I Don't Seem So Bright in a Well-Lit Room

Chapter Thirty

Aye sat in the "staff lounge/kitchenette" of Emperor Reginald Zophricaties' lab with nine other Ayes. The tenth was missing.

Everything had happened too fast. The large line up of Potto clones waiting to get onto the Garax ship caused a panic. He had watched the real Potto grab the hand of one of his clones and drag him off. By the time he had finally gathered up his remaining clones (which was no easy task for they had scattered in every direction like a brood of chickens cooped up with a werewolf), everyone had left. 

Now they all sat in the lounge/kitchenette, munching on stale and rotten snacks that had spilled out of a broken vending machine many, many years before. There were "raisins" in everything, including the snacks that didn't start off with raisins. 

"I don't think these are raisins," an Aye clone muttered. 

"Just shut up and eat. Raisins...real or not...are good for you," Aye snapped. He was a tad ornery, but trusted Potto would come back for him when the mistake had been realized.

Though he doubted Potto's ability to realize anything, his fragile ego refused to believe that these horn-deficient hunchbacks looked anything like him. Even Potto would be able to tell the difference. Surely. Probably. Maybe.

"What's a raisin?" asked another clone.

"I dunno, something with legs," answered the first clone as he munched away on what definitely wasn't a raisin but certainly had the texture of one. And legs.

Aye looked around at his clones. He was disappointed. He was hoping they'd be a little more Blankton, and a little less Yaygher. And that was saying something.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the inane conversation the clones were having about expired snack foods. He tried to remember his mother's face, but too much had happened since his dream of her. He couldn't even remember his wretched father's face for that matter, but that was a very welcome memory blip.

Like Potto, he had a wall up, a block of sorts in his mind. Something horrible was buried so deep he couldn't access even the smallest detail, and he had nothing from his past to jog his memory.

Nothing remained of his life up until this particular moment, apart from the clothes on his back. The now filthy, worn and torn Node Pilot's uniform with a faded "1st Lt. Jonas Perrish" nametag-badge carefully stitched on the jacket's chest was all he owned.

He perked up upon hearing the low grinding (and feeling the buzzing vibrations) of a ship docking to the lab. 

"There ya go, Sport!" he said aloud.

"Sport? What sport? Water polo?"

"Potto. He's back for us. Well for me," Aye scowled. He didn't want these idiots following him around.

He raced out of the lounge/kitchenette, slipping on a few snack wrappers but catching himself.

He waited with bated breath for Potto to come through the lab entrance, while practising his stern, scolding face. He was happy and relieved to be rescued, but wanted Potto to know it wasn't okay to be left behind, and worse, mistaken for one of these "Aye-ghers".

It wasn't Potto that came through the door. It wasn't a Potto clone. It wasn't the dangerously dashing clone they had made together. It wasn't even a Shiv-sniffing puppy or a wayward ostrich.

It was his father.

But not his father. It was an artificial abomination with the glowing blue floating holographic head of his father. He stared at this floating head-upon-a-large-robotic-body like he was looking through the lens of an old video camera that wouldn't autofocus without effort. Though he had known about his father's current form, he had not seen it in person.