The New Humans

Chapter 2

"What a beautiful girl your daughter is," Serena said, looking at Rachel.

Rachel murmured a shy "Thank you," but her face told Ash she'd be gloating about this for days.

Ash chewed his fingernail. No one ever complimented him. He wanted to tell Serena that he was sorry for her father, but embarrassment locked his lips. It was his mother who spoke for him: "Ash admired your father a lot, Serena. When he read about his death, he didn't speak for a whole day."

"Really?" Serena said and smiled as she stroked his cheek. "You should never love someone too much. The more you love a person, the closer you are to hating them."

Ash pulled his face away from her. What does that mean? Someone tells you he admires your father and you tell him that he's wrong?

Serena didn't lose her smile. "Would you like to see my father's toy collection?"

Luther Wall had collected toys at 100 years old?

"Yes," Ash replied a little too quickly, barely opening his mouth.

"This way," Serena said. She turned and led Ash and Rachel upstairs, their parents trailing behind. They entered what looked like a meditation room, with a piano, a desk, and a huge bookshelf. Perched upon the furnishings were dozens of well-made toys.

"My father had a passion for mechanical toys," said Serena. "He constructed them himself. They're robots—they speak and move."

Ash passed in front of the toys.

"Shiver me timbers," said a pirate.

"Yes, sir," said a nineteenth-century officer.

"For the king!" said a knight on a horse.

Then Ash arrived in front of a miniature dragon. It looked nothing like the plastic toys he had received as gifts from his parents; rather, it was like standing in front of a living reptile covered in scales. He went to touch it but, when it spat a small flame, withdrew his hand instantly.

He looked up. His father was watching him. "Don't touch anything," he said.

As he followed behind Serena, Ash realized there was nothing trivial in this house. He wouldn't have been surprised if the washing machine could tell the future.

On the desk stood a tall vase. It was glossy black and narrow, suitable for holding something like a roll of parchment. On its surface was emblazoned a white snake biting its own tail, its body forming a circle and turning slowly in on itself like a wheel. And there, on the piano, a photo of a black man with a shock of white beard. The person in the image moved; Ash realized the photo was in fact a screen replaying the same video over and over again. First the man was serious, standing with his arms crossed—and then, unable to hold back his laughter any longer, his face split into a warm smile.

Ash had seen that face a thousand times in the papers and on TV. Now, he was here: the controversial hero; the old man who lived in an absurd house, made toys, and could not remain serious for more than five seconds. Luther Wall.

"Is it true what they say about him?" Rachel asked Serena. "That he ran faster than a train, lifted tanks, and could withstand a plasma blast?"

"Well, he certainly gave a great hand when it came to opening jars," replied Serena. "But hasn't your father ever told you anything?"

Everyone turned to Dad. After a moment of silence, he said slowly, "I don't want to excite their fantasy too much. Too many people have died exercising their Numa powers."

Ash sighed.

"You didn't think so once," Serena said. "You're an agent of the IDAN—and besides, you hardly spared yourself concentration exercises at the Academy."