Payback

by Gordon Korman

  My one-time father reaches into the pocket of his blazer, pulls out a shiny black object, and points it at me.

  A pistol.

  That stops us in our tracks. We’re from Serenity, where violence is completely unheard of. We barely even knew there was such a thing as a gun, much less had one aimed at us by our beloved mayor and school principal.

  The lobby is mostly deserted this time of day, but the few hotel guests who are around fearfully scoop up their children and flee. Hammerstrom turns to the cowed staff behind the reception desk and gestures toward the exit with the pistol. “Leave, please.”

  Grateful to be off the hook, they hurry outside. The pistol swings back to me, and I raise my arms in surrender, paralyzed by fear. It’s not the first time my life has been in danger, but it’s the first time the threat comes from a weapon specifically designed to kill, wielded by someone ruthless enough to use it.

  My gesture seems to irritate him. “Why would you even know to do that? It isn’t something Mrs. Laska taught in Contentment class. Don’t you see the contamination you’ve brought down on us?”

  “I’m the contamination?” I can hardly believe the irony. “Where’s the part in our perfect life where your own father threatens to shoot you?”

  The sound of running feet on the stone floor behind us makes us all wheel. It’s our pursuers from the water park catching up at last. They pull up short at the sight of us there, held at gunpoint in our bathing suits, dripping water on the granite.

  If there was a way out before, it’s gone now. We’re outnumbered and surrounded. The other kids are petrified, but for Malik, Amber, Tori, and me, it’s different. We’re scared, sure, and devastated that we couldn’t rescue our fellow clones. Still, this is a moment we’ve always known might come. Since escaping Serenity, we’ve made it farther than any of us could have imagined. Yet our amazing run has reached its end.

  Hammerstrom’s rage is ice cold. “We gave you everything—fine homes, loving parents, a lifestyle unheard of anywhere else. And how do you repay us? By destroying everything.”

  “There was nothing to destroy,” Malik speaks up resentfully. “It was all fake—even us.” He catches a glimpse of his mother in the group behind us and quickly turns away. “Especially us.”

  Mr. Pritel steps forward and places a gentle hand on Tori’s shoulder. “Torific . . .”

  She shakes him off and refuses even to look at him.

  “You’ve got some nerve blaming us for ruining everything!” Amber seethes. “You gave us lives that were ruined from the start. Human clones—we were a crime before we were even born. Made with the DNA of master criminals. And your so-called research—that was the most evil thing of all.”

  My former father’s rage disappears and is replaced by sheer astonishment. “How can you say that? There was never anything more optimistic and positive than Project Osiris! In you, we took some of the worst of humanity and proved that, given the right circumstances, it could be good. Don’t you understand what that means? It’s like a second chance for the entire human race. The nature-versusnurture debate is over! In the future, we might not need prisons. The legal system as we know it will be a thing of the past!”

  “Except it didn’t work,” I interrupt.

  His face darkens. “It did work! It was working! It was you, Eli! You had to interfere with the course of science!”

  For the first time, it occurs to me that Felix Hammerstrom isn’t 100 percent evil. What he is, actually, is crazy. I don’t know if he started out that way, or if Project Osiris turned him. When you create a totally bogus reality to raise kids in, you have to live in that world too. And eventually, you can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t.

  Believe it or not, it actually makes me hate him a little less, and almost feel sorry for him.

  I say a word I never thought I’d speak again. “Dad . . .”

  “Silence!” he bellows, pale with fury. His arm rises until the pistol is pointed directly at my chest.

  Dr. Bruder speaks up. “Felix—don’t!”

  “It’s not too late to save our work!” Hammerstrom tosses back. “Eli is the ringleader! If you want to kill a snake, cut off its head!”

  His pistol arm stiffens.

  He’s going to shoot me, I think to myself. I should be screaming, begging, fleeing, flattening myself to the floor. Instead, I’m numb with the understanding that part of me expected it to end this way. What do you do with an experiment that fails? Wash it down the sink.

  His finger whitens on the trigger.

  “No!” A slight, bony figure pushes past me and hurls himself at Hammerstrom. Hector slams into my one-time father from the side, jarring his gun arm. With a sharp crack, the shot goes off.

  The display front of the huge tank over the reception desk shatters into a million pieces. Shards of broken glass rain down on us, followed by a deluge of water. It knocks the feet out from under us and sends us sliding across the lobby. Fish and sea creatures drop from above, hit the floor, and flap around in wild distress. I look up just in time to see an immense black shape descending upon us, blotting out the lights.

  I push Tori clear, rolling and skidding after her. The giant manta ray, weighing easily a ton or more, comes down with a tremendous thud. I see Hammerstrom disappear under the titanic wingspan just before the mighty splash lifts me up and sends me spinning.

  Poseidon is a disorienting blur of water, bodies, and fish, until, at last, the wall swings around to meet me. Everything goes black.

  26

  MALIK BRUDER

  I end up with a snapping turtle standing on my stomach, looking down at me.

  I push him off and jump up, slipping and sliding on the wet floor. The lobby is totally nuts. People are lying all over the place, and there’s some serious screaming going on. Plus a lot of fish are flopping around us now that the water’s drained away. I never paid much attention in science class, but I don’t think this can be very good for them. The shark isn’t moving. I’m pretty sure he’s dead, poor guy.

  I pick up a small ray and toss it into the fountain—it’s the only water around. That’s not going to be an option for his great-granddaddy, the ginormous manta ray that takes up half the lobby floor. That’s when I notice a pair of feet sticking out from under it.

  Felix Hammerstrom.

  To my surprise, I kind of feel bad about it. Sure, he was awful, but what a way to go. Besides, somebody getting killed is nothing to celebrate. Reason number fifty why I’m not as much like Gus as I thought.

  “Malik,” comes a voice.

  I practically jump out of my skin. It’s my dad—I mean, Dr. Bruder. I back away fearfully.

  “It’s all right, Malik,” he says gently. “Nobody is going to hurt you.”

  “I’d feel a lot better hearing that from a Purple,” I retort.

  “Project Osiris is over,” he promises. “You have nothing to fear from us anymore.”

  “Good.”

  He hangs around, like there should be more to talk about, but I freeze him out. I should be relieved—and in a way I am. The gnawing terror of being caught and rebrainwashed, and dragged back to that un-life in Happy Valley is gone. Still, it’s not enough, not even close. For nearly fourteen years, this person lied to me and pretended to be my father! And when I think about my mother—

  No. I can’t go there. It’s too much to wrap my mind around at a crazy time like this. “Beat it,” I tell him in a voice that’s more sad than angry.

  I watch him retreat to his fellow mad scientists. They look shocked and scared, which is exactly what they deserve. It’s almost as if, while Hammerstrom was alive, they didn’t notice what a sick, twisted, illegal experiment they’ve been part of. And now that he’s dead, the truth came crashing down on them the way the giant ray came crashing down on their boss.

  Are we expected to cut them slack for that? Oh, hey, no harm, no foul. We were only following orders . . .

  Sorry, I can’t
get to that forgiving place. Too much was done to us for too long.

  That’s when I see Hector, practically lying at my feet. Who would believe it—that backstabbing little worm is a hero! He saved Eli’s life, and maybe the rest of us too. I feel so many emotions at the same time—good and bad. It’s so Hector. He sells us out, and just when I’m getting used to the idea of hating his guts, he has to go and do something like this.

  I pick him up and he opens one beady eye. Hammerstrom’s bullet must have grazed him, because he’s got an angry red line stretching from the corner of his mouth to his left ear.

  “You stupid little shrimp!” I rage. “You almost got yourself killed!”

  He breaks into a goofy grin. “We’re friends again.”

  “Fat lot of good it would have done if that bullet had gone straight through your empty head instead of along your cheek!”

  He reaches a hand to his face. It comes away bloody. “Is it bad?”

  “You’re still ugly, if that’s what you’re asking. It didn’t make you any better looking.” But I spoil the moment by locking him in a bear hug. I’ve said it before—I’m too nice.

  I survey the wreckage of the lobby. People are lifting themselves out of the puddles on the floor amid the dead fish, squirming turtles, and seaweed. Tori and Amber are huddled together, looking stunned, but alive and well. Eli is standing over the hulk of the manta, shaking a little. I can relate. Crushed underneath that humongous fish is what’s left of the only father he’s ever going to get. The fact that Hammerstrom was worse than slime doesn’t change that.

  The other Osiris kids are okay too, although they’re pretty shaken up. We’ve been living this horror movie for weeks, but they’ve had to digest the whole thing in half a morning. All that Serenity baloney swept away in the blink of an eye.

  From the ranks of the Osiris researchers, Freddie steps forward timidly. I give him a forgiving nod. How can we blame him for not believing the unbelievable? How can we hold that against him? We clones are a pretty exclusive club, and it’s not like a membership drive would make it any bigger. No way can we kick out one of our own.

  The heavy doors are flung open and in burst about twenty Poseidon security personnel. They stop dead at the sight of the shattered aquarium tank and the disaster on the lobby floor. At the rear of this army marches a commanding figure, tall with iron-gray hair. She wears an elegant business suit and on her feet are immaculate white sneakers.

  Tamara Dunleavy is walking alongside some big shot from Poseidon, and this guy’s losing his mind over the state of his hotel. He keeps going on and on about the manta ray and how hard it’s going to be to get a new one. I guess that’s true. You can’t just order them up from MantaRaysRUs.com.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Ms. Dunleavy informs him impatiently, “there is a body underneath that ray.”

  That shuts the doofus up pretty quick.

  Then she spies Eli, safe and sound, and in that instant, CEO Tamara is gone, replaced by a frantic, relieved parent. She practically wipes out fifteen times splashing across the fish-strewn lobby to throw her arms around her clone.

  “Eli—thank God!”

  Frieden hugs her back and nods sadly in the direction of the manta. “It’s him. My—Dr. Hammerstrom.”

  “Poor Felix. He was brilliant, in spite of it all.” She steps back and sighs. “How are the others?”

  “Everybody’s okay,” Eli confirms. “All eleven—subjects.”

  Torific speaks up. “But Ms. Dunleavy—why are you here? You said you couldn’t do anything because of what Hammerstrom knew about you.”

  “That’s not going to be a problem,” she replies with a wan look in the direction of the ray.

  “But that just happened,” Laska persists. “You couldn’t have known about it when you started out.”

  “Well, I realized where you were going, of course. I’m not stupid. And I decided I mustn’t abandon you, no matter what the cost. I’m responsible for what happens to you. And now I’m the only one who can make it right.”

  Billionaires can say stuff like that, because they can get away with almost anything, just by throwing money at it. Busted-up lobby? No problem. Dead manta ray? Put it on my tab.

  The dead guy under the manta ray turns out to be a bit trickier, since the West Cay police have to be involved. But one call to the US Embassy in Nassau and the deputy ambassador is on a plane to come straighten it out for us.

  The very best part of this lousy day is the looks on the faces of the former Osiris researchers and Purple People Eaters when the eleven of us waltz out of there to get on Ms. Dunleavy’s private jet while they’re still stuck in the middle of the investigation. That’s sweeter than sugar.

  I’m tempted to call something like, “Hey, losers, where’s your contentment now?” Because none of them seem very contented. In fact, they look devastated.

  But I don’t say anything at all. I’ve got parents in there, and mixed feelings about what’s going to happen to them. Not that any punishment could undo what they did to us for all those years.

  Revenge may be important in Gus Alabaster’s world, but it’s not such a big deal to me.

  27

  ELI FRIEDEN

  Amber is making to-do lists again. Not about exercising and a healthy diet and practicing stuff—although she has gone back to playing the harpsichord in Ms. Dunleavy’s music room.

  I catch a glimpse of her latest:

  THINGS TO DO TODAY (UNPRIORITIZED)

  • Buy new boat for owner of the Gemini

  • Reimburse Poseidon guests for stolen swimsuits/hats

  • Replace motorcycles (2) taken from Boss Hawg’s roadhouse

  • Pay for damages to New Hope Soup Kitchen

  • Compensate Girl Scouts of America for 94 boxes of cookies . . .

  It goes clear back to our escape from Serenity. Amber wants to make sure we pay for all the damage we had to do and the things we had to steal in our long adventure. I think she’s trying to prove that she’s not Mickey Seven. Or maybe she’s just a nice person.

  Hey, I support her 100 percent. I felt worse than anybody about breaking into houses and hotel rooms, and taking clothes and food and cars—doing anything and everything just to stay free.

  I’m not so sure about the Girl Scout Cookies, though, and I tell Amber so.

  She’s unmoved. “It’s not what you stole, it’s the fact that you stole it. Tori sold most of those and both you guys ate the rest. This is our chance to make amends.”

  Come to think of it, that’s exactly how you’d expect Mickey Seven to be: unyielding, my way or the highway. It was what got her thrown in jail in the first place—the extremes she went to, anyway. I’d like to believe Amber has a little more common sense. Then again, Amber would starve before she’d eat as many Girl Scout Cookies as we did. The memory of Tori and me, side by side on the concrete floor of that warehouse, inhaling Thin Mints and Rah-Rah Raisins, is going to stay with me always.

  I don’t think Amber and Malik had moments like that. Not the way they argue. They even fight over Gus Alabaster’s last words, which Malik refuses to reveal because, “It’s a private thing between us Alabaster men.”

  Of course, Amber won’t leave it alone. “I know what it was,” she needles him. “He said you’re inheriting his fortune and you won’t admit it because you’re too cheap to share.”

  Or, “He warned you never to get mixed up in a life of crime.”

  Or, “He didn’t tell you anything at all and you’re clamming up because having a big secret makes you feel important.”

  That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. “He did so tell me something!”

  “Oh, yeah? Spill it.”

  Malik fixes her with eyes that are barely slits. “Just this once,” he growls, “I’m going to tell you my private business, if you promise to shut up about it from now on. Deal?” He takes a deep breath. “He called me a giff.”

  “A giff?” Tori frown
s. “What’s a giff?”

  Malik shrugs. “Gangsters have these words for stuff—a mook. A babbo. I looked giff up on Google, but there’s nothing.” He’s acting all casual, but you can tell it bugs him that he doesn’t really get it.

  I offer, “GIF is a computer term. It’s short for graphic interchange format. It’s a moving image on the internet—although some people pronounce it with a soft G: jif, like the peanut butter.”

  Malik glares at me. “No way the guy I’m cloned from used his dying breath to call me a graphics whatever. And he definitely didn’t call me peanut butter. Those were his exact words: ‘You’re a giff.’”

  Amber starts to laugh. “You’re such a dummy, Malik! He didn’t say giff. He said, ‘You’re a gift!’ A long-lost son he never knew he had until the very end. He was telling you he loved you!”

  Malik looks shocked, his face reddening as he realizes she must be right. He tries to shake it off, mumbling, “Yeah, right.” But his eyes blink more than a few times.

  I can’t really tell you who moves first. But somehow the four of us end up in the middle of the room, clinging together like we never had the chance to do during all that time on the run. It’s true that none of us has biological parents to love us. But we have each other, which is worth a lot more than some adult to pat you on the head when you bring home a good report card.

  We also have Ms. Dunleavy. The only reason our new life works is that she’s willing to do whatever it takes to erase our past and point us toward a real future. It’s already cost her a lot to convince the people at Poseidon to keep silent about what happened in their lobby. And repairing the damage plus restocking the new aquarium with sea life won’t be cheap either. The replacement manta ray alone has to be shipped from San Diego in a giant saltwater tank.

  Ms. Dunleavy forgave us for stealing the Bentley—again—and sneaking off to Poseidon to rescue the other Osiris clones. She brought the eleven of us back to Jackson Hole to live on her estate. And the same deal she first offered Malik, Amber, Tori, and me—grow up, go to college, have real lives—now applies to the rest of us too.