Imposter

by Chanda Stafford

  “Hello.” Socrates peeks around my shoulder. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Good day, sir. We’d like a minute of your time, if that’s all right.”

  Socrates slips under my arm and joins them in the hall. Smart thinking; they can do less to us in the hall since someone could walk by at any moment. “Okay.” He offers them an uneasy smile.

  “The president asked our supervisor to check with you and see if you’ve noticed any unusual activity since you arrived.”

  Socrates’s gaze meets mine, the disbelief in his eyes probably the same reflected in mine. Can he tell they’re lying as easily as I can? I shake my head. The younger guard, seeing our exchange, wrinkles his nose as if smelling something unpleasant. “No, is there something I should be looking for?”

  “Lifers.” The younger guard attempts to peer around us, probably trying to see what we’re doing in a storage closet. He has red hair buzzed short and an unfortunate abundance of freckles. . “They’re everywhere.”

  “Did something in particular happen?” Socrates meets the older guard’s blatant stare head on.

  “Not exactly. We want you to keep your eyes open, just in case.”

  “Do you suspect anything will happen?”

  “I don’t know.” The redheaded guard jerks his head toward me. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  I tighten my hands into fists, and Ben growls.

  “Are you implying something?” Socrates’s voice, although still calm, has a dangerous ring to it.

  Redhead shrugs, but I can tell by his rapid breathing and the flush to his skin that he’s unnerved. “Nothing at all, sir. We would like to question him though—” he points at me—“in private.”

  My spine stiffens. This is it. This is what James Scoffield warned me about. After glancing at me, Socrates darts in between us.

  “Is that the real reason you were following us?” When the guards don’t try to deny it, he takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips. “That’s not going to happen. You see, I’ve been questioned before by you types, and it hasn’t been pleasant. Will hasn’t done anything wrong. Why don’t you spend your time trying to find the Lifers instead of harassing us?”

  Redhead tightens his hand on the laser gun at his hip.

  The older man steps closer. “Come on now, Wren.” He frowns at his teammate. “Socrates is right. We’ll just come back later.”

  “You bet we will,” the younger man scoffs and then turns his glare directly at me. “You may try to hide it, but we know what you are.”

  Socrates curls his lip in disgust. “That’s enough. Will isn’t a Lifer. He’s a loyal, dedicated servant.” He takes a deep breath. “If you have any problems with my servant, you’ll have to go through me first. And I can assure you, that wouldn’t end well for you.”

  The older man gulps and wrenches Wren backward a step. “There’s no need for that, sir. We’ll talk to our supervisors about doubling the patrols.”

  “Then I’ll trust this is the end of this matter, right?”

  With a sharp, almost sarcastic salute, the guards hurry away, and a grim sense of satisfaction at their discomfort puts a smile on my lips.

  After the men disappear from sight, I turn to Socrates. “Why did you save me? You could have let them take me.”

  “I know.” His gaze searches the ceiling tiles.

  “Thank you.” My voice comes out stilted, but it’s because I don’t quite know what to say. “If those men had arrested me, I would have…”

  “Disappeared, yes. I have some experience with the government’s form of interrogation, and it’s not pleasant.”

  When I don’t respond, he sighs. “Mira favored you. That’s why I helped you.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yes. I think she cared for you deeply.”

  For some reason, the words piss me off, and my muscles tense up. All I want to do is make him understand what he’s done, but I can’t. Not while he wears Mira’s face. Instead, I tell Socrates, “Yeah, well, that’s funny, because I loved her.”

  “Really?” Socrates examines me curiously. “I thought she was just an assignment to you. You’ve cared for dozens of Seconds during your tenure at the Smith. She was no different from any one of them.” I swear I can see a hint of moisture in his eyes.

  His words dig deep inside the healing hole in my chest and pull it apart even farther. I couldn’t respond to him if it meant life or death. There aren’t any words to explain how I felt about Mira.

  “Could you take me back to my room, please?” Socrates’s voice shakes me just a little bit out of my misery.

  “Of course.” I scan the halls again, checking for guards. There are none, so I sweep my arm down the hallway from which we came. “This way, please.”

  Socrates wears a troubled expression the entire way back to his room. However, his silence doesn’t irritate me. Instead, I welcome it. Anything is better than hearing Mira’s voice every time I talk to the man who killed her.

  Get Us Both Killed

  Mira

  The door clicks shut behind Will, and the vacuum his presence leaves surrounds me. That was too close. You’re getting sloppy. I close my eyes, and his face materializes out of the darkness. I swear he almost recognized me. He almost knew it was me inside my head and not Socrates. More than a little part of me wishes he had.

  I unclip Ben’s leash, and the dog trots ahead of me to sniff around the room.

  “At least I’ve got you.” I laugh. It’s sad when my only friend is a dog.

  My hands itch. I scrub them on the front of my pants to buy some time. What do I do now? I have to do something. I shouldn’t just be sitting here behind closed doors like this. What kind of leader am I supposed to be if I keep hiding?

  I stare at the ceiling port for the AVIS screen. Everybody watches these things. It would help me keep in character. If I turn it on for a little bit, it might also distract me. I hop up on the bed.

  “AVIS, on.” My voice sounds rusty even to my own ears. Come on, Mira. As Socrates, you should know how to do these things.

  “Voice recognized.” The screen turns blue. “Good afternoon, Socrates. How may I be of assistance?”

  “I don’t know, maybe just turn on something interesting.” Perhaps this will help me leave my worries behind and watch a show or two. It always worked for the Chesaning girls at the farm. They constantly blathered on about this show or that.

  The screen flashes through a myriad of colors. “Do you have any preference?”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  AVIS seems to consider this for a minute. “Based on your past viewing history, I’ve selected a local news broadcast. Will this suffice?”

  “Yes.” I lie back on the bed and try to make my mind relax as an image floods the screen.

  It’s the Smith. I recognize the bright white front of the American History Museum, so pure it would dazzle even in the snow. People three or four deep line the sides of the drive. Some of them hold signs made of large pieces of cardboard or paper. Others heft big, blank e-slates in the air with phrases like “Free America, All America, Live Once, Only Once” flashing on them. Others have images hovering above their heads like a huge version of the holo-reader Ellie uses. Children dart in and out of the crowd, unafraid of being trampled. Every single one of them is wearing white.

  A glowing laser line separates the protest space from a narrow path to the front door, punctuated by heavy cement posts. The police guarding the building must be used to this, as some slouch against the barricades while others sit on the steps. Some have little e-screens pulled up in front of them while others appear to be taking naps. Only one or two are paying attention. If this is how much they care, then the protesters can’t be that dangerous.

  When they realize they have the media’s attention, the protesters start chanting. I can’t make out their words because the equipment the news team uses muffles their cries.

  “Day twe
lve of the protests in front of the Smith. Ever since Socrates arrived yesterday, more and more people have flooded the area.” The camera zooms past the reporter and darts into the crowd. It zeros in on several of the protesters’ faces. “Wearing the colors of the Seconds, these rebels show their distaste for what Socrates has done and their support of the Free America Bill.”

  I scan the crowd. So that’s why they’re wearing white. Some even have yellow sashes or belts knotted around their waists. How can they promote the Bill while protesting the man who’s making it possible?

  A slim young man with fiery red hair stands up on one of the police barricades. He dusts his hands off on his pants theatrically and holds his arms out as though to embrace the audience. A couple of the guards around him snap to attention, and one rests his finger lightly on the holster of his Artos.

  I study the rebel again, but he doesn’t seem like much of a threat. He smiles widely at the screen, pulls out a small black disc, and holds it to his throat.

  “Socrates!” he bellows over the roar of the crowd. That disk must amplify his voice because even those at the back of the group quiet down in anticipation. “We know you’re in there! We’re out here, and we want to talk to you. Don’t be a coward. Don’t hide behind your walls and your guards. Come out here and speak to us. Lead us like you’re supposed to, and show us that what you’re doing is the right thing. Help us understand why you’re fighting to free our people when you just murdered one of our children. If you really support this Bill, come out here and prove it!” The crowd roars behind him. “You say you want to free our people, but you don’t even know who we are. Prove to us that you’re not a monster. Prove to us that you can be the kind of leader we can stand behind, or get out of our way!”

  My back stiffens, and without realizing it, I stand up. I’m not a monster, but I see why they think I am. I am a Texan. I can talk to them, show them that this version of Socrates is not the horrible creature they think he is. Isn’t that what Ellie said? It’s not who I was in the past that matters, it’s who I am now that people listen to.

  “If you think you’re worthy of leading us, get out here and prove it!” The man’s audience roars in agreement. “Because if you can’t, you better step down and get out of our way. We’re bringing this revolution to the Smith, with or without you!”

  This guy’s right. I am a coward hiding behind my nice safe walls and all the lies I’ve told to survive. If I were any kind of leader, I would be out there, supporting my people and doing the right thing. Maybe that’s not what Socrates would have done before the Exchange, but that’s what he’s going to do now.

  As I move toward the door, Eliot’s voice rings in my head, telling me not to screw up what Socrates worked so hard to orchestrate. If she knew I wanted to go out there, she would kill me. I hesitate, but after glancing at the screen again, I slip my shoes on. The real Socrates would go out there. I try to summon his face, but it slips away, overtaken by a little girl who died many years ago. Maybe it’s time I become that figurehead the rebellion needs.

  I touch the doorknob just as it swings open. Will, his eyes thunderous and his fists clenched, stands in the doorway.

  “No.” He pushes past me and stalks into the room. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re not doing it.”

  “What are you talking about? You have no idea what I’m going to do.” I fiddle with the hem on my sleeve so he can’t see the lie in my eyes.

  “Right.” He chuckles and shuts the door behind us. “I have monitors set up that let me know what my charge is doing, and when I saw what you were watching, I knew there would be trouble.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Try and stop me.”

  “Socrates, please, think for a minute. Those protesters out there are dangerous. Damon especially. He’s trying to rile you up and make you do something reckless. It’s working.”

  “You know him?”

  Will flushes. “I’ve heard of him. I don’t know him personally, of course. I just want you to be safe.”

  “Uh-huh.” Like I believe that.

  “Look, the most important thing right now is that you don’t take his bait. Stay here, please.” He grabs my arm and turns me away from the door. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’m begging you; please don’t go.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Maybe your friend is right, and I’ve hidden in the shadows for too long.” I think back to Socrates’s life. “I can’t lie, I’m pretty comfortable. I give speeches, teach a few classes here and there, but that’s about it. There is little risk but also little reward. Maybe it is time for me to take a chance.”

  Pained frustration settles on Will’s face. “Not like this. Please, if you want to join the rebels’ side, wait until it’s safer for you to do so.”

  “Will it ever be safe?”

  Will barks out a quick laugh. “Probably not, but it’s more dangerous right now than ever before.”

  I offer him a wobbly smile. “Then all the more reason to make a change, right?” I glance down at my hands, so small and delicate. Can I really do this? “They want a revolutionary; it’s time I give them one.” I slip past Will and head down the hall toward the front of the building. He calls out my name, but I don’t stop. I hear him swear as the door to my room slams shut behind him.

  Ben lopes to catch up to me and nudges my hand with his nose. I skate my fingers down the back of his head and neck to his collar. Gripping the soft supple leather, I immediately feel more at ease.

  “At least we have the dog. We might need him out there for protection,” Will grumbles as he catches up to me and thrusts the leash into my hand. “But for the record, I think this is a really bad idea, and you’ll probably get us both killed.”

  Should Have Listened

  Will

  The universe must want me dead; that’s the only way I can explain it. As I follow Socrates’s quick, light footsteps down the hall, I mentally tick off my most recent near-death experiences. First, there was the confrontation with Lewis Carroll, being kidnapped and drugged, then the guards who followed us to the supply room, and now a suicidal First who doesn’t care what happens to himself or those around him. That doesn’t count my affiliations with the Lifers, which could get me killed, or Evie, whose wrath is even more dangerous than the rebels.

  Socrates stomps through one of the side doors, Ben trotting at his heels. At least he didn’t waltz right through the middle set of doors.

  “Socrates, wait, please!” I plead, but either he doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, because he ignores me. However, he can’t ignore the huge crowd that seems even bigger now that we’re outside and away from the safety of his room. The First skids to a stop, his hands start to tremble, and he clutches Ben’s leash so tightly his knuckles turn white. I come up behind him and stand quietly at his side.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  A small frown creases Socrates’s brow. “I never thought there would be as many protesters for a law that will help free the Texans as there was for the Exchange.”

  Like a hive of bees descending on a fresh field of flowers, the rioters begin to notice us. Sensing the changing tide, the police officers stand up and follow along with them. After glancing at us, the officers turn to face the crowd. Several of them have their hands resting lightly on their weapons.

  One of the officers jogs up to us. “I’m going to need to ask you to get back inside, sir,” he says to Socrates. Sweat glistens on his pale forehead. His hand twitches, and he constantly clicks his Artos’s safety on and off. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too dangerous. Please go back inside. Your man”—he nods at me—“can take you back to your room.”

  “No.” Socrates stiffens, and he takes a deep, fortifying breath. “They want to know that I support them. They want a leader.”

  “They don’t want a leader.” I try to keep my voice low enough that the crowd won’t hear me. “They want someone they can blame, someone they can attack if something goes w
rong, and that’s exactly what you’re giving them.”

  “Sir, listen to him. It’s not safe for you out here.” The officer’s uneasy gaze shifts from us to the crowd. “You need to go back inside.”

  Socrates turns toward the crowd as Damon ducks under the barricade and slips past the guards.

  “Hey!” one of them yells, torn between following the young rebel and keeping the crowd at bay.

  “Stop!” shouts another, who looks at his partner, helplessly.

  But Damon doesn’t stop. With a rakish smile, he leaps up the stairs and hands the voice-projecting disc to Socrates.

  “Thank you.” Socrates takes it delicately and holds it in his palms.

  “You put it to your throat if you want to talk.” He mimics the motion, and the First presses the small device to his neck.

  Damon grins, tips his imaginary hat, and turns to face the crowd. Ever the showman, he grabs Socrates’s hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he roars, cupping his free hand around his mouth for more emphasis. “You came here to speak your mind! You came here to be heard! You came here to make a difference! And you succeeded!”

  The crowd screams in response. Socrates jumps at the amplified rumbling noise. Damon laughs, and I grimace. This definitely isn’t going to end well.

  Socrates clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He repeats Damon’s words, but unlike the rebel’s voice, his are much quieter and less self-assured. “We… I mean you… have been enslaved for far too long. It’s time for your people to have the basic freedoms denied to you for over two hundred years. I support the Free America Bill because it will give you that freedom.”

  “Freedom isn’t a gift!” someone shouts from the crowd. “Freedom is a right. You’ve taken everything from us, and we want it back!” After the words leave the speaker’s mouth, other protestors start chanting, “We want it back! We want it back!”

  Socrates’s hand clenches Ben’s leash tighter, and he bites his lip. If I’m lucky, I can probably get him back into the building safely before the crowd gets really dangerous. It might be the only thing that can save our lives.