Britt stood back and beamed with pride, proud of the exhibition she’d just put on. On the bed, her self-aware dolly, Pitty Patt, lay patiently, entertaining herself with her pacifier, while making cute little cooing noises. The silicone-based “Tru-Skin” toy was not considered A.I. It had manufactured with a “closed-loop” processor. That meant it was incapable of retaining anything other than the data programmed into it at the factory. It would cry when it pooped its diaper or got hungry and would go to sleep when rocked long enough. But Pitty Patt would never express a desire to expand its vocabulary past “momma” and “da da.” Nor would she ever be curious to take the first step, perpetually content to crawl around on her hands and knees.
Britt reached down and scooped the wiggling, giggling life-like doll up in her hands. “You a pretty widdle Pitty Patt! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!” she baby-talked the toy, causing it to cackle wildly and flail its arms enthusiastically. Turning to Amber, she offered Pitty Patt to the vixen.
“Wanna hold her?” she asked as she held up the squirmy doll.
And suddenly, Amber was somewhere else.
It was déjà vu all over again.
***
“Wanna hold her, Doc?”
She tried to blink the drug-induced grogginess out of her eyes and gather her wits about her. Somewhere in the mental fog, she heard voices. There were people around her. Men. Women.
“No, I don’t want to hold that thing,” an indignant male voice huffed.
She woke in a hospital … no, not a hospital, even though the smell of strong disinfectant and fresh blood permeated the air. It was something else, a laboratory or research facility of sorts, a large windowless room with magnicrete walls painted a bluish-gray. Bright, blinding, high-intensity lights lit the place up like artificial sunlight.
She tried to move but couldn’t. It took a few seconds to realize she was restrained. Looking to the left and right, she saw that her wrists had been strapped down to the cold, flat, metal slab of an examining table. As her eyes focused, it became clear it was just one in a row of several along a wall of the room. Another row of the cold, impersonal apparatuses lined the opposite wall. As far as she could tell, hers was the only one occupied.
She looked down her body and observed her legs elevated and placed in stirrups, also restrained by wide nylon straps. Yet, she couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel anything below her waist. And what had happened to her belly? Her beautiful belly that Master had doted on so much.
Master! Poor Master! It came flooding back to her. How those men had shot him down in cold blood, and him only wanting to avoid any confrontation. Such a gentle soul he had been, and they had shot him down while they stood and laughed. Tears of loss and rage-filled her eyes as she remembered the hurt and how she fought them when they tried to take her. She didn’t go as easily as her gentle Master, but go she had, succumbing eventually to the overwhelming numbers.
And now, here she was... wherever ‘here’ was. Just beyond her useless feet, she saw the source of the voices she was hearing.
A heavyset woman in a surgical gown and mask was holding something bundled up in a baby blanket. She read the word “GenetX” in pink across it. A man dressed in similar attire was standing next to her, scribbling notes onto a midair hologram projected from his PDC.
“Aw, c’mon, Doc! She’s such a cutie. Those little ears and that tail! You can’t deny that! Look at those eyes!”
“Esther, please remember your professionalism. Put the specimen with the other and take it to Doctor Quick.”
He motioned to another figure wearing the same garb. “Alert Corporate that we have delivered two healthy infants. One male. One female. Tell them we await further instructions.”
“Yes, Doctor Perkins.”
After that, tell the lab I want a full battery of tests run. DNA … blood work. I’m especially curious to know if there are any genetic anomalies due to the interspecies breeding.”
“Will do, sir.” She scurried out of the room as if her hair were on fire.
She watched as the nurse placed the bundle on a stainless-steel cart, alongside an almost-identical bundle. She felt her heart skip a beat when she saw one of the blankets twitch. Something was inside it. Something alive! It was all coming crystal clear to her now.
No! My babies! Not my babies! Please no! Weakly, she struggled against the bonds.
Another person, peeling off blood-splattered surgical gloves, noticed she was now awake. “Hey, Doc. Looks like Mommy’s joined the party,” she remarked, as she dropped the gloves into a biohazard container and turned to a nearby sink to wash her hands.
The doctor gave her a cursory look as he pulled his mask down to reveal his old, dour-looking face. It was apparent he thought no more of her than he might an insignificant insect. He turned to the first nurse.
“Esther, sedate her again, please. And I want her to remain sedated until we find out what Corporate wants us to do with her and her mongrel pups.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get those things to the lab.”
“Kits.”
“Excuse me?” The doctor turned to her slowly, eyes both curious and irritated at the same time.”
“Kits. A vixen’s offspring. They’re called kits, not pups,” she corrected him.
Perkins’ mouth twisted as if he’d just eaten something horribly sour. Esther braced for the biting rebuke she was sure would be coming from the humorless corporate drone. But to her surprise, he gave her a smile that, while it wouldn’t be confused for anything close to warm, it wasn’t necessarily sarcastic or cruel. That was about as good you were going to get from the crotchety old bastard.
“Well, I guess I stand corrected,” he conceded. “Very well, Esther. Please sedate the vixen and take the two … kits … to the
