Nothing. Bear 7 said nothing. He looked at the camera without reaction.
Dr Mackenzie stood behind the lens monitoring him from her research station three meters away. Little red dots lit up the bear’s dense brown fur, hovering over his heart and head. Mackenzie knew that there would also be pinpricks of red on the back of her lab coat, marking out her vital organs for a fatal shot.
She lowered her chin to the microphone in her lapel. ‘Give him a moment. Let him think. Please.’
She admonished herself for the last word: too emotional, they’d know.
The red lights blinked off. Her shoulders dropped a little. A buzz in her ear: ‘There are billions of people watching, Doctor. We’re live. Do you know what that means? The other bears didn’t take this long.’
She tried to focus on the details around her, how many waxwings were chirruping, but it was difficult to distinguish which song was piped in or which buzz and chitter was real. Nature had begun to take over the space. She’d let it happen, helped it even. In truth, she needed to know if the wild could still win.
The answer was blooming now: tufted moss sprouted wherever it pleased; warblers multiplied, showing up in blue, yellow and brown flashes through the leaves; mice and voles tunnelled in despite the electric fence. Admittedly, the cameras were as abundant as the black and white spruce, jackpine and tamarack, that had been carefully cultivated from frozen seeds. No cuttings to be taken. Everything must be accounted for and approved. Now this invisible ark was filling up by itself, without a thought for lists or protocol.
Bear 7 had lived this freedom, the kind she’d only ever seen in nature documentaries. It was the other bears who’d been the real captives. Sacrifices. Preparatory research undertaken off the airwaves, in laboratories that smelt of bleach every morning.
Bear 7 was different. He’d been chosen: voted in by the public at birth, his near natural existence televised live for all to see.
He was a hit. His comical yawning, scratching and stretching had kept him in peoples’ hearts for 23 months. Ratings soared whenever he stood up on his hind legs and rubbed himself to and fro on the gnarled bark of a fir tree, grunting and moaning with abandonment. Untamed and free, he was what people still dreamt of.
But right now he needed to talk and he definitely wasn’t talking. This was what they were waiting for. This was what they were expecting.
‘He’s a wild bear, sir. Please remember that’s why he’s here. He will need approximately five minutes to process his new thought patterns and ability. It was all in the final paper I submitted. Page 121.’ Her voice was still firm despite the tremble in her body.
Silence.
A crackle in her ear: ‘We’re going to adverts. Five minutes.’
Dr Mackenzie breathed out slowly. Her hands shook as she swiped at the statistics on the monitor in front of her. Nerves. Good. She was still alive then. Sometimes it didn’t feel like it. The tiny speck of who she really was lay lost amongst all the lies and safeguarding of her project.
The bear shifted his weight and pushed out a deep sigh. His lips curled up with the expulsion of air and his bright pink jowls flashed for a second.
The public would have laughed at that, she thought. His eyes seemed to focus on the camera. Mackenzie peered through the lens again. His pupils weren’t contracted and that was good; heart-rate was steady but speeding up slightly. He stretched his thick arms above his head, flexing huge black claws: normal behaviour on waking.
Ratings soared whenever he stood up on his hind legs and rubbed himself to and fro on the gnarled bark of a fir tree, grunting and moaning with abandonment. Untamed and free, he was what people still dreamt of.
Her earpiece crackled. ‘We’ve got movement?’
‘Preliminary stretches, sir. As I said, he needs time to process. Won’t be long now.’
‘I’m looking at your report, Doctor. Any sign of negative emotions?’
Her head swam from the fear of her own words, typed out onto clean pages. ‘He’s at preliminary stages, sir. Impossible to say more.’
‘We’ve got a ten-second delay, Doctor. It’s all they would allow. We have to comply with the global vote and broadcast live. Today we make history but any signs of aggression from the subject and we shoot to kill.’
The bear moved his head from side to side, as if rolling out the tension in his neck. Mackenzie had to stop herself from copying him. She focused on his face, his eyes. There were no signs of combative emotions. The strange thing was, there were no signs of any extra cognisance.
The other subjects had changed far quicker. An immediate contraction of the pupils equalled rage. A clear expansion signalled unstoppable euphoria. Admittedly, there had been some confusion and insanity, and one immediate death due to a brain that couldn’t handle the new parts. Her work was exploratory – there were bound to have been casualties. But she hadn’t been prepared for just how many ‘pilots’ they would need.
Apes had failed by being too chatty and not ‘new enough’ to win over the public. Dogs were unable to cope with more than a few words. Cats had been strictly prohibited due to their potential eloquence. So the list had gone on, as the cadavers piled up and the red tape wound tighter and tighter around Mackenzie’s neck.
Then came the bears, with their large and complex brain structures, that proved hardy and stable. A bear had been a good choice they had said: human-ish, able to show deep emotion in those beguiling round eyes, yet steady. What the world needed now was the idea of steady and safe. And what the Government needed was to train people to vote. Pushing the button had worked for decades; the problem was keeping it fresh.
She looked at Bear 7, at his huge body, dense brown fur flecked with silver, his expressive face. He was wild and she’d loved him for that – almost as much as she hated the Government for what they’d done to that dream.
The bear opened his mouth. She started backwards and raised her hand instinctively to her earpiece. Wait for the cameras, please.
Silence.
He snapped his jaws closed and started to make a chewing motion with his mouth. Mackenzie smiled thinly, trying to mask the feeling of heaviness in her chest. This was it: the beginning of speech production.
Other subjects had made it this far and beyond: the bear who’d demanded water in a voice as gravely as a geriatric patient; the one who’d said, ‘Nice to meet you,’ before trying to eat the research team; the small big-eyed bear who had looked at Mackenzie with such innocence and said, ‘Mama’. Every time she passed his cage he’d added vocabulary that grew at a toddler’s rate: ‘Mama, play’; ‘Mama, wait’.
It was a shame he hadn’t been the final subject; the world would have cooed and ahhed over his sweetness – at least for a while. The public was as insatiable for novelty as the Government was for votes.
the small big-eyed bear had looked at Mackenzie with such innocence and said, ‘Mama’. Every time she passed his cage he’d added vocabulary that grew at a toddler’s rate: ‘Mama, play’; ‘Mama, wait’
She remembered his last words and shuddered. He was the one who appeared in her dreams: the same begging expression; that question over and over, ‘Mama, why?’. She’d had the answer once, but now she turned over night after night, took another sleeping pill, and left the memory of his unanswered pleas hanging in the air.
‘Doctor, we’re leaving adverts in 30 seconds and counting.’
‘Agreed, sir. Current state is still preliminary and normal. All clear.’
‘We need something.’
‘With respect, sir, trust the science. We’ve waited two years – two minutes shouldn’t be impossible.’
‘Any longer and you know it’ll go to final vote.’
She winced. Damn the final vote. Millions of people with zero attention spans and jerky thumbs deciding who lives and dies. Give them a bit of control and a sense of justice; keep their eyes locked on their interactive screens and away from the unspeakable things happening in unwatched corners of the world. How dare they threaten Bear 7 with that.
Her original proposal had been to work with real boreal forest access, conducting her investigation in situ and learning what wild animals wanted to say with her device. But times had changed. The forest had disappeared, its status reassigned due to water shortages. No mention of the oil drilling in public, of course. The Government had twisted her idea into a forest-cam reality show to replace the now smoking carcass that was the North. Distraction. They couldn’t afford any errors.
She had, at least, demanded two years. Time enough to try; to add the extra five minutes she needed by carefully tweaking seconds onto every set of statistics. Time enough to make herself their enemy.
Bear 7 crossed and uncrossed his arms and stood up majestically on two legs. Mackenzie held her breath for a second. He was beautiful. He deserved better. They all did.
The bear swiped his large paw forwards, as if attacking an unseen intruder. Red lights danced on his chest again. He coughed and started to make strange noises in his throat, churning his tongue over and over in his mouth, foaming a little at the sides.
‘Doctor?’
‘This is good. Physical recognition of new abilities. Following protocol. All positive.’ She heard the shake in her own voice.
The red spots disappeared. But then a thought: did she really want him to speak? She’d patiently planned this moment. The naive dream of being citizens of the world together replaced by a longing for revenge, a simple desire to make them listen. She wanted rawness, some sort of truth; not just a, ‘Hello, it’s wonderful to be here’.
The bear yawned. Mackenzie smiled a little. It was the same comically gaping mouth that had kept the public hooked for nearly two years. There was something about the slightly indulgent nature of his movements that made people love him. Even his hibernation had been entertaining. As he slept people had taken comfort from his peaceful expression and deep breathing. The Bear 7 Sleeping Club claimed he’d cured years of insomnia, nightmares and fears. He hadn’t cured hers though.
Bear 7 crossed and uncrossed his arms and stood up majestically on two legs. Mackenzie held her breath for a second. He was beautiful. He deserved better. They all did.
She wanted this to be over; her betrayal public and the longed-for bullet to hit her upper spine and free her of guilt and doubt. Most of all, she wanted people to look away from their screens and consider the truth.
She searched his face now for signs of it: memory recognition. It was possible that his brain would implode; too much information for one life. But she was sure of him, of her months of research that had added just a little more information to each bear’s ‘wake up call’ every time.
Bear 7 was calm, chewing on his cheek. She hoped he was processing all of the uncensored data she had included: a cerebral cipher to open the neurons and activate his ‘hive mind’. He should be receiving data from the collective consciousness of any still-living animals, wild or caged. He would know what they were surviving. He would have something real to say.
Finally, we are able to hear a wild animal speak. You’ve watched him and loved him. You’ve voted for his every need and now he has something to say to us. We are live and uncensored.’
The bear took a step forward. He looked straight at her. She jerked up from the lens to meet his gaze. There was no doubt: hive memory recognition complete. She swiped the screen and pressed her shaking finger onto the green button.
‘Sir, we are ready to go. Preliminary phase complete. Green light on the subject.’
‘Received. Broadcasting live.’ There was a pause. ‘I hope for your sake, Doctor, that he’s got something funny to say.’
Mackenzie yanked out her earpiece and unclipped her microphone. Her fingers pulled at the collar of her lab coat. Bear 7 was in full view. He closed his eyes. A slight furrow in his brow.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to him. His brown chest rose and fell. A tinny message played over the speakers,
‘Welcome back, global citizens. We’re live at Bear 7’s Boreal Sanctuary and we welcome you to this historic moment. Finally, we are able to hear a wild animal speak. You’ve watched him and loved him. You’ve voted for his every need and now he has something to say to us. We are live and uncensored.’
Mackenzie could barely take in the air necessary to breathe. She took a final look at the forest. The trees swayed lightly in the breeze as if waving goodbye. They had grown back; her question answered by their unfurling leaves. It would be alright.
The bear’s heartrate on her monitor began to increase rapidly. Her finger trembled on the green button. She couldn’t see his pupils. Mackenzie willed him on: Do it. Tell the truth. Tell them!
He opened his eyes: pupils at maximum contraction; facial signs of grief.
She swiped down to cancel the recording of his data: biometric signs of deep sorrow.
The bear fixed his mournful gaze on the camera and spoke.
This story was selected for our Wildlife Showcase in Issue 87 by the ecopoet Isabel Galleymore.
CARYS SHANNON is a part-time English language teacher in Andalucía. She has an MPhil in Writing and, before moving to Spain in 2013 (in what she calls ‘a very late coming-of-age experience’), she worked in theatre and arts projects. A committed vegan, she has two rescue cats and counts nature as one of her greatest inspirations.
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