Chapter 5

At this point, the twins had been at Summit for about half a year. That’s six or so straight months of consistent human contact, and that’s just at Tetra. Arlene mentioned that they were fifteen years old, and I would think they’d spent a good lot of that time around the company of humans. They had many opportunities to commit to human culture and mannerisms—to know what you should and should not do in the civilized world. They weren’t stupid, they could learn this. Even a dog could, and mutts enjoy eating their own poop.

In preparing the twins for the world, Wyvern was more interested in teaching them calculus and fluid dynamics than how to be a decent human being over an ill-cultured animal. Considering Wyvern’s legion of zoologists, behaviorists, psychologists, ethicists, anthropologists, and other unpronounceable –ists, it couldn’t have been an oversight. Maybe they examined the world and concluded such training to be redundant.

Although I loathe questioning the methods of professionals far smarter than me, my sanity wouldn’t let me sleep until I ground at least a bit of civility into the Isians, even if I had to crush it and blow it through their nostrils one speck at a time. The hunting thing was the first to go. When man stopped brutalizing wild things because he was hungry and instead did so because it was damned fun, that’s when he inherited the earth. I had standards, and I couldn’t stomach the kind of rabid, flea-ridden vermin they would’ve filled their appetites with. Their protests boggled me.

“Why can’t we hunt rats anymore? They’re pretty good to eat, aren’t they?”

“There’s still a bunch more, though. It’s not like we ate them all and made them extinct.”

“We killed them fast, just like we were taught to. Well except that one time when I ran out of venom, but that was only once, honest!”

“Why not cats? They’re good to eat and tasty too. What’s the difference?”

“No, I don’t think Ly-lee would let us hunt dogs either.”

It took half an hour, and we compromised by allowing them to finish off their sacks of kill (although I insisted they throw the cat away). The bills afterwards from the butcher almost made me regret the moratorium. Almost.

A related issue: I didn’t know the number of people in my neighborhood that had caught glimpses of them, but between their couple trips to my place and their hunting spree, I could guess it was too many. I sought to minimize the sightings, no small feat considering their temperaments. Their arguments were the same: “But we’re already around a bunch of humans all the time at Summit.” True, and I struggled to think of a reply. It made sense: maybe hundreds of people at Summit already knew about their existence, to say less of their friends and families. Isian lizards weren’t any sort of secret. All I needed was the media to pitch up a tent outside and bring in the clowns and trapeze artists.

Then again, who would care? Maybe that’s why Tetra allowed them let them go scott-free with a random fool from Secondary. Around this neighborhood, hysterics involving reptilian creatures stalking the night’s felines would be an ordinary Tuesday evening on acid. If Tetra really wanted them back of Summit, you better believe it would drag them back, kicking, screaming, or otherwise. The idea that the company believed Tia and Basil to be individuals with the freedom to live as they desire dipped into my mind, but it was brief.

Company management and politics eluded me, and I paid no more thought to it. Still not having thought of an answer for the Isians, I resorted to bribery. Cantaloupes and honeydew were cheap enough insurance for peace of mind. We also spent a greater part of the day at Summit, which allowed them the opportunity to release energy pent-up from the apartment.

The biggest issue I dealt with was one I didn’t understand to be a problem to begin with. In retrospect, it should have been obvious, but it took a frank demonstration to drive it in. We were lounging at home after work; I pushed myself to catch up with the news and the twins scratched away on their tablets. Glances at the screen told me they were working on their Sigma projects, which made it an extraordinary night in Isian history. After a while of work, Basil started to snarl at his tablet. The poor machine buckled underneath his ire as he repeatedly tapped and then pounded the screen. He growled his impatience and threw it down.

“Stupid program keeps crashing!”

Tia sat down her pad. “Why?”

“I dunno. It crashes every time I do the integrity test.”

“Are you using the newest kernel?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You have to use the old one. Six-one crashes when you do that. I never upgraded because Kappa said the new one has a lot of problems and is real bad.”

“Really?” Basil retrieved his tablet and clicked on the screen. A few minutes of computer wizardry later, his mouth gaped open and whistled. “Hey, it works now!”

Tia tilted her screen back up. “Told you.”

Her brother reached over and rubbed his head on her neck, purring affectionately. “Oh Sis, you’re such a fucking whore.”

I choked and teetered off the edge of the couch. What? What? The gaggle of profanity at work bundled together and blunted the ears, but Basil’s curse lashed out and stung. It dazed me silly for a moment. Perversely, Tia didn’t seem to mind the insult.

“Aw, you’re welcome little brother,” she cooed. She nuzzled and licked his cheek.

“Basil!” I yelled. “How could you say that to her?”

Both tensed up and stared at me. “Because she’s a fucking whore?” Basil said as if was common knowledge.

“Basil!”

Tia wrapped an arm over and squeezed him. “Don’t be mad at him, Ly-lee. He’s just being nice.”

“No that’s not nice. Basil, you don’t call anyone a fucking whore, especially not your sister.”

“Well why not? She is one, isn’t she?”

He seemed confused to why I was chastising him. Tia took it even worse, and she hugged her brother while accusing me with a gaze hardened by sisterly guardianship. I shook my head and backed down. We were reading from different scripts.

“Okay, let’s restart,” I said. “Basil, do you even know what that term even means?”

“Yeah, it’s like a pretty girl.”

What? God, no. Different scripts indeed. “Where did you hear this?”

“Well, we were watching some show and some guy called this pretty lady a fucking whore. She had nice clothes and stuff. I didn’t think it’d be bad calling Tia a fucking whore, because she’s real pretty too. She’s like the prettiest girl I know. I didn’t know you think that’s a bad thing.”

Tia purred and rubbed his back. She smiled at me. “Do you think I’m a fucking whore, Ly-lee?”

“No, never.”

“Wha—… what?”

She seized up in mid-stroke and gaped at me. I realized my mistake a second too late, and Basil reacted before I could explain. He rested Tia down and wrapped himself over her, switching positions.

“Don’t listen to him, Sis,” he said. “You are too a fucking whore!”

“No she’s not!”

Tia sniffed and buried her head into her brother. Before I could clarify, Basil hugged her and rubbed her neck, and then made the situation worse by saying, “Oh, don’t listen to him. I don’t know why he’s being so mean today. You’ll always be a fucking whore to me!” He licked her forehead and hissed at me.

“It’s not like that! Listen guys—”

You know how long it took to untangle that sorry misunderstanding? I could have built a snow park in hell at summertime with less trouble. Laissez-faire entertainment died that night in the Ivano household, and for the stuff we did watch, I made damn sure to arbitrate the more urbane examples of human culture. Because heaven help me if I have to explain to Arlene why the lizards just called her a “motherfucking bitch-cunt.”