89P13

You have a PhD in bioengineering and another in animal behavior. You have studied your entire life, sacrificed friendships, lovers, family for this-the message now on your tablet. Holding your breath, you tap the message and your heart jitters, you’ve been accepted. There it is plain as day. Accepted to The Halfworld Bioweaponry Laboratories. You start Tuesday. You do not have many things to pack, aside from books and diagrams. Halfworld will provide you with lodging and meals, you can finally have what you’ve always wanted: to be entirely dedicated to your work, on the frontier of biological and technological engineering.

Your orientation is extensive. You see the dorms, the cafeteria the recreation room and common spaces. You sit in a minimalist classroom listening to a senior scientist explain the mission and vision of Halfworld Labs. You are shown pictures and videos, but you are not allowed to see the actual test rooms or the animals until you are given clearance. You wait in eager anticipation, you sleep two hours and write the other five, studiously crafting drafts, ideas. You drink seven cups of coffee and clean you white coat until it is without a wrinkle.

You get security clearance after two weeks. You walk the underground tunnels like you own the place. Everything is wide and bright and bursting with potential. Immaculate labs with the latest technology, opulent library of records and manuscripts. You work diligently, handling every rabbit and deer and mouse and possum with precious care. You assist in the training and conditioning of hundreds of animals by the time you are promoted.

They congratulate you on your accomplishments. Your leadership and ingenuity. You bow your head modestly as your superior shakes your hand.

She tells you that one of the subjects, a Procyon labeled 89P is pregnant again, third litter. You will be put in charge of the offspring’s development.” You beam and go home to your trailer that night already planning. They will be the greatest enhanced mammals the galaxy has ever seen.

89P gives birth to five kits. Since there have been 11 others prior to this birth the first kit out of 89P this time is named 89P12 followed by 89P13, 89P14, 15 and 16. You cut each of them from out from the sow. They shriek and twist and mewl. Little limbs still curled up, yet they cry. They do not want to be born yet. It is too cold and too bright. But you smile as you grip them. They will be your greatest achievement. Two weeks later you discover that 89P 16 and 13 have red eyes.

A mutation side effect from the gene splicing over the years. You make a note of it in your log and instruct your team to begin training them. They cry and squeak when they are taken from 89P. You have a handler muzzle the sow and inject her with a sedative. The kits cry trying to wriggle away, they are tiny and soft and easily manipulated. 89P struggles against the drugs in its system. Its teeth are bared, and its fur raised. It runs at the glass of its cage, frantically calling to its kits. They hear her and 89P12 bites one of your handlers. The woman covers the kit with a heavy cloth until it goes silent. The sow claws at the roof of the cage, scratching against the priceless enhanced glass. Finally, you watch the sow’s eyes get heavy. It stumbles back and forth, trying to raise itself up in a futile effort. The handlers take the kits away, the piercing cries echoing off the white washed walls.

The subjects will begin their training before any surgeries. You cannot risk losing them under the knife after all and they are so impressionable at this age. You have them strapped down and expose them to auditory and visual stimulation. Guns going off, bombs being dropped, the revving engine of a ship. They watch the spectacle not knowing yet that they are intended to do such deeds. When 89P16 tries to close its eyes after an hour you give it a shock. Its body convulses and it trembles, mewling pathetic. Soon you shock 12 and 13 when their heads begin to droop and their eyes close. They are shocked until they learn to keep their eyes open.

The subjects are brought back to individual cages after 16 hours of visual stimulation with the videos. They cry for each other, pace, try to get out. Dexterous hands attempt to slip through the bars only to receive a shock if they do so. But there are toys in the cages to entertain them. 89P14 reaches for a small rainbow bouncy ball, its whiskers quivering as it reaches out and shrills. Sharp spikes eject outward stabbing the tender palm of its right front paw, it shrinks back it a corner for some hours, only to try another purple felt toy. This time 14 shrieks when electricity fires through its tiny body, fur on end and burning, limbs spasming. It curls in a ball on its side and after three days and four wounds later it makes no attempt at the shiny inviting toys. A new toy is placed in its cage. A toy gun. 14 ever curious shyly approaches the new item going forward then back with its muzzle. Forward and back and then at last it sniffs and reaches out to the gun, and this time there is no pain. It holds the toy, sniffing it and licking it. It takes 14 two weeks to disassociate from any of the toys except for the ones modeled after weapons. It takes 11 six days, 13 takes a week and a half.