by Chris Hechtl
Bill smiled a tight lipped smile, then attacked the little guy from behind, tickling him. Gizmo went into a fit of hysterical giggles, unable to stop. When Bill tired of the flank attack, he turned to tickle the little guy's bald feet, making him kick in high pitched laughter.
That got the attention of Bob and Rory who looked over the cages to investigate. When they saw the little guy rolling and laughing, they blinked in surprise. “What's he doing?”
“He's laughing. He's ticklish,” Bill said.
“Well! Will wonders never cease,” Rory said, shaking his head. “We're all set here.”
“Okay, in a sec,” Bill said as Gizmo started to get winded.
“Okay, um, we're waiting,” Rory said.
All that tickling wore Gizmo out. The little guy was so tired when Bill stopped he yawned. To his surprise Bill picked him up and cradled him. “See? Not so bad,” Bill said, looking down at him.
Gizmo tried to glare but couldn't; he was too tired. Another yawn escaped him. His ears drooped as did his eyelids. Finally he gave in and curled up in Bill's arms. After a moment he was softly purring himself asleep.
Bill stroked the soft fut. It wasn't perfect. The harness had gotten in his way, but it was a lot better. And the little guy seemed to have appreciated it. That was good he thought as he carefully carried his charge to the cleaned cage. He set him inside on a nest of shredded paper, unclipped the leash and then stepped back as Rory closed and locked the door.
“Can you do that every week?” Bob asked. “Or teach me to?”
“Treat him nice, and he might come around for you.”
“He's tricky and smart,” Bob said warningly. “I'm surprised he didn't chew you up.”
“I tired him out,” Bill said with a shrug.
“I heard him laughing. Surprising a little guy can laugh like that.”
“Yeah, it is,” Bill mused as he walked off. He shook his head slowly, deep in thought.
“Can you believe this kid? He ain't gonna quit, is he?” Bob asked, shaking his head.
“What the Cosmos kid?” Rory asked.
“Yeah him,” Bob said, nodding his chin to the kid making his way through security. He had to show them his shirt was just set up to power his electronics; it didn't have any surveillance gear. He had to surrender his phone but picked up a company-authorized tablet in exchange.
Bob waited, finger hovering over the button until security pinged him. He immediately buzzed the kid in. The kid thanked him hastily, then kept moving to the back of the lab.
“What's wrong with him?”
“Nothin’ I guess. He just hangs out here a lot. You'd think he'd have a life. Girl or boy or somethin’,” Bob said shaking his head.
“You still going to the casino like usual?” Rory asked.
Bob flicked a glance at his partner. He still gambled, but he was on a tight budget after his last bender. He'd made arrangements to pay it off, but it made him nervous. If the company found out, he'd probably end up in one of the damn cages—either as a special project or pet food.
“I'm trying to quit.”
“Good for you. You know the company frowns on that sorta stuff,” Rory said absently as he checked off the list. “Bot 2 has a stuck motor. I'll get it. You get the glorious duty of changing the light bulb in doc's office.”
“Are we orderlies or janitors?” Bob muttered as he went to the supply closet. That was convenient for him; he could do a bit of planning and loafing in the closet until Rory finished up. He glanced at the kid trying to talk to the little monster, shook his head and kept moving on.
Bill did his research when he noted Gizmo's hand structure. Curious he looked up the Mogwi's body structure on the lab net. The obvious publicity fluff was annoying; it was all marketing crap. What he wanted to see was the details they glossed over.
Finally he got enough of what he wanted by zooming in on a couple of still images and then watching a video of a Mogwi playing with a giggling little girl. That was what had been nagging him all this time, Gizmo's hands, how he'd grasped the bars! He frowned thoughtfully. Gizmo had small hands sure, but he had opposable thumbs. That made him wonder about the little guy's intelligence level.
“Kate, do you know anything about Gizmo?” he asked, turning to the vet tech in charge of the shift. Kate Beringer was a good woman, young like him at nineteeen. He hadn't gone to school with her since they were in different fields. She had told him absently that she had worked as a tavern waitress while in college and then briefly as a tour guide before she had landed her Biogen job. She shook her head. “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Bill asked her.
“I have learned a bit. But I'm new here,” she said with a diffident shrug. “I'm studying to get my veterinary degree.”
Bill blinked. “Oh.”
“He's a smarty. Cute, but scary smart,” she admitted, looking at the images.
“Oh?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow and turning on his trademark boyish charm. He had found that he could use it to get a lot more information out of other people, sometimes things that were not in the database.
“Yeah. He figured out how to unscrew stuff until they learned to put locking retainers on the bolts or used glue. According to Bob they had to weld some of his cage together to keep the little guy from pulling it apart. Bob said he figured out how to unbend the wires in his last escape attempt.”
“So he's strong?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “He's got a lot of muscle in that compact form. You think it's fat, but it's all muscle and fur really. He's not quite chimp strength but don't let him get a hold of your finger. He'll snap it like a twig.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I just wish they could get him sorted out.”
“Well, he's mellowed.”
“Yeah, I heard that you've been working on him. Good for you. Thinking of taking him home as a pet?” She asked.
He shrugged. “Well, I don't know. I was honestly thinking about it a few times. But Doctor Catheter wants to keep him on as the control.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And as an independent source of genetic material,” Bill said, using his fingers to make air quotes. “Is he aggressive in part due to puberty? I heard that was a problem with gen one,” he said carefully.
She frowned thoughtfully. “You know, I don't know,” she parsed out slowly. She tapped her tablet to gain access to the files then frowned thoughtfully. “He is a he, though I'm not sure …,” she frowned thoughtfully. “Okay,” she nodded. “Okay, it says here he can reproduce with another Mogwi under controls conditions.” She made a face. “I can just imagine Bob or some other the other pervs handling that.”
“Yeah,” Bill said, echoing her disgust. “They'd sell tickets.”
“Probably,” she replied with a sniff of disdain.
“Anything on his brain? I've been wondering just how smart he is. I mean all the escape attempts mean he's got some problem solving abilities.”
“Well, all animals are smart to one degree or another. I'm not sure about how high he is on the index though,” she said carefully. “I know they used monkey as the base genetic structure, but they made a lot of alterations in the various generations before going into production.”
“And the recessive genes they left off. Like the hermaphrodite reproduction,” Bill replied with a grimace.
Kate eyed him in surprise. “So, you know about that?”
Bill nodded and spread his hands. “Yeah. I read it in one of dad's reports. I guess they fixed it in him.”
“I think they did,” She said, sounding unsure.
“Can we rig something? A puzzle for him to solve?”
“For what, kicks?”
“No, just to see what he can do.”
“Huh. Okay.”
They set up a tablet for Gizmo to touch. It was a simple game, an ancient one called pong. By tracing his fingers across the screen he could direct the paddle back and forth
. When he missed a shot, the game razzed him, making him blink and rear back in surprise. His ears went back, and he glared.
“Try again. You need to block the ball moving down to the paddle,” Bill said helpfully.
“He doesn't understand,” Kate said. She sniffed and shook her head.
“Kate, can I get your help here?” Bob asked, leaning over to see them. “We've got a problem with one of the cats. He looks like he wants to throw up.”
“Coming,” Kate said. She patted Bill on the back and then left.
Bill held the tablet and patiently watched as Gizmo manipulated the paddle back and forth. Finally, he accidentally blocked a falling ball, and it bounced off. It rebounded off the walls then came back. He blinked then blocked the ball again. The tock sound of the hit made him twitch his ears. Finally, he was catching on Bill thought in satisfaction.
When Gizmo grew bored of the game, he let the ball get past him. Bill nodded and gave him his reward, a piece of chicken. “Sorry it's cold. I could microwave it,” he said, holding the nugget up to the bars.
Gizmo shook his head as he daintily took the piece through the bars. He nibbled on it, then sat making soft growling sounds as he tore it apart.
“Huh,” Bill murmured, thinking about what he'd seen.
“All done? Cause we've got to kick you out so we can lock up here, kid,” Bob said.
Bill looked up in surprise and regret. “Um, yeah, sorry Giz,” he said looking at the Mogwi. “We'll talk again later.
Gizmo looked up, ears drooping slightly as Bill walked off.
The next day Bill didn't have class so he came back to the lab. He impatiently made his way through the usual security checks then practically trotted to the lab. “You, Bill, can you get the little monster out for a walk so we can clean his cage again? A longer one this time. Bob wants to move it out so we can get at where he's been tearing at the wall. Fix that with a metal plate.”
“Gotcha,” Bill said. He got to Gizmo's cage and took the leash off the wall. “You heard, buddy? Want to get out to stretch your legs?”
Gizmo nodded. “Uh huh!” he said over and over. Bill chuckled as he opened the cage, clipped the lead, and then stepped back. Gizmo looked out then turned and carefully climbed out of his cage, using Bill and the leash like a safety line. Bill was careful not to just pull him off and wound his pride.
They passed through the lab and then went out through the doors. Gizmo looked around, and shied away from the bright lights of some of the labs.
“Oh yeah, it's bright. Sorry, buddy, I forgot,” Bill said. “It's almost sundown though. The great thing about living in an O'Neill cylinder is that they regulate stuff like that down to the second.” Which was true. There were two cylinders actually, each side by side and rotating in opposite directions to balance each other and keep them locked in their orbits. They rotated slowly, about one rotation every ninety seconds to give them an artificial gravity. You hardly noticed it unless you turned your head too fast or were playing hard.
Gizmo wasn't sure what the human was talking about. But he liked getting further and further away from the hated lab and hated cage.
Bill took him into the courtyard outside. It was at the center of the building, open to the air above, but surrounded on all four sides with glass walls and doors to prevent escape. It was a nice grotto area, a quiet place of retreat for those inside to gaze on or come visit from time to time.
Gizmo was awed by grass and fearful of all the strange sights and smells around him. He hunched up, ears back, eyes wide, tiny hands tucked together as he cuddled next to Bill's foot.
“I was wondering if you'd have this problem,” Bill said, looking down at the Mogwi. The Mogwi looked up to him. “It's a big world out here, isn't it?”
Gizmo nodded.
“Not really made for your size. Well, there are squirrels and such but …,” he shrugged. “I looked up the different psychological conditions of someone in confined quarters like you. One of them is Agoraphobia. People who have been confined for too long suddenly find it hard to deal with being in big spaces like this,” he explained softly.
Gizmo nodded, but he was determined to go forth. To try to escape if he could. Bill was giving him his best opportunity at freedom.
“Come on, let's take a look around then head back, okay?” Gizmo just snuffled, but finally he started to move ahead of him.
Bill quietly guided Gizmo to the genetically engineered tree in the center of the courtyard. It was some sort of fruit tree, but it had more than one fruit on it. He even saw some vegetables, which really was odd.
“That collar is linked to the computers here, Gizmo and to the building. So they can track you and if you get too far away you'll get zapped. I know you don't want that, so be careful, buddy,” he warned.
Gizmo nodded but he didn't understand what the human had meant. He watched as Bill watched him for a moment then turned away as an artificial breeze kicked up ruffling the curly brown fur on the top of his head. Gizmo felt the breeze; it was like the one that came when the vents made noise. But it carried new scents. Odd ones. Sounds too, faint. His ears twitched at the sound of distant music.
Bill hummed along, tapping his fingers in time with the tune.
Gizmo sidled out of his reach a little at a time, pretending to sniff and dance. He crooned a melody that went with the song, lulling Bill into a relaxed trance. The warm air was nice. He looked up to see the clouds above and beyond the far cylinder of the mirrors that brought the sunlight in, and beyond that he could just make out the other side of the cylinder wall with more buildings, residents, lakes, and parks. “Quite a place here, he murmured. “So much better than Earth. I've been there, buddy; it's nasty—crowded and smoggy and stuff. Dad said this is like what Earth used to be like. What it could be like again once they get it cleaned up,” he murmured. His voice faded as Gizmo put more trill into his voice to lull him deeper into a trance.
As soon as Bill wasn't paying attention to him Gizmo tried to escape. His small hand went back to the leash clip and he worked the latch, getting it off. He held onto it though, to keep tension on it until he could sneak away. He looked up to see Bill look away, face into the breeze. Perfect. He dropped the lead and started to move as fast as his short stubby legs would move him. He didn't get far.
When he got three meters away from Bill, he was shocked by the collar. He dropped to the ground, pawing and gasping at the thing around his neck. “Get zapped? I tried to warn you, buddy,” Bill said, coming closer.
Gizmo growled and tried to get away. Bill stopped and waited patiently as the little creature got to the three-meter mark and got zapped again. After that he realized he couldn't move far from Bill. He came back sullen and annoyed, ears drooping.
“Sorry, Giz, it's the best I could arrange. They wanted you muzzled and in a harness,” Bill explained. The little guy kicked a pebble. “Seriously. Think of it as a start. It's a condition of your parole.”
Gizmo looked up at him. He made an interrogatory sound then blinked those winsome big eyes.
“Parole. Jail. It's for people who can't get along with others. Who commit crimes normally. You haven't bud, but they think you can be dangerous.”
Gizmo growled when he looked back to the lab, eyes narrowing.
“See?” Bill asked.
Gizmo stopped, sat and used his back paw to scratch at his head and collar. It just made a circle around his neck, it wouldn't come off. His tiny hands probed it, trying to get it off but it wouldn't fit over his big head.
“Listen guy, they can't let you out, to be a danger to anyone,” he explained gently. Gizmo muttered something but allowed himself to be escorted back to the hated lab, and more hated cage.
After two weekends of going outside, Bill convinced Kate to let him take it a step further. He brought Gizmo to the Biogen playground attached to the day care center on the south side of the building near one of the main entrances.
The daycare was used 24/7, but on a Sunday evening most of the parents were at home. There were one or two kids there, but all of them were sleeping. Bill felt for those kids, to have to come to the daycare to sleep instead of being at home in their own beds. But the dimmed lights made it perfect for Gizmo to strut his stuff and explore.
Gizmo had a ball. The place wasn't geared for his size, but the toddler toys were pretty close. He loved all the toys and nooks and crannies. The sandbox was fun, but he didn't like getting all dirty when he started to itch. The third time he had to stop and scratch, he shook the sand out of his fur, sniffed in apparent dismissal and moved on.
He could smell Peggy, the lab's receptionist, who occasionally came by to see the small, four-legged things that ran about in the open topped cage. The ones with strange hands and thin tails that neighed a lot. She seemed to adore them.
He could also smell Martin and Lewis, Doctor Catheter's identical twin interns. They were a strange pair, but they did like some good music. They also encouraged him to dance. He had managed to trick them into letting him dance outside his cage, and he'd nearly escaped by the distraction until Doctor Catheter had caught him and put him back.
There were other smells, smells of strange humans. There weren't smells of animals though, which was interesting. The human Bill was treating him as a human. He wasn't sure what to think of that yet. When he heard the familiar tick tick of shoes, he turned to the entrance of the playground. His ears went back. Marla, the red headed female human, was there in a white lab coat.