Darrell Bain - Pet Plague 1 - Pet Plague

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The Pet Plague

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or

mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system,

without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Deron Douglas

ISBN: 1-894841-43-3

First Edition eBook Publishing May 7, 2002

This book is most respectfully dedicated to the memory of Robert A. Heinlein, and thanks to Mrs.

Robert A. Heinlein for her most gracious reply concerning use of the name "Fuzzy Britches" in the

manuscript.

CHAPTER 1

Jamie Da Cruz had suffered through a long, hot frustrating day where nothing at all seemed to have

gone right. First, he discovered that a whole test plot of his new hambean strain had started growing

wildly irregular for no good reason. His boss hadn't believed him when he transferred pictures back to

the main Genetic Engineering section office with a suggestion that there had been a foul up in the genevat

mixing routine; he thought it more likely to be a mistake in the codes fed into the section's computer -- as

if a computer would make a mistake like that. It would have rejected any error obvious enough to have

produced such results, and probably added some remark about the fallibility of human memory as well.

The test plot occupied the far corner of a five acre experimental garden at the furthest distance from

the center of the Houston Enclave. At the far corner of the test plot itself, Jamie encountered the next

anomaly of the day. A small section of the hambeans, tiny and wrinkled as they were, seemed to have

attracted the attention of a hungry invader. Several of the little tree-like bushes had been tipped over and

the thumb sized hambeans stripped from them.

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"Not rats again," he thought. "Damn, will we never get rid of the cursed things?" Rats were a

continuing and seemingly insoluble problem in every Enclave, not to mention the wild country as well.

They were far more intelligent than the original breeds, and still as elusively ineradicable as ever. Even the

few kept as pets or research animals had never developed much of a rapport with man and had to be

carefully watched. As for the feral ones -- Jamie shuddered and bent to check for tracks. Surprised, he

straightened up again.

"A dog," he said aloud. "I will be damned!" But then a puzzled frown crept across the brown

contours of his face.

No. Any dog would know better. Maybe a puppy, he thought hopefully for an instant, then discarded

the idea -- the tracks were far too large. Besides, it was almost impossible to envisage so undisciplined a

puppy. The enclave bitches knew their place far too well to ever allow their pups to run so wild, so near

the enclave borders, and particularly not in the critically important agricultural section of the Enclave. That

left only one possibility.

"I will be double-damned," he said aloud again. "A feral dog!" That could only mean a break in the

barrier. Jamie bent again and followed the tracks in the soft earth to their source. Sure enough, where the

test plot abutted a corner of the barrier he found a scattering of loose earth around a moderate sized hole

that tunneled deeply beneath the plastiwire fence. Peering closely, he could see through the grid to where

some recent rains had washed a gully beneath the corner embankment. The intruder had only needed to

enlarge the opening to gain entrance. He could plainly see where the tracks led from the hole into the

hambean plot, but could find none leading out.

"That's it, then," he muttered to himself, touching his holstered laser gun for assurance. A breach in

the barrier was certainly not an unknown event, but mice or rats were the more usual culprits. Unless

driven by hunger, the larger enhanced animals stayed clear of the Enclaves. Generations of experience

had taught them that there was little chance of survival inside Enclave boundaries. When the rare one did

intrude, it was almost always caught and killed within hours. The Enclave pets always gave an alarm at

the first sight or scent of an intruder; they minded not a whit about snitching on their feral cousins. Their

own status and responsibilities within the Enclaves were wholeheartedly oriented toward their human

masters; feral animals must fend for themselves. Nevertheless, it had to be reported.

Jamie gave a command to his body computer, which had been surgically embedded in his left

forearm once full growth had been reached. Only a slight swelling of musculature indicated it's presence.

A brightly colored image materialized at a comfortable chest height two feet in front of him. At the same

time he felt the tingle of his finger mouse coming on line. The mouse was a mostly useless relic, but he did

use it occasionally.

"Office 112," he said. The holographic swirl of color dissolved and was replaced by an above the

waist picture of a young, rather pretty dark haired woman. She looked up from some out of sight

business. An inquisitive smile crossed her face, crinkling the edges of her liquid brown eyes.

"You again, Jamie?" she said. "What is it this time?"

"I've got a barrier break, Jeannie, in the same section where I called about the hambeans this

morning. Probably a feral dog."

"Oh, My. You've already upset the boss once today. Are you sure?" Concern passed over her face

like clouds obscuring the sun.

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"I'm sure," Jamie said. "Go ahead and tell Carlos about it. At least he can't blame this on the

computer."

"He'll be upset, anyway, but I'll let him know."

"Let him. He can't pin this one on me."

"I know. This just seems to be one of those days." She leaned forward. "Your mustache needs

trimming. Want me to do it tonight? I'll throw in a back rub."

"Sounds good. Can I call you after I get in?"

"Seguro. Will you notify maintenance and security, or shall I?"

"I'll do it. You appease the boss. Don't let him take it out on someone's pet."

"Leave it to me. 'By."

"'By", Jamie said to her dissolving image. The holographic display of his body computer reappeared

in standard mode. He voiced the area maintenance code, then split the screen to show the foreman the

map coordinates. He used his finger mouse to sketch in the precise location of the break in the barrier.

The mouse really wasn't necessary; he could have used his voice just as effectively, but he liked it, in the

same way a man might favor a straight razor and shaving cream in the age of depilators. Once that was

done, he quickly notified the Enclave security section of the breach, then sat down to wait. He backed

well away from the opening in the barrier and sat down cross-legged in front of it. He drew his laser gun

and waited for the maintenance crew.

***

Earlier in the century, well before Jamie's birth, genetic manipulation of plants and animals had

become the predominant growth industry of the world, including Moon City and the space stations. One

of the products of that manipulation was genetically enhanced animals, many of them bred for the pet

industry. Intelligent and semi-intelligent animals presented little problem in the controlled environments of

the space stations and on the moon, but earth was a different matter entirely.

Once the human genome was resolved, that of other mammals presented relatively few problems.

Inevitably, scientists began mixing human and animal genes, and sometimes whole chromosome

segments. Human genes were inserted willy nilly into those of man's favored species in an orgy of

experimentation. As the craft became increasingly simpler, control became more difficult, and considering

the demand for altered and enhanced pets, well nigh impossible. For a while, the insertion of human

genes into other animals was banned by most industrialized nations, but the simplicity of the process and

the crying need of tattered third world countries for hard currency inevitably resulted in a huge clandestine

trade in genetically enhanced pets and altered farm animals. There was no longer even a complete

classification of the number and kind of new species. There were super-dogs and super-cats, imbued

with the gene complexes for rational thought and language facility; intelligent rats and mice, originally used

in research; semi-intelligent rabbits and ducks, once crafted as Easter presents for children; monkeys and

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orangutans; cows and horses; ferrets and wildcats; parrots and canaries; sheep and dolphins. For almost

any breed of animal, there was a demand. The only common denominator was that almost all had at one

time or another gotten outside the bonds of human control (where any was attempted) and begun to

breed in the wilds. Interbreeding with the original stock was also rampant, sometimes successful, other

times not. When it was successful, the new genes were expressed as dominant; the genetic engineers had

planned it that way. By the time real problems began to develop, and solutions attempted, it was far too

late to put the genie back in the bottle.

What happened in the United States over the next fifty years was only the forefront of the wave of

disaster that swept over the other industrialized nations, and soon after, the third world countries as well.

The United States did fare better than other nations initially in controlling the larger animals, simply

because of the plethora of armed citizens. For the first time in history, the murder rate in that country

actually declined as people began shooting cats and dogs and rats rather than each other -- that is, until

the food supplies began to fail.

The genetic engineers had done their work too well. The same resistance to disease and the capacity

for longer life which was now a genetic heritage of most humans was also an inbred constituent of the

feral animals, and it served them well. Not only that, they now carried the capacity for rational thought

that enabled them to avoid all attempts at extermination.

Intelligent mice and rats and rabbits turned up their noses at baited grain and ate the food crops.

They tunneled underground and waited out the poison sprays until rain swept them away, then emerged

to eat again. Newly concocted diseases didn't phase them, any more than they would have humans; the

same resistance factors that humans now carried in their genes were also bred into the new animals.

Induced plagues simply killed off the old species and left the new to breed explosively into empty

ecological niches. Had it not been for the enhanced carnivores, those pests might have driven humanity

completely off the planet. As it was, depletion of farm crops and attacks by starving packs of feral

carnivores on any isolated dwelling gradually drove mankind into the present day Enclaves where they

thought an uneasy balance had finally been achieved. They were wrong, but for the present, humans

controlled their Enclaves and gradually adapted to them, even retaining a residue of loyal, intelligent pets

content to live with their masters. Outside the Enclaves, the enhanced animals warred on each other and

on unaltered species without let or hindrance.

In the third world, the situation was even worse. A reverse migration of the enhanced animals back to

their source, fueled by inexorable population pressure, was at it's peak. Less advanced technologically,

these countries were rapidly devolving into anarchy and chaos as the reverse migration combined to

breed with an already large population of enhanced animals. The only spots of stability were in areas

being mined or drilled for vital resources. There, the more technologically sophisticated Enclaves offered

their help in maintaining integrity in return for the raw materials of civilization, but even these sanctuaries

would probably have to be abandoned before long. Moon City and the space stations hoped to get

asteroid mining going by then to take up the slack, but that was by no means a certainty. They had their

own problems.

Within the Enclaves (with a much reduced population), and in space, life and culture had stabilized

for the time being, but it was only temporary. Ecology all over the world was in flux, with many new

species contending for space and succor. Intelligent as the newly enhanced animals were, they had no

understanding of how they were altering the environment, to their own detriment. Birds were becoming

fewer; insects more numerous, deserts expanding. Eventually, a climax ecology would ensue, but what

shape it would take, no one dared predict.

The population of the Enclaves tended to ignore what was happening outside. For the nonce, they

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were safe behind their barricades. Only their leaders worried, and they could see no good end to the pet

plague which was overwhelming the earth. Within the Enclaves (with a much reduced population), and in

space, the general population thought that life and culture was again on the upswing. In some ways it was.

The rather drastic police state methods necessary for the formation of the Enclaves was now giving way

in some of them to a more lenient form of government, albeit a much regulated and in some ways a more

limited one. In particular, control of the land and sea outside the Enclaves was no longer a given.

Dolphins, for instance, were adamantly opposed to deep sea fishing and had made it so prohibitively

expensive that it had almost ceased. Also, cross country travel other than by air was dangerous and

almost unheard of. Even air travel was limited mostly to vital cargo handling. The only regularly scheduled

passenger service was to and from the major Enclaves and from the east and west spaceports. As a

result, each Enclave was gradually developing a unique culture of it's own.

The Houston Enclave, for instance, had a much more southern and Hispanic oriented culture than the

relatively nearby Dallas sanctuary. Houston had gotten most of the surviving refugees from El Paso and

the Golden Triangle when they had finally been abandoned, while Dallas drew it's expanded population

from Oklahoma and the lower Midwest.

Genetic agriculture enabled the Enclaves to survive. It provided them with altered foodstuff of much

higher yield than formerly, rich in protein and vitamins, and resistant to everything except harvesting

robots. Genetic manipulation of food crops kept the Enclaves viable, even though the same sort of

meddling was responsible for their necessity to begin with.

CHAPTER 2

Jamie Da Cruz worried not at all about the historical causes of his present problem. He simply waited

impatiently for the maintenance crew to arrive. He was 36 years old, single, possessed of a 1A genome

(and wonderfully grateful for the sexual implications thereof -- he didn't have to go looking; they came to

him), and employed at a job he loved. He was the director of the agricultural experimentation section of

the genetic engineering department, and the only fly in his ointment was his boss, Carlos Alvarez, who

was behind the times and running scared. Not only that, Alvarez detested enhanced pets in general and

Jamie's pets in particular. If he had his way, every enhanced animal in the enclave would be banished to

the wilds -- or worse. Fortunately for Jamie and his pets, his viewpoint was in the minority. Other, more

liberal leaders still saw the need for enhanced animals, especially the dogs and cats which not only kept

the rodent population of the enclave down to almost nothing, but also were companions of the ranger

security force which patrolled the peripheries of the enclave.

Jamie did worry about the day to day temperament of his boss. Carlos Alvarez was overdue for

retirement, but he kept hanging on, reluctant to turn the reins over to a younger person. Jamie was in line

for the job but doubted that he would get it if Alvarez had anything to say about the matter. Jamie's pets,

Fuzzy Britches the cat and Woggly the dog were as well behaved as any other enclave animal, but they

did reflect his own personality to a certain extent. On several occasions they had voiced sentiments in

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Alvarez's presence that Jamie would have kept quiet about. At an apartment party once, Fuzzy Britches

had ventured the opinion that only pet owners should be in charge of human affairs so that they could

benefit from the wise advice of enhanced animals. While Jamie agreed, to a certain extent, the remark

hadn't helped his career prospects much.

"Hola! Que Paso?"

Startled, Jamie turned from his hypnotic fixation on the broached barrier and saw two Hispanic

repairmen, accompanied by an excavation robot just settling on it's treads. As usual, his black hair and

brown complexion had been mistaken for an accompanying facility in Spanish. Actually, he spoke only a

smattering of the language; his looks derived from his Hispanic mother rather than his Anglo father, and

she had decreed that her household would be a unilingual one. Politely, though, he searched his mind for

an answering phrase in Spanish, but soon gave it up.

"Here," he said inadequately, and left them. The robot would perform all the work and make most of

the decisions anyway, he thought wryly. Robots were almost as intelligent as humans, in a limited fashion,

and when interfaced with the main Enclave computers could use their biomanipulators to perform almost

any task assigned them.

Jamie was tired enough to skip going to the office to check on the status of the feral dog; he could do

it almost as well from home anyway. He was ready for a long, tall drink and the promised back rub; he

knew his mustache really didn't need trimming.

He left the agricultural plots through a gate in the secondary barrier and was pleased to have to wait

only a few moments for a passenger sled. Commuter service had been cut twice in the last few years.

Each time the "temporary" cutbacks proved permanent. He wondered idly why that was so, but didn't

really give it much thought.

"B-36," he told the sled as he boarded, scanning for a seat. There were none, but he lived only half a

mile from the test plots and seldom sat down anyway.

He stepped off the conveyance a little later, giving not a thought to the efficient way the sled had

recorded his destination, scooted off over super conducting rails and deposited him and two other

passengers at a point designed to cause the least average walking distance for the three of them.

Jamie's position enabled him to afford a fairly expensive apartment near the outskirts of the Enclave.

He could barely see the central towers from there. His complex sported rather rare buildings of only two

stories, containing twenty or so units each. There was an expanse of food growing areas interspersed

within them; the Enclaves supported fewer and fewer purely decorative plants as time went on. Food

production was more important.

A short walk brought him inside the complex to his own ground floor apartment, situated strategically

with the door facing out toward the common swimming pool. He waved to a bare breasted young

woman of somewhat more than casual acquaintance as he passed and noted with a slight frown the slick

furred body of a black otter descending the slide. He really preferred for the pool to be reserved for

humans during the day unless, of course, Woggly wanted to go for a swim. In that case it was different;

Woggly was almost human.

The door opened automatically as he neared, recognizing the signal from his body computer.

"Greetings, kind master," Woggly said, wagging his tail.

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"The mighty human has returned," Fuzzy Britches purred from his favorite perch atop the back of the

lounger. He stretched languidly, then settled back again. His whiskers twitched, as if sensing a mouse in

the pocket of Jamie's coveralls.

"You've been practicing," Jamie accused. He directed a stare toward the curly haired cat. His fur was

a mix of multiple colors all tangled together, as if a rainbow had been run through a blender and poured

over him. Both animals looked much the same as their ancestors except for larger, high domed heads and

heavier necks and forequarters to support the added weight.

"Not so," Fuzzy Britches answered, jumping down from his perch. Jamie wondered idly why they

didn't have the holo on. They spent a good deal of their time watching it while he was out, when not

occupied with patrolling the complex for stray rodents.

"You can go to hell for lying, Fuzz. Have you eaten?"

"Only a little," Woggly said, advancing to lick Jamie's hand.

"You can, too, Wog," Jamie said. He scratched the dog's ears, then sniffed. An odor of wet fur

assailed his nostrils. "Say, what's that smell? Have you guys been swimming?"

Fuzzy Britches didn't consider the question worth answering. He would as soon have made friends

with a feral rat as taken a swim. Woggly nodded a firm no, but continued nuzzling and licking Jamie's

hand as if his denial carried a caveat with it.

"What's that smell, then?" Jamie sniffed again, then headed toward the bed room.

"Wait!" Woggly barked. Jamie turned and stared at the shaggy brown dog. What was going on?

"Strange dog in there," Fuzzy Britches said, coming over and rubbing against Jamie's shins. He

looked up smugly, dangling imaginary feathers from his mouth.

"A strange dog? Whose is it? Who let it in?"

"Woggly did," Fuzzy Britches said, disclaiming any responsibility.

"Woggly?"

Woggly rolled over on the floor in an exaggerated surrender reflex, tail tucked between his legs and

front paws akimbo.

"Oh get up, Wog, and stop acting silly," Jamie said. "Why did you let it in? You know you're not

supposed to have guests while I'm gone. Whose dog is it, anyway?"

"Feral dog," Fuzzy Britches announced from a neutral position. He licked a paw and rubbed it lazily

over his ears, as if suggesting that a feral dog in the house was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dios y Santos!" Jamie exclaimed, borrowing one of his late father's favorite expressions. "And you

let it in here? Why didn't you give an alarm?" He could hardly believe it.

"Wog said not to," Fuzzy Britches demurred, absolving himself of any responsibility.

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"That's no excuse. Since when have you started listening to Wog, anyhow? Damn, that must have

been the one that broke in this morning. And you let it in here? What in hell do you think Alvarez will say

if he finds out? He'll want both your hides for rugs, not to mention my own. Damn, damn, damn."

Woggly nuzzled Jamie's hand again then backed off when he saw that Jamie was having no part of it.

He lowered his haunches to the floor and tried to look contrite. "He has a message, boss."

"Don't give me that 'boss' routine. I know who the real bosses are around here. Just what is this

ever-loving message that made you let a damn feral dog hole up in my own bed room? I warn you, Wog,

this better be good."

"He says message is from feral human."

That gave Jamie pause. It was a well know but seldom discussed fact that there was a scattering of

humans still living in the wilds, protected from harm by their own coterie of enhanced animals, but not as

masters; rather, they owed their existence to the usefulness of their hands to their pawed cohorts and to

the inventiveness of their human minds, something that the genetic engineers had had little success in

transferring to other species. He couldn't imagine any sort of message from a feral human important

enough for his pets to let a fugitive dog hide out in their own home. Nevertheless, he trusted Woggly's

judgment enough to at least listen to what the strange dog had to say before sentencing it to it's death in a

general alert, or from his own laser gun. The fact that Fuzzy Britches had not raised a hue and cry

influenced him even more. The cat was the more intelligent of the two animals.

"Bring him in here, Woggly," Jamie ordered. He patted the gun holstered at his side for reassurance.

Woggly barked at the bed room door. It opened and he scurried inside. Jamie heard a muted

conversation interspersed with non-threatening growls and whines. Enhanced animals had their own

conversational shortcuts when talking among themselves. A moment later Woggly returned, leading a

short haired dog of in determinant breed, somewhat larger than his own moderate size. It (or rather, he,

Jamie noticed) was rather less bedraggled than he had expected, although he still smelled of wet fur.

Jamie suspected that Woggly had coerced him into cleaning himself up and standing under the flea-killer

for a moment before being presented.

"This is Conan," Woggly announced hopefully.

The feral dog approached Jamie and raised a paw. He bent over to shake it before realizing what he

was doing. "My God," he thought. "I'm shaking hands with a feral dog in my own living room!"

"All right, Conan," he said. "My name is Jamie Da Cruz. You wait right here, right here, understand,

while I get a drink, then you have ten minutes to explain yourself." He retreated to the kitchen and poured

a shot of bourbon over ice, hesitated, then added another shot, wincing at how much that depleted the

bottle. Branded spirits were very scarce in the Enclave, and he had no idea when he would be able to

replenish his store, if ever. He fingered his still holstered laser gun and checked the time by pressing his

thumb and forefinger together. The numerals glowed through his thumbnail -- he would have to call the

office soon; both Jeannie and Alvarez were waiting to hear from him, he was sure.

Back in the living area he took his usual place in the big lounger but kept it in an upright position.

Both dogs sprawled side by side on the carpet, forepaws out. Conan sniffed at the sculptured shag,

puzzled at the faint life scent he detected. Fuzzy Britches jumped up to his usual perch atop the back of

the lounger, ears cocked forward. Jamie touched a spot on his forearm to induce his body computer to

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transfer a permanent recording to the home archives, then took a long pull from his glass. "OK, Conan,

it's your show," he said.

The dog spoke in a low guttural voice, in broken, badly accented English. "Human live with pack,

mine, say come with him, her, say talk with Great Being, say talk fast .. quick .. ." He seemed to be

searching for a word.

Woggly interrupted. "He says message is urgent."

Jamie took another sip of bourbon. That the message was urgent, he had no doubt; nothing else

would have prevented Fuzzy Britches from setting off an alarm, not to mention letting a strange dog into

his home. However, what was urgent to the cat was not necessarily so for him, nor for the Enclave in

general.

"What 'Great Being' are you talking about? Do you mean one of your humans? Or is it an animal?"

The fugitive dog turned and spoke to Woggly, mixing whining noises with barely understandable

English phrases. Apparently, the feral dog had only a limited speaking vocabulary, although he seemed to

have no trouble understanding conversation addressed to him. Again Woggly interpreted. "He say Great

Being not human, not animal, doesn't know what. He say look at his neck thing."

For the first time, Jamie noticed the crude leather collar around Conan's neck. Depending from it was

a small blue-green disk, hardly more than coin size. He bent closer to inspect it, but it offered no other

distinguishing features.

"Use hand," Conan said, sitting up and approaching Jamie's lounger. Tentatively he closed his hand

around the disk. Immediately, images exploded in his mind, blurry and disconnected, like dreams run in

fast motion. He saw a planet as it appeared from space, brown and blue and streaked white; what

appeared to be a spaceship, but unlike any ever built by man; a cluster of beings, orange colored with six

writhing appendages and large head-like protuberances; a whirling kaleidoscope of other scenes with no

human reference, ineludible. A sense of urgency, coupled with impending doom pervaded the flashing

images at the end. He dropped the disk abruptly, as if it had grown too hot to hold. Instantly, the images

vanished from his mind.

Jamie shook his head. "What in hell was that?"

"Message from Great Being," Conan said.

"That's a message? Let me try it again." Again, the storm of strange images assaulted his mind.

Prepared this time, he held onto the disk, but he learned little more. The same fast action scenes

repeated, then repeated again, a closed loop. Shaken, he sat back in the lounger. He finished his drink in

two long gulps and tried to make sense of what had happened.

"Wog, Fuzz, did you guys try it?"

The pets barked and meowed assent.

"What did you see?"

"Cartoons," Fuzzy Britches said.

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"Funny pictures," Woggly agreed.

Jamie nodded. It was about what he would have expected of the pets. Intelligent as they were,

concepts such as space beyond earth was beyond their grasp, but both were smart enough to have

realized that the feral dog carried something important enough to await a human decision before sounding

an alert. He wasn't certain himself that the images contained in the disk related to anything in the real

world, but that didn't matter. Of immediate importance was the technology implied. He knew of nothing

resembling the technique in the Houston Enclave or any other. It was time to call Security Section and

report the presence of Conan.

CHAPTER 3

Security, however, was already aware of Conan, by sight if not by name. Shortly after Jeannie had

left the office to go home and change, Carlos Alvarez had received a message from one of Jamie's

neighbors, an erstwhile girl friend who had not taken kindly to being dropped in favor of his newest bed

mate. The fact that she had a 1A genome equal to Jamie's, and that Jeannie was of a lesser classification

had only whetted her anger. Now she saw a chance to pay him back and took swift advantage of it. As

soon as she saw that the strange dog entering Jamie's apartment was not wearing the standard Enclave

collar she called the Genetic Engineering department. Alvarez, recognizing her as one of Jamie's former

lovers took the call himself. Being somewhat voyeuristic, he even listened patiently to the girl's theories

concerning miscegenation of genome types. Immediately afterward, he called Security Section.

Jamie's impression of Alvarez as an incompetent, pompous data shuffler was somewhat less than

accurate. Alvarez might not have kept up with the latest methods in genetic engineering, but he was a

shrewd judge of who had, and he had become more than a little fearful of Jamie's competence. His

dislike of Jamie's pets, and pets in general, gave him no little satisfaction as he talked to John Whitmire,

chief of Enclave security. "That's right," he said. "Da Cruz reported a feral dog intrusion at one of the test

plots where he's screwed up some new protein flora, and just now I've gotten a report that a strange dog

was seen entering his apartment. Yes, it was wearing a collar, but it didn't appear to be a standard one,

and we've received no other information on the intrusion. I think this one must be it. No, John, I have no

idea why he would try to conceal a feral dog; I'm just giving you what was reported to me. Yes, John, I

would appreciate it if you would check it out. Let me know, please. Thank you." He cut the link to

Whitmire and began closing the office for the day. At first he intended to catch a sled for the old Galleria

area and relieve some tension, but on second thought decided it would be more fun to head directly to

Jamie's apartment complex and be present for the confrontation. That was a boss' prerogative, after all.

John Whitmire was less enthusiastic about Alvarez's report. He knew the man from department head

meetings and was not impressed, especially in view of his well known prejudices concerning enhanced

animals. Nevertheless, he couldn't simply ignore the call. A possible breach of the Enclave's defenses was

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ThePetPlagueAllrightsreserved©2002DarrellBainNopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,graphic,electronic,ormechanical,includingphotocopying,recording,taping,orbyanyinformationstorageorretrievalsystem,withoutthepermissioninwritingfromDoubleDragonPublishing.Thisbookisaworkoffi...

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Darrell Bain - Pet Plague 1 - Pet Plague.pdf

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Darrell Bain - Pet Plague 1 - Pet Plague

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