Trapped!: The 2031 Journal of Otis Fitzmorgan (12 page)

LYSA STUCK OUT HER ARM FOR A DNA READING.

Lysa nodded.

I removed my probe and got to work reprogramming it. Within a few minutes, I had set it up to accept more than just my DNA
signature. There was enough room on the microprobe to record the DNA of hundreds of people

“Stick out your arm,” I said to Lysa.

She held it out, and I placed the probe on her skin. Immediately, a chime let me know her DNA had been recorded in the probe.
I labeled it with her name.

“Now every time my probe finds your DNA, it will say your name. See?” I touched the probe to her skin again, and a woman's
voice said: LYSA A. BENATO.

I moved on to the other kids in the room and recorded their DNA. At this point, I wasn't analyzing anyone's DNA, just collecting
it.

“What about her?” Lysa said when I was done, eyeing judge suspiciously.

What does she have against Judge? I wondered. Did it bother her that Judge wasn't human?

“I skipped judge for two reasons,” I told Lysa. “First of all, she doesn't have DNA, and second, she wasn't even around when
the communications system was destroyed.”

That seemed to satisfy Lysa. I asked everyone but crockett to go back to the Common Room and wait while we collected the DNA.
I knew Charlotte and Lysa would be safe with Judge.

For the next hour, crockett and I went from room to room on Level 4. We took the DNA of all the adults. The last person wt
had to get it from was Yves. His face, no longer set in a sneer, seemed to have changed. He looked almost angelic.

I was thinking about this when Crockett gave me a nudge. “All set?”

I nodded, and we left Yves's room to begin our starch for the DNA of a criminal.

JUDGE WAS SITTING WITH CHARLOTTE AND LYSA.

Day 4 of 6
  
  
5:20
PM

A half hour later, Crockett and I
walked into the Common Room. Judge, Lysa, and Charlotte were sitting around a table discussing the case.

Judge was absentmindedly sketching something on a piece of paper. I heard her say, “That's one idea, Lysa. I just don't know
if the criminal is an alien—” She broke off when she saw us enter. “How'd it go?” she asked eagerly.

Crockett and I looked at each other. How could we begin to tell what we had discovered?

Charlotte stood and rushed over to us. “Come on! Spill! What'd you find?”

“You'd better sit down,” I told her.

“You're scaring me,” she said, taking her seat again. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath before speaking. “Crockett and I went to my room first. I thought if we were going to go around invading
people's property, we should start with my room. We went to my closet and ran the DNA probe over my clothes. It said my name
constantly. Then I ran it over my FSA uniform, the one I was wearing when I first met you. So I wasn't surprised when my probe
said your DNA was on the jacket. But I was surprised by who else's DNA was there, as well. In the exact same spot.”

“Whose was it?” Charlotte asked.

“Can I show you?” I asked her.

She nodded. I placed the probe on her arm. The probe chimed and then said, CHARLOTTE NOONAN. It chimed twice more and recited
two more names: LYSK A. BENATO MAXINE BENATO.

“What?” Lysa was on her feet. “Why did it say Mom's and my names? And how did our DNA get on your jacket?”

“That's just it,” I answered. “Neither of you touched my jacket. But you didn't have to in order for your DNA to be on it.”

“You're not making sense!” Lysa cried.

“Yes, he is, charlotte said. “He's saying that we all have the same DNA”.

Lysa swallowed. “But that would only be possible if we were…”

“lf we were clones”, said charlotte, getting up again.

I'd hated springing it on Charlotte like that, but I'd needed to see her reaction. Would she be surprised? Or would she angrily
deny it?

But instead, charlotte just seemed numb. Not Lysa, though. She shouted, “Just because we look alike doesn't mean we're clones!
If we were, wouldn't we be identical?”

“Not necessarily,” I said “clones share the same DNA, but environmental things—like what you eat and where you live—can change
your appearance.” Lysa shook her head, not wanting to hear any more. But I had to keep going. “Lysa, your mom is decades older,
so she's going to look different than you two.” Then, looking at Charlotte's blonde locks, I added, “And one of you has been
coloring her hair.”

Charlotte took a moment to speak. “Am I a suspect?” she asked quietly.

“We're all suspects,” I told her.

I think my gentle tone actually made things worse. She seemed to take it as a sign of pity or something. “But I think I might
have moved closer to the top of the list,” she snapped. guess you might feel safer if I stayed in my room.”

I couldn't argue with her. “Just for now, until we can get the situation straightened out. You, too, Lysa.”

Charlotte grimaced as if she had tasted something awful. But she nodded and left. Lysa followed her out.

LYSA AND CHARLOTTE WERE SHOCKED AND ANGRY.

“I'll make sure they get back to their rooms,” Crockett said.

I slumped into the chair where Charlotte had been sitting. Feeling frazzled, I squeezed my eyes shut and put my head in my
hands. I felt Judge's hand on my shoulder. She said sympathetically, “I'm not sure if anyone could have handled that better.”

With my head still down, I opened my eyes and found myself looking directly at the drawing Judge had been working on when
I came in earlier.

The sketch showed men in old-fashioned suits helping a little girl with black hair off a train. The girl looked to be about
six years old—and exactly like a younger version of Lysa Benato. In the background of the drawing, I could make out a city
that looked like it might be San Francisco. It was in flames.

JUDGE'S SKETCH

“What's this?” I said, tapping the paper.

“Oh, that? Just a memory I had,” judge said. “It came to me while I was talking to Charlotte and Lysa. I thought maybe it
was because you remind me of your ancestor Fitz.”

“You mean my great-great-great-great-grandmother?” I couldn't help but laugh with the last “great.”

“You remind me a lot of her,” she said. “And that's quite a compliment.”

“Thanks, judge.” For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off the drawing.

Judge noticed and said “You can Keep it if you like.”

“I'd love it,” I told her. “But maybe you should give it to Lysa since you drew a younger version of her in the picture.”

“That's not Lysa,” Judge said. “That's Asyla Notabe.”

I looked up, surprised. “You mean the Asyla Notabe who started the campaign against private detectives?”

“That's right,” Judge said. “Even she was a little girl at one point. In fact, I met her in 1906 on the same train that I
met Fitz. We were on our way to San Francisco.”

“That's the answer,” I said. “It's been right there the whole time!”

“What is it?”

I quickly wrote out the three names.

CHARLOTTE NOONAN

MAXINE BENATO

LYSA A. BENATO

“Do you see it?” I said. “I know you and my family worked on anagrams to crack many cases together. And it looks like this
one might hinge on anagrams, too.”

“What do you mean?” asked Judge. She gazed at the names for a moment. “Benato is an anagram for Notabe!”

“Look at Lysa's full name.”

LYSA A. BENATO

I rearranged the letters until they spelled:

ASYLA NOTABE

I pushed the paper toward judge. “Lysa A. Benato is an anagram for Asyla Notabe!”

“You're right!” Judge cried. “But what about Charlotte Noonan? She's a clone, as well, but her name isn't even close to an
anagram.”

I tapped the pen thoughtfully against the table. “That's true. And why would there be three Notabe clones on this Climber,
anyway? Does it have to do with ESCAPE BY A HAIR? And does the person who tool the statue know how to stop the virus?”