In Litany's shuttle bay, Halbert and Tristan met with the dog. She was small and silly looking. She was clearly an anachronism, colored by splotchy spots that only mutts have. No doubt a canid mutant from a time when that was tolerated. And her harness, the gear provided for her void travels, was leather. When Halbert looked at the dog, her eyes turned away and her tail thumped the deck nervously. She checked him with glances every few seconds. When Halbert looked away, she barked. When Halbert looked again, her nervous posture resumed.

"We are certain this is a canid?" Inquisitor Halbert asked.

"Well, no…" Tristan admitted. "It's… Not a canid at all. This is an ancestor to Canids."

"From when?"

"Like the Sororitas guessed, prehistory."

Halbert pointed at the dog. "This is from Terra?"

The dog stretched her nose towards his finger and sniffed.

Tristan smirked at her. "We've asked the Mechanicus to look at the ship we recovered it from. May be impossible to tell. They did, however…" Tristan's fingers made elegant use of his dataslate. Halbert frowned at this. He had never explicitly told Tristan to forgo technology where the mind suffices, but he tried to lead by example.

Tristan held out the result. "The dogtags we recovered from the… Dog. I suppose that's what they're named for. Learn something new every day. The Mechanicus has a translation for the language. This thing's name is 'Barker.'"

Barker barked.

Halbert took the dataslate and tried to make sense of the phonetic spelling and the page of translation notes. He could tell it was written by someone who didn't have conversations or remember what sunlight looked like in atmosphere. The machine-acolyte had concluded that the name translated as "Squeaky Gear."

Squeaky Gear barked.

Halbert skimmed, "Sudden, animalistic vocalization. Bark. Dimminutive and feminine form. Barquette?"

Barquette barked.

"Sounds too formal," Tristan advised. "Barkie?"

Barkie barked.

Aratri arrived, out of breath from walking. "I want to see the dog."

Barkie's tail thumped faster at her approach, but Aratri stopped out of what seemed like lunging distance. She stood behind Tristan and peered around him at the dog.

"We're trying to translate its name," he told her.

Aratri scrunched her nose in thought. "It was recovered from a ship, right?"

"It wasn't so much a ship as a raft. Named 'Satellite 2.'"

Aratri pulled her dimples to her jaw in disapproval. "We can't call her that. What was she called in her original language?"

Tristan held out a hand for his dataslate. Halbert handed it back with a scolding. "We will name the dog in High Gothic. Our language, just like our blood and our culture, is praxis of our faith."

The Inquisitor pushed his comm bead. "Odia. What is a decent, High Gothic name for a Canid? Female. A small one like a noble child might keep as a pet."

He turned away in his radio conversation and the dog shouted, "Woof!"

He added, "Something to do with barking," then turned back to scold the little creature. But the dog looked down again as he rounded.

Odia took her time in answering. While the party waited, Tristan leaned to Aratri and whispered, "Our Lady of Barks, Patron Saint of Derelicts."

Aratri took a moment to understand that a member of the Inquisition had just told a joke. Then she imagined the nuns mulling over the question and her whole face scrunched up, trying to hold in her laughter. She covered her mouth and squealed and snorted. Halbert sighed at his Interrogator.

Odia responded. {I have conferred with my sisters. Does the name Latraria suit your needs?}

Latraria barked.

Halbert winced.

"Told you," Tristan whispered to Aratri. She continued her suppressed squealing sounds.

"Were there any other suggestions?" Halbert asked.

{Sister Fidea offered the name "Howler" as a synonym.}

Everyone looked at the dog. Howler thumped her tail nervously.

Halbert asked, "And your suggestion, Odia?"

In total flatline, she answered, {Groxella.}

Groxella barked. Tristran and Aratri snorted.

"I am disappointed," Halbert scolded.

Tristan turned up a little smile. "Groxella is kinda funny."

Halbert glared at him.

Tristan countered, "Lighten up, Inquisitor. It's High-Gothic. And they bark."

Aratri squealed again behind her hand.

Halbert frowned, "My navigator is laughing, my nuns are joking, and my own Interrogator wants me to lighten up. I am the only serious person on this ship."

Aratri squeezed her eyes shut, laughing in gasps.

To Groxella, Halbert said, "Come," and turned to leave. But the dog didn't obey, and Halbert realized that the dog had never heard the word in the modern tongue. He sighed, then stooped over and carefully reached for the animal. She seemed genial enough, and she wagged her tail harder, so he picked her up and cradled her like a baby.

The next day, Tristan went looking for Halbert. The Inquisitor's office was empty, and the dog's pillow no longer bore an indentation. He caught up to them at a promenade in Litany's arboretum.

Halbert held Groxella's leash with one hand. He'd stopped to let crew members fawn over her. With the other hand, he browsed his little black book of enemies, which meant he'd fallen into paranoia. This was a good mood to find him in, because Tristan had dire news today.

He whispered, "Inquisitor" and signaled the importance of his interruption with a locked jaw and tight shoulders. Halbert dismissed their onlookers, then turned to Tristan for an explanation.

Tristan nodded fore. "We want to return to your office for this, Inquisitor."

Halbert shook his head. "It's busier there. They formed a bloody queue." He pointed at the dog.

"It's about that Writ of Trade," Tristan started.

Halbert saved his page in the black book and pocketed it, then quoted from the Writ. "'This Writ shall lose all value of protection from the law when encountered by Inquisitor Halbert.' Tristan, someone sought out the stupidest freighter captain in the sector and set him up so that he would fall into my lap. Why? So I would have the canid? It must be a trap of some kind."

Tristan swallowed, licked his lips, sighed, and checked both shoulders. "Do we have to do this here, Inquisitor?"

"Do what?" Halbert had a quick mind. By Tristan's tense posture, by the meta-game of wondering why Tristan had come and how Tristan could know whatever he knew, the answer became obvious and unacceptable. "No," Halbert said. "No, please don't tell me this."

"The Writ, and the signature, are genuine, Inquisitor."

"Our Lord did not sign a Writ of Trade on a woman's undergarment with the instructions that it pass ownership by gambling."

Tristan swallowed, then nodded. "Yeah, He did. And…" Tristan licked his lips. "And the instructions at the end, after the part with your name… Well it's not the previous owner. It's the same as the name on the dog tags. He- The Master of Mankind specified the dog's name."

Laika barked.