“But hope isn’t science. A couple anecdotes with happy endings aren’t science. And to better the world, what we need is science. So, much as I loved doing clinical work—and I did, I loved it, it’s what I signed up for—I switched gears and devoted myself to research. I’ve led a number of studies since then, studies like this one, but on a far smaller scale, and with adult subjects. The data our team has collected hasn’t by any means been conclusive—we’ve done, and, for the time being, we will continue doing what us eggheads call pure research—but it’s more than fair to say that it has not disappointed me. The data. It’s given me more hope than ever. And it’s given others hope as well. It’s gotten some attention. Enough attention to attract some rather generous funding. And I mean attract. This current study’s sponsor actually reached out to us. My team. Asked us what we wanted to look into next and what they could do to help. That, however, is all inside baseball—I know. Suffice it to say: things don’t often work out this way. We’ve been very lucky.
“What I’m trying to get at, in so many words, is that, yes, my aim here is to study you, Belt, but the reason that’s my aim is that I want to help you, and to help people like you, and while I can’t make any promises about it, I believe that your being a part of this study—I hope that your being part of this study—I have reason to believe and to hope that your being part of this study—will, in itself, help you. And not only because we’ll be paying for your treatment, but because you’ll get a pet.
“I believe that, in the very near future, pets are going to play a sizable role in the treatment of chronic mental illness, and I believe that Botimals are the pets of the future. I believe that a Botimal would be the best possible pet for you—probably for just about anyone, but especially for you. It’s easy to feed, easier to clean, it smells nice, and I guarantee you that, the moment it hatches, you’ll see it’s more adorable than any animal you’ve ever imagined. Do you know Gremlins? Did you see that movie Gremlins that came out a couple years ago?”
“He was up all night after he saw that,” my mom said. “That movie should have been rated R.”
“Well those gremlins were scary, I’ll give you that. But remember Gizmo the mogwai? Remember how cute he was, and how badly you wished that mogwais were real?”
“I wanted one so bad,” I said.
“You and the rest of the world,” Manx said. “But mogwais, let me tell you—they’ve got nothing on Botimals. Botimals never transform into monsters for one, plus they’re smarter than mogwais, and a thousand times as cute. Now, we started entrance interviews for this study last weekend. I’ve assigned Botimal companions to five different children so far, all of them had the same initial response as you—all of them were hesitant to accept an ovum—and not one has reported any disappointment. One of their mothers even called in to thank us—just yesterday. To thank us! And her son’s the one who’s gonna be helping us do the study. Anyway, I wish I had a photo or tape I could show you. When I met with our sponsors, originally, I should have snapped one myself, but I just didn’t think to. And they told me they’d send some Polaroids along with the shipment of ova for just this reason—so I could give the study’s subjects an idea of just how cute—but when the shipment came in a couple weeks back, there weren’t any photos and, the moment we realized it, we contacted them, and they said they were on it, but for whatever confusing, bureaucratic unreason, we still hadn’t, as of Tuesday, received any, and so that afternoon, we determined it was time to take action ourselves, and I, you see”—Manx pulled back his sleeve, flashing his IncuBanded wrist at us—“we decided I’d try to hatch one myself so that, just in case the photos never got here, I could at least show a Botimal to some of the subjects at their entrance interviews. The photos, as I’ve said, did not come in, and my Botimal, I’m sorry to say, just hasn’t hatched yet. I mean, it should hatch by tomorrow, though that’s no help to you, seeing as you’re here today, and must, I assume, want to choose your companion before you head home. But given all that I’ve just described—and this, at last, is my main point, Belt, Mrs. Magnet—I would, you’d think, be pretty frustrated, but the truth is, any anger you might hear in my voice is forced. It’s a put-on. Primarily, I’m happy things worked out this way. If Graham&Swords had sent the photos they promised, yes, sure, this part of the study might have gone a little more smoothly, but then I wouldn’t have strapped this ovum to my wrist for the sake of—ehem—science, ha-ha, and so I wouldn’t be on the verge of owning my own Botimal. I’m really excited to see the little guy. I can hardly wait.”
“Graham&Swords?” my mom said.
“Our sponsors,” said Manx.
“As in, ‘We do dishes right’? Graham&Swords?”
“Oh!” said Manx. “Yes, yes. I know. What’s even funnier about that is home appliances barely account for a tenth of their business. I only found that out, myself, after they offered to fund the study. The majority of their profits actually comes from armaments, though soon, I bet, it’ll come from Botimals. I think you’ll see what I mean, once Belt’s hatches. Mrs. Magnet, this new pet—you’re gonna wish you had your own. Everyone will.”
“And they’re safe?” my mom said. “I’m assuming they’re safe, or the study—”
“Safe as goldfish,” said Manx. “They don’t bite or scratch. They don’t even get angry. They’re made to please people. Go on. Next question. Maybe how big do they…?”
“How big do they get?”
“There’s a range,” Manx said, “but the biggest one we’ve seen full-grown is about as tall as Belt’s forearm is long. It’ll have two arms, one or two legs—I haven’t seen a one-legged one myself, but I’m told it happens—and it may or may not have a tail that may or may not work like a fifth limb. Or a fourth—depending on the number of legs.”
“One leg? That sounds…”
“The leg, I’m told, is centered. It’s not as though it looks like it’s missing a leg. And I’m told the one-legged ones either use their hands to walk tripedally, or, if they have a limb-like tail, they might rock or hop or, I guess, hoppingly rock back and forth leg-to-tail-to-leg-to-tail to get around. What else can I tell you? It’ll be furry in places, but it doesn’t shed. The fur’s more like felt. In fact the manual calls it ‘velvet.’ The colors vary. The skin colors, too. The voice is quiet, though they sometimes mimic human speech, and they quote-unquote sing when they’re in pain or sense danger. You can teach them tricks—”
“They feel pain?” my mom said.
“Yes.”