Seeker

By August Niehaus

Indiana Jones meets Air Bud in this short tail of loyalty, responsibility, and adventure set in The Realm of Reason...

 

Opie works a boring government job so he can send money back home on Mars to his drug-addicted parents (who don't even remember their son is a cybernetic human-dog hybrid now). He's got a chip-slot in his tongue that allows him to speak any language that can be loaded onto silicon, and a sense of morality more true than any compass -- making him the perfect errand boy for people like Section Chief Ferra Cain, head of the Human Authority Tactical Intelligence.

 

When Cain summons Opie to the backwater planet of Shihar to act as guide for an expedition headed up by the native Shihari people, it seems like a pretty standard mission: don't let the Shihari get greedy. Don't let the mission go off the rails. DON'T let anyone take the payload.

 

But as the mission wears on, it's the very things that made Opie the perfect spy that plant the seeds of doubt in his mind. As he ponders the right path, Opie will make choices that change the course of the mission -- and his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Halftree Press
• Release date: Jun 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9781956177039

Book preview

To Carleigh and Opie,

who may not share a brain,

but who share a soul.

Chapter 1

OVERTIME AND OPPORTUNITIES GALORE! Opie’s heads-up display splashed across his vision. It wasn’t the first offer his company, Fable Freight, had spammed to its network of freelance employees that day—but it was the most appealing.

The package cart nipped at Opie’s heels, quick on the smooth concrete of the city sidewalk. His mind was filled with thoughts of the steak waiting in the cooling unit in his tiny apartment, how it was nearly thawed, how it would be perfect with a touch of lemon pepper and black salt.

Drooling, Opie dismissed the overtime offer and eyed the package count in the corner of his HUD. He only had one cart left back at headquarters. If he kept on schedule, he could finish his deliveries and get home in time to cook the steak and still get enough sleep to be up for his early morning shift.

His paws had brought him to the porch of the person his next package was for, one Angel Murken. Opie nipped at the quick release to his harness, freed himself from the package cart, and went to retrieve Mrs. Murken’s package. He carried it by the twine wrapping to the porch, where he deposited it and nosed the scanner attached to his shoulder.

The HUD blinked in Opie’s right eye, and he winked to take a photo.

SEND TO Angel Murken? the HUD asked.

Opie murmured his message—slowly, so the dictation would pick it up correctly. Hello... Mrs. Murken... your package... has been... delivered. Fable Freight... thanks you... for your continued business. Send message.

It whooshed out of his vision, returning his full attention to Mrs. Murken’s tacky porch gnome.

Opie stifled a smile and let his mind drift back to his steak as he darted back to the cart and settled his hips against the notches in the cart’s metal shafts. The harness straps closed around his chest, shoulders, and hips. Opie pivoted to turn the now-empty card towards Fable HQ, eager to snag the last batch of deliveries.

That’s when he spied the smaller box sprawled askew in the grass.

Opie sniffed at it, then checked the label. Sure enough, it also had Angel Murken’s name and address on it, along with a number of warning stickers that Opie translated to mean the box contained solar batteries.

He blinked and told the HUD to check the package status. Mrs. Murken had already marked that she’d taken satisfactory delivery. The batteries—an expensive add-on to whatever she’d ordered—were now floating outside the freight system.

Opie was sure Mrs. Murken would want them back. He released his harness again, snagged the small box’s carrying twine, and loped back to the hideous gnome. Careful to set the secondary parcel THIS END UP on the stoop, Opie nosed the doorbell.

The door opened a crack and a suspicious, frown-wrinkled eye appeared in the light.

"Hello, Mrs. Murken! I wanted to make sure you got your whole package, that’s the Fable Freight guarantee. Though everything in him wanted to back his ears and back away, Opie poured on the charm, wagging his tail and willing his ears to stay upright. This part must have fallen off when—"

The woman’s eye roved wildly from Opie to the package and back again. He knew what she saw: a big white dog, a German shepherd, a wolf in all but breed, wearing a gaudy medallion and a stupid hat that did nothing to detract from his ferocity. She saw something dangerous and hardly biddable and definitely not an intelligent member of society.

But Opie was a daugment. There was a human in his head, too, who now knew there was a lot more to dogs than most people appreciated.

So when Mrs. Murken slammed the door, raked several locks free, and flung the door open again to shriek, "Thief! You’re a gods-damn thief!" in Opie’s face, he was truly insulted.

But just as they always did, the mechanisms inside of Opie carefully packaged up his anger and shuttled it away to somewhere he would never see it. Instead, he was left with the core of who he was: a submissive, ears-backed hound who just wanted people to be happy with him. Uh, oh, no, ma’am! Not at all! I got a lot of packages I’m ferrying, I must have—

The old woman was barely bigger than Opie, but she rose three stories tall, her eyes fiery. I’m calling your supervisor! I’m getting a refund. She pointed a finger at Opie. You sit right there and wait.

Opie sat.

He hate that he did. It was a reflex, and not one he would keep if he had the choice. But that was what came with an inherited body.

Mrs. Murken curled her lip and pressed a series of points on her cheek. "You deserve this, you red-pawed animal, she growled. A dull blue light pulsed under the skin at her temple, indicating her call was connected. Hello? Hello, this is Angel Murken. I’m calling about my stolen delivery... yes, it’s one, eight, one, zero, three..."

A gravelly voice was just audible on this side of Mrs. Murken’s jawphone. Her call was with Opie’s shift supervisor, it would seem.

Opie tried to conceal his grimace. He’d managed to go three whole weeks without a lecture from one Spencer Gorley, and this incident would only dump fuel onto the fire of his anti-daugment passions. Gorley was the kind of man who wished everyone who worked for him was also lazy, out of both mental and physical shape, and exceedingly pro-human.

Mrs. Murken’s shrill voice cut into Opie’s thoughts like a jagged blade. "He took half my package! Yes, the half that matters, the batteries!"

Opie tilted his head down so he could close one eye, hoping to block out some of the shrieking hatred. As he did so, his HUD dinged softly, flashing a thirty-second timer in his left eye.

Opie groaned. Usually he was ahead of his delivery windows by at least a minute, sometimes more. His times were spectacular compared to most of his fellow Fablers. But there was no way he could get back to HQ and pick up the last cartful in time. He was going to be late.

Mrs. Murken huffed loudly, bringing Opie’s attention up to her. Yes, I’ll hold. She smashed her palm against the side of her face, leaving a handprint and shifting the color of the under-skin light to orange. She skewered him with her glower. "You. You piece of shit, you’re making this my