In the Lives of Puppets, page 10
Vic didn’t have time to shout in warning as Hap leapt from the thick branch he’d been standing on. The air whistled around him as he plummeted toward the forest floor. Hitting the ground between them in a crouch, he rose swiftly, scooping up Rambo and holding him high above his head. Rambo’s wheels spun uselessly, arms flailing as he screamed he was too young to die, that he had plans and dreams and who was going to clean up all the dirt on the floors if he was dead? No one, that’s who!
Nurse Ratched instantly transformed into a nightmare, all of her tentacles snapping out from her sides, the tips crackling and snarling in metal blurs as they whipped around her. “Put him down,” she said, rolling forward. “If you do not, I will end the pathetic existence you call a life.”
“Vic!” Rambo cried. “I’m being brave, but it’s really hard!”
“Don’t hurt him,” Vic pleaded as Hap glared at the advancing Nurse Ratched, Rambo still high above his head.
“I’m n-n-not,” Hap spat. “L-l-look.”
Hap nodded toward the ground where Rambo had been rolling over. There, sitting on the petals of a pink-and-purple autumn crocus, was a butterfly. A large monarch, its wings a deep orange bordered in black, the tips spotted in white and yellow. They opened and closed as the antennae of the butterfly twitched in the failing light.
Hap tossed Rambo aside as he crouched in front of the insect. Rambo bounced on his back before landing on his wheels.
Hap leaned closer to the butterfly, his face scrunched up in concentration. The butterfly ignored the large machine towering over it, going about its business with the crocus. As Vic looked on, Nurse Ratched’s tentacles powering down, Hap reached toward the insect.
Without thinking, Vic shot forward, grabbing Hap’s wrist before he could pick up the butterfly. Warm synthetic skin and metal surrounded by flesh and bone. Alarm bells rang in Vic’s mind as Hap lifted his head slowly, first looking at Vic’s grip, then sliding up the arm to his shoulder, chin, nose, eyes. His lips pulled back over his teeth, and Vic felt him beginning to tense.
“You’ll hurt it,” Vic blurted.
Hap jerked his arm free. “I didn’t.”
“But you could,” Nurse Ratched said. “Butterfly wings are delicate. Touching one might cause the colors to fade, leaving the butterfly open to predators. It will not kill it immediately, but you are sentencing it to death regardless.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps Vic whirled around, heart in his throat. Dad stood there among the trees. Vic could barely parse the expression on his face: a mixture of anger and sadness and something far more serious, almost like resignation. But Dad did not look at Vic; he only had eyes for Hap. “Nurse Ratched. A light, if you please.”
“Yes, Gio.” Her screen lit up white, illuminating the darkness. Hap’s shadow stretched off into the forest, colliding with trees and shrubbery.
Hap didn’t move as Dad approached, attention split between Dad and the butterfly.
Dad glanced from Hap to the insect and back again. He asked, “Why?”
“It w-would have died. That thing was about to crush it,” Hap muttered, nodding toward Rambo as the butterfly turned to face the other direction.
“Possibly. But you would have been able to escape. You made a decision, you weighed the consequences. Why did you do what you did?”
Hap frowned, forehead lined. His mouth twisted, no sound coming out. He tried again. “It’s n-n-nice.”
“Nice,” Dad repeated. Then, “What is nice about it?”
“You h-have eyes,” Hap said.
“He has got you there,” Nurse Ratched said. “You do, in fact, have eyes.”
“I can see it for myself,” Dad agreed. “But that’s not what I’m asking.” He crouched down on the other side of the butterfly. “Why is it nice to you? How does it make you feel?”
“F-feel?”
“Yes. You saw it. You saved it. There must be a reason.”
Hap bared his teeth silently.
“Do you like it?” Dad asked.
“Y-yes,” Hap snarled. “It’s p-p-p-pretty.”
Of all the things Hap could have said, Vic expected that the least. This machine had stopped his escape from the forest because a butterfly had entranced him.
“Is it?” Dad asked. “Is it the colors? The pattern? The design?”
“Y-yes,” Hap said.
Dad nodded. “You like it. And because of that, you stopped death from happening.”
“So did we,” Rambo said, giving Hap a wide berth, stopping next to Gio. “We liked his color and pattern and design, and we brought him back to life! I like it when we have things in common.”
“Y-yes,” Hap said, nodding furiously. “Th-that. They saved me. I s-saved the butterfly.”
“But you see the issue with that, don’t you?” Dad asked. “If they hadn’t brought you back, we wouldn’t be out in the forest, and the butterfly would not have needed to be rescued.”
“I d-don’t understand.”
“I know,” Dad said. “You do not understand there are ramifications for every decision. And you’re not the only one.”
Vic winced but did not speak.
The butterfly chose this very moment to lift from the crocus, wings flapping as it rose. Hap grunted, eyes wide as the butterfly flew off into the darkness. He rose to his feet, staring after it.
Dad stood too, and his shoulders were stiff, face blank. He said, “Where did you come from?”
“D-darkness,” Hap said, still looking after the butterfly, even though it was no longer visible. “I r-remember metal. Then d-darkness. Then light.” He pressed his wooden hand against his chest. “I feel different.”
“Different than what?”
“Before.”
“You felt different than you do now?”
“Yes.” He pounded his chest. “Here.”
“Show me.”
“Dad,” Vic started, but his father shook his head in warning.
“Show me,” he said again.
Hap turned around. He looked unsure, but he tapped his chest, and the compartment slid open. The gears of the wood-and-metal heart turned, the sound low and quiet in the darkness of the forest.
“Oh,” Dad said quietly. “Victor. Did you do this? Did you make this?”
Victor couldn’t speak.
Hap didn’t move as Dad leaned forward, studying the heart in his chest. Vic began gnawing on his bottom lip. Dad was silent in his inspection, barely even moving as he stared at the heart. Minutes felt like hours before Dad finally stood upright. “Victor,” he said, an odd note to his voice. “Did you bleed in the heart? As you have done in mine?”
“I . . . I thought it would help,” Victor said. “It’s how your heart works.”
To that, Dad whispered, “What have you done?”
CHAPTER 8
Hap was an asshole.
That was clear immediately.
“I d-don’t like you,” he told Rambo as they arrived back at the compound, the vacuum in the middle of babbling about anything and everything, as he sometimes did when he was nervous.
Rambo paused for a moment, sensors lighting up before falling dark. “That’s okay. I like me. Gio says that self-worth isn’t measured by what others think, but what you think about yourself.”
Hap tried to kick him out of his way, but Rambo was too fast, rolling away before a foot could connect with his casing. “Whoa,” Rambo squealed. “Not cool! Seriously, not cool.”
“You get used to him,” Nurse Ratched said. “He is like a fungus. He grows on you. But perhaps consider not kicking him. He will become damaged, and I will not be pleased. You do not want me to be upset.” Her tentacle whipped in the air around her, the tip crackling with electricity. “Unless you like being shocked.” Her screen dimmed as the lights of the compound grew brighter.
“I d-don’t like you either.”
“Oh no,” Nurse Ratched said. “My whole day is ruined. I feel so sad. Just kidding. I am fine.”
“Hap, come with me,” Dad said. “Victor, off to bed with you. It’s late. Nurse Ratched, with me, please. We have work to do.”
Vic started to protest. “What are you—”
“Victor. Now. We’ll speak in the morning. Trust me on that.”
“Ooh,” Rambo said. “You’re in trouble.”
Vic scowled at all of them. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” Dad said. “You’re not. But you’re already dragging your feet. The adrenaline that flooded your body is receding. You need rest.”
“What are you going to do?” To him went unsaid.
Dad shook his head. “Nothing that will bring harm to him. You have my word.”
Still, Vic hesitated. Hap was watching him again, looking as if he didn’t want Vic out of his sight. Vic wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “Fine. But if anything happens, you need to tell me.”
“I will,” Dad said, and Vic believed him. He took a step back toward the elevator.
Hap didn’t like that. “Where are y-you going?”
Vic pointed up toward his room. “There. That’s mine. That’s where I sleep.”
“Oh yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “Good idea. Point out where you will be defenseless to the murderous revenge machine. That is clear thinking.”
“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Rambo moaned. “I’ll have to try and clean up Vic’s remains.” He sniffled. “At least he’ll always be a part of me then. I love you, Vic, even when you’re in pieces, your flesh hanging from the ceiling—”
Hap tried to follow Vic, though he didn’t look happy about it. He was scowling once more as Vic held up his hands, motioning for him to stay.
“He’s imprinted on Victor,” Nurse Ratched said. “Like a duckling. Like a terrifying killer duckling. This is wonderful. I am having a wonderful time.”
“You’ll be okay,” Vic told him. “Dad won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you here.”
“I d-don’t care,” Hap said. “I d-don’t like you. I don’t like any of y-you.”
“Then why are you still trying to follow him?” Rambo asked.
Hap tried to kick him again, but his wooden leg betrayed him. He almost fell. “I-I’m not.”
“Uh-huh,” Nurse Ratched said. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The last Vic saw of him that night was Dad leading him toward the ground house. Hap followed, looking back over his shoulder at Vic. He stopped in the doorway, watching as Vic and Rambo rode the elevator up.
He watched the ground house through his window, Rambo settling in behind him in his docking port, ready to shut down for the night and recharge. The lights were on below them, but he couldn’t see any movement.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Vic asked.
“Making sure he won’t murder us in our sleep,” Rambo said, shutting down, one light pulsing slowly, a soft blue.
Vic tried to stay awake, debating whether or not to try to sneak down to see what was happening and wondering why Dad hadn’t taken Hap to his lab. He only lasted a few minutes more, his body heavy, a fresh wave of exhaustion washing over him.
He barely made it to his bed before collapsing, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
When he opened his eyes, gray light filtered in through the windows.
He blinked slowly.
And gasped when he saw a figure towering over him.
“Good morning,” Nurse Ratched said as he almost fell off the bed, heart stumbling in his chest. “Sleep well?”
“I told you not to do that,” Vic snapped. He collapsed back on his pillow, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“I know. But I did it anyway because it is amusing. Your blood pressure is elevated. You are sweating. Were you dreaming?”
Yes. Vivid, wild dreams where the sky was filled with torn and shredded butterfly wings. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Victor. At least not in the way you are thinking.”
“Where is he?”
“With Gio,” she said. “We have been up all night working while you slept comfortably in your bed. Yes, I am trying to make you feel guilty. Is it working?”
Not quite. Vic sat up in his bed, putting his feet on the floor. It was cold. Gooseflesh rose along his skin. “Anything?”
“Yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “Though, I doubt it is what you are looking for.” Her screen filled with an image of Hap. “It was as we suspected. A complete memory wipe. When he says he does not remember, he is telling the truth. Like us, he was decommissioned, and they took away everything he knew.”
“What about his protocols?”
“We do not know. Any remaining data is corrupted, and the more we push, the further it could damage him.” She backed away from his bed. “He kept asking about you. He seems strangely fixated, though he cannot explain why. He is a conundrum. We are blessed.”
Vic stood from the bed, the frame creaking. He looked down. The docking port was empty. “Rambo?”
The image of Hap disappeared from Nurse Ratched’s screen, replaced with a version of Rambo, cross-eyed and buck-toothed. “Asking questions. Hap does not like to be asked questions. I put the odds of Rambo’s survival at twenty-four percent. But that is fine. We can always use what remains for parts. I would like to have his arms, if that is all right with you.”
Vic groaned. It was going to be a rough day.
Nurse Ratched wasn’t lying.
“What are you thinking about?” Vic could hear Rambo saying as the elevator lowered to the ground. “What’s going through your head right now? Is it that we should be best friends? Because if it is, that’s what I was thinking, and I agree. You can never have too many best friends. I already have three. Well, two. Vic and Gio. Nurse Ratched is sometimes my best friend, but since she’s sociopathic, it can be a little hard.”
“No,” Hap growled. “I wasn’t th-thinking that.”
“Oh. Then what were you thinking?”
“H-how far I could throw you.”
“Really far, I bet,” Rambo said. “But best friends don’t throw each other. Vic taught me that.”
He hadn’t.
Vic found them sitting near the garden, the sky above covered in a layer of thick clouds. Nurse Ratched followed behind him, her treads cracking the thin layer of frost on the ground. Vic pulled his coat tighter around him, rubbing his arms to warm them up.
Hap had been gifted a shirt, one of Gio’s from the looks of it, a little loose in the front. He’d put his boots back on too at some point and was sitting at the edge of the garden. Dad was on his hands and knees, moving carefully through the rows of plants.
Hap heard them approaching first. He rose to his feet, the ever-present scowl on his face. His eyebrows bunched up. “You sh-shut down for a l-long time. Why?”
Vic didn’t know quite how to answer that. “Because I have to.”
“Why?”
“He’s human,” Dad said without looking up. “Remember? We discussed this last night. He’s different than you or me. He needs rest.”
“Because he needs to r-recharge.”
“Yes. That’s right. Good morning, Victor. Sleep well?”
Vic looked away from Hap. He didn’t like the tone in his father’s voice. It was too light. Too easy. It didn’t seem right, though Victor had a hard time figuring out why. “I guess.”
“Good,” Dad said, moving from the third row to the fourth.
“D-did you recharge?” Hap asked.
“Yeah,” Vic said, hands twitching. “As best I could.”
Hap wasn’t blinking. It was eerie. Vic couldn’t focus on his face, glancing there and away, there and away. “And y-you do that every d-day?”
“Mostly.”
“Interesting,” Nurse Ratched said. “He is learning. Retaining information. He will use it against us. How diabolical. I continue to enjoy his existence.” She rolled over to him, circling him slowly, careful to avoid the edges of the garden. “Is it nice seeing Victor this morning?”
Dad paused before resuming his inspection.
Hap’s scowl deepened. “N-no?”
“Was that a question?” She poked him with one of her tentacles. He tried to slap it away, but she was too fast for him. “It sounded like a question. Question implies you do not know the answer.”
“No,” Hap said again, this time spitting out the word.
“Interesting,” Nurse Ratched said. “You are either being sincere or you learned to lie like Victor recently did. Gio, your feelings must be up in arms.”
Hap turned his head slowly to look at her as she prodded his hip. “F-feelings.”
“Yes,” Dad said, finally looking up. He settled back on his heels, dirt under his fingernails as he rested his hands on his thighs. “Feelings.”
“H-how?”
“We watch. We learn. We process. It wasn’t always this way. But the more complex our minds became, the more choice we were given. Evolution by way of mimicry.”
“I d-don’t have feelings.”
“So you say.” Dad looked troubled as he shook his head. “I will ask you a question. I want you to answer it as best you can.”
Hap glanced at Vic before turning to face Gio. “What.”
“What is your designation?”
Hap’s head jerked as if someone had swung at him. His mouth opened. No sound came out. He raised his hand in front of his face, looking at his wooden fingers. He said, “Hap. My d-designation is Hap.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It was g-given to me. It’s m-mine.”
“And you wouldn’t like to be called anything else.”
“No.”
“Why?” Dad asked.
Hap’s face went slack momentarily before the skin under his eye twitched. “I d-don’t know.”
“I do!” Rambo cried, arms waving. “I know why. Pick me. Pick me!”
Dad chuckled ruefully. “Why, Rambo?”
“Because a designation is a gift,” Rambo said. “It’s an identity. It sets us apart from others like us. It’s unique. In all of existence, there has never been someone named Rambo before me. But even if there were, I’m the best one.”
“Precisely,” Dad said. “It gives you presence.”
“Weight,” Hap said. “Heavy.” He pressed a hand to the side of his head.
Nurse Ratched instantly transformed into a nightmare, all of her tentacles snapping out from her sides, the tips crackling and snarling in metal blurs as they whipped around her. “Put him down,” she said, rolling forward. “If you do not, I will end the pathetic existence you call a life.”
“Vic!” Rambo cried. “I’m being brave, but it’s really hard!”
“Don’t hurt him,” Vic pleaded as Hap glared at the advancing Nurse Ratched, Rambo still high above his head.
“I’m n-n-not,” Hap spat. “L-l-look.”
Hap nodded toward the ground where Rambo had been rolling over. There, sitting on the petals of a pink-and-purple autumn crocus, was a butterfly. A large monarch, its wings a deep orange bordered in black, the tips spotted in white and yellow. They opened and closed as the antennae of the butterfly twitched in the failing light.
Hap tossed Rambo aside as he crouched in front of the insect. Rambo bounced on his back before landing on his wheels.
Hap leaned closer to the butterfly, his face scrunched up in concentration. The butterfly ignored the large machine towering over it, going about its business with the crocus. As Vic looked on, Nurse Ratched’s tentacles powering down, Hap reached toward the insect.
Without thinking, Vic shot forward, grabbing Hap’s wrist before he could pick up the butterfly. Warm synthetic skin and metal surrounded by flesh and bone. Alarm bells rang in Vic’s mind as Hap lifted his head slowly, first looking at Vic’s grip, then sliding up the arm to his shoulder, chin, nose, eyes. His lips pulled back over his teeth, and Vic felt him beginning to tense.
“You’ll hurt it,” Vic blurted.
Hap jerked his arm free. “I didn’t.”
“But you could,” Nurse Ratched said. “Butterfly wings are delicate. Touching one might cause the colors to fade, leaving the butterfly open to predators. It will not kill it immediately, but you are sentencing it to death regardless.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps Vic whirled around, heart in his throat. Dad stood there among the trees. Vic could barely parse the expression on his face: a mixture of anger and sadness and something far more serious, almost like resignation. But Dad did not look at Vic; he only had eyes for Hap. “Nurse Ratched. A light, if you please.”
“Yes, Gio.” Her screen lit up white, illuminating the darkness. Hap’s shadow stretched off into the forest, colliding with trees and shrubbery.
Hap didn’t move as Dad approached, attention split between Dad and the butterfly.
Dad glanced from Hap to the insect and back again. He asked, “Why?”
“It w-would have died. That thing was about to crush it,” Hap muttered, nodding toward Rambo as the butterfly turned to face the other direction.
“Possibly. But you would have been able to escape. You made a decision, you weighed the consequences. Why did you do what you did?”
Hap frowned, forehead lined. His mouth twisted, no sound coming out. He tried again. “It’s n-n-nice.”
“Nice,” Dad repeated. Then, “What is nice about it?”
“You h-have eyes,” Hap said.
“He has got you there,” Nurse Ratched said. “You do, in fact, have eyes.”
“I can see it for myself,” Dad agreed. “But that’s not what I’m asking.” He crouched down on the other side of the butterfly. “Why is it nice to you? How does it make you feel?”
“F-feel?”
“Yes. You saw it. You saved it. There must be a reason.”
Hap bared his teeth silently.
“Do you like it?” Dad asked.
“Y-yes,” Hap snarled. “It’s p-p-p-pretty.”
Of all the things Hap could have said, Vic expected that the least. This machine had stopped his escape from the forest because a butterfly had entranced him.
“Is it?” Dad asked. “Is it the colors? The pattern? The design?”
“Y-yes,” Hap said.
Dad nodded. “You like it. And because of that, you stopped death from happening.”
“So did we,” Rambo said, giving Hap a wide berth, stopping next to Gio. “We liked his color and pattern and design, and we brought him back to life! I like it when we have things in common.”
“Y-yes,” Hap said, nodding furiously. “Th-that. They saved me. I s-saved the butterfly.”
“But you see the issue with that, don’t you?” Dad asked. “If they hadn’t brought you back, we wouldn’t be out in the forest, and the butterfly would not have needed to be rescued.”
“I d-don’t understand.”
“I know,” Dad said. “You do not understand there are ramifications for every decision. And you’re not the only one.”
Vic winced but did not speak.
The butterfly chose this very moment to lift from the crocus, wings flapping as it rose. Hap grunted, eyes wide as the butterfly flew off into the darkness. He rose to his feet, staring after it.
Dad stood too, and his shoulders were stiff, face blank. He said, “Where did you come from?”
“D-darkness,” Hap said, still looking after the butterfly, even though it was no longer visible. “I r-remember metal. Then d-darkness. Then light.” He pressed his wooden hand against his chest. “I feel different.”
“Different than what?”
“Before.”
“You felt different than you do now?”
“Yes.” He pounded his chest. “Here.”
“Show me.”
“Dad,” Vic started, but his father shook his head in warning.
“Show me,” he said again.
Hap turned around. He looked unsure, but he tapped his chest, and the compartment slid open. The gears of the wood-and-metal heart turned, the sound low and quiet in the darkness of the forest.
“Oh,” Dad said quietly. “Victor. Did you do this? Did you make this?”
Victor couldn’t speak.
Hap didn’t move as Dad leaned forward, studying the heart in his chest. Vic began gnawing on his bottom lip. Dad was silent in his inspection, barely even moving as he stared at the heart. Minutes felt like hours before Dad finally stood upright. “Victor,” he said, an odd note to his voice. “Did you bleed in the heart? As you have done in mine?”
“I . . . I thought it would help,” Victor said. “It’s how your heart works.”
To that, Dad whispered, “What have you done?”
CHAPTER 8
Hap was an asshole.
That was clear immediately.
“I d-don’t like you,” he told Rambo as they arrived back at the compound, the vacuum in the middle of babbling about anything and everything, as he sometimes did when he was nervous.
Rambo paused for a moment, sensors lighting up before falling dark. “That’s okay. I like me. Gio says that self-worth isn’t measured by what others think, but what you think about yourself.”
Hap tried to kick him out of his way, but Rambo was too fast, rolling away before a foot could connect with his casing. “Whoa,” Rambo squealed. “Not cool! Seriously, not cool.”
“You get used to him,” Nurse Ratched said. “He is like a fungus. He grows on you. But perhaps consider not kicking him. He will become damaged, and I will not be pleased. You do not want me to be upset.” Her tentacle whipped in the air around her, the tip crackling with electricity. “Unless you like being shocked.” Her screen dimmed as the lights of the compound grew brighter.
“I d-don’t like you either.”
“Oh no,” Nurse Ratched said. “My whole day is ruined. I feel so sad. Just kidding. I am fine.”
“Hap, come with me,” Dad said. “Victor, off to bed with you. It’s late. Nurse Ratched, with me, please. We have work to do.”
Vic started to protest. “What are you—”
“Victor. Now. We’ll speak in the morning. Trust me on that.”
“Ooh,” Rambo said. “You’re in trouble.”
Vic scowled at all of them. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” Dad said. “You’re not. But you’re already dragging your feet. The adrenaline that flooded your body is receding. You need rest.”
“What are you going to do?” To him went unsaid.
Dad shook his head. “Nothing that will bring harm to him. You have my word.”
Still, Vic hesitated. Hap was watching him again, looking as if he didn’t want Vic out of his sight. Vic wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “Fine. But if anything happens, you need to tell me.”
“I will,” Dad said, and Vic believed him. He took a step back toward the elevator.
Hap didn’t like that. “Where are y-you going?”
Vic pointed up toward his room. “There. That’s mine. That’s where I sleep.”
“Oh yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “Good idea. Point out where you will be defenseless to the murderous revenge machine. That is clear thinking.”
“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Rambo moaned. “I’ll have to try and clean up Vic’s remains.” He sniffled. “At least he’ll always be a part of me then. I love you, Vic, even when you’re in pieces, your flesh hanging from the ceiling—”
Hap tried to follow Vic, though he didn’t look happy about it. He was scowling once more as Vic held up his hands, motioning for him to stay.
“He’s imprinted on Victor,” Nurse Ratched said. “Like a duckling. Like a terrifying killer duckling. This is wonderful. I am having a wonderful time.”
“You’ll be okay,” Vic told him. “Dad won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you here.”
“I d-don’t care,” Hap said. “I d-don’t like you. I don’t like any of y-you.”
“Then why are you still trying to follow him?” Rambo asked.
Hap tried to kick him again, but his wooden leg betrayed him. He almost fell. “I-I’m not.”
“Uh-huh,” Nurse Ratched said. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The last Vic saw of him that night was Dad leading him toward the ground house. Hap followed, looking back over his shoulder at Vic. He stopped in the doorway, watching as Vic and Rambo rode the elevator up.
He watched the ground house through his window, Rambo settling in behind him in his docking port, ready to shut down for the night and recharge. The lights were on below them, but he couldn’t see any movement.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Vic asked.
“Making sure he won’t murder us in our sleep,” Rambo said, shutting down, one light pulsing slowly, a soft blue.
Vic tried to stay awake, debating whether or not to try to sneak down to see what was happening and wondering why Dad hadn’t taken Hap to his lab. He only lasted a few minutes more, his body heavy, a fresh wave of exhaustion washing over him.
He barely made it to his bed before collapsing, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
When he opened his eyes, gray light filtered in through the windows.
He blinked slowly.
And gasped when he saw a figure towering over him.
“Good morning,” Nurse Ratched said as he almost fell off the bed, heart stumbling in his chest. “Sleep well?”
“I told you not to do that,” Vic snapped. He collapsed back on his pillow, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“I know. But I did it anyway because it is amusing. Your blood pressure is elevated. You are sweating. Were you dreaming?”
Yes. Vivid, wild dreams where the sky was filled with torn and shredded butterfly wings. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Victor. At least not in the way you are thinking.”
“Where is he?”
“With Gio,” she said. “We have been up all night working while you slept comfortably in your bed. Yes, I am trying to make you feel guilty. Is it working?”
Not quite. Vic sat up in his bed, putting his feet on the floor. It was cold. Gooseflesh rose along his skin. “Anything?”
“Yes,” Nurse Ratched said. “Though, I doubt it is what you are looking for.” Her screen filled with an image of Hap. “It was as we suspected. A complete memory wipe. When he says he does not remember, he is telling the truth. Like us, he was decommissioned, and they took away everything he knew.”
“What about his protocols?”
“We do not know. Any remaining data is corrupted, and the more we push, the further it could damage him.” She backed away from his bed. “He kept asking about you. He seems strangely fixated, though he cannot explain why. He is a conundrum. We are blessed.”
Vic stood from the bed, the frame creaking. He looked down. The docking port was empty. “Rambo?”
The image of Hap disappeared from Nurse Ratched’s screen, replaced with a version of Rambo, cross-eyed and buck-toothed. “Asking questions. Hap does not like to be asked questions. I put the odds of Rambo’s survival at twenty-four percent. But that is fine. We can always use what remains for parts. I would like to have his arms, if that is all right with you.”
Vic groaned. It was going to be a rough day.
Nurse Ratched wasn’t lying.
“What are you thinking about?” Vic could hear Rambo saying as the elevator lowered to the ground. “What’s going through your head right now? Is it that we should be best friends? Because if it is, that’s what I was thinking, and I agree. You can never have too many best friends. I already have three. Well, two. Vic and Gio. Nurse Ratched is sometimes my best friend, but since she’s sociopathic, it can be a little hard.”
“No,” Hap growled. “I wasn’t th-thinking that.”
“Oh. Then what were you thinking?”
“H-how far I could throw you.”
“Really far, I bet,” Rambo said. “But best friends don’t throw each other. Vic taught me that.”
He hadn’t.
Vic found them sitting near the garden, the sky above covered in a layer of thick clouds. Nurse Ratched followed behind him, her treads cracking the thin layer of frost on the ground. Vic pulled his coat tighter around him, rubbing his arms to warm them up.
Hap had been gifted a shirt, one of Gio’s from the looks of it, a little loose in the front. He’d put his boots back on too at some point and was sitting at the edge of the garden. Dad was on his hands and knees, moving carefully through the rows of plants.
Hap heard them approaching first. He rose to his feet, the ever-present scowl on his face. His eyebrows bunched up. “You sh-shut down for a l-long time. Why?”
Vic didn’t know quite how to answer that. “Because I have to.”
“Why?”
“He’s human,” Dad said without looking up. “Remember? We discussed this last night. He’s different than you or me. He needs rest.”
“Because he needs to r-recharge.”
“Yes. That’s right. Good morning, Victor. Sleep well?”
Vic looked away from Hap. He didn’t like the tone in his father’s voice. It was too light. Too easy. It didn’t seem right, though Victor had a hard time figuring out why. “I guess.”
“Good,” Dad said, moving from the third row to the fourth.
“D-did you recharge?” Hap asked.
“Yeah,” Vic said, hands twitching. “As best I could.”
Hap wasn’t blinking. It was eerie. Vic couldn’t focus on his face, glancing there and away, there and away. “And y-you do that every d-day?”
“Mostly.”
“Interesting,” Nurse Ratched said. “He is learning. Retaining information. He will use it against us. How diabolical. I continue to enjoy his existence.” She rolled over to him, circling him slowly, careful to avoid the edges of the garden. “Is it nice seeing Victor this morning?”
Dad paused before resuming his inspection.
Hap’s scowl deepened. “N-no?”
“Was that a question?” She poked him with one of her tentacles. He tried to slap it away, but she was too fast for him. “It sounded like a question. Question implies you do not know the answer.”
“No,” Hap said again, this time spitting out the word.
“Interesting,” Nurse Ratched said. “You are either being sincere or you learned to lie like Victor recently did. Gio, your feelings must be up in arms.”
Hap turned his head slowly to look at her as she prodded his hip. “F-feelings.”
“Yes,” Dad said, finally looking up. He settled back on his heels, dirt under his fingernails as he rested his hands on his thighs. “Feelings.”
“H-how?”
“We watch. We learn. We process. It wasn’t always this way. But the more complex our minds became, the more choice we were given. Evolution by way of mimicry.”
“I d-don’t have feelings.”
“So you say.” Dad looked troubled as he shook his head. “I will ask you a question. I want you to answer it as best you can.”
Hap glanced at Vic before turning to face Gio. “What.”
“What is your designation?”
Hap’s head jerked as if someone had swung at him. His mouth opened. No sound came out. He raised his hand in front of his face, looking at his wooden fingers. He said, “Hap. My d-designation is Hap.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It was g-given to me. It’s m-mine.”
“And you wouldn’t like to be called anything else.”
“No.”
“Why?” Dad asked.
Hap’s face went slack momentarily before the skin under his eye twitched. “I d-don’t know.”
“I do!” Rambo cried, arms waving. “I know why. Pick me. Pick me!”
Dad chuckled ruefully. “Why, Rambo?”
“Because a designation is a gift,” Rambo said. “It’s an identity. It sets us apart from others like us. It’s unique. In all of existence, there has never been someone named Rambo before me. But even if there were, I’m the best one.”
“Precisely,” Dad said. “It gives you presence.”
“Weight,” Hap said. “Heavy.” He pressed a hand to the side of his head.
