|On the planet where a dog’s best friend is his man, the director of the Institute for Interstellar Exploration is taking Spot for a walk. |
He picks up a stick and throws it. Spot scuttles happily away, yapping and prancing, and returns a moment later with the stick in his mouth. The director smiles affectionately, and tries to take back the stick. Spot growls. It’s a playful growl, but there’s something in it the director doesn’t quite like; something very old, recalling an injustice. He frowns.
“Bad boy, Spot,” he says.
Spot is actually a singularly apt name for this dog’s man – if you can call him that; he’s only seventeen, little more than a puppy, and the unsightly facial blemishes that give his name their aptness will most likely clear up in a year or two. The important thing to instil in a man at this age is instinctive respect and unquestioning obedience. “Bad boy,” the director therefore repeats. “Drop it.Drop the stick.”