“Whatever you say, Teresa. Your dad isn’t stupid. He gave all of you RUNA-friendly names in a continuing insurance plan in case you ended up back here.”
Tessa looked dumbstruck at this revelation, then almost appeared offended that she’d been put into a preexisting system without her consent or knowledge. It kept her quiet as they rode the train through the city, and although she caught her breath when they emerged out onto the high light-rail platform, she didn’t have a meltdown, which Justin took as a promising sign of her ability to adapt. She’d be part of this world in no time.
Once they were off the train and walking outside at ground level, Justin found he was the one dazzled and overwhelmed. The soaring buildings glittered in the setting sun, casting shadows on the earthbound pedestrians moving below. The light-rail track curved between buildings, while below it, automated traffic flowed smoothly and efficiently. Screens with ever-changing images filled shop and restaurant windows. Other, larger screens were mounted on buildings, running the latest headlines, political profiles, and ads for every good and service imaginable. It was a far cry from the dirty streets of Panama City, with its hodgepodge of shady pedestrians, gas-powered cars, cart vendors, and, at times, horses.
Their subway stop was two blocks from Hale Square. The square was a wide, grassy park flanked by three federal buildings, resplendent in marble and pillars: the Citizens’ Ministry, the Ministry of Internal Security, and the Ministry of Diplomacy. A Gemman flag hung on each building, and there were no advertisements or screens of any kind. The Citizens’ Ministry was the department that oversaw chips and the National Registry, and as they approached it, Justin paused to glance over at Internal Security. That was the building the servitors worked out of, where his old office had been. It seemed a lifetime ago since he’d strode into work each morning, confident in being at the top of his career. He’d had the world in his hands, never once dreaming it’d be ripped out from under him.
A few people were walking away from Internal Security, carrying signs he couldn’t read. “What’s going on?” he asked Mae.
“There’s a lot of buzz about religious freedom lately,” she explained. “Protesters hang out here every day.”
“You can’t be serious.” There were a few core principles that had never changed since the RUNA’s inception. The danger of religion and belief in the supernatural was one of them.
“Nothing’s going to come of it. They’re just making a lot of noise.”
It was after hours, and the foyer of the Citizens’ Ministry was empty, save for two regular military guards standing watch. They saluted Mae when she identified herself, but she barely spared them a glance as she strode off toward the elevator bank.
Aside from one technician who cringed around Mae, the chipping office was empty. Tessa seemed calmed by the quiet setting and made no more protests about chips. The technician led her to a chair beside a monitor and stainless steel table, and she gave Justin a brave smile as she sat down.
He sat nearby, close enough to reassure Tessa but far enough to let the technician work. Mae took a seat beside him and immediately began jotting out messages on her ego, probably requisitioning more guns and knives or whatever it was pr?torians did in their free time to defend the country. Justin kept an eye on Tessa, watching as her profile slowly assembled on the screen.
“Six,” he said in approval once her genetic score appeared. “Good for a provincial.” Mae’s attention was still on the ego, and he added, “Not as good as a nine, like some people have.” He’d memorized every single detail on her screen, back in customs.
This made her look up. “So?”
He nodded toward Tessa. “So, a five or six is exactly what you’d expect from her. But from a cas—patrician? I’d say anywhere from two to four. Maybe, maybe a five in a rare case.” He paused for effect. “Not a nine. That’s a plebeian rating.”
“Apparently not,” Mae said.
“It’s too high. I have a nine.”
“Do you feel threatened by that?”
“Of course not. It’s just weird, that’s all. Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”
“Not really,” she said. “I’ve had it my whole life.”
He tilted his head, studying the flawless skin and hair with new appreciation. “You haven’t had any work done, have you? Not a trace of Cain.”