Wilson accessed his BrainPal and got the feed on the two small monitors the dog had on his body, one at the top of his head and the other on his chest, close to his heart. The two monitors showed Tuffy’s brain and heart electrical activity. There was something else on his body as well, at the back of his neck, close to where his spinal cord met his brain. Wilson didn’t have a monitor for it.

“Tuffy! Sit!” Wilson said.

The dog sat, winningly obliging.

“Good boy!” Wilson said. “Play dead!” He pressed the plunger button in his hand.

Tuffy’s brain and heart monitors flatlined instantly. The Lhasa apso gave a tiny squeak and collapsed stiffly, like a stuffed animal blown over by a wind gust.

“‘Play dead’?” Schmidt said, ten seconds later, after examining the dog. “That’s just cruel.”

“If this doesn’t work, I’ll have bigger problems than a tasteless joke,” Wilson said. “Now, shut up for a couple of minutes, Hart. You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” Schmidt said. Wilson nodded and walked over to the dog on the table.

Tuffy was dead.

Wilson poked the body with a finger. No response at all.

“Any time,” Wilson said. The Icheloe had assured him that their biological systems were similar enough to those of Earth vertebrates that Wilson was willing to risk his little experiment. Nevertheless, he wanted the crown to realize its wearer was dead sooner than later.

A minute passed. Two.

“Harry?” Schmidt asked.

“Quiet,” Wilson said, staring at the crown, still nestled on the dog’s body.

Another two minutes passed. Three.

“What do we do if this doesn’t work?” Schmidt asked.

“Are you asking if there’s a plan B?” Wilson asked.

“Yeah,” Schmidt said.

“Sorry, no,” Wilson said.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Schmidt asked.

“Why didn’t you ask earlier?” Wilson asked.

Another minute.

“There,” Wilson said, pointing.

“What?” Schmidt said.

“The crown moved,” Wilson said.

“I didn’t see anything,” Schmidt said.

“You remember that part where my genetically-engineered eyes are about ten times better than yours, right, Hart?” Wilson said.

“Oh, that,” Schmidt said.

“Remove the crown, please,” Wilson said.

Schmidt reached over to the dog and gently removed the crown from the body. It came off easily.

“Got it,” Schmidt said.

“Thank you,” Wilson said. “Stand back now.” Schmidt backed away from the table.

“Okay, Tuffy,” Wilson said, looked at the dog and raised his wand. “Time to learn a new trick.”

He plunged the button down a second time.

The dog twitched, peed himself and scrambled up from the table, barking furiously.

“Wow, he’s pissed,” Schmidt said, smiling.

“True in more than one way, and a totally appropriate response,” Wilson said, smiling himself.

The Icheloe flooded back into the room, one of them carrying a bag full of red fluid: Tuffy’s actual blood.