Beast of Burden
The Dining Hall of the Villain’s Lair hummed with the low murmur of quiet conversations and the rhythmic clinking of silverware against ceramic plates. It was a stark, utilitarian space, designed for function over comfort, but still filled with the subtle energy of minds constantly at work. People came here not just to eat but to think aloud, to brainstorm, to challenge and be challenged.
At one small table near the window, an anthropologist named *Dr. Leah Moreau* and a historian, *Professor Aaron Clay*, were deep in conversation, oblivious to the activity around them. They leaned in close, their voices dropping to an intimate murmur as if they were discussing secrets of the world only they had the privilege to uncover.
“You know,” Leah began, tracing the rim of her cup with her finger, “I’ve been thinking more about how much we take from the animals we domesticate. It’s like we didn’t just tame them—they changed us too.”
Aaron nodded thoughtfully, taking a slow sip from his glass before responding. “Yeah, it’s like… every time we take on a new beast of burden, we absorb parts of their essence. We don’t just control them; we mimic them.”
“Exactly,” Leah said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Take dogs, for instance. Our oldest companions. We didn’t just train them to hunt—we adopted their pack mentality, their hierarchy. We learned to organize, to lead and follow, to hunt in groups.”
“And then cats,” Aaron added, leaning forward, his voice gaining momentum. “They gave us independence. We watched them, learned their self-reliance, their cruelty even, in how they play with prey. There’s a certain aloofness to humanity, isn’t there? Like we can choose when to care and when not to.”
Leah smiled. “And horses… They taught us about movement, about grazing, which led us to agriculture. We became settlers, moving with the herds, controlling the land.”
The conversation had a rhythm to it now, a flow that was pulling in new ideas with every sentence.
“But what about now?” Leah asked, her voice quiet but heavy with significance. “What’s our beast of burden in the modern era? It’s not animals anymore, not really.”
Aaron tapped his fingers on the table, his brows furrowing. “Machines, maybe? AI? Or…”
“Fungus,” Leah interrupted, her tone decisive. Aaron looked at her, intrigued. “Think about it. We’ve been using fungi for everything—from antibiotics to food production. We’ve grown dependent on them, not just for survival but for recycling, for interconnected networks. Fungi are nature’s recyclers, breaking down waste and returning nutrients to the ecosystem.”
“And antibiotics… We've gained the ability to recycle resources and to build vast networks, just like fungi,” Aaron mused, nodding. “It’s the mycelium beneath the surface, linking everything together.”
Across the room, *Tom Greeves*, a member of the Mars Terraforming Initiative, had been listening intently, unable to keep his focus on his own meal. The conversation had drawn him in, like the gravitational pull of a new and captivating idea. He was intrigued by their hypothesis, and after a few minutes of quiet listening, he couldn’t resist joining.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tom said, standing up and moving toward their table. “But I couldn’t help overhearing. This idea you’re talking about—about humans taking traits from our beasts of burden—it’s fascinating. And I wonder… have you considered which animals we might take with us to Mars?”
Leah and Aaron glanced at each other, intrigued by the unexpected guest in their conversation.
“Not yet,” Leah replied, gesturing for Tom to sit. “But now that you mention it, it would be an ideal testing ground.”
Tom took a seat, leaning forward, his eyes bright with interest. “Exactly. The way you’re talking about humans and animals, it sounds like we could gain new traits or ways of thinking based on what animals we rely on in new environments. Mars is a blank slate. What could we take there to shape not only the environment but ourselves?”
Aaron tapped his fingers again. “Well, the obvious choice is something like horses or cattle—animals that can provide food and transportation. But maybe it’s deeper than that. What kind of symbiosis would we want? What can we learn from animals that we haven’t yet?”
“Bees,” Leah said suddenly. “They’re essential for pollination, yes, but also for communication. They work together with such precision. If we took bees to Mars, maybe we’d learn new ways to coordinate in extreme environments.”
Tom smiled. “Or maybe we need something more adaptable. What about octopuses? They’re incredibly intelligent, capable of solving complex problems and changing their environments to suit their needs. On Mars, adaptability will be key.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Octopuses on Mars? I like the idea. We might learn something about flexibility—about changing our mental structures to survive in an alien world.”
“And what about pigs?” Leah added. “They’re intelligent, social, and great at finding resources. They might help us figure out how to make Mars more habitable, finding hidden nutrients or teaching us new ways to farm in soil that isn’t conducive to Earth-based crops.”
Tom leaned back, his mind racing. “This could be revolutionary. What if the animals we bring to Mars don’t just help us survive—they change us in the process? They could teach us how to think and operate in ways we haven’t even imagined yet.”
A few days later, Tom Greeves found himself back in the dining hall of the Villain’s Lair. He glanced around the room, searching for the familiar faces of Leah Moreau and Aaron Clay. His mind had been buzzing ever since their conversation about beasts of burden and human evolution, and he wasn’t coming back alone.
Beside him stood Neil Reyes, a zoologist who had been a critical part of the Mars Terraforming Initiative’s ecological research. Neil had always been fascinated by how different species adapted to extreme environments, and Tom knew he’d find the ongoing discussion irresistible.
“There they are,” Tom said, pointing to a table in the corner where Leah and Aaron were already seated, deep in conversation as usual.
Neil followed Tom across the room, adjusting his glasses and giving a slight nod to the two scholars as they approached. “Mind if we join you again?” Tom asked with a grin.
Leah looked up and smiled warmly. “Not at all. Pull up a chair.”
“Leah, Aaron—this is Neil,” Tom said, introducing his friend as they sat down. “He’s been working with me on the Mars project, specifically on which species might thrive in that kind of environment.”
Neil leaned forward, intrigued. “Tom told me about your discussion the other day. I think you’re onto something, especially with the idea that animals shape not just our survival but the way we think.”
Aaron nodded. “Thanks. We’ve been thinking more about it ourselves. The challenge, though, is figuring out which species would give us the most meaningful insights if we took them to a place like Mars.”
“That’s exactly why I brought Neil,” Tom said, gesturing to him. “He knows more about animals’ behavioral traits than anyone I’ve worked with.”
Leah smiled at Neil. “So, what do you think? If we’re trying to bring animals to Mars, not just for survival but to see how they might change us, what’s your first instinct?”
Neil crossed his arms, thinking for a moment. “The first question we have to ask is what we need to learn. What are the gaps in our behavior, our thinking, that might hold us back in a place like Mars?”
“Adaptability, for one,” Leah said. “We’re great at making technology to adapt, but as a species, we’re a little slow at adjusting mentally.”
“And we’ll need better cooperation and communication in harsh environments,” Aaron added. “Living in small colonies on Mars will require close coordination. We won’t be able to afford any misunderstandings or breakdowns in community.”
Neil nodded. “Exactly. And one species that’s been on my mind since Tom brought this up is *prairie dogs*.”
Leah blinked in surprise. “Prairie dogs? The little rodents that tunnel in the ground?”
Neil smiled. “They’re more than that. Prairie dogs have one of the most complex communication systems of any mammal. Their language is advanced—they have specific calls for different types of predators, distinguishing not just between a hawk and a coyote but between individual hawks. They live in vast, peaceful communities, working together in a way that mirrors human societies.”
Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“They live underground in intricate tunnel systems,” Neil continued. “If we’re thinking about Mars, one of the first things colonists will need to do is build underground habitats to shield themselves from radiation. Prairie dogs could teach us new ways to dig and structure subterranean homes in ways that are efficient and stable.”
Leah leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “And their social structure? You think we could learn from that too?”
“Absolutely,” Neil said. “Prairie dogs don’t just live in families—they form massive colonies that span miles. And they communicate constantly, keeping each other updated on what’s going on in the environment, sharing resources, and even organizing sentinels to watch for danger. Humans on Mars would need to operate similarly.”
Tom nodded, impressed by how well the pieces were falling into place. “That makes sense. Prairie dogs would teach us not just about building and survival but about staying connected in a harsh and isolated environment.”
Leah tapped her finger against the table thoughtfully. “It’s more than just digging or communication, though, isn’t it? We’d be learning how to think collectively in a way we don’t on Earth—how to rely on shared information and instinct in real time.”
“And how to live peacefully in tight quarters,” Aaron added. “We’re not talking about spreading out like we can here on Earth. Mars is all about cooperation, about leaning on each other to survive.”
Neil leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Exactly. Prairie dogs would give us a different perspective on survival in a harsh environment. They’d help us tap into something more communal, more fluid, which is exactly what we’ll need on Mars.”
Tom looked at Leah and Aaron, feeling the excitement build in the room. “So… what do you think? Prairie dogs as the first test species for Mars?”
Leah smiled, clearly intrigued. “I think it’s brilliant. It’s the perfect combination of communication, community, and adaptability.”
Aaron chuckled. “Not to mention their ability to thrive underground. I bet they’d be more comfortable on Mars than we would.”
The four of them sat in silence for a moment, letting the idea sink in. It felt right—prairie dogs were an unexpected but perfect choice to shape humanity’s thinking and survival on Mars.
Tom broke the silence. “Alright, so how do we make this happen?”
Neil grinned. “That’s the easy part. I’ve got access to prairie dog colonies back on the mainland through some of my colleagues. The challenge will be designing the right habitats for them on Mars, and building relationships between them and the human martians.”
Leah nodded, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll bet we can get some of the engineers on board to design something. They’ve been itching for a real test of underground living anyway.”
Aaron grinned. “And I’ll write up the historical precedent for bringing prairie dogs along. Who knows? Maybe they’ll be the key to unlocking human adaptability on Mars.”
Tom felt a sense of satisfaction settle over the group. What had started as a simple conversation had evolved into something much bigger—an experiment that could shape the future of Mars colonization. And, just like that, the Villain’s Lair was about to spark yet another innovation.