The Pet Project Read online

  THE PET PROJECT

  By Amanda Milo

  Copyright © 2019 Amanda Milo ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Yay or Nay?

  DEDICATION:

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  Mini note from Amanda:

  BONUS EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR NOTE

  FUN BOOK TRIVIA THAT YOU WILL PROBABLY NEVER USE IN YOUR DAILY LIFE

  READER QUESTION FOR PET PROJECT:

  Some Cures for A Book Hangover

  Books & Audiobooks by Amanda…

  About the Author

  Yay or Nay?

  Some readers don’t want warnings. Other readers appreciate them. There are members from both camps who get very passionate and vocal for their case.

  What’s an author to do?

  I’m going to tell you to scroll past this if you want no warnings. Jump in and enjoy, meine Freundin!

  For those of you who want a warning, this be for you:

  Pet Project has some triggery themes/moments. Some readers will be deeply disturbed, while dark romance readers are going to find this story ultra-tame. You know yourself. You know what you like. If you’ve got triggers, pass on this one. If you go for it, I hope you enjoy the read--I only ever want you to have a good time!

  ♥ *HUGS TO YOU, MY FRIEND* ♥

  DEDICATION:

  To R.

  One word: REINDEER!

  ]:D

  Pet: a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure.

  CHAPTER 1

  We acquired a previously unknown species of creature when we visited a small, water-logged planet, where the bipedal inhabitants flocked to us with eagerness and curiosity.

  They say we opened up our ships, and these creatures filed on in droves. I’ve heard that those first crewmen, who watched excited specimens crowd into containment, were baffled at the aliens’ enthusiasm to enter into captivity—but the crewmen quickly learned that this species does best under strict rule. Although certainly, there were some wild specimens who didn’t race to climb into strange ships arriving in their land. We captured as many of those as we could, and a few shipments later, we’d collected as many unfortunate stragglers as we were able. It was the benevolent thing. The way they approached without fear, and the way they desired to follow direction… It was obvious these beings had been domesticated at one point or another, and domesticated creatures cannot fend for themselves. They simply don’t have the instincts and adaptations.

  Unfortunately, as sometimes happens with exotics, the demand for the new species—designated as T. Skins or tenders (short for tender-skins)—exploded. A fierce tenders-peddling trade was born—unregulated. We sold our tenders to other planets. We offered them to emperors and empresses as gifts. We kept them as pets and put them on display, erecting fanciful enclosures for them in our gardens.

  Some lived. Most died.

  By the time we realized they had specialized needs in order to thrive, we had a dwindling supply of tenders left. With the demand high and the supply so low—and getting frighteningly lower by the day—we began in earnest to research what was left to us for stock. However, scientific stock did not come free. Science communities had to raise funding to afford each and every individual, and it took fortunes to amass small herds of tenders to study.

  Distressingly, we found them slow to reproduce, with aggressive males and harm-susceptible females. To add to their difficulty level, their gestation was found to be excruciatingly lengthy—rivaled only by the sheer anti-speed with which they took to mature.

  However, we deemed them worth the effort. Although we concluded them to be primitive, what made them of such galaxy-wide interest was their ability to read our intent—we’d point to an object and they’d turn their head to look, and so forth. They constantly display a higher cognitive understanding than most companion life forms. Tenders were also found to be clever, fascinating, and intrinsically playful creatures. At first, we thought they might be capable of speech, but it became evident that they only mimic our whistles, emitting gibberish notes instead of words. (Although they are quite capable of following commands in our language, especially if you keep your words simple, preferably in small, easy-to-discern notes.) They can be taught to dance and sing and even play instruments. If you’re lucky enough to afford a young female, she might bond to her owner/master/ruler’s offspring in the home, and frolic with them. There are even accounts of tenders attempting to guard their charges, even at the sacrifice of their own easily-ended lives. It was no wonder our peoples—and so many others—were smitten.

  My people, the Cryptops, have considered collecting all surviving tenders from the citizens on our planet, but this has many risks. Chiefly, if the government carries this planet-wide collection out by force, tenders who have settled in and have had all their needs for survival met by their keepers could fail to thrive in a laboratory setting. Secondly, our citizens might revolt. Some keepers grow quite attached to their tenders, even if they don’t entirely understand them.

  Considering the difficulty level of these creatures’ care and maintenance, imagine my delight when I’m selected to replace a scientist in the tender-keeping branch of our laboratory. I’m tasked with taking over the lab’s tenders breeding and research project.

  This is my first daycycle at my new position and I arrive full of excitement, marching proudly through the doors of the Tenders Breeding Project… where I come to an abrupt halt.

  A gleaming, well-equipped lab sits at my right. A large exam and servicing table is included, with plenty of space around it for a breeding male to move and for a handler to control and observe. Beyond the lab counters and cabinets is an observatory deck, and two steps down, the tender pens dominate the room.

  Four cages jut out from the face of the walls. Thick sections of wall partition each one to keep tenders from damaging one another through the fence bars.

  The pens and every item inside of them shines the silver of high carbon steels alloyed with chromium. Corrosion-resistant, and simple to sanitize. In each cage is a low cot for sleeping, an elimination bowl, an auto-waterer, and a feed tray slot in the door. This last feature is especially useful for male tenders, because they tend to pose the most danger to keepers and handlers during even the smallest windows of direct contact.

  And staring back at me are three adult male tenders.

  And… one female.

  One female?

  I blink, confused. Also jostling my thoughts is the demand that I process the ruined physical state that is the male in the third pen. But setting that aside for the moment, I gather myself enough to stride forward, exiting out a door that leads past the large outdoor runs for each enclosure. T
he byway that sits behind the row of runs is commonly called the ‘feeding alley,’ an access lane offering the keeper the opportunity to observe, or a point to gain entry in order to access tender enclosures for enrichment or cleaning. What I expect to see out here is the rest of a healthy herd of females, perhaps sunning themselves by a large pool.

  But there is no pool. There is no lush grass for a herd of pregnant females to loll in, or trees for them to rest under when they desire a shady spot to take in the fresh air, their stomachs swollen with young. There is only a handful of straggling weeds and dirt, so dry it has peeled up and cracked and separated in places. The ground looks jagged and uncomfortable to walk on. Directly behind the female enclosure, the ground looks stained, with darker brown circles discoloring the dirt. Of the four pens present, looking deliberately shortened by a good length, the female’s cage is in fact the smallest of them all.

  And no other females are contained therein.

  “Only one?” I murmur to myself, in disbelief. “Impossible.” How could anyone expect to run a breeding program with only a single female?

  Stalking back inside, I survey the room with a more prepared eye.

  Not surprisingly, the males openly appear to be sizing me up, with the strongest-looking of them appearing aggressive, his glare saying he’s intentionally attempting to intimidate. He paces in the first cage. The male farthest from the door, shifting somewhat anxiously on his feet, eyes me warily. The male in the middle cage only watches me—but although his stare on me is direct, I decide it isn’t so much standoffish. Rather, he just looks intensely resigned.

  In the second cage, the female seems understandably apprehensive, nibbling on her bottom lip and considering me with large, glossy eyes.

  Before handling any of them, I stalk to the communication device inset on the far wall and contact the head director for the project.

  My tour has raised many questions.

  The head director informs me that the four tenders are all that are left of the project. It is my task to study their habits, encourage them to breed, and to report my findings. It seems my predecessor decided one daycycle to walk out of the department, and never return. All his notes and files have been stored in the anteroom off the laboratory.

  Further funding for the purchase of more females is a possibility if I can yield positive results with the single female I have at hand. If no progeny are produced though, funding to the entire department could be cut, and the company would need to consider which employees are the most necessary to retain.

  When the short but disenchanting discussion with the director ends, I hesitantly move to investigate the anteroom. What I find makes my already sinking heart plummet.

  Haphazard stacks of clear storage tubs hold more memory-files than the sea has grains of sand. Everything the department knows about my four charges—my livelihood, in essence, because this program’s success means I keep my job—is somewhere amongst this disorganized nightmare.

  Not confident enough to approach my charges yet—three of whom will no doubt challenge me straight off, something I simply don’t feel up to facing—I stay in the doorway of the antechamber. Finally, drawing on courage I don’t feel, I bravely march into the room, and begin the painfully slow process of sifting through the mountains of data and tender-program information.

  CHAPTER 2

  I’ve read that tenders vocalize in such a pattern that you’d almost swear they were capable of language, but if you put a random handful of tenders together, it’s clear most of them can barely understand each other beyond gestures and a lot of confused pointing. Some of their vocalizations are so vastly different from one another, it’s striking. It begs the question of how they procreate and raise their offspring if they don’t share even the barest of common communication.

  I find four base profiles for my charges in one of the first tubs I sift through. Lenticular prints identify each one, and their assigned names are labeled below each three-dimensional image: Ux-47, T-96, B-63, and Yc-12.

  I tell myself this find is a success that should be celebrated by taking a reading break, and I move to a strangely out of place chair, comfortable-looking, set facing the four pens. An observation seat, but oddly not up on the observatory deck. I suppose my predecessor enjoyed a closer view of his charges, perhaps formed amity by remaining so close, and I pledge to myself that I’ll apply my time wisely doing the same.

  I know exactly how I want to begin, too.

  I’ve been very excited to be entrusted with the keeping of tender females. I’ve heard so much about them, and their willingness to please their masters once they’re trained.

  That I only have one female in the harem is a damper on my giddiness, but it does nothing to quell the still-pounding excitement at the prospect of having a tender under the control of my hand.

  Masking my enthusiasm, I approach the female’s enclosure, and call her to me.

  Understandably wary of a new handler, she shuffles a bit—at least until I lift the handheld control that will administer a reprimanding shock to her collar.

  Lips flattening, eyes dropping to the floor, the female skitters to me most obediently then.

  Naked save for her collar, there’s nothing to impede me from looking her over.

  While it’s common to affix clothing to tenders—which is how we found them; they cleverly created coverings to protect their tender skin from harsh sunlight and debris and temperatures outside of their body’s comfort—this is not provided to lab-kept tenders due to the common early incidence of them using their garments to strangle themselves or others.

  House-kept tenders tend to be better adjusted, and it’s almost unheard of for one to self-strangulate.

  Why this is, we’re not certain, although I now have the opportunity to learn—hopefully with no harm rendered to my charges.

  “That’s it,” I praise the female as she nears me. “You’re shaping up to be a good pet already, aren’t you?”

  She heaves a sigh, and during her inhale, when her skin draws sharply over her ribs, I can see her heart muscle pounding against her skin.

  “Hmm,” I muse. “This,” I point to the visible beat, “indicates you are on the extreme side of thin, if I recall my literature correctly.” I doubt her rations are insufficient; I hypothesize that something is causing her not to finish them then. Common reasons for this include unhappiness, illness, or trauma.

  Concerning.

  I read that some bodies appear to be built naturally sleeker than others, but for females intended for breeding, a proper diet—and a properly consumed amount—is optimal.

  It is imperative to me that my lone female’s every need be met optimally.

  “T-96,” I command, “follow me over here.” I gesture to where I’ll be sitting, and when she falls into rapid step beside me to cross the room, I smile down at her in approval. “Good female.” Then I inwardly frown. “I have the strongest urge to name you.” I have noticed this about house-kept tenders. There is no data to support the claim that a stronger bond is fostered with an affection-given name, but just in case there is any basis to the much-bandied theory, I’m inspired to give the jewel of my program a call name. “How about… Pet?” I ask her.

  T-96 gives me a faint smile, and quickly raises then drops her shoulders. A tender mannerism that seems to indicate assent.

  “Pet it is,” I declare, pleased, and guide her to where we’ll be sharing our first companionable silence. I indicate the kneeling pillow beside my chair. “Sit.”

  When she complies, I order, “Stay.”

  “Woof,” Pet answers and giggles to herself.

  She’s already displaying a biddable demeanor. I’m so pleased. “What a charming creature,” I tell her.

  I ease into the chair, and draw the built-in miniature desktop station over my lap. I can read and take notes, take dictation, access my daycycle planner, and check the weather all from this seat, with Pet keeping me company.

  I imagine every
daycycle beginning this way, and the thrill of excitement bubbles up in my throat as it did the morning I was informed I’d been selected for this project.

  Mindset more at ease, I dig into what appears to be the earliest files on the four tenders in my keeping. I pore over the various documents and copious notes in each of their respective folders. Much to my relief, testing indicates these four are complete non-relations.

  Good.

  I access the dictation application and begin to make notes of my own.

  “Initial thoughts on breeding plans: if Pet produces two female offspring, each one can then be bred to the two unrelated males.”

  Pet begins to fidget beside me.

  “If they each have a female offspring, these can be serviced by the males who did not sire them. This is linebreeding much closer than I’m comfortable working, but this is simply worst-case scenario if the laboratory cannot appropriate me more unrelated females.”

  I refuse to consider that they won’t, especially if my program shows promise and bears any fruit—let alone if my program produces additional generations of tenders.

  I continue making notes and reading over the data I have in front of me. Throughout this, once she settles, Pet sits quietly.

  It’s comforting, to have her near.

  After reading over my material, I feel more confident by far.

  My impressions:

  Ux-47 would be an appealing-looking specimen, if his poor manners didn’t overshadow everything, including his nicely symmetrical features. Ux-47, who is housed on the far left, is the closest in size to the average Cryptop, only a few handspans below me at six tender units tall, and twenty-six heads in weight. Unsurprisingly, his file says he has a long history of fights, and in fact, he is responsible for the damage done to the male in the middle pen.

  The data lays out that Ux-47 escaped, with the intent to access the females. When he was unable to reach them, he went on a rampage, and the male in the middle pen became his target instead. I feel my eyes widen when I come to a log of multiple times Ux-47 has broken confinement since he was acquired. Each time, he’s attacked a fellow tender or handlers. Too aggressive to be the ideal candidate for Pet, I note.