Dead Star Dockyards

Don was not entirely unfamiliar with dogs. He recalled that his family had a small dog in the time before he distanced himself from them, however he could not remember much about it. He vaguely recalled it had thin ears and eyes that seemed to big for its head.

The only reason he actually considered it a dog and not some form of mutated rodent was the constant yipping and its hatred of the automatic room cleaner.

This dog he was struggling with in the chemical shower room (a shower with actual water would come later) was nothing like the aforementioned rat. Even in spite of the discoloration and clumping caused by the chemical cleaning formula, he could tell that this dog was not bred for the purpose of decorating a handbag.

A coat of stark black and woodland brown, ruffled and wet at the moment but definitely evidence of a real dog. A puppy though it may be, the developing muscles he could feel as he rubbed the deodorants into its fur were evidence of the growth it would no doubt experience, Don's assumptions further backed up by how large the paws were in comparison.

However it was evidently still a puppy, and it still had the whining and yelping proclivities that puppies have in common with adult rat-dogs.

For now, it was pinned firmly between Don's knees as he tried his best to prevent the soap from getting into its eyes.

The solution wouldn't irritate the human eye or nose if it somehow found itself into the membranes, but he wasn't sure if that also applied to dogs. He also was uncertain as to how this chemical compound meant for use on human skin and hair would affect the thicker fur of his charge.

The more of this stuff he lathered onto and scrubbed into the hide of this squirming beast, the slicker it got. By the time it was covered in enough of the faint blue gel to fully cleanse it of the potent stench of urea, it was too slippery for Don to hold onto.

Breaking his streak of bad luck was the fact that the showerhead was more of a hose than a faucet, and the pressure from the hose was more than adequate to penetrate the fur. The result of his efforts was young canine that no longer had any repugnant odors, but in exchange was drenched and shivering.

Don's moment of relative silence was interrupted by a banging on the quarantine door. "Hey Beacon, I got towels for you and the mutt. Can I come in?"

"Help yourself."

The traitorous captain entered in a full cleaning kit. He had goggles, a mask, and the comically thick rubber gloves usually associated with heavy duty chemical handling. His duty garb was shielded by a thin plastic cover, likely water-proof. In the clutch of those red rubber gloves where a stack of white cloths, towels made of tough but fluffy and absorbent cloth. They had serial numbers sewn onto them, presumably to catalog weight, but Don knew it was an excuse to give people jobs.

Nobody really gave a crap about the towels sweaty space-sailors used to dry their asses, the government needed to give jobs to an enormous population where pay was in short supply.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Chemical cleaning equipment for use in limited gravity. If I'm going to be spraying chemicals in a place where droplets won't fall to the ground, I don't want them finding their way into my body, nor do I want them ruining my clothes."

"You look ridiculous."

"I gathered that from the snickers and jeers I was receiving on my way down the hall."

"... I was seriously considering socking you for burdening me with a piss soaked sponge, but it seems to me like you got the short end of the stick."

"I'm used to it at this point. I don't want to think about how many times that thing has, uh, relieved itself in our leisure quarters."

"You didn't think to keep it somewhere else?"

"The crate that we keep her in to prevent her from being trampled really only fits in the pilot lounge. The dorms and cafeteria are too cramped and its a safety risk anywhere else."

That added up. Space was tight on military ships, especially the smaller ship-classes and carriers. Animals not trained to stay out of the way when work needed to be done were put in mesh crates. Military ships generally do not have space for these crates taken into account in their designs.

"If you didn't have space for the crate why did you bring the dog?"

"We didn't know we brought it."

"How did you not know you brought a dog with you?"

"Our mascot had something of a one-night stand in the months we were docked. Nobody realized she was pregnant until after we were deployed."

"Is this why you guys are so desperate to dump this thing on me?"

"Pretty much." Even behind the mask and goggles, Don could tell he was donning his signature grin. "Either way, I'm stuck cleaning. You will have dog food, a training manual, and an assortment of toys and equipment ready in front of your ship. I have to say, its a lot bigger than I thought it was."

He was left dumbfounded as captain chip bag ruffled himself out of the room. Who authorized his entry into the bow hangar? Was that not a serious security breach? He didn't want to think about it.

He turned to his new charge who had plopped itself down in a corner. It was shivering ever so slightly, its upturned brown eyes pleading with him to not put her through the wash again.

The door slammed open again. "And don't forget to give her a name. Make it good!"

Applying the towel to the dog and vigorously shaking, Don managed to get the level of moisture attached to the dog at the level of 'acceptably damp'. Swaddling the dog in a fresh towel, he began to make his way towards the Noah, where he found the task of of transporting a dog up a ladder quite interesting.

Fortunately, it was exhausted from the panic of zero gravity and the stress of the shower, so he was not forced to contend with squirming and struggling.

It did let out a pitiful yelp as he squeezed it, evidently slightly harder than the pup was comfortable with. Quick to pick up on this sort of cue, Don was rapidly learning the limits to physical actions this dog would tolerate without complaint. The jerking and jostling as Don moved his free hand to a higher rung being one such tolerance.

Upon getting his head into the cabin of the Noah, Don placed his charge on the floor.

The pup promptly crawled out of the swaddle over to a corner and collapsed, quickly falling to sleep on the floor.

"What is it?"

ARC had waited for Don to take a seat before asking the question.

"My present and our new passenger. It's a dog."

"Is that what dogs look like? I was under the impression that they were larger."

"It will get bigger, still a puppy - infantile dog - at the moment. Do you think we have the capability to care for it?" Don was greeted by the momentary silence of ARC 'looking' for something in its colossal database.

"If it was just a matter of procedure, I feel that we as a team would be perfectly capable of caring for and training it. I feel we would be limited by hardware at the moment as we have no methods of entertainment or incentivization for it."

"Well maybe the hardware we might need is in that pile below us. Do you have any way of lowering the Noah down to a point where I can just lift it in?"

"Unfortunately I am not permitted access to the Carrier's system's. However, there is a hoist that can be used to lift bulky objects into the cabin. Would you like to use it?"

"Please."

His request was followed by a pop and hiss originating from the ceiling above the ladder, which attracted a surprised look and alert ears from the drowsy pup. It was less of a classic rope and hook hoist and more of an elevator, the portion of the ceiling fitting perfectly into the hole for the ladder. A welcome consideration for the items that might not react well to having a hook attached to them.

It dropped to a point level with the floor, the platform's dimensions clearly distinguished by the fact it was colored red. Don took the hint and stood neatly in the middle before it resumed its descent.

Don had his impression of ARC being supremely considerate further reinforced.

Once he was down on hangar level, it was a simple matter of loading as much on as he could. That being said, there wasn't too much.

The smallest objects were a pair of bowls. He found it strange that they did not nest, but he figured their considerable mass might be a factor in this. Given the bottom made of a high friction material, he assumed this was an intentional design decision to increase the force of friction the bowls could exhibit.

A pair bags populated the floor, as different as they could possibly be.

The first was the same sort of bag that servicemen were permitted to carry personal belongings in for their tour of duty. Officially called 24 Liter Personal Container, it received the name from the dimensions it boasted. Being 100cm x 80cm x 30cm by external measurement, it came neatly to 24 liters of volume.

The bag could be used in a variety of ways. Detaching the straps would allow it to fit into a cavity much like a drawer. It could be hung from a wall if you clipped on certain attachments, and the rigid internal walls could be removed to make it collapsible. Easy to store, easy to store with, it frequently received the highest ratings in equipment satisfaction surveys, the only competition being the service uniforms.

The second bag was a fair bit bigger, and made of material that was evidently not meant to be as durable. Unlike the rigid dimensions of the Personal Container, this bag was lumpy. The text on the bag demarcated this as being an 'educational incentive.' Simply put, they were dog treats.

The remaining two objects were what appeared to be a rolled up mat and a black cube that came to about knee height.

Don had no clue as to what these were, but they were probably things he was going to need.

As the lift started going up at a steady rate, Don started to read the booklet that was placed atop the treat bag.

'How to Make a Space-Hound: A Comprehensive Guide to Training a Puppy Properly'

He only managed to read the opening paragraph before he reached the top, a bunch of flowery words that basically just thanked a few institutes and government departments for their insights, time, and research into training dogs in space.

Unloading was quick, he basically just had to push it off the platform. Before getting it all organized, he moved to the cockpit to scan all of the booklet pages for ARC's convenience.

"Were you aware that dogs have breeds?" ARC's question came out of the blue.

"Vaguely. Why?"

"Apparently this dog is a German Shepherd, a breed lauded for it's intelligence and loyalty."

"Neat, how do I train her?" Don didn't care about that. For the moment, he only thought of her as yet another responsibility that had been unceremoniously thrust upon him.

"Have you given her a name? Going forward will be very hard if it does not know it is being called."

"Not yet, do you have any ideas?"

"I have identified a pattern of naming pets. Would you like me to list a few as you work on setting up the dog's equipment?"

"Sure. I don't exactly have experience with this."

"Very well. Brick?"

"That doesn't fit for a female. She isn't built like a brick either."

"Noted. I will take this into account for future names. Kelly?"

"Seems too bland." Don got back to reading the manual. It appeared the very first chapter had to do with setting up that green mat and black box.

The box and mat turned out to be part of the same system, the purpose being to create a place for a dog to relieve itself without being an inconvenience to anyone else in the tightly enclosed area that is a spaceship.

The green mat had the properties of grass, clearly meant to be a spot appealing to pee on. The black box was, to Don's amusement, a Miniaturized Atmospheric Isolation Device, a MAID.

Atmospheric Isolation Devices operated in a fashion similar to the Atmospheric Containment Field used in the hangars. The real differences only came about in terms of isolation capability, volume of contained area, and adaptability.

The Containment Field in the hangar was expected to isolate close to 100% of all gaseous molecules that make contact with the internal face of the field so as to retain precious air.

MAIDs are only expected to isolate a limited amount of molecules it interacts with, either by percentage of impacts or by type of molecule. This was extremely useful when dealing with potential hazardous gas leaks or containing aerosolized diseases and dust, excellent for quarantining.

Containment Fields are expected to encase a very large volume of space so as to facilitate movement without fear of imminent suffocation.

MAIDs are designed to be used on a small scale, usually on the personal level.

Hangar Containment Fields are designed with the unexpected in mind. In times of crisis, they need to be able to extend their reach beyond the hull in order to cover large openings in allied hulls in order to facilitate emergency repairs. They need to be able to create smaller fields capable of isolating deployable craft potentially leaking volatile fumes. They need to be able to account for deformations and cracking in the ship's hull from collisions and enemy fire that would otherwise interrupt the ability to hold in air.

MAIDs are expected to be used in conditions where you have a clear idea of what is going on. Settings for shape, volume, and surface area are heavily restricted in order to facilitate easy use.

Hangar Containment Fields were massive, unbelievably complex heaps of electronics and field generators. They often took up space the size of small houses, and required multiple to be present to provide a degree of redundancy should one ever be rendered inoperable. A team of energy field mechanics and volumetric surveyors were required to facilitate the proper use of its controls.

MAIDs could be strapped to your back and controlled by a few buttons and dials.

Containment fields chugged the energy of a reactor at a phenomenal rate.

MAIDs could operate at full capacity for around ten minutes on a pack of AA batteries.

Both were useful, they were just used in different situations.

This MAID was designed to limit the spread of the stench of urine and feces beyond the predetermined bounds of the green mat. The field was not strong enough to form a problem for lungs and other such vacuous cavities inside of the dog's body, and certainly not strong enough to dissuade entry.

"Helsinki?"

"Not a chance. Isn't that a city?"

"It is indeed the administrative capital of the Baltic Sea Region."

"Try not to give names that are cities or towns. I'm sure they work fine as names for dogs but it doesn't feel right in my book."

"Noted. Would such suggestions be fine if they fell under separate categories?"

"If it is also a person's name or something along those lines that would be fine."

"I will take that into consideration. Renown, Reno as shorthand?"

"No, but I do like the theme. Try something more feminine."

"Very well."

The 24 liter bag was filled with what he had expected. There were toys, a leash, a harness, and a few collars of increasing sizes.

Putting on the collar that fit best, he opted not to open up the bag of treats. He remembered dog treats having an unpalatable smell from his experience as a child. He wouldn't deny the exhausted pup what it needed though, one of the bowls, the blue one, was filled with water and placed close to his bed.

Finished setting up the dog's quarters for the time being, Don collapsed on his bed and began reading the booklet to the occasional name suggestion from ARC.

The first chapter after the flowery introduction covered how to familiarize the dog with yourself. Proximity, physical contact, proper affection, where not to touch, all encompassed in the first few pages. Unfortunately Don had violated some of these rules. Hopefully it wouldn't hold a grudge.

After having read this section, he felt it was a good idea to bring her onto the bed with him. He was hesitant about interrupting her nap, but he felt that this frail little puppy would appreciate the soft bed.

"Mercedes?"

"That's a good one."

"Should I start a list of approved names?"

"Nah. I think Mercedes works just fine. What do you think Mercedes?" His inquiry was met with upturned eyes, alert ears, and a wagging tail. "You're a good girl Mercedes! Good girl!" Don had subconsciously adopted the squeaky high pitched voice that many dog owners he had seen in the past used.

Now propped up against his pillows with a jolly dog by his side, Don buried his nose back into the book. The second chapter, immediately following the first which was a basic explanation on how to take care of a dog, was based around training. Discipline, discouragement, and enticement techniques were all listed along with pictures and diagrams of how to do it. Because of this, he read through it very quickly, though he would likely be reading this the most in the future.

Training had given him something to do during his long periods of isolation, something he was extremely excited to try out.