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

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “What is it, Lord Cerberus?” Snitch whined. “What is wrong?”

  Lord Cerberus moved away from the wall against which he had fallen. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

  Lilith! he called across the aether.

  There had been a burning wave of hatred, a sickening rush of terror, then a blackness that threatened to engulf him.

  The cat had served him a very long time, had betrayed her own species to help him realize his dreams of conquest and control. With him, she had defied the all-powerful Lords of Sindhu. In all that time, he had seen her as nothing but a tool for enforcing his will and communicating with the lesser species. Now, as he approached his moment of final triumph, she was gone. A sense of loss gnawed at his cool and unsympathetic brain, but it was only for the loss of a tool. And a tool, even a favorite one, could always be replaced.

  “Is there something wrong, Lord Cerberus?” Snitch continued to wheedle. “Do you need help? Is there something I can…”

  With a casual swipe of his massive paw, Lord Cerberus batted the small form of Snitch off the platform, sent him tumbling down the long shaft housing the great clock’s machinery. Snitch’s needle-fanged grin instantly changed to a grimace of horror. He cried out for help and mercy, but the other dogs watched with detached disinterest, all except Mordred, who smiled.

  Lord Cerberus spared neither thought nor glance for Snitch. He adjusted his stance to give stability to the machine, then thought of the best way to convey his will to his slaves.

  “Up,” he croaked. “Up.”

  They continued into the heart of the immense clock.

  * * *

  “Easy now, quiet,” Quigley murmured. “Three dogs outside on watch, one in shadow.”

  “Right, Guv,” Spyro acknowledged. “We see them.”

  Penelope rejoined the group. “Two dogs inside.”

  “What about the Companions?” Quigley asked.

  The Lakeland Terrier shook her head.

  “All right then,” Quigley sighed, knowing that while the fate of the Companions was terrible it simplified their mission, made their next actions straightforward. “Chauncey, Artie and Penelope—get in the building. Put down the sentries, handle any others that might be there, then wait for us to enter the tower.”

  “Right, Guv,” they said.

  “Sunny, Sergeant Beefsteak and Spyro,” Quigley continued. “I don’t want any of you to take a sentry on your own, though you match them, stone for stone. Spyro, you and I will take the nearest one; Sunny and Sergeant Beefsteak, you circle around, wait for us to engage, then take the others. Either Spyro or I will be with you, soon as we can.”

  Sunny and Spyro nodded.

  “Yes, sir,” Beefsteak said.

  “What about me?” Yoda demanded.

  “And me?” Gearhead added, though he already knew what the likely answer would be.

  “We need someone to hang back and watch for any…”

  “No way!” Yoda interrupted, though he kept his voice down. He stepped up to Quigley, stared into the stern eyes he imagined lay behind that curtain of fir, and said: “You need every dog on deck right now. Lord Cerberus must not succeed.”

  “Well, if Levi were here…”

  “But he’s not,” Yoda pointed out. “But even when he gets here, and he will, you still need all your resources. Gearhead and I may not be big or strong, but we’re quick and smart. We may not be able to wrestle down Lord Cerberus’ Mastiffs, but we can outmaneuver then, and most certainly outthink them.”

  Quigley regarded Yoda silently.

  “Begging your pardon, Guv,” Gearhead offered, a slight tremor in his voice, “but I think Yoda is right.”

  “Seems like the two of you have forgotten just who this pack’s alpha is,” Quigley said softly.

  Gearhead trembled a little and started to hang his head. On the verge of flopping to his back, he saw Yoda standing still, refusing to submit. He joined Yoda, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  “But I haven’t forgotten that every dog has an alpha inside him,” Quigley continued. “Nor have I forgotten that it’s an alpha’s duty to support all pack members, to help them be the dogs they were destined to be. Sometimes, we forget that the littlest dogs have the greatest hearts.”

  Gearhead and Yoda nodded.

  “As you say, you’re quick and smart,” Quigley finally said, “so this is what I want you two to do…”

  Moments later, Chauncey, Penelope and Artemus Gordon went in an obscure entrance of Parliament to engage interior sentries. Sunny and Sergeant Beefsteak moved into position to take on the targets they had been assigned, while Quigley and Spyro closed in on their own. Gearhead and Yoda moved swiftly toward the sentry who would, if all went according to plan, be the first to fall.

  The Pomeranian and the Welsh Corgi-mix stayed close to each other as they ran directly at a huge, battle-scarred Mastiff whose maw could have easily swallowed either dog. They made no attempt to hide their approach. The Mastiff turned when he heard the beats of their paws against the ground. He frowned when he saw two such tiny dogs, then smiled at the bloody sport he could have with them. He assumed attack posture, then snapped as they came into range.

  But the Mastiff’s jaws closed on empty air. Just prior to the dog’s lunge, Yoda and Gearhead diverged, one to the left of the dog, the other to the right. As they passed the confused Mastiff they each gave him a savage nip in the back legs, biting into one of the main flexor muscles.

  He tried to swivel about to attack his tiny tormentors, but the damage to his muscles slowed him down, made him almost fall. By the time he turned, both Yoda and Gearhead were gone.

  “Bloody hell!” the Mastiff muttered.

  He did not hear Quigley’s and Spyro’s approach until it was too late to do anything.

  Neither Yoda nor Gearhead slowed as they moved away from each other, heading for the other two sentry dogs. If anything, they ran even faster, both putting on bursts of speed, for there was a chance they might have heard the first dog cry out. Yoda’s wild fur rippled and flowed in the wind from his passage, and he thought it a shame there was no one around to appreciate his Fabio moment. Gearhead ran for all he was worth, his floppy ears streaming behind him and the cord under his chin barely keeping his fez from flying into the night.

  Yoda saw his target ahead. Unfortunately, the huge dog also saw him, his gaze attracted by the outburst from the other sentry. The Pomeranian ducked his head down, windmilled his little legs till they were nothing but blurs, and hurtled directly at the other dog.

  “Blimey, a dust-mop what wants to be eaten,” the dog said, turning his head and opening his jaws. “Come on, little fellow. It’s me dinner time and…”

  The sentry tried to adjust his head when Yoda veered, but he was as slow as he was big. By the time his fangs were near where Yoda was supposed to be, the Pomeranian was elsewhere. Sharp little teeth ripped at the dog’s jowl, then latched onto an ear.

  Distracted by agony and rage, the dog barely heard the cries of pain out of the darkness from his fellow sentries. And he knew nothing of Sunny till she barreled into him, knocking him to the pavement. She held his throat till he submitted.

  “Well, I don’t see that I’m needed much, do I?” Spyro quipped as he trotted up. “Well done!” He looked at the trembling dog on the ground. “Get up, you, and get yourself lost! Pray the dogs of S.T.E.A.M. don’t come across you again. Get now!”

  “Cor!” The dog leaped up, ran, and did not look back.

  Quigley and Gearhead came out of the mist. Blood stained Quigley’s fur, but was plainly not his own. Gearhead trembled a little, but no one mentioned it. Also, no one asked about the other sentries, whether they had submitted or chose to fight. No dog who devoutly follows the teachings of First Dog and Anubis willingly puts down another dog, but, unfortunately, there are too many dogs who willfully ignore the precepts, who find pleasure in pain and suffering, in blood and death, just as there are Companions who willingly seek
paths of darkness when they have been shown the light. None of these dogs took delight from hurting others, but they had all sworn solemn oaths to do whatever was needed to battle wickedness and iniquity.

  “That’s done,” Quigley said grimly. “Let’s go. We have to stop Lord Cerberus before he can activate that infernal machine.”

  The four larger dogs rushed into the now-undefended tower housing Big Ben. Yoda and Gearhead lingered a moment, panting from exertion. They looked at each other and smiled.

  “We really showed them what little dogs can do, didn’t we?” Yoda said. “Little dogs with big hearts.”

  “We certainly did, mate!” Gearhead agreed. “Hearts of oak!”

  Yoda moved toward the Welsh Corgi-mix. With his pointed muzzle he pushed back Gearhead’s fez which had slipped a bit onto his brow during his mad rush.

  “Thanks, Yoda,” Gearhead said. “Fezzes are cool.”

  “Well, it is a nice hat.” Yoda narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You know, you remind me of Doctor Who, a little bit that is.”

  The Corgi-mix frowned. “Doctor…who?”

  “Well, it’s this show on the…”

  Yoda paused, cocked his head and pricked his ears. Almost at the same time Gearhead also assumed an attentive stance, listening to the night.

  “Two of them,” Yoda whispered. “Big ones.”

  “Let us be off,” Gearhead suggested. “And quickly.”

  “You bet!”

  “Drat,” Gearhead said, halting. “What rotten luck.”

  Two Bullmastiffs, both slate gray with black muzzles and each weighing over a hundred pounds, surged out of the darkness. They slid to a halt when they saw the two smaller dogs.

  “What have we here, Tenny?” questioned one.

  “Looks like two morsels, Mace,” Tenny replied. “Petite like.”

  “You two clear out of here,” Gearhead warned. “We don’t want any trouble from you.”

  “Trouble is what we are,” Mace said.

  “And trouble is what you got,” Tenny added.

  “Look here, chaps, we’re with S.T.E.A.M. and…”

  Gearhead’s words were lost in the raucous laughter of the two huge dogs. They moved closer, circling Yoda and Gearhead, teeth flashing as they snapped and snarled.

  “We ain’t gonna listen to no dog with a bucket strapped to his head,” Tenny said.

  “Nor a fluff-butt dog who looks like what the cat coughed up,” Mace added.

  Yoda’s fur bristled at the insults.

  “We came looking for a fight ‘cause we heard a good dust-up,” Tenny said. “We like a good dust-up, we do.”

  “But if all we got is the likes of you two runts,” Mace said, “well, that’s what we got, ain’t it?”

  “You don’t understand…” Yoda started to say.

  “We understand you two yappers ain’t gonna be yapping much longer, you bet not,” Mace interrupted.

  “It won’t be a good and proper fight,” Tenny said. “But it will still be right fun sport, it will.”

  “Right fun sport…for us, you mean,” Mace said.

  Both brutes laughed at their own jests.

  “I think we might be able to handle one,” Yoda said, “but not the both of them.”

  “I doubt we can hold our own against even one of those monsters, but it does not appear we have much choice in the matter, Yoda,” Gearhead said. “Even if Quigley and the others could hear us, what could they do?”

  “Yeah,” Yoda sighed. “They have a mission to complete, and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.”

  “Or even the two,” Gearhead added.

  “Yep, Spock was right.”

  “But I thought…”

  “All right, boys,” Yoda snarled, baring his vicious little teeth. “You want to poke the wooly-bear? Go right ahead and poke, see what a whirlwind you reap! Red alert! Phasers not on stun!”

  Gearhead was, as usual, more than a little confused by Yoda’s vernacular, but he got the gist of it, or thought he did. The Bullmastiffs also appeared confused, but their confusion manifested itself in rage. Or maybe they just didn’t like a little dog yelling at them. Either way, it was clear to Gearhead they were in for a thrashing, but not before they gave the Bullmastiffs an epic battle.

  “It has been nice knowing you, Yoda.”

  “It’s not over till it’s over.”

  “That doesn’t even make…”

  The Bullmastiffs attacked.

  * * *

  Levi sped through the streets of London. Because he usually ran with his pack he rarely had the opportunity to course as fast as he was able. At home, the long legs that were the heritage of one of his unknown parents allowed him to clear the top of the couch with only a small running start. Now, in these ancient chartered streets he dashed with such speed as would have made a Greyhound gape in awe, and envy.

  Having studied maps of London at S.T.E.A.M. headquarters, he blazed through alleys, lanes and hidden passages with a confidence that almost seemed preternatural. As he neared Westminster Palace, which contained both Parliament and Big Ben, he heard savage snarls, barks and growls. Recognizing Yoda’s singular tone, he put on a burst of speed. An observer might have thought Levi simply vanished, but, in reality, he was moving faster than could be seen by even the keen eyes of a sight hound.

  Emerging into the square north of Parliament, Levi saw Yoda and Gearhead in a pitched battle with two Bullmastiffs. Both of the larger dogs were scarred from the fight, and even though they were stymied by the small size and greater dexterity of their victims, it was clear neither Yoda nor Gearhead could avoid serious injury much longer.

  “Stand still, you miserable mite!” Mace snarled. He lunged at Yoda, but all he got for his efforts was a mouthful of choking hair.

  Yoda ducked under Mace like he was an overpass, giving the Bullmastiff a vicious nip as he passed. When Mace tried to writhe under himself in an effort to at least grab Yoda’s tail, he found his jowl clamped between Gearhead’s teeth.

  “Get this bucket-headed devil off me!” Mace called to Tenny, but since Gearhead had Mace’s jowl pulled almost a foot from his face, his pleas for assistance were mostly unintelligible.

  Tenny heard something from his comrade, but he was too busy to reply. When Yoda escaped Mace’s maw by running under, Tenny tried to intercept the Pomeranian. Unfortunately for him, Yoda went from being under Mace to being under Tenny and immediately fastened his jaw around the larger dog’s rear leg, sinking his teeth in with all his might.

  Tenny screamed in pain and thrashed about. Nothing he did could dislodge Yoda, and through he managed to rake his fangs across the Pomeranian’s back he never connected with flesh.

  Mace ducked low, moving toward Gearhead, then pulled back, simultaneously whipping his massive head around. Gearhead felt himself fly off the ground, spinning back. Mace’s jowl, still gripped by Gearhead’s teeth, whipped over his muzzle. Mace thought for a moment it might actually rip off, but the Corgi-mix could not hold on against the force of Mace’s head-shake. Mace breathed a sigh of relief when Gearhead’s teeth finally lost their grip.

  “You miserable yob!” Mace roared, spitting blood. “If you go over the Bridge, it’s going to be in pieces!”

  Gearhead tumbled head over tail toward where Tenny was being bedeviled by Yoda. He yelped as the cord under his chin snapped and the red fez flew into the night.

  “Hey, I say there, look out!” Gearhead called.

  Tenny paused in his efforts to snare Yoda, looked up, and was smacked in the face by twenty pounds of Welsh Corgi-mix. Between being pulled in the back and knocked for a loop up front, Tenny toppled over. Gearhead hit the pavement hard, all his breath pushed from his lungs. He tried to rise, but dizziness forced him back. Yoda was pinned beneath the heavy dog, and no amount of effort could extricate him.

  Mace smiled when he saw what had happened. The little Welsh Corgi-mix had been knocked for conkers by his fall and would keep till they g
ot over to him. That annoying fur-ball of a Pomeranian was going nowhere soon. Tenny would be up in a moment, he saw, and when he was, they would make short work of Yoda.

  Mace started for Tenny, then stopped. He heard staccato paws swiftly closing on him. He turned and saw what he at first thought was a ghost. The body was black heavily flecked with white and seemed to coalesce from darkness and the swirling mist itself, with a death-white face and blazing eyes. Only moments before it was upon him did Mace realize it was another dog, a Dachshund-mix of some sort but with impossibly long legs that propelled it faster than any dog he had ever seen.

  Not even half my weight, that one, Mace thought. I’ll take care of him good, then that fluff-butt.

  Mace barely had time to finish the thought before the new dog closed in. He was prepared for a direct attack. a frontal assault going straight for the throat, for that was how he fought. He was startled when the dog leaped at him, going not for the throat but the side of the neck. He tried to dodge the hurtling dog, but Levi had planned for such a move.

  When he hit Mace, Levi sank his teeth twice into Mace’s neck, not deeply but in precise locations. Mace felt intense pain, but only for a moment. Levi was gone, heading for the trapped Yoda, but when Mace tried to turn, he discovered he could not move a muscle…not a single one. It was as if someone had wrapped him in thick layers of cotton, like an immovable mummy.

  Levi dismissed Mace from his mind. The Bullmastiff was going nowhere, at least not for an hour or two. It was a tactic Levi had perfected in the arena, but he had not taught the precise movement to anyone but Smokey. Done right, the attack on the nerve centers paralyzed all voluntary movement; done wrong, it either caused death or such intense pain as to drive a dog mad.

  Tenny was halfway up when Levi hit him. This time, Levi took the direct approach, grabbing the unbalanced dog by the throat and forcing him to the ground. When Tenny attempted to struggle, Levi tightened his grip. Yoda fought his way free.