James Patterson - The Final Warning

“It’s small in here,” he complained. “I feel like we’re inside a submarine. Can’t we sleep in hammocks on the deck?”

“It’s really cold out there,” I reminded him, trying not to sound too bitter.

“Frankly, I’d rather be in Hawaii,” Total griped, and I silently agreed with him. “Can your Voice send us there? We could be lying on a beach on Kauai, with drinks with little umbrellas in them. Instead we’re literally at the end of the world, doing God knows what. And what’s the foodgonna be like on this boat?” He shook his head. “I am not into this plan, I can tell you-”

Suddenly he stopped, and his eyes widened. “Well,alo - ha, ” he breathed.

Dr. Papa- that name still cracked me up- was standing in our doorway. At his side, a snow-white Malamute was sizing us up with the practiced eye of a guard dog. Total stared at it, speechless.

“I know it’s not the Hilton, but it’s not too bad,” Dr. Papa said with a smile. “We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible. Now, if you’ve settled in, we can gather in the conference room. You can meet everyone, and we can try to answer your questions.” Dr. Papa scratched the Malamute behind its small triangular ears. “This isAkila, our mascot and official rescue dog.”

“Does she talk?” Angel asked. A perfectly reasonable question.

Dr. Papa looked startled. “Uh, no.” He gave Angel an uncertain glance. Total was still dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open. “Come join us, okay? Go up to the deck, and the conference room is in the forward cabin hatch.” He left, andAkila trotted after him.

“Akila’spretty,” Angel said. “Like a white teddy bear.”

“Pretty? She’s a goddess!” Total said hoarsely.

“You’re drooling on Angel’s bed,” said the Gasman.

Total swallowed. “Oh, my God, she’s magnificent. Did you see her cheekbones? That fur, brighter than sunlight…”

Iggyrolled his eyes.

“Um, Total?” I tried. “Akila’sreally pretty and all, but you know, she’s just a regular dog, and…”

Total jerked upright, his eyes blazing. “ Regular dog! She’s perfection! Don’t you ever call her ‘regular’ again! Is the Venus de Milo just a statue? Is the Mona Lisa just a painting? Is theLouvre just a museum?”

“No, it was neat,” Nudge agreed.

I sighed, deciding to drop this hot potato for the time being. “Okay, everyone, let’s go find out what they want us to do. With any luck, we can quickly save the world and still have time to make the hot-air balloon festival in New Mexico. I’ve always wanted to see that.” Plus, it was warm there.

“Cool,” Fang agreed, and we headed off to discover our mission.

THE WENDY K. was not the Love Boat. It had no casino, no swimming pool, no shopping atrium. It had a small gray-painted kitchen / dining hall, a small gray-painted lounge with a couple of ratty built-in couches, and a small white-painted conference room with some chipped Formica tables, a whiteboard, and some bookcases with bars across the front so the books wouldn’t fly off the shelves in rough seas.

“Welcome,” Dr. Dwyer said, indicating some seats. There were seven adults in the room.Akila was lying on the floor beneath Dr. Papa’s chair. Total had paused before we entered, puffed out his chest, then sauntered in as if he were a Russian wolfhound. Since he’s a small black Scottie, it was an odd effect.

All the grown-ups were staring at us, which we were used to.

“Please, sit down,” said Michael. “As you know, I’m Dr. Michael Papa, but you can call me Michael. You know Dr.Brigid Dwyer-”

“Can we call youBrigid?” Nudge interrupted. “Brigid’sa neat name.”

“Yes, of course,” said Dr. Dwyer. “We’re pretty informal around here.”

“I’m Melanie Bone,” said another woman. “The communications specialist.” She had the sun-streaked, tan look of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors.

The others were introduced as Brian Carey, dive specialist; Emily Robertson, eco-paleontologist; Sue-Ann Wong, ice specialist, whatever that was; and Paul Carey, ship’s captain (and brother of Brian), navigator, and expert in South Polar wildlife. They all seemed nice, but they all had a scientist’s rabid curiosity, and I felt their eyes boring into us as if making us into Swiss cheese.

“Okay,” I said, standing up. I gauged the width of the room- about fifteen feet, just barely enough. “Let’s just get this out of the way.”

I looked behind me to make sure there was space, then rolled my shoulders and unfolded my wings slowly, trying not to whap anyone on the head. The scientists stared at me, transfixed, as my wings stretched out farther and farther. Nudge ducked as one passed over her head, and then they were mostly extended, almost fourteen feet across.

I must say, I do have pretty wings. They’re a lighter brown than my hair, but not as tawny as Nudge’s. My primary feathers, the big ones along the bottom outside edges, are streaked with black and white. Thesecondaries are streaked white and brown. On the undersides of my wings, the covert feathers are a soft ivory color. And over the tops and down the backs of my wings, I have shiny, strong brown feathers fading perfectly into the primaries.

My wings kick butt.

“So they’re not connected to your arms,” Melanie Bone said unnecessarily.

I shook my head. “Nope. We have six limbs.”

“Like dragons,” Nudge said helpfully. I grinned at her.

“Like insects,” said the Gasman.

“They’re so big,” said Emily Robertson. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “They have to be big because we’re bigger and heavier, proportionally, than birds.”

“How much do you weigh?” Paul Carey looked as though he wanted to take notes. Then he winced. “Sorry, I mean-”

“A bit less than a hundred pounds,” I answered. “The reason I don’t look like a skeleton is that our bones and muscles are made differently, lighter. So even though I’m five-eight, I look slender at ninety-seven pounds but not grotesquely skinny.”

They nodded.

“Do you identify as a human or as a bird?”Brigid asked.

No one had ever asked me that before. “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I look in the mirror and see a girl. I have hands and feet. But when I’m up in the sky, and the ground is far below… I feel my wings working, and I know I can get oxygen out of thin, high air… it doesn’t feel very… human.”

Which is pretty much the most unguarded, touchy-feely, heart-on-my-sleeve thing I’d ever said. I folded my wings in as my face flushed. I felt naked and stupid, and wished I’d kept my big mouth shut. Cheeks burning, I slumped down in my chair, not looking at anyone.

“I feel more human, I think,” Nudge said cheerfully. “I like clothes and fashion and doing my hair. The stuff I like is what kids like, what people like. Music and movies and reading. I mean, I never want to make a nest for myself or anything.”

We all laughed, and for once I was relieved at Nudge’s chattiness.

“I don’t feel all that human,” said Angel, looking thoughtful.

Fang tapped my leg with his foot under the table, as if to say, There’s a surprise.

“I’m not sure what I see when I look in the mirror,” Angel went on. You have to remember that she was only six. “When I think of me, I picture someone with wings. I know I’m not normal. There aren’t any kids to hang out with who are like me. Besides the flock. I know I don’t fit in anywhere.” She turned big blue eyes on Michael, who was gazing at her intently. “This world isn’t set up for people like me, like us.” She gestured to include the rest of the flock. “Nothing in this world is designed for us, designed to make us comfortable. We always stick out, we always make do. People want us, or want us dead, because of what we are, not who we are. It’s hard.”