First (25 page)

We’re All Slaves Here

Mira

N
umb, I wander around the
Smith and eventually find myself at the pressure-locked entry to the gardens. Once inside, I make my way to the stream and sit down on the grass, putting my hands behind my head and watching the birds flap across the artificial sky. The early afternoon shadows are deep, and in the grass, little insects flit back and forth, reminding me of home. A bee buzzes near my hand, and I jerk my hand away. I know what I’ve got to do, but I can’t do it. I can’t say it. I’m too weak.

“They won’t hurt you.” Will’s deep rumbling voice comes from behind me.

I whirl around, startled. The quickest activity I’ve done since we returned to the Smith.
Makes my head hurt.

Will smiles ruefully from where he’s leaning against the tall, paper-white skin of a birch tree. “They can’t. These bees don’t have stingers. They’ve been engineered to be harmless. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’ve had a pretty rough go of it the last couple days. I bet Socrates will be fine.”

“You don’t have to coddle me, Will. I’m not a child. I heard what the doctors said. Two weeks, tops. What I don’t get is how they couldn’t see it. How with all their advanced technology they couldn’t figure out his cancer was growing so fast, and now it’s in all of his major organs. Even his brain is getting screwed up. He may never wake up.”

Will closes his eyes. “I know. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that! Why does everyone keep apologizing to me!” I throw my hands up in disgust. Will puts his arms around me, impulsively, as if he can’t help it, and pulls me into a tight embrace.
What am I going to do?

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into my hair.

I pull back and look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The farm, what happened, it was pretty rough.”

I look away from him. “It’s fine.”
I’m fine, right? Yeah, right.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” I try to pull free from his embrace, but he holds onto me.

“Did that guy bother you?”

“Who, Tanner?” I narrow my eyes at him.

Will’s eyes grow stormy, and I fight a grin. “Yeah, what did he want?”

Part of me wants to mess with him, play with his emotions, but I can’t. For some reason I feel as though I need to protect Tanner, protect what we had. “Nothing. He just wanted to see how I was doing.”

“Looked like it was more than that to me,” he grumbles. “Did he offer to help you escape?”

“Again?” I laugh. “How? He’s at the farm, Will. I’m here.”

“You never know. He’s a rebel. He has connections.”

I try to loosen his grip on me. “Sounds like you know something about that.”

As if I were on fire, he drops me and steps away, averting his eyes. “Never mind. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I turn away from him, weary of all the lies, the secrets, but also too tired to argue with him. I crouch down at the edge of the stream and pick up a smooth, flat rock and fling it at the water. It skips once, twice, three times before sinking.

“I don’t know how to do this.” He comes up behind me, so close I can feel the heat of his body. After a few seconds, his arms loop around my waist, and I relax back into him.

“Then don’t.”

“I have to. If I don’t, everything will be for nothing.” I take a deep breath, fear warring with a calm understanding that this may be the right decision after all.

“Is that what you really believe?”

“Yes, no.” The merest whisper of the words leaves my lips, the opposite of my words when Socrates chose me, a lifetime ago. I step away from Will abruptly, bend over, pick up a whole handful of pebbles, and throw them all in the water, making a big splash. The stream turns cloudy before clearing again. Just like life. I’m a pebble in a fast moving stream, a cloudy ripple, then everything’s clear again, as if it never happened. I sit down on the bank.

Will nudges me over and then joins me. The heat from his leg burns through the material of my pants. For a few minutes, we watch a pair of yellow and black butterflies flitting from flower to flower on the opposite bank.

“I’ve always felt sorry for them,” Will says.

“Why?” The smaller of the two insects perches on a flower, while the larger one hovers around it, looking for a place to land.

“They live such short, pointless lives. In a brief time, they grow up, bring beauty to the world, then they disappear forever, and no one even remembers they existed in the first place. It’s like their lives don’t mean anything at all.”

“Kind of like mine?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He takes my hands in his. “You’re nothing like that, Mira.”

“I want to live.” I look away from him when tears burn my eyes. My hand goes to my mouth, as if to take the words back. “But this, this is the right thing to do. If Socrates can free us, how can I stand in his way?” I blink the tears away.

Will says nothing, just rubs slow circles on the back of my hands.

“I have to do this.” When he still says nothing, I glance up at him.

“But,” Will murmurs, and I can’t move, can’t look away from his chocolate-colored eyes filled with concern. Worry etches a slight wrinkle between his brows, and the familiar smile lines around his mouth are nearly invisible. He doesn’t say anything else, but it’s like that one word covers everything.
There’s always a but.

I need to stand up, to move. I break free from his gaze, and once I’m on my feet, I hug my arms around my waist, holding myself together. “We should head back.” I laugh hollowly. “I’m just a wreck. I need to stop unloading everything on you. Stop talking about this. Grow up, and do the right thing for once.”

He stands up, takes my arm, and turns me gently, so that I’m facing him. “Mira,” he whispers. He bends his head, and his lips hover a breath above mine. His face is so close, not touching, but when I open my eyes, my eyelashes graze his cheek. I shiver, and finally his lips touch mine. Almost immediately, I realize this is nothing like the one-sided kisses I’d shared with Tanner.
Nothing brotherly about Will, that’s for sure.
This kiss is desperate, untamed, free and unexpected like the wilderness that surrounds the farm. A fleeting sense of guilt rushes through me, then disappears as Will presses his lips more firmly to mine.

His arms tighten around me, and I lean into him, winding my arms around his neck. I shiver as the kiss deepens. A rumble vibrates up from his chest, and I think I might have answered it with a groan of my own. I can’t think, only feel. What would it be like if I had a future? If Will and I could explore this, feel this? Would we stay in the Smith in a little apartment like the one I lived in at the farm? Would I get to banter with him every evening and wake up curled in his embrace?

No, I can’t do this.
I push against his chest a little, feeling dizzy, as if I don’t remember who I am or how to breathe. Will sighs and rests his forehead against mine, keeping his arms looped around my waist.

“Will, what are we doing? We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For… this. I… we… shouldn’t have…” I just gesture at him.

“You’re right. You’d better get in there. We can’t do this again. I’m just a servant, and you’re… you’re not. If someone told, I could be killed.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re not just some servant.”

“You’re wrong, Mira. We’re all slaves here. Even your Socrates. None of us are free.”

For You Are With Me

Socrates

“I
nteresting weather we’re having,” the
young blond-haired servant says as he wheels the cart into my hospital room. He’s got piercing green eyes that remind me of the mountains around my home after the summer rains have brought them back to life. My mind is groggy, full of clouds and thoughts that might have belonged to me, but are so old, I’m not sure anymore. Dancing children in white baptismal gowns grace my dreams along with raven-haired beauties and old men with pencil-thin white mustaches. At least the old men aren’t dancing.

“Yes, very,” I answer absently, yawn, then narrow my eyes at the boy as his words sink in. My mind, fuzzy, finds it hard to process his words, but I still find it odd. Servants don’t usually speak to Firsts.

He places the tray on my bed as it tilts automatically into a sitting position, sensing the presence of the tray. “I heard it’s going to be rather cloudy and stormy.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m really not that hungry.”

“Oh, I insist, sir. My supervisor just ordered a new brand of sweetener, from Scoffield, England, and he wants us to treat our esteemed dignitaries, like yourself, to it.”

Scoffield? Now where have I heard that name before?

“I’m sure it will taste lovely,” I say.

“Thank you, sir. We take great pride in making sure all of your needs are met.” That sounds strange, too. The boy is emphasizing the words, as if they have a greater meaning he wants to impart.

“I appreciate that.” I smile as he sets a deep burgundy cloth napkin next to me.

“As I understand it, you have a guest coming shortly. You may want to check your food first, to ensure it’s as you wish before he arrives.” He nods at the tray.

Hmmm, maybe he’s trying to tell me something.
“Yes, I think that would be a wise decision.” He smiles, bows, and backs out of the room.

When I lift up the top of the tray, a small folded piece of paper sticks to the edge, and I peel it off carefully so it doesn’t rip. The paper is thin, translucent, and starts dissolving as soon as I pull it free.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.

What does this mean? That I’m not alone? God, I hope not. No one should be alone in the end. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to make sure that, in the end, I’m not alone. In my head I see a little laughing boy in a baptismal gown, waving at his father.
Are you still there, Adam
? There’s no answer.
Were you ever there? Was it all in my head?

So lost am I that I don’t even hear Ellie parade into my room as if she owns the place. “Don’t you even lock your doors anymore?”

“What the hell, Ellie? Is nothing sacred anymore?” I shove the note under my pillow, feeling it rip and wrinkle beneath my fingertips. “Can’t an old, dying man have some privacy?”

She strokes her close-cut beard absently, and I can feel her studying me. “Well, if you just stayed in bed and out of trouble, we wouldn’t be here, would we? Why didn’t you see your doctor when you started feeling worse?”

“He’d just drug me and try to move up the procedure. I’m too old for treatment, remember?”

“You’re a foolish old man, you know that? Besides, they’ve already moved it up.”

“I know. I heard them talking. The funny thing is, I’m still not ready. Mira’s not ready. The sands are at the bottom of the hourglass, and I still have a to-do list half-filled.”

“You’re not making any sense.” She shakes her head and sits down next to my bed. “You’ve done this several times, and Mira… well, what does the girl have to get ready for? She’s going to die. A day, a week, a month, a year. Extra time isn’t going to help her with that. Is there anything else you’re not telling me? You’ve certainly been acting strange lately.”

“Everything is fine, Ellie, as fine as it can be.” I lean forward and lift the top off the food as if for the first time. I try to smile, but just a whiff of food brings on a harsh, barking cough that wracks my body. After fumbling in my pocket for a handkerchief, I grab my napkin and cough into it. When I pull it away, the dark red cloth is liberally spotted with dark red blood. I fold it up quickly and try to hide it, but I can’t fool Ellie.

She narrows her eyes. “That’s it. I’m calling a doctor.”

“No,” I murmur, then repeat it again louder when she acts as though she doesn’t hear me and starts to stand. “Please sit down. I’m dying, and nothing is going to change that. It’s painful, yes, but growing old always is. You know that.”

She shakes her head at me, an impossible, cranky old man. “True. We all die eventually.”

“Some more than once,” I quip, then chuckle. She doesn’t.

I drift off after she leaves, hearing Mira’s voice in my head as I sink back into the darkness.

My hope is that I’m the last kid who has to die so that your people can live forever.
What if Mira’s right? How terrible it must be, always wondering if you’re going to be chosen, hoping you’ll be lucky enough to escape it, but wanting more than what you have at the farm. Wanting freedom, but never being able to obtain it, and peace, but that’s too elusive as well. I slowly drift off as the thrumming of the machines lulls me into a restless slumber.
Maybe I’m not the only one who can do this. The only one who has the strength to stand up and fight for what he believes. What would the blowhards in Congress think if Mira stood up in front of them and argued for this bill? How would they react to her passion, her desire?

When I wake up, the girl is curled up in a round metal chair next to me, the bright red cushion bunched up under her head.

She rubs her eyes the way a child would, with both hands fisted and pressed firmly into her flesh. A wave of tenderness sweeps over me, as if she were my own child. She stands up, stretches, and looks at me. “How are you feeling?”

I look away, feeling vulnerable, which is unusual for me.
Get a hold of yourself, old man.
“I’ve been better. You don’t have to stay by my side, you know.”

“I know.” She doesn’t say anything more, though, and Ellie walks in, two coffees in hand. I smile and hug her after she sets the steaming cups on the bedside table.

“Ellie, what a life saver! Did you sneak a file in there to break me out?”

She shakes her head. “Crazy old coot. You stay in bed.” She turns to Mira, a curious expression on her face. “Good morning, Mira. I didn’t know you were going to be here. Would you like me to order you something to drink?”

Mira yawns. “I’m fine. Just—”

“Keeping the old goat out of trouble?”

She snorts, and I glare at the both of them. Ellie barely hides her own grin.

I pick up my cup and hold it to my lips, letting the steam warm me. “Mira, will you excuse us?”

“Yeah, I’ll just… I’ll just go back to my room.” Looking rather lost, she murmurs goodbye to both of us and leaves.

After she’s gone, Ellie shuts and locks the door.

“Would you like me to send for that boy?” Ellie snaps her fingers. “Will, right?”

“No, I’m fine. Ellie, I don’t know if I can go through with it.”

“I think that ship sailed the day you selected her.”

I study my wrinkled hands, knuckles swollen with age and arthritis. How they shake if I even lift them an inch off the tray. How I can barely walk, hardly even open my eyes anymore when I wake up. How nice it might be just to fall asleep. Should I tell her that? Would she smile and nod as if she’s known all along? That is, after all, her choice, too. “Did you know some families would rather their children die, disappear in the forest, than have them become Seconds?”

She looks nonplussed. Does she already know? “And this surprises you?”

“Yes.” She shakes her head at my blindness. “In the beginning, being chosen as an Absolved was so prestigious. It was a way to make a difference in the world.”

“And you’re only now realizing that not everyone feels that way?”

I frown, eyes on the bubbles popping around the rim of my cup. “No, I knew that. I suppose I just thought it was a bunch of angry protesters looking for something to argue against. Not kids. Not parents, families, on the farms, sending their kids out to die rather than be a Second.”

“Well, do you see their point?”

I take a sip of coffee, only just cool enough not to burn the roof of my mouth. “Yes, but you know I’ve never been in favor of the government’s decision not to teach the Texans the reality of project ReGenesis. To wipe its origins out of history, fuzz it up enough so they don’t ask questions.” I close my eyes, thinking back to all those volunteers, those people who chose to be in the program. It needs to stop. The truth must come out. “This Act needs to pass. Those people, all of our people, deserve to be free.”

“Like it was before the Immigration War?”

“Yes.”

“And this justifies taking Mira’s life?”

My mouth twists down at the corners. “I’m beginning to think we were wrong. Perhaps these children should never have been made to be Seconds.”

She shrugs. “We thought it best at the time. The free citizens wanted their pound of flesh and, well, the success rate is so much better with children than with adults.”

“Now who’s the heartless one?” I try to smile, to belie the unease her words bring. She’s right. We were so far removed from our own mortality that we saw the children as objects, a renewable resource rather than the indescribable treasure that they were and are.

She takes a sip of coffee and sets the cup back down before folding her hands in her lap. “I won’t deny my part in this. We were all responsible, in our own way. Maybe it wasn’t the right path, but we thought it was at the time.”

I shake my head. “How could we be so blind? I sincerely thought that most of the Texans would see this as a privilege, an honor.”

“Given that they don’t understand what actually happens, most of them do support the program. In all societies, there will always be those who disagree with the status quo: those who fight against whatever the majority believes. Have you ever thought that maybe they’re right?”

Adam? Are you there? What would you do, if you were still alive?
I feel tired all of a sudden, and lay my head back against the pillow. “The doctors moved the transfer to tomorrow. They’re even skipping the Release Ceremony, said it’d be too much for me to give a speech in my condition.”

Ellie pauses, the silence full of things unspoken.
What are you thinking, Ellie?
“I know.” She’s silent again as she studies me, letting the weight of our words fill the space between us. “Are you thinking of changing your mind?”

Am I? Should I go through with it? Mira’s passion, her excitement, her vision of what the world should be like comes to mind. Could she do this? Could she handle doing what needs to be done? “I don’t know. Nothing feels right anymore. We live so long, serve as a reminder of the past, to teach and guide the future, yet I have relatives all over the world, and I haven’t met a quarter of them. My children might be dead, but their children’s children’s children aren’t. I should know them, watch them grow up, but I couldn’t pick them out of a crowd. I could be related to half of the world somewhere down the line, but I’m nobody’s grandpa.”

“Do you think you’re losing too much during the transfer process?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Perhaps, or maybe I’ve just reached the limit of the human capacity for memory. Maybe my mind, recycled as it is, just can’t hold any more new information without tossing out the old. It’s not as though there is any research to prove just how many times the human mind can be downloaded into new bodies. Even five hundred years later, it’s still relatively uncharted territory.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” A coughing fit hits me, and I pull out my handkerchief and hack into it. I fold it up, hands shaking, and shove it in my pocket. Agony wracks my body as it subsides. I don’t remember it being this painful ever before. Is this what it feels like to run your fingers alongside of death? Almost crossing over but not quite?

Eliot reaches over and folds my hands in hers. My vision blurs, and the person before me is not a middle-aged man with brown hair, but my lovely Eliot, rolling blue-black curls and sea-foam green eyes that dance in the sunlight, matching the waves on a peaceful ocean shore and wearing nothing but a smile.

“You know what I think it is? I think you see your son, Adam, in Mira, and it scares you. You’re not a monster, Socrates. You’re a human, no matter how long you’ve lived.”

“I just feel so weak, and it’s not just the age, or the cancer, or any of a million things I have wrong with me. It’s inside my mind. My soul. I don’t know if I have the strength to die.”

She frowns, her eyes losing some of their brightness and filling with disappointment. “So you’re still going through it with it.”

I don’t know. Am I?
I stare into her eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Then maybe you are the monster that you fear.” Her lips are set in a grim line, and even though I know she still loves me, a part of her hates me as well.

“Would that make it easier for you?” I ask.

She closes her eyes, shakes her head, just as an orderly in dark green comes in.

“Sir, we’d like to check your vitals. If you don’t mind,” he says this last bit to Ellie, who merely shakes her head and walks out the door, every step a statement of her frustration.

After the orderly, Malcom, finishes his inspection, which is as good as can be expected for a critically dying man (I can tell by his false smiles and nods), he leaves and suddenly, clearly, it comes to mind.
I really can’t do this.
I’m so wrapped up in who I am, the past I’ve made, the people I’ve left behind, that I really can’t. Maybe at one point in time, but not anymore.
I really am too old for this.

My hand quivers as I reach over to the top drawer of my nightstand, pulling out the piece of paper I’d found on my nightstand the first day I arrived at the Smith.