Thomas returned from the medical waste dumpster to find the rest of the research team gathered around the table. Zacherle was there with Singh, Ngyen, and Whitman. They all looked concerned so the news must have already been broken. They even forgot a stack of styrofoam takeout containers that had not made it into the work fridge yet.
Thomas was a mutation specialist. Zacherle’s specialty was cloning and the only reason they could even produce the “animals” in the first place. The others were physiology, reproduction, and morphology.
N. “What about modifying their lactose tolerance?”
Z. “Thomas already proposed that. Still a moot point unless you can pull a few million dollars out of your back pocket.”
W. “Lactose free milk?”
Z. “We can try some, but it still won’t fix the larger problem. No one is going to want to get a toy pet designed for ease of care that requires extra care.”
S. “What if we formulate a softer kibble.”
Z. “We wouldn’t get them from the supplier until these all died anyway.”
S. “But if the milk replacement works until then it might work.”
Z. “I can ask, but its clear cut that we’re being shuttered. Unless we can get them on solids by Friday they will probably tell us to terminate the remaining ones.”
The smell of garlic hit Thomas’s nose. He had stayed to watch over the filly. “Is that mine?” he pointed at the box with an R written in sharpie on the top. “Yep.” Ngyen said, she pushed it across the table to him. They continued to sit around the table and workshop ideas fruitlessly.
Thomas carried it over to his desk, opened it and began to dig into the pesto with a plastic fork. It was lukewarm now, but he was so hungry he didn’t even bother to microwave it. As the food hit his stomach he was overwhelmed with satisfaction as his hunger was satiated. He turned to thank the others for bringing him food.
He made eye contact with a yellow pegasus colt standing up against the bars of his cage on the far side of the lab. Singh had done an excellent job on the physiology as it could smell his food from here. It looked at him like a sad puppy with its oversized eyes. The pesto had garlic. The sauce would be toxic to them if he even let it lick the box after he was done.
He chewed with guilt now. The foals were starving while he ate food that would kill them. He decided he would head upstairs to the break room to finish eating. Then an idea crossed his mind. “Hey Singh, you got the plain butter sauce, right?” He called back, “Yes, why?”