All the Good Doggies

      Pressing my nose to the cold window, I bark at the little fires in the Big Nothing. When I was a puppy, Master Tom told me they were called stars, but I still like to think of them as little fires. Sometimes I can picture all us doggies curled up nice and warm around one when we get to New Home.
      I miss Master Tom. I think all the doggies do. Right now he sleeps in the cold room with the other Masters. In my dreams, I see him playing fetch with me and petting me on the head and calling me a good doggie. I even dream of us going for long walks in the trees. I know all about trees, you see, because Master Tom showed me them in the Hall of Pictures. The day he wakes up, I will be so happy. The ship must land.
      The ship must land. Ever since we were taken from our mothers' teats, Master Tom told us that over and over again. That is why we watch over the blinking lights on the bridge. That is why we are always sniffing at the gauges in the engine room. That is why we listen to the beeping of the metal cans in which the Masters sleep. It is our job to make sure all the machines blink and beep right and fix them if they do not. And if we can not fix them, then we must wake the Masters so they can make the machines blink and beep right all over again. The ship must land.
      I am howling at this really bright little fire when I hear snarling behind me. It is Elvis, our pack leader. The white fur is standing up on his back and there is anger smell all over him. "Why are you up here barking at shadows, Ringo?" he growls. "It is your shift on the bridge."

by Peter Sharpe © 1998. All rights reserved.

      Elvis is older and stronger than the rest of us, but that is not why he is pack leader. The Masters made us a lot smarter than our sires' sires' sires, but Elvis is the smartest of us all. Some of the doggies say he can even understand the markings on the Masters' glowing screens.
      I roll on my back to show him I am sorry. "I forgot to watch the sticks on the clock," I whimper.
      "How your litter ever made this pack, I will never know. With George always in the Hall of Pictures chasing rabbits, Paul and John sniffing after Janis, and you all the time barking at the Big Nothing, I think your mother must have secretly jumped the wall before the Masters mated her." He gently nips me on my leg. "Now get to the bridge."
      "The ship must land," I say, crawling obediently on my belly past him.
      I run all the way to the bridge and find Aretha pacing between the machines waiting for me. She is sleek and black with long, floppy ears and nice white markings on her tiny paws. Even her smell is pretty. "What kept you?" she asks. "You should have been here fifteen big sticks ago."
      "Sorry, I was looking out the Big Window."
      "You are such a dreamer, Ringo." The way she wags her tail, I know she is not really mad at me. "Why can you not be more like Dylan, eyes always on the frisbee?"
      "Dreamers make good sires."
      "But they do not get me to the kibble machine on time." We rub muzzles and she leaves for the kitchen. The Masters have injected something into our dams so they will not come into heat, but Master Tom says all that will wear off when we get to New Home. Aretha and I plan to make lots and lots of puppies then. The ship must land.
      For four little sticks I watch the lights but they blink the way they are supposed to. Only once did I ever see a light blink wrong and I got to push a button like Master Tom taught me. I know I am a bad doggie for thinking this, but I hope another light will blink wrong again someday. I like pushing buttons.
      It is almost time for Buddy to start his shift when I get my wish. All of a sudden the machines start making this high-pitched howl and lights begin to blink wrong all over the bridge. I push all the buttons but the machines only howl louder and none of the lights will blink right again. As I go to call Elvis on the big speaker, the whole bridge jumps. The ship shakes and shakes and I start floating up to the ceiling. I am so scared it is all I can do to not pee. A few ticks later, the bridge stops jumping but the machines' howling continues. I hit the floor hard.
      I must be a very bad doggie, I think as I lie there. If I were good, the lights would blink right again. As I try to remember what I have done wrong, the whistle sound we are all taught to obey comes over the Big Speaker. "Attention all doggies!" Elvis barks. "Report to the cold room immediately! Attention all doggies "
      When I get to the Masters' hold, I do not need to see the raised hackles on my pack's backs to know the wrong is real big. Fear smell is in the air and I count only ten of us. Buddy, Grace, and Aretha are by the door, licking each other's muzzles for reassurance, and in a far corner Courtney and Madonna are cowering together, their ears raised in dread. I find John and Paul and Janis timidly following Elvis around as he diligently sniffs one beeping tin can after another. I ask Paul, "Where is George?" but he only tucks his tail between his legs and whines.
      "He was chasing rabbits with Dylan and Tina in the Hall of Pictures," John answers instead. "Elvis says a bad thing happened there but he will not tell us what."
      Just then, Cher comes running into the cargo hold, tongue hanging from her mouth. "The kibble machine is broken," she says, panting. "There is no food in the kitchen."
      Hearing this, all the doggies start to bark and whimper in unhappiness. All the doggies,that is, except Elvis. "Silence!" he howls real loud. "What will the Masters think when they hear what bad doggies you were?" As we quiet down, he jumps on top of a metal can that beeps different from the others and examines its markings. "This one," he says with a wag of his tail. "Ringo and John, help me with the unit. The rest of you go to the med locker and bring me any machines and instruments you find "
      With Elvis guiding us, we turn and push a whole lot of dials and buttons until the metal can finally pops open with a loud whoosh. Inside is this big glass tube with a long lever next to it. Elvis pulls the lever with his teeth and the glass slides open to reveal a sleeping Master, a dam. We were taught all Masters are good but still I am disappointed it is not Master Tom.
      For many small sticks, Elvis pokes and prods the pale and cold Master with machines and instruments we find in the med locker. How he can remember so much about the Masters' tools I do not know, but it makes my head hurt just to think about it. Finally the sleeping Master opens her eyes and Elvis begins licking her face. "Have we arrived?" she asks, shivering.
      "No, Master Captain. A bad thing has happened and we need your help." Leaping to the floor, he lies on his belly, muzzle lowered to the ground. "The ship must land."
      "Yes, yes. Good boy." Master Captain shakily gets out of her glass tube and pats Elvis on the head. Still shivering, she wraps her furless body in a big cloth from under the tin can and stumbles over to a glowing screen on the wall. "Holy shit, the hull's been breached and all of Section Seven's in vacuum!" I get a funny feeling hearing this. The Hall of Pictures is in Section Seven. "We're going to need an engineer. Come Elvis, help me revive Master Bob. . ."

      For the next three cycles, Master Captain and Master Bob are very busy. They go everywhere on the ship, punching buttons and turning dials and staring at the glowing screens until one by one the lights on the bridge begin to blink right again. The only thing they can not fix is the kibble machine, so they feed us from boxes wrapped in shiny foil. The meat is dry and not very tasty but we are so hungry we eat it anyway.
      After a shift in the engine room, I find a warm corner in the kitchen to curl up and go to sleep. When I wake, I see the two Masters sitting at the table drinking from steamy cups. I pretend to stay asleep because good doggies do not bother the Masters when they are talking.
      ". . . The good news is the engines and life support survived the meteorite collision with minimal damage," Master Bob tells Master Captain as he looks at the little glowing screen in his hand. "All the hibernation units are functioning properly and, amazingly enough, the cryolab in Section Seven made it through without losing a single livestock embryo or seedling. The course correction will cost us four months but we have more than enough fuel in reserve to cover it."
      Master Captain sips from her cup. "And the bad news?"
      "On the minus side, we've lost three dogs, a bank of cloning generators and, most important of all, all but one of the food synthesis tanks have ruptured into space." He shakes his head. "The colony's now well below its two-year margin of safety. If we continue using up consumables at our present rate, there'll be no margin left by planetfall."
      The fur above Master Captain's eyes rises. "You're not seriously suggesting—"
      "I don't like it either, Alice, but I see no alternative." He hands her the glowing screen and I smell worry as she looks at it. "Look at it this way, they're only a failsafe on top of a failsafe and we've plenty of canine embryos in the cryolab."
      "You're right of course, but I still don't have to feel good about it." Putting down the glowing screen, she gives Master Bob this real sad look. "Unfortunately, the Planners made no provisions for something like this. We have no facilities to humanely—" She suddenly sees me lying in the corner and stops talking.
      I do not want them to think I am a bad doggie, so I yawn and stretch as I get to my feet. "Good cycle, Masters."
      "Good cycle," Master Captain answers. "You just wake up?"
      "Yes, I had such a nice dream," I say, trying to look sleepy. "I was chasing a rabbit through these trees and. . ."
      "This is all very fascinating," she says, "but why don't you run along and find someplace else to sleep? Master Bob and I have people things to discuss."
      "The ship must land." I bow my muzzle low and leave. Like a place I can not scratch, something about the Masters' talking bothers me, so I go ask Elvis about it.
      "Say nothing to the other doggies," is all he tells me, anger smell strong on him. "I need time to prepare. And if a Master orders you to do something, ask me about it first."
      My tail quivers in confusion. "But are not all Masters' orders good?"
      "Some are better than others." He nips me on the hindquarters. "Now get your star-barking hide to the bridge before I give you a good mauling for missing your shift."
      Three little sticks later, I hear the obedience whistle over the big speaker again. "All doggies report to airlock three," says Master Captain. "All doggies . . ."
      I count nine of us sitting around the Masters near the open airlock. Madonna and Courtney are nowhere in sight. "It has come to our attention that you doggies have become very flea-infested since we went to sleep," Master Captain tells us. "We've set up a little bath for you . . ."
      "We have no fleas," Elvis barks angry. I want to tell him it is not nice to interrupt a Master, but he smells so of anger I decide to say nothing. I look around and Madonna and Courtney still have not come.
      Master Bob gives Elvis a bad doggie look. "Everybody into the bath," he says. "Ringo, you first." Disregarding the snarl Elvis gives me, I slink slowly to the Master's side. The others whimper and stay behind me. "Don't be afraid, big boy," he says, petting me. "Nobody's going to hurt you. Go right inside."
      "But Master Tom told us never to play in the airlocks."
      "This is a very special airlock," Master Captain says. "There's a big tub of water on the other side of that door. Courtney and Madonna already had their baths and they feel so much better for it."
      I lower my ears and shiver all over. "But I do not like baths, Master Captain."
      "Enough!" Master Bob grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me toward the airlock. "Captain, bring the others."
      "Do not go into that airlock," Elvis barks at me. "They plan to send you into the Big Nothing."
      Elvis wants me to disobey the Masters? Only bad doggies do that, I think. Still I am very scared. Digging in with my claws, I pull back and struggle real hard until I break free of Master Bob.
      "What is with you mutts?" Master Bob yells. "Tom trained you better than this."
      Snarling, Elvis steps between Master Bob and the rest of the pack. "You must not let them do this," he tells the pack. "They want to stop us from landing the ship."
      Hearing this, Grace lowers her belly to the floor and whimpers, "The ship must land!"
      "Don't be silly," Master Captain yells. "It's just a bath."
      But Elvis will not be silent. "Go with them and there will be no more doggies to watch the lights on the bridge . . ."
      "The ship must land!" This time it is Buddy barking, his muzzle drooping in unhappiness.
      "We're your Masters. You must obey us!" screams Master Bob.
      ". . . No more doggies to sniff the gauges in the engine room . . ."
      Now the rest of the pack takes up the howl, all barking and jumping as one. "The ship must land! The ship must land . . ."
      "I've had all I'm going to take from you." Full of anger smell, Master Bob pulls an instrument from his belt and points it at Elvis. He pushes a button, but all it does is click. "That damn mutt must have broken into the armory and chewed up the batteries," he says, opening the instrument.
      I am so afraid, I can not even move. All the other doggies nervously pace back in forth, howling in confusion. All, that is, but Elvis. Slowly he stalks toward the Masters, lips curled and fangs all gleaming.
      ". . . The ship must land! The ship must land . . ."
      Grabbing my neck, Master Bob again tries to pull me into the airlock. It smells of Madonna and Courtney. It smells of blood and excrement. Most of all, it smells of pain. I do not want to go in there.
      "Bad doggies!" Master Captain yells at the snarling pack. "Bad, bad doggies!"
      Master Bob is pulling me closer and closer to the airlock. I want to be a good doggie and obey the Masters but I am so afraid. I look up at Master Bob and see the fear in his eyes, feel the trembling in his hand and know then that Elvis speaks the truth. No more lights to watch or gauges to sniff? No New Home or walks in the trees or puppies? What kind of Masters order things like that? I ask myself. Bad Masters! Bad, bad Masters! "The ship must land!" I bark as I sink my teeth hard into Master Bob's hand.
      "Why you little . . ." He kicks me in the belly and I yelp and bite again. My mouth tastes of warm blood and meat and I like it. I bite and bite and bite . . .
      ". . . The ship must land! The ship must land. . ."
      Now John and Paul and Janis are beside me, standing over the thrashing Master, growling as they tear at his throat and belly. There is lots of blood and screaming and more anger and fear smell than I have ever sniffed before. Behind me, I hear louder growls and screams and I know it is Master Captain.
      ". . . The ship must land! The ship must land . . ."
      We bite and howl, bite and howl, and soon the Masters stop their screaming. We bite and howl, bite and howl some more, and soon the Masters thrash no more.

      All is different on the ship since that cycle. We still watch over the blinking lights on the bridge and sniff the gauges in the engine room, but we no longer go in the cold room, as all the tin cans have stopped beeping. Grace thinks Elvis has something to do with this but he refuses to speak of it. Anyway, I am happy now because I get more time to bark at the little fires in the Big Nothing.
      Elvis is such a smart doggie. When he is not finding food for us, his muzzle is always pressed against a glowing screen, trying to understand the markings there. He tells us that we must learn to work the Masters' shiny machines and put up their big, warm houses when the ship gets to New Home. He says that someday our puppies and our puppies' puppies will see what we do and wag their tails and call us all good doggies. The ship must land.
      I am hungry after watching the lights blink on the bridge, so I go to the kitchen. A strange but familiar smell greets me as I enter. The feeding doggies part to make room for me and my tail wags and wags when I see what Elvis brings us this time.
      It is good to see Master Tom again.