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"I want to know your reasons."
Connor lets out a single rueful chuckle as his answer.
"You think I'm a slave dealer," says the Admiral. "And that I'm using these Unwinds for my own profit?"
"If you know what I'm going to say, why ask me?"
"I want you to look at me."
But Connor doesn't want to see the man's eyes—or, more accurately, doesn't want the Admiral seeing his.
"I said look at me!"
Reluctantly, Connor lifts his eyes and fixes them on the Admiral's. "I'm looking."
"I believe you are a smart kid. Now I want you to think. Think! I am a decorated Admiral of the United States Navy. Do you think I need to be selling children to earn money?"
"I don't know."
"Think! Do I care about money and lavish things? I do not live in a mansion. I do not vacation on a tropical island. I spend my time in the stinking desert living in a rotting plane 365 days a year. Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know!"
"I think you do."
Connor stands up now. In spite of the Admiral's tone of voice, he feels less and less intimidated by him. Whether it's wise or whether it's foolhardy, Connor decides to give the Admiral what he's asking for. "You do it because of the power. You do it because it lets you keep hundreds of helpless kids in the palm of your hand. And you do it because you can pick and choose who gets unwound—and which parts you'll get."
The Admiral is caught off guard by this. Suddenly, he's on the defensive. "What did you say?"
"It's obvious! All the scars. And those teeth! They're not the ones you were born with, are they? So, what is it you want from me? Is it my eyes, or my ears? Or maybe it's my hands that can fix things so well. Is that why I'm here? Is it?"
The Admiral's voice is a predator)' growl. "You've gone too far."
"No, you've gone too far." The fury in the Admiral's eyes should terrify Connor, but his cannon has come loose, and it's beyond locking down. "We come to you in desperation! What you do to us is ... is .. . obscene!"
"So I'm a monster, then!"
"Yes!"
"And my teeth are the proof."
"Yes!"
"Then you can have them!"
Then the Admiral does something beyond imagining. He reaches into his mouth, grabs onto his own jaw, and rips the teeth out of his mouth. His eyes blazing at Connor, he hurls the hard pink clump in his hand down on the table, where it clatters in two horrible pieces.
Connor screams in shock. It's all there. Two rows of white teeth. Two sets of pink gums. But there's no blood. Why is there no blood? There's no blood in the Admiral's mouth, either. His face seems to have collapsed onto itself—his mouth is just a floppy, puckered hole. Connor doesn't know which is worse—the Admiral's face, or the bloodless teeth.
"They're called dentures," the Admiral says. "They used to be common in the days before unwinding. But who wants false teeth when, for half the price, you can get real ones straight from a healthy Unwind? I had to get these made in Thailand— no one does it here anymore."
"I ... I don't understand. . . ." Connor looks at the false teeth, and jerks his head almost involuntarily toward the picture of the smiling boy.
The Admiral follows his gaze. "That," says the Admiral, "was my son. His teeth looked very much like my own at that age, so they designed my dentures using his dental records."
It's a relief to hear an explanation other than the one Roland gave. "I'm sorry."
The Admiral neither accepts nor rejects Connor's apology. "The money I get tor placing Unwinds into service positions is used to feed the ones who remain, and to pay for the safe houses and warehouses that get runaway Unwinds off the street. It pays for the aircraft that get them here, and pays off anyone who needs bribery to look the other way. After that, the money that remains goes into the pockets of each Unwind on the day they turn eighteen and are sent out into this unforgiving world. So you see, I may still be, by your definition of the word, a slave dealer—but I am not quite the monster you think I am."
