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The time between Tommy's last exam and the release of his results was an uncomfortable period. Made so by two factors: his father's outreach, and the immense, cavernous doubt over his life after school. Carl was a mere phone call away, as was Lacey, and his parents. Did he think he was ready to speak with anyone yet? No. Of course not. His thoughts were erratic, swirling incessantly in his fatigued consciousness.

Exams were over. And yet it felt like the end was still to come. The stress and strain of academic performance had wiped Tommy's mind clean of focus. He just needed sleep, and plenty of it, to recharge his batteries.

Sleep would happen. He rested often. But his dreams were populated with dark thoughts. As days went by he found that even being awake and alert did nothing to stifle them, and his distress worsened.

Eric's words were at the forefront of his contemplation. His mom and dad...

The spectre of an uncaring corporate machine lay over them. Overbearing; oppressive. A prison made of their inward-looking instincts, of 'herd' and aught else. He did not want that life for his parents. They made a choice though, and he must abide by it. No matter how damaging it was, they made that decision for the future of their family. He admired that at least.

Under Ms. Cain's management things weren't so bad. Tommy wasn't keen on her as a person, but she did make an effort to connect with him, to assuage him. And now she was inexorably part of his life. A bizarre step-aunt mated to his father. There it was, that all-important 'herd' again. The inescapable bovine bond they'd formed without him.

Life was okay for them, but would that last? He didn't think so. Lacey was bound to bear children for his father. Another set of siblings he might never meet. Sooner or later it would happen, he knew it. And when it did, would she step down from her position to raise them? Would she hand over the reins of her programme to another, who may be less caring, less interested in maintaining the safety and happiness of their subjects?

The whole question was a ticking time-bomb with the potential to destroy his parent's lives. He couldn't personally entertain the notion that Bovinex would turn nastier, all the people he knew from the company were unscrupulous, sure, but not evil. Nowhere could they be called cruel or sadistic. Regardless, what they did was unethical, borderline abusive even. And things could take a turn for the worst in the future.

Oh God, why do I have to have this crisis now!? Why can't I just apply to colleges and finish school like a normal kid? It isn't fucking fair!

Now I'm fretting over my parent's life choices. I can't keep doing this all the god-damn time.

* * *

Spurred on by his fearful imagination, Tommy set about researching as much as possible about Bovinex and similar agri-genetics corporations. Following in his parent's footsteps, he scoured the Internet and public libraries in his spare time for information. Nick tagged along too, still desperate to present himself as a man of letters to woo Amy Langdon. Though he knew nothing of Tommy's intentions, believing his friend to be searching for topics he may take up in college.

He — like his parent's before him — found nothing but conjecture. No solid facts. The only true piece of information was how extensive and far-reaching these firms are. Sure, large corporations were nothing new, especially in the 2090s, and were a common sight in the world – providing all kinds of goods and services. Not real cause for concern on its own. However, it was the inside knowledge — of his parents, and Ms. Cain, what they became — that gave him motivation to suspect the worst.

If Bovinex could do what they did to his dear old mom and dad, what others were out there, lurking in the semi-legal gaps between law and common decency?

His personal moral panic didn't ease up as time passed. It stuck in his soul, eating away at him with worry. There were people he could call (Carl and Lacey to name two) but what would he say?

The realisation struck him: I don't want it to get worse for them. I want them happy.

They want me back. He remembered Eric's heartbreaking letter. And...and...I don't hate them. I never truly did...I was confused, and hurt. Still hurt, actually, but I can get over that.

A second epiphany followed: I can help them. I have to.

It was true. He couldn't just run away forever, leaving them to languish alone on their isolated farm. 'How?' was the important question, not 'why?'.

What can I do to improve their situation? Protest? Be a journalist and investigate properly? Work, he caught himself reflexively rejecting that answer, but pushed it through his mind...work for them?

He recalled Nick's words from a while back. Their talk — one of many — regarding the future. This one in particular seemed to have burrowed deep into his mind, refusing to relent. You might already have an 'in'...

...working in a huge company, starting at the bottom...

You think I have what it takes to brown-nose my way to the top of a major corporation?

There was something to it, his friend's tortured reasoning. Nothing as optimistic as Nick's prediction. But if he got in on the ground floor, he could work towards helping his family, keeping them safe. He had sisters now, mere infants — could he honestly make the decision to disappear from everyone's lives, abandoning any chance of seeing his family grow, or of protecting them?

It's a fuckin' long-shot! But Nick's right. I could do it...I have an 'in'. Fuck, I've better than an 'in'...I've the manager of the company's entire agri-genetics programme living with my parents...

It wasn't enough to have Lacey buy-in to his idea. Given their strict financials he reckoned they wouldn't take on anyone without a compelling reason. He had to give them one.

I'm not seriously considering this, am I? You'd be a fool to not realise what possibility he was entertaining. That offer would get Bovinex's attention. Could he go through with it? That was anybody's guess.

This sounds too good to be true. There's no way I could—

Remember what Nick said!

I...I could see my family again!

'Yes way' I could...holy shit.

I'm gonna need a day or two to think this through...shit...what will I tell Nick if I—

“Ugh," he groaned, “I'll worry about that when I have to." So he set to work.

* * *

The dial tone played out for fifteen rings. Jen, alone in her home as usual, counted them as she wrapped a finger 'round the phone cord. Being nervous made her fidgety...

A familiar male voice answered: “Hello, this is Ms. Hwang-Xhi, yes? It's Mr. Redweather here...Carl, remember? How can I help you?"

Now or never. She'd spent months agonising over her decision, with the last of her finances at stake. Time to go big or go home.

“Hello...Carl. I call to tell you: I accept. Not just selling my land, my house, but..." her breathing was strained, “...but to work."

“Before I agree to any of this, I better tell you what that 'work' I mentioned entails."

“Does not matter, I need it." Honestly, how bad could it be? Sure, it was a big secret over at Bovinex. But she gleaned enough about Carl's character from her prior encounter to know he'd be straight with her.

“You need something to keep you afloat sure. I...don't think over the phone is the best way to explain."

“Then come here."

“I should, shouldn't I?"

“Yes."

* * *

Carl met Jen for the second time at her home. The two engaged in conversation, small talk mostly, for a while. The matter at hand was put off while they re-acquainted themselves. Avoiding it would not last, however, and their talk turned thusly in that fateful direction.

“Our genetics division have a means of altering human DNA, splicing it with material from...other sources."

“Is that true!?" If Jen had a drink to hand, this would be the point she spat out a mouthful. Barring that, she settled for an incredulous look on her face. Not quite jaw hanging open in shock, but the effect was the same.

“Yeah, it's no joke. There were successful tests about a year ago, and we've been inactive on that front since." Carl was savvy enough to avoid mentioning the Reimond family, and the true nature of the testing. It wasn't time to let her in on that secret. It wasn't in his pay grade either!

I could really use Ms. Cain here, he thought. Shame she's an eight-foot Minotaur now.

“Why?"

“We've tried to make changes, improvements to the process. Every time we hit a brick wall. Ms. Cain (our boss) was always concerned our success was a fluke. That we got lucky. Dr. Trimble (he's the brains behind the whole thing) began to agree with her. He keeps rambling about 'rewrite vectors' and 'peak individual tolerances', real technical stuff." Again, he made no mention of Ms. Cain's life today, only that she was still running the show.

“So what do you want from me, if I am to work for you?"

Carl braced himself. Here goes. “Our scientists need another volunteer."

“That would be me?"

“If you agree yes. Since the tests I mentioned Dr. Trimble has been working on making our 'gene therapy' safer. Modifying the process to reduce pain, mental anguish, possibility of diseases or genetic conditions...because I won't lie here, from what they've told me, it was a life-threatening affair." True. It had been a huge risk for Lacey to pull her transformation stunt with Director Evans, if something went wrong he doubted he'd ever be having this conversation.

“And your boss, this Ms. Cain. She continues to approve?"

“She does." Can't really tell her Lacey subjected herself to the process, now can I?

“And you put live testing on hold until you think it is safer..."

“Yep. Got it in one."

Neither spoke for a good ten minutes. Carl could see Jen's mind at work processing what she'd been told. Her ruminations broadcast clear as day through a series of severe facial expressions.

“You won't ever be able to back out," he added, confirming to Jen that this would be the end of her life as she knew it. Will she agree to be a guinea pig for the company? There were questions, of course, but which ones to ask?

“You have told me many strange things, Mr. Redweather." Hey, Carl thought, if this all turns out to be a wash, at the very least she can pronounce my name correctly. Must've practised before I got here.

“Many strange things. Half of which I do not know whether to believe or laugh at."

“Oh please, laugh away! I know it helps me whenever it gets too much."

“I will do it."

“You absolutely sure? You haven't gotten the full picture. I don't have the necessary clearance—"

“Listen, Mr. Redweather. I do not have anything else in my life since the divorce. No friends. No family. No money!" she snorted, “all I have is a fancy house that reminds me of him." She mimed spitting on the ground for effect. “The last interesting thing that happened to me was finding a dead mouse in the water tank. My life is — as you Unimericans say — bull-fucking-shit. I want something interesting; I do not give a 'flying fuck' (am I saying that right?) any more. Poison me. Sicken me. Kill me for all I care! At least then I will feel more alive than I ever have since coming here."

Well, she's got gumption. That's a good start...you're in for a helluva surprise missy.

“After that speech I just can't say no now can I? You're hired!"