Before a single engine coil could be charged for the eleven-billion-half-mile voyage into the Outer Dark, Arthur Vance insisted on conducting an exhaustive, head-to-tail cold and exact careful audit on every member of his pack.
The ship’s medical bay was transformed into a high-care test theater. Arthur donned his sterile white coat, tuned his multi-spectral magnifying glass. Then he activated the specialized potion-made deep ring scanners mounted above the check table.
“Grimm, up,” Arthur commanded gently.
The Abyssal Fenrir stepped onto the heavy high-pressure table, his black paws clicking softly against the stainless steel. Grimm sat tall and still. He allowed Arthur to wrap his arms around the hound’s muscular neck to palpate his neck bones.
Working with experienced, rhythmic smooth speed, Arthur checked Grimm’s oral cavity. He gently pulled back the hound’s dark lips, inspecting the massive canine teeth that had clamped onto the event-horizon star-core.
“Enamel thickness is flawless,” Arthur recorded into the audio ledger. “The micro-star-core gland at the base of the tongue has fully settled into resting state. Dentin hardness registers at nine point eight on the potion-made Mohs scale. Zero load-bearing micro-fractures along the jaw hinge.”
Arthur ran his hands down Grimm’s muscular shoulders. He felt the dense, corded sinew beneath the midnight velvet fur. He checked the paw pads, finding them tough, pliable, and free of cold-matter burns. Satisfied, Arthur rubbed Grimm’s ears. The hound hopped down with a contented wag of his tail, trotting to the corner to watch the rest of the…
