"Oh." He traced a finger through the grime on the floor. Suddenly I remembered him saying, "I can't read."
Knowing he was watching me, I slowly drew the letter A on the floor, making little trails through the dirt. Then I drew an R. And an I.
"That spells Ari," I told him. I drew it again, slowly. A...R...I. "Now you do it."
He started the A, then stopped. "What's the point?" he asked, and I was stung because he was right. He didn't have much time left. Did it really matter if he knew how to read?
"You should know how to write your name," I said firmly, pushing his hand toward the floor again. "Come on. First A."
Concentrating, Ari dragged one ragged claw through the dirt. He made a rickety, asymmetrical A.
"A drunk monkey could do better, but you'll get there," I said. "Do the R."
He started on the R, first drawing it backward. I didn't know if this was normal for his age or whether his brain had been affected by all the experiments done on him. I rubbed it out and showed him how to do it correctly.
Jeb had taught me and Fang to read. I'd taught Gazzy and Nudge and Angel. We were a little shaky with spelling and grammar sometimes, but all of us could forge signatures like a pro. He hadn't taught his own son.
"How come you're doing this?" Ari's hesitant question caught me off guard.
"Uh-to make up for almost killing you in New York?"
Ari didn't look at me. "You did kill me," he said. "They brought me back. Fused some of the bones in my neck." He ran a meaty paw over his neck as if it still pained him.
"I'm sorry," I said. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times those words have passed my lips. And three of them had been in the last five minutes. "You were trying to kill me first."
He nodded. "I hated you," he said calmly. "Dad gave you everything, he really loved you. I was his son, and I didn't mean anything to him. You were so strong and perfect and beautiful. I just hated you. Wanted you dead. And he used that. He used me as part of your testing."
I was rattled. Ari seemed so matter-of-fact. "He was proud of you," I said, dredging up memories of a long time ago, before Jeb had stolen me and the rest of the flock out of the lab. "He liked you following him around in the lab."
"You never even noticed me," Ari said, slowly tracing the I in his name.
"I did," I said, thinking back. "You were a cute little boy. I used to be so jealous of you because you were his son. You belonged to him in a way that I didn't belong to anyone. I wanted to be perfect so Jeb would love me."
Even as I said the words, I was just realizing them myself. Ari looked up at me, surprised. I rocked back on my heels, facing these painful truths. It was like Dr. Phil had apparated right into our dungeon.
"I knew I was a freak," I said softly. "I had wings. I lived in a dog crate. But you were a regular little boy. You were Jeb's real son. I kept thinking, If I'm strong enough, if I do everything he tells me, if I'm the best at everything, then maybe Jeb will love me too." I looked down at my new boots, already dull with dirt. "I was so, so happy when he stole us from the lab." My throat got tight, remembering. "I didn't think it could last. I was afraid. But I was happy that I was going to die away from the lab. Not in a dog crate. And then it went on. No one found us. Jeb took care of us, taught us stuff, how to survive. It was almost like a normal life, like normal kids. And you know, Ari," I said, "I was so happy to be gone, so happy to have Jeb, that I didn't even think about the little boy he'd left behind. I guess I just thought you were with your mom or something."
Ari nodded, and after a moment he swallowed and cleared his throat. "I don't have a mom."
"It's not what it's cracked up to be," I said, and he smiled.
"I understand now," he said. "It wasn't your fault. You were just a kid, like me. It wasn't either of our faults."
I pressed my lips together hard, determined not to make poignant tear streaks down my no doubt filthy face.
"I saw a Shakespeare movie on TV once," I said. "The guy said something like, 'Anyone who fights with me today is my brother.' So-if you fight with me today..."
He smiled again and nodded, understanding. Then we hugged, of course, because the Hallmark moment wouldn't be complete without it.
97
Not long after the Hallmark commercial, several Flyboys appeared in the dungeon and moved us-to somewhere even worse.
"This is great," I said, radiating sincerity. "I love what you've done with the place. Really."
The thing about sarcasm is that it's lost on robots, like Flyboys, for example. But I could always hope that they had voice-activated recorders on them and that later they'd be playing my snide message back to Crazy Old Mom.
The Flyboys turned, rotors humming, and stalked away. No sense of humor.
Nudge, Angel, Total, Ari, and I surveyed our change of scenery.
"Let's see," I said. "High stone walls, lifeless span of grit, mutants marching around...I don't know-I'm thinking it says 'prison yard.' How about you guys?"
"Prison yard sums it up," Total agreed, then trotted off to pee on the wall.
"Prison yard is too good for this," said Nudge. "Like, cheerless, joy-sucking plain of despair would be more like it."
I looked at her in admiration. "Nice! You've been reading the dictionary again, haven't you?"
Nudge blushed happily.
"Look! There I go," Angel said, pointing. Twenty yards away, her clone rambled about with the others, looking more like Angel than Angel did. About two hundred beings were in what used to be the castle stable area, I guessed. No one was talking. Mostly they were shuffling in a large, clockwise circle, getting their "exercise." They seemed so much like a mindless school of fish, or perhaps a flock of sheep, that I wanted to run through them, shouting, to see if they'd scatter.
"Do you see me?" Nudge asked, peering through the crowd.
"I still can't believe I don't have a clone," Total huffed, trotting back.
"You're unduplicatable," I said.
"I doubt it," he said. "I mean, maybe it wouldn't talk, maybe it would just go arf, but still. Like, what, they couldn't bother?"
"Arf?" I said.
"Oh, there I am!" said Nudge, up on her tiptoes. "I see the other me has hair issues too."
"Why would they make clones of us?" I wondered out loud.
"You." The metallic voice had no inflection. We spun to see a Flyboy behind us.
"Yes, C-Threepio?" I said politely.
"Walk." The Flyboy pointed at the throng, then took a step toward us.
Well, you don't have to threaten me twice. We quickly headed into the crowd and started pacing along with the rest of them.
I was keeping my eye out for Max II, who, last time I'd had a close encounter with her, had been trying to kill me and had narrowly escaped being killed by me. In case she wasn't a 'let bygones be bygones' kind of gal, I was braced for the worst.
"So is this what prisons will be like after Re-Evolution?" Angel asked, holding my hand. "With the collars and everything?" She rubbed the one around her neck, its green LED blinking every two seconds.
"I guess so," I said, resisting the urge to tug at my own collar. "I guess they have these things rigged up to shock us if we try to escape. They probably have tracers in them too." Which was why we hadn't done an up-and-away as soon as we got out here.
"How come they'll still have prisons, after half of everyone is dead?" Nudge asked. "I thought people would quit fighting for stuff. I thought the future people would be perfect. If they're perfect, they won't go around committing crimes, will they?"
"There," I said. "Decades of psycho logic picked apart in three seconds by an eleven-year-old. Take that, modern science!"
And speaking of modern science, I was about to be confronted by one of its marvels. Or disasters. All depends on your point of view.
"Max."
I turned quickly at the too-familiar voice. And there I was, pretty as heck, brown eyes, a few freckles, fashion challenged, and a bad attitude. Max II.