The Last Dog on Earth Read Online Free PDF Page A

her slouchy, uninterested mood, she could be saying, “Come on. Sure, you can climb that tree. You're only fifty years old. That's nothing
.
” Or maybe she was daring him to do it. “Don't waste my time
talking
about climbing the tree. Wake me up when you're at the top.” Or maybe she was telling him to give it up. “Are you out of your mind? You can't climb that tree. You're practically a senior citizen.”
    Westerly smiled. He liked these imaginary conversations. He truly enjoyed Jasmine's company.
    He couldn't say that about anyone else.
    * * *
    The sun was well below the mountains when Westerly heard a soft chime from his computer. Somebody was sending him an e-mail. He sighed and opened the rickety porch door for Jasmine.
    “Come on, Jazz,” he murmured. “Come on, girl. Time to go in.”
    Jasmine yawned and stretched, then shambled inside and flopped down on the rug next to the desk. Westerly followed her in. The laboratory was dark except for the ghostly blue glow of the computer screen. He sank into his chair and peered at the e-mail in box. The subject line was printed in all capital letters.
NEED A FAVOR
    It had been sent by Harold Marks.
    Westerly felt like deleting the message without reading it.
    Every now and then he heard from Dr. Harold Marks of Portland University. Westerly had worked at Portland University, too, once upon a time. That was how he thought of his career there: “once upon a time”—as if it had happened to somebody else, in a story.
    Westerly was quite a bit older than Harold. In fact, Westerly had been Harold's teacher. But from the moment they first met, Harold had treated him with little respect. As a student, he'd immediately started calling Westerly by his first name.
Craig.
Not
Dr. Westerly.
Still, that had never stopped him from taking Dr
.
Westerly's work and passing it off as his own.
    Seven years ago, Harold had been named chief of research at the Center for Infectious Diseases. Westerly couldn't believe it when it happened. The man didn't have an original thought in his head. He wasn't even a good researcher. Westerly didn't want the job for himself; he had no interest in being anyone's boss … but he certainlydidn't want Harold to be
his
boss. So he protested. But Harold got the job, anyway. And the very first thing he did was fire Westerly.
    “I'm sorry,” Harold had told him. “You just don't know how to get along with people.”
    And then Westerly had gone home and told his wife, and a few weeks later she had kicked him out, too. Not as bluntly as Harold— no, instead she'd said in her soft voice, “Maybe you ought to try to talk to Harold about getting your job back.” And when he'd argued with her, explaining that there was no way he'd ever go back to Portland, she'd said, “Craig, you're not being reasonable. Can't you just try, for once, to get along with him?” And then later she'd said, “You're not being fair to your family. We can't live like this, Craig!”
    So he'd left. Just said “so long” to everything—wife, kid, house, job, life—and come up here.
    Maybe Harold was right about me
, Westerly thought.
Maybe I don't know how to get along with people.
But getting along with people had nothing to do with science. It could even get in the way of science. How could you concentrate on your research if you were constantly worrying about what other people thought?
    Harold's problem was that he cared too much about what other people thought. Of course, the only reason he cared was because he wanted power. As far as Westerly had ever been able to tell, nobody
respected
Harold. But they did fear him—feared his power. Everybody at the university was scared of him. If he couldn't control you, he got rid of you.
    Like he got rid of me.
    Whatever. That was all in the past. Westerly wasn't bitter anymore. Life was good here in the Cascade Mountains. He'd built his own laboratory so he could work on any kind of research hewanted. Nobody could betray him or