Imposter (3 page)

We’re Finished Here

Mira

“For years, no one could determine why Socrates was the first to survive the procedure. Initially, it was believed that the blood tie between him and his son, Adam, was the key. It wasn’t until another First, Kennedy, survived by exchanging bodies with a nineteen year old convicted murderer that a pattern was revealed.”

A nervous knock on the door interrupts Eliot’s history lesson.  A few seconds later, a short, stocky boy shuffles in, drops the tray on the table, and backs out quickly, clicking the door shut behind him.

I laugh. “I know how you feel, kid.”

“Come on, Soc,” Eliot commands. “This is important. Pay attention.”

Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to meet hers.

“Socrates lived for five hundred years. He was male and female, young and old, brave and a coward. He knew loss, and he knew love. He kept going when those who meant the most to him died. He may have thought he was nothing, but he was the world to many people, including me.
You will not fail
. Do you understand?”

I gulp down the acidic taste of bile. “I understand.”

She places her hands on my shoulders and leans closer to me. “You need to
be
Socrates. Act like him, talk like him, think like him.”

“But I can’t. I’m not him.”

“You are now.”

I take a deep breath. “What about Will? He might be able to help. He’s worked with a lot of Firsts before.”

Ellie shakes her head. “You can’t tell him.”

“I can’t?”

“No, you most certainly cannot.” She lets me go and steps back, putting some space between us. She turns her attention to the window and pulls aside the heavy drapes to gaze outside. “There are things about Will you don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Suffice it to say we can’t trust him.”

I rub one of the aching wounds on my head. “If he’s that dangerous, then I should know why.”

She fiddles with the EG and then sighs. Her shoulders slump as if she’s deflating. “Before the Exchange, I did some research. He’s a Lifer.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that one out. He did try to help me escape before the procedure.”

The expression on her face makes me believe she’s known all along. “Then you know he was assigned to you, right?”

“Of course. It’s his job to take care of Seconds.”

“Ah.” She scratches her chin as she considers her next words. “No. The Lifers are the ones who arranged for him to get the assignment. There are two others in his line of work, but they’re both older and one’s female. They wanted to make sure he was the one working with you.”

My blood turns to ice. Was that all a setup? “You’re wrong.”

“You were his job. He was supposed to get close to you, make you care for him.”

The blood drains from my face, and my hands tremble. “No, that’s impossible. I’m sure he has a logical explanation for everything.”

Eliot takes my hand. “I’m so sorry. If I wasn’t positive, I would never have said anything. There’s enough evidence to get him executed.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” I murmur. “He loves me, and I love him.” Sudden tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I dash them away before they fall. “He loves me.”

Eliot picks at a fuzz on the sleeve of her shirt as I take several deep breaths to regain my composure.

“If what you said is true, why did you ask him to come with us back to Santa Fe?”

“It’s what you wanted, remember?”

“What? Oh…” Then it dawns on me. I did ask him to help Socrates after the Exchange. “But that was before”—I gesture at myself—“all this.” Before I knew I’d live and Socrates would die.

The stern glare in Eliot’s eyes stops me in my tracks. “We have to keep up appearances. Everyone knows Socrates favored you, and he was a sentimental old fool, so…”

“I can’t.” I train my eyes on the ornate pattern etched onto a small tapestry on the wall. In rich greens, browns, and reds, a ring of children dance deep in the forest. Just out of their sight in the shadows of the trees, wolves, bears, and other wilderness monsters stalk them. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed this before. I take a deep breath and return my focus to Ellie. “If you’re right and he is a Lifer, then what if they tell him to kill me or something?” The words twist like a knife, rending my soul in two.

“I doubt they would do that, especially with your speech coming up. Maybe afterwards, but not right now.” She takes a ragged breath. “I don’t know what happened, but if Socrates meant for you to live, he did it for a reason. So from now on, you are Socrates. Call me Ellie, and try to act like he did.”

A throbbing headache settles between my ears. “Got it.”

Eliot squeezes my hands. I can feel the little silver EG, warm and smooth, between us. “We have to focus on what’s ahead, not behind. Both of us do.” Her eyes glaze over with tears.

“How can we do that?”

Eliot shrugs. “We just do. We don’t really have a choice.”

My freshly shaved scalp itches, so I rub it, which makes the wounds on my head hurt even more. I touch the healing patches stuck to my skull. “I’m not really that better off now than I was before the Exchange, am I?”

“No, I suppose not.” She rolls the EG around in the palm of her hand. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid we have to end this. If we keep this thing on much longer, whoever’s watching us might get curious.”

I gulp. “Okay.”

Eliot pushes the button on the device and then pockets it. Her brow furrows in concern, and she places her hand on my knee. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Do you need any more pain medication?”

I shake my head and wince as the throbbing in my head grows worse. “No.” I give her a slight smile. “I’m fine, honest. It’s just hard sometimes.”

Eliot gets herself a glass of water from the wall unit. “I understand. It’s always difficult waking up in a new body. I’m sure it’ll all come back to you in time.”

I force what I hope passes for a smile to my face. “You’re right.” Will’s face flashes in my mind, and the pain engulfs me. “Maybe it would be better if Will stays here.”

She frowns. “I’m not so sure that would be a good idea.”

I tilt my head. “Why? Do you really think I need him there with me?” I gesture at my body. “I can take care of myself. I’m not weak anymore.”

“No.” She stares at me, as if seeing my thoughts. “You’re right. However, over the years I’ve learned that sometimes it’s preferable to keep those you don’t trust around you. These are dangerous times, my love. One can never be too careful.”

I shiver, her words echoing through my mind.
Is she still talking about Will? Or is it me she’s talking about now?

The AVIS screen above me slides down, and a trim, blond woman in medical green smiles at us. “Socrates, George Eliot, it’s a pleasure to see you both. How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you.” Eliot grins.

The doctor looks up at me when I don’t respond. “I am Dr. Harding. Now that your vital signs are stable and you’re obviously awake, we would like to come in and formally assess you so you can leave tomorrow.”

My blood turns cold.
Did I read those books well enough? Did I pay attention? How can I possibly pass their test when I’m not Socrates?

Eliot reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“Of course. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Perfect. We’ll be down shortly.”

After the screen flashes off, I turn to Eliot. I open my mouth to speak, but she shakes her head, probably afraid I’ll say something stupid and give myself away. “Don’t worry; it’ll be as easy as pie.”

Right. I chew on my lip and try to slow my breathing.

“All they’re going to do is ask you some questions about your past lives and memories. It’s not a big deal, I promise. They know you still might be a bit groggy, so don’t worry if you can’t get all the questions right. Just do your best. They’re trying to avoid another Carroll incident.”

“Carroll incident?”

“Of course. Don’t you remember?”

By her tone, I get the feeling I should. “No.”

Dr. Harding knocks politely and then enters the room with an orderly flanking each side. “I’m sorry to impose on your time.” She has a brisk, no-nonsense nature about her that doesn’t exactly make me feel more comfortable. “But I know you’d like to leave promptly tomorrow, so if we can get started now, my staff will have time to file our reports before your release.”

I shiver. Eliot notices and puts her hand on my knee.
If I don’t pass, then what?

“If you’ll excuse us, George Eliot.” Dr. Harding inclines her head toward the door.

“Of course.” Ellie stands up, gives me one last reassuring smile, and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

I fold my hands in my lap. The doctor takes Eliot’s seat and pulls a thin electronic pad out of her pocket, just like the one my former teacher, Edward Flannigan, had. I close my eyes, see my old teacher as he stands up for his beliefs and dies for them. If he can do this, so can I.

She taps it, and words appear to glow on the screen. The two orderlies stand at attention on either side of the door, their faces unreadable.

“Are you ready, sir?”

“Yes.”
You can do this. Socrates chose you for a reason, no matter what the end result was.

“Okay, first question. What was your son’s name in your first life?”

I wrack my brain; I should know this. In my head, I can hear Socrates telling me about his son, but I just can’t remember the boy’s name. After a few seconds, it floats to the front of my consciousness. “Adam.” I snap my fingers. “That’s it.”

She taps on her screen. “Thank you. Now, what is the name of the military engagement you helped found that ended in disaster for over half the country?”

Military engagement? Is that a fancy way of saying war?
Panic fills me. Socrates never told me any of this.
What am I supposed to say? What war?

With my silence, Dr. Harding focuses her gaze on me. “Is there a problem?”

I gulp. “No, of course not. That would be the Immigration War.”

She taps something on the screen. “Do you remember the boy’s name that your Second was destined to marry?”

How would Socrates know this? Is she trying to throw me off to see if I’m Mira and not Socrates?
It must be a trick. “No, of course not.” I try to sound dismissive. “Why would it matter? The girl was my Second, not my child. As soon as I chose her, that part of her life ended.”

“Thank you, sir. What is your dog’s name?”

Oh, that one is easy. “Ben.”

“When did you meet George Eliot?”

A fine sheen of sweat dampens my palms. Another one I don’t know. I attempt a smile. “I honestly don’t remember. It seems like we’ve been together forever.”

She purses her lips and taps on her screen again. “What is your Second’s little brother’s name?”

I stiffen my spine and fold my hands in my lap.
Why does she keep asking questions about Mira’s life? Is she trying to slip me up and get me to make a mistake?
Maybe that’s her real job. “She had a brother? I don’t remember. And again, does it matter?”

Dr. Harding doesn’t respond to my question. “What is the importance of the speech you will be presenting to the House in about two weeks?”

“Freeing the Texans.”

Dr. Harding sets her tablet on the table and looks at me. “And how do you feel about this?” Her gaze digs deeply into mine. Unease tugs at the base of my spine. Somehow, I don’t believe this question is one from her list.

What would Socrates say?
“I think it’s high time for change. These people have lived as slaves for far too long.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So you think the government should just summarily free the Texans?” She still doesn’t touch her tablet.

“I don’t see how this line of questioning pertains to my recovery, do you?”

A vivid red flush creeps up her cheeks. “Of course not, sir. My apologies.” She slips the tablet into her pocket and stands up before offering me her hand to shake. “I think we’re finished here. Do you have any questions?”

I shake my head. “No. Thank you for coming so quickly. I can’t wait to get home.”

“Right, then.” She turns on her heel. “Malcom, Felix, let’s not waste any more of Socrates’s time, shall we?” With mumbled assurances from both of the men, all three leave.

Slipping

Will

The pain is a constant reminder, a cruel friend who taunts me not with words but by merely existing. I can go nowhere without seeing her. She’s in the cafeteria where I took her for one disastrous lunch. She’s in the garden by the stream. She’s even standing in front of the elevators with me, a nervous hitch to her step as she gets on for the first time. I stare at the half-filled bag of clothes on the bed. I can’t do this right now. I have to get out of here. With one last scan around the apartment, I quickly leave, not sure where I’m going but certain I can’t stay here one more minute.

Somehow, I find myself standing before the pressurized entrance to the Enid A. Haupt Garden. The reminder that it was Mira’s favorite place eats at me.
Should I go in? Would it appear strange that a servant would come here on his own?
If they arrest me, then at least I won’t have to go with Socrates to Santa Fe.

Decision made, I key myself in and enter the dome. As the slowly gurgling brook comes into view, I freeze.

Mira kneels by the stream, dipping her fingers in the water.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Mira says.

Is she talking about the Exchange, or us? My heart twists. I walk up behind her and put my arms around her waist.

“Then don’t,” I whisper. Hope rises strong and sure in my chest. Maybe I can talk her out of it. Maybe I can change her mind, and she doesn’t have to die after all.

She takes a deep breath. “I have to. If I don’t, everything will be for nothing.”

I crouch down next to the slowly moving water and scoop up a handful of smooth brown and gray pebbles. My throat closes up tighter than the airlocks around the garden. This was a stupid idea. I chuck all the rocks in the water. The resounding splash quiets the birds chirping in the trees and the thoughts in my head, if only for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” murmurs someone behind me. “You must miss her terribly.”

At first, I don’t recognize the young man standing before me, but then it clicks. He’s one of the doctors from Mira’s Exchange.

I grind my hands into fists so tight the knuckles turn white. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I force my body to relax, as if the man’s presence doesn’t infuriate me. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The blond stranger studies the trees off to the side. “I’m a friend.”

My angry laugh makes him wince. “You’re one of the doctors who killed Mira.” I spit at him, hitting the ground near his feet. “You’re no friend of mine.” 

He dips his head at my barb. “Appearances aren’t everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The doctor offers me a reassuring smile as I regain control of my emotions. “I know this is difficult for you, Will, and I’m sorry for your pain.”

The blood rushes to my face, and black spots appear in my vision. He has no idea how I feel. How could he?

“Come.” The doctor gestures toward the fountain gurgling near the stream. 

Stiff-legged, I sit next to him on the edge of the fountain. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an EG, just far enough so I can see its silvery side before he pushes the button on the bottom and slips it back inside. Instantly, a sound-free bubble expands around us, making the air wavy as though we’re underwater.

“How’d you get one of those? I thought only Firsts and some of the president’s most trusted advisors were allowed to carry them.”

My new companion shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. You’re lucky I have it, though. You seem like you’re about to kill someone. We don’t have long, because eventually someone will notice they can’t hear our conversation and will start to wonder. That is a risk we cannot afford to take.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and holds it out to me. “My name is Dr. James Scoffield.”

He’s lying. I can tell. It’s in the way his eyes shift away from mine as he’s talking. When I take his hand, he palms me something slim and soft. I stop, mid-handshake, but he shakes his head almost imperceptibly in warning. I shove my hand and the object into my pocket. “Is that really your name?”

“Does it matter?”

I decide to play along. “I’m Will, but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” James studies my face.

“From who?”

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m Socrates’s doctor, remember? The man loves to talk.”

He’s lying again, even though I’m not sure about what. This time I don’t argue with him. Instead, I say, “You don’t look like a doctor to me.”

James’s mouth quirks up at the corners. “I’m many things to many people.”

“Right. Another non-answer. Why are you here?”

The doctor makes a show of admiring our surroundings. “This is a beautiful place to relax, is it not? Safer than the wilderness and much more private than the rest of the Smith.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

James’s attention strays from me to the distant wall of the garden. I follow it. Through the glass, the city’s tall spires encircle us. Even here, in this apparent oasis, we are surrounded.

He turns back to me, and some emotion flashes across his face so briefly I almost miss it. “Nothing important, I suppose.” He shakes himself free from his reflection. “What is important is that you’re careful. You’re slipping, and I’m not the only one who has noticed. You’re letting your anger and pain get the better of you, and that’s dangerous.”

Irritation bubbles up inside me. “I won’t screw up. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

“Of course not. Nobody ever said you were.” James holds up his hands, attempting to placate me.

“It’s a delicate line we walk, trying to both make a difference and keep those we love safe. Sometimes we have to take risks.”

Evie’s tempestuous smile and dark, daring eyes come to my mind. Am I risking her too much? If I were caught, would that put her in danger? Guilt crashes through me. I can’t do that to our child, regardless of what kind of relationship Evie and I have. The child is an innocent in all this.

“What if the risk is too great?”

James stares off into the distance. “I suppose it depends on what you determine is worth fighting for.”

“I want to live,” Mira says. “But this is the right thing to do. If Socrates can free us, how can I stand in his way?”

My hands itch to wipe her tears away and my lips to kiss her, to make her forget about this stupid Exchange. Forget about Socrates and just be with me.

“I have to do this,” she says.

I shake the ghost from my shoulder and take a deep breath. “I won’t screw up, I promise you that.”

James lets the silence fill the space between us until even the echo of my words drifts away. “Good. Remember what Mira wanted and try not to reveal your anger to Socrates or George Eliot. Yes, they are Firsts, but they are not the heinous monstrosities you believe them to be.”

A hollow laugh fills the air, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s mine. “I’m pretty sure we’re all monsters, every last one of us, and the key is figuring out who is worse.”

James’s mouth twitches at the corners. “When you figure that out, please let me know.”

A few minutes later, James stands up and brushes his pants off. “I’m afraid I have to cut our conversation short. The longer we talk, the greater a risk of drawing undue attention. We’ll talk soon.” He tips an imaginary hat to me and turns away.

After the doctor disappears, my com unit flashes. “Will,” a tinny electronic voice says. “You’re wanted back at Socrates’s quarters immediately.”

“Of course I am.” A bitter resignation drenches my words.

“Immediately.” The light on my com blinks off.

By walking as slowly as possible, I’m able to waste almost twenty minutes before lifting my hand to knock on Socrates’s door.

“Come in,” Eliot calls from inside.

As soon as I enter, I realize Ellie’s alone. Part of me is relieved, but another part, some traitorous spot deep within my soul, yearns to see Mira’s face again.

“Where were you?” Eliot demands.

My back stiffens. “Out. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in need of my assistance.”
Be careful, Will. Your mother always told you to watch your mouth. It could get you in serious trouble someday.

She jerks her head toward the bathroom. “That’s fine, I suppose, but in Santa Fe, I expect to be kept aware of your location at all times. You can’t just up and disappear there.”

I barely resist the sudden urge to salute her. “Understood. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. See that it doesn’t,” Eliot says. “The physicians have cleared Soc, so we’d like to leave as soon as possible. Would you mind overseeing the transport of our bags to the pods?”

“It would be my pleasure.” I force my voice to remain flat. “Do you need me to pack them for you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Socrates says as he emerges from the bathroom. Even with the added weight of so many lives and centuries, he still appears so achingly identical to the girl I loved.

“Yes, sir.” I turn on my heel and march from the room, eager to leave them, and my conversation with James Scoffield behind, even if it’s just for a short time.