and pulled me with him as he walked through the door. I stared back at the wall of pictures, a lifetime in oils, wondering if I would ever get to have one about me.
Fredward didn't say any more as we walked down the hall, so I asked, "Almost?"
He sighed, reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was 'born'... created... whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So at the tender age of ten, I fell off the wagon.
"Really?" I was intrigued, rather than frightened, as I had never imagined his soul ever being so troubled.
He could tell. I vaguely realized that we were headed up the next flight of stairs, but I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings.
"That doesn't repulse you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I guess it sounds... reasonable."
"Reasonable?!" He barked a laugh, more loudly than before. We were at the top of the stairs now, in another paneled hallway.
"From the time of my second birth," he muttered, "I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carbomb—I could read his perfect mind, its perfect sincerity, and understood why he lived the way he did.
"It took me only a few years of intercontinental sampling to return to Carbomb and recommit to his vision for a new utopia. I thought I would be exempt

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Chapter 16

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