I turn back to Ruger. Shoot, I’d forgotten he was even there. “We’re here, sirs.”
We stop at one side of a small crowd of reporters in front of a darkened, cordoned off hallway. Many of the parasites are so focused on the front of the building, probably itching to be out there where all the action is, that they don’t even realize Ellie and I are here. Heaving a tired sigh, Ruger leads us to the front of the group where an old wooden podium sits.
He turns to face the semicircle of reporters standing around the mouth of the hallway. “Good afternoon. Welcome to the National Museum of American History. We are very pleased all of you could make it to this, the grand opening of our newest exhibit: The History of Firsts and the Release: Our Nation’s Key to Peace. Joining us is our esteemed guest, the first of the Firsts, Socrates, and his companion, George Eliot.” He steps back and bows deeply, gesturing for me to speak to the crowd. Ben and I take the podium. When I stop, he sits promptly at my side.
I glance back at Ellie to see if she’s going to follow me, but she shakes her head.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming today. Project ReGenesis has been a cornerstone of our country for nearly five hundred years, and because of it, we have enjoyed a period of peace and prosperity unequalled in human history…” Well, unless you’re from Texas. “We have prevented war and famine, kept our country in order, and created stability envied by our allies and enemies alike.” I pause for effect. “There are nearly 13,000 of us around the world, but I was the first person to survive the procedure and unlock its key to success.
“Our work, however, is far from over. My brother, Leonardo, stands at the cusp of a breakthrough that will allow sustenance farming at the bottom of the ocean. My sister, Marie Curie, has just published her findings on a study reversing radioactive effects on the human body. We still have much to do, but with the help of the Smithsonian, we are pleased to bring some of our past to you.”
One of the reporters, an older dark-skinned man with white hair buzzed short in the front, but long in the back, wearing a silver and black suit, steps forward. Five hundred years, and some people still insist on wearing mullets. Never a good idea. “Is it true you’ve chosen a Second from Chesaning Farms?”
“Yes.” So much for keeping the leeches on topic. Ellie moves behind me and takes my arm in support, squeezing it, keeping me grounded.
“Isn’t that hypocritical?” Damn. I’m going to need all the grounding I can get.
“How so?”
He gestures at Eliot. “Your life mate isn’t taking another Second. He has openly shown his disapproval of the entire program. You’re even supporting a bill to free the Texans. Yet here you are, choosing a seventeen-year-old girl as your Second.”
Ellie’s not taking a Second? I turn to her. She has gone pale, and her mustache twitches.
“Socrates, I… I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner,” she murmurs quietly, so only I can hear her.
The reporter’s voice takes on a sarcastic edge. “You didn’t know about George Eliot’s decision? Don’t you find that strange, considering you’ve lived together for two hundred years?”
Panic reaches out its filthy, slimy hand and chokes me. Life without Ellie? No. I can’t do it. I could never… My hand tightens on Ben’s harness, and he leans into me, offering his support. His long tail thumps against the back of my legs, and I feel myself relax a little. Pretend like you already know, that’s the best bet. The easiest way to get those vultures off your tail. “Of course I knew about it.” I smile widely. “And I fully support Eliot’s decision in this matter. Even though we’ve given our heart and souls to each other, we are still two separate people, and we have our own paths to travel. I merely didn’t realize she’d already made the announcement public knowledge.”
Another reporter, a short, svelte, chestnut haired artificial beauty on impossibly high heels, steps forward, her surgically enhanced lips parting with excitement. “But you’ve got to feel something, sir. She is your mate, after all. I know if I were in your position, I’d try anything to change my mate’s mind.”
I twist my lips in a sarcastic semblance of a grin. “You’re not me, though, so the question is moot. My personal beliefs are that every citizen has the right to make his or her own decision as to their mortality, even us Firsts.”
Another reporter, young, big brown eyes, and a bust to match, aggressively pushes the woman aside. “What about your Second? Doesn’t she get a choice? Is it because she’s a Texan and not a free citizen?” What the hell? Don’t they vet these people before they let them in? What is she, a Lifer plant? Wouldn’t be the first time.
I smile pleasantly and shake my head. “Please refrain from topics that don’t relate to this exhibit. We have much to do and less time to do it in.”
“Just one more question, please.” The first reporter raises his hand again to get my attention. I squint at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Franklin Jarvis, sir.”
“Fine, then, Mr. Jarvis. Get on with it.”
“What about the protests? How do you feel about those? A girl out there tried to kill you, and reports say she almost succeeded.”
At my side, Ruger wrings his hands, clearly in a panic. Ellie remains motionless, letting me fight my own battles. “I’m sorry, but I have no comment as to what may or may not have occurred outside. However, I can assure you, I’m quite alive and unharmed, and I thank you for your concern. This question and answer period is over.”
I step back, and the reporter shouts something else, but I ignore him as I turn and face the darkened entry to the new exhibit. Stupid reporters. They don’t really care about the past. It’s already been reported on, written about, done to death, so it’s not really interesting any more. This article? It’s just a fluff piece. Above the hallway opening, “Our Immortal Past” is engraved. Ruger reiterates that there will be no more questions from the vultures waiting for more scraps.
Stretching across the hall, a long golden ribbon glints in the dilute sunlight. When Ruger joins us, he carries a large pair of gold scissors. With a flourish, he hands them to me. At about ten inches long, they’re not particularly spectacular scissors, but just large enough that I will have to use both hands to open and shut them. Ellie steps forward, holding out her hand. I carefully pass her my cane, and she grips my elbow to keep me from falling.
After a couple tries and a bit of fumbling, I’m able to snip through the ribbon. My eyes follow the twin streaks of gold as they fall away from the blades and pool on the floor to either side of us.
“After you.” Ruger gestures for us to enter the exhibit.
“Might as well get this over with.” I grin at Ellie. She returns it with a smirk of her own.
We make our way down the dim hallway, a sharp contrast from the bright, natural light of the main museum. Waist-high displays line both sides, and spotlights illuminate portraits on the walls. The first display focuses on the scientific exploration into the procedure, back in the twenty-first century. Brightly lit, colorful dioramas break down the theory behind mind-uploading and the animal experiments that eventually led to the first voluntary human test subjects, most notably, death row inmates.
On the second long glass case, the engraved brass label on the front reads “Socrates, the first of the Firsts.” In it, a variety of artifacts are displayed on dark blue velvet: an old leather wallet, a high school diploma, an ancient pocket watch. What do these matter? What is their significance? They have no relevance to the actual scientific procedure. These items, save the diploma which has my name, could have belonged to anyone.
“They’re supposed to make you look more like everyone else,” Eliot whispers in my ear, as if reading my thoughts. She has always been good at that. “Normal.”
I snort and pause at a wrinkled picture of a yo
ung child in a white baptismal gown. “What’s that picture doing in there? Who is that?” I turn to her.
She raises her eyebrows. “What are you talking about? You know who that is.”
“Is it me?” Where would they have found a baby picture? I don’t think any of those exist anymore.
She narrows her eyes in concern and touches my hand. “Are you feeling all right?”
I huff and peer closer at the picture. “If that’s not me, who is it? Why would they have a picture of someone else in a display case dedicated to me? They must have made a mistake.” I try to look around her to catch Ruger’s attention.
As I raise my hand to beckon him over, Ellie takes a step to the side, blocking my view. “Stop. It’s no mistake. See?” She points to a display tag next to the picture.
I bend closer, straining to read the tiny text. “I can’t see letters that small, woman. I’m five hundred years old, remember?”
Sadness enters her eyes, and she takes a deep breath. “That’s your son, Adam.”
“You’re nothing.”
Mira
“Why are we going to the fields? I thought you had to go to the Manor today?” Max asks as we leave the apartment building the next morning.
“Because I want to, that’s why. I thought you loved exploring. Besides, I don’t have to go there until later. Would you rather stay in our stuffy apartment or go to school?”
He shakes his head emphatically. “School’s dumb. The fields are boring. Let’s go to the woods.” He walks alongside me, scuffing at the dusty ground with his shoes.
I stop. “No. The woods are dangerous. We’re not supposed to go in there.”
Max turns to face me. “Why not? It’s much more fun in the woods. There are trees, and the stream, and stuff to climb on, and bugs and chipmunks, and deer.” He pauses. “Is Tanner in the fields today? Is that why we’re going there?”
I turn away. Everyone’s always trying to paint us in some stupid romantic light, but it’s pretty hard to feel starry-eyed about someone who’s like a brother to you. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. That’s where I want to go to think. If you’d rather, I can drop you off in the kitchens so you can stay with Mom. You know how much she loves it when you’re with her at work.” Maybe we should just skip the fields or at least walk through the woods so I don’t get caught cutting corners, but I want to see Tanner as soon as possible. He is my best friend, after all, even if the way he looks at me is certainly not very brotherly.
“No, please don’t.” Max hurries to catch up as I turn around the side of the gleaming red barn.
We walk through the packed-dirt yard toward the wheat fields that stretch out for over three hundred acres behind the buildings. Ahead of us, the Chesanings’ four girls lounge lazily in the grassy yard behind the plantation-style manor house. Alessa, the eldest at my age, has long, curly blond hair and a wicked smile. Vienna and Vanessa are boy-crazy twins and always dress alike and wear their dark brown hair in the latest fashions. The youngest, Gloria, is only a year older than Max. She is wearing a pair of VRI goggles on her head, one of the older models that don’t interface with your brain, and reaches out, as if to touch something only she can see.
I grab Max’s arm. “Let’s just go back home.”
“No, I want to go to the field. You promised.” He digs his heels into the ground and refuses to move.
“I never promised anything. Besides, you didn’t want to go just a minute ago. You’re right. It’s a bad idea. Let’s do something else.”
He jerks free and runs ahead a few steps.
“Max,” I plead. “Come on.” I hurry after him, but it’s too late.
Alessa sees us and gets to her feet. She brushes off her totally impractical pink and white ball gown—as if her Prince Charming is going to ride up on a white steed and sweep her off her feet—and saunters toward us. Her artificially bright hair glows in the sun, and she looks about as real as the dolls that line the shelves in Gloria’s bedroom. “What are you doing over here?” The disgust in her voice is undeniable.
Max freezes and darts his head down.
Scowling, I shove my brother behind me. “Nothing. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have come this way.” I look down in deference when all I want to do is spit in her face. Even though that would be satisfying, at the very least she’d have me thrown in the box, at the worst, banished or executed. “Come on, Max. Let’s go.” I grab his arm again.
“Hey, I’m talking to you. Don’t you walk away from me.” I freeze, hating that I have to but doing it anyway. “You’re the chosen one, right?”
I continue to look down without saying a word. Maybe if I’m boring enough, she’ll lose interest and leave us alone.
“I’m talking to you, scum.” My hands tighten, and Max whimpers. I immediately release my grip on his arm.
“Sorry, Max,” I whisper and force myself to look away from Alessa. It takes everything in me not to rip that glowing yellow hair out of her head. I take a deep breath, then another. “We… we were just going to the fields. We didn’t mean to come through here.” I grind my teeth together, and in my head, I can see them turning to dust in my mouth, along with the words I wish I could say.
“That’s right, Texan. You go around the yard, not through it. You don’t deserve to set foot on our grass. You’re not worthy.” She stomps her ridiculously high-heeled shoe and steps forward, forcing me back.
Max wrenches his arm away from me and sticks his finger in Alessa’s face. “You can’t talk to my sister that way.”
“What do we have here?” She leans down, putting her soft, dainty white hands on her surgically diminished waist. “Are you her little protector?” Max puffs his chest out with importance. “Do you know what’s going to happen to your sister, little boy?” She pokes him.
Max nods. “She’s going to be free. She’ll get to travel and talk to people, and help her First.”
“Free?” Alessa cackles. “That’s a laugh.” She leans down even closer to Max, so close that her brightly painted lips are only a couple inches from his ear. “Let me tell you a secret, brat.” He looks up at me, wild eyes begging for help, but I can’t do anything. “Your sister is dead,” she whispers.
“No!” Max rears away from her and pummels her with his little-boy fists. I can barely get my arm around him and wrench him away, he’s suddenly that strong. Her words sink in. I’m going to die? What if she’s right? No, she can’t be.
Alessa jumps back, outraged. “You little brat. How dare you attack me? Is the truth too hard to handle? I could have you killed for hitting me. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you messed with one of us?” She raises her hand.
I jump between them, and her hand cracks against my cheek as I take the slap meant for Max. My face burns. Anger turns my vision red, and I look down at the ground, grinding my teeth to keep from lashing out. It’s better to do nothing. Anything I do can and will be used against not just me, but Max and my mom long after I’m gone.
She leans into my face, red and puffed up with self-importance. “It doesn’t matter if you’re Absolved or how important you think you are.” Spittle from her mouth flecks onto my face, but I dare not wipe it away. “You’re nothing. You’ll never be anything. Don’t forget that.” She turns and stalks away.
My anger simmers, building up until it’s all I can do not to wipe the sneer off of her face. “Max, come on.”
For once, he doesn’t argue.
Without Blame
Socrates
My old leather chair creaks as I lean back and stare out at the stars through the bay window in my study. How could I have missed it? What kind of man doesn’t recognize his own son? He was my child, my Adam. How could I not know who he was?
The shrill ringing of the phone startles me, and I nearly tip all the way b
ack in my chair. Be careful, old man. Wouldn’t do to break a hip at this stage.
Maggie, my housekeeper, knocks softly on the heavy oak door. “Sir, George Eliot’s on the phone from the Smith, and she wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll take it in my office. Thank you.” Using my hands for leverage, I force my weakening legs to bear my weight. The light briefly catches on the faded bar code marring the inside of my left wrist. It was Stephen’s. Many have them removed. It’s strongly encouraged as a healthy step toward starting a new incarnation, but I never have. Someone sacrificed his or her future so that I can help create a better one for everyone, and every time I see those strange lines, almost alien in color, I am reminded of that.
“Would you like some help?” Her brown eyes soften as she watches me struggle.
“No, my dear. I’m all right.”
She nods, and her weather-lined face wrinkles into an exasperated smile. After nearly forty years of service, she knows when I’m lying. Ben stretches, gets up, and trots to my side, leaning against me until I grab his harness. He knows, too.
“Good boy.” His tail thumps, and I dig my crooked hands into his thick coat.
My office is decorated much like the rest of the house with dark, antique wood-paneled walls and rich, thick curtains. Glowing lights gleam from recessed ports along the walls and ceiling. With a simple voice command, screens silently slide down from the ceiling, and a high-powered console rises from a desk made to resemble aged teak.
I lower myself into a white leather chair that predates my aged body by a good one hundred and fifty years. My knees protest with a loud, cracking sound. I pick up the old-fashioned handset.
“Hello?”
“Socrates? How are you feeling?” Eliot’s voice is anxious; we haven’t talked since the exhibit opened.
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