I left this cruel world behind
And I found my piece of mind
I don't feel no pain no more
Time and Tide is blowing over me
I once was blind but now I see – Alan Price

A dark corridor.

"Faye?"

"Jet?"

"Split a smoke?"

Faye remained quiet for a moment. "Sure." A match flared into life, and the end of the cigarette lit like a burning coal. Jet took a drag and offered the cigarette. A peace offering, thought Faye. "Are we talking again?"

Even in the darkness, Faye could tell that Jet shrugged. "Yeah."

"Okay," replied Faye, but then they both went silent.

"Faye? Have you seen him lately?"

"Spike? Of course I have, Jet. Why?" Jet didn't answer. "Are you worried about him?"

"Ever since we got back from chasing that last bounty . . . He's different. Something must have happened. It seems crazy, but . . ." Jet took the cigarette back from her and took a deep drag.

"What?"

"Once, he told me that he was talking to the dog. That they communicated with their minds."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know." Jet looked away. "The doctors did put those computer chips in him, but they kept saying it was conducive to his rehabilitation."

"You're not actually being serious. You think that Spike can communicate with a dog?"

"Ein isn't a normal dog. He supposedly has some alteration to his DNA."

"Do you have any idea how insane you sound, Jet?"

"Then you tell me why he hasn't left that dog's side since we came back to the ship. Why those two are always together. Have you worked with Spike on any sort of rehabilitation? At all?" Jet dragged on the cigarette, down to the filter. "You and I both know that Spike has about as much self-discipline as a spoiled child, yet he has spent hours every single day working to rebuild his strength. And the dog is almost always with him."

"You're talking crazy, Jet."

"What about in the hospital, after he met up with Sautsuma? When he drifted off and we thought he was stroking out again? And the day before that, he went into this trance while I'm talking to him. Well, not like a trance, it was like I interrupted a conversation that Spike was having with someone in his head!. Please don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Faye was quiet. She had noticed. And she, like Jet, had been baffled when Barleigh told them that while Spike continued to have stroke symptoms, that he was not physically having a stroke. Jet then questioned the nano-chips that had been imbedded in Spike's brain, and Barleigh had been non-committal

Jet continued. "Remember when you asked him to come out with us when you closed your debt? He looked at Ein like he was asking permission."

"Actually--" Faye and Jet both turned towards the third voice. A match flared in the darkness, briefly illuminating Spike's face as he lit three cigarettes. He handed one to Jet, one to Faye, and took a drag on his own. "I originally didn't want to go. Ein made me, out of deference to Ms. Valentine. Calm down, Faye; I'm glad I ended up going along. Whispering about me in corridors, you two?"

Faye was still irritated. "What do you mean, Ein made you go?"

Jet was flummoxed. "Spike. . ."

Faye made a scoffing noise. "Jet seems to think that you and Ein have some sort of relationship."

"Bestiality is still frowned upon as far as I know, Jet. And besides, Ein's not my type. Too short."

"That isn't what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

Jet looked at his feet. "Nothing."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? Because standing in a dark corridor and whispering is unusual even for you."

"I agree," said Faye. "What are we all doing in here anyway? It's too hot." With a huff, she flounced off. Spike and Jet remained, quiet in the darkness, with only the lit ends of their cigarettes giving off light.

"Are you sure you're okay, Spike?"

Spike shrugged. "The headaches are gone."

"That's not quite what I meant."

"Do you want to hear a story?"

"You're not going to start talking about cats again, are you?"

"No. Once upon a time, there was a dog. And the dog had no idea what it meant to be a dog. It wasn't an animal, but it obviously wasn't a human, and it wasn't a computer. But this dog could move mountains, heal the sick, and rewrite history. However, no one noticed, because all they saw was a four-legged creature that resembled a dog. So it didn't make a bit of difference."

"And . . . ?"

Spike finished his cigarette. "There is nothing else."

Jet smirked. "I liked your cat story better. And you didn't answer my original question."

"Have I ever answered that question, Jet?" Before Jet could reply, Spike turned and went to his room. In the corner, Ein lay, silent, eyes closed, where he had been for several days. Spike sat beside him on the floor, and began scratching him behind the ear. He immediately got a vision of rolling hills from another time, on another planet.

Did you miss me, dog?

How can I miss you when you don't go away?

You didn't eat again today.

Didn't feel like eating.

You should eat something, Ein.

Like you said, it wouldn't make a bit of difference.

Spike stopped scratching Ein's ear. You know, it's really creepy when you say things like that, Ein. It's like you're inside my head or looking through my eyes or something.

Or something.

Spike sighed and looked away. I really don't understand, Ein.

It's probably better if you don't. But the truth is that you understand better than you know. Didn't you hear yourself, when you were talking to Jet just now? You know the meaning of the story.

Ein . . .

I don't know how to be a dog. I never have. But you have to let me go. I have to be a dog. If only for a little while.

But you are a dog, Ein.

No. You see a dog. Perception is always stronger than reality, Spike. Blood understood that.

What happened to Blood, Ein?

You know the answer to that question. And you know I'm right. It has to stop, Spike. I have to stop. You have to let me go.

Spike swallowed hard. His throat felt thick. He knew. And he understood, more than he wanted to. Spike moved so that he was lying on the floor, next to Ein, and he placed his forehead against Ein's. Ein. Just please, tell me why the unspeakable are in full pursuit of the uneatable.

It's an old Earth reference. In Act I of Oscar Wilde's A Woman of No Importance, Lord Illingworth remarks: 'The English country gentleman galloping after a fox—the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable'.

What does that have to do with anything?

Everything, Spike, everything has to do with everything. And I need you to remember everything that needs to be remembered. Forget what you need to forget. Remember . . . remember how to howl at the moon.

And Ein went silent, but his sides remained moving with each labored breath.

Ein?

Nothing. Spike rubbed his hand through Ein's fur, hoping for a glimpse of the images that he had seen before, a rolling hill covered in wheat, the sounds of dogs howling, anything. But all Spike experienced was the touch of Ein's fur, matted, shaggy, and the feel of the creaky, elderly bones underneath.

Ein?

Still nothing.

And the man and the dog remained there on the floor for some time. And if tears were shed due to this loss, neither one of them were going to tell.

The sun rose, bringing with it warmth and the promise, the potential, of a new day.

And Kid had no idea of what to do.

He could hear low undertones of the "lowtalk" everywhere he looked, but all the creatures remained distant from him, distrusting him, seeing him as a threat. The night before, he had made his way to another farmyard. He had no idea how far he was going, or even which direction he was traveling.

I could use a compass in my next upgrade, Kid thought wryly. The farmyard did have cows, and he spent a spirited moment attempting to round them up in some long-standing instinctual habit he thought he might have. It turned out that the large creatures had more instinct for the notion of being rounded up than he had as a herder. And earlier, he thought he had seen a fox approach the chicken coop, which made him think of Ranger and all his unspeakable and uneatable talk.

I don't know how to live out here. I'm too conspicuous, with my bleeding neck and shot-up rump. The funny thing was that despite Kid's clumsiness and poor knowledge of how to move about on the outside, no one had noticed the Corgi in the past 36 hours. But he was tired. And hungry. And hurting. And he only knew how to alleviate those creature needs by association with humans. And he'd had enough of this outside business. The only reason he had stayed as hidden as he had was to ensure that Blood had gotten far enough away before he got captured himself. That makes sense, that makes sense, Kid kept telling his tired mind. Then he heard a familiar noise: human footsteps. Kid looked in the direction of the sound and saw a lanky human carrying a large sack to a barn. The sack seemed non-descript enough, and it was large enough for Kid to assume that the human was not carrying a gun as well. Kid rolled around in the dirt to make him appear even more pitiful, and whining, he trotted up to the human.

"What the hell?"

Kid stopped a short distance from the human and flopped down on the ground, whimpering.

"T-t-t-t. Come here, boy. Come here, puppy." The human put the sack down, hunkered down to a squat and began beckoning to Kid. "Come here. Are you hurt? Come here, boy."

Kid rolled to his feet and moved slowly to the human, who stayed where he was, hand out, reaching.

"It's okay, boy; I'm not going to hurt you. It looks like you've already had a peck of trouble. It's okay. Come here, boy."

Kid moved to within arms reach of the human, who gently touched his fur.

"You got pretty chewed up by something, looks like. Poor guy. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

The man lifted the dog off the ground, and walked into the farmhouse. The man began calling to someone else in the house. A woman appeared, and began exclaiming about the dog and what a terrible shape it was in. Both the humans worked to clean Kid up, and the woman bandaged his wounds with a loving touch that Kid had never known. Then they fed him leftover beef stew, warm and fragrant. Later, Kid was lying on a rug before a stove, warm, fed, happy. The woman was sitting beside him, stroking his fur, scratching his head, cooing to him in a tender voice. Is this what it means to be a dog? How wonderful, thought Kid, as he dozed. Ranger, Blood, you were so right. This is what being a dog should be. . .

And then Kid found himself lifted by a pair of hands, hands that smelled so familiar and frightening. The lab. The coats. He was bundled into a cage before he knew what was happening. Dismayed, Kid looked up at the two humans who had cared for him, and then he saw paper that had numbers on it go from the coat's hand to the man's hand. It was money; he knew it was, even without ever seeing it before. He had seen enough of the outside through cyberspace to understand how it worked. The coats jostled the cage as they carried it out of the farmhouse, and Kid began barking with fury, at the coats, at the man and the woman, at whoever had ears at the moment. No! This is not right! I don't want to go back to the box!

The coats lifted the cage and set it in the back of a truck, tying it down with cords. Kid continued to bark and snarl. Damn you, damn you humans! Put a fucking bullet in my head, but don't put me back in the box! It has to stop! It has to stop right now!

Hush, Kid.

What?

Kid fell silent, looking for the source of the voice. It was familiar, but strained and hoarse with pain and suffering. Kid's eyes fell on a bundle that was wrapped loosely in a piece of canvas. A nose poked out from the fabric. A dark nose surrounded by long, tawny-colored hair.

Kid. It's going to be okay.

Kid looked at the canvas. The canvas was stained with blood that had seeped through. There was a pool of it under the bundle. Blood? BLOOD! NO! Why didn't you get away?

I couldn't leave you, Kid. I stayed close to you.

Oh god, Blood, it's all my fault. . .

No, it isn't. That was my choice.

But Blood . . .

Remember, Kid. Remember that you're an unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable. Remember . . . remember how to howl at the moon.

What does that have to do with anything?

Everything, Kid, everything has to do with everything. And I need you to remember everything that needs to be remembered. Forget what you need to forget.

Blood?

Nothing.

BLOOD!

Still nothing.

The truck began moving. Kid threw himself repeatedly against the bars of his cage, howling at the moon that was still in the early morning sky.