"This one yours, ma'am?" the boy asked me, standing in front of her pen.
"Yes, indeed," I replied. "Have you been taking good care of her?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am," he said in a bored tone as he unfastened the front gate.
"I'll know if you're lying," I said with a sharpness that made him turn. Ignoring him, I stepped past and knelt in front of Io, throwing my arms around her as she emerged from the pen, which was only just high enough for her head -- a way to prevent dogs from dashing themselves against their ceilings when they aren't used to the gravity. She waggled all over, all kinetic motion starting in her vibrating tail. After a moment, I managed to hook the leash to her collar, and stood up. Io was immediately all business and the boy gawped.
"She's a regular handful for us," he muttered.
"Yes, indeed," I said sunnily. "Have a nice day."
For Mars, it was a lovely sunset. Walking with Io reminded me of home, with its cool breezes off the lake, and watching her stalk the ducks. I wished for wind or trees or hills, but, of course, in the station there was nothing of the kind. We paused and eyed the blowing red sand outside, and the black cliff face that sheltered the town from the worst of the sandstorms. Then we got into the metrotaxi.
I programmed our destination and sat back. "All right, let's have it."
Io sat politely on the seat next to me, never noticing the automatic seat harness closing around her. "The food was slop, the company ignorant, and the staff boorish," she replied, her cybertalker buzzing with indignation. She pressed her nose to the window and -- purposely -- left an impressive vertical nosetrail smudge. Her beard, damp from her excited drooling, compounded the smear.
"Sorry," I said.
"Quarantine, inDEED," she muttered, removing her nose from the window, shifting her attention to her left, and pushing her nose back against the glass. "As if I would be carrying any disease. Reeeeeeally!"
"Sorry. Orders."
She clacked her teeth -- her equivalent of a human saying, "Hmph!" -- and circled her nose on the window a couple of times. From the outside, now, someone would see "IO" in snool, of course. My friend, the graffiti artist.
Satisfied, she turned from the window and wiped her beard on my shoulder. "So, what have you found without me?"
"Not much," I admitted. "We've got an assassination plot brewing, methinks."
"The target is, I presume, the President of the Interplanetary Council?"
I startled. "Well, not that we know of. All our evidence points at the chief diplomat from the New Colombian Republic."
She licked my ear and cheek. "You're so cute," she told me, amused. "What would the motive be?"
"Well, resource competition, of course," I informed her irritably. "The terraforming is going forward nicely, and they want to start importing biosphere foundation materials soon. If Colombia gets a license, they'll have control over importation until the terraformers open up a new section to biosphere modification. It would be a blow to some of the other countries -- African and South/Central American -- that have been counting on the extra income from the Mars colonies."
"So your evidence points to someone in potential control of resources for terraforming?" she asked, looking out the window again as we passed through a connector tube. Night was falling rapidly outside. When we entered the next colony station, the lights were going into evening mode.
"Right."
"Then why not the President of the IC, when he wants to redirect funding from the terraforming project to the rehabilitation of eastern Europe?"
"What?"
Io tsked at me. "Haven't you been listening to the news? He's got quite a lot of 'Earth first' rhetoric flowing in the aftermath of his election."
"Oh," I said wittily, falling immediately into deep thought. Io idly vandalized the other window. "How did you hear about this?"
"Occasionally, the radio station to which those simians at the quarantine station listened reported news. It took a bit of reading in-between the lines."
"I see."
I thought hard until the taxi slowed and stopped in the block where Io and I were staying temporarily. Temporarily! I hoped so. It was drab and gray. The tiny patch of green and smudgy skylight that made up the "park" was dull and flat. Despite the number of dogs that paraded through it daily, it held barely any interest for Io's quick nose. The two other dog-walkers eyed Io with the dawning horror held by many small-dog owners in space colonies: the conviction that somehow, *this* was the dog that was going to get them all thrown out and sent back to Earth. The two other dogs -- a tiny mutt and a walking mop of some kind -- yapped excitedly. Io ignored them regally.
Once we reached our flat, Io trotted over to the computer screen. "Computer," she said, "print system headlines."
The interplanetary headlines scrolled up. "Stop," she said, scrutinizing a few in particular. I peered at the screen over the top of her head. She raised her nose, clunking her hard skull heavily into my chin. "You know I hate it when you do that," she told me as I recoiled, hand going to mouth in response to my bitten tongue. "It's rude."
"Ah!" she said at last. "Staying at the Plaza Ritz-Carlton on taxpayers' money, I see." She looked more closely at the small text under the headline. "So is your Colombian diplomat. Looks like some sort of Terraforming Commission meeting. Oh, look here, a 'town meeting' this evening in the Plaza. How droll. How condescending."
"Computer, layout of the Plaza Ritz," I rapped before she could. The computer tossed up the blueprints on my dual-screen setup and I handed Io her stylus so I wouldn't have to clean noseprints off her screen. We set to work.
After an hour of work, we had a plausible set of security breach-points that would-be assassins might use.
"I'm sure they have these covered," I muttered, rubbing my eyes and mopping up the floor after Io drank from her water bowl. "If we've thought of it, they have too."
"Wait," Io said. "Who's in charge of security?"
"I can find that out," I said irritably. "I've got a patch into the local police. Why?"
"Just find out."
Still grumbling, I obeyed. Io ordered us some dinner as I did so and helpfully fetched the bag when it arrived. She started in on some of the food, popping open the plastic containers with a practiced and delicate maneuver of her front teeth.
"His personal security force," I finally said after spending half an hour jumping through virtual hoops to find the information. The local police needed a professional to master their intranet, dammit.
Io threw me a container of food by gripping the edge with her teeth and snapping her head. With reflexes born of years of practice -- and many black eyes and near-concussions -- I snatched it out of the air. She picked up her stylus and starting tapping some of our marks on the screens. "Then we can count out almost all these security points -- they'll have taken care of them. But, my friend, they won't have thought of this." She marked a new series of points: the President's penthouse window, which looked onto the Plaza, and several inaccessible ledges and decorations on nearby structures.
I looked at this, thought about it. "Ahhhh. We all forgot that. Earth-normal muscles could certainly make that climb." Microgravity was too new, colonization was too new. We were all Earth-trained, and not necessarily trained to think of these things. "But would they break in, or just shoot?"
"Shoot? Inside the colony?" She looked at me as if I were mad. "These are people who love their project, if not their home. Everyone knows that shooting here is suicide."
I remembered being irritated, weeks before, when I couldn't bring my gun with me. "Right, right, it might perforate the bulkheads and *poof* goes our atmosphere."
"I think we should take a trip out to the terraforming center," Io said suddenly.
"Okay. Got an idea?"
"Maybe. I just want a look around."
We disembarked at the terraforming center and took deep breaths. The air was warm and humid and filled with a thousands smells. It was sustaining and lively compared to the triple-filtered crap in the rest of the colony. Io's nose twitched like mad.
A tall, wiry gentleman in a suit emerged from the complex core. He smiled amiably. "I'm Jared Thompson," he informed us in a voice tinged with Texas. "Understand you're here for a tour?"
"Yes," I replied, smiling. "Pat Johns. And this is Io."
He offered his hand to Io, and she sniffed politely, then began to lick furiously. "He..." Thompson paused, craned his neck around to the side and corrected himself with a grin, "She's a beaut. What kind of terrier?"
"Airedale."
"Airedale," he repeated, crouching down finally and scritching Io's ears, which she accepted as her due, although she took this opportunity to give him a vigorous 'once-over'. "I had a wire fox when I was a kid. Mean as the dickens." He stood finally, after waiting for Io to finish. "I've been elected to give you the tour today, and, sadly, I have a meeting at four, so I think we're going to have to start now."
I nodded and we followed him down one of the paths into the brush.
It was a long, hot afternoon, and I was unused to heat, having come from late autumn on Earth to the chilly Mars station. I felt grimy, and was particularly annoyed to discover that they had imported insects from Earth. "Need them to pollinate some of the plants," Thompson explained briefly.
He was an engineer, so didn't know much of anything about the biological aspects of the terraforming. His specialties were tectonics and geology. He talked about the possibilities of Mars' geological resources. "Enough to make us self-supporting, I think," he confided.
Io was a mad dog, diving into the brush on either side of the path. I asked if it was all right to let her off-lead, considering that she was obedience trained. Thompson laughed. "Just as long as she doesn't go diggin' up the flower garden."
It was interesting that the tour glossed over the laboratories and emphasized the "garden." But then I supposed that the garden was more media-friendly and showed more palpable results than a bubbling test-tube on a workbench. The garden was certainly spectacular. It had taken a lot of work to fertilize the barren sands of Mars so that anything would grow. But the vines and other undergrowth were thriving, even in the wan sunlight, and there were small but sturdy trees growing. I gathered that the work in the laboratories was primarily to adapt plants, bacteria, and algae to the thin atmosphere and to improve efficiency in using what little sun they got. The progress was evident.
At quarter to four, we arrived back where we started. I shook hands with Dr. Thompson and slid gratefully into the cool taxi. Io bounded in with me and the vehicle slid off.
Io had some leaves stuck in her leg furnishings. I began to pluck them out, picking up each of her feet in turn to check them for any stray pricking things. She watched me in silence. I reached for a big leaf caught on her collar and she said, "Leave that one."
"Huh?"
"Leave it for now."
I shrugged. We rode the rest of the way without speaking. I was too drained from the heat to move until we arrived home.
I collapsed into the bed. It had been a long day. Io immediately flopped on her own bed, picked up her stylus in her teeth, and started working on the computer. I suppose I napped. I woke up to Io standing on my chest and licking my face.
"Wha-?" I said blearily.
"We need to go now," Io said. "Dinner's in the bag. Eat on the way."
"Would you mind explaining?" I asked as I pried myself out from under her and went to wash my face.
"I noticed a peculiar smell on Thompson's fingers this afternoon," she said, hopping off the bed and trotting after me. "Definitely vegetable origin, so I was trying to find a plant out there that matched."
"Did you?"
"Yes," she said. "That leaf caught in my collar was the final clue. I identified the plant from that."
"And?" I said into the expectant silence, picking up the bag and heading for the door.
"Chondrodendron tomentosum, a woody vine from South America," she announced triumphantly.
I looked blank.
Io sighed heavily, her sides huffing noticeably. "One source of the poison curare."
I blinked. "But he's an engineer and doesn't know squat about plants."
She cocked her head. "Reeeeeeeeally? I suppose, then, we can safely ignore the callouses on his fingers from shooting archery then."
"Well. Drat." We hesitated one moment, looking at each other, then bolted for the door.
"You know what the investigation's been about. What've you got covered?" I could feel the tension in my voice.
"Everything, ma'am, honestly," he said.
"Even for shooters?"
He looked horrified, but nodded. "We've got surveillance and repair crews online."
I nodded approval, then jerked my head up. "Buildings?"
Another affirmative. I peered up against the lighting rigged over the Plaza. "How about the roof?"
He followed my gaze upward to the rigging. "Well..."
"The lights?"
"We've got guards at the access points."
I eyed the distance from upper building windows to rigging projections. "No good. Someone could make that jump if they got into the service area in that building," I said, pointing, "or that one. Or, I suppose, they could get into the roof and hop down."
"Damn." He snatched up his cell phone, picking up on my mood. Io tugged on the leash and I stepped away and bent down to her.
"We won't be able to spot anyone from the ground. Let's get up there," she told me. I nodded, stood, nodded to security, and we headed into the second building I'd indicated.
We grabbed the service elevator after I flashed my ID at the guard there. It went to the top with maddening slowness. Io was pacing, whining involuntarily, and popping up to stand with her front paws against the door. "What's wrong?" I asked finally.
"I can smell him. He used this elevator."
Heck, *I* started to pace.
Finally, we reached the top floor. Io and I rushed out. I put my shoulder to the single door I saw and burst it with a flurry of splinters. Io was a black and tan streak, soundlessly passing me.
The door startled him. He was perched on the windowsill, wearing sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, a short, recurved bow in his hand and a small quiver of arrows belted tightly at his waist. There was a scarf tied over his mouth, inside the hood. He looked over his shoulder at us, saw Io making for him, and leaped into space without hesitation.
"Io!" I shouted, but she was, as usual, way ahead of me.
She moved low, and even as she ran, she was gathering herself. Through the window, I saw him land on the broad rigging catwalk, stumble once, and start running. I wasn't sure if she could see that far; for all the fact that her other senses were amazing, her sight was nothing to write home about. But he was moving, and that's all she needed.
She seemed to levitate. I thought of the ten stories below her, and couldn't bring myself to contemplate whether she might be injured or killed in a fall from this height in 38% of Earth's gravity.
There was a long moment where I gripped the windowsill white-knuckled, staring after her extended, athletic shape, and then her front paws came down well along the catwalk and she transformed back into the low-running hunter, moving silently. I perched on the ledge for a second, resolved not to look down, and leaped for the catwalk.
I landed not nearly as neatly as my opponent or companion. In fact, I sprawled full-length on my face and had to scramble to get upright. Before I had gone far, I heard a snarl, a yell, a yelp, and another snarl. The sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I groped for my gun, then remembered with a curse that I didn't have it.
Io was kicked to the edge of the catwalk as I hove into view. Her back legs scrabbled for a grip as her front legs dug into the framework of the platform. Thompson had apparently brought the bow into his hands and he drew the bow on me as I approached. I was looking down the shaft of an arrow dosed with enough curare to kill within seconds, and I couldn't stop running to dodge. Not enough damn gravity to help me break momentum.
I heard the twang of the bow, and then Io snatched the arrow out of the air. But to make that leap, she had to miss the opposite edge of the catwalk. I screamed, I know I did, as I saw her sail over the side. I had tears in my eyes that I finally closed with the assassin. I wasn't in the mood for any kind of stupid wrestling match; I broke his arm and pinned him with a jiu-jitsu move. Then I turned to find out Io's fate.
I didn't have an Airedale, I had a mountain goat. Somehow, she'd managed to leap far enough to just touch down on the nearly nonexistent projection of some weird gargoyle on the side of the Ritz. She used that to break her fall and redirect herself so that she bounded across the Plaza to a flagpole jutting out of another building. She ricocheted off that with ease and grace, astonishing the crowd below as she soared down to a lower window ledge, bounced off, and landed on the President's platform. In all that, she never dropped the arrow, which she had caught neatly in the middle of the shaft.
Cleanup was fairly easy. It turned out that Thompson had ties to the "Mars for Mars" terrorist movement, which advocated independence from Earth, and he saw the President's attitude toward terraforming as a threat to Mars' eventual self-sufficiency.
Io was the heroine of the day. The President commended her personally, on stage, that night. She was extremely popular with the security folks and local police, and gorged herself on all sorts of food over the next couple of weeks on Mars.
We even received a pair of medals later, though mine was smaller.
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