Azhar knew he should not ask why. Still in their places as if by order of God Himself, his family waited anxiously once the Imam left. Azhar stared at Omar, who barely blinked in response as he turned up the steps.
“So?” Jalak nudged Azhar.
“I’m hungry. Get food on the table, woman.”
“I want to know…”
Mustafa rolled a football along the floor and kicked a perfect shot into Omar’s head, knocking him to one knee. Azhar’s fingers dug into the boy’s arm.
“Never lie again.”
Omar shook himself free. “Do not worry, Father. I did just this one time, out of respect for what you might have been.”
“Might’ve been?” Azhar thundered. “You don’t know what might’ve been means. What we sacrificed to give you a world where it is all right to betray a poor child. Where a father hates his own blood…” Over Jalak’s gasp, Azhar shouted, “Never talk to me that way again. Ever. Do you hear?”
“It is not your world anymore, Father. It is mine.” Omar calmly stared at his father’s raised fist and laughed. “I must pray.”
Once his brother left, Abdul slid his arm around Azhar’s waist. “Are we in trouble, Father?”
Mustafa closed his eyes and asked Allah for forgiveness. “No.” He smiled bravely. “Come and practice before your mother poisons us with breakfast.”
22
Kenuda sneered disdainfully at the Three Amigos mural.
“Those were the traitors, right?”
Puppy stiffened. “No. Mooshie died under mysterious circumstances and Easy Sun Yen and Derek Singh served with distinction in the Marines.”
“No one served with distinction.” Elias shook his head at the failure of the American military. He touched the mural as Boccicelli and Fisher held their breath.
“It was a famous artist.” Puppy wanted to slap his hand away. “Latsha Di. Perhaps you heard of her?” Kenuda sniffed. “She also painted the Children’s Main Mural in Grandma’s House, the Catastrophe of Los Angeles and the Midtown Pile, if you’ve ever seen that.”
“I have, Mr. Historian.” Kenuda said dismissively of the famous mural on the side of the abandoned Chrysler Building in Manhattan, depicting the carnage of the Allah chemical attack. “Well, shall we continue?”
Exchanging rolls of their eyes, Kenuda and Hazel walked past the DV teens lined up along the pavilion with brooms in hands, floor swept clean, heads slightly bowed like a custodial army.
“Careful, sir.” Frecklie pointed at a gaping hole, disappointing Puppy, who would’ve enjoyed watching Kenuda crack open his skull.
“What is this?” Kenuda asked everyone.
“One of the mortar craters, Third Cousin,” Puppy answered with excessive pleasantness. “The Miners were arrayed there.” He gestured toward the outside wall; Kenuda and Hazel moved away. “The BTs shelled them from up there.” He nodded at the shattered escalators at the end of the huge hall. “There was a vicious crossfire from the souvenir shop.” He took them past the broken glass and around a few more holes.
Kenuda shook his head, not for the victims. “It’s a mess.”
“It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Yes, I know.” Elias nearly tripped into another hole, grumbling. A DV handed him a plate of tacos and pierogi; the Third Cousin recoiled.
“Tacos,” Puppy said helpfully, resisting the urge to take a bite and make yummy sounds. “Pierogi.”
“We are allowed to have food from enslaved nations,” Fisher piped up.
“Mexico is not part of the Caliphate,” Kenuda said with disgust. He smelled a taco and found the courage to nibble. He grunted in surprise and finished off the snacks as Puppy led them into the ballpark.
Kenuda’s large frame froze in the entrance. Maybe Puppy was being excessively hopeful, but for a moment, he thought he glimpsed genuine dismay.
“Why is the field so brown?”
“We can’t water it, sir,” Frecklie said defensively. “But we do trim the grass, sir.”
“Which is allowed,” Boccicelli said.
“Not really,” Frecklie said.
Kenuda patted his arm. “It’s all right, son.”
The Third Cousin walked to the edge of the field, pausing to frown at bullet shells, tattered orange Miners wigs and an occasional bone.
“This is the shittiest athletic stadium I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly. “An absolute disgrace. It shames the very notion of athletics and excellence and men and women striving for their best.”
Fisher and Boccicelli bowed their heads, pleased by the praise. Kenuda’s eyes nearly jumped out of his head.
“How can I possibly lend the office of American sports to this?” he asked Hazel.
“Like Puppy said, it’s supposed to be this way…”
“I know, damnit. But you can’t let people walk around. Is that a rat? A rat in one of my athletic forums?”
“There are lots more in the bullpen,” Puppy said.
Kenuda folded his arms moodily. “It’s far far worse than I thought.”
“You could rope it off, Third Cousin, and add explanations,” Frecklie said quietly.
“What?” Kenuda turned.
Puppy nodded for Frecklie to continue; the kid was going to anyway.
“Like a museum.”
Elias moved closer to Frecklie who kept his steady stare. “Explain.”
“We keep all the craters, but rope off the areas and put up signs saying what happened. We could do the same all over the ballpark, pointing out the various treacheries.”
Kenuda smiled faintly.
“But we’d need to spruce it up a little. Like the field.”
“That’s against the law,” muttered Fisher.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Kenuda growled. “It is against the law, son.”
Frecklie shook his head stubbornly. “According to the Treason Act of 2066, Amazon Stadium was to be maintained as it was on 10/12.” The teen summoned his last bit of courage. “The field was not brown that day.”
Elias thought about this. “The Little Extended Family could probably handle all this.”
Puppy gestured at Frecklie to keep quiet.
“’Bots, sir?”
“Well yes. Oh, of course, we’ll keep on some of the DVs.”
“No, it’s got to be all DVs,” Puppy insisted.
Kenuda scowled. “If I’m making this baseball restoration official, then I’ve got to maintain the same percentage between robots and human workers as there are in football and basketball.”
“Why?”
Kenuda stammered and looked at Hazel for guidance; the journalist
