6. Born to serve
Mister Walket leaned back in his chair with disinterest. Sit facing on the other side of the desk, sat the vet, an old badger in a white coat, nervously tugging at his tie.
"You wanted to speak to me, Dr. Marten?" Mister Walket asked.
"Yes… yes, indeed," the badger stuttered. "The conditions in which you treat the prisoners and is no longer tolerable."
Mister Walket looked in surprise. "How come? We are very hygienic here."
Dr. Marten nervously wiped his head. "They don't get enough to eat. And the methods you use to extract the venom are unreasonable."
Mister Walket shrugged. "The less they eat, the less dirt they make."
Dr. Marten leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the wolf. "You forget that they are reptiles and not mammals like me and you. These species need warmth. At least lamps. Best sun's energy. Otherwise, their production output will be affected. Their quality is declining."
"According to our laboratory, the quality values are still within the normal range," Mister Walket said indifferently.
"Near the limit," Dr. Marten pointed out, straighten him out. "I looked at some animals. Most are practically parched from too much venom milking. It won't be long before I can declare an animal unfit for venom production again."
"Then we'll just replace it with another one," was Mister Walket's only reply. "There are venomous animals in the world like sand on the sea."
For a moment there was silence.
Dr. Marten glanced at the ceiling before continuing. "Why all this?"
"Why for what?"
"Why do you treat the prisoners in such a degrading way? I'm sure if you housed them professionally and hired them like they did for a company, then the yield of the venom would definitely be much better and better quality."
Mister Walket grinned and raised his index finger in an instructive manner. "Prisoners are cheaper than workers." He folded his hands on his stomach. "Besides, venomous animals have no right to stay in the world. It is only because of them that we have to produce the venom for antivenom."
Now it was Dr. Marten raising his index finger. "You forget that with some venom we can make potent medicines."
"Despite it. Venomous animals are venomous animals, created solely to kill. Such creatures deserve no respect."
His opponent gritted his teeth. "Their venom was purely for defense and for digesting food."
"But there are still those who use it like a revolver."
"The fewest. And most of the time, they're just criminals. They always conserve their venom."
"I don't want an argument! The treatment of prisoners will not change." Mister Walket pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "The next animal that is ineffective for venom production goes into the slaughter room. Reptile skin still sells well on the black market." He put the cigarette in his mouth, but before he lit it, he pulled it out again. "By the way, while we're on the subject. You will probably get a new one in your practice today. If he's no good, then do it. You know what I mean." He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.
In the next moment, someone knocked on the door.
Mister Walket said an annoyed "Yes, come in" and the door opened. A desert cat stuck his head in.
"The Gila animal can't do it anymore," he reported. "I'll take him to the... Oh, Doctor, good, you're here. I'll send it to you this afternoon."
Without saying goodbye, the door closed again.
Dr. Marten's eyes wandered back to the wolf, who was grinning at him. "Well, looks like you're going to make a decision today. Either it'll be operational again tomorrow, or we'll look for a new one."