Einstein Dog (10 page)

“I think we're ready now,” Professor Smith announced, walking up the lane to their end and taking his seat. He balanced a clip board on his lap. In one hand he clutched a pen, in the other a stopwatch.

Einstein and Genie crouched at their start lines. They were used to drills, even a bit tired of them, but they still couldn't help trying to win. Mazes, obstacle courses, quizzes . . . they'd been put through any number of trials. At first the entire litter had taken part, but when it became obvious Einstein and Genie won every round, the others were eliminated. Einstein had no idea why Professor Smith wanted to test them. All he knew was the professor whooped with glee when they performed well, and rewarded them with praise and affection.

“On your marks! Get set! Monkey!” he shouted.

They charged down their lanes, Genie one step in the lead. Einstein cursed his short puppy legs. He wished he could run like his mother. By comparison he and Genie flapped and flopped like rag dolls. Grabbing his stuffed monkey by the neck and resisting the urge to shake it savagely, Einstein wheeled and began his dash back to the start line.

Genie gripped her monkey by the midriff, a much better hold because it kept the dangling arms and legs from trailing under her paws. She had widened her lead considerably by the time they arrived back at the start line.

“Ball!” Professor Smith shouted.

Genie had turned and bolted by the time Einstein reached his base. He dropped his monkey and lit out after her, pushing hard and gaining a few steps as they raced for the rubber balls. Go, go, go, he urged his pudgy legs, snatching the ball up, twisting and galloping back toward his start line.

“Duck!”

Einstein panted, blowing out the used up air and sucking in fresh.

“Stick!”

Genie spurred herself on, yapping as she galumphed down her lane. She skidded to a stop in front of the stick, and to Einstein's delight missed her first attempt at fetching it. He'd regained most of the lost ground by the time she clamped it between her teeth for her return leg.

“Bone!”

Up and down the course they galloped, silently now, to conserve energy. By the time they dropped their bones, she clung to her lead by a nose, but the momentum had shifted. Einstein
would
catch her;
would
pass her;
would
beat her!

“Slipper!” Professor Smith shouted.

Every ounce of will counted now. Einstein sensed Genie's panic. Victory was slipping away from her. They grabbed their slippers at the same instant, then whirled, scrabbling for the finish line neck and neck. “Come on!” Einstein urged his legs and lungs. He surged forward, inching ahead of Genie. The race was his!

A sudden jolt sent him stumbling off course. Genie had checked him! Furious, he snapped at her, then howled in outrage, realizing two things simultaneously: one, he'd dropped his slipper, and two, Genie had sprinted past him and across the finish line.

Einstein barked and whined in protest, but Professor Smith paid no heed. “Well done!” he chortled, patting Genie, who obliged him by wagging her whole body. “That's the best time yet.”

Genie smirked, accepting her reward of strokes and praise.

“Come now, Einstein,” the professor scolded. “You can't win
every
race.”

Not when your sister is a big cheater, the disconsolate pup grumped.

Five minutes later the two of them were back in the kennel with Libra and the others. Einstein had forgotten about the indignity of losing. They played for a while, then nestled together against the warmth of Libra's belly. Professor Smith wasn't the only one who had picked Einstein and Genie out of the litter; they'd picked each other too, and no dispute over a silly race was going to change that.

Einstein had drifted into a pleasant snooze when, suddenly, he felt himself muscled roughly aside. Cap had arrived to claim his preferred spot. Einstein grunted uncomfortably, then yelped as a sharp pain shot up his rump. Cap had bitten him! Flushed with anger, Einstein growled and turned on his brother. The two faced each other, lips curled, hackles raised.

Stop it!
Libra commanded with a telly too potent to ignore. Einstein wriggled over to make more room, and Cap shoved himself in, taking advantage of the offer. Then they lay there, side by side, each angry at the other.

The sun glittered in the treetops like a gigantic Christmas ornament. Campus Green rolled invitingly away from the kennel compound toward Campus Wood.

“If it wasn't for Dean Zolinsky's orders we could be out there playing,” Bertrand complained, closing his eyes to shut out the tantalizing scene. He was slouching against the warmed concrete of the Stafford Building.

Libra grunted agreement, shifting her head in his lap. She missed running free.

Why she mean?

Bertrand considered the question. He'd never asked it before, but it needed an answer, especially since his father would be going to see the dean again very soon to talk about

Libra and the SMART pups. Professor Smith claimed to be “making progress”, but Bertrand would believe it when he saw it.

Elaine, too, said Dean Zolinsky was “softening” her stand because his father had convinced her that keeping the SMART dogs in captivity was having a negative effect on their research. “Seeing is believing,” Bertrand muttered.

He let go the thought. No sense clouding a perfectly wonderful hour in the sun with useless speculations. Instead he tilted his face up and adjusting his back against the warm concrete.

Stupid lady!

He blushed, thankful at least he hadn't uttered his childish insult out loud. Professor Smith had taught him from a very young age to avoid name-calling. Bertrand could hear his father's gentle admonition now: “Don't use labels. Think things through. Understand what it is you're angry about and state the problem intelligently.”

Libra shifted again, pointing her head toward Bertrand's feet. A faint tickling at the back of his cranium made him smile. Libra was laughing.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

She bad!

Bertrand shook his head and groaned. He seemed to be going through some kind of regression. “What's the matter with me?” he muttered, opening his eyes. Libra's head was still nestled in his lap, but she wasn't snoozing. He followed her glance beyond his feet to the spot where Einstein sat staring, like a determined child.

She bad!
Einstein repeated.

“Huh?”

It took Bertrand a second to realize what was happening — his “thoughts” about Dean Zolinsky actually belonged to an eight week old SMART pup.

“I don't believe it!” Bertrand said.

Talkies,
Einstein proclaimed proudly.
Genie talk too. We teach others.

“But that's impossible!” Bertrand cried. “It takes human babies a year or more to learn how to talk. You're only a couple of months old!”

Monkey, ball, duck, stick, bone, slipper,
Einstein recited, visual images of the words appearing in quick succession in Bertrand's thoughts along with the audio.
Elaine, Professor, Bertrand, Ariel, Libra.

Bertrand blinked. The pup stared. Einstein's lips, tongue and vocal chords couldn't possibly shape themselves to the requirements of human speech, but he was able to add words to his tellies. “Incredible!” Bertrand gasped.

She mean
, the dog repeated once more, then trotted across the compound to join his sister at the perimeter fence.

Libra glanced up at Bertrand without raising her head. Her tail thumped.

“How long have you known?” Bertrand demanded.

She couldn't say, of course. Speech and the ability to read calendars were, after all, beyond her capabilities.

Frank Hindquist stood at the window of his darkened office, watching the cars whiz down Highway 1 toward Vancouver. If only they knew! he laughed. Their city would be transformed someday. By order of the Global Council it would be remade into a true metropolis, a place the councillor for America North could be proud to call his seat of government. Grand avenues, colossal monuments, towering buildings . . . he imagined a city bristling with the symbols of power, with his name chiseled into the foundation stones of its history.

That was where Highway 1 led, although not a single sign proclaimed it and none of the motorists were aware of it — yet.

In the meantime there were more mundane matters that needed attending to, and right away. If he didn't move quickly, the SMART litter might be separated. He could not allow that to happen.

“Get me Councillor Vladimir Petrovitch,” he instructed his computer.

The machine went through its security routines and Petro-vitch materialized on Hindquist's desk monitor. “Hello!” the affable Russian boomed. “Welcome my friend. What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the latest surveillance concerning the SMART project?” Hindquist asked impatiently.

“Yes. I have looked it over.”

“Then you know the dogs can actually talk, Vladimir.”

“I know the boy says they can, Frank. That's hardly conclusive. Professor Smith hasn't detected the ability in his experiments and the boy seems reluctant to let his father know about it, perhaps because it isn't so.”

Hindquist stifled a shout. He needed Petrovitch on his side and getting into a spat wouldn't help.

“I want you to see something else, Vlad,” he continued calmly, pushing a button on his console. A surveillance shot of Professor Smith and Elaine came up on the screen.

“I think she's going to okay it,” Professor Smith was saying gleefully.

“Oh, Alex, that's wonderful.”

“At first it was the same old story: ‘We can't let them off campus Alex', ‘It goes against all or our regulations', ‘They're worth millions to this university'. But when I told her that keeping the dogs confined might actually skew our results, she sat up and took notice.”

“So, she's going to let us relocate them?”

“Yup,” Professor Smith said, beaming.

Elaine whooped and hugged him. “When, Alex?”

“As soon as we've found appropriate placements. Libra and Einstein will be coming home with Bertrand and me. Ariel's going to ask if she can bring Genie home.”

“And I'll take the other three,” Elaine said firmly.

“What?” Professor Smith looked doubtful.

“They're not going to be separated, Alex. They're too intelligent for that. It would be like splitting up a human family. If I take them, we can at least bring the litter together from time to time. Besides, it will give me a reason to visit you. Bertrand won't object if I'm bringing Libra's pups, will he?”

Hindquist cut the segment before the two of them kissed.

“This is what I was afraid of Vlad,” he said. “We've got to move quickly or the litter will be split up.”

Ivan Petrovitch sighed, shaking his head. “I'll see what I can do,” he grumbled.

Hindquist grinned. He'd won. The Russian was prepared to support him before the Global Council. Petrovitch had probably seen the value of the SMART dogs all along, but hadn't wanted Hindquist's influence on the council to grow. With the litter in imminent danger of being split up, though, the Russian had no choice but to show his hand.

They said good night. Hindquist savoured his victory for a second or two, leaning back in his swivel chair. Then he rocked forward and punched the intercom button. “Come in, gentlemen,” he barked. “Over here,” he gestured toward a set of chrome and leather chairs as the Gowler brothers and Dr. Molar entered his office.

“Progress reports.”

“All's ready, sir,” Charlie Gowler responded smartly.

“Ready here, too, Frank,” Doctor Molar said.

“You've tested the blowgun?” Hindquist grilled Charlie.

“Yup. We caught a mongrel just the right size and took her out to the old gravel pit. One shot and she was done. The gun works like a charm.”