Imposter (9 page)

Nothing at All

Will

I’m cleaning the dinner dishes off the dining room table when Eliot walks in, talking into a small, silver wristband much more advanced than my own com unit. A smile cracks one corner of my mouth. I bet mine does more than hers.

“Damn it! They can’t do that. Why on earth would they move it up?” Eliot frowns. “That’s ridiculous, Malcolm. Are they actively trying to keep Soc from introducing the Bill?”

I pick up our plates, but stay tuned into her conversation.

“I see. Well, that’s what it sounds like on our end. That’s exactly like something Veronica and Murphy would orchestrate. They have their band of followers, and we both know the president’s wife is willing to do anything she can to fail this Bill. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if to massage away a growing headache.

I stack the plates in one hand and grab two of the glasses with the other, trying to be as silent as possible.

“Yes, I know, but it’s not enough time, damn it. Soc has barely recovered from the procedure let alone prepared a speech.” Eliot’s frustrated sigh fills the silence. “That’s what I thought. I should have figured they’d try something when Soc was too weak to protest.” She paces up and down the far end of the dining room, her whole body nearly vibrating with anger. “No, no of course not.” Eliot curls her free hand into a fist. “We were supposed to have two weeks to plan this, not two days.”

From the other side of the room, the garbled voice grows louder. Noticing my interest, Eliot turns away and walks over to the large window overlooking the courtyard. “I see. Well, what’s the point in Socrates giving a speech to introduce the Bill if they’ve already made up their minds? Yes, yes, I know. I’ve already mentioned that possibility to him, but you know how he is. Right, well we’ve still got to try.” She nods even though the person on the other end can’t see her. “At least that’s something.” She takes a deep breath. “Listen, we’re not going to let them win this time. Socrates will be there in time for his speech. He will introduce the Bill and do his damnedest to see it pass. The American citizens care, even if the government doesn’t. We’ve got to start somewhere.” She stabs at the wrist com with one finger and shoves that hand in her pocket. Spying me, she stalks over and pokes one long finger in my direction. “Spying seems to be a bad habit of yours. What did you hear?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Nothing at all.”

She snorts. “I’m sure. Just keep this between us, all right? There’s no need to pass anything on to your little friends.”

I ignore her implied reference to my connection with the Lifers. “What about Socrates?”

“Especially not him. I’ll tell him that we’re going to the Smith early, but that’s it. He has to go into this thinking he has a chance, okay?” She throws up her hands in disgust. “Who knows, maybe he does. Maybe he can actually pull this off.”

I Can Do It Myself

Mira

Will spins around as I walk into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

I shrug, trying to hide my surprise. He’d never say that if he knew who I was. “I don’t know, just wandering, I guess. I thought a walk would clear my head.”

Will carefully places the last of the dishes on the counter. “Is there any way I can assist you?”

I lean back against the counter and try to keep a bland expression on my face. “I am perfectly self-sufficient, you know.” I paste a self-deprecating half-smile on my face. “Most of the time, at least.”

His face turns stony, nearly unrecognizable from the boy I knew when I first arrived at the Smith. “Would you like me to pack your clothes for you after dinner?” He turns back to the counter. At the push of a button, a slot opens up. He drops the dishes in one by one. Once they’ve all disappeared, the slot closes, and I can hear the sound of rushing water. Then Will’s words sink in.

“Why would you pack my clothes? We just got back.”

“Didn’t your
wife
tell you?”

I ignore his tone and focus on his words. “No. Ellie didn’t mention anything of the sort.”

“We’re going back to the Smith tomorrow. Turns out your friends bumped up the vote and tried to slip it past you before your Exchange. They’re going to formally introduce the Bill and vote on it the day after tomorrow.”

My hands start shaking and I tense up.
This soon?
I’m nowhere near ready. “I have to give the speech in two days? I can’t.”

Confusion briefly muddles his features before disappearing behind whatever got him mad in the first place. “Apparently it shocked George Eliot, too. She said she was going to tell you about it when I talked to her earlier.”

My fingers tense around the edges of the island, so hard I can feel the metal biting into the soft pads of my fingers. “She must not have had the chance.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine though. You’ve been thinking about this speech for long enough that giving it should be easy.”

Shaking, I force myself to relax. “I have to go find Ellie. She’ll know what to do.”

Will pauses, his mouth open as if he’s about to speak, but then he changes his mind and shrugs. I push myself away from the counter and turn toward the door.

“Sure you don’t want some help?” Will calls out behind me. His voice has a mocking tone. “I’m trained in all manners of servitude and security.”

I stop and turn around. “No,” I growl. “Whatever it is, I can do it myself.”

Not the Only Way

Will

I sit on my bed and cradle my head in my hands.
What’s wrong with me?
That was Socrates back there I was talking to. He could have me killed in the blink of an eye. I must be as nuts as Lewis Carroll.

I scrub my hands over my face, unable to get the image of Carroll’s hands around Socrates’s throat out of my mind.

What if Socrates was like that twisted man? Two minds stuck in one head. I shake my head, the violent motion making my vision swim. No, he didn’t act anything like him. No twitching, no sudden personality shifts, nothing that might make someone believe anything was wrong. Nothing except fear, innocence, and those damned flashes of insecurity that is so Mira. Socrates was never like that. He was—I wrack my brain for memories for the man’s previous incarnation—wise, self-assured, and crafty. This Socrates is so different. What if he’s not in there? Does anything of the first soul remain after a successful procedure? Mira would have told me if she had survived. This has to be part of Socrates’s plan somehow. Maybe he’s decided it’s important to get me on his side. A sharp laugh escapes my lips. Like that’ll ever happen.

My wristband beeps, startling me out of my thoughts. “Will here,” I snap. “This better be important. Today has not been a good day.” I massage my temple with my free hand.

“So I’ve heard.” The low voice on the other end can only belong to that of the first speaker who called me. Maybe it’s James Scoffield, but I may never know.

“Am I supposed to give you a report?”

“Is one necessary? We have informants everywhere, and they told us how poorly the visit with Carroll went.”

“Poorly? Are you kidding? That psycho attacked him. He would have killed Socrates if I hadn’t gotten in the way.”

“And you saved him?” The voice almost sounds reflective.

His question stops me cold. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you’ve made no secret of how much you despise the First. You could have just let him die.”

I think about his words for a few seconds before responding. “I don’t know. I didn’t even think, I just reacted. It must be because of my training.”

“Is it because of Mira?”

I let out a frustrated snort. “Yeah. You could say that. Every time I’m in the same room with that First I swear it’s still her. I have to remind myself all the time that she’s dead.”

“I would think that’s to be expected, given how close you were.”

I stand up and start pacing the confines of my room. “Next you’re going to tell me that all this is normal, right?”

The voice barks out a tinny laugh. “Hardly, but it’s not unusual either. The important thing is that you saved Socrates’s life, which is what anyone would expect from a loyal servant. You did exactly what you were supposed to do and you’re proving yourself to be a valuable asset to our group.”

“I didn’t do much, you know. Being out here with Socrates is not a war zone.”

“Ah, but the influence you have over one of the greatest combatants in that war is nothing to scoff at. What you do or don’t do is almost as important as Socrates’s choices.”

“As long as I’m helping, then that’s good enough for me.”

“Just be patient, Will. After Socrates gives his speech, your role in this particular mission is over. In fact, his role will be over, as well.”

“What if the Bill doesn’t pass? They changed the date so it’s only two days from now.”

The com unit goes silent, without even the light customary static to remind me it’s still on. “How did you know?”

“I overheard someone telling George Eliot about it. She blamed the President’s wife and her aide, Cedric Murphy.”

Silence, and then a muffled swear word. The air crackles again, sounding similar to an EG. Does this com unit muffle outside sound like one of those devices? “Thank you, Will. This new information is crucial to our success.”

My chest swells up with pride. “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Just do what you’re doing. This new date complicates things, but it doesn’t make them impossible. We have every assurance that Socrates will do his best to help pass this Bill, but even if the worst happens, we have other plans. Several of them, in fact.”

A sinking feeling in my gut forces me to pause. “You do hope the Bill passes, right?”

“Yes, but while that would be the most peaceful way to end this barbaric practice, it’s not the only way.”

The Wrong Questions

Mira

I know I’m dreaming. Everything has a fuzzy, glowing edge to it that only happens when I’m asleep. Even though I know it’s not real and that Carroll really isn’t perched on a tall wooden stool before me, wearing a black suit and clutching a huge knife with a long, curved blade, I can’t help but shiver. The sun sparkles along the knife’s sharpened edge, drawing my attention like suicidal moths to a hungry flame. What I can see of the knife’s handle looks to be supple black leather, but I can’t tell much more between Carroll’s fingers. This isn’t a rugged knife meant to kill for food. This blade turns death into an art.

Our stools rest on a black and white tiled floor, just like the one from the institution. Next to Carroll, an end table holds two long-stemmed, wine glasses.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear. I’m so glad you could come and sit a spell with me. We have much to discuss.” I start to slide off my stool, but Carroll points the knife at me and shakes his head. “Not until we’ve had our tea.” He makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Children these days, completely devoid of common sense and manners.” He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “It’ll bring this nation to ruin, I swear it.”

“What are we doing here?”

Carroll quirks one eyebrow. “I told you, we’re having a drink and a conversation.”

I point at the glasses. “But they’re empty.”

“Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You need to learn some patience, Alice.” When I open my mouth to remind him once again that my name isn’t Alice, Carroll flips the knife to his other hand and then presses it, tip down, to his palm.

Before I can react, he starts spinning the dagger in his hand, almost like an old-fashioned drill. A pool of blood forms where the blade touches his skin, and I can’t tear my gaze away.

“Wha—what are you doing?”

Ignoring my question, Carroll sets his knife down on the small table and picks up one of the wine glasses with his unscathed hand. He holds his injured palm over it and drips blood into the glass. The crimson liquid fills the cup impossibly fast, until it’s almost to the rim. He picks up the other glass and fills it too, squeezing his hand into a fist when the steady flow becomes a trickle. When the second cup is full, he sets it down and licks his hand, smearing the leftover blood all around his mouth.

“That’s disgusting!”

Carroll cackles at my obvious revulsion. “You wanted something to drink, my dear. Here it is.” His lips stretch into a savage smile, his teeth stained red. He holds out one of the glasses to me, the thick red liquid sloshing inside.

I lean back so far my stool tips over and I tip backward. I roll to the side as the stool falls to the ground behind me. With a wary eye on my companion, I stand up and brush myself off.

Carroll shrugs and gulps down the contents of the glass. “That’s all right. You’re too young, anyway.”

“That’s blood, not wine. Why would I want to drink that?”

Carroll leers at me as he sets down the empty glass. “Ours is not to reason why, little Alice.”

“You’re crazy,” I mutter. “Eliot was right.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He picks up the second disgusting beverage and twirls it in his fingers. Blood drips from his wounded hand onto a pristine white tile.

Ignoring his question, I decide to change the subject. “What are we doing here?”

Carroll shakes his head. “
Tsk tsk
, Alice. You always did ask the wrong questions.”

“What’s the right question then?”

Carroll claps his hands. “Finally, you’re making some sense! Just a moment, please.” He makes a show of looking around to see if anyone else is listening. Finding us alone, he swipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Phew. You never know who’s watching, especially around here.”

Irritated, I try to keep myself calm. “Well, what is it, then?”

Carroll studies his fingernails and picks at a speck of dirt under one of his cuticles. “Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

I bite my lip so hard I taste something bitter and metallic. I imagine it tastes just like the contents of Carroll’s wine glass. “What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Neither do you, my dear. You are a contradiction unto yourself.”

Something cold slithers down my spine. I knew it. Somehow, this crazy First knows I am an imposter.

Carroll climbs up on top of his stool and balances precariously on the seat. Then, with his arms stretched out to either side, he does a back flip over my head and lands behind me. “You’re an old man.” He peers around the side of my head. “Who’s also a teenage girl.” He uses his uninjured hand to grab my chin and stares into my eyes. “You hold more power than any other person alive today, yet you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’re wrong. I—I’m Socrates.”

He curls his lip, his once handsome face transforming into something angry and feral. “No, you’re not.”

I wrap my arms across my chest. “Yes, I am.”

Carroll turns away and saunters back to his stool. Once sitting, he holds his arms out, almost as if he’s about to embrace someone and closes his eyes. “Some people call me mad.” His eyes snap open, their icy blue depths pinning me to my spot so strongly, I don’t think I could have moved if the room was on fire. He cups his hand around the side of his mouth and leans toward me. “My friends call me whatever they want.” His face transforms into a grimace and his eyes turn dark, almost black. “But you’re not my friend, are you, Alice? You’re not anyone’s friend. You’d kill us all if you had the chance.”