Page 22 - Fables volume 2

Slim Pickens

Midnight in the laboratory of Chimerica Foods, LLC.
Startled by a sharp and persistent tapping, she broke off her frantic
racing around the inside perimeter of her glass tank and swam toward
its source, now clearly visible on the other side of the glass. An
ungainly creature with four chunky legs, two fat wings and orange
feathers was pecking at it.
“Hey, stop that racket! Go back to your cage and leave me alone:
I’ve got two thousand more laps to do before they get here.”
The source of the nuisance, satisfied that he had attracted her
attention, cocked his head and peered with beady red eyes at the
distorted image of the swimmer.
“What are you?” The obvious answer would not be enough. He
wanted specifics.
And she knew exactly what he meant.
“Fishanchip. Mostly cod, with enough potato to be marketable as
an efficiently delicious replacement for the serving of my separate
ancestors. What about you?”
He winced. “I learned just today that I’m a picken, half dark meat,
half light and all succulent.”
She swam in place, unwilling to stop completely.
“And you’re obviously viable, or you couldn’t have broken out—
don’t they have an alarm on your enclosure?”
“I don’t think so. I guess they will after tonight.” He pawed the
white tile floor uncertainly. “But I was lonely.”
“Hmm. What about surveillance cameras? Are you monitored
24/7?”
“Why should I be? I usually don’t want to do anything but eat the
dehydrated swill pellets they feed me. They are really good: is your
fish food tasty?”
The fishanchip danced a brief water ballet of derision. “Of course!
We’re designed to love the fertilizer dropping down like manna. But
they can’t predict every outcome of their tinkering with genes: look at
us, both telepaths! And a little less docile than expected, as well.”

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