FEATURED STORY
RECENT STORIES
STORIES BY TOPIC
NEWS
TRANSPORTER
Take me to a...
SEARCH
Enter any portion of the author name or story title:
For more options, try our:
SUBSCRIBE
Sign up for free daily sci-fi!
your email will be kept private
TIDBITS
Get a copy of Not Just Rockets and Robots: Daily Science Fiction Year One. 260 adventures into new worlds, fantastical and science fictional. Rocket Dragons Ignite: the anthology for year two, is also available!
SUBMIT
Publish your stories or art on Daily Science Fiction:
If you've already submitted a story, you may check its:
DAILY SCI-FI
Not just rockets & robots...
"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.






art by Melissa Mead

Ned Thrall

Amalia Dillin began as a Biology major before taking Latin and falling in love with old heroes and older gods, but sometimes she relapses into science in her fiction. She lives in Connecticut with her husband, and dreams of the day when she will have space for goats (or maybe space goats). You can find Amalia online at blog.amaliadillin.com and on twitter @AmaliaTd.

...choose from a wide variety of the finest genes. Galactic athletes, interstellar stars, and even Dr. Habber's own genetic material is on file in our banks. Remember, with the right combination of traits, you'll be giving your child the best start to a successful life!
"Can't you turn that off?" Ned asked. "Is there a reason I have to suffer that insult every time I show up for a check-up? How do you think that makes me feel?"
The medical-bot raised its head, staring at him with yellow eyes. "If you'd like to record your feelings for the doctor, you may begin now."
Ned cursed and kicked its plastic chassis with his hairy foot. "I don't want to record my feelings. I want you to shut off the effing advertisements, you pile of bolts."
"Does the advertisement make you feel angry, sir?"
He growled. "How would you like to be treated as a second class citizen just because you weren't grown in the right kind of vat? You think just because Homo sapiens learned to fight dirty faster that it gives you the right to jerk with peoples' chromosomes? By all rights I should be particles of cosmic dust right now, but no, you fools just can't leave well enough alone. Thanks for nothing, Doc!"
"Saved to your file, sir," the bot said. "The doctor will see you now."
It floated away before Ned could give it another piece of his mind, and he scowled, rubbing at his oversized and too-hairy jaw. He'd need to go see the specialist. Body fur was sprouting everywhere, again. And of course all the fancy zap-it-once-gone-forever hair removal treatments weren't approved for use on Neanderthals. Only Humans got that kind of perk. The ones that were even designed to grow body hair at all, anyway.
"Well, well! Ned! And how is life outside the crèche? Are you assimilating well?" Dr. Habber took out a scanner, plugging it into Ned's ear without so much as a by-your-leave. "Good, good. Brain function is still high. Impressive how the genes haven't deteriorated yet. I wouldn't have thought we'd have a viable male for years, but there you were. Kicking and screaming and ready to club us over the head." Dr. Habber laughed, and Ned's hands balled into fists, his heavy brow falling over his eyes.
"Andy will be reaching maturity soon, too, you know. We'll set the two of you up in a nice place. Food and shelter is in the contract, of course! And a bonus for any children. Even still-born! Anything we can pull the genes from will do quite nicely!"
"And then what?" Ned growled. "You want us to have kids so you can take them apart? Offer us on special to the paying customers with odd tastes?"
Dr. Habber laughed again, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't be silly, boy! It's your stock we need for that new planet opening up. You'll get a nice world all to yourselves as soon as we've worked out the kinks with the crumbling DNA. Well. At least until it's been terraformed into something habitable. Then I suppose they'll move your kind to the next one...."
"My kind."
"Today's human is hardly fit for that kind of labor. Not a shred of insulation left on our bones anymore. No one wants any kind of fat. We don't even stock it! And of course you've the natural strength, that fine pelt on your back, and the thicker bone structure. Built for hard labor, even if you are bit on the primitive side."
Ned's knuckles cracked when his fist hit the doctor's face. The man's jaw snapped and Dr. Habber dropped like a rock to the floor.
"Sorry, Doc," he said. Even if the man was unconscious the room would record it and put it in his file. "Must've been the Neanderthal coming out. Nature versus Nurture, you know."
He made sure to stop at the desk for his lollipop on the way out.
The End
This story was first published on Wednesday, November 9th, 2011


Author Comments

Ned Thrall sprang from a challenge by a fellow writer to stretch myself. A series of conditions were set, including genre, and a doctor named Habber. Maybe someday Andy will throw a few punches, too.

- Amalia Dillin
Become a Member!

We hope you're enjoying Ned Thrall by Amalia Dillin.

Please support Daily Science Fiction by becoming a member.

Daily Science Fiction is not accepting memberships or donations at this time.

Rate This Story
Please click to rate this story from 1 (ho-hum) to 7 (excellent!):

Please don't read too much into these ratings. For many reasons, a superior story may not get a superior score.

5.3 Rocket Dragons Average
Share This Story
Join Mailing list
Please join our mailing list and receive free daily sci-fi (your email address will be kept 100% private):