Feral

by Vesper Brooks

  “As much as possible,” I quipped.

  “As much as possible.” His response held a note of amusement. As if he appreciated that even now, I could see he still operated under boundaries placed on him as well.

  “I get the angle. Service animals are growing in demand. From autism to soldiers wounded in combat, assistance animals are invaluable. You create the perfect dogs, chug them out like an assembly line, and charge thousands that desperate people are willing to pay. Ka-ching! What I need to know is why are you calling myself and Jaxx in now? You just said you’ve cared for these animals for a year. What happened?”

  “As I said, they’re not as willing to obey.”

  I sipped my coffee and offered him what I considered my best uh huh…and? expression.

  We sat, locked in a silent power struggle that I planned to win with every fiber of my being. I could smell a loophole a mile away, and Mr. Evan’s clung to that hole like his life depended on it. Who knew? Maybe it did. But I wanted answers, and despite his promise, he wasn’t giving them to me.

  “Is there more?” he asked, tone deceptively calm and friendly.

  “Yeah.” I leaned back in my chair and swiveled it side to side. “You could cut the side-stepping bullshit and be straight up with me. Like you were when we first walked in here. What happened?”

  His shoulders slumped slightly, and my breath hitched at the reaction. Whatever he prepared to say, it came at the cost of his own vows of silence. I knew it from the way he glanced toward the closed door. Phillip did not want his next words to fall upon unintended ears.

  “Last week, one of the geds displayed aggression in response to a command. A simple command, mind you. One performed a thousand times over with ease. It scared the handler so much he refused to work with them anymore.”

  “What kind of aggressive behavior?” I prodded.

  “It raised its spines,” he responded.

  “Hackles?” I tilted my head as I corrected him.

  Mr. Evans shook his head at me. “No, Doctor Poole. I said what I meant. Spines. The geds have…unexpected physical features that manifested. We’re not quite sure how these aspects are related to the enhancements, but we were happy enough to have viable specimens and focused more on development. As we progress, we’ll use the information we gather to influence future models.”

  “Spines? Future models? Unexpected physical features? I feel like I’m in a damned sci-fi movie,” I scoffed. “Surely to God they aren’t that different from their mother.”

  He stood and picked up his coffee mug before indicating the door. “Take a tour with me. Perhaps it’s better I show you the facilities and what we are working with. It will create a smoother transition for you so you can come to terms with what exactly we’re dealing with here.”

  I followed him but couldn’t resist one last quip. “Fabricated dogs. Didn’t any of your super-intelligent staff stop for a moment and think that might be a bad idea?”

  “Yes,” he responded as he led me back outside. “We fired them.”

  Chapter Four

  What Phillip Evans walked me through equated to nothing more than a dog and pony show. See geneticist science. Science, geneticist, science! The computer screens ran programs, machines whirred, employees debated things that made little sense to me. My PhD meant fuck-all in this world of sequencing and synthesizing.

  I understood what the maintenance people were doing more. As they checked metal shutters over windows and ran power outage tests, the scientists grumbled at the possibilities of the computers crashing.

  “Just a couple of hiccups to ensure full function,” Phillip told them when a few approached with their protests. “I’m sure you understand.”

  That seemed to be his cure-all catch phrase. I’m sure you understand. It backed people into compliance tactfully. If a school existed for learning how to soothe people into what you wanted, Mr. Evans served as headmaster. I filed that information away, certain I’d need it later. If Phillip wanted something, everyone wanted it with or without his persuasion. He provided a powerful, key tool and the reasons for his management here became clearer. After all, if I were creating unknown creatures that might risk lives, I’d want a smooth talker to keep the essential residents happy too.

  But the real reason I came remained out of my reach, despite the tour. When I suggested we visit the geds so I could perform an initial evaluation, Phillip side-stepped me by insisting we acquaint me with my quarters. Unlike the majority of the scientists, my room sat in one of the smaller buildings on the edge of the complex. Branches from the nearby trees scratched at the metal in the gentle breeze, and a few vines clung to the corner as they sought to reclaim land lost.

  “This is our guest house. It has its own kitchen in case you don’t wish to eat in the cafeteria, along with a fully stocked pantry and fridge. It shares a bathroom between the four bedrooms, but each guest room is quite large and very accommodating.” He handed me a flat ID card we’d created during our tour through the HR department. “Swipe this to enter, or type in a code. For this building, the code is one, two, zero, nine.”

  “Why even have codes for the guest houses?” I asked, brows furrowed. “Is the crime rate that high among your staff?”

  He laughed as he punched the code in and opened the door. “No, no. Often, our guests are researchers that prefer their own computers or quarters to write out equations. Notes. Things like that. After one insisted someone kept tampering with his equipment, we put a locking system on the doors.”

  “The keypad looks fairly new compared to the building,” I observed. “How long ago did you put locks on the door?”

  “Just last week. Doctor O’Malley is still here, in room one. He studies radio waves and echolocation.”

  We entered a somewhat sterile environment. It offered more room inside than I expected, yet it reminded me of the labs used over in the arctic climates. A man with a bald head and well-trimmed red beard sat at the round kitchen table staring at a laptop while clutching an energy drink. He glanced up at us through thick glasses, and his expression neither welcomed me nor deterred me.

  “Hi, Doctor Cossondra Poole. Animal behavioral zoologist.” I stuck my hand out and he quickly stood to grasp it.

  “Doctor Wulphgang O’Malley. Acoustic science.” He released my hand and returned to sitting. “Are you one of the new roommates?”

  “I am.”

  I studied his expression as I spoke. His calm demeanor didn’t, in any fashion, seem that of someone who wildly accused others. No paranoia or even micro-reactions to my admittance of being a new roommate. It made his alleged accusation of someone invading his space to mess with his notes sit a little uneasy on my stomach, and I knew I needed to talk to him about it…privately.

  Instead, I turned to Mr. Evans. “One of?”

  “Jaxx requested she bunk where you bunked,” he responded.

  I fought the urge to smile at the fact she’d manipulated her way into the same housing as me. Clever. It made it easier for us to sync up after hours. I really hoped the walls in the bedrooms supplied ample soundproofing. I could get loud.

  Phillip checked his watch with a sigh. “I’m afraid my time as tour giver is at an end. You’re welcome in the labs or to settle in here.”

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser if I went directly to the geds?” I pressed, irritation flaring. I felt as if they played the hurry-up-and-wait game with me, and it rankled my spirits to no end. You do not dangle a discovery and expect a scientist to ignore it. We simply don’t operate that way.

  My expression must have darkened. Mr. Evans took one look at me before offering a consoling smile. “They are spending the day off as we prep the interior pens for them should the storm flood the outdoor one. No handlers, no tests. Just a day to relax. Everyone deserves a day off. I’m sure you understand.”

  Dr. O’Malley made a strange noise as he stared at his laptop while I tried to come up with some response. When I didn’t reply fast enough, Mr. Evans to
ok his cue and issued a quaint wave before heading out the door.

  When it closed behind him, I muttered, “That’s some bullshit.”

  “Agreed. They do that regularly though. There’s a flurry of activity with the geds, then no one is allowed in or out for a few days. And somehow, that literally means no one. Not the handlers, not any scientists, not maintenance. I often wonder if the poor things even get fed during the shutdown. Not to mention, it makes me very curious as to why they do the shutdowns. Which, by the way, is an off-limits question, in case you were wondering about asking. Thought I’d save you the wasted time.” The pitch and accent of O’Malley’s voice changed as he said, “I’m sure you understand.”

  A chuckle escaped me at his perfect mimicry of Phillip Evans, and I appreciated the fact I wasn’t the only one to notice his habit with using the phrase. I settled into the chair near him and glanced at his laptop with open curiosity.

  “I know what acoustic science is, but how does it fit with what’s going on here?” I asked.

  He used a single finger to push his glasses further up before focusing his attention completely on me. “Ah, how much time do you have?”

  I smiled. “Apparently, a lot. So, hit me with it, Doctor.”

  Dr. O’Malley gave a single nod before turning his laptop so we could both see the screen. Though I didn’t specialize in the field, even I knew from my own studies that the wavy lines indicated sounds.

  “I’m studying the geds and their form of communication. While I believe at least half their language is body language, I have a theory that these creatures communicate far more in depth and with a greater range of noises than regular canines. Actually, you’re the Doctor Poole, yes? The one who revealed the base shared language between felines and canines?”

  “On a domestic level, amongst human populations, yes. My theory is that human interaction has created an impression on both species and caused them to develop a unique language that overlaps species boundaries. Basically, because humans taught dogs and cats to recognize a need to communicate outside their own species, they’ve then developed a language with each other, too.”

  “Fascinating. And a helpful point that I’m trying to make. The geds have never met dogs. I believe, due to the unique nature of their existence, they have basically garbled together noises and body language into their own language. If I can create an understanding of that, we have a higher success chance of interacting with them in a non-hostile fashion,” he explained.

  My brow furrowed at his last few words. “Your emphasis on non-hostile indicates to me that there has been hostility. Evans only mentioned a minor incident of…spine raising?”

  Dr. O’Malley nodded enthusiastically. “I am fortunate enough I was recording audio during the event. However, I don’t have video to accompany it. I keep insisting I need the ability to film them so I can match verbal to physical, but Phillip is countering that it’s not my department. And so I’m kept in a box of sound because they’re too stupid to understand I need correlation.”

  “Perhaps I can convince them to allow me filming. If we coordinate, we could cover ground much faster. Do you mind if I listen to the audio of the incident?” I asked.

  For the first time, he truly smiled at me. “Of course. And I would appreciate the cooperation. I feel stuck with what I have, and they want solid answers and progress sooner rather than later. Here.”

  He navigated to a file and brought it up, then hit play. I held my breath, straining to listen to as many of the layers of sound as I could and catalogue them to the best of my ability. Immediately, my mind filtered out the typical background noise of wind and insects.

  “Daxel, back up. Back the fuck up, you stupid mutt. Get your ass on station right this second.”

  I frowned at the disdain and verbal abuse the speaker threw at the animal. Clearly, the man neither respected nor admired the creatures, and that itself could breed a hostile situation.

  Strange clicks filled the air, along with a muffled rasp that sounded almost human. I cast a glance at Dr. O’Malley, who stared at the computer with an almost-bored expression.

  “What the fuck? No, this is some bullshit. I’m fucking done with these ugly-ass dogs and this whole project. An animal needs to learn respect, and you won’t even give me so much as a cattle prod. Fuck this.”

  A door clanked loudly, followed by the sound of a lock engaging. When I opened my mouth to speak, Wulphgang held up a finger, and I strained to listen again.

  A soft chuckling coo, like a mix between a hyena and a dove, echoed from the speakers. Then, unmistakably, a throaty growling voice said, “Fuck this.”

  Chapter Five

  We spent hours debating the source of the voice we heard. We posed everything from a garbled feedback loop to the microphone picking up the handler continuing to rant outside the pen. I even asked if the island sported macaws. Perhaps one flew nearby and mimicked what it heard.

  The problem was, without video, we couldn’t be sure. O’Malley shared numerous files with me, and in several, a deep, growling voice repeated the last thing plainly heard.

  “Maybe it’s your software,” I said. “It’s happening often enough it could simply be a glitch in the program.”

  Wulphgang’s shoulders rolled in a casual shrug. “It’s a possibility. I have also toyed with the idea that another scientist around here is sabotaging my work.”

  “Why do you think that’s an option, and to what end?” I asked, latching on to his first mention that seemed related to the supposed tampering Evans told me about.

  He sat back and frowned. “I’d prefer not to do anything to make you dub me the paranoid one on the island.”

  A sudden grin twisted my lips at his words. “That’s all right. I’m already the snarky one. But seriously, we’ve tossed some weird-ass theories around since we met. It can’t be worse than those.”

  My words seem to settle him a bit. Wulphgang nodded before drawing in a deep breath. “There have been several times I’ve returned to my room after a night…out and found my things—especially my computer—moved around.” He turned the device until the back faced me. Several scratches marred the casing, and they certainly didn’t look like they’d come from him clumsily dropping it. “This, my notes strewn across the floor, and one time he raided the kitchen cabinets too. Dumped a whole bag of my jalapeño flavored chips all over the floor. Do you know how hard it is to get specialty items like that?”

  I wrinkled my nose at the idea of spicy chips. The terms didn’t mix in my mind well, and I didn’t view his snack as a great loss, though I did sympathize. “Is there a basic store here?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “You put in orders through the terminal and hope it comes on the next supply ship. Most of the staff don’t have personal kitchens and eat in the cafeteria, but they still order snacks or soft drinks and keep them in their rooms. You get used to it.”

  “How long have you been here?” I flinched as I realized it sounded like I questioned his sanity.

  Wulphgang didn’t seem to notice it as he turned his laptop around and peered at the date. “Five months. Give or take a few days.”

  I shared a peek at the date and time, then reset my watch to reflect our current time zone. Granted, it still didn’t tell me shit about our location, but having an exact time still made me feel a hell of a lot better. More in control, as it were.

  “So I get why you believe someone is screwing with your stuff, but why do you think someone wants to mess with you?” I asked.

  He frowned as he mulled my question over. “I’ve asked that a lot too. For the most part, I keep to myself. My work can be done in here, and it’s actually easier because the labs are too noisy. The best I can figure is someone grew jealous over me sleeping with one of the staff members.”

  “Were they in a relationship with someone else as well?”

  Dr. O’Malley shook his head. “No. I don’t play games like that. She has to be single or I’m not interested.”


  I mentally gave him several morality points for that statement. It felt nice to be in the presence of a man who neither treated me like an idiot, nor like a woman whose sexuality could be swayed by his dick. I decided I definitely could see Wulphgang as not only a colleague, but a potential friend on this godforsaken island.

  My finger tapped my chin as I tried to piece together other possible motives as an outsider with a view in. Yet, nothing came to mind that didn’t sound as far-fetched as a jealous wannabe lover. The click of the door opening caught my attention, and I turned, expecting Evans.

  Instead, a woman of medium height and solid, muscular build walked in. Her short cut, dark hair made her appear to be in the military, and a single tattoo curled up both of her forearms. One sported a tiger while the other portrayed a beautiful woman. A thin man, almost tiny in comparison to the woman he followed, trailed behind her. His nervous gaze swept the room before landing squarely on us. As she approached, he scurried to stand beside her.

  Her hands wove in a beautiful, intricated dance as she met my gaze and I smiled as I stood to greet her.

  “She says—” the man started.

  “I know what she said,” I snapped as I signed instinctively along with my verbal words. “It’s good to see you too. How the hell did you get tangled up in this shit show?”

  Years ago, when we met, I’d bridged the gap between us with my stilted sign language. My father, a Vietnam vet, lost his hearing during the war, and as a child, I taught myself sign language in an effort to help him begrudgingly communicate with the world around him. Like anything self-taught, I lacked polish, and Jasmyne wasted no time showing me how to improve my technique despite my father being dead and us in our twenties.

  Her first rule was that, even though she could hear everything I said, I needed to sign it simultaneously. Despite the difficulties I encountered at first, it soon became second nature, and now I fell into the pattern naturally when we met up again.