Imposter

by Chanda Stafford

  I stomp into Ellie’s brightly lit sunroom. Perched on one of two spindly-legged sky blue chairs that face a floor-to-ceiling window, she stares at a holo-reader projecting words and pictures in front of her. She flicks through the images, scanning the text far faster than I ever could. When she doesn’t move, I clear my throat and she jumps.

  “You never told me there could be two minds in one body,” I snap as she turns around.

  A sardonic smile tugs at her lips. “Good morning to you too, dear.”

  Before I can think better of it, a disgusted snort escapes me. “How come I never knew this? I’ve heard of the procedure failing before, but I never thought that could happen.”

  She shrugs and sets the holo-reader on the side table next to her. “There are several possible endings to every Exchange.” She raises one finger. “The procedure is successful.” Up goes another finger. “Two, neither mind takes hold.” And another. “Each mind stays in its original body. Four, one person dies, the other lives. Five, two minds, one body. It’s only happened twice, and the first committed suicide shortly after waking up.”

  I fold my arms in front of my chest. “I want to meet him.”

  She gestures at the chair across from her. “Lewis Carroll? Why on earth would you want to see him? He’s crazy.”

  With a huff, I throw myself into it. “That reporter said they were afraid something like that had happened to me. I don’t know, it was something in the way he mentioned him...”

  Eliot regards me with a cold expression. “No. Carroll’s a loose cannon, completely unpredictable and prone to violence. In fact, he’s been institutionalized since his procedure five years ago.” She folds her hands in front of her and leans forward. “I don’t think you fully understand what you’re asking. Mr. Carroll has two minds trapped in one body. They’re constantly at war with each other. You never know which soul you’re speaking to at any given time. This has proven deadly on more than one occasion.”

  I fish for an answer. “He wouldn’t hurt me. Not if I explain what happened.”

  Something like hope ignites a light in her eyes. “You mean Socrates is still there?” Her words come as a breathy whisper. “He’s alive?”

  “What? No!”

  At the devastated expression on her face, I touch her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I need to watch what I’m saying.” I take a deep breath. “Maybe I just want to meet someone as screwed up as I am.”

  Eliot dabs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You think a man confined to an insane asylum has the answers you seek?”

  “No, of course not,” I snap. “But the only person who has the answers is dead, so I can’t ask him.”

  Eliot winces.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just frustrated.” I throw my hands up, palms toward her. “The reporter kept asking me questions I didn’t know the answers to, and I kept feeling like everything I said would screw up our plan.” I grind my teeth, frustrated.

  She takes my hands in hers. “You’ll do fine. I know it’s hard and seems impossible, but you will be absolutely everything Soc wanted you to be.” I try to pull my hands away, but she squeezes them tighter. “Carroll won’t be able to help you. He’s been out of society for years. They keep him so drugged he can barely feed himself.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care. I feel like I need to meet him.”

  A half smile tugs at her lips. “Socrates was like that. He always followed his intuition. If something felt right, it didn’t need to make sense, he just went with it. Like when he chose you.” She chuckles. “I thought he was crazy, given your past.”

  My face flushes. “Me too.”

  Eliot laughs a throw-your-head-back kind of laugh. She’s never laughed like that around me before. “I don’t know why I was so surprised. I wonder if he planned this for a long time or if it came upon him like some kind of epiphany. Soc usually didn’t overanalyze things, so I wouldn’t be shocked if it came to him all of a sudden and he decided to go for it. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.” A twinge of hurt colors her voice. “I know you didn’t know him long, but he was a great man. One of the best.”

  I look away, uncomfortable. She’s right. I only knew him for a few days, nothing like the lifetimes they spent together. “He was always very kind to me.”

  “He was kind, for as long as I’ve known him, even to the other kids.”

  “Is that normal for Firsts?”

  Color creeps up her neck. “No. Most Firsts don’t care about the emotions of their Seconds. They’re only concerned about what the children can do for them. I’m not proud to admit it, but I was like that once.” She tears her attention from me to study the far window. “I think the burden is even greater on us because we are immortals. We should know better. Hell, we’ve seen it all before, and some of us had a front row seat on an number of atrocities.”

  The minutes stretch between us like the long, wispy clouds in the sky, tenuous and delicate, ready to break at any minute. “Are you afraid of dying?”

  “Were you?” Her voice is quiet, contemplative. She studies me, almost as though she actually cares about my answer.

  “Yes, I was terrified.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Her eyes bore into mine.

  I can’t meet her gaze any longer and break it to study my hands. “Because I had to.”

  “That’s a bullshit answer, and you know it.”

  I jerk my head up at the vehemence in her voice.

  “You know you could have turned him down. He’d have let you go and then… then he’d still be here.” Her voice breaks. “At least for a little while. At least until he could find another host body. ”

  “Because he’s still more important, right?” I let out a frustrated huff. I tighten my hands into fists, and glare at her. “I’d be an outcast to my own people. It’s such a great honor to be chosen, even if they don’t know the half of what happens. And if they did, I don’t think it’d matter. They’d still have expected me to go through with it for the good of my country and all that. I’d be lucky if I’d have a week, maybe two. But that’s not the real reason. Do you know why I did it?” My words tumble out in a rush, unable to wait for her answer. “I did it because my sister died to escape you people. My mom sent her off into the forest, hoping a rebel scout would pick her up and take her somewhere safe, but he never came. She died so she wouldn’t be chosen. Someone needs to stop this horrible procedure. At first, I thought it would be Socrates, but I guess that it’s my fight now. I want you people to have to live short, pointless, mortal lives just like the rest of us.”

  “And that,” Eliot says as she sits back in her chair, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Is why Soc picked you.”

  Good Graces

  Will

  “I need you to go on a short trip with Soc tomorrow,” George Eliot says as she walks into the kitchen. Her trim black tunic, paired incongruously with billowing cream pants, stretches across her chest.

  “Why?” My hand hovers over a bright green head of lettuce. Freshly washed, it glistens in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows on either side of the long stainless steel counter. “I didn’t think we were going anywhere until right before Socrates gives his speech.”

  “There’s been a slight change of plans.” A grim smile plays across her face.

  Now she’s piqued my interest. “So we’re not going to the Smith?”

  “No. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Then where are we going?” Why do I have to drag every tidbit of information out of her?

  “To see an old friend.” At my continued silence, she shrugs. “It’s all Socrates’s idea. I told him it would end in disaster, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  I tighten my hand on the knife until my knuckles turn white and slice the blade cleanly through a chunk of lettuce. “Then why are we going?”

  “I’m sure Socrates has his reasons for risking his own neck. Your goal is to keep this trip fr
om costing him it.”

  “So you think someone is going to try and hurt him?”

  Eliot nods and leans back against the counter. “It’s a distinct possibility. I have a prior engagement that I can’t break or I’d also accompany you.” She pauses and assesses me. What is she searching for? My level of dedication to my job? I’m not going to let anything happen to her precious Socrates. “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about how unpredictable Carroll can be, right?”

  I stare at the lettuce lying in a heap on the cutting board to avoid her probing gaze. “I might have heard a thing or two.”

  “Then you understand how important it is for Socrates to have protection at all times, correct?”

  “Why don’t you hire some protection? They’d be much better trained than me.”

  Eliot shakes her head. “We want to be discreet. Carroll might take it a bit personally too, if we show up with a dozen armed guards.”

  I turn away and run my blade through the lettuce again, reducing it to fine, shredded greens. Even as the seconds stretch between us, I know she hasn’t left.

  “Look,” she says. “I know you don’t like this situation any more than I do. If it were my choice, I would have left you at the Smith. But right now, this is where we are, and we have to make the best of the situation.”

  I spin around, rage consuming me before I can tamp it down. “The best of the situation? Socrates murdered Mira and I’m stuck here, pretending she was—”

  “Your assignment.” Eliot glares at me, daring me to deny it.

  My jaw drops open. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew.” She chuckles. “Don’t act so shocked. Did you really think I didn’t know you were a Lifer?”

  “Then why am I still here? Shouldn’t I have been arrested?”

  “Because I saved your life. The police were about to make an example out of you, but I prevented that by requesting your service.”

  Understanding claws its way to the surface. “So it wasn’t because of the promise I made to Mira?”

  When Eliot doesn’t respond, I fill in the spaces for what she leaves out. “Socrates didn’t want me to come either, did he?”

  “He couldn’t care less,” she scoffs. “You think it matters to Soc that you’re here? He doesn’t need you when he has me.”

  Even though what she says is true, her words still sting. “Why did you save my life, then?”

  Eliot threads her fingers together. “Maybe I’m just a sentimental old fool. That girl cared for you; that’s enough for me.”

  “Does Socrates know about my ties to the rebels?”

  “No. Nor does he know about your fiancée or your unborn child.”

  The knife slips from my hand and clatters onto the counter. “You know about Evie, too?”

  “Of course. It’s not exactly a secret.”

  As the blood drains from my face, my hands start to shake so badly that I can’t pick up the knife. I just stare at it, not trusting myself to handle it without hurting myself. “Are you going to tell him?”

  She shakes her head. “No, and I recommend you keep your mouth shut as well.”

  “I thought you said Socrates couldn’t care less.”

  She stares deep into my soul, her gaze so hypnotic I can’t look away. “Because if you fall out of Socrates’s good graces, you’ll end up back in the Smith. And without anyone to protect you, you’d be dead before you unpacked your clothes.”

  Crazy

  Mira

  The silver shuttle bumps against the ground as it lands. Part of me wants to peer out the narrow windows, but I’m afraid of what I’ll see. I remind myself that this isn’t a prison, like the one for Lifers I was taken to when Tanner tried to help me escape. But still, the term institution reminds me of that cold, drab place with high walls reaching toward the sky and angry guards torturing starving prisoners. I shiver when the memories of my own arrest rise to the surface. Will, sitting straight-backed to my right, glances at me, but I ignore him. When the ship’s purr abruptly stops, anxiety burrows deep in my stomach and twists it into little knots. Ben whines from his padded spot close to the door. Maybe he feels my nervousness, too.

  A crack of light appears around the door as it lowers and forms steps down to the bright green grass. Grass? At a prison? The gravity belts release and Will stands up. Without waiting for either of us, he strides to the door and goes down the stairs ahead of us. Ben and I get to our feet at the same time. He stretches, his long brown and black body blending with the shadows.

  “Come here, boy.” I pat my side. Ben gives me a doggy snort of disgust. “Come on, let’s go.” He huffs and then meanders over to me. I grab the short leather leash attached to his harness before following Will down the stairs.

  Real emerald green lawn stretches all around us, broken only by a stone path that leads up to a sprawling, red brick building.

  “This is my kind of prison,” I murmur.

  Will turns toward me. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, nothing.” My face burns from embarrassment. “Just talking to myself.”

  Will considers me for a minute before he shrugs and continues up the path. Ben sniffs the grass on our way and stops, but I tug on his leash. It probably wouldn’t make a good impression if he peed on their lawn.

  As we approach the institution, I start to notice the little details. White shutters decorate each of the windows stretching from one side to the other. Perfectly groomed, dark green trees decorated with light pink flowers line the last half of the path up to the building. Three wide cement steps lead to a set of heavy oak doors.

  As we reach the bottom of the steps, a dark-haired woman in a snow-white uniform and white hat forces the doors open and skips down the steps. A crimson smile stretches painfully across her face, and she fixes her gaze on me, passing over Will entirely.

  “Welcome, Socrates. We’re so very glad to see you. My name is Amy, and I’ll be your guide today.” Her bubbly effervescence unnerves me. People shouldn’t smile that much.

  When my eyes meet his, Will shrugs as if to say, “This is your choice. Now we have to deal with it.”

  “We couldn’t believe it when George Eliot said you were interested in coming here to see our dear friend Lewis Carroll. It’s such a delight to have someone like yourself visit us. I can’t begin to tell you how excited we are that you’re here.”

  She pauses to give us both another blinding grin. “Although we did find it strange that George Eliot was so vague about your reason for coming since our friend hasn’t had any notable visitors in over a year. Is there something wrong?”

  “No. I just thought it was past due, so I asked Eliot to make the arrangements.”

  When I don’t elaborate, Amy’s smile becomes forced. Will smirks.

  “Though I certainly appreciate you accommodating us on such short notice. I’m sure you’re extremely busy.”

  Amy’s forced enthusiasm falters. What does she want me to say? That I’m not really Socrates and want to meet someone else whose procedure failed, too? That maybe in this strange, damaged First I can find someone I can relate to?

  “We will do anything we can to accommodate an important guest such as yourself.” She turns and flits up the stairs, not waiting for us to follow her. I shrug at Will, and we both take the steps behind her.

  Ahead of us, Amy swings open one of the front doors. As we pass through, I run my fingers over the heavy, dark wood. Its smooth soft surface reminds me of the little crosses back at the farm; particularly my sister’s, though ours were softened by the weather and the fingers of mourning family members, not oil or stain.

  Through the wide front doors is an enormous room with ceilings arching high above us, lit by small round windows in the roof. Curving staircases wrap around each side of the room, embracing the black and white tiles on the floors and leading to a well-polished cherry desk. When she reaches it, Amy drops into the chair behind the desk and taps her fingers over the empty wooden surface. An op
aque screen flashes into existence. Amy runs her fingers over the translucent frame until pictures of people appear.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Um, that’s our visitor log. We keep track of who comes to visit. It’s one of our standard security measures.”

  Heat rushes to my face. “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of technology like this at my home in Santa Fe.” I let out what I hope is a self-conscious laugh. “Eliot’s been trying to convince me to join the twenty-sixth century, but so far she hasn’t succeeded.”

  “One more thing,” Amy says. “I just need to check you in.” She grabs what appears to be a shiny silver pen from a drawer underneath the front of the desk. She slides in front of me and pushes a button on the top of the pen. It starts to glow, and before I can react, she shines the red light right into my left eye.

  “What the—”

  “It’s just a retinal scan.” She does the same thing to Will, but he doesn’t react. Maybe he’s used to retinal scans somehow, even though I never saw one at the Smith.

  “Thank you.” She puts the pen back in the desk. “Follow me, please.” Amy walks through the wide doorway behind her desk. Her mincing steps echo loudly in the strangely unoccupied room.

  “How will that show who I am, since I haven’t been here in this body before?”

  “It won’t. But it catalogues your unique retinal signature so any future visits are processed appropriately and securely.”

  Will and I follow Amy into a well-lit room with big, leafy plants that strain toward wide windows overlooking a backyard just as impressive as the front. Several yellow chairs cluster around the windows as if they need the light as much as the plants do.

  A young man sits motionless in one of those chairs, his hands folded in his lap. He’s unnaturally pale, and his hair is a deep blue-ish black. His eyes are closed, but when we approach him, they snap open to reveal pale blue irises that almost seem to glow with a silver light. I shiver. One of the corners of his mouth twitches.

  The man’s gaze flickers from me and barely grazes across Will before settling on the nurse. “Visitors? Miss Amy, you are full of surprises today.”