The Pet Plague

by Darrell Bain

  “Mr. Da Cruz—"

  “Please call me Jamie."

  “As you wish. Jamie, have you considered how you would expect Conan to lead you to his point of origin by air?"

  Jamie gave him a quizzical look. “Just put him in a floater and let him tell you which way to go. How else?"

  “Without having ever been in the air? Not even knowing what a forest looks like from above? Not knowing how fast floaters fly, nor how high?"

  “Oh, I see your point. Did you say forest?” Jamie had never been away from the enclave, and imagined the outside world as something dark and primeval, filled with ferocious, super intelligent carnivores lurking behind every tree.

  “Don't worry, Jamie. I'll take care of you,” Kristi said.

  “I'll just bet you would,” Jeannie sniffed, getting out her daggers again. She was still young enough to be possessive in sexual matters, although most adults of her age soon outgrew it.

  “She's telling the truth,” Whitmire asserted. “My rangers are trained to survive in the wilds. They will make every effort to assure your well being, and that of your pets, should they accompany you.” Privately, he worried more about the enhanced animals’ survival than he did Jamie's. Although he was impressed with their intelligence, he doubted if they really comprehended conditions outside the Enclave.

  “I still don't want to go,” Jamie said.

  Whitmire leaned back and crossed his hands over his belly again, choosing his words carefully. “Jamie, before I was advanced to my present position, I was an electronics specialist in communications. I can tell you categorically that the technology embodied in that little disk Conan is wearing is far beyond anything we have, even in the research stage. Think. An instrument less than an inch in diameter, without any interface other than skin contact, produces mental images, images that are duplicated regardless of what individual touches it. Even Conan and your pets seem to get the same pictures. This suggests the possibility of other, even more advanced science, possibly from beyond our own solar system. Suppose that technology, if we could duplicate it, turned up a method to control the plague of enhanced animals outside the Enclaves? Without breaking security, I can tell you that things are very bad outside, and promise to get worse.

  “I think you have a duty to help in any way you can. In any case, I intend to spend the rest of the night and tomorrow getting together the personnel and supplies for an expedition to the outside. Your name will be on the list. In the meantime, all of you are to treat this as a security matter; that is, it is not to be discussed with anyone outside this room. Also, there will be a security detachment placed here to see that Conan does not leave. As for the instrument itself, I want to turn it over to the research department."

  “No,” Conan said, backing away from the group. He addressed Woggly in a rapid burst of dog language. Jamie and Whitmire immediately raised their estimate of the dog's intelligence. Apparently, he understood more English than he spoke.

  “Disk thing come from great being. Conan says he keep it always,” Woggly interpreted.

  “I was afraid of something like that. Are you sure?"

  “Certain,” Woggly said.

  Whitmire made a grimace of assent. He didn't know whether to fully believe the dogs, but was unwilling to risk the loss of his only information source. “All right, then, since that's settled, let's wrap it up for the night. Lieutenant Carson, would you remain on guard outside until the security detachment shows up? And Jamie, I will send Carson back here in the morning to escort you to the security building, where you will be outfitted. Please leave your weapon here; you will be furnished with another."

  “If you say so,” Jamie agreed reluctantly. It seemed he had little choice in the matter, not even the type weapon he would carry. He glanced longingly down at the little laser gun holstered at his waist. He knew it was not suitable for anything larger than a medium sized dog, but he was fond of it, and prided himself on being a good shot. Most anti-personnel weapons since the pet plague began had been consolidated into the standard laser gun type. It fired an aiming beam at the first pull of the trigger. A little more pressure sent out a laser beam at full power, and a final increase fired an explosive bullet, which was further speeded on it's way by a minute rocket charge. With practice, the whole process could be completed in a tenth of a second. Jamie used the laser portion of his weapon most of the time; it was sufficient for the rats, mice and rabbits which were his usual concern. He supposed he would be furnished with a heavier duty version of the same weapon.

  Whitmire stood up, followed by Kristi and Alvarez. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said, glancing at Jeannie, who appeared ready to commit either homicide, femicide, or canicide; her intentions were held in check only by the uncertainty of which would be the most effective.

  The three unexpected visitors left together, leaving Jamie and Jeannie alone with the animals. She came into his arms and began crying. “Jamie, I don't want you to go. You'll get hurt, I just know you will."

  Jamie patted her shoulder, uncertain of how to answer. He had become very fond of her in the last month or two, even though he hadn't been seeing her exclusively. Now, with a lengthy and almost certainly dangerous trip ahead of him, he thought sentimentally of the time they had spent together and how nice she would be to come back to—or stay with. He trusted Whitmire's assurances of well being about as much as he did Fuzzy Britches’ ability to pass up a Persian in heat.

  “I guess there's no help for it,” he said glumly. He kissed her cheek, and used a forefinger to wipe away a tear. She turned her face toward him and pulled his lips down to hers. He kissed her, gently at first, but she was having none of that. Her lips parted and her tongue began making little swirling motions against his own. He cupped her breast and squeezed gently, then broke the kiss to admire the fullness of it cradled in his hand, nipple peeking over the edge of his palm and making a little tent behind the thin film of her blouse. He moved his hand up, loving the feel of the erect nipple sliding against the palm of his hand. He moved his hand in a slow circle to the rhythm of her long, drawn out breaths.

  “Not here,” she said. Not having pets of her own, she was reticent about sex in the presence of self aware animals. Jamie still found it somewhat odd of her, but passed it off as a consequence of youth and inexperience. Besides, Woggly and Fuzzy Britches were almost certainly more interested in watching holovision than them.

  “Do you want to eat first?"

  “I don't want food, I want you.” She glanced around self-consciously to see if the animals were listening. “Come on, let's go to the bed room."

  They departed, leaving Woggly and Fuzzy Britches to argue over which program to watch. Conan was neutral, having never seen holovision before. Woggly won the argument and all three animals settled to the carpeted floor. Woggly woofed a staccato burst of commands. The projection flickered rapidly through several selections, then settled into an old educational segment featuring prehistoric animals. It had not been produced for pets, but they loved to watch the life like animation of mammoths, dire wolves and saber tooth tigers. Fuzzy Britches, especially, liked the great tigers as they stalked their prey. He wondered what it would be like to have teeth that long, and prey to use them on.

  Jamie slept poorly that night, bothered by dreams of dark tangled forests inhabited by red eyed amorphous shapes lurking in the background, never taking on complete form. He eased out of bed shortly before dawn and spoke softly to brighten the night light enough to feel his way around. He left the window darkened and the alarm set so that Jeannie could sleep a while longer, then remembered that it wouldn't matter anyway. Whitmire's busybodies would surely be arriving to fetch him back to their boss before too long.

  He showered, shaved, and decided that his mustache still didn't need trimming. He smiled to himself, remembering that he had never gotten the promised back rub, either. He moved quietly out of the bed room, pausing before closing the door to admire Jeannie's shadowed form, sleeping half turn
ed on her side with the sheet covering only her hips, leaving her breasts and most of her long legs exposed. Maybe—he glanced at the luminous numbers on his thumbnail; no. He firmly closed the door.

  He emerged into the already brightly lit living area. Conan was staring raptly at a scrolling news report on the holo, certainly not understanding it, but fascinated by the moving lines and brightly lit back ground. Woggly and Fuzzy Britches were each munching a food bar in their eating area.

  “Morning, guys,” he greeted them. “Couldn't you wait for breakfast? You'll get fat if you don't leave that dispenser alone and eat regular meals."

  “Energy for the trip,” Fuzzy Britches explained, licking his chops.

  “You have more energy than you need already. Have you been outside, yet?"

  “Man by the door won't let us. Had to go in here,” Fuzzy Britches complained. Enclave animals had specially designated areas in the garden plots for elimination, but many of the newer apartments had been designed with facilities for animals. Woggly cared not at all which place he used, but the cat distrusted the inside fixture and used it only if forced by dire necessity. Many instinctive functions in the pets had been eliminated to make room in their still small (by human standards) skulls, but many remained, though as in man, they were attenuated by intelligence. The cat still retained remnants of the cover up instinct and resented the inside facility because of it's lack of soil.

  Conan had turned his attention from the holo when Jamie entered the room. He came over and sniffed Jamie's hand.

  “Good morning, man,” he said, enunciating the words clearly as he wagged his tail.

  Jamie suspected that was his usual greeting to whatever feral humans lived with his pack, but nevertheless, was pleased by the courtesy.

  “Good morning to you, Conan,” he said. “Did you sleep well? Are you hungry?” The dog appeared confused by the simultaneous questions, but finally sorted them out. “Sleep, yes. Eat, yes. Go man-cave now?"

  “Tomorrow."

  The dog nodded that he understood. Jamie reflected again that perhaps he had underestimated his intelligence. At any rate, he was beginning to like him and certainly admired the determination which had led him on a long journey into surroundings which must appear utterly alien to him. He wondered not for the first time since the previous evening what lay at the end of the return journey.

  He took out more food for the three animals, knowing they would eat again, then began fixing breakfast for himself and Jeannie. Food preparation was as simple or complex as he cared to make it. This morning, he decided to start from scratch instead of heating a prepared meal. He took out strips of processed vegetable matter made up to resemble bacon, several real (and rare) real eggs, slices of butter bread, milk substitute, and more or less real orange juice. Not many citizens could afford the orange juice or eggs, but Jamie's position allowed him to enjoy the luxuries as often as not.

  No Enclave functioned exactly like the others; geography, climate, political history, and many other factors dictated the economic structure and living conditions. The Houston Enclave was favored by climate, access to the sea, and a previous base of high technology. Most large facilities (such as the hydrogen fusion plant) were government owned, but there was still considerable room for free enterprise in a population of over fifteen million, even after the drastic restructuring which had been necessary during it's formation. There was trade between the Enclaves of the northern hemisphere, and still some world trade, but both were limited by necessity to really vital items. Jamie had never tasted real coffee; what he prepared for them was a synthetic/organic substitute, although he called it coffee and thought of it as such.

  He heard sounds coming from the bed room and hurried his preparations. He told the dinette to unfold from the ceiling and quickly laid out trays for them. He was just pouring the juice when Jeannie entered the room. He was momentarily surprised to see her dressed in becoming yellow coveralls, opened low in front in the conventional design. She had hand decorated the vertical front closure and embroidered cursive patterns on the wide side pockets. The sleeves were rolled crisply above her elbows as a concession to the humid spring weather. He remembered then that she had brought a few changes of clothing over a couple of weeks before at his own urging so that he could enjoy her company on the mornings after she stayed over, rather than having to go home to change. Damn, he could have gown back to bed, after all.

  “Mmm. You're going to spoil me,” Jeannie said, sniffing the breakfast aromas. She kissed him soundly, the tickle of his mustache sending a little shiver up her spine. “Hi guys!” She waved at the animals and sat down to eat.

  * * * *

  While Jamie and Jeannie were enjoying their breakfast, Carlos Alvarez had made a point of arriving at the office early that morning so that he could record in detail the odd happenings of the night before. A prudent man, he would never have considered breaking Whitmire's injunction against talking to other persons, but his bureaucratic mind saw no harm in making a record of the events. Perhaps it would come in handy later. In fact, it would, but not in the way he imagined, and the unprotected file would eventually embroil the Enclave in conflict and death.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Jamie and Jeannie were just finishing their coffee when the door chimed. He told it to open without bothering to look; he already knew who it would be, but surprised himself by the little throb in his middle at the anticipation.

  “Good morning,” Kristi said, including both humans and animals in the greeting. Jamie stared. Kristi was no longer wearing ranger dress. The coveralls had been replaced by powder blue slacks and a white blouse and her blond hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. She no longer looked ready to fight wildcats, and seemed to have shrunk several sizes as well. She still retained her weapons, however, holstered neatly at her waist. He admired the waist.

  “Good morning,” Jeannie answered for all of them in a pleasant voice, unconsciously less possessive after her night with Jamie.

  “I'm holding the sled whenever you're ready,” Kristi said.

  “I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” Jamie said. “Hold the fort, guys. Take care of Conan.” He led the way outside, threading his way amongst the contingent of a half dozen rangers and two internal security agents. He stopped before boarding the sled and turned to Jeannie.

  Kristi spoke before he could. “Can we drop you somewhere, Jeannie? We'll be glad to, if it's not too far out of the way."

  “I think the GE building is pretty much on the route if you're going toward the city,” Jeannie said, feeling no threat in the offer.

  “We are. Come on.” She led Jeannie to a seat at the back of the sled and sat down beside her, leaving Jamie to share the company of the two security agents. He was a little non-plussed that Jeannie chose to share the ride with Kristi rather than him. He even wondered mildly how they were getting along; he had caught some of the nuances between the two women the night before. He would have been amazed had he heard their conversation as he was riding serenely along.

  Just to make small talk, Jeannie asked after they were seated, “How could I go about getting into ranger training if I wanted to?"

  Kristi smiled. “Before considering it, you might want to think about how you would feel about going days on end being dirty, sweaty, exhausted, and threatened. That's the usual routine on the outside."

  “Oh,” Jeannie said. Her romanticized version of ranger life hadn't included such factors.

  “What do you do now?” Kristi asked.

  “I run the computer at Jamie's office. That's where I met him. You don't think I'd like being a ranger?"

  “No, I don't,” Kristi said honestly. “You strike me as someone who would rather stay inside the barriers. I feel the same way about Jamie, by the way. I don't think he's an outside person, either."

  Jeannie saw her chance and took it. “Is that all you think about him?"

  Kristi turned and smiled. “Are you worried about what
might happen when Jamie and I get off into the wilds together? Don't. Oh, there might be some sexual attraction—Jamie is an interesting man, and his pets surely think well of him; that counts for a lot with me. Relax, though; I'm no threat, not in the long run."

  “I'm glad,” Jeannie confessed.

  “No need to be that glad. I really prefer women over men. In fact, if anyone should worry, Jamie should."

  “Why do you say that?” Jeannie asked, puzzled.

  “Because, if push comes to shove, I'd rather have you in my bed.” Kristi patted Jeannie's thigh and grinned beatifically. “Here's your stop."

  Blushing furiously, Jeannie got up. She avoided eye contact with Jamie as she gave him a brief kiss and stepped off the sled. As it trailed off into the distance, her thoughts went with it, as confused as if she had just dived into a pool of Jell-O instead of water. She had a right to be; Kristi hadn't been completely honest. Jamie attracted her more than she had admitted, more so than any man she had met for some time. And he was involved with Jeannie. She liked her, too. This proposed expedition was getting more interesting all the time.

  * * * *

  The two security agents sharing Jamie's seat could have been twins, or brothers. Both wore identical tan coveralls and had brown hair and brown eyes. They both wore holstered laser guns and had identical badges affixed to the lapels of their suits. Like Jamie, they wore their suits with sleeves rolled above the elbows, ready to be rolled down if need be; at this time of year, the weather could change suddenly. All purpose coveralls, shorts, slacks, and simple pullovers or shirts and blouses were all the enclave offered. There was no spare capacity for fashion designers or a wide variety of clothing. Most men took them as they came, but many women decorated the basic wardrobe to give an illusion of variety.

  The conversation of the security agents was as conservative as their dress. Other than giving names, which Jamie promptly forgot, they made no conversational gambits of their own, merely answering questions with the least possible use of words. Jamie soon gave up and gazed out toward the center of the enclave as they rode. When they came to Jeannie's stop, he noticed that her face was slightly red. He wondered why, but decided not to ask. Instead, he invited her back to spend the night again. She accented, kissed him briefly, and was gone.