The Lesser Animal
“I saw it spazzing”
“Spazzing?”
“Just – Writhing. Moving about.”
“I cant just assume ... It was out of the scheduled muscle conditioning period of the day?”
A nod, confirming it was completely out of schedule and not controlled. The boss leaned with one hand on the rolling medical cart, and slammed the other hand against it, a combination of frustration and some other emotion he had not identified yet.
Looking over the animal, it hung with its head up and butt down, like on a meat hook. It had a combination of tubes coming down from the sealing that suspended the animal and also provided oxygen, nutrient enriched blood, electricity for the muscles, whatever else.
“I will call the neurologist we have on contract. We can have him do an evaluation, and see if there is something still alive in there. I'm hoping there's just something mixed up with the wiring or something...”
The neurologist had a slightly grim look about him. He was not so overtaken he couldn't conceal his reaction, but he did believe he was in sympathetic company so hiding was unnecessary.
“Its not entirely clear. Never really is... But on physical examination it looks like the movements could be caused, in part, by the central nervous system reforming and repairing itself. Beyond that its unclear what exactly is causing the movements and reactions, we can't know the triggering stimuli without controlling more conditions and conducting more active brain scans.”
“Can you fix it?” said the boss.
“We have to surgically lobotomize it again. Looking at the age, its possible this may occur again within its lifetime, the records show the first neural separations were drawn as well as it could've been done, we may be dealing with a genetic condition that encourages such regrowth. I can't confirm that myself, that would be a geneticist.”
“This thing is clinging on to life,” boss said as he looked over the skinless animal, with an open cavity from its throat to its rear. It turned slowly as it hung between them.
“Have you considered upgrading?”
Boss looked at him with a somewhat sideways look.
The neurologist continued, “those new models. Neuronal development is slowed dramatically so the death and creation cycles are massively slowed. The original brain separation holds longer, but the central nervous system functions well enough that the muscle development cycles still work normally.”
“Its too expensive right now, we can stay in compliance right now with these models. Maybe some generations out, we will upgrade.” He had an almost exaggerated frown in saying as much.
“I can do the lobotomy now. You should be good for maybe 5-7 years. Not enough data to be specific beyond that.”
“Is it suffering?”
A sigh, “the closest to a straight answer is: no. You're effectively in compliance since it has no hormonal functions for stress, and the brain is too damaged to enable processing of peripheral stimuli. But its on its way to redevelop at least some of that capability. These types of movements can be .. Like the crossing of wires during the repair, its sorting itself out and messages are coming through wrong and causing unintended effects...
... Don worry about it. We're addressing it early”
The employee laid back in a chair, wide awake now that the muscle conditioning cycle had begun.
A crowd of squeaking, swinging bodies were shifting on the hinges they hung from.
Looking out and across the room, skinless, gutless creatures flailed their limbs back and forth. Blackened eyes stared out at the room around them; the lack of skin meant no eyelids, and the color faded and darkened as the cells died and burst from overexposure to light.
He stood up and walked through the room.
The arms and legs were hoove-less stubs. The movement was not programmed for anything but maximal stress on the muscles to encourage development. The arms and legs rotated in and out, throwing the weight of animal into a swing on the tubular hangar.
A sense overcame him. A sense of presence.
Something alive was in the room with him, looking over him, sensing him.
He turned around to look at where he thought he felt it from. Down the hall, nothing. Nothing but swinging meat.
Goosebumps ran up his arm. He was on the edge of a chill.
The whirring, squeaking of bone, muscle, and mechanical tubes continued.
He hoped he was alone.