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THE MORNING BROKE WITH little fanfare. Clovis ladled creamed wheat into bowls, people wandered the halls, a pig ran screaming through the cafeteria.
62 looked up from his bowl of steaming breakfast mash, blinking furiously. The pig, already larger than it had been the day he’d visited it with Clovis, ran like a streak of muddy lightning between the tables, knocking into chairs, bumping into people in its way, and shrieking like it was being murdered.
“What the heck was that?” Blue asked, looking up from his book.
“A pig,” 62 answered simply. He turned around in his chair, trying to spot the knee-high farm animal through the crowd of shouting people. No one seemed to be handling the crazed pig very well. People were climbing on tables or digging around under chairs on their hands and knees. The Boys moved over to where most of the others were crawling around, looking under furniture for the escaped farm animal.
“I got it!” a Man shouted. He was halfway under a table, only visible from waist to foot, legs flailing. The pig let out a wild, ear-piercing screech. 62 covered his ears to dampen the sound, but it didn’t help. The Man yelled in surprise, scuttling out from under the table faster than 62 had seen anyone move before. The pig came charging out after him.
Clovis ran up behind 62, waving his spatula. “Who let that thing in my cafeteria?” A goat bleated in reply and Clovis froze. He looked down, finding one of the young goats nibbling his pant leg.
“Somebody must have left the gate open,” Blue said with an amused grin.
“You think?” Clovis snapped. He swatted at the goat with his spatula, and it grabbed the end of the utensil with its teeth, happy to have something more substantial to bite.
“We’ll take care of the goat,” 62 said. He reached slowly toward the animal’s neck. He made soft contact first, running his fingers through its coarse hair before grabbing on tight. The goat let go of Clovis’s spatula and looked at 62, unimpressed with the idea of being captured. It shifted its weight, flung its head sideways, and clocked 62 in the side with its head, knocking the wind out of him. 62 lost his grip on the beast and it trotted merrily away, on a quest to find something else to chew.
The pig ran down a neighboring aisle, knocking a chair on its side, heading for the kitchen. Bodies flung toward the sprinting swine, trying to grasp its thrashing legs or its stout body. Everyone failed miserably. The pig picked up speed, and to everyone’s amazement, jumped. The young swine sailed through the air until it landed nose-first on the buffet counter. It scrambled, clawing at the metal countertop with its hooves until it found purchase, and hauled its stout body up into the buffet line. The pig didn’t wait for permission to dig in. It kicked rolls, carrots, beets, and corn off the counter as it plunged its head into the vat of creamed wheat at the end of the line.
“Get that pig out of my food!” Clovis shouted, running toward the serving station.
Ginger flung the kitchen door open, shock filling her face as she took in the scene. The whole place was in chaos. People were yelling at one another, taking turns falling and picking themselves up off the floor. Clovis let out a rage-filled growl, ripping his apron off as he ran toward the buffet. Ginger’s eyes bulged when she finally saw the pig standing on the counter, its head lowered happily into the hot breakfast.
Ginger’s face went red and her eyes narrowed. 62 was pretty sure she was cursing as she stormed up behind the pig, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying through everyone else’s shouts. She grasped the edge of the hot cereal’s pan and pulled it off the counter. The pig lost its balance as it stepped off the edge of the counter trying to get another bite, its hoof finding nothing but air beneath it. The pig squealed as it tumbled off the edge of the counter. Ginger set the large pot of creamed wheat on the floor. The pig dunked its head in again, and Ginger angrily dragged the pot toward the exit.
“Anybody want to help me get this thing back in the greenhouse?” Ginger asked. Clovis grabbed the other side of the pot and helped her move the heavy vat of breakfast along, the pig merrily keeping pace with them as it smacked its lips between slurps.
Blue pushed 62 forward. They made it to the mess of food and Blue scooped up a handful of carrots. “Grab something that looks like a goat snack,” he ordered.
62 picked up an overturned platter and filled it with beets and corn, then ran behind Blue in search of the goat. The wooly creature was hiding under a table, snapping its scraggily teeth at the fingers of anyone who came close. Blue looked at the small carrots he was holding and shook his head. He grabbed one of the ears of corn from 62’s assortment of vegetables and waved it in front of the wary goat. The little beast took a step forward, then paused as if contemplating whether the offering was a trick. Its greedy appetite won out, and soon it was nibbling at the ear of corn, following the food as Blue pulled it slowly out into the open.
The goat snapped the cob in its jaws and yanked it from Blue’s hand, tossing it in the air. It landed with a wet squelch on the floor nearby and the goat started to veer in the direction of the lost food.
“Quick! Give me another one!” Blue hissed. 62 handed him the second ear of corn and Blue waved it in front of the goat, getting its hooves plodding in the right direction. A few seconds later, the goat gripped the corn cob and flung it aside. Blue offered it a carrot, leading it along until its viselike teeth got too close. He dropped the small carrot on the floor, replacing it with a new one before the goat had picked up and swallowed the first. Soon, Blue’s bundle of carrots was gone, 62’s serving tray was empty, and they were close enough to the greenhouse to attract the attention of a couple farmers. 62 slumped his shoulders as they handed over responsibility of the goat to the greenhouse workers, glad to be done with his part of herding the four-legged escapee back to its pen.
“That was interesting,” 62 said. He and Blue watched the farmers try to push the newly caught pig back from the pen’s opening so they could get the goat inside. Every time a hand went to the gate’s latch, the pig charged. Eventually, two Men grabbed the goat, front and back, and hoisted it over the fence.
“Can you imagine a bot trying to catch animals like that?” Blue asked as they left the greenhouse and started down the hall to return the empty platter.
62 thought for a moment. He pictured N302 in her sentry body, rolling after the squealing pig, trying to grab it with her pneumatic arm. He snorted as he laughed. “Yeah, I can imagine it. I don’t think the pig would be too happy with a bot chasing behind it.”
“People are like that too,” Blue observed. “We’re afraid of the bots, even when they try to help.”
62 nodded, “Yeah, I guess so. But guys like us don’t mind them so much. We’re used to having them around.”
“I’m not,” Blue reminded him.
62 continued on a few steps until he realized Blue had stopped walking. He turned to face his brother. “You’re not?”
“I was made in Adaline, but I wasn’t raised down there, remember? I’ve spent almost as much of my life above ground as any Girl my age has. Sure, I’ve learned how to make it seem like they don’t make my skin crawl, and N302 is interesting enough, but I’m not sure I agree with giving her free rein to take something over. Even Adaline.” Blue wiped a spot on the tile floor with the toe of his shoe.
“You know she’s supposed to be helping us though, right?” 62 asked carefully.
“Yeah,” Blue said with a nod and a shrug. He tipped his head forward, gesturing that he was ready to keep walking. “But what if she gets into Adaline and decides she likes the way things are so much that she stops helping us?”
“N302 isn’t going to forget about us,” 62 insisted. “We rescued her from the scrap heap. 00 made her alive again. She’s our friend.”
“How can you trust a bot, after everything they’ve done to you?” Blue demanded.
62 shrugged. “N302 isn’t just a bot. She was made by one of my best friends.”
“The doc,” Blue said with a nod. “What made him such a good friend to you?”
“He switched my chip out when I was little, so the Head Machine would think I was normal. I’ve never told anyone that before, except 71, who was there when it happened.”
“He did? I didn’t know that.” Blue raised an eyebrow and put his hands in his pockets. “I only knew he thought you’d be in trouble if we didn’t get you outta there. That was risky. I wonder if someone found out?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think he worried about that too much. He was more interested in helping me stay in Adaline.” 62 gave Blue a meaningful look. “Part of him is in N302. The part that wants to help us stay alive and grow up.”
Blue bit his lip. They made it back to the cafeteria, which wasn’t nearly as full as it had been before. Several people were helping Clovis and Ginger clean up the mess left behind by the animals, laughing together as they worked. 62 set the dish he was carrying next to an overflowing bin of dirty and shattered bowls. The Boys stayed to watch the others for a moment, until Clovis spotted them and shoved a broom in Blue’s hand and a dustpan in 62’s.
They did as they were asked, sweeping pieces of another broken plate from under a table. Blue pushed the refuse into 62’s pan with the broom’s edge. “I think I know how to get the council to let us move back to Hanford,” Blue said quietly.
“You do? How?” 62 was so excited he dropped half the stuff Blue had swept into the dustpan. Blue didn’t even roll his eyes, just swept it into a pile ready to be picked up again.
“We’ve gotta put together a list of things we want to change, like I told Sunny. Once we have that, we’ll just ask to come back.”
62 scrunched his eyebrows and frowned. “They’re gonna say no.”
Blue nodded. “The thing is, those old ladies are just like that goat. Hiding under a table, too stubborn to let anybody close.” He walked over and picked up one of the ears of corn that the goat had tossed aside during their adventure. He held the gnawed cob in the air. “All we gotta do is find the right treat to convince them to do what we’re asking.”
“What does N302 have to do with that? If they see her, they’ll be so mad we’ll wish they were goats.” 62 took his dustpan over to the garbage bin and dumped it out.
Blue followed, tossing the corn cob into the bin. The corn cob would go back to the goats in the end. “Maybe. But if Sunny’s the one giving them the message, maybe they’ll listen better than if it’s coming from one of us dumb little kids.”
“Hey, I’m not a dumb little kid!” 62 shouted.
“I know. You’re not that little,” Blue said with a wink. “But Sunny’s somebody they trust, and we’re just a bunch of refugees from the underground.”
62 nodded. “Do you think Sunny will be able to talk to them, though?”
Blue took the dustpan from 62 and set it, and his broom, beside the other cleaning supplies stacked in the corner. He turned back to 62, lifting his palms into the air. “She has to. She’s our Captain.”