Accordingly, immediately after breakfast on his first day’s leave, he picked the rodog up while it was lapping at its water dish and – without any announcement – took it out to his car. It was not until he saw Billy’s shocked face staring at him through a window that Hewitt admitted to himself that he had been hoping to get away from the house unseen. He dropped the warm sentient bundle on to the car’s rear seat and drove away with the maximum acceleration the magnetic engine could produce. At the corner of the main road he glanced back once and saw that Billy had run halfway along the avenue behind the car before giving up. He was standing there, helpless. Bramble had raised himself on his hind legs to look out through the rear window, and he gave one low bark as Billy was lost to view.
Hewitt swore savagely, cursing the dog’s designers and manufacturers for sins they were unaware of having committed. He slowed the car down and drove into the central area, past the gleaming pyramid of the transfer building, and stopped outside the commissary. When he picked up the rodog it squirmed in his grasp, but in a playful manner, its main objective apparently being to lick his face. Hewitt tucked it firmly under his arm and pushed his way through a transparent door to the domestic electronics department. Burt Pacer, who had sold him the rodog, was again on duty behind the counter.
“Morning, Sam,” Pacer said cheerfully. “And congratulations – I heard about your transfer.”
“Thanks.” Hewitt set Bramble on the counter, keeping a tight grip of the studded collar as the dog’s feet skidded about on the slick plastic. “I wish I’d known it was coming. I could have saved myself a lot of money and trouble.”
“Didn’t it work out?” Pacer lifted the dog in his thin freckled arms and examined it critically while it strove to lick his face.
“Too well – that was the trouble.”
“I might be able to let you have five hundred on it, seeing as how you only had it a few weeks.”
“That would be good,” Hewitt said. “What’ll you do with it now?”
“We’ll blank out the brain … wipe it, you know … and deactivate the mutt and put him back into inventory.”
“Does it take long?” Hewitt was not sure why he was asking.
“About ten minutes should take care of it,” Pacer replied. “Malcolm Harris does these things because he knows more about molecular logic circuits than I do, but he’s out having his coffee right now. Do you want to talk to him about it?”
“No – I just wondered.” Hewitt walked to the door, then turned to look back at the dog which was scrabbling frantically on the counter in an effort to follow him. “It’s a hell of a thing when they have to build robot bloody dogs.”
Pacer shrugged. “We’re a long way from Earth.”
Hewitt nodded and went back to his car. Before moving off he sat and watched the struggling rodog being carried away into the rear of the store. He drove homewards slowly, taking detours and spinning the journey out to fifteen minutes so that Bramble would have been returned to inventory, and the episode finally closed, before he had to speak to Billy again. The first thing he saw when he reached the house was a blue Company car often used by Carl Mendip parked in the driveway. For once, the sight was quite welcome because the presence of an outsider could be useful in keeping emotional pressures down. Hewitt went in through the back door and found Liz alone in the kitchen. Her eyes had a slightly pinkish look, as if she had been crying, but her face was composed.
“Where’s Billy?” he said.
“Where do you think? In his room.” Liz’s voice was completely neutral. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No – I have to watch my fluid intake.” Hewitt went through to the living room to where Mendip was prowling around, sipping coffee and examining various small ornaments with critical interest.
“How’s it going?” Mendip said with a rare joviality.
“Okay.” Hewitt sat down in his favourite chair.
“I took an hour off to come out and see how you and Liz were getting on.”
“Thanks, Carl.” Hewitt watched as Mendip continued his course around the room, picking up recently-acquired trinkets and setting them down again. The principal items of furniture belonged to the Company and would be renovated for use by another colonist, but Hewitt and Liz had tried to personalize the place to some extent by buying extra pieces, such as flower vases, since their arrival on Mesonia. None of their purchases had been expensive – because of the ever-looming possibility of being transferred – but they helped make a standard Company house into the Hewitt home, and Hewitt disliked the casual way in which Mendip was handling them.
“It’s a weird business, being transferred,” Mendip said. “It would be better if you had a lot of packing to do.”
“Why’s that?”
“Keep you busy, keep your mind off it.”
“I’m not bothered,” Hewitt said.
Mendip sniffed disbelievingly. “Young Billy was crying when I came in.”
“He’s upset about the dog.”
“I told you that was a bum investment, Sammy boy. How much did you drop on the deal?”
“Three hundred.”
Mendip hissed his breath inwards. “Some people shouldn’t be allowed out alone.” He picked up a small ceramic glow-clock and dropped it into his pocket.
“Carl?” Hewitt sat upright. “What are you doing?”
“It’s all right – I checked with Liz.” Mendip gave a frosty smile. “You can’t take it with you, you know.”
Hewitt felt himself nearing a dangerous edge. “Put the clock back,” he said.
“I told you Liz said it was all right for me to take a few things. There’s no point in letting the Company have them.”
Hewitt stood up. “Put the clock back where it was.”
“But what will you do with it?” Mendip made no move to return the clock.
Hewitt considered for a moment. “On the morning we leave I’ll put it in a pile with our other things and smash them up with a hammer. Just to keep the buzzards off.”
“I don’t like that remark.” Some of the scanty colour had left Mendip’s face. “I could put in a report about your attitude.”
“And I could put in a counter-report about you being a looter.”
Mendip slowly took the ceramic piece from his pocket and weighed it in his hand. “Is this your idea of gratitude, Sammy boy? Is this the way you treat a friend?”
Hewitt put on a look of surprise. “No. I wouldn’t dream of treating a friend this way.”
“I see.” Mendip turned to Liz, who was just entering the room. “Did you hear that, Liz?”
“I heard.” Liz looked at Hewitt with an impersonal gaze. “I paid for that clock – so I’m entitled to give it away.”
“What is this?” Hewitt said. “We don’t go in for separate ownership.”
“That’s what I used to think. Until this morning.” Liz turned to Mendip and closed his fingers around the clock. “Put it away in your pocket, Carl.”
“Thanks, Liz.” Mendip smiled serenely at Hewitt.
“If you try to leave here with that clock,” Hewitt said in a shaky voice, aghast at what he was doing and yet unable to draw back, “I … I’ll …”
“It wouldn’t be a good idea to hit me, Sammy.” Mendip put the clock in his pocket. “That way, you’d lose the transfer.”
The words went through Hewitt like a chill wind, enfolding his mind in an icy stasis, bringing time itself to a standstill. He stared helplessly at his wife, and at Mendip, and it seemed to him that they would all be there for ever because he was being required to make decisions of which he was incapable …
“Bramble!” Billy burst into the room with a shout and ran to the front window in a blur of bare arms and legs. “Bramble’s come back!”