PREFACE
“Enough already.”
The Stem writhed in my grasp, appendages flailing, a spray of waste soaking my coat. An orifice opened. “Bluug, oog, blah.” Nonsense syllables I failed to parse. Was it language? Part of me feared so.
“Bit of help?” I called out. Millicent grimaced, but grabbed a couple of limbs and pinned them as we pulled the thing towards the recycler.
“Big side first,” she said unnecessarily, lifting her end. The leakage increased, and I ducked, avoiding a particularly vile stream.
“Did it say something?” Millicent asked, heaving it up and over the lip of the machine.
“Too late,” I muttered, now pushing down, allowing the grinder to grab on and pull. The gears finally got a hold, and with a final shriek the grinder dragged the Stem through, reducing it to slurry.
“Toughest one yet,” I commented as a cleaner bot hosed down the room, the worst of the excretions and grinder-splatter slithering towards the drain.
“We’re making progress,” Milli stated, always trying to motivate me. “You think we’re rushing things a bit? If we’d given this one more time, it would’ve improved?”
I shook the last bits of Stem off my hand so the bot could wash it away. “I don’t have the patience to spend more time with these things.” I’d been working in Milli’s lab for a while and, in truth, we’d made amazing progress. Her first few specimens had barely lasted a week—they’d just waste away after that. But eventually, varying the amount of water and goo that she provided them, Millicent got specimens to survive months and then years. That’s when I’d joined the effort.
Recognizing my frustration, Milli made a proposal. “Let’s use bots for the early development stages? It’s rote now, anyway. Once a Stem gets to this point,” she gestured at the pail of slop, but I understood she meant the pre-ground version, “is when we’ll jump in.” I’d thought of this often; it was heretical.
“They’ll ostracize us.” It was standard practice for researchers to work directly with their specimens throughout the full lifecycle, not to pass that work on to bots, which could never provide the same nuanced care.
“It’s just momentum.” Millicent responded. “We’ll add more value if we do it this way.”
“I’m in,” I exclaimed, focused on removing boredom, ignoring the ethical implications.
The recycler gave a final burp and then fell silent. The factories that provided us with younger Stems would retrieve the sludge. I still didn't understand how these strange beings were produced; all I knew is Millicent had a steady stream of Stems on order so we could advance our experiments. If recycling made that process more efficient, I was all for it. Not once had I complained about using the grinder, despite the mess and noise.
“It’s a plan,” Millicent was grinning. “Let’s program some bots.”
“Let’s go further. Let’s tell everyone what we’re doing. Anonymously.” To my surprise, Milli agreed. Testing the limits of the system thrilled me. It shouldn’t have.
