Jason laughed. “A captive breeding program. Sounds nice. Probably got one bloke for every ten chicks or something. I could do with that.”

Shelley shook her head. "I don't know who told you that but that's crap. Absolute crap. If they wanted to breed more of us they'd use artificial insemination. But they won't, because they don't need more of us.”

"So you think a disease is really what they're working on,” I said.

"Yes.”

"Well then thank God we're not going to the lab," I said. I didn't want to be a guinea pig in an experiment; what looks like science to a researcher looks like sadism to the mice. As for her theory about the disease, it was meaningless, more third-hand regurgitated rumors I'd often heard gossip claiming the Mods would infect us, or irradiate us with neutron guns, or gas us from the air, that time was running out. Of course it was possible, but when it came to assembly line work, we Mongrels were cheaper than biorobots or nanomachines. You don't kill off your labor force, however truculent it may be. “Doesn't matter how bad the work camp is,” I added, “it's better than that.”

"Wait until you get there before you say that,” Shelley chided. “It'll probably be one of the landfills they have up north."