The Secret Invention

Doby stood at the big round door with the paw-print on it. The Holo-Book hummed in his paws, and under the door, the thin green light leaked out onto the silver floor.

He sniffed the door seam.

Nothing. Even the secret doors smelled like nothing.

His ears drooped, just a little.

"Robo-Cat," he whispered — a whisper so loud it bounced off the walls. "Is this the quiet way?"

"That was your outside voice," Robo-Cat whispered back, drifting beside him with his tail propellers on their very lowest spin. "My sound sensors rated it eleven out of ten."

"Doors here smell like nothing," Doby mumbled. "That should be against the rules."

"Noted," said Robo-Cat softly. "Complaint number four hundred and thirteen."

"It wasn't a complaint. It was a wish."

Doby pushed the door with one paw. It slid open without a sound at all. No lock. No beep. Not even a tiny alarm.

Robo-Cat's whisker-lights blinked orange. "Hm. A secret lab should be locked. My lab would be locked. I would lock it twice."

"Maybe it's not a secret," said Doby. "Maybe it's an invitation."

Inside, the lab was quiet the way the middle of the night is quiet. Star charts hung on the walls, dotted with pinprick worlds. A water bowl sat by the door with a wire curled beside it. And everything — Doby's ears, his whiskers, the floating dust, the tips of his gray toes — everything was soaked in green.

Not picture green. Not Holo-Book green. Real green, warm and glowing, coming from the middle of the room.

There, on a round platform, stood a machine shaped like a giant dog bowl turned upside down. It was big enough for three Dobbies to sit inside, and its whole silver hull shimmered with soft green light, breathing slow, like a sleeping thing that was warm instead of furry. Small letters glowed on its side:

CHRONO-ROCKET.

Doby's tail stopped wagging. He forgot to wag. He just stood there with his mouth open, and the green light pooled in his eyes.

"It's the color," he whispered. "The real one."

"On the Holo-Book, the green was recorded," said Robo-Cat, and his voice went quieter than Doby had ever heard it. "This green is here."

From across the room came a snore.

Doby froze with one paw in the air. Behind a tall stack of star charts, in a hanging hammock, an old dog lay curled up with his ears twitching. Professor Paws. Asleep. Maybe.

"Mind the wire by the water bowl, whoever you are," said Professor Paws. His eyes stayed closed.

Doby didn't move. Neither did Robo-Cat. Neither did the wire.

"Is he asleep?" Doby whispered.

"His tail wagged," Robo-Cat whispered back. "Sleep-tails don't wag at visitors."

Professor Paws snuffled into his blanket. "Old dogs hear everything," he mumbled. "Especially little paws that sniff where they shouldn't." A long pause. His tail thumped the hammock once, slow and thumpy. "Well. Go on, then. The dial only blinks for the curious ones."

"Is he letting us in?" Doby breathed.

"I am not programmed to understand old-dog logic."

Behind his star charts, Professor Paws rolled over and tucked his nose under his paw. His mouth was hidden. But his tail kept wagging, slow and steady, thump — thump — thump — like a clock that was very, very happy.

Doby tiptoed to the Chrono-Rocket. Right under its nose — if it had a nose, which it seemed to — was a dial. A round dial the size of a dog biscuit, blinking green. Blink. Wait. Blink. Like a slow firefly saying come here, come here.

Numbers waited beside it. Any year. Any year at all.

Doby lifted his paw to type. Then he stopped.

He thought about breakfast, glowing orange in its bowl, tasting like warm nothing. He thought about laser dots and rubber bones and floors that never, ever got mud on them. He looked down at his front paw. The green stain from the Holo-Book was almost gone now, just a faint ghost of a leaf printed on his pad.

"If I go home now," he said slowly, "everything fades."

"If you don't go home," said Robo-Cat, "everything also fades. You. Extremely. Forever-ish."

"Rain is worth it." Doby's paw hovered over the dial. "Real rain on real leaves. And sticks. And a friend."

Robo-Cat's scanner eye clicked. "Which friend?"

"I don't know yet," said Doby. "But I think I'll meet her."

He pressed 2. The dial beeped.

He pressed 0. It booped.

He pressed 6. And 6 again.

The whole rocket woke up. Green light rolled around the hull like a wave, and the door folded open with a soft whoosh of warm air — and the warm air smelled like something. Ozone and starlight and, way underneath, faint and impossible, like rain.

"Doby," said Robo-Cat. "Doby. Doby. Filing complaint number four hundred and fourteen: my pup is typing an impossible year."

"It's not impossible." Doby scrambled inside and buckled a soft strap across his chest. "It blinked."

"That is not how impossible works!"

But Robo-Cat was already zipping through the door after him, tail propellers whirring at full speed. "Wait. Wait-wait-wait. If you are going to break time, someone must supervise you. Statistically, that someone is me." He wedged himself into the seat beside Doby and grabbed a strap with both paws.

"You'd miss me," said Doby, grinning.

"Incorrect. I would merely log you. Every day."

For half a second, Robo-Cat's tail-lights flickered green. He pretended not to notice.

The countdown went beep. Beep. Beep-beep-BEEP — and from behind the star charts came one last thump-thump of a tail. Professor Paws was smiling. Doby was sure of it.

WHOOSH.

A round sky-hatch in the dome slid open above them, and the Chrono-Rocket shot through in a ribbon of rainbow light — red and gold and green twisting together like the world's happiest ribbon. The Mars dome shrank and shrank until it was a little red marble, and the stars stretched into long silver streaks, streaking past Doby's window like comets playing tag.

It wasn't scary. It felt like being licked by a very fast, very friendly comet.

"My fur is standing on end," announced Robo-Cat.

"You don't have fur."

"Then something is standing on end, and I am choosing to call it fur."

Doby pressed his nose to the window. Colors swirled. The rocket hummed its warm hum. And far, far ahead — past the rainbow, past the streaking stars — Doby was almost sure he could hear it.

Tap. Tap. Tap-pa-tap.

A thousand tiny paws, drumming.

Rain.