World Peace For The Best Buddy of Commonwealth
The emergency meeting began at nine o’clock.
By nine-thirty, nobody understood what was happening.
“Let’s review today’s proposal.”
Shaun stood at the front of the conference room.
Director of the Institute.
Head of the most technologically advanced organization in the Commonwealth.
Former cancer patient.
Current victim.
He glanced at the first slide.
Then immediately regretted it.
The presentation title read:
Commonwealth Veterinary Outreach Program.
The subtitle read:
Because Somebody Has To.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“Why.”
Nora smiled.
A dangerous sign.
Around the table, department heads looked increasingly concerned.
“Before we begin,” said Dr. Holdren carefully, “could someone explain what exactly this program is?”
“Of course.”
Nora stood.
The projector switched slides.
A photograph appeared.
A small brown dog.
One ear missing.
Front paw bandaged.
Very sad eyes.
The room became noticeably quieter.
Nora pointed at the image.
“This is Rusty.”
Nobody spoke.
“Rusty stepped on a mine.”
The silence deepened.
Even the most hardened Institute scientists looked uncomfortable.
“Rusty survived.”
Another slide.
Same dog.
Tail wagging.
Looking significantly happier.
“He survived because somebody in Sanctuary patched him up.”
Pause.
“We can build teleporters.”
Another slide.
“We can manufacture synthetic humans.”
Another slide.
“We can modify crops.”
Another slide.
The next image appeared.
A puppy.
A very small puppy.
Wearing a tiny bandage.
The room was lost.
Completely.
Irreversibly.
Shaun watched three senior scientists immediately stop paying attention to the presentation and start staring at the puppy.
Traitors.
Every single one of them.
“Mother.”
“Yes?”
“This is emotional manipulation.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“It absolutely is.”
The puppy remained visible on the screen.
Dr. Filmore quietly took notes.
Not about policy.
About the puppy.
Coward.
“Let’s discuss objectives.”
Nora switched slides again.
The title appeared.
PROGRAM GOALS.
Below it:
Vaccinations.
Emergency treatment.
Settlement outreach.
Animal rescue.
Training programs.
Dog adoption services.
The room stared.
One scientist slowly raised a hand.
“Director?”
“Yes?”
“What exactly does this have to do with Institute strategic interests?”
Nora looked genuinely confused.
Then she pointed toward the screen.
At the puppy.
The scientist immediately lowered his hand.
Fair enough.
Several minutes later, Shaun realized the meeting was lost.
Completely lost.
The Bioscience division wanted to help.
Facilities wanted to build shelters.
Advanced Systems was discussing portable veterinary equipment.
Even Security had started asking questions about field rescue teams.
Nobody was discussing synths anymore.
Nobody was discussing politics.
Nobody was discussing military budgets.
They were discussing puppies.
Shaun rubbed his forehead.
Somewhere in the room, Nick Valentine was enjoying this entirely too much.
“You know, kid—”
“No.”
“This is probably the healthiest Institute meeting I’ve ever seen.”
“Nick.”
“Nobody’s threatened anybody.”
“Nick.”
“Nobody’s started a political argument.”
“Nick.”
“One guy volunteered to foster six dogs.”
The room applauded.
Shaun briefly considered resigning.
His mother raised one final slide.
The words appeared in enormous letters.
BECAUSE GOOD DOGS DESERVE HEALTHCARE TOO.
Silence.
Long silence.
Then, from somewhere near the back:
“…I’m in.”
Another voice:
“Me too.”
A third:
“Can we help cats?”
The room erupted.
Within minutes, three committees had formed.
Funding had been approved.
Volunteers had signed up.
The program was moving forward.
Nobody had voted.
Nobody had reviewed a budget.
Nobody seemed to care.
Shaun looked around the room.
Then looked at his mother.
Then at the giant puppy photograph still projected on the wall.
Finally, he sighed.
“Motion carried.”
The room cheered.
Outside the Institute, the Commonwealth remained dangerous, unpredictable, and occasionally insane.
But for the first time in a very long time, it was becoming a little kinder.
And somehow, that felt like progress.
