Cloneward Bound Read Online Free

of her grapes would yield a full bottle of wine. Plus, they provided a place for his father’s newest batch of landlobsters to live and play.
    As Fisher pushed open the door, he stopped and sighed.His father was in the foyer, hopping on one foot trying to untangle his suspenders from his left ankle. His mother’s head was bent sideways because one dangly earring had gotten caught in her necklace chain.
    His parents could alter genetic structures with their eyes closed. They could design ovens that could discuss geopolitics while broiling chicken. But they could barely dress themselves in normal clothing, much less
act
like normal human beings.
    “Hey, there, Fisher,” his dad said, between hops.
    “Welcome home, sweetie,” his mom said. The way her head was twisted made her look like a confused bird.
    “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad,” Fisher said with a sigh. “Big night out?”
    “We’re going to the symphony,” his dad said, freeing himself from his own suspenders only to hook his cufflinks together. He walked toward Fisher with his wrists bound together. “Could you give me a hand, Fisher?”
    “Sure,” Fisher said, reaching up and trying to figure out how his father had managed to handcuff himself with only a pair of fancy buttons. He looked up at his dad’s disheveled mop. “Your hair looks a little, um …” He gestured with his hands, since what he really wanted to say was,
Your hair looks like an iguana’s nest after a hurricane
.
    “Yes,” his dad replied, trying to help free his hands. “Iwas trying to apply my hair gel but FP jumped up and ate it.”
    “What?!” Fisher said. “Is he okay?”
    “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe to eat—though I can’t imagine it tastes very good. He’ll be fine.”
    “Well, okay,” Fisher said, “I guess if …” His eyes drifted up past his father’s head. “Um, are you
sure
he’ll be okay?”
    “It’s completely nontoxic,” his dad said, finally freeing his wrists. “Why?”
    “Because he appears to be glued to the ceiling.” Fisher pointed.
    The family pet, and Fisher’s best friend, was named Flying Pig, usually called FP. Fisher’s mother had engineered the little fellow, a small pig with flaps under his forelegs that served as wings. He couldn’t really fly, but he was a pretty talented glider.
    One thing he was not, however, was self-adhesive. Yet there he was, stuck to the ceiling like a twitchy pink mushroom.
    “FP!” Mrs. Bas exclaimed, looking around for something to get him down with.
    “You okay, boy?” Fisher called up to him. FP made a few squeaks. He sounded more annoyed than pained.
    “Oh dear,” Mr. Bas said, scratching his head. “I should have guessed. The gel is made of adaptive materials. Its strength adjusts to its environment. FP’s body must be cranking the gel all the way up and sweating it out.”

    Fisher found a long-handled broom and with a great effort managed to pry FP from the ceiling. FP squealed as he flailed his legs, trying to slow his descent to the floor. He hit with a thud—and his backside immediately attached itself to the linoleum. But at least he was on the floor.
    Mr. Bas shook his head. “Well, this is a pickle. If the gel is in his system, he could be sweating it out for days. He’ll stick to anything he touches.”
    Fisher sighed and poked at FP until his hooves were on the floor. His whole body was glistening with the powerful gel.
    “I guess I’ll try and work up an antidote,” Fisher said, dropping his backpack on the floor and pulling out a folder. “Before you go, could one of you sign this permission slip? My science class is taking a field trip this weekend to LA.”
    His mother, still halfway out of one shoe, hopped over and took the slip from Fisher.
    “Oh!” she said, reading it over. “You’re going to a taping of
Strange Science
?” She bit her lower lip absently. Then she said with false casualness, “I think I’ll volunteer for one of the chaperone spots.