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We were at dinner together as a family one night, a rarity with dad's ridiculous hours at the office.

I told them about Hulen's reaction to my bad joke, that I probably needed to be home schooled.

It didn't go over well.

"He told you what?" she said, seriously.

"I just made some wise crack in class. It wasn't even that funny, and he said 'I'll be watching you,'" I said.
"Has he threatened you before?" dad said, looking up from his media tablet. He was inseparable from his devices.

"No, first time," I said.

"It's only talk. You're fine," he said, turning back to the screen that made his face pale. Little red numbers scrolled across his forehead. "Looks like it's time to dump Martian Standard."

"John, this is serious," mom said.

"Not if Preston decides to keep his cool and not be intimidated by a bully," dad said.

Mom was insistent: "This isn't a game. It's Preston's life-our lives-we're talking about."

"Preston should stay in school unless he feels truly endangered," he said.

"What if he already is?" she said.

"Vivian-" he said.

"Seriously. How long can we keep walking around day-by-day as if everything is fine and dandy?"

"As long as we can."

"We can't, John. We're different. Why, our neighbors may be plotting against as we speak. The H.A.R. could be standing outside our door ready to storm in on us."

"Exactly the reason why we should keep doing what we've been doing."

"You know, you're just as reckless with us as your foolish stock tables."

"Vivian, I'm trying to keep this family together. I don't know what else to do."

Her glassy eyes fixed on him while her eyebrows turned up pleadingly.

"Don't even think about it," he said. "That is not an option."

They were always exchanging these little signals only they knew. But I knew this one. A few of dad's old war buddies had joined this secret clan of wandering hybrid nomads, who were disguised as trailer park people. The hybrids were learning survival skills. Dad had open invitation to quit his job and travel with them. Naturally, these ex-soldiers didn't have families. Even still, dad was so far removed from the Spartan ways of military life I think he'd lost interest in all that. Life on the run sounded exciting but dangerous. I'd do anything if it meant keeping my family from getting caught.

"You're right, John," mom said. "I mean who could stand to leave behind this wonderful life of Nicholetta suits, Cloud 9 cars...Martian Standard."

"You can be so cruel sometimes, you know that?"

"At least I'm not so clouded to the things that matter. Preston could really be in trouble."

"So we should pack up and head for the hills? You don't think that would create even more suspicion?"

"It's fine," I said, finally. "Sorry for bringing it up. I'll be fine."

I couldn't stand the fighting. It was getting worse between them. For the half-life of me, I couldn't understand why they thought it was worth the risk. Love at first sight, dad always said. No medtech had ever treated him so tender and lovingly. With chaos bombs exploding all around, mom patched his legs and arms where the shrapnel had gone in. The treatment soothed his anguished heart.

Planet Timmian was raked by war but on the blood-soaked battlefield they found each other. I've never been in love, and I'm not sure if I want to be. It makes people do weird things.

"Preston, tell us what you want to do," he said. "If you sincerely feel threatened, then we'll take you out. No questions asked."

"I want to stay."

"Think you'll be all right?"

I nodded.

"See, the boy should stay," he said. "How do you want to handle this Hulen kid? Want me to talk to your teachers?"

"No. I don't know."

"Want me to beat him up?"

Knowing dad, he'd probably show up dressed in his stretchy workout clothes. Hulen would hit the ground first, doubled over in a fit of laugher.

"No, I'll handle it," I said.

"Then have at it, Preston."

"-John," mom said.

"If he forces you, let him have it, okay?" dad said. I cracked a smile. The man who never let me compete in any sports was giving me license to rough up a kid that weighed three times as much as me.

Mom was fuming. Growing up, it never dawned on me how young she looked for her age. I thought all moms looked as young. But now I knew the truth, the family photos made more sense. Through the years, the smiles remained, although the faces changed. He aged while she stayed young, youthful faces though never innocent to the future.

Weird things go through your head when armed guards are pointing rifles at you. Bad stuff like someone capturing my queen in chess club or mom and dad sitting me down to tell me the facts of life-that I was half-robot: these were all comic highlights compared to this...

The guards called for me, and I knew the end was fast approaching.

Leather straps, bright lights, cleaning sponges, the stench of spoiled, uncooked chicken...

When they removed the blindfold, I was among the shelves of pickle jars and canisters of mayonnaise. The school's kitchen. H.A.R. guards stood attentive and ready to assist in thought technique.

"Let's see how you do, little one," this gurgled voice issued from a shriveled head. He looked like a vulture without a beak. Sunken eyes, concave cheeks, a white coat draped by his coat-hanger frame: the ghastly appearance of the chief interrogator.

"The human body is a miracle of divine engineering, able to withstand as much as 200 volts of electrocution," he said. "The puny hybrid body can only survive about 75 before it short circuits and goes into cardiac arrest. Many hybrids have tried to overcome our processes. Don't try and get any ideas."

My wrists were strapped down to metal armrests so that I palmed moist cleaning sponges. They aimed to electrocute me. I hoped the lessons dad had given on thought treatment would be enough.

The first wave hit, knocking my head hard against the headrest. Inside, my blood boiled, my organs flipped around like a bucket of eels. Billions of transistors in my head lit up like brilliant city lights.

A cybernetic hand opened to me...

My chin fell against my chest. My head pounded, a giant white spot marred my vision. It was done. They had milked thought from me. The sound of guards murmured in the next room, curious to see the thought analysis.
Voices were too muffled to understand.

Then, something grabbed my face, digging in its badger-like claws.

"Where is this cybernetic arm? Whose is it?" the chief interrogator said. They'd seen a vision of Pago's arm, the one that saved my life. I didn't mean to think it. When the thought machine has you, it's hard to withhold anything.

The interrogator was in my face now. "Tell meeee," he said, his breath reeked. Teeth were missing. A scream came from elsewhere, either male or female, reverberating among bulk cans of food and condiments. It was terrifying, awful, all of it. Why were any of us born into such a cruel era?

Something pulled the interrogator off of me, his nails scratching my cheeks. He toppled on the floor, knocking cans loose from the kitchen shelves.

"You fool," a H.A.R. officer said. He had high-ranking bars, a commander, but different from the one in the classroom. "I thought I told you not to put the machine on this one."

"Idiot," the head interrogator said, rising to his feet. "He has visions of cybernetic prostheses. He has knowledge we need."

"You've already had two innocent kids, human kids, executed over such nonsense," the H.A.R officer said.
"I don't have to answer to you. I'm an independent contractor with the A.I.A. I work for them directly," he said.
"Then you understand it when I tell you that A.I.A is putting this subject under special H.A.R. directive. Doc number 3556781. Code name: Piss Off," he said, drawing his laser pistol. The chief interrogator slowly retreated back into the other room.

The commander loosened the leather straps: "Sorry about this. I told them you could help us in other ways," he said. The commander seemed softer than the others, battle worn but still humane-a little like dad. He had a shock of white hair and young face. "We're getting pressured by the media to make a statement. Having a high school reporter tell them everything is under control, everyone is safe and none of you are hurt, would help a lot."

They wanted me to lie for them.

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