First

by Chanda Stafford

  “I’m going to miss you too, boy.” My voice cracks. “And I’m so, so sorry you can’t come with me. I’m so sorry I have to leave you behind. You’ve been my best friend since the day you wandered up to the house. Do you remember that day? Half-grown, half-starved, and covered in cactus burrs, you still came right up to me and sat by my feet.” I shake my head, a tear breaks free. Ben licks it away. His soft, thick tongue clears the pain. “I need you to be here. Be here for Mira. She’ll need you. Everyone needs a good dog by their side, Ben, and you’re one of the best. Right, buddy?” Ben lets out a little whine. “Definitely one of the best.”

  As I’m about to drift away, the monitor beside my bed slides down and beeps.

  “Hello?” Who in the hell would be calling me this late at night?

  “Good evening, Socrates, sir.” The voice is modulated, as if mechanically altered. “How’s the weather at the Smith?” My mind goes back to the man who brought me the contact information for the rebels. Maybe it’s him. That was something the boy said, too, the one who brought my dinner, something about the weather.

  “Fine, sunny and not a cloud in the sky,” I say.

  “Excellent. I heard it was going to rain soon.” Is he asking if I still want to go through with this?

  “Not for a few weeks. I—I talked to a weatherman.” Is that what they’re even called anymore? I’m really fishing here. “And he said we’re all clear, right up through the Release tomorrow.” I’m no good at this subterfuge. Do they have scripts for this sort of thing?

  “That’s what we’re hoping. It’s about time spring has come.”

  I close my eyes, and Ellie’s face appears, then Adam’s, then Mira as she spoke to me while I was unable to wake. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Alone in the Forest

  Mira

  Right before five o’clock in the morning, a young man dressed like a servant comes to my door.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to wake you up, but you are requested in the medical center.” He looks down while he talks to me, his hands clenched behind his back, shifting from step to step. What is he nervous about? I take in my rumpled sleeping clothes, wild hair, and sleep-sticky eyes. I’m about the least scary person I’ve ever known.

  “It’s fine,” I pause. “What’s your name?”

  The young man gulps. “Flynn, ma’am.”

  “Flynn,” I roll the name around on my tongue. “Call me Mira, please.”

  “Ma’am, I—”

  “Oh stop it. I’ve already been over the name thing with Will. Speaking of which…” I swing my feet over the side of the bed and stand up, yawning. “Where’s Will?”

  “He’s, ahh, busy right now.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really?” Hurt fills me. This is it. This would be the last time I’d get to see him, and he’s gone? I sigh. Guess I don’t mean as much to him as he does to me. “Look, if you’ll just give me a few minutes, I’ll clean up and meet you outside my room, all right?”

  He nods. “That’s fine, Mira. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  After I shower and get dressed, Flynn leads me to the Smith medical center. The room is a sterile, blinding white with a metal bed, chair, and cabinet. He picks up a thin white gown and hands it to me.

  “This is an examination room. I need to leave you here when the doctors come—” A knock, a short staccato, interrupts his words. “If you’ll excuse me.” He flashes me a smile as he backs out. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  What an odd guy. “Umm, you, too,” I say, but he’s already gone.

  One of the doctors, a thick, burly older man with long flowing white hair and a mustache that rivals the former president’s, scowls at us. “If you’re quite finished…”

  “Sorry,” I grumble, holding the white gown to my chest.

  The doctor, whose nametag reads Dr. Bristol, looks me up and down, his eyes finally landing on the gown. “You’ll need to disrobe, and change into that.”

  The other doctor, a youngish man with eyes too close together for comfort and a habit of squinting, looks up from the paper-thin tablet he’s holding. His nametag identifies him as Dr. Cambell.

  “Hello, Mira,” Dr. Cambell says and smiles at me. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks almost kind. As if he wasn’t going to prepare me to die.

  “We don’t have a lot of time.” Dr. Bristol taps on his wrist band. “The transfer process starts in less than an hour.”

  “Fine. At least turn around so I can change, okay?” Dr. Bristol reluctantly turns around while Dr. Cambell does the same, except he fights a smile.

  After scanning me with a couple different handheld machines, the doctors declare me in perfect health for dying.

  After the health scan, Dr. Cambell shaves my head and marks six spots around my skull for the “entry points.” In my mind, I see those wicked, long needles piercing Adrian’s skull.

  “Will it hurt?” I ask him, my voice small.

  He smiles kindly at me. “No, your First told us about your cousin’s reaction to the anesthesia, so we reassessed your dosage. You won’t feel a thing.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. At least there’s that. Maybe it will be just like falling asleep. I can only hope so.

  “We’re done here,” Dr. Bristol walks over to the door, grabbing the handle. “We’ll just make sure everything is set down in the transfer theatre, and we’ll come back to get you.” When he pulls the door open, I see Will in the hallway.

  He pushes past them and rushes into the room, closing the door behind him. In an instant, I’m in his arms. His lips crush mine, and he holds me as if I’m a life preserver, and he is adrift at sea. Maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe he’s trying to save me from drowning. I have a feeling it’s too late.

  Eventually, I pull away to take a shaky breath, but neither of us moves. The transfer process presses down on us, suffocating us. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let them loose. I can’t. I’ll fall apart and never be able to pull myself back together. Not in time for what I have to do.

  Finally, I step back and sit on the cold metal bed. I can’t do this. I can’t be this close to him, feel like I’m a part of him.

  “Mira,” Will whispers and sits down next to me. He grabs my hand and holds me, tracing his thumb over my knuckles.

  “Do you remember what happened while we were at the farm?”

  “What part?” He grimaces.

  “The cemetery, right before Socrates collapsed.”

  “We were there for your sister, right? She died?”

  I nod. “All the time I was growing up, I thought it was my fault. I was supposed to watch her, take care of her, but I couldn’t be bothered, so she went into the forest alone. I failed her, failed my family, and I was a disgrace.”

  Will lets go of my hand to reach his arm around, looping it around my shoulders and pulling me closer.

  I take a deep breath. “My mom told me they arranged her disappearance to keep her from becoming a Second. The thing is, since the Lifers operate in such secrecy, no one knows if she made it or not. They don’t know if someone found her, or if she was killed by a wild animal, or anything. She just… she just disappeared.”

  “Do you want me to find her for you? I’ll do anything you want.”

  I give him a sad smile. “No. I would love that, but I wouldn’t even know where to tell you to start looking.”

  “Then why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because right now, I feel like I’m Rosie, alone in the forest, and in less than an hour, I’m going to disappear. I’ll vanish just like her, except that it won’t be my body, it’ll be my soul. And no one will shed a tear. It’ll be as if I never existed in the first place.” Will opens his mouth to protest, but I press two fingers against his lips, sil
encing him.

  “Please, let me finish. Socrates is the future. I’m not. I’m just some kid picked for a destiny I never wanted and wasn’t ready for. Maybe if it was another First, another time, I would have still said no, would have run away, but this is what’s supposed to happen. Trust me.” I sound so sure, even to my own ears that I almost begin to believe myself. Almost.

  Will’s jaw hardens, and he slams his fist on the bed. “I hate this! You shouldn’t have to die.” His words are like venom, poisonous. “Socrates is a monster. They all are. I can’t just… I can’t just sit here and watch them murder you.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do. Except leave.”

  He shakes his head vehemently. “Not a chance. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I take a deep breath, partly to think about what to say next, and partly to stop my hands from shaking. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” His low voice is fervent, passionate. Right now, I think he’d give me the moon and the stars if I asked. If only that would solve our problems.

  “Will you help Socrates after… after it’s done?” I ask him, hesitantly.

  His mouth gapes in shock, his eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “What? No! I… I can’t. Please don’t ask me to do that.”

  “Please. Just until the bill passes.”

  “No! You can’t expect me to see you, hear you, talk to you, and know that someone else is inside your body. I can’t…”

  “If this bill doesn’t pass, Will, then all this is pointless.” I take his hand. “Don’t you see? I need to know it’s going to be worth it. I… I won’t be here to see it, so I need you to help me.”

  He shakes his head. “Please Mira, ask me anything else.”

  I pull out the last card I have, desperate. I have to make him see this my way, or it’s all pointless. “I love you, Will. I couldn’t say it before, but I do. With everything I have. But I need you to do this for me. If you care for me at all, please help Socrates.”

  He looks stricken. “Mira, I’m just a servant. I’m nobody.”

  “And I’m just a girl from Chesaning Farm, picked to be the next host to Socrates. As myself, I can’t do anything, but as Socrates, I can change the world.”

  “Is this really what you want?”

  “Yes.” I smile with relief. He’s going to do it. I know it. I let out a deep breath.

  He kisses me softly, as if I might break, and I can see the love in his eyes. Then he leaves. I swing my feet onto the bed then lay back, my hands folded on my stomach.

  Waiting for the doctors to come and get me, I start to drift off, my mind going numb. For some reason, I think about Socrates’s dog, Ben, waiting for his master to come home every day, nose in the crack of the door, but he never does.

  “Everything’s set.”

  Socrates

  At six o’clock in the morning, Ellie knocks on my door and carries in a cup of coffee. “It’s all the doctors would let me bring you.” She frowns and sets the cup down on the nightstand.

  When she turns her back to pull a chair closer, I slip the note I’ve written her into her pocket. It’s better this way. Jamming my hands back in my own pockets, I feel the soft, rounded edges of the original Ben’s worn metal dog tags. It doesn’t make any sense, but sometimes it almost feels like Ben is the same dog I had, all those years ago.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, holding up a light-blue robe.

  I slip my arms in and shrug it onto my shoulders. “Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She gives me a soft kiss on my forehead and helps me into a wheel chair, the same old one I used for the museum exhibit because the AI ones interfere with some of the machines down here, and pushes me toward the door. Ben gets up to follow. “Stay here, boy.” My voice cracks. He whines, swipes my hand with his tongue, then sits back down. “Good boy. You’re such a good boy.” Ellie looks at me oddly, then shakes her head, and we leave the room.

  Upon reaching the medical center, we’re directed to a private room where the servant boy from dinner stands next to the doctors, wearing the same surgical clothing as the professionals, looking confident, polished, and ready for this job. As if he’s done this before. Is this James Scoffield? The man he’s talking to, Dr. Adams, nods in agreement with everything he says.

  Ellie stops, gives me a hug, and whispers, “I love you,” with tears in her eyes.

  “I love you, too.” I smile back at her, my own eyes misting.

  After she leaves, the doctors check all my vitals and tsk at my overall poor health, which is to be expected, I guess.

  Right over the little scars from last time. After that, I sit in one of the chairs, in too much pain to get up onto the table.

  The doctors finish their assessment, and on their way out, James Scoffield gives my hand a squeeze and whispers, “Everything’s set.” Is it? Am I ready? Is Mira?

  No One’s Prisoner

  Mira

  “Socrates wants to see you,” a young servant girl with freckles dotting her slightly upturned nose says, coming into my room without knocking. I jump. Thanks for the warning.

  I follow her to another room just like mine. Socrates waits in a chair, a light blue robe billowing over his thin, bent frame. The girl leaves, shutting the door behind her.

  “Sit.” He pats the bed.

  I sit down. I don’t look at him. I can’t. He stares at me so deeply that I’m uncomfortable and start to fidget. His pale blue eyes glow and look right through me.

  “You know,” he says, “the hardest part of waking up after a transfer is remembering your name. When I wake up, it’s like I’m reborn. It can be very disorienting. I can’t speak, I can’t move, and I can’t focus on anything. My senses slowly come back to me, but it’s strange because I’m in a new body, and everything works slightly differently. After I’ve had a few minutes to catch my bearings, the doctors ask me my name.”

  “Why would they do that?” A sharp pain stabs me in the chest. Why is he telling me this? It’s not as if I’ll be alive to see it.

  Socrates shrugs. “It’s tradition. In the beginning, there was a high failure rate. Half of the time, if the Second woke up, they were still in their own bodies or both of them could be present, and the procedure would be considered a failure. If the failed Second was lucky, he or she would never wake up at all.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Things were different back then. Failed subjects were usually taken to labs to be tested and examined to see why the procedure didn’t take. If the Second were physically fit enough, the procedure would be attempted again. You see, in the early days, it was all volunteers, so no brilliant minds were lost.” His gaze leaves me and turns inward. “I came close to being labeled a failure myself a couple times.”

  “Why?”

  “I forgot my name, believe it or not. It’s strange. You wouldn’t think you’d forget that. But that first conscious thought is often very confusing. Unfortunately, that’s the most important test you have to pass, even though it’s not very scientific.”

  “Then, why do they use it?” I look down at my hands, folded in my lap, then at his, twisted and unnaturally bent with age.

  He chuckles. “Partly because that’s just the way they’ve always done it. Tradition. But another part is the audience. The important people watching the procedure aren’t going to sit around all day for tests to be done. Asking your name is just a preliminary thing, so they can slap a success label on you and laud it to the presses. The real tests come later, which compare the new First’s memories with the actual historical accounts. There’s no test that can say with one hundred percent certainty whether an Exchange is a success or a failure, but it’d be nearly impossible for a Second to know the detailed questions they’ll ask. So the first thing I say when I wake
up is always, ‘I am Socrates.’”

  “What’s it like? Dr. Cambell said it was like going to sleep but…”

  “He’s right. The drugs are strong and take effect quickly. The reversal drugs work just as quickly.” He pauses. “You know, you can still back out if you want to.”

  “Really? You’d let me go?” Hope, something I can’t afford to feel right now, springs up in me. Why is he asking me this? Does he want me to back out? Does he want me to say no, I won’t go through with it?

  “You’re no one’s prisoner, Mira. If you don’t want to do this, I won’t force you.”

  I close my eyes and see my sister, younger than when she disappeared, smiling, waving her little chubby baby arms. I hear my mom say, “It was her only chance, Mira. There was no other way for her to escape.” I see my brother, Max, clutching his newly tattooed arm to his chest as he stands for his first visit.

  “No,” I whisper. “I don’t want to change my mind.”

  “Okay then.” He puts his hands on his knees to push himself up, and just as he trembles to his feet, there is another knock.

  Two doctors, one of them Dr. Bristol, the other named Dr. Scoffield, walk in. “Everything’s ready, sir, if you are.” Dr. Scoffield eyes me curiously.

  Socrates glances at me. I gulp back the bile in my throat and nod. “We’re ready,” he says.

  With Socrates in a wheelchair, we go with the doctors down a long hallway to a large, round room labeled as the transfer theatre. Adrian’s face flashes through my mind. What was he feeling in these last few minutes? What was he thinking?

  A door bangs shut behind me, and Will rushes over to us, pulling me tightly to him. His eyes are full of agony.

  “Mira,” he whispers and kisses me, his lips molding to mine perfectly. I think of the people around us. The doctors, Socrates, but Will apparently doesn’t care. He doesn’t even act as if he sees them.