I hear voices when no one's around
Silent voices that no one can see
I hear voices that don't make a sound – Black Flag
In the weeks that Spike had been in recovery, Ein had been watching a metamorphosis of sorts in Jet and Faye. In the beginning of this ordeal, they had been living their lives in anticipation that Spike would recover as he always did after his ubiquitous injuries. Lately, though, the slow realization had been catching up to them: this may be a permanent condition. Spike may never fully recover. Even though Faye was more vocal about her concerns than Jet, Ein believed that Jet was having the harder time dealing with this. Jet was an engineer, mechanically minded. Words and feelings tended to escape Jet. He couldn't just take a spanner and a set of hypersonic screwdrivers to Spike's head and body and simply fix them.
There were clanging noises as bay doors opened. Spike was back. Ein retreated from the computer and trotted into sight to greet the man.
Even though Ein had been in Spike's hospital chart everyday, he had not been prepared for the actual physical presence of Spike. Always in Ein's mind, Spike was a lanky yet wiry man, not especially tall, with a mop of greenish-black hair that was unruly and a face that was smirking with some internal and usually off-color thoughts. What Ein saw, though, was a shock.
Spike was thin, painfully thin, his skin stretched over his bones, with a pallor that spoke of long hospitalization. His hair was cut close to his head, the multiple scars extremely visible. One incision in particular stretched over the top of Spike's head from ear to ear, and from the top of his head to the nape of his neck, and it bore the trail marks of many staples, and looked fresher than the other scars. Ein surmised that this was the incision for the nano-chips. His face was slack, but Ein could see Spike working his jaw in concentration as he maneuvered down the corridor to the common area, using a pair of walking sticks. His left foot dragged a bit. Faye and Jet lingered a bit behind him, unsure if they should assist. There was a moment when Spike reached the short staircase leading down to the sofa area. He seemed to muse slightly at the steps, and then turned to the pair behind him. Spike raised an eyebrow and thrust his sticks at them. They each grabbed one as Spike then grabbed hold of each handrail, steadying himself as he moved slowly, slowly down each step. When he finally reached the bottom, Spike turned around expectantly.
Faye and Jet stood transfixed. "Good job on the stairs, Spike. I wasn't sure how well you'd take those. I didn't know if I'd have to jury-rig a ramp or what. Because we weren't too sure about how . . ." Jet would have yammered on except that Spike rolled his eyes and reached out with his hands, clearly but silently asking for his canes back.
"Oh! Sorry! Here you go!" Jet spoke with such an assumed brightness that it even annoyed Ein. Spike simply nodded and made his way to the sofa, where he set himself down with a fairly practiced ease, using the sticks for balance.
Jet and Faye looked at each other. "Umm . . . is there anything you need? Anything? Hungry? Something to drink?" Faye was also speaking much too quickly and brightly. This almost seemed to amuse Spike. He shook his head. "Are you sure? Pillow? Blanket? Book?" Spike made a smoking gesture and Faye came forward with a pack and a lighter. She made a great fool of herself, struggling to open the packet, until Spike grabbed it away from her. When he touched her hand, she shrunk back with a gasp, and then turned red as Spike looked at her, furrowing his brow. Then he managed a smoke out of the pack, lit it, drew a deep inhale, and exhaled slowly, stretching his arms out along the back of the sofa. Spike then flicked his hand at the two humans, as if to say "Go away." Jet and Faye looked at each other, and then Jet retreated to his bonsai and Faye to her room.
Ein, of course, remained. He sat, patiently, watching the thin human as he savored his cigarette.
Oh, god, my first smoke in sixteen weeks. This might be the best cigarette in the whole fucking universe, thought Spike.
It certainly looks that way, responded Ein.
Spike lifted his head with such a start that the ash fell into his lap. "Wa t'hll?" he said aloud. Looking around, and seeing no one, Spike took another drag. Hearing things.
After a fashion, yes.
"Hoo tal'in?" Spike looked around, until his eyes rested on the dog. I thought you left with Ed. You're back?
Yes, I am. It's good to have you back, as well.
"Wa t'fuh?"
Listen, I know that they were trying to get you to talk in the hospital, but that's not going to work so well right now with us, so just use your words in your head, okay?
What the fuck?
That's better.
Are you fucking talking to me?
Yes, I am fucking talking to you.
In my fucking head?
Yes, I'm fucking talking to you in your fucking head, can we fucking well drop all the use of "fucking" in our vernacular; it's really just going to clutter up our conversations. And by the way, your pants are on fire.
Spike gave a yelp and brushed the ash out of his lap.
Excellent, thought Ein. This is actually going to work out pretty well.
Another day in the box. Ranger had been returned to his box a few days before, with a fresh cover on his head. Blood and Kid figured that he was still tranquilized, as their attempts at a conversation accomplished nothing. Kid, meanwhile, had been using his time under observation studying the coats themselves. And quietly hack the network.
What were you able to bring back this time, Kid?
They've been upgrading to a new system. It's easier to maneuver. I managed to get the schematics of the building. I know the way out of here, now.
Fuckin' A, Kid!
I had to give back more this time, though. My notes were saying that I was regressing. They moved me past using pictures and now they're up to flash cards, ones that have mathematical problems. Childish, really. It's hard to figure out just how much is enough. There's a problem, though.
And what's that?
It's Fang. I was able to get into his file.
What about Fang?
The notes say that Fang has probably reached the limit of expectations. He's neither progressing nor regressing. The coats may be terminating the experiment soon.
I thought that might happen, Kid. I noticed that the coats are mixing up the schedule. I've been trying to get him to see that he can't just be keeping the status quo, that he has to start messing with the data. He's so fucking stupid, though!
Fang rolled over in his sleep. Shut the fuck up over there, you pansies.
Blood snorted. Look who you're calling pansy, you big bad Newfoundland that can't break out of his box.
Fuck you, flea bait. I bit two of the coats today.
You did what?
Bit 'em. Bit 'em both. Nearly took off the finger of one of them!
Blood stood up and began pacing around the box. Why in the name of fuck did you do that? If you can't be controlled for their shitty experiments they're going to put a fucking bullet in your head! They're not going to keep working with a stupid dog that bites! They don't pay these assholes enough for that!
Fuck you, Blood; they're not going to shoot me! They say I'm too close to finishing the experiment!
Fang, shooting you is the end of the fucking experiment! They're already at the end of their theory! Why didn't you start screwing with the data like I told you?
Like you know everything, Blood? How the hell would have messing with the data help?
By buying us more time, you numb nuts!
Hush.
Blood and Fang halted their standoff. Kid, who had been watching mutely, now realized that Ranger was the one who had spoken.
Ranger?
Ranger stood in his box, head tilted toward a sound only he could hear. The time is near.
Spike was breathing hard. He clutched both hand rails of the steps with all his might. With a grunt, he pulled himself up the bottom step.
Not that way. Don't put all your weight on your arms. Use your feet.
Spike turned his head and glared at Ein.
Yeah, Spike, if looks could kill, yadda yadda, we're trying to get you more steady on your feet here. You should only be using your hands for balance.
We're trying to make my arm stronger, too.
Not at this time. We're working on the feet and legs right now.
You're fucking pushy for a dog, you know that?
Ein snorted. Spike gave him another baleful glare, and then took a breath. He straightened up his spine, and stopped clutching with a death grip at the handrails. With his hands lightly – or as lightly as Spike was comfortable with -- he pulled his bad leg up onto the next step. With a bit of a hop, he got his other leg up to the same step.
Good job, Spike.
Big deal. One step.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Very deep, Ein. Did they teach you that in whatever lab you came from?
No, Grasshopper, pithy sayings were not part of the laboratory syllabi. Now turn around and come down. Using your legs.
Spike managed to turn around, but his left knee buckled as he stepped down. He grabbed at the handrails to keep from falling.
That's okay, Spike. Now turn around and go back up.
Are you fucking kidding me, dog? We've been doing this for hours!
It's only been 46 minutes.
Fuck you. I need a break.
Take a break, then. Get over to the couch without using your sticks.
That statement earned another glare from Spike, but he straightened up, and began to make his way to the couch, his arms out for balance. There was a moment when Ein held his breath, willing the recalcitrant patient to continue without falling. Spike finally managed to sit. He sighed, and lit a cigarette.
You did better on that than you did yesterday, Spike.
Doesn't seem like it to me.
I've been keeping a close watch. You have improved greatly.
Again, doesn't seem like it.
Use your left hand to smoke.
I'm right-handed.
Use your left hand anyway.
I'll drop it.
Then you'll pick it up. Use your left hand.
Don't. Want. To.
But. You. Will.
What the fuck kind of programming do you have, anyway? When we found you, you were in a goddamned briefcase.
I was originally created for use in an experimental case using computer chips to aid in communication between species.
So you're artificially created?
More like genetically and surgically enhanced.
Why the fuck'd they use a Corgi, then?
Ein blinked. Then he began to chortle and bark, the only way he knew how to laugh. That question never had asked of him, in all his years.
Faye had been quietly watching from the darkened corridor. If she hadn't known better, she would have said that Spike was communicating with the dog. Well, that's just ridiculous, she thought. Spike hated that thing. But more and more, Spike paid close attention to the Corgi, and the Corgi seemed to do the same. Spike spent more time with the dog than either she or Jet.
"What are you looking at?"
Faye jumped at the whisper in her ear. Jet was so close behind her that she was surprised that she didn't smell him coming. But then, as she controlled her breathing, she realized that the smell of spices and soap that came off Jet were so familiar to her that she had accepted their presence as normal. "How long have you been standing there?"
Jet smirked at her. "A couple of minutes, actually. I was about to start blowing into your ear to see if that got a reaction out of you." Faye glared back at him. "Are you watching Spike?"
"Yeah."
"He's been working hard."
"And?"
Jet furrowed his brow. "And what?"
Faye sighed. "I figured you'd say that I was hardly working."
"Nothing of the sort. You've been working your tail feather off." This was true. Faye had bringing down bounties like never before, and she always gave Jet a cut. It wasn't much, usually around 1000 to 5000 woolongs, but she handed over the credits without a word. Furthermore, Jet was surprised when he realized that Faye wasn't spending like she normally did. He wanted to know the true reason behind this change in behavior, but then he realized that she'd gone back to looking at Spike, who'd finished his cigarette and had struggled to his feet again, limping to the stairs, and slowly, so slowly, began his step exercises once more. Faye shivered, and turned, briefly looking at Jet as she went. Jet thought he saw a wetness in her eyes that was more pronounced than usual, so he didn't say anything to her, either. But he watched Spike for a while as he struggled up and down the steps. Jet was proud of how well Spike was doing, but like Faye, the omni-present dog with Spike was confusing to him as well.
Blood had been pacing, which was making Kid nervous. Ranger had not spoken since his last cryptic statement, not even to explain. He had been removed from his box several times to be observed, but Ranger made no comment of what kind of actions he'd been asked to perform.
Fang, meanwhile, was not being asphyxiated anymore. Yet he remained in his box. Every morning he would greet Blood with a hearty 'Good morning, they didn't shoot me last night.' Blood wouldn't respond. He also hadn't been to observation in quite some time, not since Kid had been going on a regular basis.
Kid had been making some headway into the computer files while under observation himself. It was becoming easier to hack the files while in his box as well, despite the constantly-changing encryption. The act still made Kid tired, though, as much more concentration was required. Blood was also less and less interested in any of the files on the dogs. He was more concerned with what Kid was finding: information about the outside world.
What d'you see now, Kid?
Blood, I told you, these things go pretty slow. Sometimes the coats have time to get a cup of coffee while they wait for the next screen to load.
Can't you speed it up?
It doesn't have anything to do with me. It has to do with the wire that connects the computer to the outside.
Can you get into the wire?
Kid hadn't even considered this possibility. So he disengaged from the computer and reached into the cable itself. Kid suddenly had the sensation being pulled, and then he was somewhere else. Codes and languages dashed by his presence quicker than he had ever known. And the vastness of the space was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
This must be what flying is like!
Kid? What's going on?
Blood! I've never seen any place that was so beautiful! Everything you could ever want
to know is here! I can find anything!
Anything? Is there anything about this place?
Yes! Yes! Lots of things, about the nature of this laboratory and the kinds of experiments they do here. But, wait. . . that's not right.
What? What?
It's like a book, Blood, but there are all sorts of things in here that aren't right. Nothing about the implanted chips or suffocation. All it talks about is "advances in medical research." And it seems like it's all written by the coats. Why would they do that? Why would they lie about what they do here?
Why shouldn't they? Do you think the coats want the outside world to know what they actually do here?
Wait. What's this?
What? What is it, Kid?
There's another reference here to the lab. But it's not . . . What's PETA?
PETA? What the hell are you talking about?
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, said Ranger.
Kid was so surprised that he quickly withdrew from the cable, and the shock snapped across his brain like a sharp slap. Ranger was crouched on all fours, his eyes staring into space. He would occasionally tic with a small shiver of his head. I'm sorry, Kid. I didn't mean to frighten you. That's where I've been, where you just were. But it takes me so long. You're better at it than I. And it hurts.
Don't do it then, whimpered Blood. Don't do it. It doesn't hurt the Kid, it just makes him tired.
Ranger shivered again. I know where to look. I just had to remember. That's why it took so long. Back when I was Poppet, she knew them. That's how she got me.
What do you mean? Kid was starting to shiver himself. Ranger sighed and turned his focus to Kid.
For a moment, all was silence. Then, without warning, the pictures began to flood into Kid's mind, pictures of Ranger's life before he came to this place. The other laboratory, what they did to him there, the chemical testing on his skin and in his ears and in his eyes. Every moment was filled with the searing burns of the chemicals and the wretched internal pain of the products he was forced to ingest, even if their ingestion was never the intention. He watched other dogs die around him from what the coats forced on each of them, but the cruelty was that he never got experience that sweet relief.
And then, there was a large group of people, not coats, who ran into the facility and removed as many animals as they could get. Mistress was the one who had removed Poppet/Ranger, and she made a new life for him in a lovely farmhouse in the country, where he was a dog. Mistress. Oh, Mistress, how he'd loved her. She fed him treats and rubbed his belly, kept him warm, and there were no horrific needle pokes or bad chemicals dripped into his eyes when he lived with her. He got to run over the hills and downs of the countryside, and chase the uneatable across the moors. He got to howl at the moon.
But then the most horrible day happened. The car. The blood in the street. The horrified face of Sister of Mistress as she screamed. Being bundled into another box and sent to this laboratory. How he'd feared that the chemicals would be used again, but the coats had managed to devise even worse things to do to dogs, and he was subjected to the long-lost count of surgeries, to this sting of the metal in his head. The shooting pangs as electrical pulses coursed through the metal in his head. The scream and the pitch and the wail as he began to hear how the coats heard, so different from the melodious tones of Mistress. And the fear, oh the fear, how it pervaded every moment of his day, not the fear that he would die, how he would welcome that moment, but the fear that the metal in his head would take over and he would be a dog no more.
Every image and feeling slammed into Kid's consciousness with a force that sent him crouching as well. Shortly his jaw went slack, and his eyes unfocused. And then he began to understand, he began to gain the knowledge that Ranger had, how there was a group of people, not coats, who were plotting to free them all, just as Poppet/Ranger had been freed before. If only Mistress would be with them, to let Poppet/Ranger run across the moors one last time, chasing the uneatable. Kid began to tic just as Ranger had; meanwhile, Ranger was gaining more and more control of himself. Finally Kid gave a loud eerie cry, something that was not quite a howl.
STOP IT! Kid fell onto his side and began to pant. His eyes came back into focus.
Ranger sighed, his sad eyes on Kid. I'm sorry, Kid. I hope I didn't hurt you.
You didn't, Ranger. It was just . . . too much at once. But I understand now. When? When will it happen?
When will what happen? That was Blood, nervously pacing. Is it that PETA? Are they coming?
No, not PETA, said Ranger. Someone like them.
But when?
Just then, the lights went out.
Perhaps now, said Ranger.