Chapter 13

The Will of the Protectors

Rayone stood outside the menacing circle of guards, and they made no move to detain her as she glanced at the captives then strode out the door. She had knowingly led the others into the ambush – that much was obvious. But Weskar could see no malice or triumph in her expression – only tension and fatigue.

The commander of the guards cuffed their paws behind their backs, then jabbed Weskar with his pike.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for today! Now get moving!”

They had no choice but to obey as the guards herded them down the hall, then out into the street through a back door.

It all happened so fast! Why had Rayone led them into a trap? Was she working for the Prefect?

Night had come to the streets outside, and their elongated shadows followed them under the pale street lamps. All was quiet around the Records Centre, but shouts and crashes echoed sporadically in the distance. It sounded like a riot or street battle, and Weskar wondered what mayhem they had brought to the peaceful city. It had to happen, he told himself. We were living in a delusion.

They soon arrived outside the ornate walls of the Administration Building, containing the Prefect’s office and personal quarters. Guards stood watch at the main doors, and Weskar could see more waiting outside the adjacent barracks. The Prefect wasn't short of reserves.

The sentries at the door saluted and stepped aside, and their captors forced them up the steps and across the wide marble foyer, skirting the information desk and administration offices. The corridor they took led them past the ostentatious wood-panelled doors of the Prefect’s office. At the end of the hall they passed through another door, this one solid but plain.

Blank concrete and harsh white strip lighting replaced the wood panelling as they descended a long flight of stairs. Two more guards saluted as they approached, and stepped aside to reveal a grim concrete bunker. Weskar flinched, for his nose detected an ingrained and ancient smell of pain and fear.

A computer console stood against the far wall, linked by thick cables to a large piece of equipment in the centre of the room. Weskar’s eyes scanned the machine as he tried – and failed – to fathom its purpose.

A complex robotic arm extended from a hub fixed to the ceiling, and terminated in a pointed appendage festooned with wires and small pipes. An elevated platform lay directly below the arm, and on its plastic-covered top lay Misha. Sturdy webbing straps held him tight.

“Misha!” Weskar took a step forward, but a jarring current from the guard’s pike stopped him. He stumbled against the wall and stood still until his vision cleared.

The tan dog looked especially gaunt as he lay naked and restrained on the table. However, he managed a wag as they entered, and his hoarse voice held a suggestion of humour.

“So glad you could join us! I’ve been having such a nice time here with the Prefect!”

The Prefect stood behind the bed clad in a flowing black robe. Three more guards blocked the door, while another fifteen canines, also robed in black, stood in a group to one side. These latter were all high-ranking citizens, and Weskar recognised Jacques, the bulky French Mastiff in charge of the Manufacturing Section, and Sky, the female Husky who spoke for the Retailers Guild. The City Advisory Council! These were the Prefect’s closest allies.

The Prefect stepped forward, licking his lips. Anticipation showed on his thin face, along with a sneer of triumph, as he directed his words at Weskar.

“You have poor choice when it comes to your friends, young pup!”

He nodded to the guards, who prodded the captives with their pikes and forced them to the side of the room opposite the Council. Here they were securely tied at wrist and ankle by more webbing straps fixed to metal rings.

The Prefect stood by the bed on which Misha lay, and raised his paws.

“Canines! The time for niceties is over. These rebels have defied the Protectors to an intolerable degree. For centuries, the Prefects have shielded you from the true nature of the Protectors, standing as an intermediary. We have appeased them on your behalf, making sure that you always had the benefit of their benign mood. But now this defiance has made them angry, and unless I can satisfy them, the shortage of food will be only the beginning of their wrath.”

The Prefect’s eyes gleamed as his oratory gained momentum. “The Protectors demand a sacrifice to compensate for the insolence which they have been forced to endure. I have brought you all here to witness their true power, so that you might learn the importance of obedience, and take the message back to the canines whom you represent.”

The little Jack Russell turned back to his captive. “Oh Protectors!” he intoned. “We obey your will as you have taught us, and keep to the secret faith!”

Weskar watched in horror as the Prefect picked up a cruel-looking knife from a tray beside the bed. He held it up above Misha in a horizontal position, and closed his eyes.

“Pre Parte Rar-je Ararea”. He recited the words in a solemn incantation as he raised the knife.

Weskar didn't know what was coming but it didn't look nice for Misha. Surely the Prefect would see reason and stop this insanity.

“Wait!” he cried. “He has nothing to do with this! He’s not even from the city!”

The nearest guard menaced Weskar with his pike, but the Prefect waved him back. He lowered his knife and walked slowly and deliberately across the room to stand in front of the restrained Shepherd, and his voice was low but intense.

“I can do whatever I like, as long as it is the will of the Protectors and for the good of the city!” He held the knife close to Weskar’s chest, and the blade glinted in the harsh light.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, young dog, especially concerning this traitor you seem to be fond of.” He nodded towards Misha, then stepped back.

“You will not interrupt me again, or my guards will render you senseless in a very painful way, and then you will be next to give yourself to the Protectors.”

Weskar’s heart pounded. He tried to steady himself as the Prefect turned and stalked back to the bed in the centre of the room.

The Jack Russell resumed his previous pose, and repeated the garbled incantation. Then he lowered the knife. Misha’s powerful muscles tensed as he tried to break free of the bonds, but to no avail. Weskar and the others watched in horror as the knife tip pressed into the light fur of his chest, and he gasped in pain as the Prefect made a shallow cut one paw-width long. Red blood oozed as the Prefect stood back to admire his work.

Placing the knife back on the tray, the Prefect turned to the control console. He pressed a few symbols and moved a dial, then closed his eyes and raised his paws again.

“Tragetay Be-mand Setter Larvel.” His paw dropped to the panel and pressed another symbol.

The robotic arm moved down from the ceiling with a smooth hum of servo motors. Weskar saw Misha’s eyes open wide as he watched its approach, and his muscles tensed in anticipation. Almost as if he had experienced the machine before. But the tan dog remained silent as the strange apparatus scanned across his body, then homed in on a spot directly above the bleeding wound in the dog’s chest.

The arm paused for a second while indicator lights flickered on and off. Then came a hum and a crackle of static, and a bright blue-white light shot from the end of the arm and into the wound on Misha’s chest. He writhed in agony as the beam sliced into him.

It only lasted for a few seconds but it felt like a long time. Weskar shook with sympathetic pain for his friend and struggled against his own bonds. “What are you doing?” he cried without thinking.

The guard applied his stun pike, and Weskar slumped against the wall as fire surged through his body and his vision went white.

The robed council members watched from the far side of the room, their faces carefully blank. Surely they will put a stop to this, Weskar thought. Did he detect a hint of discomfort from some of them? It was difficult to tell.

“Tragetay Be-mand Setter Larvel.” The Prefect adjusted a control on the panel as he repeated his incantation. Misha cried out in agony and writhed once more against his ties as the white beam poured into him with greater energy. Weskar felt hot tears trickling down his cheeks, but there was nothing he could do.

A sadistic and hysterical grin distorted the Prefect's face. He adjusted the settings on his torture device again, and Weskar wondered how much more Misha could withstand. He looked to the council, and this time he definitely saw signs of worry in several faces. Before the Prefect could actuate the beam again, a Golden Retriever dog spoke up.

“I think that’s enough, Prefect. You’ve made your point.”

The Prefect whipped around to identify the speaker, then stalked over to the stand in front of him.

“Silence! I alone can interpret the Will of the Protectors, and I will be the judge of the sacrifice which they require.”

He waved his paw, and the guards by the door stepped briskly in front of the group. One of them used his pike on the Retriever, who cried out and crumpled to the floor. The guards stood back and held their pikes at the ready, and it was clear that no further interruption would be tolerated.

The Prefect returned to his victim. He raised his paws once more. “Forgive us, oh Protectors, for our insolence. We are weak and ignorant and we must learn to follow your path.”

He turned back to his console. Weskar couldn’t bear to watch as the beam sliced into Misha once more, and the tan dog writhed and twisted.

But after scarcely more than a second at the new power setting, the beam stopped. Misha slumped back onto the table. The Prefect stared at the control panel, a frown on his face. He stabbed the symbol again.

A whirring sounded, and Weskar glanced up to see the robotic arm in motion. Oblivious, the Prefect kept jabbing at the unresponsive panel as the arm turned to face him. Then came the familiar hum, and the blue-white beam of light lanced out. This time, however, its target was the Prefect.

The small dog gave a yelp of surprise as a web of pulsing white energy enveloped him. Then they saw his body go rigid, and he vanished in a sheet of dazzling flame.

At the same time, a crackling sounded and Weskar heard exclamations of pain from across the room. He turned in time to see the guards drop their stun pikes and clutch their paws as if they had been stung. The pikes clattered to the floor, and a flare of electrical discharge surrounded each, accompanied by a puff of smoke.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun. The blackened pikes lay where they had fallen, small sparks still cracking from each power unit. The white flame faded and vanished, leaving nothing but a charred mark on the clean white floor where the Prefect had stood. An acrid smell of smoke hung in the air.

Silence followed, for everyone was too shocked to speak. Then the main display panel lit up. The image it showed looked strange to everyone except Sam, Weskar and Alenna. It was Doctor Robert John Williams, the last human, creator of New Hope City and the canines who lived there.

The picture on the screen became a video clip, and they all listened as Robert Williams began to speak.

“Greetings, Canines of New Hope! I am Doctor Williams, your creator and protector. If you are seeing this video, it is because someone has attempted to misuse the automated machinery of the city. Safeguards have been activated to prevent this. The computer system has basic AI capabilities, and will take steps to protect you.

“I would like to remind you that if you are nearing the end of the two hundred year exile in the city, you need to start planning for your repatriation back to the outside world. These machines are not designed to last forever.

“Unfortunately I can’t be there to advise you what to do right now, but I know you have the ability to work it out for yourselves.

“I have recorded this message to remind you of the core principles which you need to follow in order to survive. Look after one another, respect one another, and avoid unnecessary harm. There’s a wonderful world out there waiting for you. I hope you can soon reclaim it.”

You couldn't ask for better proof of the truth than that, Weskar thought as the image of Williams faded out. Around the room, the canines looked at one another as a complex play of emotions crossed their faces. Weskar could see their shock and uncertainty. However, he noticed a determined expression in the features of the Golden Retriever. He crossed the room and began untying the bonds on Sam’s wrists. The other council members looked on in silence, apart from one surly-looking Schnauzer.

“Guards! Stop him!” he pointed towards the Retriever, who ignored him. “This is some kind of plot! The Prefect has been assassinated, and we must take control of the situation!”

The guards stood where they were, staring at the empty screen and the spot where the Prefect had stood. Jacques, however, had already made up his mind. He turned to the Schnauzer. “Shut up, Ferron!” he said decisively. Then he scanned the faces of the other council members.

“What we've just seen might have been a trick - but I don't believe it. I think the Prefects have been deceiving us, and we've just heard the true will of the 'Protectors'. Therefore I suggest that we start trying to do things properly!”

His speech roused the others from their stupor, and he received nods of agreement from most of the council. The French Mastiff turned to the highest ranking guard.

“Are you with us?”

The Rottweiler stared at his singed paw, then the spot where the Prefect had stood only moments before.

“I... the Prefect... but...” he stammered. Then he shook himself.

“Sir, yes sir. I’ve always believed in the Protectors, and we were always taught that he – the Prefect, that is – spoke for them. But it seems we were wrong. Whatever had the power to destroy our pikes... well, I don’t want to mess with that!”

He looked around at the other guards, who were equally bemused. “We’ll serve the council in whatever they deem to be the best path.” He rubbed his paw. “Unless it seems to be against what the Doctor said....”

By this stage, the Golden Retriever had undone the ties which held Sam, Weskar and Alenna, and they hurried to the torture table. Misha lay still, his breathing shallow. Weskar held his paw and stroked the soft tan fur on his head while Sam released the webbing straps which held him down. He felt Misha’s paw tighten slightly in his.

“I’m sorry...” He could manage no more than a whisper, and Weskar leaned closer. “Sorry I didn’t tell you everything....”

Weskar had no idea what his friend was talking about, or why he needed to apologise.

The council members stood in a nervous huddle in the corner, a respectful distance back from the table, where they were discussing how they might call a meeting to address the city population. Misha’s breathing seemed to be getting weaker. Weskar felt a tear of fear and anger trickle down his cheek. “Hold on, Misha...” he whispered.

Alenna appeared with a clean gauze cloth and dabbed the wound in Misha’s chest. The cut was small, but the machine seemed to have damaged him much more deeply.

Alenna went to get a clean bandage while Sam turned away to study the machine, trying to understand what it had done. Weskar felt Misha’s paw on his shoulder, pulling him close. He bent down so Misha could whisper in his ear.

“Take good care of Alenna, won’t you!” The tan dog's voice was just loud enough for Weskar to hear.

“Of course, but...” Weskar wasn't sure what to say, and his words faltered.

Misha rolled his eyes, and managed a sly grin despite his weakened condition. “Don’t they teach you City dogs any biology? I have a feeling there could be puppies in your future!”

A fit of coughing overcame Misha and he collapsed back onto the table, too weak to say more. Weskar stroked the strong tan-furred paw of his friend while he tried to absorb the new information. Puppies? Without cloning? Could they even do that? Obviously they could, of course, because the villagers had managed it for several generations! But the concept was completely foreign to a city dog, and he had trouble imagining it.

Misha’s arm lay limp on the bed beside him, and he barely seemed to breath now. Alenna returned with some fresh gauze. She held his other paw in hers.

Sam wasn’t giving up, however. He murmured to himself as he flicked through the display screens on the device. Then they heard him cry out in surprise and excitement. He changed to another screen.

“Prepare the target area,” he read from the display. “OK, I think we have done that.” He flipped to the next page.

“Target the beam and set the level.” He turned to glance at Misha, while the others watched with questioning looks.

Sam looked back at the panel. “OK. I’ll use ‘Auto target scan and patient assessment’.” He tapped an icon on the screen. The whirring noise started as the robot arm began to move once more towards Misha.

Alenna gasped. “What are you doing?” cried Weskar in consternation.

Sam's tail actually wagged in his excitement.

“Don’t worry! The Prefect had no idea what he was playing with. This isn’t really a torture machine. It’s a cellular manipulator, and it is supposed to cure certain diseases.”

The arm stopped above the prone and unconscious form on the table. The tip lowered. This time, however, it merely hummed as it moved along above Misha’s body. After a few seconds, a beep drew Sam back to the display screen.

“Cellular membrane decay... cytoplasm abnormality... endomembrane structure damage.... I don’t know what any of this means, but it doesn’t sound good. Recommend Immediate Treatment. Okay.” He turned back to the table. “It says to stand clear of the patient.”

They stepped back, and Sam pressed another icon. However, the resulting buzzer and flashing red symbol did not bode well. Sam studied the display.

“Non-Standard Emitter Configuration Detected. Damn, it looks like the Prefect modified it.”

Weskar's hopes sank, and he laid a paw on Misha's arm, willing him to somehow pull though. The tan dog had lost consciousness.

Just then, a metal ventilation grate dropped to the floor with a reverberating clang. It left a dark hole in the ceiling, and Weskar detected a familiar smell wafting out of the air ducts. What was it? He couldn't place it, but it seemed significant. He wondered what new disaster would befall them next.

He soon found out as a pair of furry brown legs dangled through the opening. Like the smell, they also seemed familiar. Then there came a scraping and a shower of dust, and Branley Bear dropped out of the ducting.

The ursine blinked in the bright light, and Weskar wondered obscurely how the large bear could possibly have fitted through the ventilation system.

Exclamations of surprise rose from several council members, but Branley ignored them as he strode towards the machine.

“Well Well! What a pickle this is!”

“Branley! It's... er... a nice surprise to see you.” Sam faltered, not knowing where to begin. He pulled himself together. “We've got a very ill dog here.”

The bear paused to cast a glance over the prone tan form on the bed. “I can see that...” He sniffed the air. “And one toasty ex-prefect, unless my old nose deceives me!”

He circled the bed, and glanced at the control console. Then he reached up and prized open a panel on the robotic arm. Sam raised a paw to intervene, then he paused. Clearly, he thought he should stop the bear, but he didn't want to offend him either.

“That's a very complex machine, Branley.”

“I know - I built it.” Intense concentration made the bear's voice gruff and his manner curt, and his eyes moved quickly as he traced the mass of wires inside the panel. Weskar almost laughed out loud when he saw look of surprise which Branley's words produced on Sam's face.

The bear's manner added credence to his unexpected claim as he his paws moved knowingly over the machine's internals, prodding and prying.

“Dear me, what has that nasty little dog done to you!”

He muttered to himself as he pulled out a plug and unravelled a bundle of entrail-like cables. Behind these, his expert paws found a bank of connectors and relays, and set about correcting their order. Then he stuffed the dangling cables back into the cavity and snapped the panel shut.

“That should do it. Sam, if you would be so kind as to try the controls again!”

Sam took his sudden relegation to assistant with good humour, and dutifully pressed the control icon.

The red warning message vanished, and the arm began moving again. They all flinched as the blue-white beam appeared once more from the end of the arm, but this time a shimmering curtain of soft light flowed like water over the light tan fur on Misha’s chest. The beam began to scan methodically up and down his body.

Awestruck, the council members and the guards crowded around to watch. After a few minutes, Misha’s breathing grew deeper and stronger as the colour seeped back into his ashen face. After another five minutes, the beam turned off, and the arm retracted.

Misha sighed as he opened his eyes and stretched, and the pain melted away from his features. Blood oozed from the cut on his chest as he sat up, but he didn't notice until Alenna held a new gauze pad to it, a soft smile on her face. Weskar threw his paws around the tan dog and gave his nose a lick, while he tried to swallow the tears of relief which threatened to betray him. Get a grip, Weskar. He didn't realise how much he cared for the quiet dog.

Misha beamed as he swung his legs off the table. “I feel great! I haven't felt this good since...” His features darkened. “Since the last time the Prefect used his torture device on me.” Misha looked around the room and shuddered. “I've been here before.”

Sam's gaze traced the lines of the medical robot as he tried to fathom its complex workings.

“It looks like the Prefects have been misusing this machine for a long time.”

“They have.” Branley's deep voice rumbled from the computer console where page after page of orderly log-file text scrolled before his eyes. “Apparently they couldn’t read the old-style writing, but fortunately Sam can.”

He favoured the Saint with a broad smile. “You've done pretty well, young lad, mmmm-hmm. You'll make a fine engineer one day! With the right guidance, of course.”

They had all turned to the bear, suddenly filled with questions. Sam put words to their thoughts.

“You seem a lot less... absent minded than the last time we met. And how did you happen to arrive at just the right moment?”

“Ah!” Branley's gaze rested on the ceiling, and for a while they wondered whether he had slipped back into his former habits. But presently, he spoke.

“I happened to be down in the pump room - not far from here - and I can't rightly recall what I was doing there. Sadly that has been my condition for a very long time, but that's another story. Hmm, mmm, so I got a message from the computer - it has its little ways, you know. Prefect dead, it says. Malfunction in medical systems. Attention required.

“Now you have to understand, I helped your 'Protector' to build a lot of the systems here, and I used to fix them. What? You thought a mystical spirit force magically kept them running all this time? Anyway, I fixed things here and there, until... some time ago. It may have been the Prefect's father, or perhaps his great-grandfather for all I know. But one of them detained me and brainwashed me somehow. Banished, I was. After that, it's all a bit of a muddle. But when I heard he was dead, Hmm, well things suddenly became clear again, and I knew I had to get here, quick-smart. I have my little ways, of course.”

Misha extended a paw to the bear, who shook it with deliberate care. “We haven't had the pleasure of an introduction, but I believe you saved my life!”

Branley stared at the floor, clearly more proficient with machine parts than compliments.

At that moment, a young uniformed Doberman burst into the room, Ket and Red hot on his heals.

“Sirs!” he panted, nodding to the guards and the council members. “Something is going on. Our weapons all malfunctioned, and then a message appeared on screens and speakers all around the city. The citizens are going wild and nobody knows what to do!”

Then he looked around the room, and doubt clouded his features. “They said the Prefect was down here.”

“He is - sort of!” A grim smile accompanied Sam's words.

The guard looked confused until Jacques stepped forward. In the absence of the Prefect, the council had authority - in theory - and the other guards had already deferred to the senior position of the French Mastiff.

“The Prefect is dead, after he caused a malfunction of the machinery. I'm sure you saw the message from Doctor Williams. We’ve been blindly following the Prefects for centuries, but it’s time things changed.”

To the guard's credit, he made up his mind quickly and bowed to Jacques.

“In that case, I think most of the guards will agree to follow you. It doesn’t matter anyway, because we have no weapons, and the population aren’t paying attention to us any more.”

The big French Mastiff nodded. “Let’s get everyone to the park again. It's time we had another meeting, this time with less rhetoric and more truth!”

There were nods and cries of “Aye!” from the rest of the council, and even Ferron looked ready to drop his objections. With the Prefect gone and the guards demoralised and weapon-less, there was little else to do.

Out in the street, they found a kind of exuberant chaos erupting. The canines of New Hope had lived all their lives within the constraints of a rigid system, but between the exploding stun pikes, messages from the Gods and naked dancing Outsiders, their control was slipping. Cheering canines ran through the streets, all thoughts of dignity and decorum forgotten. Rubbish bins and outdoor seats were thrown into there air, and enthusiastic singing echoed in the distance - no doubt led by the villagers.

Weskar smiled, imagining how much more excited they would all be if it weren’t for the drugging effect of the Kibble.

A loose mob formed as the council emerged from the Records Building, everyone waiting to see what would happen. Jacques stepped to the front of the group.

“My friends! The Prefect is 'sadly' deceased. The time has come for some changes in this city! Get everyone to the park, and we can discuss the future!”

Weskar noted the growing sense of leadership and authority in the French Mastiff's voice, and the crowd responded. Good, Weskar thought. Throwing off the repressive control of the Prefect is all very well, but we still need level heads.

Ket and Red seemed to be great friends already, and together they escorted the council members towards the park. As they were leaving, Weskar noticed Rayone standing quietly to one side. She came forward, and Weskar sensed a deep pain and tension in her body language as she stood facing them.

Alenna glared at the head of the Accountancy Section with ice in her eyes.

“The Prefect is dead. The guards won’t be detaining us any more. Whatever you gained by betraying us, I hope it was worthwhile.”

The Dane’s head and tail drooped, and then she sobbed. “I’m sorry! I had to. He had my daughter! Now I can't find her and none of the guards know where she is.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief.

Weskar shuddered at the thought of the guards dragging Rayone’s daughter away and locking her in a cell, and perhaps even threatening her with the torture device.

He placed a paw on his former employer’s arm. “We’ll find her!”

Their voyage to the Outside had taught him to use his nose, and he sniffed the air carefully as he sorted through the profusion of aromas in the air. Like all canines, Rayone had a subtle and unique musk, and the genetic relationship ought to give her daughter a similar smell. He nodded to Rayone. “I'll try to find her scent. You'd better wait outside.”

Rayone looked dubious, but Sam gave her a reassuring smile. “If anyone can help, it’s Weskar and his nose.”

Weskar rushed back inside with the others a discreet distance behind. A faint hint of Great Dane indicated he was on the right track, but the scent faded as he descended the stairs to the concrete basement. Not down there, then. Returning to the main floor, he sampled the air more carefully, and his nose brought him to the Prefect’s opulent office.

He circled the panelled walls until the trail led him to a tall bookcase. It swung aside at his prodding to reveal the bolted cell door behind. He beckoned to the others who had waited in the hall so as not to crowd his nose.

The bare concrete corridor behind the door led to a small prison, where a slender young Dane sat miserably in the corner. She broke into a radiant smile when she saw Rayone. Sam soon had the cell door open, and the Danes were reunited.

Back in the street, Sam turned to Alenna, Weskar and Misha.

“We still have to figure out how to open the Exit. We need to find the key.”

They heard Misha catch his breath, then he smiled mysteriously. “Take me to the controls!”

So they retraced their journey back to the basement of the Records Building. Weskar made sure he stayed at Misha's side, and held his paw tight. He thought this might raise an objection, but instead Misha seemed to welcome the comforting touch. The white gauze taped to his chest served as a reminder of his close-call with the Prefect, but the tan dog's strength seemed to be returning.

Many questions burned in Weskar's mind, but he was reluctant to pry and they walked in silence for a while. Eventually, he plucked up enough courage to speak.

“You said the Prefect had used that machine on you before. So you have obviously been to the City.”

Misha nodded. “Actually, I’m a City canine just like you!”

Weskar looked at him with surprise, and Misha continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was complicated. When I was quite young, I was taken from my family by the Prefect. He 'tutored' me, and you can guess his favourite teaching aide.”

Weskar felt Misha's paw tighten on his, and his face hardened with anger.

“He tried to brainwash me. I don’t know if he was training me to spy on the Outsiders, or if he just did it for his own sick entertainment. Fortunately, I got away. The Outsiders found me and helped me to escape through the gate - as you saw, I still have the key. I nearly died of cold and hunger getting through the caves, and I only survived because the villagers happened to find me on the side of the mountain.

“Only Syenna knows the whole story, and I don’t think she has ever fully trusted me. I am not sure I trusted myself. But we knew I had to come back.”

The old pain written on his face almost made Weskar cry. But then he brightened, and the contrast made his smile all the sweeter.

“Anyway, today was the day to close old wounds, in more ways than one. I never wanted to hurt anyone, but if I had got my paws on the Prefect... well, I don’t know what would have happened. However, the City intervened. And I feel better than I have in years. I think the Prefect’s original tortures did some damage which never healed until Branley got the machine working properly.”

They followed the others down the corridors of the Records Centre and came once more to the control room in the basement. Sam pressed the control panel, then frowned at the amber symbols which flashed on the screen.

“It still says we need the key!”

He looked at Branley, but the bear shrugged. “Hmmm, I didn't design this bit, sorry to say.”

But then Misha stepped forward and placed his paw on the console. The chime sounded again, and the symbols turned green.

Sam stared at the panel, a confused expression on his face. “It's unlocked! But what about the key?”

Misha chuckled. “I'm the key! Although I didn’t understand before today.

“Every so often, a special canine with a distinctive genetic code is – or was – produced by the cloning machine. I was one of them. For the last few hundred years, the Prefects have been locating these canines when they are youngsters.”

Misha’s paw clenched, and his voice became a growl. “I hate to think what became of my predecessors. The Prefects didn’t know what we were but they knew we were important, and a threat. Now I understand: our job was to travel outside, check the status of the world out there, and activate the exit when the time was right. Perhaps our DNA makes us more resilient. We were the key to open the exit!”

Sam nodded. “It’s starting to make sense. The exit system is now unlocked and ready to activate, as soon as I press the button!”

Everyone clustered around the console and contemplated the display. This is it, Weskar thought. They were about to irrevocably change not just their own lives but those of the entire population. They stood in silence for a moment, nobody quite prepared to take the final step.

The scrabble of claws on the smooth floor broke the tension, and a panting Ket slid to a halt before them, pink tongue lolling from his wide muzzle. The Rottweiler had just run all the way from the park, and his wagging tail indicated his enthusiasm for whatever news he bore. They waited until he caught his breath, and offered a tidy salute to nobody in particular.

“The council have been speaking to the crowd. After seeing the message from Doctor Williams, almost everyone agrees: We want to go Outside!”

Sam grinned as he reached for the panel. “Well then! Let's see if we can oblige.” His paw moved with deliberate precision to press a symbol on the panel, and then he studied the readouts for a moment.

“It’s working! Let’s get upstairs and see what is happening!”

They all clattered back up the stairs and out of the Records Building. Weskar blinked in the unexpected brightness, for the main lights had come on at daytime power, postponing the night. A klaxon droned in the distance, and they could see a flashing red strobe light flickering from the direction of the park.

A crowd of Canines stood in front of the stage, and an excited hubbub of conversation surrounded the villagers at the centre. Everyone wanted to talk to them and shake their paws. Weskar noted with amusement that some of the city canines had now shed their clothes, highlighting how dull and dusty their coats looked in comparison to the villagers.

But where was the exit? Had the mechanism malfunctioned? Weskar's doubts were alleviated almost immediately as a deep rumbling vibration began beneath their feet. A line formed in the artificial grass and startled canines scattered as a large slab of ground separated from the surrounding turf and rose majestically.

A hush fell as the crowd formed a broad circle around the rising plateau, which was about twenty paces across. It reached twice the height of a canine, and there it stopped with a hollow clunk. Concrete walls formed three sides of the new structure, but a dark opening lay on the forth side. Strip lights flicked on to illuminate a gentle ramp leading down to a broad tunnel which ran underneath the city. Smooth asphalt paving covered the floor, and the passage ran straight and level under a neat line of overhead lights. A bright spot shone in the distance, and Weskar's heart fluttered when he recognised the glint of real daylight.

Sam lead a bevy of excited canines down the ramp, and Weskar was about to swing in beside them when he noticed Branley standing next to him.

“Are you going Outside? You seemed disturbed by the idea last time we saw you!”

The bear contemplated the distant glint of daylight.

“Well well, you know, there was a time when I loved the open sky. But I've been so afraid of it lately. I suppose it was part of the Prefect's brainwashing. I shall have to take a little look, and see how it goes, Hmmm hmm!”

---

A few hours later, Weskar sat on a grassy hillside and basked in the warm spring sunshine. Rich scents of grass and pine filled his nose. He had forgotten how sweet the air Outside was.

Misha reclined beside him, and his paw stroked the dog’s soft chest fur, his finger tracing gently over the white bandage. The dressing gave Misha a certain vulnerability, and Weskar loved the tan dog all the more now that he knew the truth of his past.

Misha's past. He escaped through the caves as we did, except he was just a young pup. Suddenly a memory stirred. Why is his voice so familiar... could it be?

Weskar reached for his pack, and dug into the contents until his paw closed on the object he sought.

“I think I have something of yours!”

Misha regarded him with a quizzical look until the Shepherd handed him the small tarnished cylinder. He frowned for a moment as if he couldn't quite comprehend the item in his paws, then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“I don't believe it! Where did you get this?”

“Branley Bear gave it to me. I've no idea where he got it.”

“I lost it somewhere in the caves. He must have found it!”

Misha's paw flicked the voice recorder open with practised ease and touched the tiny button.

“...my torch is getting faint, and it's so cold here and so dark. I saw an arrow on the wall, so maybe it's the right way.”

The tiny voice sounded tired and afraid, and it brought a lump to Weskar's throat to hear it again.

“I hope it's the right way. I hope I find someone to help me. I don't want to be alone any more.”

The recording ended with a sniff, and then a more realistic sniff drew Weskar's gaze to the tears in Misha's eyes.

“It's you in the recording, isn't it?”

Misha nodded, and Weskar laid a paw on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you with it. I guess you don't like to be reminded of that time.”

Misha surprised him with a kiss on the nose, then pulled out a coarse handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

“Actually, I was just thinking that my wish came true. I'm not alone any more!”

---

A broad doorway into the hill marked the terminus of the exit tunnel, and the canines were now free to move in and out of the city as they pleased. They would be able to keep using the city - especially the workshops and medical facilities - as long as they needed while they built new houses and farms in the valley.

All morning, the city canines had been venturing out to see the Outside. Weskar watched with a smile as another group blinked in the bright daylight and sniffed at the dizzying array of new scents, then began to explore the new world.

Over two thousand canines, he thought. All of whom had their natural instincts repressed by the drug-laced Kibble, and all about to start a diet of fresh food. This will be interesting.

Epilogue

Doctor Robert John Williams, Biologist and Last Human, looked up from his microscope viewer and rubbed his eyes. The sequence showed promise, and his genetic combination method seemed correct. Once the combination was perfectly balanced and mapped, it would be ready for the cloning machine which had the ability to alter the DNA of a single cell, and start the process of growing a new life.

Such controversial technology would not have been approved Before. But approval no longer mattered, for nobody else remained alive on the planet. Williams was sure of that now. Free to choose his own ethics, he had decided to attempt the creation of an entirely new species. He wanted some remnant of humanity to survive, but he also wanted a fresh start.

They would need shelter and nurture, of course, and time to develop their own culture. He wasn’t completely sure that they would be immune from the Disease, so he built an underground city for them. That part was easy, because the people of his time had advanced construction technology, and he commanded an army of robot builders.

He stood up and stretched. Time for a break. Hanging his lab coat behind the door, he strolled down the hall to his living quarters, and thence to a sunny courtyard. Fifteen dogs reclined on the sun-warmed tiles or entertained themselves among the shrubbery and lawns, and most of them came bounding over to greet him. Williams smiled as he was surrounded by doggy smiles, panting tongues and wagging tails.

Canis lupus familiaris, the domesticated wolf, commonly referred to as 'dogs'. He had collected DNA from over a hundred. He had a file for each one. The stronger ones he had encouraged to return to the wild, to reintegrate with their wolf cousins. The rest he kept in his care, and fifteen remained.

A giant Saint Bernard greeted him with particular enthusiasm, and the dog’s large head bumped against him. He tried to take a step back, and tripped over the smaller German Shepherd who was the best friend and playmate of the Saint. He fell in a heap, laughing as he tried to fend off licking tongues from the two dogs. He only put up a limited resistance, for these two were his favourites.

It would have filled him with great pride to look down through the centuries, as the human cities crumbled and the forests grew up, to a time in the distant future when the canine race finally emerged from their underground city.

Perhaps, if he had looked far enough into the future, he would have seen a small group of canines on a sunny hillside close to where his compound had stood. A handsome German Shepherd reclined comfortably with his head resting on the shoulder of a taller tan dog of mixed breed. Beside them sat a striking Ridgeback bitch, her fur shining in the sun. They were smiling as they looked down the hill, to where a shaggy Saint Bernard played a mad game of chase with three golden-furred youngsters. Two of the pups sported a muscular build, with large drooped ears like the Saint Bernard. The third youngster dodged the others with ease, for her light build made her fast and nimble. Her bright eyes sparkled with laughter, and her keen nose and pointed ears bore a distinct resemblance to the Shepherd who sat watching them from the hill.