T0: Gray Thoughts

Summary:
Tyronic Zero: Her life at Manticore . . . what exactly was it like? Manticore is her life and her love; Ty from babyhood and naming to the escape and the death of those closest to her.
Rating:
PG
SPOILERS:
I'd say the last one I conciously used was I & I & Camera, but I'm going to take that out, but I'll keep with that.
A/N:
Okay, here it is. It's called "Gray Thoughts" because it is sort of a memory, a prequel of sorts to my Tyronica series. If you haven't read the Tyronica series, I suggest you read it "before" you read this one. Its just a suggestion. Its like . . . watching the Original Star Wars videos before you watch Episode I, because you know they'll be better. Get it? Then again, I'm not sure if that'll work . . . Anyway, this entire story is finished, but I will be letting the posts out one a day. Some of the posts are quite short. I do have a little thing that's rather cute to follow it up. Nick knows what I'm talking about.

[gray thoughts]

Part .01

I was PA1-666 until I was fourteen months old. Then Dad changed me, saying that I was going to be a leader and that I must have a leader's name. It might not be a leader's name, but it's mine.

When I first heard my name, my mind went immediately to tyranny. Oppressive power, usually with a foreign leader or the government. It doesn't sound so bad. It sounds like someone who makes certain that her brothers and sisters are safe, always.

Why would Dad call me a leader? 413 is much louder than I am and seems to have a larger following of friends. Sometimes, I watch 413 yelling at our brothers and sisters. I wait for them to walk away, then I go to them and try to make them feel better.

I never got angry or hurt after speaking with 413. I guess I have a lot more control than some of the others. My favorite sister -- though I hate saying I have a favorite, because I love them all -- is 923. She doesn't get angry either; at least not much. Sometimes, we play after hours, when we're supposed to be asleep. When I hiccough, she always touches her fingertips to my arm, makes me feel better.

Before that time, if someone asked who I was, I would have replied automatically, "PA1-666." I always got a lot of interesting looks. I wonder why. Maybe they don't know what division PA-1 belongs to. Sometimes, I hear Dad talking about how we are special and we are the hope. I don't know about that. I do know that I don't like to think about being a hope. I don't know what hope is; we've never gotten it in our vocabulary list.

Dad told me that he'd integrate the name into our lives. Integrate. Interesting choice of words. When Dad told me that, it made me start thinking about naming the others. They need names, too.

Donald Michael Lydecker. Isn't that Dad's name? 923. . . she looks so much like Dad. She has the same blonde hair and the same blue eyes. I have blonde hair, but it is much darker. In my stubble, I can see how dark it is. It still looks blonde, though. My eyes are blue, but they're darker, too. I seem to be made out of darker cloth than she.

My name is Tyronica. It seems so odd, saying that. What's your name, soldier? PA1-666, sir. My name, sir, is PA1-666, sir. Dad says I will still have to reply PA1-666, but, "when you're with your brothers and sisters, you have them call you Tyronica. Not any number. You can't be 666 to them. You need to win their respect, Tyronica," I grinned at his use of my new name, I remember, "and to win their respect, you must have them envious of them."

"Dad," I remember saying, "I've named 413."

"Well," I can hear him barking out, even now, "don't use it until I tell you to."

"Yes, sir," I told him.

"What is it, Tyronica?" I remember him asking me in a softer tone.

"Lesley," I can recall saying. "I named her Lesley."

"Why?" Dad asked me.

I remember thinking how difficult that was to answer. How could I have explained to him how Lesley was less intimidating to my brothers and sisters when she was asleep? How could I explain to him that right before I fell asleep, I hear whispers and echoes thoughts and words? How could I explain that when I took those mediating classes I could expect when to be most alert, because in two or even three seconds he would be calling on me?

"I heard the janitors and liked it," I told him.

He nodded, I remember, then left.

So, that conversation was only a little awkward. I was glad when it ended. It still feels kind of weird, thinking about it. I'm not sure who came out on top there, Dad or me.

What will happen tomorrow when Dad calls me Tyronica in front of 413, 923, 169, and the others?

Part .02

I am sitting here, thinking about how we did in our skirmishes earlier. I am reviewing my actions and where I had gone wrong, where I could have worked harder or ran faster.

Then She comes in. I know it is Her. I do not know what to do. Should I walk away. No, that is like running away. I will never run away, unless the person is so mundane that I cannot stand it. If I can't hurt the person and the person can be stopped from hurting me, I will walk away. Not before.

She walks up to me. "What's your name, soldier?" she asks me.

"PA1-666," I tell her immediately. Please go away. Please.

"What is your name, soldier?" She asks me again, like I was lying to her.

"PA1-666," I say slowly. Maybe She's been in the colored water.

"I guess he was wrong," She says to me. What is She talking about. She turns to leave.

"Wait!" I call out suddenly. "My name is Tyronica."

She turns to me, suddenly happy. "You pass," She says, and then She leaves.

Part .03

I have decided to call 413 nothing but 413 in my head, so that nothing will slip off of my tongue. She is antsy today, I don't know why. She and 968 were in a fight. 413's bright green eyes flashed dangerously while 968's calm brown ones observed 413 in almost contempt. I scolded both of them. They shouldn't have showed their tempers. A soldier does not do that.

Dad just came in. We stand straight, row after row, as he inspects us. I know what is coming next. Wait . . . yes, there it is. We have to get our hair cut again. I sneak a glance down the line at 968. Her hair is curly, almost two inches long. I almost grin, but not quite.

Dad comes to the front of the group. "PA-1," he barks. I wonder why he seems so angry. Maybe I won yesterday's conversation and he's angry because of that. We are fidgeting a bit, not me personally, but my brothers and sisters. We're only fourteen months old, after all. "The time has come for me to tell you who your commander is."

I glance down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. I wonder how he will make the announcement. I notice that 413, who is next to me, is holding her head up high and smiling; she expects to be announced the leader. I am happy that she is not going to be the leader, because she is not the sort of person that the others go to for support.

"We have been analyzing you since your birth," there is a murmur at this. Some of my siblings don't like that idea. They are glancing uneasily at each other, trying to remember anything that would rule them out for being a leader.

"Since the day of fertilization of the very eggs you were from, there has been one real candidate. If this person lived, we would elect her," several of my brothers look down, abashed that it wasn't them, because most of the other groups have male leaders, "commander. She has the respect of you. She has the knowledge to lead you. Most importantly, she has lived long enough to relieve a name," the girls titter.

I know they're thinking that the person must be especially weak. Maybe that isn't what Dad is talking about; I am very good at all that we do. "Her name is Tyronica. You know who you are. Please step forward."

I step forward. So does 413. Dad glares in our general direction, and I hear shuffling. I am acutely aware of how small I am compared to 413. She is so much taller that I am that it seems almost ridiculous. It isn't that she's so very tall, it's that I am so very small.

"What are you doing soldier?" Dad barks. I notice 413 glancing smugly at me. I stare straight ahead while replying.

"Colonel Lydecker, I am doing as ordered, sir," I don't call him Dad, because this is formal and not merely between ourselves. I know how to work it.

He looks at 413. She is startled, then she starts speaking, saying as I had said.

"What makes you think that you are the person who was described?" he asks. I begin to speak, but he holds up a hand. "PA1-413, speak."

413 speaks. "I am a leader. I have lived. I have knowledge. I am the obvious."

Dad turns to me. "Tyronica," he says, with a wicked grin on his face, "tell us why you are the actual candidate."

413, looking crestfallen, steps back into line without being ordered to. Dad has spoken my name.

"I am a leader, I have lived, I have knowledge. I have respect," I add this last part smiling. It is the one thing that I have that 413 doesn't think she has.

Part .04


It has been fifteen days since I was named commander. There is not much different, except that I take the blame of all them. If one of us messes up, I go to Dad and tell him that I made a mistake. It is my mistake, too. I should have trained my brother or sister better. It would have never happened if I had been paying more attention to everyone. Mistakes are my fault and not anybody else's.

There is one very noticable difference. People don't come to me as much as they used to. Only Martin, Frances, Mikaele, Alan, Andrea . . . and Lezli . . . its odd, but Lezli comes to me even though she is the one that is the antagonist.

I think it is the envy that Dad was talking about, but I can hear them thinking unpleasant thoughts about me. It isn't fair. I have heard and read about the devotion that commanders get. I don't get it and I feel hurt. I try not to let it show. It isn't their fault, they follow Lezli.

We have more classes. We just started one where we get hooked up to these odd machine and we feel these soft tickles going through our body. Sometimes, one of my brothers and sisters will start twitching during these times and don't stop afterward, until a long time afterwards.

546 has been taken away because he wouldn't stop twitching. I told the others that he was to be known as Adam. I hope they remember him as Adam. I know he's dead. We don't get transfered into other barracks, we stay with our family from age two months or so. There is only one place for him to go. Besides, I could hear the machines in the odd room running, very quickly. Too quickly. They kept him twitching until he died.

Dad gave me permission to call 413 Lesley. I don't know what to do. I start by calling out, "Hey, Lesley, will you please come over here and help me move this?" Everybody looks up. I call out again, "Lesley?" When she doesn't move, I give an exagerated sigh. "413!"

413 is happy that I have named her. It sets her above the others. The only other one of my brothers and sisters named was Adam; Adam is dead. It seems kind of grusome, but it helps Lesley. Now everyone is calling her Lesley. Only now, she's Lezli.

Sometimes, when 413 is sleeping, I watch her. She's so quiet when she's asleep,so much less than when she's awake; so less loud, so less angry. I think that's why I called her Lesley. I heard one of the cleaning staff . . . I heard him . . . about his daughter -- Leslee -- and I thought of 413 when I heard it. 169, in his quiet way, kept calling her Lezlee. Then, I just started thinking of her as Lezli. Its a pretty name. It doesn't quite suit 413's disposition, only when she's asleep.

I think I will call 923 Mikaele. She looks so much like Dad, who's name is Donald Michael. It will please her. Sometimes, I think that maybe she will burst when she hears someone call out her name. I think Dad figures out why I named her Mikaele. I know Mikaele did.

968 was one of the hardest to name, even harder than naming 356 as Shannon. I finally decided on Frances. I think it suits her. It it is her, down from her curly hair to her stubby toes. It is her just as 169 is Martin. It is her just as 007 is Jamie. Dad tells me that naming 007 Jamie is a joke, just as my number being 666 is a joke.

I don't get it.

Part .05
Now that I am three years old, I understand things a lot more. I don't like them anymore. I am not certain that I like Dad anymore. From him I feel something that I assume is . . . love . . . feeling of deep attachment . . . but he takes us to the rooms.

In the rooms, they run electricity through us. I can figure out how much electricity my brothers and sisters can take. I know how many will not show up the next day if a certain person says he can take more. I tell that person to take no more electricity than he had been taking for the next week. We have to give people a chance to catch up.

We used to have forty of us; thirty-nine soldiers and a commander. Now there are twenty-seven of us. Thirteen have been taken away.

It makes me angry. It makes me want to burst out screaming that they're taking my brothers and sisters and they wont give them back. Among those taken, Mira, designated number 692, Shannon, Jamie, and, of course, Adam. The others will not speak the names of those who are taken. I do not understand why. They are our brothers and sisters. I remember that only one other person was taken before she got her name, as Adam was. Joyce, 843, was the second.

We are all named now. I didn't want any others to leave and not return without first having a name.

It isn't all bad. We do lots of meditation. They tell us that if we hear thoughts, we will get a prize. Sometimes, I can tell that my brothers and sisters will be lying, even before they come to me to whisper that they heard thoughts. I don't know how I know.

I keep it quiet, though. I tell them, sternly, that they will be punished if they go to Dad with false information. They bow their head slightly and step down, knowing that they are caught. I feel no need to punish them.

Martin loves to come up to me and whisper that he heard something. Martin is a very truthful boy. So far, in the past two years that I own a memory to, he has come up to me twenty times. I myself have no official stats on this. When Dad asks me if I heard anything, I nod, tell him what I heard, then go on and bring up what the others head. Dad knows that I always tell the truth.

I am always tired after mediation. You would think that staying in the same spot without moving would build up energy. Obviously not. It drains energy. It makes my muscles ache. I say nothing though, because I do not want anyone to know that I am weak. I must never be seen as weak. I must always been seen as the CO, the leader of them.

Sometimes, when I am sitting in the classroom, listening with ninety percent of my attention, I let the other ten percent mediate. When I was younger, I used to do this without knowing it. I would be in meditating classes and would suddenly clear my mind and get ready to answer a question. Dad used to tell me I had quick reflexes, but he doesn't any more. I wonder if he suspects something.

What do I have to hide from him?

Part .06

Today, Dad calls me into his office. I stand there while he reads from a folder, waiting to be acknowledged. I wonder what the folder is holding. Are the documents he is reading about me? It is a very large folder; I've only been here three years. How much could they have on me?

"Tyronica," he says finally. Ah, so this is to be an informal meeting.

I nod, then reply to him. "Dad."

"Do you know why I called you in, Ty?" he asks.

I don't and suddenly I'm afraid that I will have to be taken to the room with the machines. "No, sir," I say.

I see him nod his head, as if in agreement with something I have said. Three words into the meeting and I'm feeling nervous.

"Do you know how special your group is?" he asks me. I know the answer to this.

"We are the hope for the fucking future, sir," I recite automatically.

"Exactly," he says, pleased. "You understand why we take nothing less than perfection, don't you?
I know what is expected. I am trained perfectly. "Yes, sir."

"You realize, of course, that you are the perfect soldier?" he is mildly interested in my reaction to his words.

"I was not aware I was perfect. I have flaws, sir," I say to him.

"Bullcrap, Tyronica," Dad tells me. "The PA-1 division is the fastest, strongest, and most intelligent group since the X-5, though, you wouldn't know about them . . ." I don't know about them, so I stay silent. "In a few years, I expect that you will be able to communicate instantly telepathically with your brothers and sisters."

"Sir?" I do not understand.

"Have you ever though about the way an ant colony works?" he asks. "Everyone in their place. Jobs clearly assigned . . ."

I remain silent. We had studied the ant's battle strategies, but we hadn't gone further than the basic colony arrangement.

"There were people," he continues, "who did think about this. They thought about the way evolution would play, how fate would deal their hand. You know what they came up with?" I nod in the negative. "Hive minds. Instant communication. A leader who instructs them, who is in their mind and sees what they see . . . a leader with hundreds of perfect soldiers under command. She'll have the perfect reflexes . . . do you see what I see?"

"No, sir," I say.

"Do you want to be with a hive mind?" he asks. I don't answer. I can't have a hive mind, because I wasn't made with one. "Of course you do. You want to be all that you can be. You can be anything you want to be. Dismissed."

I leave.

Part .07

Being six years old is harder than being any other age so far. My group and I must go through several small missions a weak. Mikaele is almost in tears because she made a mistake in a mission. I get a very severe tongue lashing from Dad and am ordered to go without dinner. Mikaele thinks it to be all her fault and is very apologetic. I don't mind, but try to explain that to Mikaele.

Now, seventeen have been taken away after they couldn't take the electricity that was required and after they failed to pass the tele-tests we take each week. We are not of use to be anything other than mind helpers, people who search in the minds of our enemies. We are test subjects, tests to see how much electricity they need to juice their fences with.

There are only ten of us left. Martin, Mikaele, Frances, Lezli, Alan, Fillmon, Arsaces, Andrea, Tercza and myself. We are very excited, because we learned something new. We are running and playing escape and evade. Suddenly, Andrea and I run into each other. She, startled, turns green; literally. She turns the colors of the leaves and gets the strange brown and yellow markings that the leaves have. Without making a sound, she turns back.

I would say that I am mistaken, except I know that I am not mistaken. Andrea morphs, just as the MA-1 group are supposed to be doing. The MA-1 group can't morph, but Andrea can. I grin. Andrea and I stand together and hold hands.

"Concentrate," she whispers, "on turning green . . ."

I nod my head in the negative. "Stay linked in my mind, Andrea, in case you can't come back. Morph into . . . " I search my head, "a mammal. They're smart . . . don't do plants . . . they don't have brains . . ."

Andrea squeezes my hand. She understands. Slowly, she begins to morph. I am in her mind and I can hear and see her much better than I have ever before. She is thinking of a mouse. Slowly, she shrinks, grows smaller . . . .

I am no longer holding her hand. I don't dare open my eyes and let my senses be clouded with anything other than Andrea's thoughts. She is frisky, she wants to play. Firmly, I tell her to change back, I want a go. Reluctantly, she agrees.

Everyone has been watching this. They are all excited. We promise each other, in an unspoken agreement, that we will never tell Dad about it. Suddenly, the bell rings. None of us were caught, so I will not be punished. I am happy. Mikaele, Andrea, and I walk arm in arm toward the gate. When we get inside the gate, we quickly form a line, I taking my place at the head of it.


Part .08

I'm seven or eight, the age is blurry and hard to tell, because the year is in the middle of seasons. Mikaele and I are outside. I can see Frances ahead, in the distance, speaking to Martin, fighting with Martin. Mikaele and I don't care at this moment for anything. We are making troops out of twigs, leaves, and other foliage. Picking up a large purple flower, I methodically shred it into pieces, twenty, enough for the entirety of my troop.

We're supposed to be on a mission. However, it is a set time limit mission. We are not wanted nor expected back until fifty minutes has passed. Its supposed to teach us patience, teach us to follow orders. We always finish these sort of missions as quickly as we can, then we scatter -- in a radios of about ten meters -- in the area.

I watch appreciatively as Frances and Martin and practice some moves. They are not the best, they are not the worst. They are quite in the middle, unimpressive with not being good and not being bad. They both have my best wishes, at that moment, to become the best that they can be.

Fran is large, dark. By far the biggest of us, she has the curliest hair I can imagine. Its very thin, much thinner than my hair, but its inch of growth is wavy and crimpy. I smile when I look at her, because I know that we will be getting our hair cut. Whenever Frances' hair gets too curly, we all get shaven. Its a sort of game, pinching each other, telling each other in three or four days we'll be newly bald soldiers.

Martin is not nearly as dark as Frances. His skin is a dark tan. Thinking on it, I suppose you could say that his skin is a light brown. His eyes are brown too, and they're very large. Sometimes when he's afraid, I think I can see his thoughts in his eyes. I don't tell Dad this, because he'll give me more of the hot stuff through the wires, and I don't like that. Sometimes, when his hair gets long and falls in his eyes, his entire face is brown except for his lips. I find this funny, but I have never told anyone.

I am counting the time in my head. I know that we have ten minute left. My troops are finished and Mikaele and I are having a lot of fun just ordering them around. Their missions are much more complicated than the ones that we are sent on. They can always hear what people are thinking and they are perfect and Mikaele and I never yell at them.

Eight minutes to go, I glance up. I have no idea why I am glancing up, I don't need to, we have eight minutes, but it just seems like the thing to do right now. I see Martin and Frannie fighting; I hold my breath. Finally, he gets hit by Fran. He falls. I can't help it, I let out my breath in a soft "Martin."

He looks up. Martin stands up and runs to me, telling me that its okay, he isn't hurt, and he'll never be hurt as long as I'm here to protect him. He knows this, he says, because I've told him that so many times. At this moment, I hope with my spirit that it will always be true.

Part .09

We have figured it out. We have figured the way to always live, the way to make certain that we will never again be split up.

We are changing after each visit with the electricity machines. Our bodies are adapting more quickly than one can imagine to the electricity that flows through our bodies. We are mutating overnight, mutating so that we are able to accept more electricity into our bodies.

We are so proud. We are so much better than that damn Morphing Abilities group it is hilarious. They aren't even able to do the basic color change. They are idiots and we are the geniuses. We ten are so much smarter than everyone else.

Fillmon and Frances figured it out. They had been analyzing what we had been able to take and the hypothesized that there was no way that we could skip up in the charts so quickly overnight. They did a few tests and presented the results to me.

They leveled themselves until they were at the same level on the chart. Fillmon was given the go-ahead to take as much electricity as he was able. Frances went and took only a small amount, as little as she was allowed to take and stay alive.

Fillmon changed overnight and took .07 percent more electricity each day. Frances, who wasn't trying, only took .003 more electricity.

I am proud that they are so smart.

Part .10
There are only seven of us. Andrea, Alan, Lezli, Martin, Mikaele, Frances, and myself.

I am eight years old and I can morph very well. I cannot morph as well as Andrea can, but I am right behind her. Andrea can morph into plants with only one lifelink. I need three. However, no one else can morph into plants. Andrea can morph into animals with no lifelink at all, but I will not let her. She, Mikaele, and I are the best that there is and we will not let anyone get hurt. Not anyone at all, not even ourselves. We can morph for five whole minutes, something we are very proud of.

Dad started getting weird about a year ago. I have to have extra blood drawn all the time and he makes me do extra laps when I run and makes me eat more stuff. He calls me the runt of the group. I do not like it when he says that. It isn't my fault that I'm small, he was the one in charge of my genetics. Whenever I'm worried about getting yelled at for being short, I start hiccoughing. Dad is angry at first, but now he isn't, he just laughs. Is this a good thing? I don't know. He hands me a glass of water. I'm glad I get the water. It'll help me stop hiccoughing.

Andrea isn't going along very well in her tele-tests. She is on the verge of failing most of her classes. I do not know what to do. Every time I hear that Dad is thinking about setting the electricity on her, I change his mind.

I am the best at changing minds. I feel so proud of that. I can do things if I meditate long enough. It drains me of energy, but I have enough time to get a few hours of sleep in time for morning. I even have enough time to get up early and go to the computers.

The computers. Those are my real passions. About three months ago, we were introduced to a bunch of iMacs and told to explore. For three days, I sat down and played every computer game I could find on it. I learned to type as quickly as I possibly could, with my short fingers, and I learned some very basic password hacking.

Don't ask me why, but the PA-1s were decided to be taught in the fine art of computers. We learn computer programming and computer hacking. I don't think they think that any one of us would take it and use it on home computers.

We have enough free will to know that we've got too much if we're going to get along fine in the system. We don't care right now about getting along fine in the system. We are brave and we are daring. We will always live, forever and ever. We've passed the last eight years. We are are kings and queens of the world.

I go into the computers and change information. Since I have been doing this, we have none of us been killed. Twice, Andrea almost get the boot, and once Martin. I make certain that non-existent groups got their people killed. Groups like TI-1, Total Idiots 1; NR-4, Not Real 4; and such. Then I sign off on them, using my great ability to forge handwriting. That is something that Manticore never teaches you, you just learn. With the executions signed off on, there is no need to check up on them.

I got back to my room and start to play with Mikaele, but she has to go get some blood drawn. So, I'm in bed, on my stomach, whispering to Martin, at Manticore. His eyes, brown, are wide as I tell him of what I'd listened to that day, the stories that seemed so wonderful." . . . And they give the person things, wrapped in a sort of paper, so that it's a surprise," I tell him, trying to catch the every detail of the conversation. "It's a celebration of sorts." Martin grins and is about to speak when Lezli interrupts him.
"That's a lie," she says hotly. I stand up, menacingly. Lezli looks down at the floor and quickly mumbles an apology. I sit back down, but Martin, always fearful of Lezli's temper, doesn't want to listen anymore. I slowly think that I should have struck Lezli across the mouth, for having her being impertinent.

Part .11

Oh, we have a skirmish today. Get to the perimeter and make certain that none of the released targets escape. Simple catch and receive. Today, I feel odd, free, wicked. I think we'll play the second version.

When I was six, we had a skirmish much the same as this. Multiple prisoners releases. We caught them all in a very quick time. Bored, we returned all but one of them. The last one, we kept tied up, then we went and explored. When we returned the prisoner, we told him if he told anyone what we had been doing, he would regret it. It only got us five extra minutes, but they were minutes of freedom for us.

Now, every once in a while, if we finish our skirmish quickly, we will do just that. We will save a prisoner. Now, we like to check the fences for open areas. We haven't found any, but it was a rather good idea of Alan's. Alan always comes up with odd, quirky ideas.

We are finished and we've tied up a prisoner. It is Martin's time to watch over the prisoner. Good luck, Martin.

Oh, look! There is an slight irregularity in the fence! How wonderful! I quickly signal and Lezli and I rush forward. Andrea jiggles a piece of the tall chain-link and suddenly there is a small hole in the fence.

Andrea goes through first. Cautiously, she digs a small area up from under the hole in the fence, then slips through. She disappears into the wood. I follow behind her, keen on not being left behind.

Oh, she's found a cave! How wonderful. Come, come, Andrea. We will figure out how this thing works, how the passages go. I feel like I'm sent out on a mission; find out where this cave goes.

Wow . . . it is so wet in here. I can see things growing from the ceiling and the wall; stalactites and stalagmites. They are so pretty. I gasp for pure pleasure. We spend the rest of our time just looking at the beautiful cave.

Our five and a half minutes are up! We scramble through the fence, cover the hole back in, then push the bent fence back over. We will go there again someday, and bring Martin with us. We race, with our prisoner, back to the gate, where our skirmish will be completed.

Part .12

"Tie-raw-nick-ka," Arsaces whispers hoarsly into my ear, "wake up." I don't bother to correct him by saying that my name is Tear-aw-nick-ka because my nickname is Ty and it doesn't make much sense and I also know that he is just saying that to get on my nerve. My Dad is silly, nicknaming me Ty. I don't say Ter-raw-nick-ka much anymore, myself, anyway, which causes me to think. Have I changed my name? Oh well, it is just a name.

I bounce out of bed, giggling. At age seven, I am decidedly smaller than my brother. He is always bouncing on my bed, early in the morning, waking me up. I punch him lightly in the arm while I make certain that I am dressed correctly.

"Hey, Arsie, stop," I say tiredly. "We're going out on a skirmish today, so help me get everybody up, will you?"

Arsaces looks over his shoulder. I look there too. Everyone is already up. I groan; I am the last one to be woken, which means that I will have to make everybody's bed. This is just great.

After I smooth down the covers, I take my place in line and walk the others to breakfast. We are fairly early, as usual, so we get a prime table. Eating our food quickly, we rush to the breifing room, where we will be told of our skirmish.

"I'm telling you, they aren't as superb as the X-5s," I hear a man telling another as we walked down the hall, "but they have the potential. If they can morph, those MA-1s will be able to take on the form of a perfect soldier. Hell, they might be able to blend and create their own . . . "

We enter the room and close the door. Andrea rolls her eyes and gives me a soft smile. We have seen the reports on the MA-1s; the man speaking is giving the other a crock of shit and we all know it.

I make certain that the others were lined up; we must always be perfect soldiers and appear as we must always be. A man walks in; menial and unimportant, he is just here to assign us our orders. With a fleeting thought, I feel that the man is envious of our group. It seems that we actually have higher rankings than he does. We do?

Okay, out the door, complete the mission, come back in thirty-six minutes. Its simple. The mission is a five minute thing with Lezli and myself, experts on the scaling of walls. We will have thirty-one minutes of free time.

The mission completed, we sit down and talk. There is nothing to do, so Alan and I start scratching on the bark of an old, gnarled tree.

"Hey," Ally says, "why don't we make our own letter system, one that is more difficult for a Manticore than Chinese is to an American norm?"

I giggle. This is an amusing thought. Norms think that they are so smart; we are far more intelligent than any norm that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I think that maybe we are more intelligent than any norm that has ever been birthed on this world.

"Sure," I say, "and let's not forget to write it right to left instead of left to right, just to confuse people."

Lezli topples off the log in a fit of laughter; Mikaele has to pull her up.

Part .13

Andrea is dead. I cannot believe it. I was in the computer when I saw it. The order to kill Andrea -- in two hours. I tried to open the file, but it was locked. Mikaele and I started trying to do everything we could to break in. Then, I heard the echoing of shoes in the corridor. We closed the computer down and ran to our barracks.

It was one of the hardest things in my life, telling my sister that she might have to die. Mikaele sat with the others as I took Andrea aside.

"Andrea," I had told her, "there's some bad news . . ."

"What?" she had asked me. Her eyes had become huge, worried.

"You're scheduled for execution and we can't get into your file," I said in a rush. I remember that I was so angry at Dad. I remember I was so angry at Her.

She looked shocked. I remember her eyes got damp. They didn't fill up with tears, but they got damp. We hadn't expected them to get rid of her. She had been smart. She was the worst at the tele-tests, but there always had to be a worst. Martin wasn't that much better than her.

What could I do? I know that I had been frantically searching for an xplaination to give Dad to keep Andrea alive. She was the best morpher, for goodness . . . morphing.

"We can tell them about morphing. You are the best, you'll be able to stay alive," I said. I had been hurting to say it, but I did.

"No," Andrea was serious. "You know what will happen." I did know what would have happened. The MA-1s were treated more badly than my brothers and sisters had thought possible. Last count, there were five. We had seen the reports. To test morphing and adaption abilities, layers of skin were stripped off of the soldiers.

"Andrea," I argued, "you have to stay alive!"

"Ty," she said, "I can't . . . I want to . . . I want to live so badly. I wont sabotage the group just to stay alive."

I could hear the desperation in her voice and I cried, silently, inside, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

We told the others and I remember that we all held each other. Never before had we been faced with the fact that we wouldn't be able to stop our group from dying. We, the close, tight-knit group. The impossible had happened.

We didn't say good-bye to her. We merely waved as she went to get her blood drawn. Now, two days later, I'm still numb with the shock of it all.

Part .14

I'm almost nine, not quite, I'm hiding behind a large fern. Mikaele and I are practicing some morphing. At the moment, I am a large, fat beetle. Its fun to be a beetle. The floor is much closer and smells ever so much more interesting. Dad is in front of the fern, talking. I've been morphed for three minutes. I can't stay in morph longer than five or six, so I'm starting to move away down the hall.

"If we kill those that are unsatisfactory," I hear dad begin, "what will happen to us? We'll lose an entire team. We can't do that. Not after the X-2 failure."

A man answers. I know this man's voice and I don't like him. He talks to HER a lot and SHE scares us. SHE is not the person who loves us. Dad loves us, we can feel. At least, he likes us the most. He's the closest thing to love my brothers and sisters have. Its fun, to know we can always control Dad because of his love for us. "We'll clone the girl," he says. "We'll clone her and edit the barcode. We'll at an extra letter after her barcode. A, B, C, et cetera. Simple. The director said it was to be done."

"You've already taken most of my kids, you can't think that you'll win this. We need the variety in the group. Just because the girl has advanced more quickly than her siblings doesn't mean they wont catch up. Think of it as a growth spurt, not everyone gets them at the same time," Dad sighs, I can hear him as I walk down the hall.

"The others wont catch up," the man says. I'm almost to the door. Thank goodness this is a short hall, right? If it wasn't a short hall, I wouldn't make it.

"We have six of the original forty left!" I hear Dad exclaim. He makes a noise of impatience. We all know the sound. Sometimes when we do something stupid, my brothers and sister will make the noise. "We cannot afford to lose more! Besides, if we clone the girl, she's still ten years older."

"Remember that special gene," here, the man laughs. What gene? "We'll add it in, they'll age quickly, we take it out. We have a group of ten year olds, ready to learn."

"They'll be ten in body, but what will they know?" Dad seems ready to counterattack everything that is thrown at him. "They'll be large babies, large infants. They'll not know how to eat, walk, or talk. Tell the director that as soon as she can invent something that gives the children the memories and knowledge of the cloned child, I will allow her to destroy an entire group. Before that, I will not. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Colonel," I'm in the door, and I quickly morph into human form. As I rise rapidly from the floor, my dark black skin turning a softer gray, I make a sign for the others to close the door. They do so, then they wait until I am able to speak again.

"Almost got caught," I giggle.

Part .15

We are going to be allowed to train for real missions. Training for real missions means that we will be able to grow our hair out. We are training a full six months earlier. The oldest of us, Lezli, isn't even ten yet. I just turned nine. We should wait until four months after Lezli turns ten to start training for real missions.

We are growing hair. That is so exciting I will be able to look out and instantly pickmy brothers and sisters out of a crowd. Our hair will be down to our chins. I wonder what it will feel like. We will all have this hair that is so much different from what we know. Will we be annoyed at them falling in our face?

Training for missions means that we will have more work. We will have to spend longer hours meditating. I hope that I get better. I have the feeling I am not going along as quickly as Dad would like; whenever he looks at me, he has an odd expression on his face.

We're staging a mission where we have to disable an alarm system. This will be easy. Mikaele and Frannie will be able to nip in there and lift up the wires, waiting for my signal. Soon, I will have to train them to think more for theirselves, be more self-reliant. Dad has kept them tied to me, almost, with his insistance that they ask me for everything.

Now, we're at the box. It is one of those simple locked keypads. We pick the lock, the open the keypad. Wires . . . which one to pick first . . . oh, the blue one. I see it. I wonder if . . . Mikaele has signaled that she hasn't any idea which one to cut. Blue, I signal. Just cut it, Mikaele, and we'll go out.

What is this? Why is Lezli signaling the green one? It is not the green one, it is the blue one. Stop it, Lezli. I make my hand signals to stop. I am so very angry right now. She should not be doing this; she should not be going directly against my orders.

I don't believe it. Mikaele looked up at me, then went to the right and cut the green we.

Flashing red light, loud sirens. We failed the mission. Now I am in trouble with Dad. I stare reproachfully at Mikaele and Lezli as I walk out of the room. Let them wait for me to dismiss them after I have recieved my punishment.

Part .16

Dad and I are having a loud discussion. We are arguing, to be more exact. He and I are speaking on the progress of my siblings. He wants to rush them forward. I know that he should not do that. It is one of the worst things he could do at this stage in their training.

"PA1-666," he says, "you want me to delay training!"

"Sir," I say, "you have to delay training. They shouldn't be forced ahead at this moment in time." I look him in the eye as I say this. My hair, chinlength, wobbles as I speak.

"Answer me truthfully, 666," he tells me, "are they able to pass the test course that is to be expected?" Dad knows he has caught me there. I will never lie to him and he knows that.

"Sir," I say, forcing an emphasise on the word, "they are ready for tomorrow. They are not ready for next year or even a month from now."

"Why do you think that, Nica?" he asks me, his name for me in my difficult moods slipping past his thin lips.

I take a deep breath. "It is as you call cramming for a test. It is the same reason we drill everyday, not just every two or three days."

"You believe they wont retain the information?" Dad asks me.

"Yes," I tell him abrasively. I am the only person I know, child or adult, who has ever gotten into such loud arguments with him. I wonder if this speaks well for my future or not. "They will be forced and they were rush. They will remember their faults more than the actual training. I need five more days, if not a fortnight, before I am willing to say that they have mastered this. They are not ready."

"Are you?" Dad asks me. I look down at my feet.

[flashing]

Though mentally and psychically superior to the Pomeranians, the Dobermanns have no real superiority to them physically, save the fact that their genetic code is of a new variety. They are much the same as the Terriers, a year younger than them. The biggest difference between the Terriers and the Dobermanns, aside from the fact they have psychic abilities that go beyond the family unit, they seem to follow their commanding officer out of what may be called love more than out of the fact that he or she is the leader.

In the Dobermanns, there is one, ChiChi, that seems to be superior to any that we have seen so far in our course at Manticore. Though the subject tries to hide it, the physical differences are plain. The subject seems to be an excellent choise for Project Hope. In a few years, we plan to intergrate the subject into the Project.

[/flashing]

That's how I feel, like the Dobermann subject in that oddly worded memo, trying to hide that she can do things her brothers and sisters can't. Or his brothers and sister, whichever it may be.

"Yes, sir," I say.

Dad nods. "One week," he says, before walking down.

"Thank you, sir," I say.

"Yes," he says, his back still toward me.

Part .17

I am lying in bed, trying desperately to mediate. I have been lying here forever. It isn't fair that it is so noisy tonight. I can hear a group practicing. If I strain my ears, it sounds like the X-7 group. I wonder if it is them, and if they are being punished. Even if they are getting punished, I cannot do anything.

Ahh . . . there he is . . . I can hear Dad. He sounds so . . . so disapointed. Why is Dad disapointed? He is never disapointed. I have never heard Dad disapointed. It is so confusing . . . I will meditate more, so that I will be able to hear his thoughts, not just his feelings.

Twenty minutes. My internal clock tells me its been twenty minutes. Now I can hear what Dad is thinking . . .

TOMORROW MORNING, AT OH-FIVE-HUNDRED . . . well, it'll be early, at least.

TERMINATED . . . . why is Dad thinking termnination? What program or protocal is he destroying?

MADAME RENFRO . . . her . . . I hate her . . .

ALL WHO HAVE NOT REACHED LEVEL THREE . . . I just met level three in my group today, I am the only one. I am so proud, because I am so good at my abilities. They are probably talking about those damn Morphing Abilities guys. There are like three left . . . maybe not . . . I wonder who's group it was . . .

PSYCHIC ABILITIES ONE . . . my dear god . . . what is this?

TOMORROW MORNING, AT OH-FIVE-HUNDRED, ALL WHO HAVE NOT REACHED LEVEL THREE IN PSYCHIC ABILITIES ONE WILL BE TERMINATED BY ORDERS OF MADAME RENFRO.

My group is going to die. I am the only one who has reached level three. I must stop him. I must stop him. I must. Oh my god, did I just lose my connection. I've come out of my mediated state. What am I going to do?

I must make an escape. I must make certain that my group lives. They are my family. My family must live. I get out of my bed and run to the five others. Only five for me to command my family must live. I have nobody else. I do not want to be the only one.

WE WILL CLONE THE CHILD TOMORROW AFTER THE TERMINATION OF HER SIBLINGS.

I shake Martin. "Wake up, wake up," I tell him. "Wake up, Martin." He gets out of bed immediately. "Wake up the others, we've got to go. Now."

I go to Lezli next. I rougly shake her. "Lezli, wake up. Lezli, wake up," I tell her urgently. The others are awake and standing in ranks by the door. Lezli is out of her bed and with them in a few seconds. I calm myself down.

"We're leaving. Do you understand?" the others look at me blankly. I must make it into a game. "The objective of this mission is to make it to the permitter and beyond. Do not look back, do not gather together. We have to make certain that as many of us get out as possible. Pretend that you are not one of us," they're eyes get big as they understand what I'm saying. It isn't a game, but I must pretend it is to keep all of our spirits up. "Wait for me to make contact with you in your new life. Do NOT go back home. Do you understand?"

They nod.

Lezli begins to speak. "Let's all go to that cave that we like so much that's just outside the permitter. You know, that one that we went to that last day with Andrea? We'll be safe to gather there. Its probably the best place to go."

The other nod energetically. No! No Lezli! You can't do that. You can't make them go against me. Not today. Why do they follow you? Fear?

"No."

"Yes," she is firm.

I look around the group. "Run."

They scatter out the doors silently, down the hall towards the entry to the outside. Mikaele hacks the door open and we're out. I close it carefully and we go toward the perimitter -- all in vaguely the same direction, but I'm okay with that, because then I can watch them all.

They are behind me, sleeping, working, keeping guard. I must make certain that They do not get my siblings. I have to run and keep them running. Then, Martin falls. He's going to be seen. He is seen! I must get him up quickly. Stupid boy! My baby brother Martin! Tiny boy! Please run!

I've just helped Martin get ahead and now I'm behind the rest, but I know I can catch up to them, because I am the leader and I am the best. I have to make sure that my brothers and sisters make it, because if they don't make it then I have failed and Dad doesn't take failures.

They are alerted because of Martin falling and making noise. The guards are all around. I must get them beyond the fense. The horrible sirens are going straight to my very bones, but I must keep them safe. They are my siblings. I must run.

I am running, and I see Martin ahead of me. I motion for him to go more to the right. He shakes his head and continues straight ahead. A sickening feeling is coursing through my body. I know that they've done exactly what I didn't want them to do. They've organized a rendezvous point. I've got two choices -- go to them and try to make them scatter, or just continue on ahead. I only hesitate a moment before I charge after Martin.

I run, in the middle of trees. I see the underbrush is broken and a minute later I see Martin running -- he hasn't heard me yet and I am trailing him. When I see him stop and enter a cave, I crouch after him. I see the others -- thankfully all five of them are there -- and I step forward. They all look a little guilty, but I motion for them to split up. I make it clear that I am leaving if they split or if they don't split. I try to convey that we need to stay apart so they wont find us. Then I turn around and run out of the cave.

I run as far as I can away from Them and away from where I left my siblings. I only turn around once, when I hear gunfire and screams. I am fifteen minutes away, but I run as quickly as I can back to the cave. I must get to the cave. I get there in ten minutes.

I see five body bags being carried. They are dead, my brothers and sisters. All that and they are dead. I turn around again almost immediately. I keep running until I can see the sun's rays as it is rising behind me, making shadows on the ground in front of me. I am running west.

Part .18

Its much warmer south. I'm so very far south that I'm nervous. I kept running, sleeping, and hiding until I got to California. That is where I am right now, in a dry, arid land. I know that if I go far enough west I will reach the ocean.

I remember once when I was a younger child that someone on the janitorial staff told us about San Francisco. I knew enough about San Francisco from our Nation lessons to sustain me; the bombing of Coit Tower in 2014 had been a month long lesson in the correct and incorrect way to plan a terrorist attack. The man, though, that spoke to us told us of things that we had never studied. He spoke of the Park, always the Park, green and brown, he said with living and dying fern. He spoke of the Park's namesake, the Golden Gate Bridge, and it's majesty.

He spoke fondly, also, of the food that was there. He told me of being a young child and walking down the road to get strawberry covered funnel cakes, which, he said, tasted like air made solid with sugar added.

The thing he was most in admiration of, he told us, was the ocean. He spoke of the rolling waves and the never ending sky that he could see. He spoke of the chilly waters and of the wind that caused mists to spray in your face.

He ended his little tale with a laugh and a small sigh, I remember. He told us that his memories were all of a pre-Pulse San Francisco. Now, he had said, you couldn't get onto a beach, public or private, without a day pass. Those were expensive and only the rich were able to do that, though some of the worse beaches weren't commonly patrolled and one might be able to sneak in for a freezing late night dip. One might, he added, almost imagine it to be an early morning excursion with one's family.

Even now as I sit in the heat, I can almost feel the chilly water he spoke of. I look back at the words and phrases he used and remember my confusion at his use of family. Of course, I had rationalized, I would visit it with my family. I never went anywhere without my family.

I am without my family now, I tell myself. I am away from them and will always be without them. Even those who were the best and the brightest and my comrades, my fellows, they were gone. It doesn't seem fair, does it, that I have to live without them?

I have to get moving. It will be morning soon and I wish to find a place to rest where the shade will cover me and the sun will not find my pale skin and burn it.

I move forward a bit of a time. After twenty minutes, I stop. This piece of jagged rock has no choice but to be my sleeping quarters for the day. I notice something as I climb up and under a few pieces of rock; a cave. If I am lucky, there will not be any animals making their homes in the cave. If they are unlucky, there will be some that have to be evicted.

I step into the cave. Nothing. Oh, yes, bats. I will not bother them and they will not bother me. I lay down on the hard rock. It is rough and several of the petals cut into my thin clothing. I have nothing but my rough sleeping garments to cover me, but in this heat it seems adequate. Maybe later on I will not be so lucky.

I sleep a sleep I know is filled with dreams. At home, we learned that all human beings dream every time they sleep. Whether they remember the dream or not is another matter.

I wonder if I dream as much as a human being does. Maybe I dream more; my cat DNA must change my human DNA quite a bit

I wake up just as dusk is setting. It is truly beautiful, but I miss my home at Manticore and my sleeping bunk. I can see sunrises and sunsets at Manticore, too.

I know I can't go back there, though. It isn't the safe place that I remember, the place that I loved to be at, where I would get Dad smiling at me and reading my reports. It wouldn't be the place where Miki, Ally, Marty, Frannie, Lezli and Ty could trick the computer. It was the place where Ty would be alone and angry that she was better. It would be the place where Ty would be curious.

I get up and walk outside of the cave. The sun is gone and there is only a rosy glow in the west where it had been only a few minutes beforehand. The Earth has kept turning, I tell myself, even though the Psychic Abilities One Group has gone from existence.

There is one thing I wish for Manticore, though. I pray to myself that whatever that project was that they were working on goes well. It was Project Hope . . . ha, what a code name.

Odd. I remember the first time I heard the word. I didn't know the meaning.

As a butterfly flirts across my face and I give chase into the red glare on the horizon, I think I might have finally found the meaning of hope.


[gray thoughts]
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