The Day of the Dog Part 1

The Day of the Dog.

by Anderson Horne.

_They came home from a strange journey.... And heroes they might have been--a little dog and a man!_

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Ill.u.s.trated by Ed Emsh_]

BY ANDERSEN HORNE

The DAY OF THE DOG

Carol stared glumly at the s.h.i.+p-to-sh.o.r.e transmitter. "I hate being out here in the middle of the Caribbean with no radio communication. Can't you fix it?"

"This is a year for sun spots, and transmission usually gets impossible around dusk," Bill explained. "It will be all right in the morning. If you want to listen to the radio, you can use the portable radio directional finder. That always works."

"I want to catch the 5 o'clock news and hear the latest on our satellite," Carol replied. She went to the RDF and switched it on to the standard broadcast channel. "Anyhow, I'd feel better if we could put out a signal. The way we're limping along with water in our gas is no fun. It will take us twenty hours to get back to Na.s.sau the way we're losing RPM'S."

Bill Anderson looked at his young, pretty wife and smiled. "You're behaving like a tenderfoot. We've plenty of gas, a good boat and perfect weather. Tomorrow morning I'll clean out our carburetors and we'll pick up speed. Meantime, we're about to enter one of the prettiest harbors in the Bahamas, throw over anchor ..."

The RDF drowned him out.

"The world is anxiously awaiting return of the chamber from the world's first manned satellite launched by the United States ten days ago. The world also awaits the answers to two questions: Is there any chance that Robert Joy, the volunteer scientist who went up in the satellite, is still living? There seems to be little hope for his survival since radio communication from him stopped three days ago. Timing mechanism for the ejection of Joy are set for tonight. And that's the second question.

Will the satellite, still in its...o...b..t, eject the chamber containing Joy? Will it eject the chamber as scheduled, and will the chamber arrive back at earth at the designated place?

"There are many 'ifs' to this project which is shrouded in secrecy. The President himself has a.s.sured us of a free flow of news once the chamber has been recovered, and this station will be standing by to bring you a full report."

Carol switched the radio off. "Do you think he's alive?" She suppressed a shudder. "G.o.d! Think of a human being up there in that thing."

"Well, the dog lived for several days. It was just a question of getting it back, which the Russians couldn't do. I don't know about Joy. He sounded real cheerful and healthy until his broadcasts stopped." Bill peered into the fading twilight. "Come on now, let's put our minds to getting the hook over!"

They concentrated on the tricky entrance to the lee side of Little Harbor Cay. It meant finding and pa.s.sing a treacherous coral head north of the adjoining Frozen Cay. Little Harbor Cay was midway in the chain of the Berry Islands which stretched to the north like beads in a necklace.

"There's the cove," called Carol. About a mile of coastline ahead was the small native settlement. Once the center of a thriving sponge industry, the island was now practically deserted. A handful of small cottages, a pile of conch sh.e.l.ls on the beach and two fis.h.i.+ng smacks gave evidence of a remaining, though spa.r.s.e, population.

Dusk was rapidly approaching and Carol strained her eyes against the failing light. Bill heard her call his name and saw her pointing--not ahead to their anchorage, but amids.h.i.+ps and toward the sky. He turned his eyes to where she was indicating and saw a dullish object in the sky, some thousand feet up. The object seemed to be falling leisurely towards earth.

"What in the world is that?" asked Bill. "It's not a bird, that's for sure."

The object seemed to be parachuting, not falling. The breezes were blowing it towards the island. Before they could study it further, it was lost in the lowering dusk and darkness of the sh.o.r.e line.

"Looks like a ball on a parachute," Bill finally said. However, the business at hand was to make secure the _Seven Seas_ and together they spent the next quarter hour anchoring.

After "setting the hook" securely, Carol and Bill donned swim suits, dove overboard and swam lazily the 300 yards in to sh.o.r.e.

"Let's try to find that thing we saw. It shouldn't be too far from here," said Carol the moment they hit the beach.

They climbed inland on the rocky island. Little green lizards scooted underfoot and vines scratched at their ankles.

Bill was leading, when suddenly he called, "Carol, I see something up ahead! There's something lying on the ground!" He hurried toward what he had seen.

The dying sun reflected on a luminescent bolt of cloth, somewhat like a spun-aluminum fabric. Thin wire lines were entangling it, and about ten feet away lay three fragments of what appeared to have been a dull metal box.

Carol knelt at the closest piece, evidently a corner of the box. It was lined with wiring and tubes.

"It looks like electronic equipment," decided Carol, peering intently at the strange piece. Bill had approached the second and largest fragment.

He carefully turned it over. It was filled with black and yellow ...

fur?

"Oh no!" he cried, knowing in a flash, yet denying it in his mind at the same time. Stunned, he stared at the perky ears, the dull staring and unseeing eyes, the leather thongs that held the head and body of a dog to the metal encas.e.m.e.nt. Carol saw it the next instant.

"It's some horrible joke!" she gasped. "It couldn't be the second Russian satellite, it couldn't be Muttnik! My G.o.d, no, it couldn't be!"

Bill kept staring, his thoughts racing. There were rumors of an ejection chamber for Muttnik. But they had been denied by the Russians. But suppose the Russians _had_ planned an ejection chamber for the dog Laika when they launched the satellite and had only denied it after they thought it had failed?

But if it _had_ worked, why had it taken so long to find its way to earth? The satellite itself was supposed to have disintegrated months ago.

"d.a.m.n," thought Bill. "I wish I were a scientist right now instead of a know-nothing artist!"

He touched the dog with his toe. It was perfectly preserved, as though it had died just a few hours before. It was rigid, but it had not started to decompose.

"Carol, are we crazy? Is this some dream, or do you believe we are looking at the ejection chamber of the Russian satellite?" he asked, doubting even what he was saying.

"I don't know." Carol was wide-eyed. "But what shall we do now? We'd better contact the authorities immediately!"

Bill tried to keep reason from overcoming his disbelief of their discovery.

"But how, Carol? Our radio transmitter isn't working. It won't till morning. And there's certainly no other way to communicate with anyone.

We can't even take the boat anywhere with the speed we're making. We'll have to wait till morning."

"What shall we do with the dog?" asked Carol. "Do you think we ought to bury it?"

"Lord no, Carol. The body of the dog will be extremely valuable to science. We've got to get someone here as quickly as possible." Bill was trying to steady his nerves.

"Let's go back and try to raise someone on the radio. Let's try again, it may work," called Carol, running in the direction of the boat. Bill followed her. They stumbled on the craggy rocks and exposed sea grape roots, but together in the darkness they struck out for the boat.

Bill was first aboard and went directly to the s.h.i.+p-to-sh.o.r.e radio.

"Try the Na.s.sau marine operator first," Carol panted as she clambered aboard. "He's a lot closer to us than Miami."

As the receiver warmed up, static filled the cabin. Bill depressed the transmitting b.u.t.ton. "This is the Yacht _Seven Seas_ calling the Na.s.sau Marine operator," he called into the phone. Only static answered.

"Bill!" Carol said in sudden inspiration. "Give a May Day. Try every channel with a May Day. If anyone picks up a May Day call you'll get emergency action."

"May Day, May Day! This is the Yacht _Seven Seas_. Come in anyone!" Bill called urgently into the mouthpiece. He switched to the Coast Guard channel, then to the Miami Marine operators channel. Only static filled the cabin. No welcome voice acknowledged their distress call. Bill flipped the switch desperately to the two s.h.i.+p-to-s.h.i.+p channels. "May Day! Come in any boat!" Still static. Nothing but static.