Chapter 3

Outsiders

The Prefect’s narrow face glared at the two dogs as they stood blinking in the opulence of his office. His small stature and thin black and white fur could be attributed to Jack Russell genes, although his petulant demeanour was harder to explain. He had not grown kinder during a tenure which began before Weskar and Sam had been lifted out of the cloning incubators.

“Well! What have we here? Two nosey dogs poking around in the Holy Enclosures of the Divine Mechanisms!” The Prefect's shrill tone matched his small size, but he spoke with the confidence of total authority.

Weskar took a moment to gather his courage, for he had never addressed the city leader directly.

“Sir, something has happened to —”

“SILENCE!” The Prefect's eyes bulged as he shouted. “You will speak only when I ask you a question. I'm surprised the Protectors didn’t strike you down for transgressing into their sacred domain!”

A note of panic filtered through the Prefect's bluster, but he soon regained his control. “And now you —” He pointed at Sam. “— will tell me what you were doing in the sacred catacombs of the Protectors.”

“The Kibble machine malfunctioned and didn’t give out the full measure of food,” began Sam, his tone neutral. “We decided to investigate. We discovered that something has gone wrong in the Kibble production machine. It’s wrecked beyond repair.”

The Prefect looked as if he might explode. “And WHAT makes you think YOU are qualified to judge the Great Works of the Protectors, or even look upon their sacred Mechanisms? This heresy cannot go unpunished!”

Sam's tone remained measured. “I’m telling you, Prefect, if we don’t do something very soon, we’re going to run out of food!”.

The Prefect leaped out of his chair, neck fur rising in umbrage, but his intimidating pose proved ineffective because the Saint Bernard towered over him. The Rottweiler guards took a step closer to compensate, and a faint buzz from their stun pikes menaced the silence.

The city leader stared at the two younger dogs for a moment before he continued, his voice icy. “I trust in the Protectors. They have always supplied our needs, and in return they ask only for our faith. If the sacred Kibble dispenser failed to give out the expected amount of food, it is most likely because the Protectors didn’t think you deserved it, and I can see why. As for the rest, I will not hear any more of such evil talk. The Protectors provide for our every need, and we do not question their generosity or the operation of their Mechanisms. You could not understand their miraculous operation anyway, despite what you think you saw in their realms.”

Weskar stared, mouth hanging open, as he tried to reconcile two different worlds. The Prefect spoke for the Protectors, and the Protectors would take care of them all – so he had been taught. How could their leader be wrong? Yet in his mind he could still see that other world – the one of ruined machinery and looming crises. In that world, the Prefect was a sham, the Protectors were nowhere to be seen, and they would have to save themselves.

“But...” he finally stammered.

The Prefect whirled to face him. “I can understand such heretical foolishness from him,” he snarled, “but I would expect better from you, considering what a shining example your parents are!”

Weskar was left agape as the Prefect turned back to the Saint Bernard. “Yes, I know all about you, Sam Fletcher. You’ve turned out to be a worthless troublemaker, just like your father.”

At that, Sam gave a low but prolonged growl. It was an awesome and frightening sound, all the more so because Weskar had never seen Sam truly angry. A hint of actual fear showed on the Prefect’s pointed face as Sam took a step towards him. But before he could get any closer, the guard lowered his pike. Electricity crackled at the business end as he jabbed it into Sam’s side. The Saint jerked and gasped in pain, but stayed on his feet. The other guard shoved Weskar aside, and this time Weskar winced as the second stun pike hummed and Sam dropped to his knees.

The Prefect stepped back and regarded his prisoner with a smirk, his taunt having produced the desired effect. “Just as I expected, treacherous and insolent too.” The Saint managed to raise his head and give the Prefect a cold look even as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Enough of this!” The Prefect turned to his guards who stood with pikes in readiness. “Take him to the lock-up, and make sure he gets a nice cold cell with nobody to keep him company. He can reflect on the degree of his own depravity until we decide a suitable punishment.”

One of the guards flicked a set of cuffs out of his belt-pouch and snapped them onto Sam’s wrists. They barely fitted, and the guard squeezed them tight until they crushed deeply into Sam’s soft white fur. Weskar could hardly bear to see his friend so roughly treated, and bit his lip. The Saint was recovering from the effects of the stun pikes, however, and he endured the harsh handling with stoic resolve. Weskar could only stare helplessly as they led Sam from the room.

The Prefect turned to Weskar, his face still hard. “As for you, I’m going to assume you were led astray by foolish talk from that Outsider. I am going to let you go, but I’ll be watching you very closely. And don’t let me hear of you babbling this heretical talk to anyone else, or not even your connections will be enough to save you. Now get out of my sight.”

The Prefect pointed dismissively at the door, and Weskar scurried out before the angry little dog changed his mind. So many questions filled his head that he didn’t know where to start.

Outside the Prefect’s office he passed two more guards who ignored him, then hurried along a short corridor and thereby arrived in the lofty marble-floored foyer of the Administration Building.

Night had fallen in New Hope city, and the great overhead lights were off, leaving the city lit by the wan glow of the ornate street lamps, a few multicoloured fairy lights decorating shop fronts, and the yellow squares of apartment windows. The big clock above the door showed 9 pm – an earlier hour than Weskar expected, for it seemed like a long time since they had found their way into the back of the Kibble machine.

Where was Sam now? The city jail was easily identifiable as a squat concrete shape jutting out from the city wall, and Weskar turned in that direction. But the burly Doberman officer behind the front desk just growled and pointed at a sign describing visiting hours and conditions in large black capitals.

A statue formed the centrepiece of the square outside the Administration Building. A stylised canine, short-coated and muscular, held aloft a half sphere from which water splashed. It was supposed to represent the generosity of the Protectors who cared for New Hope City and provided for the needs of the inhabitants. The Shepherd floomped down on a bench, curled his tail around his knees, and gazed at it while he pondered the words of the Prefect.

Your Connections. Weskar's parents had studied the Structions every evening since before he could remember, and he was still a young pup when their devotion to higher thought drew them to the Inner Circle in search of enlightenment, leaving him to the care of a tutor. He had not seen them often since then, for the religious order demanded a high level of dedication. ‘Shining Example’ they may have been, but as a puppy he only ever wanted a proper home... one like Sam’s. Many a happy evening had been spent with Sam and his cheerful, generous mother.

Weskar decided to pay her a visit, hoping that she might answer the questions buzzing in his head. He couldn’t understand the Prefect’s blunt denial. And what had he meant about Sam’s father? The dogs were small puppies when Fletcher Senior died, and Weskar didn’t remember him. Sam never talked about him, either. Was his friend mixed up in something? Surely he couldn’t be an Outsider, as the Prefect had suggested?

The Outsiders caused the “Great Schism” many years earlier. According to their creed, the underground city of New Hope was a temporary shelter only, and the canines were meant to leave it and return to the fabled ‘Outside’. They had gained many supporters, who began searching for clues as to how and when they were supposed to leave the city and begin their great journey to the Outside.

However, most of the canines of New Hope were happy and comfortable. The Protectors (embodied in the assorted Mechanisms of the City) provided them with everything they needed, while the world beyond the city walls contained only darkness, cold and (if the teachings were correct) certain death. It was easy for the Prefect of the day to stir up fear and animosity against the Outsiders.

Ultimately, the leaders of the movement were rounded up, declared to be dangerous heretics, and banished. A number were never seen again. Nobody asked what became of them; it was assumed that they wandered in the dark until they starved or fell into a subterranean chasm. After that, most canines gave up any thoughts of leaving New Hope. The Schism had been a hundred years ago, and nobody had challenged the order of the Prefects since that time.

Sam’s mother was a small and energetic Kelpie, with dark rust-red fur and upright ears. She had the same relaxed and friendly nature as her son, although Sam took after his father in physical appearance due to the mysteries of the cloning machine.

She greeted Weskar with a wag and a warm embrace despite the late hour. The cosy apartment often featured in his puppy-hood memories, and he smiled when he thought of long wash-days spent playing board games with Sam while the rain pattered down outside. When they grew bored with monopoly, they would scamper out to splash in the flooded gutters and chase each other under the showers of water falling from sprinklers to wash the city streets. Eventually two bedraggled puppies would slosh back to the apartment and dump their clothes in a sodden heap while the long-suffering Kelpie towelled them off. Then she would make them hot chocolate while they waited for their clothes to dry.

Sam’s father looked down from a big photo in the middle of one wall, while smaller pictures showed Sam at different ages - a round fuzz-ball with huge ears and oversized paws at one end of the room, a full-grown Sam at the other, a New Hope College graduation cap perched on his head.

Weskar described the events of the evening over a steaming cup of tea. Mrs Fletcher listened in silence, shaking her head slowly as he described the Prefect and his reference to Sam’s father. When she spoke, her decisive tone held pride and a hint of old pain.

“He wasn’t an Outsider, but he was very talented, and he believed that we should learn about the machines in case they broke down. He tried to convince the Prefect, but it did no good. In the end he banned my husband from going near any machinery.”

She sighed. “I did hope Sam would stay out of trouble.” Then a wry smile spread across her features. “He reminds me so much of his father. I suppose it’s in his blood!”

Weskar tried to stifle a yawn. The Kelpie put her paw on his. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”

Weskar couldn’t argue with that, so he hugged her goodbye and trudged back to his small lodging. A pokey single-room affair, it jostled for space on the top floor of a staid three storey block. His only window looked out over an empty alleyway, and he left the blind open and the lights off while he sprawled in an armchair and sipped a glass of water.

He reflected on the events of a strange and disturbing evening. Thoughts of Sam gasping in pain as the guards poked him with their stun pikes bought a lump to his throat. Big, solid Sam who never let anything upset him and always had a wag and a smile for a friend. What would the Prefect do with him? Surely Sam could not be involved in anything sinister!

Weskar slipped out of his clothes and hung them over the chair, then stretched his arms and back. He hoped Sam was okay, wherever he was. The Saint would stay positive, and he had thick fur to keep him warm in the chilly prison cell. Despite the emotional turmoil in his head, Weskar was dog-tired. He curled up on his futon and soon fell into an uneasy sleep where a glaring Prefect chased him through an endless expanse of broken and charred machinery.

---

A quiet but persistent knocking pulled Weskar from his dreams in the small hours of the morning. Groggy and still half asleep, he opened the door a crack and peered out. A svelte Rhodesian Ridgeback female stood outside, her graceful figure emphasised by the faded pinstripe wallpaper of the hallway. Her fine fur was a rich red-brown colour, blending to dark rust red on her ears and nose. Her modest attire of autumn-brown shirt and slacks hinted at her shapely form in the sultry light.

He recognised her from the Archives section of the Records Centre. They had exchanged pleasantries over coffee during morning breaks, but finding her on his doorstep in the middle of the night was unexpected. Weskar stared at her for a few seconds before he managed to speak. “Hi, Alenna.”

“Well, Mr Weskar.” She favoured him with a shrewd smile. “Are you going to ask me in?”

“Of course, of course!” he covered his bewilderment by ushering her inside, but he couldn't stifle a yawn. “Pardon me – I was sound asleep.”

She turned to him, and her keen gaze appraised his naked and sleep-ruffled fur. A mischievous glint showed in her dark eyes. “You’d better dress.” She gave him a wink, then her voice took on a sterner note. “We have serious business.”

Her tone left no room for argument, so he dug out a clean shirt and pants of sturdy cloth with several pockets. With belated modesty, he took his clothes into the bathroom where he splashed his face with cold water and dried his fur before dressing.

By the time he had finished, his nose detected the sharp aroma of fresh coffee as Alenna coaxed the dark liquid from his machine. They each carried a steaming cup back to the table, hers black and his with plenty of milk and sugar.

“Now,” Alenna began. “You may not be aware of this, but I know your friend Sam quite well. What’s more, he has other friends in this city. We know the Prefect has him locked up, and we want to help him.”

Weskar opened his mouth, but she stymied his question with a raised paw. “I know this because he managed to send a message, but it was quite brief. The gist of it was ‘In prison, find Weskar.’ We know the charge is Heresy, but other than that we are in the dark, so to speak. So, first of all, what is going on?”

Weskar hesitated, unsure whether to trust his mysterious late-night visitor. But the Prefect knew everything already, and the elegant curve of her russet tail kept drawing his gaze, upsetting his rational judgement.

He started with their dinner at the Foodhall, and went on to relate the events of the previous evening. Alenna listened intently, stifling a laugh when he described Sam leaping in to the Kibble vat. When he outlined just how low the level of Kibble was, however, her expression grew more serious, and at his description of the ruined Kibble machine, her fr6wn deepened.

When he got to their encounter with the Prefect, Alenna could not contain herself. “I can’t believe even the Prefect could be that pig-headed!” she cried, the fur on her neck rising in anger. “Poor Sam....” She stared hard at Weskar. “Are you prepared to help him?”

“Absolutely,” Weskar began, “But I didn’t know how.”

The fiery red bitch looked him up and down. “If you want to help, come with me.”

Weskar was still quite bewildered, but for some reason he trusted her. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought to himself. After seeing his best friend dragged away in pawcuffs, he knew he would do whatever he could to help.

“Okay!” He hoped his voice sounded decisive. The coffee had dispelled the last vestiges of sleep, and Weskar was ready. He picked up his small silver pocket watch from the counter as he followed Alenna out the door.

The watch showed 4 am, and the street outside was deserted. Ornate lamps with cut glass faces lit each corner with a pool of orange light, while deep shadows lurked beyond their dim glow. They were heading in the direction of the Records Centre, but Alenna set a fast pace and Weskar had no time to ask questions. He couldn’t help but study the lean shape of her well proportioned body as she walked in front of him, though. A fine genetic line, he thought.

They soon arrived in front of the solid three-storey building where he and Alenna worked. The upper floor housed the accountancy offices, while the Records section occupied the lower floors. The large archive contained detailed reports (in triplicate) on diverse and useful subjects such as the light-bulb replacement history of each building and how often the artificial plants needed to be cleaned.

She led them past the main entrance and down a side alley, where she tapped discretely on a service door. They were ushered inside by a scruffy Terrier who greeted them with a single wag of his shaggy tail and led them to a storage room in the bowels of the building. Piles of old ledgers and cardboard filing boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and the smell of dust and paper tainted the air. Light from a single globe fell on five canines who sat around a table in the centre of the room. They all turned to see the newcomers.

Weskar caught his breath when he saw Rayone, the head of Accountancy and his boss. The tall, slender Great Dane was well suited to her position of authority, and flecks of grey in her tan coat confirmed that years of experience lay behind her regal appearance. She stood to welcome them as they entered.

“Young Mr Weskar! So glad you could join us at this early hour. Please sit down, and you too, Alenna.”

Weskar found himself under close scrutiny from the other canines at the table. One of them, a burly Mastiff, turned to Rayone. “Can we trust him? There’s a lot at stake here.”

“I can vouch for him, as can Alenna.” replied the Dane, casting a steely eye around the table. “And he is a good friend of Sam’s, so I think we can be confident he is on our side.”

Weskar cleared his throat, rather uneasily. “Which side is that, exactly?” he enquired, for the late-night assembly bore the hall-marks of a conspiracy.

The other canines looked at one another. Finally, Rayone spoke up. “We like to think of ourselves as a group of citizens who are interested in discovering the truth of things. We’ve been called various names in the past, including ‘Outsiders’.”