ajax was due another apology.

  “Just trying to help, Mordred,” Snitch moaned. “I just…”

  Snitch never finished his explanation to Mordred. Anyone else hit by a flying dog would have been knocked for a loop, physically and literally. Cushioned by his thick fur, however, Yoda barely felt the effects of the impact. He leaped up before Mordred could pounce, sending Snitch flying.

  “It’s your move, Mordred,” Yoda murmured softly. “Your little helper won’t help you anymore.”

  “Snitch is not…” Mordred howled in pain. In his rage he had stepped too close to Yoda’s sharp little teeth. His great head surged forward but his massive jaws closed on empty air. “Come back here, you furry bit of…”

  Yoda did not smile as Mordred again howled and leaped back, out of range of yet another painful bite, but he grinned inwardly. He maintained a silent, steely stare as Mordred continued to rage and howl and look for a chance to attack. Sanjuro would have been proud of him, not to mention Samurai Jack.

  Three of the dogs were dispatched very quickly, the ones who had been selected from Otay’s notorious riffraff. One escaped down into the basement, where he presumably used the crawlspace to good effect. Two others, terrified and bloody, crashed into and through the boarded doorway. Remaining behind were Mordred, who was still trying to defeat Yoda; two Pit Bulls, who were being thrashed by Levi and Smokey; the dog at the machine; and the cat still atop it. Sunny and Groucho now turned to help their friends and to take the fight to the large dog and the molly-cat.

  “Mordred! Urias! Sykes!” the cat hissed. “Protect the machine and Lord Cerberus at all costs! Sacrifice your miserable lives if necessary, but Lord Cerberus must be protected.”

  “I say, are we to late to the party?” queried a voice from the shattered doorway.

  A Bearded Collie surged into the fray, followed by four other dogs…and Artemus Gordon!

  * * *

  “Who do you think those dogs are, Guv?” Spyro asked.

  “And what the blazes are they doing working with cats?” the dog from Scotland Yard mused. Sergeant Beefsteak frowned. “Cats are loners by nature, and generally useless otherwise.”

  “A strange world indeed,” Quigley agreed. “Look at the way they are approaching that old chapel. It’s how we would investigate the situation, with care and stealth. I think it’s safe to assume they are not allied with Lord Cerberus, and that they might need help from the dogs of S.T.E.A.M.”

  Quigley signaled them forward, taking advantage of what cover they could find. As the trilling increased, more strange lights burst out the spire and the sinister clouds swirled. The dogs moved faster, balancing stealth against the mounting urgency of the situation.

  The other dogs and the cats with them vanished around the rear of the chapel. A fourth dog remained outside, perhaps a guard or a seco
nd line of attack, Quigley thought.

  The dogs of S.T.E.A.M. had not traversed more than half the distance to the chapel before they heard sounds of battle from inside, some barks but more vicious growls and pained yelps. Quigley and the others picked up the pace, abandoning all efforts at concealment. The Bearded Collie was surprised when Gearhead suddenly caught up with him.

  “I told you to hang back, to guard the rear,” Quigley snapped, not breaking his stride. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s the trilling sound, Guv,” Gearhead explained breathlessly. “It’s rising to a peak again, just as it did in London.”

  “You think Lord Cerberus is activating it?” Quigley asked. “What would be gained, fleeing a world so recently attained?”

  “There is no telling how long Lord Cerberus has been active on this world,” the Corgi-mix replied. “We only just arrived, but Lord Cerberus and the others might have been here for hours, even days. The world might not be to his liking…”

  “Perhaps not, if those other dogs are set against him,” Quigley observed. “Sounds like someone is getting a sound thrashing.”

  “He might also be trying to change this world to better suit his needs and plans,” Gearhead pointed out. Seeing the confusion in Quigley’s eyes, or at least thinking he did through the thick locks of hair, he continued: “Not only can the Time Disruptor create fissures in the fabric of space and time, allowing passage from one age to another, one timeline to another, it can also send out probability waves that will change the world in which the machine is located. It would be more effective in a high place, but…”

  “Like folding a blanket into a different shape?”

  “Well, it’s more like…yes, close enough,” Gearhead said.

  “All right, we’ll try to see Lord Cerberus does not succeed,” Quigley said, silently noting that young Gearhead might be spending too much time in the company of Companions, not enough among his own kind. “Move back to your position. When we get to the chapel, I want you to stay out in front with that other dog.”

  “But, Guv, I…”

  “Find out whatever you can about this place, what’s been going on here,” Quigley interrupted. “You keep telling us that information and intelligence is more important than tooth and nail, so show us what a clever boy you are.”

  Gearhead would have argued the point, but was silenced by a sharp glance from the pack’s alpha. He hated to lose any argument, but especially when hoisted on a petard of his own making. Gearhead dropped back, but not too far.

  Quigley had planned on splitting his attack forces into two groups, just as the other dogs had. His plan was abruptly scuttled when a dog fled the rear of the chapel and two more, bleeding and battered, burst through the chapel’s boarded-up front entrance. At the same time, the sounds of canine (and feline) battle increased, and the trilling sound soared toward a crescendo.

  “S.T.E.A.M. dogs forward!” Quigley called.

  * * *

  Artemus Gordon paced restlessly, nervously between the chain-link fence and the board-covered entrance of the old church. Mere moments had passed since Levi and the others had vanished behind the graffiti-covered building, but it felt like hours. Though he knew he was alone in the night, he could not shake the feeling that he was being keenly observed.

  He tried to survey the surrounding area, keeping alert for the approach of danger, but he was continually distracted by the odd lights swirling out of the steeple and the quickening motions of the bizarre cloud formations. He had never been so frightened in his life, and, yet, at the same time, had never felt so alive.

  He looked toward the lightless bulk of his house. If he ran back across the street, through the ajar rear door, he could hide under a blanket, try to shut out the sights he had seen, the sounds loud in his ears. He thought about what Levi had said, then turned away from that house of despair and hopelessness. He was never going back, no matter what. Even if Levi was unable to find him a new home, even if he perished this night, both fates were infinitely better than the life he had known until now.

  Sounds of battle erupted from within the church. Courage and cowardice warred within Artemus Gordon. All his life, he had tried to avoid fights, had always turned tail when he could; when he could not, he curled up, enduring whatever pain was given him, no matter whether it was a dog’s claw or a Companion’s belt. Faced with no exit from a bitter life, he had always found some measure of solace in fantasies about other places and times. Only now did he understand that he, and no one else, was the author of his own miserable life. Turning toward the church, he resolved to break free of the bonds he himself had forged.

  Two massive dogs abruptly burst through the plywood boards that covered the doorway. Artemus Gordon recognized them as two of the toughest alphas ever spawned by Otay, murderous dogs who had never known fear, pity or mercy. He saw their faces and knew they were now familiar with terror. Their bodies were covered with dozens of deep gashes.

  Normally Artemus Gordon would have run away, hidden from such dogs, but now he stood his ground, defiantly daring them to do their worst to him. If they saw him at all, however, they gave no indication and flew past him on either side.

  Artemus Gordon shuddered in disbelief and started for the gaping hole in the wood, eager to do whatever he could to help his new friends. He stopped and turned as the urgent padding of many paws sounded behind him. He saw six of the strangest dogs he had ever seen, canines wearing hats and goggles and bowties, even one wearing a police vest, but from a department he had only known through films, and dreams—Scotland Yard.

  They surged past him, vanishing inside the church, all of them, except one, a Welsh Corgi-mix wearing a bright red fez. The little dog paused before Artemus Gordon and grinned nervously.

  “Salutations, my name is Gearhead,” the dog said. “My guv’nor wanted me to talk to you, but I’ve got other kippers to fry. Excuse me, old chap.”

  Before Artemus Gordon could frame any sort of reply, the little dog in the fez vanished after his pack. For once in his life, Artemus Gordon acted purely on gut feeling, without any deliberation or worry about consequences. He turned and followed the strange new dogs into the fray within the church.

  * * *

  Levi cast a worried glance at the doorway. He had hoped the three recruits had been sent packing for good, but now feared they had returned with reinforcements. When he spied the newcomers, however, with Artemus Gordon tagging behind, he returned his full attention to the Pit Bull before him. Whoever they were, they were not part of the giant hound’s pack, judging by reactions.

  The Pit Bull battling Levi had learned the hard way that Levi was not what he seemed. Blood oozed from a half-dozen rips and most of his left ear was gone.

  “You’re going to pay for what you done to me, you will,” the Pit Bull growled. “No one makes a fool of Sykes.”

  “No one has to,” Levi said. “You do very well on your own.”

  Sykes started for Levi, enraged, but moved back quickly when the Dachshund-mix adopted a stance he knew all too well. It was a move that led to an attacker either being rendered unconscious or put down. Where could this little dog with the abnormally long legs have learned such a move? Sykes had honed it in the arena and put it to use in melees and final chastisements, but the thought of this dog in a fight-ring at all, much less surviving, was ludicrous.

  The Pit Bull stopped trying to take down the Dachshund-mix. He need only keep him at bay, give Lord Cerberus time. While he knew his master could easily put down this interloper, he also knew that if it came to that, he himself would be Lord Cerberus’ next victim He felt quite the fool, being unable to vanquish such a small foe, but at least he was not being trounced by a cat.

  Smokey grinned at Urias, all that stood between him and the kikmora serving the hound called Lord Cerberus.

  “If you run, you will survive,” Smokey said, his gravelly voice still low and unhurried, as if the pitched conflict between the two of them required no effort
on his part.

  Urias growled, surging and feinting to keep the black and silver tom from getting any closer to Lord Cerberus, Lilith or the blasted device. The Pit Bull gave up trying to put down the cat, as he put down all cats—Well, almost all, he thought. The razor lines across his face were bloody testimony to his failure. Unable to follow his nature, he concentrated solely on following Lilith’s orders.

  Urias and Sykes gaped in alarm when Quigley and his pack bolted through the gap left by those two cowardly curs. They and Mordred had held their own, more or less, till now, could probably keep the three dogs and two cats away from Lord Cerberus, but the advent of the S.T.E.A.M. dogs signaled inevitable defeat, for now they were outnumbered as well as overmatched.

  “Keep them all away from the machine!” Lilith yelled over the device. “A few more moments! Kill them! Kill them all!”

  The blood-lust in the cat’s voice struck a nerve. The dogs attacked with renewed savagery, even though they paid dearly.

  “Help the other dogs,” Quigley instructed. Then added: “And the cats too.” He looked to Gearhead. “Try to get to the machine. Do what you can to disable it.”

  “Yes, Guv!” the Corgi-mix exclaimed.

  “And be bloody careful!” Quigley did not wait for a response, but flew to the aid of the elderly Dachshund-mix fighting Sykes. He knew another alpha when he saw one.

  “Come on, you,” Gearhead said to Artemus Gordon.

  “Me?”

  “No, the wallaby standing behind you,” Gearhead snapped. “Of course I mean you. We’ve got to get to the Time Disruptor before Lord Cerberus can trigger another shift.”

  Artemus Gordon hesitated for less than a moment. All his life he had dreamed of breaking free, of escaping to a world where he could be more than what he was. Levi had given him a glimpse, but this little Corgi in the outlandish fez was actually inviting him into a world of adventure and danger. He bounded after Gearhead.