Fingers trembling, I slide the drawer open. Inside are more trinkets of a man’s life that lasted way too long: keys, scissors, little scraps of paper yellowed with age, and a pair of silver disks connected to a round ring. I pull those out and turn them over in my hand. They’re blank, the surfaces almost soft, rubbed smooth by fingers that remembered what was imprinted on them long after the words were worn away. I run my fingers over the rest of the relics in the drawer, but for some reason, these stand out to me as the most important. Unable to put them back, I slip them into my pocket and close the drawer.
Suddenly antsy, I grab the book and leave the library. To my left, a row of spotlights shining on the wall lights a long hall. Drawn to them, I wander over and discover a line of pictures stretch down the hall, all of them of kids. A sick feeling fills my stomach.
Smiling youths, male and female, pose in each of the six portraits. Each of them smiles benignly at the camera. The sick feeling grows as I reach the last spotlight, which shines on a blank space on the wall.
“Is there something I can help you with?” a low voice murmurs from behind me.
“Will!” I gasp as I spin around, my voice coming out in a squeak. “What are you doing here?”
He examines the pictures then turns to me, carefully wiping the disgust from his face. “I’m trying to familiarize myself with your home so I can be there to assist you in whatever you need.”
Will jerks his head toward to the book clutched tightly in my hands. “Checking out some new reading material?”
I shove the book self-consciously behind my back. “I guess. I figured since I’m home, I might as well get comfortable.”
“By reading a book?” Will snorts in disgust. “Most of the world’s population has never even seen a real book outside of a museum or school, let alone held one.”
I caress the soft canvas cover and try to think Socrates-ish thoughts. “Well, that’s a pity. I’ve always enjoyed reading.”
Will frowns and I can see the fury fill his gaze again. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Umm, sure. Go ahead.”
He takes a deep breath. “So what you’re saying is, Mira gave her life so you can read books?”
My fingers curl around the edges of said reading material so tightly my knuckles turn white. “No, so I can do whatever it takes to pass the Free America Bill.”
“How noble of you.”
The ghost of Socrates reaches inside me to give me strength. “You’re lucky I am so lenient, Will. Most Firsts would be offended by your words.”
Will rolls his eyes at my statement. “If you were that kind of First, you’d never have brought me in the first place. In fact, I’d probably be dead already.” He gives me a measured look. “Only I’d never be on one of those.” He points at the portraits. “Which is all the better, really. I wouldn’t want someone else wearing my skin after I’m dead.”
I tear myself away from his brutal scrutiny. “You’d rather be forgotten?” My voice comes out as a whisper.
“It’d be better than what you did to Mira.” He spins around as stalks down the hall, his rage evident in every step, taking him farther and farther away from me.
Up to the Task
Will
Darkness falls earlier here than it does at the Smith. It washes over the landscape in vibrant reds and oranges, finally settling in deep blues and purples. I don’t remember much of my life at the farm, and I certainly wasn’t old enough when I left to appreciate this.
Alone in the courtyard after dinner, I finger the alternative com unit James Scoffield slipped me in the garden. With a glance at my surroundings, I unclip my first one and stuff it in my pocket. I didn’t want to risk switching it at the Smith, there are too many eyes.
I cross the courtyard to the round stone fountain gurgling in the center. Farther away from the house, the sounds of insects overwhelm my senses. In the approaching darkness, the stars are so bright, they add an almost daylight luminescence to my surroundings. Next to me, I see a second shadow. It’s shorter than mine is, slighter, with short, spiky hair and a cocky smile. Whatcha looking at, handsome? Mira’s ghost asks. I gulp back a lump in my throat. What? Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?
I blink and she’s gone. Come on, Will, snap out of it. Mira’s dead.
A light flashes on the com unit wrapped around my wrist. I press a button inlaid into the side. “Will speaking.”
“Who?” The voice is low and gravelly.
“This is…” What should I say? I don’t have a code name. Do I need one? “It’s me, Will. Who’s this? Why are you contacting me?”
“How’s the weather in Santa Fe?”
“It’s fine.” I frown at the com unit. “Who is this?”
“No one.”
Something in the voice sounds familiar, or maybe it’s just the way he talks. “Is this James Scoffield?”
“There is no one by that name at this frequency. Is everything all right with Socrates?”
Confusion sweeps through me. “Of course. I already said…”
“Good. That is all.”
“Wait! You can’t just leave me like this,” I rush to say so the voice on the other end doesn’t disconnect.
“Is there a problem?”
“No. It’s just that I don’t know what to do. What’s my mission? I was told when I offered to help you people that I’d be a vital addition to the group.”
“Keep Socrates alive. Right now, that’s the most important job we have for you. There are people who want him dead because of what he did, and there are people who want him dead because of what he’s about to do. Your goal is to keep him alive through his presentation of the Free America Bill.”
“Why would someone want to kill him before his speech?”
The person on the end lets out an audible breath. “Some people don’t want change and they’re willing to kill the oldest First alive to maintain it.”
I shake my head and then realize he can’t see it. “That’s insane. We need this bill to pass.”
The man on the other end chuckles. “That’s what we’ve believed all along, and if you’re successful we have a shot at both ending this macabre practice and changing the world as we know it.”
I search at the high stone walls surrounding the compound for any signs of weakness. “At least we’re in the middle of nowhere. I doubt anyone will try anything here.”
“You’re probably right, but it’s better to be on your guard. Eliot has some security in place, but nothing beats the latest electronics and a cadre of vetted security guards.”
“None of which we have.” Even to me, my voice sounds flat.
“But we have you, and we wouldn’t have assigned you to Socrates in the first place if we didn’t think you were up to the task.”
“I’ll do my best.” I pace in front of the little cement fountain, the beautiful surroundings forgotten.
“That’s all we’ll ever ask. Thank you. Please let me know immediately if you have any problems.”
A Learning Experience
Mira
The man who walks toward me in the library could have been Will’s father. He’s tall with dark, tanned skin, deep chocolate eyes that twinkle with merriment and long hair gathered in a tie at the nape of his neck. Fine lines bracketing his mouth give him a sense of maturity and knowledge. He wears a finely pressed dark blue suit and shiny black shoes.
“Socrates, my friend, it’s so good to see you again!” His voice is rich and measured, cultured. He reaches out and shakes my hand.
The young man operating the camera opens up a small case on the side table next to us. A little black box rises from its recesses, controlled by a small handheld remote. After a few more adjustments, the camera operator gives the reporter a thumbs-up. He turns to the camera and introduces himself as Erik Castle, one of the lead news anchors for Mornings in the Smith News.
I give him my own small smile and then turn to
the camera floating in front of us. “Yes, it is wonderful to see an old friend.”
“So…” Erik leans toward me, a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes. “How are you adjusting to your new body?” He takes my hands in his and cups them. His palms are soft, as if he hasn’t worked a day in his life. So different from Will’s hands.
With Eliot’s warning that this won’t be edited like my last interview, I squeeze his palms and stare straight into the camera. “It is definitely taking some getting used to.”
Erik chuckles. “Well, going from an old man to an attractive teenager would be an adjustment for me, too.” He waggles his eyebrows, and suddenly I hate him. Socrates was never that disgusting or perverted. I jerk my hands away tuck them in my lap.
Like an annoying fly, the camera buzzes closer and I barely resist the urge to swat it away. “I didn’t choose Mira because of her looks, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“That may be true for you—” he concedes with a slight tilt to his head—“but most Firsts aren’t so non-biased.”
I casually lift my shoulders and drop them. “Then that’s their loss. For me, it’s the spark, the fire inside that matters, not the person’s gender. Whether or not the Second is male or female is almost of secondary concern.”
“How fascinating.” He woos the audience with a winning smile. “It’s always so interesting to see how those on the other side live their lives.”
I shift in my chair, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.
“So Socrates—” he steeples his hands in his lap—“I heard this was one of your more difficult recoveries.”
Sweat pools in the palms of my hands. I clasp them together to keep from wiping them on my slacks. “As you can see, I’m fine.”
He leans closer to me, as if to confide a secret. “There was concern you might not make it, or worse, you could end up like Carroll, having two minds in one body.”
His words make me cringe. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to end up like that.”
After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, Erik leans back in his chair. “So, the question of the hour is, what are you planning to do next?”
I shrug and decide to keep the mood light. “Well, I’ve heard lunch is on the menu.”
He chuckles as if I’ve made some great joke. “No, about the Free America Bill. That’s what everyone’s talking about.”
Yeah, about that. Come on, Mira, think. Erik taps the arm of his chair as the silence stretches between us. Heat floods my face when I realize he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Is everything all right, Socrates?”
“I’m sorry, Erik. I suppose you’re correct in saying that this transition has taken more out of me than I expected.”
He nods, though by the glint in his steely gaze, I think he’s anything but satisfied with my answer. “That is completely understandable, sir.” He waits for me to collect myself. “We all know your position on this Bill, since you are one of its main supporters, but what are your real thoughts? Do you really believe the Texans should be freed?”
A quick movement by the bookshelves catches my attention. Must be Ben. Even though I still don’t think he likes me, the dog does tend to follow me around a lot. I return my focus to the interview. What would Socrates do? Would he cite his experience throughout his many lifetimes? Would he talk about how Eliot helped him come to his decision and that she’s his inspiration?
I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully. “The country that you see here was born of its many wars. Yes, there was blood shed on both sides and thousands of lives lost, but if you break it down the goal was always to earn or maintain freedom.”
Glee transforms Erik’s face. “I’m so glad you mentioned the wars our country has fought. Some of your major detractors are citing your role in the Immigration War as a factor in your decision to support this Bill. What do you have to say to that?”
Sweat beads on my forehead and on the back of my neck. I start to open my mouth and then close it. If I say the wrong thing, everything’s blown. “I…I’d say they’re right. I’d be a liar if I claimed my past actions didn’t influence my choices today, but that goes for everyone.”
“Even those who lost?” Sympathy colors Erik’s voice. “Is this Bill retaliation for what you consider to be unjust and unfair restrictions placed on Texans since the end of the war?”
“Every mistake, no matter how large, is still a learning experience.” There. Is that vague enough, Erik?
“You call the deaths and subsequent imprisonment of thousands of people a learning experience?” The reporter’s face transforms into a sneer. “This learning experience is what got the Texans roped into the Surrogacy Program to begin with.”
He’s right. I wipe my hands on my pants. “Of course not, I—”
The reporter places one of his hands on his chest. “So I’m wrong? Everyone knows the Surrogacy Program started using the Texans’ children after the Immigration War. That’s common knowledge.”
I lean forward. I have to regroup and find a way out of this trap somehow. “I never told the government to use Texans as Seconds. I was just fine using volunteers, like we always had before. The government decided to force those kids into this mess, not us.”
“That’s a bit hypocritical of you, isn’t it? How many of those kids have you killed?”
I offer a thin smile to hide the rising tide of anger inside me. “Seven, but all of them were volunteers. They chose to be Seconds.”
Erik folds his hands in his lap and studies me. A lock of dark hair breaks free, and he brushes it behind his ear. “You mean to tell me, to tell all of America, that every single one of those kids agreed to die so you could live longer?”
I stiffen my spine in an attempt to appear taller and more secure. “Yes. I chose them, but they chose me as well. I didn’t force them into being my Seconds any more than I forced George Eliot to marry me.”
“Hmm.” Erik pauses for a few seconds, quite possibly thinking about how to ensnare me again. “That’s an… interesting way of thinking.”
This is tricky ground here, girl, I hear Socrates’s growl in my head. Be careful.
“A lot of things happened during the war that never made it into the history books. Both sides had their faults just as both sides honestly believed they were doing the right thing.”
“And did you?”
I take a deep breath to slow my racing heartbeat. “Did I what?”
“Do the right thing?
“Are we still talking about the Immigration War?”
He chuckles; I’ve caught on to his game. “Yes, sure. The war.”
“Of course. Even though it happened a long time ago, I stand by my decision. Why bring it up now?”
“Well, with the Free America Bill at the forefront of the public’s eye, it’s only logical that people reflect on how the problem started.”
“True. However, in this case I would rather focus on the present as opposed to dwelling on the past.”
“But isn’t that what Firsts are here for? To remind us of the past?”
I shake my head and stare straight at the camera floating in front of me. “No. Our purpose is to help mold the future while remembering the past so we don’t repeat our mistakes. We may represent a time long forgotten by most, but that’s not our only purpose.”
“And what would your purpose be?”
What would he do if I told him I don’t know? Maybe Firsts really are just dinosaurs that refuse to go extinct, like Socrates’s old Jeep, too expensive to keep around and eventually destined for destruction.
I close my eyes, letting images of Socrates swamp me before taking a deep breath and continuing with the interview. “Right now? I want to right a wrong done a long time ago.”
Red-blooded American
Will
Like an errant child, I peek around the edge of a bookcase deep in the library’s shadowy recesses. Socrates fumbles blindly for answers to the reporter’s
questions. Is he purposely acting stupid? He should know these things; he’s lived it, after all.
When Socrates glances around for support, I melt farther back into the shadows so he doesn’t see me. In the five hundred years he’s been alive, he’s given hundreds of interviews, yet he’s acting as if he’s never done this before.
“Was it hard for you to kill Mira?” the reporter asks. Something twists in my stomach, and I realize that I, too, want the bastard admit how tough it was for him to end Mira’s life. My shoulder bumps a couple of oversized books and I grab them before they tumble to the ground.
“Yes. It’s always very difficult. It seems like it takes longer every time to adjust. My doctors wanted me to move the procedure up, but I was too stubborn. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I clench my fists around the two books I’d rescued, bending the thin, fragile covers. What about Mira? Did he have no compassion for her whatsoever?
One of the book’s spines cracks in my hands. With my breath lodged in my throat, I wait to be discovered, but Socrates doesn’t seem to have heard me. Forcing my muscles to relax, I smooth down the edges before easing both of the antique texts back onto the shelf. I have to get out of here before I do something that’ll really give myself away.
When I get to the library’s rear door, I grab the antique knob in my hand and slowly turn it, holding my breath. I may just get out of this library before they find me.
“What would you do if the Free America Bill failed?”
With one foot hovering over the threshold, I wait for his answer so intently that I hear the blood rushing through my veins and my heart pounding in my chest.
“I’d do what any red-blooded American would do,” he says. “I’d keep fighting, of course.”
Terrified
Mira
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