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

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Yes, we all have strengths and weaknesses,” Quigley agreed. “Most would not know it, but a Bearded Collie’s sight is excellent, despite the curtain of hair hanging down in front. However, we have always judged Lord Cerberus’ hearing quite acute.”

  “When Yoda and Smokey spoke at the church, it was far below the level any dog should have been able to hear,” Levi said.

  “Any normal dog,” Quigley countered. “Whatever he may be, Lord Cerberus is not a normal dog.”

  “There is a sense, apart from the five we think of,” Levi said. “It is such a part of our nature we are rarely conscious of it.”

  “And that is…” Quigley’s voice trailed off.

  “Telepathy,” Levi replied.

  “Mind reading?” the Bearded Collie scoffed. “Like in a music hall performance?”

  “All dogs have the ability, to some degree, though we usually call it empathy,” Levi said. “We know how Companions feel, just as we know how other dogs feel, at a glance. We know friends from foes instinctively, before a sniff or a growl. Lord Cerberus does not speak often because he may not need to and is unaccustomed to it. His words may sound prepared because they are; when surprised or frightened, he lapses into his usual form of speaking, which is highly stylized and abbreviated, truly comprehensible only to one of his own kind…or a cat whose role is to serve as his voice.”

  “A world where dogs’ mental powers make words almost unnecessary,” Quigley mused. “The cat’s relationship is symbiotic, used by that dog for…” He paused. “…for communicating with lesser species under their control.”

  “Slaves,” Levi added grimly.

  “We discounted Lilith because she is merely a cat, but I see we may have underestimated her,” Quigley said. “Capturing her may be as important as taking Lord Cerberus.”

  “Set a cat to catch a cat,” Levi said.

  Quigley sighed and looked to the cats. Smokey and Groucho, who had followed the conversation with interest, immediately leapt down and approached the Bearded Collie.

  “I would…ah, that is to say…” Quigley began awkwardly.

  “We will find the kikmora, this demon-cat Lilith,” Smokey said.

  “And perhaps Lord Cerberus,” Levi said. “Be careful.”

  “I still have my nine,” Groucho quipped, earning a scowl from the older tom.

  “It is vital Lilith be brought to justice,” Quigley said. “Alive.”

  “We will do what we can,” Smokey said. “But we have an old saying back home: ‘When the Devil is distracted, hit him…hard’.”

  Chapter 10: Countdown to Apocalypse

  1887

  London

  Earth 2

  Lord Cerberus raised his great head, saw nothing but blackness, and sent out tendrils of thought. He touched the dull clay minds of Mordred, Urias and Sykes, then Snitch’s sly and stealthy mind, like a reeking mire. All were unconscious.

  Powerful muscles lifted his massive form off a hard cold floor. Tiny creatures fled at his movement, their red eyes flashing, their small minds filled with terror. He swept the darkness with all his senses. He heard soft echoes, smelled rotting wood and the dank odor of foetid water. He was in some kind of structure very near the River Thames.

  He tensed suddenly, his tail switching like an agitated serpent, then relaxed as he recognized the presence of Lilith.

  Where are we? he thought.

  A warehouse at the Albert Docks, she replied. I have set a few of our former associates as sentries. We are safe, for the moment.

  Very good. What of the machine?

  Here, as well, the cat answered. It was slightly damaged in the return to this timeline, but nothing you cannot repair. We can seek another continuum by the dawning.

  No! Lord Cerberus’ thought was like lava coursing through her brain, burning and searing, and she staggered under the emotional onslaught. I weary of flight. We have run long enough.

  But we dare not remain in this timeline longer than it takes to repair the machine, Lilith insisted. Even if the S.T.E.A.M. dogs do not discover us, there is always a chance the Overlords will…

  Do not mention those curs in my presence, the giant hound snapped, eyes blazing. It has been two years since we fled the timeline where they found us. In all probability, they have stopped looking for us.

  That is unlikely, the cat pointed out.

  Lord Cerberus frowned and swung his head away, as if he were searching the warehouse for signs of intruders, even though nothing stirred in the darkness now that the rats had scarpered off in fright. He did not want to admit the cat was right, but he knew she was. The Overlords of Sindhu would never abandon their pursuit of him and Lilith. Too much blood had been spilled and too many lives had been shattered for them to ever give up the chase, no matter how many timelines had to be crossed. Had it only been a matter of his experiments upon the lesser species of his world, the hue and cry would not have been as loud or as unrelenting, but his actions against his own kind would never be forgotten, or forgiven.

  Yes, it is unlikely, he finally admitted. As ever, it is only a matter of time, unless we take action.

  Since entering this timeline, there had been no overt signs of pursuit. Even so, he could not shake the feeling that time was beginning to close in on him again. Also, the S.T.E.A.M. dogs were on the verge of defeating his organization. He should have crushed them when he first had the chance, before they could form a clear picture of the threat he posed, but his arrogance had caused him to discount them…the very idea of dogs working with Companions was as ludicrous to Lord Cerberus as it was repulsive. Dogs were intended to rule, not serve, the lesser species.

  Despite the dangers within this timeline, the decision to tarry had been a sound one. Here, he could gather materials to replace his lost machine, and all his efforts at empire building in London were directed to that end. His completion of the machine upon the eve of the assault by S.T.E.A.M. seemed almost providential, but the timeline which had at first seemed ideal, with its dull dogs and duller Companions, had proved not at all suitable.

  “Oh, me aching head,” Urias groaned, struggling upward.

  “Where…what…” Sykes moaned.

  Mordred forced himself to stand, forced the pain from his mind. Let the others display weakness before their master, but he would not, nor in front of the other dogs. He looked down and saw Snitch curled up and shivering. He grabbed the dog by the throat. He wanted to rip the life from the craven sniveler, but dared not do so except by Lord Cerberus’ leave. He settled for flinging him away, taking what satisfaction he could from his startled scream and the dull thud of his body against the floor of the warehouse.

  “Look alert, all of you!” Lilith snapped. “The machine needs to be transported to a safer location.”

  The dogs did not like being ordered about by a cat, but they knew she spoke with the authority of Lord Cerberus. Lilith was also a force in her own right. All had witnessed the fates of those who crossed her or questioned her. All cats were cruel, that was a fact of life, but Lilith took cruelty to heights no cat ever dreamed. Even without Lord Cerberus’ favor, which gave her a shield of immunity, she could best any dog in a fight. Early on, when the odd duo first appeared in London and the East End packs were being subdued, many dogs attempted to attack Lord Cerberus through Lilith. Few lived to regret that error in judgment.

  They scavenged planking and ropes to fashion a kind of sled to transport the machine. They used burlap and cotton to cushion the mechanism and to deaden the sound of it being pulled. Urias and Sykes, the strongest, were assigned to haul the makeshift sled, while Mordred and two of the outside sentries were tapped to provide security during transport.

  “What shall I do, My Lord?” Snitch whined, standing away from Lord Cerberus and Lilith. “How may I serve?”

  Lord Cerberus barely spared the obsequious little dog a glance before moving to the machine for a final inspection. Snitch’s status within the organization had always been a matter
of concern to the other dogs. At times, the misshapen mutt was given tasks of some import, as when he had been entrusted with an aerial steam conveyor and instructed to survey the other timeline, while other times he was treated worse than the lowest cur. Mordred suspected Lord Cerberus and Lilith kept Snitch alive only to serve as a spy in their ranks. If that ever proved true, Mordred did not know whether his own fear of Lord Cerberus would be sufficient to keep him from putting down the grotesque dog.

  “Range ahead of the others,” Lilith instructed. “Keep watch for danger, stay to the shadows. Return swiftly if peril is detected.”

  Snitch lingered, hesitant to speak to the acid-eyed cat. He much rather preferred direct communication with Lord Cerberus. True, it was mostly one-sided, except for occasional nods or grunts, but it kept him close to the center of power. This time, however, he was loath to disturb Lord Cerberus at his work, to try his patience.

  “Where shall I go, Mistress Lilith?” he finally asked.

  The cat was quiet a moment. All the dogs assumed her silence was due to a ponderation of possibilities. None of them had an inkling of the truth.

  The Whitechapel lair? Lilith asked. Spitalfields?

  Both of those locations may be compromised, Lord Cerberus thought, not pausing in his inspection of the machine. Either by the S.T.E.A.M. dogs or the leaderless packs we left behind.

  Where then?

  Soho.

  Soho? she asked incredulously. That lair is quite distant and requires us to pass through a densely inhabited section of the city, not far from either S.T.E.A.M. headquarters or Scotland Yard.

  It must be done, he insisted. There, I have the best tools for the job ahead. And it is convenient.

  Convenient to…what?

  To the best place to force an alteration within this timeline, the giant hound answered. We are through running.

  But not all the timeline’s flow will change, she protested. The effect will be local, perhaps not even over the whole of London.

  It will be sufficient, he thought. Issue the order.

  “To the Soho lair,” she said only seconds after Snitch voiced his question. Seeing their surprised expressions, she repeated the command, then added: “Speed and caution is required. Go now.”

  Urias and Sykes glanced doubtfully at each other, but strained at their rope harnesses as instructed. To question Lilith was to deny her, and both carried deadly consequences. Snitch bounded out of the warehouse, running through the dappled shadows, happy to be of service even as he quailed at the thought of the impending trek. Mordred and the conscripted sentries ranged out from the sled in a loose protective formation, resigned to their tasks. Lord Cerberus and Lilith trotted before the sled, setting a brisk pace for all.

  They were swallowed by the night, and the warehouse rats tremulously returned to their interrupted lives.

  * * *

  “I apologize for the way I acted,” Gearhead said. “It is just that, well, when you called my late Companion fictional, well I…”

  “It’s okay, kid,” Yoda assured him.

  “Kid?” The Corgi-mix frowned. “I am not a little goat.”

  “No, it’s just a saying, a slang word.”

  “Ah,” Gearhead mused. “An argot of your time.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Yoda agreed, wondering what an ‘argot’ was. “It means a young fellow, a…” He searched his memory of shows he had watched on BBC-America. “…a young chap.”

  “A tot?” Gearhead suggested. “A pup even?”

  “Not a pup, literally,” Yoda replied, “but, yes, sort of.”

  “What an imprecise manner of speaking you dogs of the future have,” Gearhead said. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” Yoda said, even though he was fairly sure some measure of offense had been intended.

  “It has been over a year since my Companion was put down by Lord Cerberus and his dogs, but it pains me still,” Gearhead said. “It was he who gave me this fez.”

  “It’s a very nice…hat,” Yoda said, forcing a smile.

  “I loved my Companion.”

  “Well, that’s our nature, isn’t it,” Yoda suggested. “To love and forgive Companions, even when they don’t deserve it.”

  “Especially when they don’t deserve it,” Gearhead insisted. “That is what Quigley always says.”

  “Yeah, Levi too.” Yoda frowned. “How do you guys work for the British government? We have dogs who work for government agencies, or the military, but that’s always with a Companion. That’s the basic unit of society, and not having them feels wrong. I haven’t seen any Companions working with you.”

  “You will not,” Gearhead said. “Sergeant Beefsteak works for Scotland Yard, with a PC, but you will not see them in S.T.E.A.M. We report to Quigley, as alpha. He reports to a Supervisor who oversees eight packs; there are five Supervisors and they report to a trio of dogs called Emissaries. Only Emissaries actually deal with a Companion, the Minister, who reports directly to the Crown.”

  “Wow,” Artemus Gordon breathed, looking up from the maps and plans he had been assigned. “Have you ever met the Queen?”

  “Indeed I have, Artie,” Gearhead said. “Quite an honor it was, believe you me.”

  “Actually, it’s Art…”

  “So, tell me this then,” Yoda interrupted. “Do these Emissaries talk to the Minister? I mean, does he actually understand what they say? Or are the Emissaries mutants or something?”

  Gearhead laughed. “Really, Yoda! The Minister of S.T.E.A.M. is merely a Companion and they do have their limits, old chap.” He laughed again. “Well-intentioned, but dim—I would not be at all surprised were that not a maxim in most timelines, if not all. As far as the Emissaries, they are just dogs, like the rest of us, but all very wise and pellucid of thought. Not all of the dogs chosen to become Emissaries are descended from Gelert, but many are.”

  “Who is Gelert?” Yoda asked.

  Gearhead stared at him in disbelief.

  “No, really.” Yoda felt uncomfortable under Gearhead’s stare, as any dog would. “Who’s Gelert?”

  “Who is Gelert?” Gearhead repeated incredulously.

  “Yeah. Who is he?”

  “How can you not know of Gelert the Peacemaker?”

  “Never heard of the dog,” Yoda insisted.

  Artemus Gordon thought back to a moment in the church, when Gearhead charged into battle with a cry that had baffled him at the time. He almost mentioned it now, but seeing the tense stance of the two dogs he decided to keep his head buried in the maps and plans he had been given. He did not know if a fight was going to erupt, but he seen scraps started over less.

  “It is to Gelert we owe the alliance between Companions and canines,” Gearhead explained. “How can you possibly not know this? Were you disadvantaged as a pup? Driven from your litter before you could be enlightened? You might as well say you know nothing of First Dog or Anubis.”

  “I know all about First Dog and Anubis,” Yoda insisted, his ire rising. “But I don’t know this Gelert from Fido.”

  “Unbelievable! Every pup knows the story.”

  “I don’t,” Yoda said. “So, indulge me.”

  “Very well,” Gearhead sighed. “It began six centuries ago in North Wales when Llewellyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd, went hunting upon horseback without the company of his faithful…”

  “Hey, guys,” Artemus Gordon said, his voice tremulous, yet touched with excitement. “I think I have something here,”

  Both dogs turned toward the Gordon Setter, and for a moment he was not sure how to read their expressions or body language. When they relaxed, however, he relaxed. He had not wanted to get involved, and he also wanted to hear the story of Gelert, but what he had found demanded their immediate attention.

  “What is it, Artie?” Gearhead asked.

  “Actually, I prefer…”

  “Focus,” Yoda admonished. “Whatcha got?”

  Gearhead rolled his eyes at the liberties
Yoda took with the Queen’s English, but added: “What have you found?”

  “According to what I read here, Lord Cerberus has a number of lairs throughout London.” Artemus Gordon looked at Gearhead and asked: “But not all of them have been found?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Gearhead confirmed. “It is clear we have not uncovered all, but how many remain, no one knows.”

  “I was looking at this map and it shows lairs in Bermondsey, Camberwell, Lambeth and Battersea south of the Thames,” Artemus Gordon said, putting a paw on each location as he spoke. “North of the Thames we have Stepney, Whitechapel, Spitalfields, Islington, Clerkenwell, Marylebone and Kensington.”

  “Yes, we know that,” Gearhead said impatiently. “They are being watched even though it is highly unlikely Lord Cerberus or any of his agents will come near them.”

  “Well, we’re looking for some kind of tall building or tower in which he could use that machine, right?”

  “Obviously,” Gearhead snapped. “That is what Quigley…”

  “Hey, give the dog a chance,” Yoda urged, baring his sharp teeth slightly. Gearhead was getting on his nerves. “Let him say what he has to say.”

  Gearhead motioned for Artemus Gordon to continue.

  “Well, if what he needs is something tall, that pretty much lets out everything in the East End and most areas south of the river, even if there are lairs there we don’t know about” Artemus Gordon said. “Nothing much over three or four stories.”

  Gearhead nodded. “It is a blighted area overall. Not even any hotels, just some squalid guest houses and squats. Tenements, shops and factories predominate, plus the rookeries.”

  “Now, if Lord Cerberus and the others were subject to the same forces we were, they would appear not far from the river, perhaps the Docks to the east, or Westminster in the other direction.”

  “That makes sense,” Yoda conceded.

  “Yes, it does,” Gearhead agreed. “But I think Westminster is unlikely, or anything in-between, if only because such an arrival would be noticed, especially if accompanied by a trilling noise.”