We Have Reasons

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Rover stared down at the ruts his cart had carved in the dirt. The awful pony’s magic had done the work of months in a single day. The Alpha would have been greatly pleased with such a find.

“I can’t believe you let them go,” Spot squeaked, his voice boiling with anger. Some of that was probably with the vanishing ponies and their stolen gemstones, though some of it was at him. “We wouldn’t have had to dig for weeks!”

Rover could smell the aggression in his tiny rival, and his whole body tensed in readiness for a fight. His muscles went taut, and his eyes narrowed. His hackles went up, and he growled just slightly. His friend and rival backed away.

Fido, for his part, watched with ambivalence. Fido was a good packmate, one Rover knew he could count on so long as his bowl has food every morning. So long as they continued to serve the Alpha, Rover knew there would always be food.

“I didn’t want to let them go,” Rover said, teeth still bared at Spot. “But there are things more important than digging. We have enough for the offering—we’ll just have to dig harder next year.”

Spot stalked away into the darkness. “I’m glad you get to tell the Alpha about this, and not me. Maybe he will want a new dog leading the pack when this is over.”

Fido still stared down the empty passage, where the ponies have gone. “Do you want me to bring it back?”

“No.” Rover rested one hand gently on his friend’s shoulder, or as close to it as he could reach. “You did good, Fido. We have to prepare for the offering.”

It seemed a meager offering, considering the wealth they’d nearly had. That single pony with her magic could’ve drowned them all in gems, more gems than the Alpha could ever possibly want. Rover supervised as the pack loaded a fresh cart with all the gems of sufficient quality they had gathered that year—the finest their strong senses could dig out of the bowels of the earth.

Rover didn’t know what vain purposes the ponies might be taking them for—he could only hope they would make good use of them somehow. Fido could not possibly understand that there were some things more important than paying the offering to the Alpha each year. Yes, there was much to be feared from that terrible creature, capricious near-god of the underground. Staying fed was important.

But the Alpha had chosen Rover because he could see further than most dogs. He had seen one captured pony bring several. If they used their guards to capture these six, what terrible odds would the surface-dwellers bring against them? What did it matter that the Alpha got his gems if his secret was discovered?

There was an impressive ceremony that night, furnished with the best the pack had to offer. The finest things they had hunted were served there, along with their allotment sent by the Alpha. Rover did not join in the festivities as he had when he was a puppy, and his own father had been the one dreading the festival’s conclusion. He watched from the end of the room, where the offering-cart was piled high with gems.

Many puppies made their way up to the cart, with their own feeble offerings to add. Dogs might not have had magic, but from their earliest days their senses were refined, improved, tuned to the smells and tastes of magical gemstones.

Most brought feeble offerings—felspar, iron pyrite, or turquoise. Pretty rocks perhaps, but of no value to the Alpha or himself. He did not say so, only smiled to each of them as they came. “The Alpha is pleased with your offering,” he would say, or something similar. It was an ancient ritual.

Then he saw his own daughter emerge from the crowd of dogs. She was older, more precocious by the day, her coat gray like his but with creamy highlights on her paws and face. Her mother’s gifts. She clutched a stone very close to her chest with one paw, watching him with interest. You won’t be taking my place yet, Daisy. I still have a few more years in me.

“I have a gift for Adam,” she said, extending her paw. Rover didn’t actually know what would be there until he saw it—the glittering of a magical gemstone as large as those that studded his collar. It was quite a find, particularly for one so young. More impressive, he hadn’t known about it.

“That’s very impressive,” he said. “The Alpha will be pleased.”

There was a long silence, at least between them. The festival continued behind them, the pack’s dogs shouting and singing and celebrating together. A festival was a fine way to forget how much they had lost.

“Is it really the same one?” she asked, her voice low. Low enough that the other dogs would not overhear. “Is he really…” she hesitated. The word barely seemed to fit in her mouth. “Immortal?”

“The stories say yes,” Rover answered. “My father knew him, and his mother knew him, and her father before her.”

Daisy seemed to realize that, because her ears perked on her head. “That isn’t what it means.”

“Would you like to see for yourself?” Rover asked, the closest thing to a truthful answer he could safely give. Most dogs did not understand what a pack leader did—they couldn’t. Only a few understand beyond the food in their bowls. Daisy was one such—among all his children, he already had her picked as his successor.

Daisy hesitated, and Rover began to relax. She is an older puppy, about two years old. She would know the offering was far smaller than the year before. More importantly, she would know the same stories they all told of the Alpha. A great leader, who had led the pack to many victories. But also demanding, impossible to understand, and harsh.

“Okay,” she said. “I want to meet him.”

Rover nearly fell off his cushion. He took a moment to collect himself, considering his words very carefully. He couldn’t take back the offer now—other dogs had heard him. Even an appointment from the Alpha would not keep a weak pack-leader in power.

“Be sure,” he said. “Once you visit him, you will have to swear like I did. No more wondering about him to your friends. You’ll know all the answers, but won’t be able to tell them.”

She nodded again, and spoke a little louder. She wanted the other dogs to overhear. She was leveraging them against him in a way, and she apparently knew it. “I’m coming,” she said.

There was no going back after that.

When the festival was done, Rover fixed the cart to the puppy and let her pull it into the deeper darkness. She didn’t complain—if anything, she seemed eager for the weight. It was a high honor in a way—this offering would keep the pack fed for another year, and appease the anger of the Alpha.

They wandered deep—very deep, so deep in fact that the burrows had no lights, and no safeties. More than once he had to warn her away from pitfalls—forgotten mines of long ago. Some dangers were visible, and others were not. It was a dangerous maze, and one kept that way intentionally. Only the alpha knew how to navigate it.

“What can he do with all the gems?” Daisy asked. “All the offerings, so many years… it must be something. Does he wear them like ponies? Does he make whole burrows out of them? Carve them into—”

“Quiet,” he said, voice firm. “You will see. Do you really think the whole pack would have served for all these years if it was so?”

She considered that. “He feeds us,” she said. “Without him, we would be hunting for prey all the time. Adam is the greatest hunter in all the world to give us so much food. So maybe… we do it because he might hunt us if we didn’t.”

Rover shook his head. “He would not. Adam does not fight us like other dogs do. He doesn’t measure claws or wrestle. If we wanted to go, we could go. He wouldn’t stop us.”

She looked unconvinced. “If he can’t fight, why have so many dogs let him rule? Why didn’t you take his place? Or your father, or… any of the great dogs before me? How can such a great hunter not even know how to fight?”

“You can’t understand,” was his answer. “But you will. See that glow ahead?” And she did—an even white light, unlike anything else in their world. There were many of them, set into the ceiling above at regular intervals. Smell was no longer Rover’s guide.

The ground changed swiftly too, from regular cut stone to something faintly rusted and metallic. Far more metal than anywhere in the pack’s mines, though.

Daisy stopped abruptly, scratching at the ground with one of her claws. Diamond Dogs, even young ones, were impressive diggers. Yet she would find, as many dogs before her, that this was not any metal they knew of. It didn’t even scratch. “What is this place?”

“The Alpha’s burrow. I will teach you to smell it next year, if he likes you. Coming tonight means Adam will judge you—he may prefer one of your other siblings to you.”

“He won’t,” Daisy said, coming to a stop in the vaulted space. “The others are dumb. He’ll want a dog who’s both smart and strong. My brothers and sisters are only one or the other.”

Rover privately agreed, but he didn’t say so. The puppy didn’t need an ego right now, when the time for judgement had come. His own fate was so much in question that he very well might be replaced right now.

Strange noises came from the massive doorway, harsh sounds that he had learned to ignore, but that caused Daisy to squeak and whine in protest. She struggled to one side, but in her instinctive shock she could not get out of the restraints. The weight of the cart and its load held her in place, as much as it started to rock slightly from side to side.

Eventually the terrible door stopped moving. It had only opened a crack, yet that crack was as wide as the largest dog. Brilliant white light came from within, along with smells and sounds Rover’s mind had no context for even now. The world beyond this doorway was not one his kind had ever seen.

Adam, the Alpha, towered above them like a god. He wore far more clothing than the dogs, clothing that was like metal but flexible like cloth. His face alone was visible. It was a strange thing to see for Rover—on the one paw, it was the same one he had seen carved in sculptures and painted on walls back where the pack made their den. It was the same one he had seen his whole life, almost unchanged.

Yet it did not seem as mighty and powerful as his father’s mother had laid down in her stories. His mane wasn’t thick black, but wispy white with streaks of gray. His face didn’t have the muscle of a dog in his prime, but instead the lines and wrinkles of one very near the end. A dog who looked this way would not live to see another winter, yet Adam had always looked this way.

The Alpha has lived through many generations, he remembered his father saying, when Rover himself had asked about his apparent weakness. In days forgotten, he protected our pack. Now we guard his.

Daisy dropped into a whimpering bow. Rover did the same, sans whimpering and without making a stain on the metal beneath him. Been there too, sweetie. You can do it.

“You brought a puppy.” Adam’s voice rumbled above him. He stood a giant by dog standards, twice the size of the largest in their pack. “This is good. She can meet my successor with you.”

Daisy was frozen, paralyzed with fear as Adam dropped to one knee. Rover thought he could see a new stiffness in his limbs. It seemed as though his clothes were moving for him, though Rover knew he had to be imagining that.

Adam’s paw shook as he removed its outer covering. There was no fur underneath, or claws. Just wizened, bony fingers. He reached out for Rover’s daughter. Rover didn’t worry—he’d been in her place before.

Adam removed the harness with a single gesture, running his bony fingers down Daisy’s back. Pulling her close to him. “You all don’t get any less cute over the years, do you?” Rover heard in that raspy voice the same love he felt for his daughter—a love that only one member of the pack could feel for another.

Well, almost. Adam’s love didn’t come with conditions, as the affection of his other dogs did. There was no jostling for dominance with him, no fear that one paw out of line might mean a fight. The Alpha was the greatest of his pack, yet not like a dog. “And you too, Rover.” He turned, and spared some of that love for him. “I’m glad to see you this last time.”

There wasn’t anything quite like feeling Adam’s strange spidery digits in his fur. Rover remained still, enjoying it as long as he could. A perk the rest of his pack couldn’t possibly know.

“Last time?” he asked, fear inadvertently finding its way into his voice. “Are you… displeased with the offering? Have I failed? I know it’s a meager offering compared to…”

Adam rose to his feet again, with apparent difficulty. He put up one hand. “No, no.” He barely even glanced at the cart. “It is nothing you have done, Rover.” He smiled knowingly at him. “I saw how you handled the Inheritors. Kidnapping one was the source of your difficulty… but you solved it on your own, no need for anger from me. You did well.”

This was more forgiving than the Alpha had acted in the past. “But why, then?”

He shook his head, turning away. “Bring the gems, Rover. I will show you once our duty is complete.”

Rover had risen back into a standing position. Yet he froze, staring after Adam. “Alpha, wait! No dog has ever seen your den! It’s not allowed!”

The Alpha turned back, but not with anger on his face. Instead, he laughed. “No dog has ever…” He waved that spidery paw through the air. “I’ve told you why we labor so many times. Before I go, those stories will be real. Come.”

Rover took up the cart himself, for which his daughter seemed pleased. She was clearly overwhelmed with what she had seen, barely able to continue. She didn’t give up—Rover didn’t know what Adam would’ve done then. It was good he wouldn’t have to find out.

The interior of the Alpha’s den was cavernous, though less massive than the door outside. All of it seemed to be built from that same metal, unyielding and impervious. Daisy followed along beside him, her rapid heartbeat and terrified breathing close for him to hear. Guess she isn’t going to be replacing me anytime soon.

The burrows seemed to never end. There were sounds everywhere, though not from voices or dogs. They sounded too regular for that, too methodical. All the space was brilliantly lit, with the same captive sunlight they brought to the great depths beneath the Earth. Brighter than the gas lamps dogs used, with none of the associated dangers.

They passed many strange things—things Rover would never be able to explain, even many years later. Strange rooms filled with shallow trays of green sludge, others where thousands and thousands of cuts of meat seemed to be sitting in little containers. They passed places where it seemed pony magic must be at work, because hundreds of little metal machines moved of their own accord, doing something inscrutable to objects Rover couldn’t identify. His world had no context for any of it—not the smells, or the sights, or the sounds.

They reached a dead end—an entire room made with glass walls. Another wonder of the Alpha, one he hadn’t even known existed. As they followed him inside, the wall closed by magic, and Rover felt like he was falling.

Daisy whined in protest, tucking her tail between her legs. Rover managed to keep silent only as he realized the ground wasn’t falling out from under him, despite the speed of the motion. A mining elevator in the darkness, with fragile glass walls. The only light shone on them.

“Excuse me,” Daisy’s voice said then, the first thing she’d ever said to the Alpha. She couldn’t actually look up at him. “I have a question, Alpha. Is that allowed?”

There were metal bars around the room at about his height, and he clung to them for support. He looked as though he might collapse if he let go. “Tell me your name.”

“Daisy,” she said, her voice quavering. “I am Daisy.”

He nodded. “Ask your question.”

“Where are you going with all the gems we mined? Why do you need so many?”

For someone who had acted so afraid, Daisy was bolder than he had been with the Alpha. It had taken him years to get brave enough to ask questions that direct.

“If your pack was in danger, what would you do to protect them?” the Alpha asked. He watched Daisy, though one of his paws was moving through the air. A little light had appeared in front of him, floating, and he interacted with it with shaking fingers. The patterns changed as he touched them, though Rover could make no sense of what they meant.

“Anything,” Daisy said.

“That is the right answer.” Adam took a deep, shuddering breath. “I want you to see my pack, Daisy.” He moved one of his fingers forward in a decisive way. Suddenly they were blasted with light, so much that Rover was briefly overwhelmed by it. The illumination wasn’t inside the impossibly-fast mining elevator made of glass, but around it. Out at a cavern of impossible size, filled with numberless rows of identical shapes.

Each one of the identical thousands was a round tube, mostly set into the wall. They were all large enough to hold the Alpha himself, if he was laying flat. They surrounded the elevator on all sides, except for the metal superstructure of the elevator shaft itself. Shapes moved around them, opening some of the machinery up, sticking their thin limbs inside, flashing and glowing in many colors.

“This is my pack, Daisy. It’s the only pack left—all of them. If they die, then my species will be extinct. Nothing like us will ever exist again.”

A long silence. Rover took the initiative. “The gems are like oil in our lamps, Daisy. They keep everything here working.” Rover sounded confident as he said it, even though it made no sense at all. He did not know how rocks could be turned into light, or into meat for the pack to eat, or into the strange clothing the Alpha always wore. Yet he knew it did, as confidently as he knew that pain was bad and pleasure good.

“Yes,” Adam added, sounding even more amused. “Your gems…” He hesitated, and it seemed as though he was struggling to breathe. “Keep my pack alive. Each of those shapes is another like me, asleep.” He moved his paw through the air again, and all the lights around them went out.

Rover spoke for him. He had never been here, never actually seen the place where the rest of the Alpha’s pack slept, but he had spoken to him a great deal. He knew the answers. “We work together, Daisy. We get food for our gems, so we can dig instead of hunt. And other things. Medicine for sick dogs, coats for winter.”

The impossibly-fast elevator seemed to be slowing down. Rover could see lights below them through the floor, and more metal passages in identical array.

“Yes,” Adam agreed. “A partnership. Instead of…” He broke down into coughs again. This time, Rover didn’t know what he was going to say, and so he remained silent. “We cannot afford to be noticed by the Inheritors. Without your help, it would require many of us. They would see, and we would be destroyed. But because of you… we only give our lives one at a time. I was the latest steward, Daisy. But I am not the last. When I die, my replacement will wake up. I never knew her… but she is so young. She will watch you as I have, know so many dogs… watch them all fade.”

But now Rover was watching him fade. Again he found himself regretting that he had brought Daisy along tonight. She wouldn’t have had to see this. Her first memories of the Alpha would be to watch his demise.

Adam took them to the very deepest part of his domain, where the ground itself was warm underpaw. They dumped their offering—a whole year of work for his pack, into a strange machine that crushed and ground it all to dust. In the end, only a few of the gems inside were what the Alpha was after. Lights all around them changed from persistent amber to a confident green.

Adam led them to one final chamber—a small one this time by the standards of this place, with a bed, desk, and many machines. It looked strikingly clean, just like every other room in the Alpha’s den. An intricate rendition of a forest landscape had been painted onto the wall, and a little box of paints rested on a shelf. The only sign someone had lived here.

Adam pointed to a tube running up the far wall, which glowed with internal radiance. “H-her name is… Dr. Dawn Hardy,” he read, from the tiny square set into the wall beside it. “When I die, she’ll wake. I trust you to be honest with her, Rover. And kind.” He slumped against the wall, his whole body shaking as he moved. The skin of his furless face had gone very pale, each breath a struggle. As though the Alpha had fought to survive long enough for this last meeting, and now that it was done he was finally letting go.

How many of our pack have seen one of them die? Not for so long that he didn’t even know the name of the last Alpha.

“Be kind to her,” he continued. He reached to one side, resting a hand on Rover’s head. His skin no longer felt warm. “I trust you, Rover. I know your pack will do a good job protecting mine even when I am gone. You’ve done it for so long… and done so well.”

“How long?” Daisy asked, her voice a whisper. Confused as the young dog was, she clearly recognized the sacredness of this moment. “How long will you keep hiding?”

Adam turned to look at her, an effort that evidently cost him greatly now. Maybe he could only move at all because of his strange clothes. “Until the surface is safe again,” he said. “I can hardly imagine… what my grandparents generation were thinking… but that was so long ago.” He looked across the room, and the painted mural there. “I would’ve liked to see the trees again.”

There was a long silence. Rover said nothing else, and neither did his daughter. Eventually, he realized Adam wasn’t breathing anymore.

Many hours later, and their collective mood had improved a bit. Meeting the newest Alpha was an exciting occasion, one for celebration and remembrance in the pack. Dawn had been more ignorant than Rover could’ve predicted, but he had done his best to explain it all.

Eventually, they left the way they had come, wandering up the darkness of the mine back towards the den.

Daisy loped along beside him in silence, eyes pensive.

“Now you know,” he said. “Why we dig.”

She nodded. Daisy would make a fine pack leader one day.

Dig Until Dawn

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Dr. Dawn Hardy, Hegemon of the human race, sat in her underwear atop the edge of an artificial waterfall overlooking Recreation Area Seven. One arm rested on bare knees covered in freckles, letting the holofield projector set into the bracelet fill the area in front of her with readouts. Half a dozen little windows floated in the air, alternating between camera footage, maintenance information, historical logs, and a few active terminals.

“Midir Outlook Relay transfer returns complete,” said Core, its voice a striking approximation of human speech.

Dawn tapped the fingers of her free hand impatiently on one knee. She reached up, running her fingers through the layer of orange fuzz that had grown there. Cryogenics hadn’t been kind to her hair, but that hardly mattered now. She had a lifetime to grow it all back.

“Give it to me,” she said, not even bothering to restrain a groan. Core wouldn’t care.

“Outbound Transit Record:

Achilles (57 lr) – 1878 years – Last transmission: green
Nobunaga (104 lr) – 2366 years – Last transmission: red
Gilgamesh (26 lr) – 3051 years – Last transmission: amber
Davy Crockett (70 lr) – 21 years – Last transmission: DESTROYED DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ENT-

Inbound Transmission Record: ”

Dawn sat still for nearly a full minute, wondering if Core had malfunctioned. She leaned back, then hopped into a standing position on the edge of the sculpted rock. The projections all vanished as soon as she moved her arm. “Inbound transmissions record?” she prompted.

“As presented,” Core responded. “There are no transmissions to list.”

Of course there weren’t. Dawn had sent the request nearly two hours ago, and spent most of that time waiting here. “So much for the arkships.” Hegemon Dawn Hardy of Earth spat in each hand to give herself grip, then backed over the edge of the dry waterfall and began making her way down. She wasn’t wearing shoes or gloves, which meant she could get a very good hold on the stone.

By the time she made her way down onto the ground floor, she felt a little better about being the only living human in the universe. About as good as could be reasonably expected. As she walked, lights came silently to life, illuminating the underground recreation area with mock sunlight that would never pass beyond her field of view.

“Where was that wall he wanted me to visit?”

Core evidently understood this question, because there was no more hesitation for it than any of the other questions she had asked. “First floor conference room B. Would you like me to direct you?”

“No. I remember where it is.” Dawn didn’t go straight to the first floor. Knowing she had her entire lifetime to spend, she wasn’t ever in much of a hurry.

A few hours and a hot shower later and Dawn was wearing her full uniform, albeit with the top of the jumpsuit tied about her waist and a large flashlight in one hand. It didn’t matter that the whole base lit up with every step—Dawn knew it was dark all around her. Like the darkness was a disease, ready to consume her if she ever gave it the chance.

Less than a year down here and I’m already losing it.

“Give me… the terraforming log,” she said, as she rode her way up the gigantic central elevator. She’d already heard that log a hundred times, but she liked hearing a voice with her in the dark.

“Completion: 30,000 years (approximate)
Orbital Correction Agents: Functional (2)
Climate Correction Agents: Functional (1.23 * 10^8)
Biosphere Correction Agents: Functional (2.74 * 10^8)
Coverage: 19%
Intervention: Not Required”

The elevator doors opened with a polite ringing sound. Dawn found herself moving a little slower than before, unable to completely contain her discouragement. Even with her youth, even with a lifespan stretched by genetic engineering and the best medical care available, she would be lucky to stick around for a single percent of the remaining duration.

I’m just a cog in the endless wheel, here to burn myself up. There was no hope of reprieve from this duty. Dawn would rule humanity until she died, and then she would be replaced.

“How did the others cope with it?” Dawn asked, very quietly.

Of course, Core could overhear. So long as she wore the computer on her wrist, Core could always hear her. “Answer varies. Most relied on antidepressants and antipsychotics for the duration of their service. Many suspended autorepair functions in some sections, giving them regular duties to perform. Some interacted with exterior bio-resource modules. A few attempted to improve the efficiency of the ongoing terraforming process, or devoted themselves to some other personal project. Most kept diaries you may examine at your discretion.”

“Not right now.” Dawn stepped into the conference room, or what had once been the conference room. Most of the rooms here were built to a few standard designs, using the same modular parts that repeated forever. But someone had ripped away the wall-plates, stripping the perimeter of the room down to bare basalt.

There were names written on the dark stone, carved with great care. Each was written with a different handwriting, to different depths. Yet someone had painted clear lacquer over the sections of wall with no more room to write, preventing them from being worn away any further. She could read almost all of it quite clearly.

“Irving Musk – first!
Mohamed Abdul Mehdi – Take me to hell, just please no more lava.
Carmella Vasquez – Watch my movie. It’s good.” And on and on they went, all the way around the room. There were so many names—dozens of them, as she knew there would be. Dawn kept walking until she got to the second (and longest unbroken) wall, where there was some space near the bottom. Adam Lockheed had signed, along with his own epitaph. “Don’t let them in. It hurts too much to see them go.”

There were no instructions left behind for her, only a titanium chisel and a mallet. Dawn picked up both, and set to hammering her own name into the rock. It would take a very long time, and she wasn’t close to an epitaph for herself yet. She had many, many years to figure that out.

She hadn’t gotten past “Dawn” when the computer on her arm began to vibrate urgently. She stopped hammering, glaring down at it. “What is it, Core?”

“One figure approaching rapidly from the biomodule service entrance. Mining biosegment ‘Daisy.’ Divert, intercept, or allow?”

Dawn considered the question for several long moments. The smart thing to do was probably divert, restricting access to the base except during the time of offering. Dawn knew nothing about people and less about dogs, but more contact seemed like a bad idea.

“Let me see her,” she commanded. Her computer projected an image into the air in front of her, taken from one of the many hidden cameras in the passages that surrounded the entrance. Daisy was not a large specimen of the mineral canine breed, not even fully grown. Yet there was something distinctly human to the fear in her eyes, the terrible desperation. She ran with speed Dawn would’ve thought impossible for anything slower than a horse, apparently without regard for her safety.

“The Diamond Dogs are not biological machinery to be re-cloned and replaced as soon as the dynamics of their pack breaks down,” Adam had said, his face much younger on the instructional recording. “They will give you all the loyalty they possess, they will die for you, if you can show them you love them in return.”

“Allow,” Dawn said. She could not see the pain on that disturbingly intelligent face and not feel an intrinsic tugging in her chest, demanding she try and do something about it.

Dawn dropped the chisel, making her way down the hall towards the entrance. She was already on the top floor, so she wouldn’t keep the visitor waiting.

“Have these dogs ever hurt anyone?” Dawn asked, jogging instead of walking towards the entrance.

“Yes,” Core answered. “But not for many generations. Breeding efforts have produced a species that appears unwilling to harm humans so long as individuals are not cornered or threatened.”

“So, I don’t need a gun,” she muttered. “That’s all I wanted to know.” Dawn had the computer, and it had a few defensive modes that could work in a pinch. But none of them would do her any good against a powerful enemy determined to do her serious harm.

Like almost everything. There were many reasons previous occupants of this base had spent almost their entire lives here. Reasons many, many successors would do the same.

“She is outside,” Core said, when Dawn reached the massive blast-doors of the mining entrance. “Should I—”

“Yes,” Dawn interrupted, adjusting her tank-top and tightening the jumpsuit about her waist. Had there been anyone else awake, she would’ve taken the time to dress up for an occasion like this. Even from skimming Adam’s records, Dawn had seen he almost never contacted the dogs without wearing powered armor. More than once, he had used that armor.

But Adam had martial training—Dawn’s degree was in Terraforming.

The door ground open wide enough to permit the dog, and not nearly wide enough for Dawn herself. She could only hope she looked sufficiently regal—the warrior queen of a tribe with one member.

Daisy skidded and bounced her way in, making harsh scratching sounds against the metal with her paws as she did so. She stopped several meters away, whimpering with confusion as she looked up at Dawn.

She was big for a puppy, at least compared to the true canines Dawn had once known. Diamond Dogs were a large breed—perhaps the size of a Doberman when fully grown. The pain and fear in her face looked nothing at all like a puppy, or any other animal for that matter.

You shouldn’t be this smart. Even knowing the whole planet was covered with engineered bioagents didn’t make it any less strange to look down at a dog that could talk back to her. That knowledge was theoretical—Daisy was real.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn asked.

“Your shell hasn’t grown in yet?” Daisy asked, her tone closer to what it had been the last time they met. Eternally curious

“My… shell?” Dawn stared blankly at her. “Oh, the armor. I don’t usually wear it, not without a good reason.” She folded her arms, glowering. “Why are you here, Daisy?”

It took her nearly a full minute to collect herself enough to answer, starting fitfully in barks and other sounds that Dawn couldn’t understand. Eventually she managed. “Rover… badly hurt,” she said. “They were fighting over you. Spot, and some of the others… then he fell. It was one of the unfinished tunnels… collapsed.”

Dawn tensed, her mind working rapidly through the implications of what she had just been told. She extended her arm. “Core, give me biofeedback from Rover’s collar.”

An image appeared in front of her, scrolling medical information. She knew only the basics of what it represented—serious injuries. Struggling heartbeat, uneven breathing. Daisy was right.

“Please, you have to use your magic to save him!”

Dawn could see a pair of branching futures before her—both insignificant as far as humanity was concerned. But not to the dogs. One might require her considerable involvement in their lives—the other might end with their loyalty to her species broken, requiring her to grow new clones to replace them. How many generations of work went into you? she wondered, staring down at Daisy.

Dawn reached down, petting the dog’s head. Daisy relaxed. “Magic isn’t what you think it is,” she said. “But I’ll help him.” She rose again, turning sharply away. “Core, get a bike up here with a medical trailer. I’m gonna get dressed.”

“Are you certain you wish to use medical supplies on the biosegments? Nanofabricator resources are limited, and replacement parts might not be available if you are injured. We only stockpile supplies for one. Given your choice of recreational activities, I find it likely you will need those correctives soon.”

“I won’t climb until you make new ones. Just do it.” She glanced down at the dog. “Wait here. It will take a minute to get dressed.” She was already struggling into the rest of her jumpsuit, running towards the armory.

Less than ten minutes later, and Dawn was zooming through the tunnels atop the hoversled, its sloping blades kicking up dust and debris. Her motions all felt stiff and uneven, sheltered as she was within the shell of the exoskeleton. How Adam felt comfortable wearing this stuff all the time I’ll never know.

Even so, she wasn’t about to leave the bunker wearing only a jumpsuit. She might want to be helpful, but she wasn’t an idiot.

Holding Daisy while driving the bike was by far the most difficult part, particularly since the animal seemed determined to stick her head out from behind the front windscreen and let her tongue loll out in the wind.

“I can’t believe you’re coming back to the den!” Daisy shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the hoversled. “I thought you were going to give me some medicine, or maybe a spell to make rocks go away. Adam hasn’t come for… generations!”

“Adam was old,” Dawn called back, the faceplate of her armor lowered so she could still speak to the Diamond Dog. It had sensors, and would seal airlock-tight if it detected anything dangerous in the air. Dawn doubted very much that might happen, though. The day when their grandparents’ skeletal fingers would reach back through time to snuff out more life were over now. Even their unimaginable weapons had been consumed in the first stages of terraforming. “He had hobbies when he was younger too. But that would’ve been a long time in dog years.”

“How can we be going so fast?” the dog asked. “You’re heading the right way, and I didn’t tell you! Your flying noisecart is magic.”

It wasn’t, obviously. But explaining sonar and lidar to a dog while blasting down a tunnel at eighty kilometers an hour was a doomed prospect. Dawn wasn’t steering the bike—human reaction times were too imprecise, and too likely to turn her to pulp against a wall if she made a single mistake. But Core had a map of all these tunnels, and sonar to look ahead for obstacles. All Dawn had to do was hold on, listening to the cargo-satchels on its side shake and rattle with each new turn.

“My hoversled knows where its going,” she answered. “Rover’s collar has a tracker! Adam apparently wanted to know how to find you if something bad happened!”

They were slowing now, and the tunnels around them were no longer categorically unlit. They passed through a few with distant openings to the sky, and others with sparse oil lamps burning at prominent intersections. Though the dogs were excellent builders, their tunnels were always a little imprecise compared to the ones humans had built—they didn’t have surveyors to make sure every new line was perfectly straight, or lasers to measure the arch of the ceiling.

Abruptly the tunnel opened into a very large, open pit mine (though still underground). Perhaps five hundred meters across at the widest, though it sloped smaller as it got lower. An inverse pyramid in the dirt, with tracks running up for the dogs’ identical carts.

The sled slowed to a stop at the top of the mine, lowering itself for a landing. It was just barely tall enough for her to stand up in here with the armor. Much of the detritus of mining was down here, machinery and half-repaired carts and a workshop for tools. As for the dogs themselves, she could see only one. Near the bottom of the pit, a shaft had been carved to one side, cutting under the level above. That was where the ceiling had collapsed, and where she could see one of Rover’s legs poking out from inside.

“Where is everyone?” Dawn asked, hopping off the side of the now-silent sled, and bending down to open the cargo satchel. She removed a single red-plastic box from inside, covered in red markings.

“You were loud,” Daisy answered, hopping down beside her. “Scared them, probably. They didn’t think to stay behind and protect Rover since he’s trapped. Dogs stuck like him… they die.” She shivered. “You won’t let him die, right?”

Dawn rose, careful not to stand too straight. She looked down over the edge at the collapse. The dog didn’t look good. But correctives were an advanced science these days—they could reconstruct all the skin of a terrible burn victim, regrow missing organs… “I will try,” she said. “We won’t know if it works until it works.”

She wanted to jump all the way down to the bottom—the armor could easily handle a drop of twenty-five meters or so, and that would save the time to climb and cross. But given how unstable the rubble looked piled on top of Rover as it was, she didn’t want to risk burying him even deeper.

“Here.” She thrust the medical bag towards Daisy. It was enormous for her, but not quite so large that she wouldn’t be able to carry it. “Bring that.” She made her way around to the other end of the bike, collecting the cave-in kit. It was a container about the same size as the medkit, though much heavier. So heavy that Dawn could only lift it with help from the armor. She secured it on her shoulders, then made her unsteady way down the slope.

As she did, she noticed the eyes on her. The dogs had hidden, but not very far away. There were numerous entrances, and quite a few carts and other obstructions to hide behind. A few were just now peeking out from within, watching her. Some had dressed themselves up adorably, with silly breastplates and spears or maybe a shirt.

She said nothing, focusing on her climbing. The armor was incredibly strong, and she could easily punch her way through rock to make handholds. But wearing it also tripled the volume of her body, making it difficult to navigate a mine made for creatures about a third a human’s size. Still, she made it down to the bottom in another few minutes.

If Rover was still conscious, she saw no sign. The only dogs she saw were observers, who had begun to crowd around the mine from the upper ledge. There were dozens of them there—maybe even the whole pack. Only Daisy had followed her below.

Dawn turned around, lowering her visor with a slight twitch. They would see only polarized glass. “Why haven’t you dug him out?” she asked, her voice stretched and expanded by speakers until it boomed through the whole cavern. “Isn’t he your alpha? Do you have no respect for your pack leader?”

Dogs cowered and whimpered at her words. They seemed to be searching among each other, glancing back and forth until they had settled on a single member, pushing him out towards the front, almost over the edge to the ground below.

“Rover was weak!” the dog shouted back to her, his diminutive frame producing exactly the high and grating voice she had imagined. “He obeyed too easily. The earth has judged him. Alpha is dead—that means we don’t have to follow you if we don’t want.”

Dawn raised the visor, glaring up at him. She shouted only with her natural voice then. “You are a bad dog!” she yelled, pointing her gauntlet at him. Then she turned away. “But I don’t have time for you. I’ll punish you after.”

She turned away from him, hurrying back to the site of the cave-in. “Structural analysis complete,” said Core into her ear. “You can’t just move those boulders—this is likely to perpetuate further collapses.”

“Highlight them for me,” she said, removing the bulk of the cave-in kit from her back and dropping it to the ground in front of her. It opened without prompting, revealing the three things it contained packed inside transport foam. A collapsible sprayer, a large tank (most of the mass), and a folded sheet of shimmering material.

“You alright in there, Rover?” she called back towards him, not as loud as she had been talking to the dogs.

She heard only a grunt in response—faint, and obviously pained. That’s something.

Daisy arrived behind her, setting down the medkit and flopping to the stone. She remained still, panting heavily with the effort. She didn’t even try to say anything, just watching her and occasionally glancing in at her father.

The HUD had highlighted large sections of rock around the site of the cave in, along with a few suggested structural lines. Dawn took up the sprayer, slotted the tank into place with only a little awkwardness from the gauntlets, then began to spray. The foam that emerged was as light as spider’s silk, but also many times stronger by weight. As she sprayed, it worked its way between cracks in the rocks, connecting them all together, securing them to the unbroken stone of the layer above. She used much less than the whole tank to cover the whole area, sealing it into a homogenous chunk.

The next part was harder—too hard to attempt while wearing the armor. She didn’t quite trust the puppy to do it, even if Daisy was now sitting up and watching the work with interest. Not only her—many of the dogs were watching from above. Even the tiny one who had spoken out against her was there, though he appeared to be conversing with the other dogs.

Dawn parked the armor close to the cave in as possible. “Core, emergency release. Now.”

The seal around her body hissed in protest, clicking at the joints as the breastplate opened in front of her. Her boots sank spikes into the rock, holding it all in place as she wiggled out through the hole. Powered armor like this was meant to be applied (and removed) by machine, but someone as lean and fit as she was could get out without the complex mechanisms to unseal it all.

No way to get back in again, though. Core better be right about these things not attacking humans. Dawn wore only her jumpsuit, her computer, and her socks underneath the armor, since she hadn’t bothered with the complex heat-regulation and other layers that would be required for an extended trip.

The only thing to impede her as she climbed out to the ground was the gasps of the dogs. A few looked away in horror, or stared at her in morbid fascination. Dawn realized with some frustration she would hardly be graceful, pulling herself out headfirst and flopping forward on the ground. But the ground was where she needed to be anyway.

“What are you doing?” Daisy asked, rising to her hind legs, and walking along beside Dawn. She didn’t get in the way as Dawn removed the final item from the cave-in kit—what looked like thick fabric with a bit of metal on one end. Of course it wasn’t, as its numerous warnings clearly marked.

“Core, get ready to lift,” she called back to the suit, which began to close itself up. Just because there was no intended way for a human pilot to get back in didn’t mean it couldn’t still help.

“There is a nonzero probability you will be crushed when we make this attempt,” his voice said, now from the gauntlet. “Are you sure you’d like to proceed?”

“Be ready on my mark,” she insisted, before getting down onto her belly and making her way towards the cave in.

In some ways, the process was easier than it would’ve been for a human (for whom the kit had been designed). At a command, the section went rigid, making a small arch meant to cover the one trapped inside. She began to push carefully, watching as it cut through rubble and dirt. It would cut through limbs just as easily, so she had to make sure with every inch that Rover’s body wouldn’t get it the way.

Fortunately, dogs were small. Once out of her suit, it was comparatively easy for Dawn to weasel her way around the rocks. She wasn’t crushed when her empty armor tossed the whole chunk of broken rock out of the way. A few stones fell over Rover’s now-covered form, and the process was easy from there.

Less than ten minutes later and she’d cut the dog free of his clothing, applied the correctives, and was sitting beside his injured body with her back against the wall. She was smeared all over with dirt and slime, had half a dozen shallow cuts, and had lost one of her socks, but otherwise survived the encounter. She was sipping now from a container of water Daisy had brought her, ignoring the acrid aftertaste of copper mixed in. Just now she was too thirsty to care.

“Preliminary report indicates damage to his spine, ribs, and one broken leg. His body is responding positively to the correctives. Full recovery is estimated in two weeks,” Core said from her gauntlet. “I hope it was worth it. A crowd of the biosegments is approaching from above.”

Her empty armor reacted as though it weren’t, straightening and readying the only weapon it had—the adhesive gun.

“Don’t bother,” Dawn grunted, before struggling to her feet. If she’d known today would be so exhausting, she wouldn’t have spent her morning climbing all over everything. She rose to her full height—ripped jumpsuit, missing sock and all, watching as the group of dogs made their way down from the upper level.

The disobedient little runt was among them, leading them in fact. She waited until they had almost made it, then stepped forward. If they did decide to attack her, Dawn didn’t like her odds—these dogs were impressive creatures, with teeth and claws that would tear her apart. She wasn’t even wearing boots, with which she might’ve kicked the little one if it went for her. The rest were too big for that.

But she didn’t give him a chance to talk. “You are here to apologize,” she said, standing as broad and tall as she could. “First to me, and then to Rover.”

The dog looked taken-aback, mouth opening but no words emerging at first.

Dawn didn’t wait for him to collect himself. Before the dogs could react, she sprung forward, yanking the little dog by his collar. How he’d gotten one of the trackers she didn’t know, but just now she didn’t care. Dawn dragged him forward towards the cave in, pushing his nose right in at the broken rock. “Bad dog! You are a bad dog!” she said, as disapproving as any vengeful goddess.

He didn’t bite her, didn’t turn around to snap at her unprotected arm. He only whimpered pathetically, tail tucked between his legs.

With that, the rest of them were hers as well.

Dawn carried the injured Rover out from the mine in her own arms, following the thick smell of dog all the way back to their burrow. She remained there for several hours, until Rover could sit up and understand the instructions she gave him.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he croaked, from the end of a torn cot. “I am a useless dog now.”

“No.” She glared at him. “You will heal. You are not allowed to leave this bed until I come back, do you understand? Those correctives will take two weeks—I’ll come back then and check on you. You’ll be fine until then; the pack will look out for you.”

He nodded. “I didn’t think you would come. Adam always expected the alpha to be strong.”

“I won’t always be able to come,” she admitted. “If something happens on the surface, you dogs will have to get out of it yourselves. But down here? I’ll take care of you. If I can.” She left, making her way back to the mine and the waiting hoversled. The armor was already gone by then—walking its slow way home through the dark.

She realized that Daisy had followed her, and was even then whining at her heels. She brightened as soon as she’d seen Dawn had noticed her, letting out a few excited sounds. It took a little while for her to say anything Dawn could understand. “I knew you would save him,” she said. “I hope you come back more.”

Dawn shrugged noncommittally, or at least she tried to. But she’d never been a very good liar. “I’m a dog person,” she admitted. “You’ll see me again.”

Why We Dig

by Starscribe

We Have Reasons

Dig Until Dawn