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Crimson Claws

27.

Brentwood had to tie up the vessel recently so that she didn't get up again before he had attached the sensors. And she didn't like the deprivation goggles and the headphones together. Once everything was in place, he said a stern "Now sleep until I back."

And the clone listened - had to listen. It wasn't primarily stupidity that made the clone so unruly. She simply clung to Brentwood and if Brentwood wasn't there, Thailog or the doctor had to be nearby. The girl was constantly glued to him when she was awake and he was at home. If he wasn't home, she was waiting in the doorway like a dog. Oh man, the first time Thailog and he had morphed back from being human to Gargoyles in front of the product, the clone's eyes had almost popped out of her skull. Afterwards, the vessel had poked at him and wanted to grope his face and head - for hours.

Since the doctor had noticed that EN-25.1. could obviously shiver and concluded that she needed to be kept warmer despite her immunity to almost every disease, Brentwood had taught her to wear clothes. Or at least tried to. The clone liked clothes even less than he and his brothers had in the early days. Added to this was her constant begging for food, which he had not approved of. By now, every kitchen cupboard, the pantry and the fridge had a fingerprint sensor-controlled lock. For security reasons - because the clone was very stupid and very curious and very greedy - even all the bathroom cupboards were locked so that she didn't eat the soaps or drink the cleaning products.

She didn't understand the concept of sitting together at a table and using a knife and fork very well, ate with her fingers, which made Thailog and the doctor nauseous, and was therefore banished to the floor. Okay, sometimes when she nipped at his leg he would sneak her a treat but only very rarely. Likewise when cooking ("NO! Do not touch! The oven is HOT! Don't put your fingers in there, it comes out of the microwave! Don't lick that, it's still frozen and your tongue will-" ... her tongue had stuck to frozen things more than once.)

In addition to all the annoyances, the clone's toilet hygiene ran so so. Now he was supposed to teach the clone to wash herself and brush its teeth? What else? Okay, it wasn't all horrible anymore and often the Vessel made him laugh and watching TV together or explaining things to her even if she didn't understand him was nice. But it was annoying at the same time. He was so fed up that he had partially changed his parenting strategy. He had seen Cesar Milan, the dog whisperer and what helped dogs obviously also helped EN-25.1.

Calm-assertive energy, exercise, discipline and affection, in that order. The machines were the exercises throughout the day both physically in the form of the muscle trainers and mentally as each day the doctor pumped more knowledge into the clone even if not much of it showed up yet, Brentwood for discipline - Brentwood got that right, he thought he was a brilliant teacher, talking more to the clone, giving clear rules, every night, almost all night. There are only treats if you eat healthy things beforehand. Nothing and nobody was/who isn't food is for eating or chewing on! One piece of clothing on the upper body and one on the lower body - at least. Nothing should be broken or there was trouble in the form of no food or no affection from Brentwood.

The latter was obviously worse for the clone because she would whine and look like her world was falling apart if he ignored her. She responded well to head scratches and butt slaps, positively pouncing on him with happiness. Well, it wasn't all bad. A few weeks ago, he had thought about having a rat as a pet. Now he had a human as a pet. That was okay but not permanent. He couldn't let this thing become too important to him, after all, the doctor would soon be in this body and urrrgh, that was disgusting.

Shortly before sunrise, the clone safely on the machines, Brentwood went to rest himself, climbed the stairs to the attic, where his master was already stretching in his pre-sleep routine. Oh Brent loved to watch him but he wasn't allowed to stare, it made Thailog angry.

Sevarius' current residence and workplace was an outwardly old, slender five-storey residential building. From a time when rich people had chic second homes built outside the big city. And where a hundred years ago the building - perhaps only "high" enough to have a fantastic view of the silhouette of the city, which had only just been equipped with electric lighting - stood alone and was surrounded by fields and woodland, it was now wedged between newer but smaller houses. Like a chicken that had chosen its roost among canaries.

Since the doctor's illness meant he could no longer travel around offering his services at high prices to madmen all over the world who didn't give a damn about the worldwide ban on the creation of clones and mutants, Sevarius had retreated here for his latest, and as he often said most important, project. The house, although it stood out in the neighborhood, was just an old dilapidated box on the outside. Peeling paint, crumbling brickwork, knocking plumbing (perhaps like the Doctor himself) but functional and modern inside where necessary (perhaps like the Doctor would like to be again).

Nevertheless, it wasn't the worst shelter for Brent and his master. There had been many better, more splendid ones in years when Thailog's plans had succeeded and they had made a lot of money with scams and the majority shares of Nightsstone unlimited. But also worse, shabbier ones in years when nothing had worked out - never through the master's fault, never, but always through stupid coincidences, fate or other imponderables that even Thailog's brilliant mind could not have foreseen. The year after September 11th was bad when the Brocker company (whatever that was) that had been in there went under. They had lost Nightsstone unlimited - again to Demona, of all people. The year after was good because Thailog's connections had facilitated quick arms shipments to Iraq (even if that Saddam guy hadn't been able to hold on to anything). The year after the real estate crisis was bad again, but Thailog had been able to steal plans from a biotech company - genetic blueprints for a new variant of a virus. Sevarius was supposed to make this variant even more deadly and at the same time develop a vaccine. So Thailog's new company could make billions by first selling the virus to the highest bidder. And after it had spread, both would make billions from the vaccine. Thailog would probably sell it to China. According to his clever assessment, they wouldn't be able to control such a corona strain virus anyway and human nature and evolution would just have to be allowed to take its course.

Brentwood crawled past his own area in the attic - TV with lots of old videos and DVDs, radio, pile upon pile of books, mattress with blankets and pillows, cobbled together from the unused rooms of the house. No roof terrace, no flat roof. The attic was overarched by strong old wooden beams. And a floor-to-ceiling window on the south side. Four yards wide and the middle section, which could be opened, was big enough for Thailog to jump out and take to the air without having to make himself even the slightest bit smaller. The owner a hundred years ago must have designed this as a studio.

Thailog himself lived on one of the lower floors. Brentwood didn't see any point in living like a human. What would he do with several rooms? What would he do with an armchair in front of a fireplace? What about a private bathroom? This was more than enough for him. Here - as close to the sky as he could get.

He opened the sliding window and breathed in the still crisp morning air. Chirping birds. A wide sky. Sometimes he thought of others of his kind. Of the Manhattan Clan including his genetic prototype, who slept on the battlements of a castle on the highest building in the city. So much sky. So much sun to draw strength from. And sometimes he thought of his siblings from the Labyrinth Clan. The other extreme - deep below the city, sleeping under tons of concrete in a room full of UV lamps so they could "recharge".

Brentwood realized that the sting that had always gone through him when he thought of his clone relatives was no longer there. What he had recognized as loneliness but hadn't wanted to admit to himself. That sting was so much better. Was that because of EN-25.1? Had the flawed, broken thing become Clan even though it annoyed him? He had never been taught the concept of a clan, he had seen too little of the real gargoyles for that, he had stayed in the labyrinth for too short a time. Brentwood knew that he and Thailog were probably not a clan, partly because there were only two of them and partly because he was the master and Brentwood was his ... well, what, really. And if the Vessel made them more of a clan - then that wouldn't be good, because she would soon be gone. This thought made him ache inside again and Brentwood frowned wonderingly.

As if Thailog had been able to read his thoughts, he huffed and stepped closer to Brentwood at the open sliding door.

"I'm starting to feel like a nanny for the doctor. And you're sick of his clone or whatever the girl is supposed to be too, huh? I can't wait for him to finally switch bodies so we can get started on our project." He didn't look at him as he spoke. But Brentwood knew his master. He didn't need eye contact, he didn't even need to speak to him directly and he didn't need the confirming pats on the head he had received in the first few months. He was Thailog's extended arm, his complement. He was here, he would always be here to answer.

"Yes, master. Hopefully start quickly," he chirped with a grin, happy that his master was talking to him at eye level like this.

Thailog looked out of the open window, at the side, towards the west, the sky already tinged with orange. He lived downstairs - that was true. But since they had no roof to sleep on, he came up almost every morning to sleep here - in front of the large window to soak up as much sun as possible. And of course so that Brentwood could sweep up all their stone splinters afterwards. Naturally, they could have looked for other locations. But that was too dangerous. The whole city, the whole world knew that the Manhattan Gargoyles slept in a castle. Everyone knew that if they saw statues of Gargoyles, there was a number on the Internet they could call to have them picked up and taken to the Eyrie building. Unless you ran into a former but still passionate Quarryman who smashed you, the second worst case scenario was to wake up and find yourself in the custody of Xanatos and the Manhattan Clan.

"Is there a problem?" asked his master, probably irritated by Brentwood's satisfied expression, and the little clone's grin widened.

"No problem. Never a problem," Brent said. Thailog raised his brow arch in a gesture that indicated he once again didn't understand Brent, but Brentwood didn't mind such small gestures and glances. Thailog was the master - he was beyond reproach. Lonely? The moment when he had thought about it again was over and forgotten. Who needed a clan? The Originals didn't want him. They didn't want any of his brothers. Because they thought they were disgusting - as if Brent cared what those arrogant assholes thought. And his brothers and Delilah were stupid for not choosing Thailog back then - the smartest and most powerful Gargoyle there was. Brentwood's choice had been better. Optionless. Right. He had been smarter than the others. The Vessel was an occasionally nice distraction, but only that! He was often alone, but only because the master trusted him to take care of himself - until he was called for. Thailog and he were a team. Thailog and him against the rest of the world. His master made a splendidly belligerent gesture in front of the window, wings outstretched, leaning forward with a soundless roar. He was what Brent would never be but admired beyond all measure. He wasn't just strong and smart. He was ... magnificent in his unassailable superiority. An honor to rest alone beside him.

"Good rest, Master," Brentwood said a moment before he himself assumed a gruesome position, his body becoming stiff and rigid and his senses shutting down so he could drift off to sleep.

.

A summer's day could be very long.

Longer than the clone's machines were programmed for.

"System update completed. Nerve stimulation finished. Muscle training complete," came a muffled voice that sounded nothing like any of the three voices she knew apart from TV.

It took En-25.1 a few moments to remember that this voice was not real. She always heard it after the doctor or Brentwood had hooked her up to the machines and after those machines were done with her. She opened her eyes. Dark. She wriggled around until her one hand was free of the fabric that Brentwood had wrapped around her wrist. She pulled the thing from her eyes that was impairing her vision and pulled off her headphones. Almost dark. En-25.1. turned her head. Dull light from a desk lamp. In the next room- visible through an open door, the Doctor's haggard body in a large bed on its own wires. Daily back-ups of his mind. The girl tried to sit up, was held back. Yes, Brentwood had tied her down. Had called her a wriggling stupid thing. The clone grinned at the memory. She looked around for Brentwood. He wasn't there. But she had to do the dirty and he would get mad if she didn't do it on the thing she was supposed to do it on. She removed the muscle stimulators stuck all over her skin. Two dozen sticky sucking noises. Then she tugged at the knot of the sheet around her middle until it opened, freed her other hand.

As always after waking up, the clone girl sat upright for a few minutes and felt. Just feeling. Fingers rubbing over palms. Skin. Toes wiggling. Itching. She grabbed her head and scratched. Hair. Long and thin. Then the urgent need for the dirty. Like every day after waking up. En-25.1 swung her legs out of bed. Breathe again. Then stand up. Like every day, her muscles ached from the hours of stimulation. But she could walk much better, reach for things much better. Still, her steps were unsteady and wobbly. She looked at the doctor again. Sleeping - unmoving. The girl squatted down and moved on all fours towards the bathroom - much faster and safer now. Door open - door shut. Bathroom door always closing. Then she sat down on the toilet and "did her dirty business" as the doctor had called it with a wrinkled nose. Number one and two. En-25.1. dutifully used pieces of the paper roll hanging on the wall to clean the two orifices down there. Each one individually, which was important because everything down there was dirty.

Then - although there was no one there to check and scold her - she went to the sink. Soap. Spread it on her hands. Rinse with water. As no one was there to chide her again, she watched with interest as her skin turned red under the hot water. It stung and before blisters could form, she pulled her hands back. Only Brentwood was allowed to hurt her, no stupid water.

Carefully, the clone stuck her head out of the bathroom door again. The doctor was still asleep. Usually someone had always been with her when she was awake. Now the doctor was asleep. He had told her that she needed to sleep a lot because it was good for her. So sleep was good for him too. But where was Thailog? And where was Brentwood? En-25.1. heard those strange noises from behind the walls and curtains again - as she often did. She had heard them before, but Brentwood had said that "everything out there" didn't matter. She crawled to the nearest black fabric panels and listened. It sounded like ... vroooom. It came closer, then got quieter again.

Doppler effect, her head suggested to her, into which knowledge was pumped every day. She didn't know what a Doppler effect was, but she knew that what she was hearing was one. She now knew how to use 38 of the most common weapons, she knew 9 ways to kill people with her bare hands, she could repair, hotwire and drive any vehicle from a bicycle, a motorcycle to a truck - in theory. She also had the vocabulary, sentence structure, soundscape of 7 languages in her skull without knowing there was any other language than English. Her head knew this and much more and mechanically routinized memories would guide her hands if she had to do it without her having to think much about it. But they were just operations in her head. It was hollow, useless knowledge with no opportunity or impulse to use any of it. The clone herself was unknowing and guileless.

The clone carefully slid her hand between the curtains and froze briefly. What was that? That light between the ... what was it called. The girl rummaged for the words in her half-finished universal memory with the pre-programmed things. This light between the ... slats, yes slats of the shutters ... was that daylight?

Again a vroom. Then again. More often than she had usually heard it. If that was daylight ... then it was daytime now. She had not known until now that she had probably only been awake at night. No one had told her that there was such a thing as day and night, and she hadn't even had words for it until just now. All the shutters had always been closed. She had lived in a world of darkness and artificial light without ever knowing anything else. The girl cautiously touched the glass of the window, which was covered by the gossamer stripes of light. Warm! Sun, the next word peeled out of her head.

Behind her, the doctor made an annoying noise and En-25.1. let out a startled squeak. She backed away from the window, pressed herself flat on the floor. Again the noise. But when after a few seconds no one said anything and no reprimand came that she had defied the doctor's orders, she raised her head. The doctor could be scary, she remembered him hitting Brentwood with his stick thing (CANE!) and Brentwood had looked like it was bad. But now? The doctor was still lying in his bed. The girl crept closer insecurely. Again he emitted that grunting sound - this time very long drawn out, wrinkled thin lips open, eyes closed.

New impression - new word: snoring.

The corners of her mouth moved outward without her thinking about it. Her lips opened at the same time. She briefly grabbed her face in amazement without letting this change of muscles collapse. Hastily she turned away and scrambled to the mirror. There - that face ... she had seen it before. On Brentwood!

She let the corners of her mouth pull together again - and apart again. Smile. Wider apart, teeth bared - grin.

She could do it too! Had she done it before? If so, she hadn't been aware of it. She had to show that to Brentwood. The girl walked - still quadrupedal - to the door. Opened it quietly, listened, stretched her head out into the corridor. Here, too, darkness. The clone hesitated briefly. She had forgotten something. Mhmmm. Yes, exactly. As quietly as possible En-25.1 looked for a pair of underpants - ("Always take folded ones. Folded means they are clean, girl.") and a T-shirt and put them on. Again, no one there to praise her how well she was able to do it already. Then the girl slipped out of her maker's bedroom to the sound of snoring. Vroom- again. Otherwise, everything in the house was seemingly silent. Vrooom. Suddenly the girl had to know what that was. The doctor was asleep and Thailog and Brentwood had to be in other parts of the house. Surely no one would notice if she got to the bottom of the noise. She held onto the banister and went down the stairs on two legs. Vrooom.

She recoiled and pressed herself to the floor again, ready to jump, as a slit in the lower third of the door opened with a sharp clatter and a second of sunlight flooded the entryway before something slid through the gap, slapped on the floor, and the small metal plate closed again with another clatter.

Her heart raced wildly from the shock and she stared wide-eyed at the place in the door through which the thing had been pushed. After a few minutes to calm down and make sure nothing more was coming, En-25.1. rose and approached the door. She turned her head to see what had pushed its way into the house. Tightly folded paper with many letters on it, held together by a string. Curious, she reached for the paper, pulled off the string and unfolded it. Her eyes wandered over the largest letters at the top of the front page. And for the first time in her short life - thanks to the more sophisticated programming - the clone was reading letters, putting them together in her head.

"The New York Times," a voice croaked into the clone's ear, and again she recoiled, this time up against the wall. Breathing excitedly, she looked around the dim hallway, searching for the originator of the words. Then she grabbed her neck. Opened her mouth. "Theeee," came the letters she had just read from her own throat. It hurt a little. But it was the same croak. "The," En-25.1. repeated, feeling her larynx move under her hand. "The New York Times," she said deliberately. She spoke. She could speak. SHE – COULD – SPEAK! And read. Again her lips twisted into that ... grin. Never had the urge been greater to demonstrate to one of the others what she could do at once. But there was that vroom again, closer to her ears than ever before.

She stared at the door through which the "New York Times" papers had just been pushed and behind which those sounds were also the loudest. And other sounds reached her ears, to which she could think of nothing better than to tilt her head in wonder and perplexity. What were these sounds?

She had no words for them, no concepts. Perhaps, thought En.25-1, she had to see these things before she could find words for them. As she had just done with the daylight. She slid closer to the door, put her hand on the thing that could be pushed down and that other doors in the house also had, with which they could be opened. But when she pulled on it, the door did not open. Maybe she was doing it wrong? She pulled und pushed again harder on this thing ... on this ... door handle. Without the door listening to her. The girl changed her approach. Maybe it was too much to ask the door to open for her. Maybe this one had a trick she didn't know yet, maybe it didn't open because it was daytime.

Because she was aware that Thailog AND Brentwood had already used this door. But the slit in the door - it had just opened. That would be enough to satisfy her curiosity. En-25.1. crouched in front of the silver flap, gathered all her courage and tapped the shiny thing. Nothing. Then it occurred to her that the flap had just opened inward, and perhaps that was the only way it worked. With pointed fingers, and for the first time not ashamed of her little fingernails that were so very different and wrong from Brentwood's, she pushed the flap up - and squinted her eyes as she looked through the opening. But even though the light hurt her and she was blinded by the clear brightness of real daylight, she couldn't help but widen her eyes in amazement. That - that was. There was so much out there. So much that was alien. She instantly saw where the vroom had been coming from all this time. A strange thing slid into her field of vision, it was red and shiny like Brentwood's eyeballs but did not advance on claws or feet as it moved by.

"Car," murmured En-.25.1. in almost enlightened realization of which she guessed, it came from those machines to which she was always plugged. And with that word came a dozen others. Car - vehicle. Means of transportation - machine. Tires - rolling tires. Paint - shiny paint. The young woman watched spellbound as several of these cars drove by. All different but similar. Then a big long thing with many windows behind which many figures sat and which made a deeper vroom as if it were the mother of the smaller machines. A bus. She let her eyes roam from left to right for the first time, trying to absorb everything this 11 inches wide gap allowed her to, and her vocabulary expanded second by second. Cars were driving on a street. A street lay between houses. She saw many of these houses across the street - a whole row of them - and was sure that there were people in them. In fact, a man just stepped out of one of the doors - however he had managed to get out - and started sweeping the path in front of his house with a stick?

"Broom - to clean up" En-25.1. clarified herself, feeling smart and grown up. The next sound that she heard from inside but didn't understand now became clear when two small creatures landed on the sidewalk in front of the steps of her house. They were tiny, had wings but were very different, very different from Brentwood. Their bodies and wings were full of ... feathers.

"Birds", she said, nodding determinedly as she watched the two little brown things hop and peck around. Out of their mouths (no, beaks!) came those sounds she had heard before. And as if they were being punished for it, a thing shot past, startling the two birds. A loud laugh came from the fast thing that had tires but was not a car. No human sat in it, protected by metal - but a small human squatted on it. The not-car drove a curve with this laughing human right in front of her house, the human looked to another small human on a similar thing.

"Children ... on ... on bikes," En.25-1 hissed, finding these smaller humans too loud and obnoxious. And indeed- she was not the only one who didn't think highly of these children. The broom man shook his fist in annoyance.

"You damn little bastards. Aren't you satisfied until one of the critters drops dead?" The girl knew he meant with critters the birds. She raised her hand and mimicked the man's movement, even his angry expression.

"You damn little bastards. Are you not satisfied until one of the critters drops dead?" she echoed in almost the same tone of voice as the man, and someone who had not seen the person who was now uttering that sentence would have assumed, unasked, that they were really hearing a man - the man from across the street. Briefly the girl was surprised that her voice could sound so different - and she had said such a long sentence even if it was only repeated - but even more she thought about the sentence itself. About a word in it.

"Dead", she repeated thoughtfully, searching for these words in her not yet very abundant and yet millionfold memories. Wasn't it one of the first words she had heard? Had she not lain on the floor of the incubator and heard Brentwood's excited voice. Clone almost died. After that, the doctor called him useless and ... defective. At which Brentwood looked upset and devastated. So dead was bad and defective even worse, the girl thought, not knowing why that word alone made her so sad, made her feel miserable just thinking about it. She honestly didn't even want to think about it and turned her attention back to the outside world. So many cars. So many people. But they were outside.

Many people were outside. All of them had made it out. They all knew the same trick. But they all had no wings. None of them looked like Thailog or Brentwood. Then she remembered that she had seen Brentwood and Thailog both look like these people when they came from outside. Just this boring pink skin and no wings. And then they had scraped off those things unter their tongues - inside the house and become normal. That was it! These things were the trick! All the people on the street were using these things. Maybe they could leave the house only because of them.

The clone grabbed her booming skull. Something was wrong with her thinking. Something was not making sense. But she had grown tired while listening to the many unknown sounds and watching the many scenes on the street in front of her house. Her eyes hurt because of all the unfamiliar light and tentatively she closed the flap again and took a deep breath. She rubbed her belly. She had an aching feeling in it again but it didn't feel like what Brentwood had called hunger. It hurt a little deeper. Maybe a new kind of hunger. But the maker had said she could only eat what was allowed and so she postponed that need.

Maybe she had just overexerted herself a little. Maybe that was enough for today with the new impressions and words. She had seen so much - and knew she could not let anyone know - because Sevarius had forbidden her to be interested in the outside. Her eyes fell on the pages of the New York Times. The thing had come from outside - but now it was in here. She could show that to Brentwood. Maybe he would be pleased when she brought it to him. Maybe he would smile - and then she would show him that she could smile, too. En-25.1. took the paper in her hands and wandered carefully around the first floor. Looking for the others. She was walking on two legs now because she was afraid she might run into one of them around every corner.

Brentwood didn't care how she walked. But Thailog always walked on two legs like the doctor - maybe he would tell on her to Sevarius if he found her on all fours. Maybe that was something that really only Brentwood was allowed to do. But Brentwood had already seen her walking like that and had not forbidden her to do it. Which meant that he had allowed her to do it when there were only two of them. Which meant he was nicer than Thailog or the doctor. Which meant he liked En-25.1. even more. He liked her. She liked him. There must have been a word for that but En-25.1. couldn't think of it right now. Maybe it came with the next few nights under the influence of the machines.

She wandered through every room for the next few minutes, looking behind every curtain, peeking into every room on the first floor, the second floor, the third floor. No door was locked here. But nowhere were Thailog or Brentwood. No bed except the doctor's looked as if someone had slept in it. No one she could show what she could do. And she was hungry! And her stomach hurt at the same time. She wanted to call for her Brentwood or chirp, but then the doctor might have heard her first and got angry. So mad that he would hit Brentwood again. Besides, Brentwood always gave her something to eat. He was her carer and provider, she only needed him.

Exhausted from all the movement - after all, she had been on the muscle stimulators for many hours - En-25.1. looked unhappily up the last flight of stairs. Dark and steep. A black yawning hole. But through the keyhole at the top a bright beam of light cut the gloom.

What would be the probability that Brentwood and Thailog would be up there? Either very low because then only outside or the basement remained where the girl did not want to go because she had already spent her birth day there. Or very high because she had already looked everywhere else except in the basement (what would Thailog or Brentwood do down there without the doctor?) and outside. She didn't want to imagine that the only other two people she knew would be out there, of all places. In this bright, noisy world that she herself couldn't reach until she got those under the tongue thingies.

So the clone gathered her strength and crawled up the last flight of stairs. She opened the door - and saw more light than ever before! She almost fell backwards down the stairs. But instead she lowered herself forward. The room was large- right under the roof. And had a huge, a HUGE window with no curtains, no blinds, no shutters. The brightness was painful but the view was - the world was a rich light blue flawless sea. A sea in the SKY. With a wordless bewilderment that had something God-fearing about it, with wide eyes and open mouth, the clone - now again forgetting the bipedal gait - crawled through the room toward the window.

The sky. She hadn't been able to see it from the ground-floor slit. But here it was. The whole heaven of this world. They had hidden it up here. The girl stepped to one of the open windows and for the first time fresh air hit her. A new sound came from her throat as wind (the word came to her immediately!) moved her hair and tickled her. She giggled and pawed at this silly wind. She looked up at the sky for minutes, she couldn't get enough of that deep vivid blue. The sun had already moved enough that she could stay in the shade of the loft without it hurting her tired eyes too much. She also admired other magical things. A whole bunch (pack? flock? herd? ... no- SWARM!) of birds migrating across this wonderful sky, screaming loudly with happiness. The multitude of lower roofs, covered with countless red, black, brown small plates or some completely flat without these scales. But nothing, nothing could match that sky.

She didn't even know why her eyes became so moist - similar to downstairs when the light had blinded her - and she turned her head away to rub them. And when she looked up, perceiving for the first time something other than the unspeakable beauty outside the window, she shrank back from the things-MONSTERS! that looked at her with angry faces, their fanged mouths wide open, their eyes furious, their clawed hands up o tear at her. She dropped to the ground whimpering and shrieking:

"Not dead! Don't make me defective!"

She trembled and all her muscles tensed from the unfamiliar vibrating contractions. But when no roar or other angry sound came, the child looked up again. And realized that the monsters were not monsters. They were Brentwood and Thailog. Or at least they looked the same if Brentwood or Thailog were evil. Tentatively En-25.1. crawled to Brentwood who did not move. She touched his foot, gently, so that he wouldn't get mad - if that was Brentwood at all. The foot was hard and cold and rough. She groped higher. loincloth also cold and hard. Wings cold and hard. Chest, too. And head. The girl felt every part of the cold and hard Brentwood in search of - she didn't know herself. Finally, bravely, almost boldly, she poked where his eyes were, tapping his head so hard that her knuckles ached.

Astonished, she shook her head. Was that Brentwood? He looked exactly the same - only angry. And gray. And hard. But if that wasn't Brentwood and that wasn't Thailog. Then where were both of them? Why were these things standing here - she groaned and rubbed her temples. Statues. Why were these statues here if these were not the two themselves. That's how it had to be. And if it were otherwise, these statues would not tell her. Tired, she looked at the open door and wondered if she could ask the doctor. But first she wanted to show Brentwood that she could smile, that she could talk. Her eyes fell on a mattress at the edge of the loft. Lots of pillows, some messy blankets. Many piles of books around it and other things she had no words for right now. She was really tired. Everything had been a bit much. And then the headache and that dull maybe-hunger pain in her stomach. En-25.1. decided she could rest a bit on the mattress before going back to the doctor, crawled onto it and was asleep within moments.

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Thanks for reading, Q.T.