I’m not afraid of the trial. I’m afraid of what happens after.
I keep looking at my hands. All the whorls and wrinkles in them. The almost-invisible bump of the VeriChip, just to the right of the vein under the skin of my wrist, like blue lightning. I have a mole in the crook of my elbow. Taema has one there, too. I keep looking at these little details that make me Tila because I realize that soon, they’ll all be frozen in time. The blood won’t pump through my veins anymore—it’ll be all congealed and disgusting. My fingers will lie still. My skin will turn gray. And then, if the power of that wing fails and defrosts us—a few days after they freeze me, a few years, it’s all the same—they’ll burn up the dead corpse into nothing. My bones, my skin, my brain, everything will be gone. I’ll just be dust.
Right now there are two of us, but soon there’ll only be one. Taema will probably be better off without me, but I can’t help thinking she’ll also be all alone.
*
The supply ship came for its scheduled drop and we made our way to where it would land. Taema and I watched it fly overhead. It cut through the air so smoothly, a bird diving underwater to catch a fish. We went to watch it all happen, like so many times before.
But this time was different.
Dad oversaw everything, ordering men where to program the droids to put the boxes coming off of the ship. Mom came to sign off on all the shipments and deliveries. And there, just around the side, there was a box or two going on the ship. I’d seen that happen before, but I’d always assumed that it was the blankets and trinkets we made to sell in the city for people who liked that crap. Things that had been made by human hands instead of robot ones or replicators. Now I know that it was a hell of a lot more than that, but back then I had no idea.
The woman Mom was speaking to earnestly shook her hand. There was something hidden in her palm, which my mom took. After the woman went away, Mom put it in her pocket. She looked guilty, and worried. I knew it had something to do with us.
“What do you think it is?” Taema asked me.
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
We did.
That night after dinner, Mom and Dad drew the curtains and asked us to sit at the kitchen table. They wiped off the worn wood with antiseptic. They took out a little package and unwrapped it. Little silver squares fell onto the table, glinting in the buzzing electrical light overhead. I knew they were whatever the woman had given my mom that afternoon.
“What are they?” I asked.
“VeriChips. For identification. Made out to Taema and Tila Collins,” Dad said.
“Our last name is Amner,” Taema said.
Because the VeriChips had our real first names, it meant that Mana-ma would be able to find us more easily, if she really wanted to, after we escaped. After losing everything else, we couldn’t stand the thought of having to call each other false names, too. We didn’t think there was anything she’d be able to do to us once we escaped. Once we arrived, we kept our past hidden, kept our noses clean. We thought it was enough.
(We were stupid.)
Mom and Dad got out the medical supplies. They were going to put the VeriChips in now, since we’d leave on the next supply ship out. Mom arranged it with that same woman, who was in charge of the ship. I don’t know how—we wouldn’t have had anything to bribe her with. Maybe she appealed to her conscience or something.
Mom did it. She swabbed our right wrists and numbed the area with some ice. It didn’t do much for the pain, but we didn’t cry out as she used a scalpel to cut the skin and slot in the ID chip. She told us everyone in the cities outside had VeriChips. They were important. She closed the wound with a tiny stitch and wrapped it. It was autumn so it was getting a little colder, and she ordered us to wear long sleeves and not show anyone the bandages while we were healing. There might be a small scar, but we could get it erased once we were in San Francisco with a bit of our first paycheck. I remember wondering what a paycheck was, and how I would receive one.
Mom and Dad spent several hours that night telling us all the outdated information they knew about San Francisco and the outside world that the Hearth hadn’t taught us. Even though Taema and I had already learned some of it from our contraband tablet (still hidden under our mattress), we were both totally overwhelmed. It was so much information that we couldn’t take it all in. Mom and Dad were desperate to try and give us as much of a head start as possible, so we didn’t say anything and just listened.
That night we lay forehead to forehead on the bed, looking at the bandages on our wrists.
“We’re already Impure, I guess,” Taema whispered. She looked so young, so vulnerable, and I hated that I must have looked the same way.