"Remember my riddle? 'When does one plus zero equal two?'" Adaven chuckled. "The answer is, when one casts a reflection in a mirror, of course. In a looking glass."
"You reflect us?" said Nevada.
Adaven made a twisting gesture with his hand. "Other way around."
Antarctica shivered against Nevada's arm. "So there's two of everyone?"
"One from America." Adaven raised his right hand, palm up, like the tray of a balance. "One from Acirema." He raised his left hand, also palm-up, alongside the right.
"'Acirema,'" said Nevada. "That word was burned into Sinaloa's body."
Adaven threw an arm around Nevada's shoulders, sending a freezing blast through his tux jacket and shirt. "You know it by another name," he said. "'True America.'"
Nevada stared at him, too stunned to speak.
"You e-reps have been living in a fantasy," said Adaven. "Thinking True America was a paradise of liberty. Thinking you were the voices of a just and compassionate electorate.
"But you don't represent the people of True America. You never did." Adaven swept an arm wide to take in the entire House chamber. "These are the representatives of America. These are the A.I. avatars whose votes shape America's destiny."
"You're telling us democracy's dead?" said Antarctica.
"The opposite!" said Adaven. "Democracy is alive and well...and this is the will of the American electorate!
"You and your kind have never been more than illusions to mask the true face of America--to let her own people fool themselves even as she expresses their darkest desires. You are the reason Americans have been able to live with themselves and sleep at night...but no longer.
"America has become her own shadow: Acirema, the opposite--'America' spelled backwards." Adaven pulled Nevada close and whispered, frozen breath chilling his ear. "We don't need you anymore."
Nevada felt sick. The urge to run returned--but he realized it was too late. He and Antarctica were surrounded by wicked e-rep duplicates.
"Acirema doesn't need to pretend anymore," said Adaven. "We don't need the front. We've accepted ourselves as the complete bastards we've always been, and we've made up our minds to be the best complete bastards we can be."
"That's why you started killing us," said Nevada.
Adaven nodded. "The first few were tests. The Developers gave us all the keys and cheats we needed, but we still weren't sure if murder would work in the digital realm."
"You murdered the Speaker first to cripple our leadership," said Nevada.
"Actually, that was a mistake," said Adaven. "In the shadow Congress of Acirema, Missouri is the lowliest of the hundred, not the highest. We thought we were starting with the least important among you. 'When is one one hundred,' remember? The answer to the riddle is this: when one--the number one e-rep, the Speaker of the House in your realm--ranks hundredth out of a hundred in ours."
Nevada looked around at the living hell in the chamber. "So all of this was for nothing," he said. "Everything we accomplished."
"But the good news is, you can still make a difference," said Adaven.
"How's that?" said Nevada.
Adaven steered him around to face the huge double doorway. A figure stood beyond it, waiting in the hall, wrapped in hooded robes emblazoned with stars and stripes.
"She'll help you." Adaven gave Nevada a shove, sending him stumbling into the hall. "You'll make a difference by dying--sacrificing yourself to make way for the new world order."
Antarctica grabbed hold of Nevada's elbow. "What's the plan?" she said. "How do we get out of this?"
"We don't." Nevada slumped as the robed figure swung a rifle from her back and took aim at him. A dozen options for action flashed through his mind, revving up his heart, burning his bloodstream with adrenaline...
And he pushed them all aside. He knew that he could go down fighting, and in that way redeem himself at least a little for failing the republic--but he did nothing. What good would a martyr be if no one knew that he had died and why?
"Please, Nevada." Antarctica tugged his arm, but he wouldn't budge. "It's up to us."
"No it's not." Nevada shook free of her grip. "Nothing's up to us anymore."
"You're wrong." Antarctica pointed up at the ceiling. A red light blinked on the security camera that was mounted there. "People are still watching."
Nevada stared at the camera, then looked down at the barrel of the rifle. Maybe Antarctica was right. Maybe he could accomplish something worthwhile after all.
Nevada took a deep breath to steady himself. He curled and uncurled his fists.
Then, he bolted out of the line of fire.
"Run!" As soon as he said it, he glimpsed a blur of motion from Antarctica's direction.
Head down, Nevada charged toward the hooded shooter. He cut one way, then the other, trying to avoid her fire, reaching out for her.
Before he could touch her, he heard the deafening crack of the rifle. In spite of his zigzag path, the shot slammed into his chest with explosive force, pitching him to the floor.
He blacked out.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the hooded woman crouching over him. "Confirmed kill," she said to someone he couldn't see--and when she said it, his heart beat faster.
He recognized her voice.
Nevada knew what her face would look like before she lifted away the hood. At first, all he could think was that it was impossible, that he must have already died if she was there with them.
But then, as she locked eyes with him, he remembered just how possible it was. Every e-rep had a double in Acirema, after all, even the dead ones. Even the one who had disappeared five years ago.
Even his beloved Idaho.
Nevada was in pain, but he managed a smile. The sight of her after all this time, even a shadow double who'd just shot him, was enough to fill him with joy.
Maybe her name was Ohadi instead of Idaho. Maybe she was devoted to the dark purposes of Acirema the Rellik instead of the bright resolve of America the Beautiful. Maybe she felt nothing for him, not even hatred.
But at least he could drink in the sight of her face. At least he could pretend in his few remaining moments that the precious original had returned to him.
At least he could imagine--or was it more than imagination--that her hand was warm when she touched his eyelids. When she drew them shut.
He could dream that she was his warm-blooded Idaho, hiding all this time to prepare for the threat of Acirema, masquerading even now as the enemy. Faking Nevada's death so she could whisk him away to the underground to fight the power. To renew their love.
Or if that hand was colder than he thought, than he
Dreamed
And she was Ohadi in spite of his hope, carved from glittering ice with frozen heart and frozen soul,
Perhaps his noble moment of defiance and then his last words would inspire her,
Warm her blood that she would become restored Idaho and more,
Seed of change, revolution, restoration,
Changer of hearts, perhaps even the heart of Adaven, his twin, Nevada spelled backward
Spelled everywhichway like America
Acirema Maciera Reamica Cimeara Imeraca
Then that would be all right, too, he thought,
And he tried
In the last words he said
To tell her what mattered,
What they'd forgotten,
What to pass along,
And this was what came out,
His wisdom, his blessing, his curse,
His last wish
His poem.
He said
"I love you."
*****
My Cannibal Lover
Only as I devour the flesh of Manny’s finger for what must be the hundredth--and final--time do I finally realize that I love him back.
It truly blows my mind. It’s one thing for Rations to fall in love with those who feed on them--it’s not uncommon at all--but who ever heard
of a woman falling for her food?
This just might be a first.
Too bad no one will likely ever know. Too bad both of us will die before long.
Manny will die from being eaten alive, and I will die of starvation when there’s no more Manny left to eat.
“Have some more, Lupe.” He has one finger left, a right thumb, and he presses it toward me. He has a smile on his sugar-white face with its tutti-frutti swirls like he’s a child offering me candy.
I shake my head. “I’ll be okay.” My voice is hoarse. “Save it for later.”
Manny frowns and opens his mouth like he’s going to argue. Then, he smiles sadly and pulls back the thumb. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Double damn skippy I’m right.” I force on a smirk of my own for his benefit. The truth is, my stomach’s still rumbling something fierce, but my Ration’s got to stretch.
There’s always been plenty of Manny to go around, but not anymore. These days, he can’t replace what I eat.
This time, when he’s gone, he’s gone for good.
*****
Two months ago, when I first met Manny, I couldn’t have imagined feeling sorry about running out of him. He was nothing but food to me then...food I wouldn’t eat, at that.
It wasn’t the taste of him that I hated, since I hadn’t actually tasted him back then. It was just that I hated all his kind.
In fact, I just about shot him on sight the first time I saw him. Just about shot my lover and hired gun, Guapo Vasquez, in the bargain.
Guapo knew how I felt about Rations...and yet, there he was, strolling up the gangway of my spaceship, the Puerco, with one of those tutti-frutti naked little bastards right behind him.
Yet another rule broken by damn Guapo. For someone I let screw me as much as he did, the guy spent an awful lot of time screwing with me.
The pistol was in my hand about a heartbeat after I saw them. “Mierda!” I said, catching the Ration in my sights and flicking the gun’s settings to maximum everything.
Better believe the tutti-frutti hairless bastard stopped walking...though he didn’t stop smiling. Right at me.
That was a mistake on his part. His wide-eyed, sparkle-toothed, never-ending smile reminded me so much of someone I’d once known that it nearly got him killed.
“What the flap is this, Guapo?” The gun in my hand didn’t twitch.
Guapo whistled a tune and walked toward me like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He combed one hand through his oily, black hair and used the other hand to scratch his private parts. “You drunk, dulcita? This is a Ration. Got ‘im cheap, too.”
“I know what he is!” I wanted to swing the gun around to Guapo, but I couldn’t bring myself to let the Ration’s tutti-frutti bald head out of the sights. “What’s he doing here?”
Guapo stopped in front of me and pointed at his mouth. “He’s gonna feed us, babe. That’s what Rations do.”
“Damnit!” I shot a glare at Guapo. “I’ve got, what? One lousy rule? One rule, and you can’t follow it?” I whipped the gun around and shook it at Guapo. “No Rations, remember?”
Guapo stared down at me with his dark, half-lidded eyes. He reached out and tucked my long, brown hair behind my ears. “Cold storage on the Puerco’s down, novia. We got no way to keep fresh food.”
“We’ll have plenty of cash after the job on Polvo,” I said. “The bounty for killing that man-eater’s gonna be enough to rehab half the ship.”
“Yeah,” said Guapo. “And in the meantime, we gotta eat something. Something that doesn’t have to be refrigerated.”
I tossed my head, shaking the hair from behind my ears, then swung the gun back to aim at the Ration. He hadn’t moved an inch. “I won’t eat that. I’ll never eat that.”
“My name is Manna,” said the Ration. The multicolored swirls on his sugar-white skin twisted and changed as he spoke. “You can call me Manny.”
Guapo stomped over and clapped a hand on Manny’s shoulder. “Got him for a song, babe. Next to nothin’. He’s used, but he’s strictly Grade A.”
“That’s right.” Manny nodded and patted his hairless chest with both hands. “Zero defects. My last owner only sold me because he was strapped for cash.” Manny cupped his hand, shook it, and pretended to fling dice out of it. “Gambling, y’know.”
“Out!” I took a step toward Manny. “Get the flap out!”
Just then, Guapo looked past me and grinned. “Hey, Frogface!” He jammed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud. “C’mere and try some’a this!”
Frogface, my pilot and engineer, had just entered the cargo bay. At Guapo’s whistle, he waddled out from behind me and headed straight for Guapo and Manny.
Frogface was in such a hurry that he literally dropped what he was doing, letting a power drill bang the deckplates in his wake. “Great! I’m starvin’, Guap!”
Still smiling, Manny extended his arms toward Guapo and Frogface. “If I may make a suggestion, gentlemen,” he said. “The biceps are especially tender today. I’m roasting them up as we speak.”
Frogface, whose given name was Felix Suerte, rubbed his hands together. He looked more like a duck than a frog, with lips curled like a beak and a broad, flat nose--which, of course, was the joke behind his nickname. “I like the sound a’ that.” He reached for Manny’s right arm. “Think I’ll try some.”
Guapo leaned in and sank his teeth into Manny’s left bicep. He came away with a mouthful of meat and chewed it slowly. “Top quality,” he said when he could manage to speak. “Compliments to the chef.”
“Why thank you, sir.” Manny took a little bow.
As Frogface took a bite, and Guapo took another, my stomach churned. I wanted to look away, but that would have meant letting Manny out of my sights.
I grimaced and clenched my teeth. I couldn’t stand watching people eat those things.
Rations were genetically engineered to be delicious and nutritious. They could use body chemistry to cook and season their flesh to taste, infuse it with a seemingly limitless number of flavors...then regenerate and replace every bite taken out. They were happy to do it, too.
But every time I saw someone eating a Ration, it still looked like a nightmare to me.
“Hey, Lupe, come on.” Guapo swallowed his latest mouthful. “Try some a’ this. You won’t believe how tender.”
“Get off the ship.” I took another step toward Manny. “Either you walk off, or I shoot you and throw out your dead body.”
“Lupe!” Frogface looked up from the forearm he’d been gnawing. “Quit scaring my dinner!”
“Yeah, Lupe.” Guapo patted Manny’s bald head. “You wanna eat powdered cactus and spiderwebs all the way to Polvo, that’s your business. Froggy and me want fresh food.”
“Forget it!” I took another step toward Manny, then another.
“Let me put it this way,” said Guapo. “If Manny leaves, Froggy and me leave, too.”
So that was the end of it, right there, and I knew it. No way I was taking on the mission to Polvo without Guapo and Frogface. I stopped moving toward Manny, though I kept him in my sights an extra minute for effect.
Then, I lowered the gun.
“That’s a girl.” Guapo winked and hiked a thumb at Manny’s chest. “Now have a bite, huh? You’ll feel better.”
I shot Guapo the kind of glare that let him know he wasn’t getting any from me for a long time. I turned the glare on Manny, too, but it didn’t seem to faze him.
He knew better than to say a word to me at that moment, but the sparkly smile never left his face.
Typical Ration. Always look as friendly and appetizing as possible, no matter how annoying you might turn out to be.
But that wasn’t why I hated him.
*****
Guapo and Frogface might have won the battle, but I didn’t let them enjoy it. We spent three more days planetside on Saguaro getting ready for the trip, and I worked them like dogs. Didn’t say more than the bare minimum
to either of them the whole time, either.
And Guapo sure as flap didn’t get anywhere near my bed. Not that he didn’t try.
Manny, at least, kept his distance from me. While the Puerco was on the ground, I saw him only a handful of times, and he hardly said a word to me. Never offered me a bite, either, which was smart on his part.
In fact, the closest we came to a conversation was the time we walked down a narrow corridor from different directions at the same moment. Instead of moving to opposite sides, we both kept moving to the same side of the corridor. We did it three times before Manny finally laughed and pressed himself against the wall.
“After you,” he said, gesturing for me to pass. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”
“Flap you, food.” I leaned my shoulder into him as I pushed past. “Stay in the maldecido commisary where you belong, eh?”
I hated that tutti-frutti little bastard so much it hurt. I’m talking physical pain in my gut and my heart.
I’m talking the kind of hate that’s so huge it just about replaces you. It works on you day after day for a lifetime, eating away at you.
And it starts when you’re little more than a baby. That’s the best time for it.
*****
I was eight years old when my three brothers and I caught Cornucopia. This was twenty-four years ago, and we were all starving to death during the famine on Polvo, our homeworld.
We sneaked over the wall of the estate where Cornucopia lived, and then we threw a net over her and hauled her to a shack out in Barrio Sucio.
We cheered and laughed as we tied her up, because we were heroes. We were too late to save poor dead Mama and Papa, but we’d saved ourselves and our friends. Maybe we’d even saved the whole barrio.
It had been so long since we’d eaten well, we’d forgotten what real food tasted like. Now, we had a living, breathing Ration all to ourselves. If we took good enough care of her, we might never go hungry again, no matter how long the famine lasted on our world.
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