by Rebecca Rode
“But you didn’t have a choice.”
A pause. “Well, yes and no. We didn’t get to decide our own careers back then, but revolutions have a way of shaking things up. I chose to lay my own plans aside and save people who needed saving.”
“Which you did. Got rid of the Rating system, gave power back to the masses.” Established the oh-so-critical bloodline of Hawking succession. The Rating system, though, was hard to imagine—people walking around with numbers implanted in their foreheads, judged and paid by what they contributed to society. Or rather, what someone else thought they contributed. A twisted system, the thought of which never failed to give me chills.
“My life’s work,” Gram said. “Not to say I don’t have regrets.”
She’d never told me this before. “You do?”
“Of course.” She squeezed my hand again, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Governments and laws come and go. They’ll absorb every spare second you give them. But you only get one family. When your Grandpa Vance went—” Her voice grew strained, and she cleared her throat. “I don’t think Malachite will ever forgive me for the long hours I spent at the office.”
Dad hated that name. The only place I’d seen it displayed was on the plaque outside his door and his birth records. He went by Malachi with pretty much everyone who didn’t call him “Your Honor.”
“I don’t see him much more than you do,” I grumbled. He’d gone from weeks of isolation to a furious crusade to take down Neuromen Labs.
“Malachite didn’t have the best examples of parenting. I let myself become too busy, and Vance tried, but . . . well, our son turned out well regardless. He’s doing a lot of good where he is. At the very least, he understands why the Rating system must remain in the ashes of history, which is more than I can say for our vulture neighbors in Malrain and those horrid Fireblood people.” She grimaced.
They were Firebrands, but I didn’t correct her. Nor did I mention that I’d spoken with one of those “horrid people” just this afternoon. All that mattered to my family was the Hawking creed—country over family, country over self. Hawkings do what is required. It was a favorite saying of Dad’s.
“Is that what you and Dad fought about, then?” I asked, changing the subject. “Dad’s upbringing and responsibilities?”
Gram frowned. “Don’t you worry about that. Just a little argument that will be resolved in time.”
I leaned back in my chair, disappointed. Whatever the cause, neither was willing to budge on their position. Both were equally stubborn in their avoidance of the other.
Gram straightened. “You look so sad. You really don’t want to work for your father, do you?”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t know where else I would go.”
“You haven’t allowed yourself to explore. You have more freedom than you think.”
“I wish that were true.”
“You’re far more than a famous last name. Did you know your mother was an unknown scientist before Malachite ever found her? Yet the people fell instantly in love with her grace, her wit and courage, her intelligence. The accident that took her life devastated the entire country.”
I tore my hand from hers and stepped back. “Mom’s death was not an accident.”
Gram sighed and let it go. “You have so much to offer, Legacy. Don’t allow anyone to limit your potential, even yourself.”
“I’m not limiting anything. It’s like Dad says—I’m a Hawking, and I’ll do what’s required.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll do what’s right,” she corrected. “That is, what’s right for you. Not what’s right for Malachite or Alex or anybody else. Not in this case.”
She didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to argue. “I have to meet the tutor. I hope you feel better soon. Will you be watching on the IM-NET tomorrow, at least?”
Gram made a sour face. “Implants were creepy in Europe when I was young, and they’re just as creepy here. I don’t care how safe they say it is. No medic is implanting a chip in my mind.”
That pulled a grin from me. I’d forgotten how much she hated the things. “I’ll see you the day after, then.” Working at the Block just a few kilometers from Gram was one benefit of Dad’s position. Perhaps the only benefit.
“Day after tomorrow. If the weather improves, there’s something I’d like to show you not far from here.”
I eyed her blankets. “Will you be feeling up to it?”
“This is worth a little exhaustion. Besides, sea air is more healing than a hundred dark and smelly bedrooms.” She pinned me with a flat stare. “Go practice that Declaration of yours. From the heart this time.”
Four
Legacy
“What I want to know,” Dad said that night at dinner, “is how you arrived an hour late for your tutoring appointment. You could have walked home faster than that.” He clutched his fork in one hand and his napkin in the other, his food untouched.
I’d known this was coming the moment I got home and found the tutor gone and Alex wearing a knowing grin. Some twins were best friends. We were anything but. His life’s purpose, besides becoming Dad’s successor, was to point out every shortcoming I’d ever had.
Well, I sought out opportunities to return the favor often enough, but that was beside the point.
“I have no defense,” I said, stabbing my fake pork and shoving it into my mouth.
“You won’t even tell me where you went?”
“It’s teenage stuff.”
“Legacy,” Alex said in an exasperated tone that mirrored our father’s. “Dad had a tough day at the office. Don’t make it worse.”
“He always has tough days. I think the term ‘tough day’ is in the contract. Strangely, we aren’t allowed the same luxury.”
Alex pounded his fist on the table, making my silverware jump. “When will you figure out that everything isn’t about you? While you’re busy failing your classes and avoiding your responsibilities, Dad and I have been dealing with important matters. Like running a country.”
“You’re right. Those statistics you gathered about the ratio of males versus females in the cattle population of Farming Sector 21 seemed pretty critical.”
His face reddened.
Dad cleared his throat. He still hadn’t touched his pork. “Don’t change the subject, Legacy. You’re paying for that lost hour of the tutor’s time. He had to reschedule his entire day.”
All to practice a one-minute speech I didn’t even write. I would read the blasted thing straight from my implant memory files, for fates’ sake. I’d been reading since I was four.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
Dad set his fork down and massaged his temple. “The tabloids ran my segment for weeks after my Declaration. They scrutinized every word. Every inflection of every word. They’ll do the same to you two simply because you’re a Hawking. If anything, it’ll be worse. It’s been a slow news week.”
“I don’t know why they care,” I said. “It’s not like it’s any surprise what we’re going to announce.”
“We serve the public. Just like your grandmother, just like your grandfather. I accepted my responsibility, and your—” Dad choked and cleared his throat again. He was about to mention Mom. He hadn’t made that mistake in months. “It’s what you’ll both do as well, particularly the one who becomes my successor. Those we serve respect that sacrifice and honor it every way they can. The least you can do is acknowledge the privilege you’ve been given and do as required.”
Alex nodded vigorously, as if Dad had said something profound. I barely contained an eye roll. Gram’s edict about the Honorship following the Hawking bloodline may have answered the long-term successorship question, but she obviously hadn’t considered the possibility of twins. Alex grew more unbearable by the hour.
Dad finally pushed his plate away. “Let’s discuss tomorrow’s Declaration. Your drivers will bring you to the park fifteen minutes early. I’ll meet you there later. The public tour of you
r new offices is scheduled for an hour after the ceremony ends. I expect you both to be there, smiling and presentable.”
“Can’t wait.” Alex shoved another bite into his mouth.
From one prison to another, indeed. “Yes, Dad.”
He slumped against his chair and began rubbing at his temple again. “I’m going to bed early. Practice your speeches until you’re hoarse. It’s hard to keep your wits when you have fifteen cameras aimed at your face.”
I almost blurted out how eager I was to investigate cow-gender ratios and make a difference in the world, but the words died on my lips. Dad always looked tired, but today he looked truly exhausted. “What happened at the office today?”
Alex snorted. “Oh, now you’re interested.”
“Nothing too drastic,” Dad began. “Just more drama with Neuromen. The committee clings so tightly to Virgil’s promises they can’t see how dangerous that place is.” He sighed. “I just want to be done with all of this.”
I stabbed a piece of pork and dragged it around my plate, any appetite gone. Dad should have received a copy of my official Neuromen invitation today, but he hadn’t raised the subject at all. He was probably too distracted to notice. Fates knew he had enough messages to deal with these days, and the Neuromen invitation was only one of fifty I’d received.
I hesitated, then plunged in. “Dad, I’ve been wondering something. Do you want Neuromen shut down because it’s dangerous for everyone or just because of Mom?”
Dad flinched. To my surprise, Alex withheld the lecture this time. He watched Dad as closely as I did.
“That’s a fair question,” Dad finally said. “I’ve asked myself that many times, and I think it’s a combination of both. I never liked Director Virgil’s secrecy, particularly since he receives government research funds. I always had a weird feeling about the man. Paranoid one second, oblivious the next. When he appointed your mom as head of his research department, I decided not to voice my concerns to her. She was so happy.” He paused. “I should have said something.”
He fell silent. Alex and I exchanged a long look. We were accustomed to silence these days, and he rarely opened up like this. Dad hadn’t allowed us to discuss anything meaningful in almost a year.
I decided to push one last time. “Mom’s death wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“Legacy,” Alex snapped. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m about to commit my entire life and future to family politics. I’m right, and I think Dad knows it.”
Dad’s set down his fork, looking haunted. It was as if I’d lifted my steak knife and stabbed him in the heart. But there was something else in his eyes that made me swallow hard.
“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said. Then he practically launched himself out the door.
I stared at his empty chair. I’d expected sorrow, perhaps, or even anger at the question. But his eyes held something chilling, an emotion I couldn’t have predicted in a decade.
Guilt.
“Now look what you did,” Alex snapped.
I whirled on him. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
My brother sat back in his chair, a barely contained anger in his eyes. “You have no idea what real life is like, do you? Just your own selfish little world.”
“Politics hardly qualify as the real world.”
He shoved another bite into his mouth, half chewed it, and swallowed. “It doesn’t matter how she died. It won’t bring her back.”
“I’m not stupid. I know that. But knowing will help us all move on. Don’t you ever wonder what really happened to her?”
“No, and you shouldn’t either. She made a dumb mistake and blew herself up. Dad and I have already moved on. I don’t see why you can’t.”
The anger grew inside me. It had made an appearance that terrible day over a year ago, and it wasn’t any smaller after a year of crippling grief. If anything, it had flared into a raging volcanic inferno. Something told me it would simmer the rest of my life if I didn’t get the answers I needed. “You two pretend Mom never existed, but that’s not moving on. That’s betrayal.”
“People die all the time, Legacy. It’s a part of life.” Another massive bite.
I gaped at my brother. A part of life? The twin I’d grown up with felt like a stranger these days. We’d spent our early years following each other around in search of mischief. Some of my favorite memories were of us making mud together and painting the kitchen—and each other—in nut paste. As we grew older, we’d raced around the trees surrounding our estate. Alex usually won, but my occasional victory fueled me enough to keep trying. It had been years since our last race.
The change in Alex had been the most glaring at Mom’s memorial session. Alex wore white like Dad and me, but that was where the resemblance ended. He’d spent every minute making jokes, interviewing for the cameras, and posing for captures with the guests. No wonder people thought we were a family of heartless murderers.
That was the heritage I belonged to now. Expectations, avoidance, and downright silence. I felt no pride in any of it. Just a strangling sensation.
I shoved my still-full plate toward him, nearly launching it off the table. He caught it at the last second. Then I stomped out.
When I reached my room, full of furniture I never used and colors I’d never actually liked, I stalked to the window and opened it. Cold night air entered immediately, cooling my flushed skin. Through the branches of my favorite bigleaf maple glowed the nearly full moon—a bright yet gentle constant in a life that felt increasingly turbulent. Gram loved the warm days of summer, but it was the night that drew me toward its welcoming embrace. Light meant people and judgment and pointing fingers. Darkness meant solitude. The fates knew how little I got of that these days.
Unfortunately, the moon also reminded me of Mom.
I plopped onto my bed, pointedly avoiding the spot where Mom always sat during our late-night talks, and pulled up Virgil’s message again.
Mom had received one of these at my age. Unlike me, she actually worked hard for it. She’d approached life like a scientist, in a logical and mathematical way. She was relentless at her job, focused in a way I’d never been at anything. Except, perhaps, avoiding my family.
I blinked a few times, pulling up our last family capture. On our seventeenth birthday, Mom had arranged for a day away from the city. She’d even convinced Dad to come. We’d gone hiking in the hills and eaten lunch at an old wooden table. It wasn’t until we’d returned to the oversized family transport that the driver forever captured the moment.
Mom walked between Alex and me, her arm around each of our shoulders and laughing. Flushed from the exercise, pink from the sun, she looked radiant. Utterly, unquestioningly happy. Dad walked behind us, watching her with a tiny smile. I returned Mom’s gaze with an amused expression, my hand steadying her arm as if unwilling to let it go. Alex, not surprisingly, scowled at the ground.
That chunk of heat inside me began to glow brighter.
There was a huge difference between accident and murder. Alex was wrong. It absolutely mattered.
It was the thing that mattered most.
I locked the door, deleted my tutor’s scripted speech, and began one of my own.
Five
Legacy
Fifty years ago, things had been very different. Graduates gathered at assemblies to be given a Rating for implantation, the numbers they wore their entire lives thereafter changing at the government’s whim. Those who were deemed obedient lived rich and easy lives. The disobedient suffered. All these historical tidbits I’d memorized along with my statistics and literature facts.
Today’s version was far less intense on the slap-a-number-on-you front. Companies were required to take on a certain number of new graduates and fought over the most promising and hardworking candidates. Those who received no invitations filled openings in the less desirable fields. No number surgery required.
Now we had to actually get to know people—a b
lessing and a curse.
Another difference was the venue. Rather than being told in a cold auditorium where we’d spend our lives, graduates Declared their choices on platforms erected in public parks all over the country. Camera crews arrived hours early, while broadcasting stations gossiped about our potential. For a single day, seventeen-year-old graduates held the attention of a nation.
I watched fifteen minutes’ worth of IM-NET newscast gossip as we lined up on the platform. Alex’s face appeared dozens of times, inevitably followed by mine. I changed the station every time. I knew about the Firebrands’ petition to deny me Dad’s position based on my disappointing performance in school, but they hadn’t won. I almost wished they had. It would make my day a whole lot easier.
A capture of Kole the Firebrand’s face appeared on a lesser-known station. I turned up my internal volume. The female commentator speculated about his experience in some tech factory, calling him “one of the more promising candidates despite his upbringing.” I laughed aloud at that. They didn’t realize how dangerous his upbringing truly was.
The commentator’s partner, a woman with poufy, too-bright-red hair simply laughed and dismissed the opinion with a wave. “Kole Mason hails from the Shadows. He’ll be a disappointment like all the others.”
Ouch.
I looked past the screen overlay and scanned the platform, looking for Kole’s head of nearly black hair and wondering if he was even watching. I found him near the back, scowling at the ground. At least he wasn’t breaking character for the event.
A stir of anticipation went through the crowd. 09:00. Time to begin.
The school director motioned Alex and me forward, her pleasant demeanor betraying no hint of the irritation I’d caused her over the past three years. Alex would go first, of course. I situated myself next to my brother and pasted on my public smile for the cameras while resenting every single one. If only our Declarations could happen off-screen. My hand accidentally brushed his arm.