Day of the Dancing Dog

By Pamela Love

Watching the one-yen coin tumbling seemingly endlessly midair, Ren Izumi said, “Winner gets to update the signal tower’s hardware down on the planet. Fresh air after three months, ah! The loser has to stay here and overhaul the ship’s decrepit ventilation system. I call one.”

Himari Tanaka smiled. “Is that Toshiko-san’s lucky coin?”

Ren grabbed it. Zero gravity had let it spin long enough. “Sure. You didn’t think I’d come this far without bringing something of my grandmother’s, did you?”

“I brought something, too.” Himari glanced over her shoulder at the picture of Toshiko Izumi—her mentor, Japan’s most famous astronaut—with her Shiba Inu dog, Aki. Toshiko-san was the one who had introduced her to Ren after Himari had graduated at the top of her class from Tokyo University. Now, the Tanaka-Izumi pair was considered one of the best mobile engineering teams in Earth’s Space Division.

Then Himari did a double take. “Did you swap my photo for one of yours? This isn’t the one I brought.”

“No.” Ren shrugged. “Why would I do that?”

Himari pointed. “But it is different. Aki’s facing the camera in this picture. In mine, he’s looking at Toshiko-san.” In both, Toshiko-san and Aki were in the garden outside their home, and the woman was leaning from her hoverchair toward her beloved pet, lying at her feet. But in this photo, her hands were outstretched toward Aki, whereas Himari was sure that in the one she’d brought, her mentor was cupping the dog’s reddish, foxlike head between her palms. “It’s the last picture I took of her.”

Ren rolled his eyes. “I repeat, I didn’t change it. Maybe you took the wrong one when we left. It’s been close to a year, Earth time. We’ve been busy. When was the last time you really looked at it?” He opened his hand. “I won. Have fun changing filters. See you in twelve hours.”

After Ren piloted the shuttle out of the docking bay, Himari added necessary nutrients to the ship’s hydroponic food subdivision, then scrubbed her hands. Now to start on the ventilation system.

Pulling herself hand over hand back into the control room, she spotted the photo again and gasped. Now Aki is standing. What’s going on?

Folding her arms, Himari began to watch. Would the photo change under her constant observation? Probably not. Except it did. Aki stood on his hind legs. He ran off, momentarily disappearing behind the grove of blossoming cherry trees in the background, before trotting back. He jumped, almost bouncing. It’s like he’s dancing. She hit a button to record what was happening in the photo. And it is still a photo. Ren didn’t change it into a video somehow.

Or… not Ren. She shivered. Could this be some kind of alien activity? Humans hadn’t found any evidence of sentient life on the planet their spaceship was orbiting.

No matter what he did, Aki always turned back to look at the camera. No, not the camera. That dog is looking at me, here and now. Why? Wonder what Ren will say about this. Wonder what Toshiko would say if she were here. Himari bit her lip. It had been many years, but her grief still felt fresh. Toshiko-san had been like a mother to her.

Then Aki sat and threw back his head. Staring at his stretched open jaws, Himari remembered Toshiko-san telling her that Shiba Inu dogs made a shrieking squeal when they grew agitated. The “Shiba scream,” it was called. But Aki was very calm for that breed. Toshiko-san swore he only made that sound once…

Himari hit the com link. “Are you okay, Ren?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ren, I need you to trust me on this. Get off that planet. Now.” She dug her nails into the arm of her chair and swallowed hard.

“What? Why?”

Himari told him about the photo. “Aki screamed only once—right before the earthquake.” The one that put her mentor in the hoverchair, and then in the grave a few weeks after the photo was taken. “When she was in the hospital, Toshiko-san told me some animals can sense seismic activity. She said if she’d listened to him, she might not have gotten hurt.”

“What you’re telling me is impossible, Himari. You understand that, right?”

Her heart raced. “Would I lie just to get you to come back, Ren?”

“Well, no. Not about this, anyway. You’d make up something plausible, like needing my help with the ventilation system or—” He gasped. “Carbon monoxide poisoning can cause hallucinations. Suit up, now!”

Himari clapped a hand over her mouth and nose. Could it be true? It would certainly make more sense than what she was seeing—or thought she was seeing. “I’ll try.”

“On my way.” Soon his footsteps were pounding through the speaker as he sprinted to the shuttle. “I’m leaving my com link open. Don’t do anything until I return.”

Himari was reaching for her helmet as she heard the shuttle launch over the loudspeaker. Its roar as it lifted off was met with her sigh of relief while she sagged against her locker.

Then boom. A thunderous, metallic crash echoed through the ship.

“Ren! Are you all right?”

She sank to her knees, her heart pounding against her chest as seconds ticked. Had she lost her partner forever? “Ren!”

“Yes. Himari, I’m fine. The signal tower just collapsed. Dozens of trees are falling, too. Check the sensors for seismic activity down here,” Ren said between deep breaths. “I was halfway to the top—if you hadn’t warned me—uh, thank Toshiko’s dog for me, will you?”

Himari smiled. “I think he knows.” The photo was no longer moving. Aki’s final position was on his back, displaying his snow-white belly fur. He’s waiting for the tummy rub he knows he deserves.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey, and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test”, which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

---

More Stories | Twitter