Imposter

by Chanda Stafford

  “And I’m really the only one who can do it.” I trace the edge of the table with my finger. “I’m the first of the Firsts, and since I played a part in the Immigration War, I have the most influence on the lawmakers on this topic. This isn’t something where I can step back and stay silent. I have to speak up, tell them the truth, and try to make them fix their mistakes.” I take a deep breath and press my hands to my nervous stomach. “What do you think I should do first?”

  “Well, since most bills are introduced by legislators, not Firsts, you have the unique advantage of already having their attention. However, you won’t keep it for long if you stand up there and blubber like an idiot for ten minutes. Even though some of the legislators have already made their decisions, your speech could still make or break this Bill. What you choose to talk about is very important.”

  “What if I lose?”

  “What if you don’t?” When I open my mouth to answer her, she cuts me off. “Are you willing to bet your brother’s life on that?” Eliot squeezes my hand gently. “I know it’s a lot of pressure, but I’m confident you can do this. Since the Immigration War, the House of Representatives is more of a figurative body than an actual legislative one. Everything is much less formal than it used to be. The President can, and still does on occasion, veto bills, but usually he sides with the majority. You’ll do fine, trust me.”

  I focus on the words floating in front of me. “Then why does this even matter? If the President has the final say, then anything the House of Representatives votes on could be vetoed, right? Should I be talking to the President, instead?”

  “Times are changing, my dear. It’s not that easy anymore for him to enforce martial law without severe consequences.” She leans toward me, watching me connect dots between what she doesn’t say and what she does.

  “Do you think the people will fight back if the Bill fails?”

  Glee lights up her face. “It’s certainly looking that way, isn’t it?”

  “All right, I’m ready.”

  “Great. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

  I flick through the words until I get to the beginning of the speech. “The Immigration War began in 2301. The participants fought for freedom and the right to live where they want without being persecuted.”

  Eliot drops her head into her hands. “You’re going to put me to sleep. We might as well pack our bags and go home.”

  I clench my fists in my lap. “What do you want me to say, then?”

  Eliot leans forward and touches the spot where my heart beats. “You need to speak from here. Not here.” She taps the screen.

  “I thought I should talk about the reasons for the war, since this Bill will end the imprisonment of my people.”

  “No. You’ve got to wow them. Surprise them.” She tilts her head, studying me. “What’s the most important thing in the world to you?”

  Will’s face immediately flashes behind my eyelids, but I blink it away. No, Congress probably wouldn’t like it if I talked about a guy I was in love with but shouldn’t be because I’m supposed to be dead. In its absence, a little cherub face materializes. Blond hair floats around her chubby little cheeks, and her bright eyes glow in the summer sunlight. Little red button lips stretch into a smile, and her laugh sounds as real as the day she disappeared. “Rosie.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yeah.” I hit the button on the port to the holo-reader, and the words disappear. “You’re right. I need to pick something important to me and something that will draw the audience’s attention.” Thoughts rush through my head like water overflowing the bank of the stream behind my farm. It’s hard to think straight with everything coming together, rearranging, and falling into new patterns. “I think I know exactly what I’m going to talk about.”

  Eliot tilts her head and frowns. “Are you sure? I’m here to help you with whatever you need.”

  I shove the holo-reader into a desk drawer and stand up. “No, I’ve got it.” The aching in my head eases, and I smile at her. “Don’t worry about me, Ellie. I won’t let you down.”

  The corner of her mouth twitches and she shrugs. “You always did pull through at the last minute, so I suppose this isn’t too unusual.” She leans forward and kisses me softly on the forehead. I wonder what Will would think if he saw us together. Would he care? To him, I’m a monster who killed the girl he loves. Even if I did tell him, it might not even matter. I’m not that girl anymore.

  A Treat

  Will

  Most of the people who help the Firsts but aren’t servants are housed in a slightly smaller, dingy wing of the Natural History Museum. I knock, and a man named Rodney flings open the door. He’s short, balding, and walks with small, mincing steps.

  “Oh good, you’re finally here.” He waves at a silver platter on a long countertop. “If you’ll just grab that, we can be on our way.”

  I pick up the platter and follow him into the hall. When we get to Socrates’s room, he walks in without knocking. Both Firsts are sitting at the desk, talking quietly until we interrupt them.

  “Hello.” George Eliot gives us a faint wave. “We were just discussing Soc’s speech.”

  The little man takes the platter from me and sets it on the desk, pushing their untouched breakfast aside before bowing deeply to the Firsts.

  “Good morning! My name is Rodney, and I’m so very honored to be serving you!” I cringe as his squeaky voice grates on my ears. I wonder if anyone would notice if I snuck out. Probably. I sigh and settle myself against the wall. This had better be good. I drift off and in my mind recall Evie’s touch from last night. I snap my eyes open. It’s better to be awake and bored than daydreaming.

  “Do I have a treat for you!” Rodney glides over to the silver-domed tray, and lifts the top with a flourish. In the middle of the platter sits a rich, mahogany mop of hair already styled in long, sparkling ringlets.

  Socrates’s pales and his back stiffens. What’s wrong? He’s been through this before. He can’t possibly think the light brown fuzz growing on his skull is attractive. At least the healing patches covering the puncture wounds match his skin color.

  “Let’s go.” I hold my arm out to Mira, and she slips her hand through mine. As we leave her room, I breathe in her heady, floral scent, and run my fingers through the long blond wig floating around her shoulders. As soon as the door to her room closes, I lean down until my face is less than an inch away from hers. “You look amazing.” Her gaze flashes to mine before she blushes and turns away. “But I favor you without the rug.” I gesture to the wig. She smiles at me, tentatively, before we continue down the hall toward the Acceptance banquet.

  “I’m not wearing that.” Socrates’s voice is flat.

  Rodney gasps, and his hand flies to his mouth overdramatically to cover it. “Why not? It’s the best piece we could find. Our most experienced designers chose the color specifically to complement your new skin tone and gender. It’s from the finest farm.”

  “I don’t care.” His sneer is so like Mira’s that the image shifts and I almost convince myself I see her sitting there.

  Rodney’s face turns red. “Is it the color? We can change that. It wouldn’t be as attractive, of course. This shade has been precisely formulated for you.”

  Socrates stares at the clothing for a few long seconds. “It’s not the color. It’s the principle. I want to go as myself.”

  Rodney gestures at the top of Socrates’s head. “Are you sure? Your own hair is…”

  “Just fine.” His tight-lipped glare dares Rodney to challenge him. “I’m not afraid of my scars, and I don’t want to hide them.”

  “Well would you at least consider wearing this?” He lifts up a dress. Through the clear bag, I can see it’s made of a fine black fabric that flows from the hanger.

  Socrates shakes his head. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have my own clothes to wear.”

  “But your speech…”

  “It does
n’t hinge on what I’m wearing. After it’s over, no one will care about that.”

  Eliot watches the exchange with an amused expression.

  “But—”

  “No, thank you, but my decision is final. I appreciate you coming and all the effort you’ve put into choosing what you think I should wear.” Socrates inclines his head at Rodney. “But I’m not in need of your services.”

  “Well…” Rodney’s mouth opens and closes, like that of a gaping fish out of water. Hands shaking, he slams the lid on the wig platter and throws the dress over one arm.

  “Do you need any help?” I reach out to take the wig platter, but Rodney shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it.” My eyes meet Socrates’s, but he shrugs helplessly.

  After a few blustery seconds, the heavyset man leaves, toting the wig and dress behind him.

  The door shuts quietly, and Eliot chuckles. “That went well.”

  Socrates shrugs, but the self-conscious expression on his face tells a different story.

  “What’s your plan now? You certainly can’t wear your pajamas.”

  A grim smile spreads across his face. “I won’t wear makeup, a wig, or a suit, but I do have a plan.” He leans forward and whispers in Eliot’s ear.

  The other First throws her head back and laughs. “Did you just come up with that? It’s brilliant!”

  Socrates nods smugly and sits back in his chair. “I was hoping you’d agree with me.”

  What You Want

  Mira

  After Rodney leaves, I start to feel as if the room’s closing in on me. “Would you mind if I went for a walk?”

  “Right now?” Eliot peers at her com unit and frowns.

  I let out a deep breath. The healing wounds around my head ache, but I resist the urge to rub them. “I need to go and clear my head.”

  Eliot sighs. “All right.” She starts to stand up.

  “No, please don’t get up.” I give her an apologetic smile. “I’d like to go by myself.”

  Ellie tilts her head and studies me. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” I slip on my shoes and cast her one long look. “I’m at the Smith. There are cameras everywhere. It’s probably the safest place I could be.”

  She stands up anyway and takes my hands in hers. “There could be danger sitting right in front of you, and you’d never even see it.” The ghost of a smile disappears as she grows solemn again. “The Lifers are not the only danger stalking these halls.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, and if it does, I’ll be fine.”

  She arches her eyebrows. “Because you’ve managed to stay out of trouble so far, right?”

  I flush. “That’s different.”

  “You’re only one person. You can’t handle a whole rebellion that’s out for your blood.”

  I pull my hands from hers and grab Ben’s leash from the desk drawer. “You mean they’re not willing to sit down and talk it out with me?” I grin, trying to add some levity into the heavy air.

  She grimaces and implores Will with her gaze, but he ignores her and stares blankly out the window. “You make light of a situation that might cost you your life.”

  “Why now? Why not try to take me out before the Exchange?”

  “They tried, remember?”

  Heat creeps up my neck as I remember the aborted kidnapping attempt at Chesaning farms. “Oh, yeah.”

  Ben senses my mood and pulls himself to his feet. He whines and nudges my hand with his nose. Without even thinking about it, I rub behind his ears with my fingers. The simple action soothes us both.

  “Fine. But if you still insist on your little walk, then at least take someone with you.” She nods at Will.

  “If that’s what it takes.” I glare at Will. “If you don’t mind babysitting me, that is.”

  Will inclines his head toward me. “As you wish, sir.”

  After I stand up, I cluck my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.” I clip Ben’s leash onto his collar and head for the door with Will trailing behind us.

  We walk the halls aimlessly for a while. After a few turns, they all look the same. I steer clear of the lobby and the building’s actual museum parts. I don’t really feel up to tourists staring at me.

  After a few minutes, Will clears his throat.

  I spin around. “What?”

  He schools his face into a blank mask, but I see the flash of surprise at my outburst. “I was just wondering if you had any destination in mind.”

  I gesture helplessly with my hands. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be? I don’t mean to keep you if you’re busy. I just had to get out of there.”

  “Why? You’ve done this before. Why would this speech be so different?”

  I curl my lip in disgust. “It’s not just the speech, though that’s a lot of it. It’s everything.” I turn around before sniffling. “I just want to go home.” My last few words come out softly, more like the old Mira than Socrates. No, I have to get rid of her. I can’t be Mira. Not right now. Maybe not ever again. I turn back to him and stiffen my back, daring him to argue with me.

  “Home?” For a second, I think Will sees through the mask to who is really underneath. His attention turns inward.

  Is he lost in his memories, too? I squint my eyes shut and focus on the stars bursting behind my eyelids. “Yes. I want to go back to my house in Santa Fe.”

  Will opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him. “Never mind. I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you know anywhere we could go? Maybe someplace outside?”

  Will stops and stares at me as if I’m crazy. “Outside the Smith?”

  “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  “George Eliot would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “We could visit the museum, I suppose. You haven’t been there since you cut the ribbon opening day.”

  I run my fingers over the old wood paneling that runs along this section of hall. “Even with all my apparent wealth and privilege, I’m still a prisoner, aren’t I?”

  His harsh laugh echoes down the halls.

  I ignore him and mull over my thoughts. How do I phrase this without giving my cover away? “Before I became a First, I could do what I wanted. I could still walk outside and not worry about being assassinated, abducted, or attacked. Now, I can barely walk in an artificial garden without needing an armed escort. I don’t want to live like this.”

  Will crosses his arms over his chest and studies me. “Why change now? You’ve had several lifetimes to come to this decision.”

  “I don’t know.” I gesture down at my body. “Mira made this incredible sacrifice for me, and I don’t think I’m doing enough to honor her wishes. I—I keep feeling like she’d want me to do more, be more, in fact, than I already am.”

  “How come the others didn’t inspire that change of heart?” Will’s voice is flat, expressionless.

  My shoulders twitch in response. “I’m not sure of that, either. The only reason I can think of is that they didn’t have her spark, her fire. Perhaps it’s because this is the beginning of a new era and the start of something huge. Yes, the change was coming beforehand, but Mira triggered that shift. She is the foremost reason I’m doing what I’m doing.”

  “Not because it’s the right thing?” His voice is dry, and I feel like he’s mocking me.

  My face heats up. “That too, of course.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you except—” Several pairs of footsteps down the hallway break the illusion that we’re alone. In a flash, Will scans the door to the closest room and pushes me in, dragging Ben behind me.

  “Will, what’s—?”

  “Shhh. We don’t know who they are,” he whispers.

  “Eliot probably sicced security on us, that’s all.” I reach for the doorknob, but he shakes his head to stop me.

  “Just wait. If it’s George Eliot�
�s security guards, then that’s fine, but these are strange times here at the Smith. You never know who it might actually be.”

  I’m saved from answering when the clomping footsteps stop in front of the door. I wait, breath lodged in my throat for what seems like an eternity, until three quick knocks break the silence.

  “Socrates? Are you in there, sir?”

  Will jerks his head from side to side when I open my mouth to speak. After a few seconds, whoever is on the other side knocks again. Ben sniffs the bottom of the door, his tail stiff and hackles raised. A low growl resonates from his throat.

  “We saw you enter the room. The President sent us.”

  Will bends his head down toward me, still keeping an eye on the door. “What do you want to do?”

  I gesture to the door. “They know we’re in here, and we can’t stay locked away in this”—I look around, taking in our surroundings for the first time—“storage closet forever, so we might as well see what they want, right?”

  Concern furrows Will’s brow. “If that’s what you want.”

  I nod, hoping I made the right decision.

  “Okay, stay behind me.”

  The Man Who Killed Her

  Will

  On the left side of the door, I run my hand over an invisible panel and a small section of the wall slides aside to reveal a hidden screen. A crisp black and white image winks into existence, revealing two armed security guards.

  In their customary jet-black uniforms, they stand at attention in front of the door. Pencil-thin visors slash their faces in half and hide their eyes.

  Equal parts dread and adrenaline pulse through my system, and I slowly twist the door handle. As soon as it opens, both men focus on me. Even though I can’t see their entire faces, I can feel them sizing me up, and I automatically tense in response.

  The shorter of the two, one old enough to be my grandfather, shifts his attention to Socrates while the younger one stares at me.