The Pet Project

by Amanda Milo

  Odd-eyes or Albinos, for example.

  Whereas I was excited by the prospect before, now I’m distressed at the possibility; fervently hoping that Pet never produces specialty young. Because without having to experience it, I’m certain it will hurt Pet to be separated from her offspring.

  It will hurt me too.

  Not to mention Beastly, who treats Pet as if she were glass now.

  So no, no rare morphs, please. I’ve invested most all of my own income into the program, funneling it in as an angel investor. And as of now, I have ownership equity of all the tenders under my care. This means the laboratory will have to cede to my wishes when it comes to decisions involving my program’s subjects.

  ...But I’d rather not test anyone’s hunger should they feel they have opportunity to monetize my Pet’s offspring.

  ***

  It’s one of these quiet, enjoyable, and peaceful daycycles at the lab when I open yet another disorganized project-file box and halt in shock when I see the material inside is dated directly prior to my arrival onto the project.

  When I spy a video reel, I hungrily collect it, and set it to play on hyperspeed.

  Pet, wonderful female that she is, had joined me when I first started muttering over the day’s trial of neatening records. Most daycycles she sits beside me, but lately, she’s taken to crawling on my lap again, and I love to brush my fingers through her hair as she naps. I find I complain less (at least out loud) in deference to her pregnant self needing her sleep.

  As for the video, there’s no sound that plays at this speed, so she won’t be disturbed, and once it flickers on, I see I have a bird’s eye view of the cages in the lab.

  My hand stalls in stroking Pet’s hair when I realize I’m watching Ux-47 break free from his pen.

  The timestamp in the corner of the screen shows that my predecessor likely ended his shift mere microts before—therefore, Ux-47’s actions go unmonitored save for the camera. There are no other safeguards. There’s nothing to stop him when he easily opens up the female’s pen with the push of a button.

  There used to be five females. And—superclusters!—they were healthy, lovely, young females, perfect for breeding.

  That’s what Ux-47 must think too.

  Over the long night, the brute force-breeds females to death.

  I’m incapable of looking away, but I can’t watch this with the remote distance of scientific observation. Especially when he reaches for Pet, terrorizing her, the last female still capable of moving.

  Beastly is throwing himself at his cage’s bars, frothing, spittle flying as he snarls and pleads for Pet—his beloved mate—maybe not then, not yet, but he’s just as desperate to protect her then as he would be now.

  It’s Prime who manages to escape his cage and come to Pet’s rescue. Ux-47 is tired from his evil exertions, and is therefore not as formidable against Prime’s attack as he would otherwise be, I’m sure.

  Once Prime beats him, he drags Ux-47 out, throws him in his damaged cage, and locks Pet’s enclosure door again. There, he stands guard all night, keeping her and the remaining females as safe as he can.

  One female recovers enough to rise. She moves to the outdoor run, approaches a jagged, bent-inward bar in the back of the enclosure—the pen used to be larger at some point prior to my arrival, but they shortened it, perhaps because Pet would never have wanted to revisit that defiled area—and she slices herself on the sharp, exposed metal.

  She slices both of her arms, and Pet is crawling towards her, stricken, looking as if she’s pleading.

  That’s when my predecessor arrives for his shift.

  The video captures his approach. His ravaged expression as he cradles the dying female—and I think… I think he must have felt as much for this female as I do Pet. There must have been a fondness between them, because he… he weeps as she dies.

  When her body hangs limp, lifeless in his arms, he sets her down on the ground, his shoulders shaking.

  Then he stands and walks out.

  He just… he just abandoned everything. His career, the ongoing project—his tenders.

  His murdered pet tender.

  I’m gasping—rage is burning through me, and I know that I would have done one last thing before I left.

  Slowly, I raise my head and stare dead on at Ux-47.

  I can’t undo the damage that was done, but it’s past time to do this.

  CHAPTER 13

  I call in the colleagues who had been searching for the opportunity, and together, we perform vivisection on Ux-47.

  While we’re experimentally operating on living creatures for the benefit of science, it doesn’t mean it’s an undertaking that other living creatures should see—especially if the one under the knife is their species. Normally, this would be performed at an off-site location.

  However.

  In consideration to the three who so suffered at Ux-47’s hands, we begin the procedure in-house and watch their reactions. I’d explained to my tenders beforehand that this would never be their fates; this was the best punishment I could think of for Ux-47’s crimes, and if they wanted to see justice rendered, it could be done right here, where the perpetrator caused so much pain and harm.

  As if they understood my every word, my three solemn tenders had nodded. They wanted to be witness to Ux-47’s termination.

  Prime and Beastly watch, stone-faced.

  Pet clings to Beastly, watching too. Pet, who has such a kind, sympathetic nature, does not shed a single drop of eye-gland fluid.

  After witnessing what was done to her by this male, I didn’t expect her to.

  CHAPTER 14

  The sun finishes its revolution around our planet. Funds granted after Ux-47’s vivisection offered me a way to expand the scope of my tender enrichment efforts. Larger enclosures, with the focus of comfort and interesting features, was my main goal. I also purchase tender-sized clothing, although Beastly rarely leaves Pet’s on. Not until I find a garment that hangs loose around her legs so that all he has to do to access her is pull her covering up and bunch it at her hips. Thankfully, a female’s clothing fares longer if her male isn’t constantly ripping it off.

  When spring’s light hits the outdoor enclosures, and flower sprouts start to come up, Pet is so heavy with young that she can barely do more than assist Beastly with watering the rows of plants.

  I’ve never been so stressed in my life as I am in her last weeks of pregnancy. As I mentioned, Cryptops learned early that we cannot involve ourselves in the birthing process, for fear of causing complications and unexplainable infant mortality. Normally, tender females support each other, with a matron female acting as birth-organizer over the laboring female.

  Pet has no such luxury.

  Beastly is her partner in this all the way though, and when I explain what must be done, he studiously takes in my every word.

  And although plenty of footage and articles prepared me for the concept of a female giving birth, Pet’s labor is so traumatizing that, if she didn’t love Beastly so much, I’d keep them separated so that she never, ever goes through this again.

  Beastly seems to be of the same mind. He carries so much tension and strain during Pet’s grueling delivery, I don’t believe I’ll have to pen him up to stop him from mounting her any time soon.

  When Pet holds her baby female in her arms, she smiles tiredly up at me—and offers for me to see her little one up close.

  This gesture of trust from her provokes such emotion in me… well, I’m absolutely not too proud to share that my eyes get wet.

  Her baby is beautiful. The little one’s hair is her father’s, the strands far, far wispier of course, but the color is brown and wild-looking, just like his. And thank everything above, she otherwise looks just like Pet. I say as much too—and Pet gasps and slaps my arm.

  Beastly laughs though, and makes a sound that I’ve categorized as tender agreement.

  My study of tender vocalization has led me to believe they ha
ve different sub-languages, and that is why they can’t always understand their own species with ease. There seems to be a base expressive language that they all share though, where they watch faces for clues and micro-expressions.

  Prime seems to speak an entirely different sub-language than Pet, although at some point or another, they’ve learned a few of each other’s words.

  Beastly also seems to speak a variant language, but it is close enough to Pet’s that they have an easier time communicating, and a great many shared words between them. As much as I’d like to think that shared language played a factor in their romance, I’ve seen the way Pet responds to Beastly. Words have very little to do with feelings and action.

  I’m in the middle of removing the placenta from where Pet expelled it, when Pet begins acting as if she’s laboring again.

  I straighten, shocked, as Beastly rushes to me, handing me their baby.

  “I shouldn’t touch—it’s not safe—”

  Beastly growls at me, eyes fierce, and presses the tiny infant—very gently—into my too-large hands.

  Cupping her, bringing her up to rest over my heart, I hold the tiny female, torn between absorbing the wonder of this moment—and my terror for her and her mother.

  Germs. Pathogens. Twins? Having twins is not unheard of, but it happens so rarely that I don’t know any laboratory who’s been blessed with them. As wonderful and idyllic as the idea is, I also would never have wished twins on Pet, because there is more risk—and for all hell and heaven, it means she’s in labor twice in one starclustered day!

  I sink down to my haunches when Pet’s second baby is birthed and cleaned.

  The new little one is also a female.

  She also looks nothing like Beastly.

  She looks everything like Prime.

  Like her sibling, she also has hair on her head—a full mane of it! Dark, short, silky-wet strands that turn to sticky chunks as Beastly gently dries her off. And she has monolid eyes, with no crease like Pet’s firstborn.

  Starbursts. I just became the proud keeper of bi-paternal twins. Pet’s birthed twins from two separate fertilized eggs from two different males!

  I’ll be doing studies and bloodwork until the end of time, but the parents need no tests to discern what I see—what’s apparent. Beastly lays this second girl on Pet’s stomach, the lifecord stretching. Beastly repeats the cord-severing process he carried out for the first little one, using the sanitized tools I provided them. Pet passes the second placenta, straining and struggling less than with the first one.

  Pet nuzzles and coos to her child, smiling up at Beastly who leans in to run his nose against Pet’s. Then he transfers his gentle nuzzling to the tiny back and slender neck of the babe. By some silent signal with Pet, he takes the baby to his own chest, and kisses the top of her head. Then he moves past me, carrying the little fuzzy-headed girl to her father, who is glued to the front of his cage, hands wrapped around the bars, looking as if he, too, is wet-eyed.

  Beastly passes the infant to her sire, and then he’s the one gripping the bars, watching with sharp eyes and a passive expression as Prime snuggles the little one.

  Beastly is a finer male than I gave him credit for in the past; he shows no malice, but he isn’t abandoning this offspring of another male either—he remains at the bars, waiting to take her back.

  Prime appears deeply moved as he holds his progeny. But soon, the little one begins to fuss for her mother, and Beastly reaches in, carefully, oh-so-carefully, taking her back.

  She quiets immediately in Beastly’s hands, which is a surprise. But it’s wonderful that she’s comforted by him.

  Prime watches them go, looking sad.

  I’m grateful the expansion project allowed me to rearrange the cages. Ux-47’s section became the data room, allowing an extra-wide pen for Pet with an extended outdoor enclosure (which reaches all the way against Beastly’s pen, no wall between them any longer), and on Prime’s side where the data room used to be, there’s a brand new cage, one where he completely shares a fence.

  With his new lady.

  I think he’ll benefit from constant contact with his female if they don’t wish to cohabitate like Beastly and Pet prefer to do. But I hope they will.

  I’m also hopeful that Pet and Beastly will allow Prime to visit with his daughter by Pet for always.

  Beastly’s turning away when Prime utters two guttural sounds that I’ve recorded as tenders acknowledging a gift. Prime makes the vocalizations in the language Pet and Beastly share.

  Beastly pauses—then he turns, and nods to Prime, accepting the words.

  Seeing this interaction, I have to believe these three might raise Prime’s daughter together.

  Prime’s future mating female, who is very timid, actually approaches the bars as Beastly moves away. When Prime doesn’t react to her, she sidles up to him, startling him by reaching through the bars to hold his hand.

  Progress.

  This time around, I’ve learned not to rush a breeding couple. Prime’s been hard at work to impress his neighbor, tending his flower sprouts like they’re treasure—and it’s my sincerest wish for him that his female sees them exactly like that.

  It’s my sincerest wish that she’ll think he’s treasure too.

  Thankfully, she watches him constantly and reminds me of Pet in her early daycycles of gazing upon Beastly, so I have high hopes.

  Pulling me out of my musings, Beastly strides past me—but then he stops and catches my gaze. He jerks his chin at me, his way of indicating he (and by extension: Pet) has invited me closer.

  “Oh, of course!” I say, shaking off the dismay that I’ll have to return the infant clinging to my throat and chest where she’d been nuzzling. “As I was saying, it’s not safe for Cryptops to handle tender infants—”

  Pet accepts her daughter from me, then captures my hand, squeezing my fingers. She rolls her eyes at me, a tender signal meaning whatever a Cryptop has just said is ridiculous.

  Beastly’s nudges my arm with his shoulder, surprising me.

  He’s still holding Prime’s offspring, and my jaw drops when he raises her up for me to take.

  “She’ll cry,” I say in bewilderment, looking to Pet, who is not growing upset that Beastly has not returned her newborn to her breast. “She needs—”

  Prime’s daughter gazes up at me with slightly unfocused but lovely eyes, and… no fussing.

  “Oh my,” I say, stunned.

  I would be fond of any offspring Pet produced, but oh, how I feel an instant adoration forming for this one.

  Heedful not to jostle or drop her, I move to Pet’s side, and Beastly helps me fit Prime’s offspring on the other side of Pet’s chest, so that she has two squirming bundles. As the little ones begin to search for food, Pet gazes at their little faces, and clasps their little heads in her palms, her thumbs stroking over their brows.

  No mother has ever looked prouder.

  Beastly lays an infant blanket over the pair of tiny tenders, and together, the parents help the little ones nurse.

  Pet curls forward enough to place tiny kisses on their little fuzzy heads.

  Beastly brushes back Pet’s sticky hair, resting his hand across her forehead in affection and reassurance.

  And Pet beams up at me, if possible looking even more content than I feel.

  THE END ♥

  Mini note from Amanda:

  The story was done, but I wanted to *know* that these people were all going to be okay. If you are craving the same reassurance, read on! (If you don’t need more, skip past this for some Cures for Book Hangovers and other fun. :D) The following is from the perspective of a being who meets up with our keeper (XAN’-TAY`్) and his humans about thirty-six years after the twins are born.

  BONUS EPILOGUE

  INTERVIEW WITH DR. XAN’-TAY`్

  Today I have the great honor of interviewing Dr. Xan’-Tay`్; expert tender researcher, breeder, advocate, and enthusiast. [INSET LENTICULAR CAPTURE: X
an’-Tay`్ with Prime, Lady, Beastly, and Pet, his first tenders, and their offspring, and their third generation (being held by Pet and Lady).] Dr. Xan’-Tay`్’s facility had humble beginnings, but is now the most prestigious, respected authority on tenders in all of the galaxy. Emperor Kytome`yer of planet Mar-Issa formed an alliance with our Commonwealth after purchasing a proven breeding pair of tenders from Dr. Xan’-Tay`్, because, he was cited as saying, “The planet to produce such fine, well-trained, well-adjusted tender specimens is a planet worthy of joining forces with. Dr. Xan’-Tay`్’s tenders are a constant delight for my family, and I’ll never forget the way our male tender protected my son during the daycycle of the attempted abduction.”

  [SEE OUR NEXT ISSUE FOR COVERAGE ON THE NEAR-ABDUCTION OF THE YOUNGEST IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, AND THE SHOCKING RESCUE BY EMPEROR KYTOME`YER’S TENDER.]

  This glowing praise and political landfall spurred our ruling families to bestow the doctor with an official recognition of success for his outstanding work. [LENTICULAR CAPTURE, RIGHT: Dr. Xan’-Tay`్, with Beastly and Pet at his side as he accepts The Purple Prize Bell.]

  To begin our interview with the doctor, I’ve been invited to his facility and home, which was once a laboratory.

  Immediately, I’m taken with all the tenders I pass on my way to the facility entrance. The extensive grounds of the tender breeding and rearing site boast massive outdoor enclosures, with beautiful foliage and attractive weeds, but it seems as if none of the tenders use the greenery cover to hide from a newcomer; they follow me on their side of the fence, the younger ones playfully keeping pace with me. If you’re surprised I wasn’t given a harsh greeting by male guard-tenders, don’t be; Dr. Xan’-Tay`్ had me keep him apprised of my arrival time so he could call in the males from their self-appointed fence patrol. He didn’t want me to feel intimidated by their protectiveness, which they display loudly and aggressively towards strangers.