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//MyStory/Leanna/Personal
Real Date: Wednesday, September 19, 2170
Real Time: 5:10:03 pm
Subject: Under Attack

I hear Mom give the house computer the codes to activate our security system. All locks are recalibrated instantly. Windows sealed. Shields snapped into place. Utilities switched to secondary. It’s all happening so fast. I try to make sense of things.

Who’s attacking us?

From the day we installed our house security system, Mom has insisted I learn the protocol. We drill once a month to make sure I know what to do if our house is ever breached. I’ve never ­really taken it seriously. It’s more like fun, similar to the fire drills we had at my old school.

The metallic voice of the computer whirrs. “The house is secure.”

I listen by the door. The click of Mom’s heels on the tiles tells me she’s running down the hallway. She stops at my bedroom. “Open up,” she whispers.

“Not until you give the password.” Those were her instructions. Don’t let anybody in, not even me, until I give you the password.

Mom sighs. “You’re right, Leanna. Okay, with liberty and justice for all.”

I snatch open the door. Mom rushes in and slams it behind her.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is it a malfunction?”

“No, Leanna, it isn’t.” I can sense the agitation in Mom’s voice, even though she’s working hard to hide it. I want to be calm, too, but there’s a ball of fear at the base of my spine, creeping up my back like a closing zipper-lock bag.

Holding my eyes in her gaze, Mom speaks to me carefully. “There is a terrible man coming from the Clone Humane Society. He’s a bounty hunter named Joe Spiller, and he’s ruthless!”

I shake my head. “The Clone Humane Society?—??why?” It’s all so stupid but I giggle! There is no happiness in the sound. I’m just so scared. Talk about dumb! “Mom, you of all ­people wouldn’t own a clone! This is crazy.”

Mom doesn’t answer. She’s listening for Joe Spiller.

Suddenly, the house trembles, and a voice rushes forward. “This is Joe Spiller speaking, First Agent of the Clone Humane Society. Dr. Annette Deberry, for being a member of the treasonous or­ga­ni­za­tion known as The Liberty Bell and for conspiring with aliens to destabilize the global economy, you are under arrest. Surrender or be taken by force.”

My mind is leaping from thought to thought.

Aliens? The Liberty Bell? Then it comes to me. This stuff is from a twenty-first-century graphic novel series in which time-sliding aliens called The O and members of The Liberty Bell Movement use clones and a cyborg army to hold Earth hostage and steal all the resources. It’s a good series, but any preschooler knows it’s all fiction. How come we haven’t heard about these aliens before? Right?

The idea is so ridiculous, I laugh again, but there’s nothing funny going on. The laugh feels heavy, like it’s pushing something down. “Mom, this is so let’s pretend. Tell Spiller The Liberty Bell Movement doesn’t exist.”

Mom won’t look at me. “I can’t, Leanna,” she says quietly. “You weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

Something inside me flings open. That heavy thing that was a laugh pushes even harder; this time it makes me cry.

Mom wipes tears from her eyes and from mine.

“Graham’s responsible for this,” she says. “We knew it was coming, but not this soon.”

I know right away?—??Mom is talking about Taylor Graham, who’s just been elected High Chancellor of The World Federation of Nations (WFN).

I back away from Mom and lean against the wall.

Mom speaks to Spiller through the house computer. “The Liberty Bell stands for peace, justice, and freedom. When did such goals become subversive?”

Spiller’s voice comes quickly. “Since you decided to take the law into your own hands.”

I listen closely to Spiller.

He says, “If you want to identify with a bunch of Seconds, that’s your right. But you cross the line when you take sides with aliens who are against your own kind.”

Mom blurts, “By whose authority do you make this arrest?”

Spiller bangs on the door. “High Chancellor Taylor Graham,” he says.

I am confused and furious. In my own frantic thinking, I try to piece it all together. It’s a nightmare that makes no sense.

Earth has made voice contact with beings from other planets. A big space launch is planned for the following year, but no aliens have actually been on Earth. So who are The O? And why would my mother get involved with a radical group like The Liberty Bell Movement? Mom isn’t a traitor.

I cry out like a little kid. “Mom!”

She hugs me. But even in Mom’s arms, I can’t stop trembling. We continue to weep and hold each other.

Between sobs, I ask, “Please tell me you aren’t one of those extremists who want to build a clone-and-cyborg army to destroy the world.”

“Absolutely not,” Mom says. “What you’re talking about is a comic book production. What I am is someone who doesn’t believe in slav­ery or segregation.”

I pull away. The knot in my stomach makes a turn. “Do you believe clones should be freed and cyborgs should be given equal rights?”

Mom nods.

“Then you are an extremist!”

“If that makes me an extremist, I’ll wear the hat. But we like to think of ourselves as abolitionists.”

“Like Harriet Tubman?” I say.

“People thought Harriet was an extremist, too.” Mom tries to help me understand, but the lines aren’t connecting for me.

“The early abolitionists fought to abolish slav­ery of human beings,” I argue. “Clones are not human beings.”

There is disappointment in Mom’s eyes. I’ve never expressed my feelings about clones this strongly. I’ve never had to. My contact with clones has been limited to one?—??Deuces, Sandra’s family domestic. This is the only clone I actually know.

“Clones are flesh and blood?—??same as you and me,” Mom says.

“Those manufactured creatures are not human like us,” I say.

The computer security announces: “Two minutes, three seconds until the house will be breached.”

“I don’t expect you to understand anything now,” Mom says. “And I don’t have time to explain.” Her dark eyes are filled with uncertainty. “Hold your questions, Leanna. For now, all I need you to believe is that your father loved you and I love you.”

The best I can do is nod and try to stop crying. Mom hugs me again, tighter this time.

“Trust me, Leanna,” she says.

I promise that I will.

Spiller growls at Mom through the house computer. “If you’re innocent, then submit to a mind probe and clear yourself.”

“Never,” Mom shoots back quickly, her hands shaking. “I will not submit to questioning on some trumped-up charges.”

“I’ll give you one last chance. Surrender and come along peacefully,” Spiller demands.

Spiller doesn’t know Mom the way I do. She’s tough. She won’t back down. Her courage has kicked in. This gives me hope.

Mom speaks firmly. “Surrender suggests I’ve done something wrong, and I haven’t. I will never give up.”

Spiller says, “Dr. Deberry, you leave me no choice. We are coming in.” I slide down the bedroom wall and pull myself into a ball.

The computer’s voice is back. “My sensors reveal Spiller has two biobots. It will take the biobots one minute, thirty-one seconds to override the house security system.”

Terror rises in me fast. Spiller’s got biobots!

On the danger scale, biobots are ranked with rattlesnakes.

Mom’s voice is soft but strained. “Leanna.” She pulls me to my feet. “Put a few things in your backpack?—??hurry.”

I do what Mom says, absently stuffing things I might need. I start with my commglasses, but Mom takes them from me. I quickly throw socks and a hairbrush into my backpack.

All the while, I’m trying to remember the T program I’d seen about biobots.

At first, they were created as simple toy pets, made from scrap metals. They ate garbage that they efficiently turned into fuel. Great concept, until bounty hunters like Joe Spiller customized biobots and programmed them to be kill­ing machines that devour their victims, mostly stray animals and defective runaway clones.

A wave of nausea settles in my stomach when I let myself think about what biobots would do to Mom and me.

“This is your scrapbook,” she says hurriedly, downloading files into my commglasses. “I’d planned to give this to you when you turn sixteen, but we don’t have that luxury now. When you view the information, you’ll understand, maybe not right away, how special you are. But most of all, I hope you know how much I love you.”

Mom touches my cheek and kisses me on the forehead before tucking my commglasses safely into my backpack’s inside pocket.

“Come now,” she says, pulling me to the window that opens to the deck, which spans the back of our house. “There’s not much time.”

Mom needs me to act brave, so I try not to crumble. Tears keep coming.

Then I realize Mom isn’t coming with me. I’m to go without her! I shake my head violently. “No! I won’t leave.”

The idea of biobots makes me squeeze Mom’s hand tighter.

But Mom pulls away. “Your safety is the most important thing right now. If you’re safe, that’ll be enough for me.”

Mom is willing to face a bounty hunter and flesh-eating monsters to make sure I’m free.

“Why is my safety more important than yours?” I argue. “We’ll run together.”

“Stop, Leanna!” Mom says. Then, holding my shoulders with firm and steady hands, she speaks to me, soft but steely. “How many times have we been through this drill? I need you?—??­really need you?—??to step up right now.”

“But I’m so scared.”

Mom shushes me. “Daughter, I know I’m asking?—??begging?—??you to do something far beyond your years. I know you’re frightened. I am, too. But I need you to do what I say without an argument.”

Mom commands the computer to drop the protective shield from my bedroom window. “Go, now. Do just as we’ve practiced. Run!”

Just before crawling out of the window, I grab my dad’s memory stick off the dresser and stuff it in my backpack. It’s all I have left of him.

As I go, Mom whispers, “I love you, Leanna.”

The computer announces, “The house is disarmed.”

Mom has always told me that I am to go straight to Doc Doc’s house if there’s ever an emergency. But fear keeps me frozen. From where I am, I can hear every­thing. Those biobots growl so loudly. They ask, “You want I should give it a laser blast, boss man?”

“Not yet,” grumbles Spiller. “They want Deberry alive so we can find out what The Liberty Bell is planning.”

Following Spiller’s command, the biobots rip with their teeth. Shards of furniture fly from the window.

Spiller’s voice bellows Mom’s rights. “Annette Deberry, cease to resist. You’re being arrested. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney?.?.?.”

“This is nonsense,” Mom says. “The Liberty Bell is trying to help you.”

“We don’t need your misguided help,” says Spiller. “The arrest warrant says you have a daughter, Leanna Deberry. Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Mom says softly. “I hope she is far away from this place.”

I feel guilty for not obeying Mom?—??I should be at Doc Doc’s now, but I can’t bring myself to leave this spot.

One of the biobots asks, “Want we should look for the girl, boss man?”

Spiller is silent. “The warrant says nothing about the girl being under arrest, too.”

I hold my breath and listen closely.

Spiller says to Mom, “Who would have ever thought you were a Bell Ringer?” Then, with a burst of anger in his voice, “What makes you stupid ­people think Seconds and Metal Heads are equal to human beings?”

Mom’s tone is even, calm. “Clones are human beings. We have proof of this,” Mom insists. “Graham knows we aren’t conspiring with The O to take over the world. For almost four centuries, The Liberty Bell has been delivering The O’s messages to humanity and working hard to keep liberty alive.”

“You ­people think you always have the answers to what’s wrong with the world.” There’s disgust in Spiller’s voice. “And little green men have all the answers.”

“As a society, we need to clean up our act or be prepared to pay the consequences,” Mom says. “And kill­ing the messenger won’t change a thing.”

Spiller grunts. “What kind of mother are you, putting pathetic clones and filthy, no-good cyborgs ahead of your daughter’s safety?”

“I owe you no explanation for my actions,” Mom says, still calm and even. “Arrest me and let’s go.”

Spiller chuckles wickedly. “After a penetrating mind probe, you’ll tell us every­thing we need to bust up this Liberty Bell group.”

I blink to chase away the image of Mom getting a mind probe. If they drain Mom’s brain, she’ll be a vegetable.

More than anything, I want to jump back through the window and fight, but I’m not that kind of brave. I press myself harder against the trellis and stay out of sight.

I hear the biobots chewing, spitting, belching.

Spiller leads Mom away. I sneak to the side deck to get a view of the front.

Spiller’s fartruck has brought neighbors out to see what’s going on. Nothing this exciting has ever happened on Roseland Street. People gather on the sidewalk, milling around between Federation signs advertising the swearing in of Taylor Graham. Mom never supported Graham. Now I know why. One of Graham’s campaign promises was to capture and prosecute dissident or­ga­ni­za­tions. Seems The Liberty Bell was at the top of his list.

Our neighbor Mr. Briley yells from across the street. “What’s going on? Annette is a good citizen!”

“We’re not enthusiastic about bounty hunters around here!” yells Donna Baker, one of Mom’s friends.

I quietly move behind the bushes by the side of the house, trying to stay hidden. They’re putting Mom in Spiller’s fartruck, and I panic.

Will I ever see Mom again? Will she be the same when they finish probing her mind?

There are still so many questions. The possible answers tear at my heart.

Still, I can’t make myself go to Doc Doc’s. Instead, I go next door to Sandra’s house.

Mrs. Jaffe, Sandra’s mother, pulls me inside the back door. “Get in here, girl,” she says. “What’s happening? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“They’ve arrested Mom.” I start to cry.

“Who? For what?” Mrs. Jaffe goes to her front door, where she sees the crowd gathered on the street. She shakes her head, not fully believing what she sees.

Spiller scowls at the ­people gathered outside. “Go back to your houses. This ain’t your concern. Don’t make trouble for yourselves.”

For the first time, I get a good look at Spiller. He’s a large man with a stocky frame. His bald head makes it hard to tell where his neck begins. The tattoos on his face, arms, and hands are symbols popular with military troops. There’s a vibo-gun strapped to his shoulder and an antique hunting knife in a holster on his hip.

The biobots bounce beside Spiller in a defensive pattern. I’ve never encountered what ­people call “tech-hounds” up close. They look like floating bowling balls with eyes on top of antennae. Mounted between the two spheres is an ebony screen that opens and closes. Behind it is the dreadful biobot mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. There’s an all-purpose utility belt filled with electronic tools and weapons around the middle of their round bodies. They operate with a number of retractable appendages.

I stand behind Mrs. Jaffe, looking at these disgusting things from over her shoulder. One of Spiller’s tech-hounds snarls. The ebony data screen rises, revealing jagged teeth and a long, slobbering tongue that scoops up a sparrow under a bush.

I stay quiet behind Mrs. Jaffe.

“Don’t fret, Annette, I’ve got Leanna,” Mrs. Jaffe shouts.

I can see the disappointment on Mom’s face when she sees I haven’t gone to Doc Doc’s house. When Spiller’s fartruck pulls away, taking my mother, something collapses inside me.

Excerpted from THE CLONE CODES © Copyright 2011 by Patricia C. McKissack, Fredrick L. McKissack and John McKissack. Reprinted with permission by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc. All rights reserved.

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