Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write for the FANTASY and/or SCI FI Genre (10/16/14)
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TITLE: What a Man Ought to Do | Previous Challenge Entry
By Ann Stocking
10/23/14 -
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Wyn waved the status holograph away, giving him the image of the cow barn. Three hundred cows stood in the facility's maternity pens, swishing their tails nonchalently, rhythmically chewing their cuds. Each cow was identical, down to the whorls on their foreheads. Designer bovines. Clones.
The BSE crisis in the twenty-first century hadn't held a candle to the Brucellosis pandemic of 2258, in which the bacteria mutated into carcinogenic material, killing millions, humans and animals alike, followed by acute soil contamination from industrial disasters and military conflicts. Synthetic food had saved the race, but now society wished to be nourished by real food, meat and potatoes, as it had been in the last millennium.
Like my dad always said, Wyn thought. "Given time, the earth will repair itself." These cows were conceived in an aqueous capsule and live in a controlled environment, but someday, cows will eat real grass, instead of fodder made of detoxified wood cellulose infused with elemental formula.
The cowbird alighted on another cow, and the data for BF3111 came up. Yesterday, BF3111's slight increase in progesterone levels signified labour was imminent; now, a sharp spike showed she was in active labour. Take your time, Buttercup.
Wyn swept away the information, and a life-sized horse and rider rode up in a resounding crescendo. It was Wyn's ninety-sixth viewing of Hondo. He settled back in his chair, and for the thousandth time wished he had been born in another century, when cowboys were king and roamed the range. It was why he'd trained in biotechnology and taken the position at the experimental farm; it was as close as he'd ever come to realizing his dream.
Halfway through the movie, the status hologram superimposed itself over The Duke.
BF3111 was in distress. Her heart rate was accelerated and cortisol levels were escalating. Her calf's vitals were also abnormal. Wyn pulled up the camera view of the barn, and when he signalled for sound volume, BF3111's frantic bawling filled the room. He zoomed in on her. She was panting and straining, but worse, only one calf hoof was protruding.
Impossible. These animals were perfect, in all ways. Disease free, contaminant free, and designed to calf without complications or intervention.
Wyn thought quickly. Command the cowbird to jetfuse a dose of birth accelerant? No, no, no. Painkiller? There was no protocol for an abnormal presentation. BF3111 heaved and bellowed again. Lights flashed as her vitals soared into crisis range. The other alternative was to order the drone to euthanize BF3111, and that was against Wyn's own principles. BF3111 was one of God's creatures, an archaic notion, Wyn knew, but he'd vowed to always be a good shepherd to the animals in his care.
What would a real cowboy do? What would John Wayne say? The answer was clear as tylaxium crystal to Wyn.
He grabbed sterile coveralls from the cupboard. Exiting the control chamber, Wyn ran through the connecting tunnel. Three biosecurity hatches opened at his voice, and when he entered the barn, the cows stared, wide-eyed at his intrusion. He found BF3111, led by her insistent bawling. The tiny, single hoof still protruded. Wyn took a deep breath, and using his instinct, reached inside, finding the other hoof near the calf's nose. He tried to pull, but the hoof was too slick. He tore a sleeve from the coveralls, ripped it into strips, and made a loop. Reaching inside again, he slipped the loop over the hoof. When BF3111 strained again, Wyn pulled with all his strength. The hoof advanced, and with BF3111's next contraction, Wyn pulled again, and the calf slid out in a rush of birthing fluid.
The cowbird hovered at Wyn's head, warning lights flashing. "Situation contained," Wyn said. "Evaluate." The drone obeyed, first touching down on BF3111, then on the newborn calf being licked by its mom. Wyn reluctantly retreated, knowing the program was jeopardized by every second he lingered. He patted BF3111 for the first, and last, time.
"Adios, Buttercup."
Back in the control chamber, Wyn closed his eyes, savouring the galloping of his heartbeat and the swell of adrenaline, like a sagebrush-scented wind, surging through his veins.
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God bless~
I enjoyed your entry. Great job!
I liked,
"The answer was clear as tylaxium crystal to Wyn."
Had to grab my dictionary, love new words!
Loving you in and through and because of the Christ, Judi
1 Timothy 3:16 KJV
God bless~