First (21 page)

Socrates steps back as thunderous applause erupts, and I follow him off the stage and into groups of people who clap him on the shoulder, shake his hand, and murmur things I can’t hear. Only I seem to see the fatigue in his eyes and the weariness that causes his steps to slow. I tighten my grip on his arm, but maybe we’re both helping each other right now, holding each other upright. Somehow, I make it back to my seat without falling apart.

A servant walks by with a tray filled with glasses of red wine. He’s a mere boy, not much older than Max, pale with long dark locks of hair parted at the side of his head.

One of my neighbors, an older gentleman with a mustache that would hold a coat up on each end cocks a finger at the servant. As the boy turns sharply, he trips over my neighbor’s shoe, and the tray goes flying. One of the glasses lands in my lap, coating my beautiful dress with dark red stains that look just like blood. I immediately dab at the mess with my napkin.

The man next to me starts yelling at the poor boy. “Idiotic, stupid, lazy, clumsy fool! You’re the worst servant I’ve ever had. I’ll have your head for this. You should be put on the farms, made to work like the rest of the scum. I’m going to talk to your supervisor.”

The boy cowers, head bowed. He shakes and hunches his shoulders, trying to be invisible. The man raises his fist, as if about to hit him.

I jump between them just as the man’s hand starts to go down. “No, don’t! It was an accident. Leave him alone.” I turn my face, but the blow doesn’t come. Instead, the man grabs my arm and tries to move me aside. I put my hand on his arm and stand my ground.

“What the hell are you doing, girl?” He looks at my hand as if it’s diseased.

I suddenly realize everyone around us is silent. I feel myself flush as red as the wine on my dress.
Great
.
Just great. Good job, Mira.

The boy quickly looks at me, the fleeting, darting look rabbits get when a hawk notices them.

I try to smile at him. He slides further behind me to escape the man’s wrath. “It’s okay, it was an accident.”

The old man, his face an enraged deep red, snarls, “Get your hand off me.” I pull my hand back, as if his arm were white hot. “Just because you are Absolved doesn’t mean we’re equals. You’re still a rebel whore all prettied up in a frilly dress.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boy reach down, scoop up the tray and spilled wine glasses, and scurry away. I wish I could do the same, but I glance back at the old man, meeting his eyes.

“You think you’re one of us now, don’t you?” He raises his hand, looks around at all the faces staring at us, and seems to remember that we’re in the banquet hall for a feast—sort of in my honor, even. He lowers his hand, scowling. “Stupid girl.”

“It was just an accident. Everyone makes mistakes, even you, I’m sure.” I grow bolder as I realize he’s not going to hit me. His face turns an even deeper shade of red.
Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

“What the hell gives you the right to talk back to me? I’ll have you know, I’m Edridge Marshall, former President of the United States.”

This is just great. So much for keeping out of trouble. With my luck I’ll end up in another prison like Fullbright. Do they even have jails here in Washington? “It’s only wine. I can go change.” I glance down at my dress. It’s ruined. “I’m sure the boy was just nervous, just like I am.”

“You should be. You don’t belong here any more than they do.” He gestures at a couple of servants at the next table.

“Then, let me go home!” I hiss, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

“If it were up to me, you’d have never left the prison,” he snarls.

One of them peeks at us, catches Marshall’s glare, and quickly looks away. The way they look down is what does it for me. At this moment, I’m really seeing everything, my society, my country, for the first time. Like they really believe they are better. That they deserve to be here more than we do, and we should be thankful for even the barest crust of bread from their plates to eat.
I’m done
.

I stand up straighter in my ruined dress and stare into Edridge Marshall’s eyes. We’re the same height, and the deep grooves around his eyes and mouth deepen when he realizes it. “You know what? You’re wrong, and I’m sick of being treated like trash. It doesn’t matter if a person is born on a farm or in a city, has ancestors from Texas or relatives who’ve lived in Massachusetts since the Mayflower. We’re all the same. We’re human beings, and when Socrates gets that bill passed—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t care who you are or who you’re going to become, you are nothing but filth.” His face gets even redder. “You Texans are nothing more than animals, the lot of you, and I was never in favor of letting you all live. You should all have been killed after the war like any beast who outlives its usefulness. If I had my way…” He takes a step closer, and I have to step back, not because of his height, but because of his girth. “… you’d never have been born.”

“But I was.” Anger simmers below the surface. I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, on me, waiting for my reaction. In the back of my mind, I hear Mr. Flannigan’s warning not to embarrass Socrates. Then I see his corpse, lifeless, falling to the ground.
This one’s for you, Mr. Flannigan.

Former President Marshall doesn’t seem to notice everyone staring. “If you know what’s good for you…” He shakes a fist in front of me.

My hands shake. I want to shout, yell at him, curse him out, but if I do that, I’ll have proven his point, that I’m merely an animal, just like him. I close my eyes for a few seconds and try to calm my breathing. “I wouldn’t be standing here, would I? I’d have run off with Tanner and Henri Lee. You’d have another Second to yell at, another person who’s weaker than you to abuse when really, you’re only embarrassing yourself. You call me an animal. Try looking in the mirror.”

He huffs and puffs out his cheeks, hands shaking in anger.

“I don’t care who you are. You have no right to speak to me or anyone else like that. I don’t care if we’re Texans or… or former Presidents.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t give him a chance. “You know what? I think I’ve lost my appetite.” With that, I drop my sopping pink napkin on the chair and head for the door. My whole body shakes, and I know that if I stop, I’m going to fall apart. So I just keep going.

Out in the hall, I wander blindly for several minutes, not sure where I want to go. I lean against the wall until my breathing evens, and I can see straight again. Eventually, I end up walking past the cafeteria. The elevator is on the other side, if I remember correctly. Great, now I’ll have to walk through there in my ruined dress for everyone to see. I close my eyes.
I can do this. I can do this.

A hand gently cups my arm, and I jump about three feet in the air. “Mira,” Will murmurs, a sympathetic look on his face.
He knows. How does he know?
Was my tantrum broadcast or something? He pulls me into his arms and holds me until my body stops shaking, and I don’t feel like bursting into tears. When he pulls away, he smiles, and it’s one of the most welcome sights I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You love making a mess of things, don’t you?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

He chuckles. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.”

A Regular Superman

Socrates

“Y
ou need to keep that
girl in line,” Marshall snarls after Mira slams the door to the banquet hall with a resounding “thunk.” I decide not to get into an argument with him. He’s not the most pleasant bloke, even when he’s in a good mood. Were I to speak, I’d tell him I agree with her and that he’s shown himself, time and again, to be a pompous ass. As liberating as that would feel, I truly doubt it would help the situation. Without me to help fuel his rage, he gives up and stomps away.
Good riddance.

“I don’t know.” Aquinas peers over a steaming mug at me. His hooked, liver-spotted nose nearly curls over the edge. “I think she’s something else.”

“Of course.” I incline my head to him. “That’s why I chose her.”

“Where’d you find her again?” Nietzsche asks. He studies me carefully, fingertips stroking the tip of his pointy black beard.

“Chesaning.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to keep that place in mind. I’ve always appreciated a strong Second.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You aren’t even close to your next one, my friend. You have plenty of time.”

He lets out a rueful chuckle. “There is that one in a million chance you’ll get that Free America Act passed. Right now it looks like a long shot, at best, but if it starts getting close, I’ll have to just go ahead and find one early so I don’t miss out.”

“Just like Julius?” He shrugs. I’ve never liked Nietzsche. The personality shines through, no matter what pretty face he wears, and he does like the pretty ones.

“Stupid thing, that act. Why do you want it, anyway? I thought you liked living as much as the rest of us.”

“I do. This bill, it’s the right thing to do.” I set my hands on my lap. They’re shaking too much right now to keep them on the table or take a drink.

“Who are you trying to convince, anyway? You enjoy living as much as any of us. In fact, you’ve killed more than the rest, so who are you to judge where we find our future selves?”

“It should be a choice, the way it was before.”

“But the rebels, it was part of their punishment.” He eyes me, quizzically, like he is actually curious.

“That war has been over for more than two hundred years. The Texans should have been freed long ago and never subjected to having their children taken and killed so we can continue our immortality. We survived well enough on volunteers before.”

“Traitor.” He chuckles, trying to cover his anger with humor, but I can hear the venom underneath. “There are so many more of us now. We’d never make it. And to hell with anyone new joining in, that hasn’t been done in quite a while.”

“About forty years,” I muse. “That was Ecclesiastes. After what happened with her, becoming a First suddenly lost its favor.” Closing my eyes, I can still see the headlines: “First Goes Berserk: Initiates Genocide.” I eye my plate, suddenly losing my appetite.

“Can you blame them? She went insane and incinerated an entire country. Then, because she was a First, she was immune to the charges. It was a bloody disaster, literally.” He cackles at his own joke. I frown. “Only thing they could do is let her live out the rest of her life and die in prison. Hardly a fair punishment for what she did.”

“I need more time to do what needs to be done.” I look down at my painfully old, wasted body.

“Don’t we all?” He smiles. “It’ll never pass, you know. No one supports it except you.”

“It’ll pass. It has to.” Passion echoes in my voice, and I feel a renewed sense of purpose.

“And you think anyone is going to listen to you talk about getting rid of the Seconds after you’ve just taken one? This program is an institution, something even average Americans are proud of since it was discovered here.”

“I’m not getting rid of them, just changing the way we get them. Letting the potential Seconds make the choice, not the other way around.”

“I don’t know, I still think you’re crazy.” He shakes his head, his tight white curls bobbing. “I heard you gave your girl a choice, too. Who does that anymore? You know it’s not really a question. You can’t give them that sort of power. What would you have done if she’d said no?”

“I don’t know.” I’m trying to be cordial because, no matter how I dislike the man, Nietzsche and I are brothers of a sort, after all. “Find another one, I suppose. The doctors have given me time enough for that.”

“What if you couldn’t? Find another Second, I mean.”

I shrug again, as if it doesn’t matter, though I feel cold inside. “Then I guess I’d die.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“Of course it does. Look, Nietzsche, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m very tired, and Ellie will have my head if I don’t rest.” I slowly get to my feet. The pain is much worse than it was yesterday. I thought they gave me six months? This doesn’t feel like that. It feels like the end.

Ellie, sitting across the table, immediately gets up and comes over to help me. “Ready to go?” I nod. “Good, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Showering me with compliments, eh?” I allow her to lead me into the hallway, and we take the elevator to my room. When we get there, Ben greets me at the door, and I scratch him on the head before making my way over to the bureau. I pull out some plain soft real cotton pajamas and limp over to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ellie sit on the bed.

“Still in pain?”

“Always.”

“Aren’t you taking any pain medication? I know you don’t like the patches or the implants, but maybe they would help.”

“No. I take pills or nothing, and those aren’t working anymore.”

“Maybe you should see your doctor.”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “There’s nothing they can do for me. Besides, if they knew the state I was in, they’d have me move up the Release. Mira’s not ready yet.”

“Why not? You said Will showed her her cousin’s Release. She knows what’s coming. How much more ready could she be?”

“I know.” I pause, shucking my black and white tuxedo. “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental.”

“You could always let her go.”

“To what? She’d be hated, persecuted, kicked off of her farm, rejected by her family. That’s no life for her.” I walk out of the bathroom and drop my clothes in a pile next to the bureau. Ellie shakes her head. One hand on Ben’s harness, I take the few torturous steps to the bed and sit down, placing my hands on my lap. When I lift my right hand to grab a bottle of painkillers on the night stand, it shakes. Sharp pain rips through my chest, and I gasp.

When I accidentally knock it over, Ellie picks it up, opens the container and hands me a capsule.

“More,” I grunt.

She taps out a couple more into my hand. When I gesture for another, she shakes her head before handing me one more. “That’s it. You’ll overdose, Soc.”

“Then Mira would be off the hook.” She grimaces and drops another pill into the palm of my hand. I clink them together. Maybe the conversation during the banquet hit me harder than I’d thought.

“What about the Act?”

I incline my head. She has a point. “There is that. Guess I can’t check out before it passes.”

Eliot hands me a glass of water. “Still think you’re going to save the world?”

“I’m a regular superman.” I try to smile up at her as I down the pills dry, and lie back on the bed. “Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it’s just like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just so hard to keep going.” I pause to breathe. The pills take effect. “What about you? What made you choose to make this one your last?”

“I guess I’m just tired, too.”