MERE MORTAL

CHAPTER 1

Avi and I are on watch today in the east tree house. Well, I’m on watch, and Avi’s busy keeping his sleeping bag warm. He just got back from an overnight ranging, so I’ll let it slide, this time.

The first snow fell last night, and the world is eerily quiet. A few lazy flakes twirl past our treetop lookout, dancing their way to the ground far below. I dangle my feet over the edge of the sheltered hide and inhale, savoring the sweetness of the pine-infused Colorado mountain air. It’s an invigorating cold, not a bone-chilling one.

Leaves rustle behind me. I turn in time to see Isa land catlike on the platform, a pleased grin on her face. “Hey-hey, Mila.”

I lift my hand in greeting. “Yes, yes. You’re very sneaky.”

She smiles mischievously at me and rolls her eyes at the unconscious Avi.

“Brought you breakfast.” She tosses me a bag.

I try to catch it one-handed but miss, and it lands on the floor.

Isa shrug-smiles an apology and flips her black braid behind her shoulder. She’s my best friend. We’ve been inseparable since she lost her parents to the Immortals seven years ago and came to live with my family.

“Are you scouting today?” I prop my rifle against the tree before picking up the parcel.

She nods. Isa knows the area better than anyone. “I’ll probably head up to the pass and back. Maybe check the ruins for refugees.” Three weeks ago, a Nomad site to the north was discovered and sacked by the Immortals. People have been wandering into our camp for days—cold, wounded, and hungry. “Speaking of scouting, did you turn in your applications yet?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. “Just for ranger.” My sister is a ranger, and I’ve wanted to join her on a ranging for as long as I can remember. I’d turned that application in on the first day, just like I had every month since I turned sixteen.

“Better hurry up. Today’s the deadline for this selection cycle. You’d like scouting.”

I nod. “I will.”

“You better.” She moves away. “Catch you on my way back.”

“Good luck. Be careful.”

“I always am.” She gives me a wave and heads back down the way she came. I watch her for a minute, envious of her coordination.

My rumbling stomach soon turns my attention back toward breakfast. The bread is still warm, and the toasty smell that wafts up when I break it is enough to pull Avi out of his sound sleep.

“Oh, I see—you’ll wake up for food, but not for your watch shift. Nice.” I pop a bite in my mouth.

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

The sun is just cresting over the horizon, but I still double-check my watch. “Just before seven.”

I did more than half our shift solo. I pass him some bread with a hunk of cheese. He devours it in two bites, then climbs down the tree for a quick look-about and, I suspect, to pee.

I pace. I can’t even relax while I eat; if I don’t keep up my rep for keen eyesight and overall hypervigilance, the chiefs might decide I’m only good for latrine duty. I scan the fading golden-pink horizon as I chew my last bite of breakfast.

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

The snippet of ages-old poetry centers me, giving shape to what I’m feeling. For a moment, my tension eases and I sag against the railing, relishing the sunrise.

A movement on the eastern ridge catches my eye, snapping me back to myself with a jolt. Straightening, I reach for my rifle and focus the scope in the general direction of the movement. Under the ridge sits a suspicious-looking patch of leaves that rustles with no regard for the wind direction. I look over the scope. The area around it seems clear. A little game path trickles down the mountain beside it. I put my eye back to the lens in time to see a decent-sized jackrabbit hop from the leaves and sprint across the slope. I could use some target practice, so I track it with the scope.

“Gotcha!” Avi grabs my leg, startling me from my chase. I glare at him over my shoulder, then turn back to my scope. The ladder creaks under his weight as he pushes the trapdoor fully open and climbs through. The rabbit is long gone.

“Sorry, didn’t see you were hunting.” Avi settles on the floor beside me.

I straighten and scowl at my friend. “I guess you don’t want fresh meat anytime soon.”

Avi chuckles, his eyes crinkling in a way that makes the corners of my mouth twitch. “Well, your safety’s on, so I wouldn’t be eating rabbit anytime soon anyway.”

I look at my rifle and grunt at my own stupidity. “Hmpf. I would’ve taken it off.”

“Keep practicing, you’ll get it.” He stands and dusts his hands together.

I inspect the eastern horizon again before pulling out my knife and sharpening it absently on a whetstone to keep my hands busy. When I look up, I catch Avi regarding me thoughtfully.

A strand of dark hair has fallen into his eyes, and I want to tuck it back into place. Instead, I blush, my cheeks flaming for a moment before I look away. Avi has the good grace to pretend not to notice.

“Here, let me show you.” He pulls the knife from my hands and begins sharpening it in smooth, circular movements.

“Maybe if I had a better teacher, I wouldn’t need you to correct me so often,” I retort, punching him lightly.

“I am an excellent teacher,” Avi says, affronted. “All my students love me.”

“Eight-year-olds are easy to impress.”

“Not all of them are young. Some learn weapons and tactics quickly, and some are still sharpening knives incorrectly at sixteen.” He gives me a pointed look.

I glare right back. Avi’s always expected a lot of me. After my older sister passed her weapons proficiency at eleven, everyone wanted me to do the same. I wanted me to do the same. Unfortunately for me, Maiwen inherited all the coordination and combat skills. I’m about as useful as a one-legged bunny in a fight.

Avi hands my knife back. “Maybe if you stopped trying to be someone else, you’d be more teachable,” he says, using his friend radar to zero in on my thoughts, as usual.

I punch him hard this time—I want him to know it hurts.

“Hey!” He rubs his arm. “I’m just trying to help. Maiwen has her own flaws, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” I stick out my chin. “Name one.”

“Well,” he flounders, “she’s difficult to talk to.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’s it? I feel so much better.”

“Well, you should. When you aren’t punching me, you’re a good confidant.”

I sigh. I know he’s trying to help. At least he treats me like a friend and not a way to get in good with my sister.

By midmorning, the snow is melting, and Avi’s restless. He already took apart, cleaned, and reassembled both his weapons. When he’s not asleep, he’s a very active person.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announces. “If you see anything, yell.”

I nod. Avi’s a ranger. He’d rather be anywhere than babysitting a trainee on guard duty. He lowers himself through the trap door and climbs quickly to the ground. I try not to look too long at his sculpted shoulders as he heads off through the trees.

The woods grow quiet. The steady drip of snowmelt off the aspens lulls me to sleep. My head falls forward and I jerk awake. Damn Avi. I’ve been up all night.

Determined not to doze off again, I stand and pace the length of the hide, then lean against the railing, gazing out to the east. Trees span the horizon. The remnants of their late autumn leaves hang still in the cool morning. The patch of leaves from before is rustling again; the rabbit must be back. Farther up the trail along the ridge, something else slips between the trees. I lean forward, trying to peer through the thin winter foliage. Someone is coming down the path. Two someones.

I reach for the binoculars.

“Avi!” I yell-whisper into the forest, zooming in on the trail. The figures come into focus, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I should’ve recognized Isa’s fluid, feline grace and Maiwen’s ready-for-anything tension a mile away. They’re heading home, so my shift must be almost over. I focus on them casually talking and joking. A rare smile breaks out on my sister’s face, and she flicks her chestnut hair behind her shoulder. I finger my frizzy locks and deny the twinge of jealousy that threatens. We share our mother’s bright blue-green eyes, but she’s petite and curvy while I’m tall and make a beanpole look voluptuous. It’s little wonder people are often surprised to find out we’re related, let alone sisters.

Maiwen and Isa skirt a large boulder and approach the problematic leaves. Isa points at the ground, brow furrowed. She squats down and studies the path, then raises her gaze to the pile of leaves.

I smirk. “Congrats, Isa. You’ve discovered a rabbit.”

I lower the binoculars. Then, to my horror, the leaves stand up and raise a gun. I grab my rifle and look through the scope as Isa crumples to the ground. The attacker is a man in heavy camouflage. Maiwen disarms their assailant with one swift kick and smashes her elbow into his face, knocking his leaf-covered helmet to the ground. He sprawls backward. My heart slams wildly against my ribs. I slide off the safety, trying desperately to get an open shot, but Maiwen blocks my line of sight. She grapples with him, pinning him with her legs while aiming a flurry of blows at his head and side. From my vantage point, I see what she can’t—he is pulling a hunting knife from his ankle sheath.

“Maiwen!” My warning cry whispers from my parched throat. She wouldn’t hear me anyway. He hooks her ankle and rolls her over, using his size and strength to his advantage. Her eyes widen, and she grabs his wrist with both hands. Still, he’s stronger, and the knife inches slowly toward her exposed throat. He’s speaking to her, but she isn’t paying attention; she bucks violently to free herself. The knife rakes across her ribs. She arches her back and cries out in pain. Fear roars through me unchecked. I have a shot. I have to take it. I can’t lose her.

I draw a shaky breath and aim. My hands tremble. My everything trembles. I exhale. Just before I squeeze the trigger, Avi is beside me. With perfect focus and calm, he lifts his rifle, aims, and shoots the man right in the head. The body collapses on top of Maiwen.

Avi breaks my vise-like grip on the rifle and leans it against the rail, gripping my hands. “Was he alone?”

I don’t respond. I can’t. This is the problem with feelings—they make me weak when I need to be strong. I couldn’t even save my own sister.

“Mila! Was he alone?” Avi repeats, shaking me a little. I scan the forest, then the sky.

“Yes,” I gasp out.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. No drones, no bots.”

“Let’s go.” He scrambles down the tree, and I follow, scraping my shin in my clumsy haste. When we reach the spot a few minutes later, Maiwen’s already tending to Isa. Blood trickles steadily from my sister’s side and drips crimson in the whitesnow. Maiwen either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Is she okay?” Avi asks, nodding toward Isa.

Maiwen holds up a dart. “Tranquilizer.” She tosses it to Avi, who looks it over and tucks it in his jacket, then searches the man for weapons.

I glance at Maiwen. I expect her to be frightened. My heart’s still trying to escape my chest. But she’s calm and manages to look collected even with leaves in her hair—as if nearly dying is a daily occurrence. Maiwen’s a pro at handling her emotions; even if she was afraid, she wouldn’t show it.

“Was he an Immortal?” My voice wavers, and I clear my throat to cover it up.

Maiwen glances at the lifeless body. “Apparently not.”

“You know what I mean, Min.” I use her nickname, a subtle sister-hint for how vulnerable I’m feeling. I’m still imagining what might’ve happened if Avi hadn’t shown up.

Her face softens somewhat. “Of course he was, Mila. I cut cut out his chip already.”

Avi looks up sharply. “Did you destroy it?”

I bend over to look at the body more closely. I’ve never seen an Immortal before. He looks just like one of us. Except for the memory chip and neural net, he is one of us. I shake my head. I’m not supposed to think like that. Instead, I try to find something in his face that shows him to be the inhuman monster I’ve been taught about. He has dark brown hair, cut close to his head, and his hazel-blue eyes stare up at the heavens. His flawless skin is just a shade lighter than his hair, marred only by the bullet wound above his left eyebrow. I look away. He doesn’t look inhuman—he looks scared. I’m suddenly grateful I didn’t shoot him.

“I thought Tibs might want to look at it.” Maiwen’s voice sharpens, cutting me from my thoughts.

I swallow hard and glance at my sister. It’s dangerous keeping an active chip. If it comes in range of a sync tower or drone, all his memories will automatically upload to IC-7’s supercom. His next incarnation will remember everything, including our location.

“Too risky,” Avi says, folding his arms firmly across his well-muscled chest.

Maiwen turns to face him, jaw set. “Oh? How else do you intend to find out what he was doing here? How he found us? Why he didn’t just kill Isa?” She waves an arm at the dead man. “How can we defend ourselves if we don’t know what’s coming?”

Silence stretches between them.

I glance between my sister and my friend. He’s technically her superior, but that hardly matters to Maiwen.

I don’t expect my opinion to sway either one of them, but I have to say something. I clear my throat. “If we can look at his memories, Avi, we can know what they know.”

Avi rubs the back of his neck, but keeps his eyes fixed on Maiwen. “How far to the nearest active sync tower?”

“About forty miles.” Maiwen destroyed two on her last ranging. It’s the part of her job she’s best at. At least of the parts she’ll talk about with me. She’s such an overachiever, she probably threw in a few backflips for good measure.

“Fine.” Avi runs his fingers through his hair. “But Mila keeps the chip until you get it to Tibs. Eagle eyes here will spot a drone a mile farther out than you will.”

Maiwen presses her lips together but doesn’t argue, just pulls the chip from her pocket and hands it to me while maintaining a scowl in Avi’s direction. The chip’s red lights glow at me urgently. I take it gingerly and tuck it in my jacket.

“Mila, you keep your eyes on the sky. Any sign of a drone, and you destroy that thing.” He nods at Maiwen. “We’d better get you and Isa to the medic.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll come in a bit. Want to make sure this threat is neutralized first.” She gestures toward the Immortal.

Avi rubs his eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll send sanitation to dispose of him after Isa is situated.” He hefts Isa with a grunt and picks his way down the hill. Maiwen and I search the area first—no bots—but the Immortal has two portable transmitters on him. We destroy both. Maiwen inspects his weapons.

“What did he say to you?” I ask.

“What?” She slides the clip from his pistol and pockets it.

“When he had the knife out. He said something.” I draw a circle in the snow with the toe of my boot. Nobody I know has ever talked to an Immortal before, so obviously I want to know what he said.

“Oh. Nothing. It was nonsense.” Maiwen shoulders the tranq gun and pistol belt before standing up. “He apologized, then I think he said our words. Like he was performing my last rites. Then, ‘Do not die softly—’ right before Avi shot him. It seemed like a recitation. Maybe some kind of Immortal ritual?”

“Do not die softly.” Although it is my mouth that says the words, it is my mother’s voice I hear. They strike a chord deep inside that resonates in my bones. I shake myself. “Weird.”

We head back to camp, and I pause at the lookout to warn the next shift to be extra vigilant.

“Let’s get you to the medical site.” I slip my arm under Maiwen’s.

“I’m fine, really, Mila.”

I stop and give her a quick once-over. “No, you aren’t. Your side’s sliced open, and you already got blood on my favorite jacket. If you keep bleeding, my super cool pants and sweet hand-me-down boots are in danger too.”

She’s quiet, so I push on, leading her toward camp. “Besides, this is my fault and if anything happens to you, Dad’ll never forgive me. I won’t mind, of course, you’re a pain in the ass, but Dad would be mad.” My family tactic of using sarcasm to hide our emotions is in fine form today.

Maiwen gives me a sad smile, and my heart twinges. I squeeze her shoulder and whisper, “You can’t protect everyone, you know.”

Maiwen flinches, and I know she’s remembering the last time she saw an Immortal—when they took our mom from us.

“I don’t want to protect everyone.” For a moment, desperation fills her eyes. “Just you.”

I shake my head. “That’s not your job. Just like it wasn’t your job to protect Mom.”

Her gaze goes cold, and she shakes her head. “You’re wrong. It’s my only job. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be here.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” Maiwen looks about to protest, but lets it go as we stagger up the steps to the medical tent. I give the supply shelf a onceover and shake off a twinge of guilt. Our medical supplies are woefully insufficient, way worse than my last rotation through med clinic. Isa is already sleeping peacefully in a bed when we arrive, though neither of the medics knows how long the tranq will last. I ease Maiwen into a chair and turn to go.

“Hang on, Mila. I’d like to be there when you talk to Dad. He’ll take a lot of grief for a border breach, so he’ll want a full report.” She’s right—as guard chief, he ought to know first, but I have other concerns.

“I was going to see Tibs,” I say, holding up the chip. Tibs is the tech chief. At fifty-five, he’s easily the oldest person I know.

“Tibs will want to talk to both of us, too.”

“Fine. I’ll wait.” I stand just outside with the flap open, watching for drones.

They give Maiwen a willow bark decoction, which she tosses back in one swallow as the medic dabs her wound with alcohol. I crinkle my nose at the astringent smell. She grits her teeth and inhales sharply as the medic starts stitching.

Maiwen stands as soon as they finish, and we make our way to the low concrete tech building. Most of the buildings of Glenwood site stand empty and are older than the Immortals. We’ve rebuilt a few for our tech lab, library, and community meetings, but our people are Nomads at heart.

Maiwen takes the tech building steps two at a time and knocks about a hundred times on the steel door. With a last look at the skies, I follow her up the stairs, chip clenched in my fist, and knock a few more times for good measure. A young guard opens the door a crack.

“Yes?” He narrows his eyes at me through his lank blond hair.

I’ve been up all night and I need a shower. I’m not in the mood for narrowed eyes and useless questions.

“I need to see Tibs.”

“He’s busy.”

“Tell him Mila is here to see him.”

“Why?”

“I have some tech he needs to analyze.”

The guard holds his hand out. “I’ll give it to one of our guys.”

“Not one of your guys. Tibs—”

“You mean Chief Hobbs.”

Maiwen steps around me. “Tell him Mila and Maiwen Greenwood are here to see him. It’s about an Immortal chip. Please, Chris.”

Chris flushes a deep scarlet and steps back. “Oh. Hey, Mai—, uh Min. I’ll run get him right away.” He scurries off, leaving the door open a crack.

“Nice security.” Maiwen taps the door with her toe, her face impassive, but she remains on the porch. I’m having trouble keeping my composure.

“‘My Min’?” I laugh. “Possessive, isn’t he?”

She rolls her eyes at me, but I see her mouth twitch a little to conceal a smile. The tension I’ve felt all day drains away with that twitch-smile.

In a minute, Chris returns with Tibs. Tibs is one of the few people Maiwen likes. I grin when I see him. He sports his usual mishmash of oddities: a colorful handkerchief around his head, dark socks with sandals that don’t bother his arthritic toe, and a beaded leather vest Isa and I made him when we were twelve hangs crookedly over his shoulders. I love him for wearing it.

“Hey, kiddos,” Tibs coughs, pushing up the thick glasses that magnify his eyes. “What’s this I hear about Immortals? Don’t tell me you found one.”

Maiwen lifts her shirt a little to show her bandaged side.

“More like he found us. But I made him sorry.”

“We got this off him.” I hold up the chip between my fingers then extend it toward him.

Tibs tsks at Maiwen’s wound as he examines the chip. When he realizes what it is, he stands straighter, and a frown tugs his lower lip downward. He looks up, searching the clouds.

“Mila, keep watch. Any hint of a drone and you send Chris running. Min, come with me.” He beckons her inside, and they disappear down the hall, Tibs’s long silver-gray hair flapping behind him like a flag signaling retreat.

I lean against the railing, gazing up—a not-so-subtle message to Chris that talking will be awkward.

“So . . .” Chris props the door open. “Mila. You’re Min’s sister?” He rakes his fingers through his hair and moves onto the porch opposite me. He’s good at reading signals, this one.

“All my life,” I say, still scanning for drones.

“I didn’t know she had a sister. She kind of stands out in a crowd, you know.”

“I know.”

“She has such great hair and she’s so . . . fit.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, she’s very pretty. I’m aware.” Maiwen’s general hotness has always been the only conversation boys my age are willing to have with me, but I’m used to it by now.

“I’d never guess you were sisters. You guys don’t look alike.” 

I look at him directly for the first time. “Gee, thanks. Good to know I don’t resemble my hot sister.” I lean back and fold my arms, scanning the clouds again. His embarrassment is so intense I can hear the blood rush to his cheeks. 

“That’s not what I was trying to say.”

“Look, dude, being nice to me won’t get my sister to notice you.” I press my lips together to conceal that I’m smiling at his discomfort.

Chris rubs the back of his neck. “What, uh, what would get Min to notice me?”

I arch an eyebrow at him. Try being less male.

“Nothing comes to mind,” I say, looking back at the sky. “And don’t call her Min. That’s what her friends call her.”

Chris stammers and backpedals rapidly. But I’m not listening.

I’m staring at the drone that just came over the horizon.

 

 

CHAPTER 2

Go tell Tibs there’s a drone.” My voice is trembly and stumbles over itself, which is maybe why Chris doesn’t start running until I fumble my rifle up and take aim. I glance quickly at the perimeter altitude markers. The drone is still probably well out of upload range from the chip, and it’s cruising high. My finger edges over the trigger. If I shoot it down, the Immortals will know. They might come to find it. If I shoot and miss, they might see that, too. I take a steadying breath as it draws nearer. It could just be surveillance. Indecision flits around my skull. If it catches the signal from the chip, it will descend to upload. Once it’s below the umbrella shield, it will be able to see our entire camp.

A drop of sweat oozes down my temple. The drone’s propeller slows a touch, and its nose tilts down ever so slightly. I tighten my grip and gauge its altitude again. Too low. I find its hydrogen fuel cell through the scope and tighten my finger on the trigger. I exhale slowly.

The drone tilts up, gaining altitude.

I ease off the trigger and relax a stitch. The drone does a high, lazy circle around the valley and cruises back the way it came. I slam through the doors and sprint down the stairway, skittering breathlessly into Tibs’s lab.

“Did you destroy it?” I ask.

Maiwen pauses her pacing to give me a brief, rigid nod, then squeezes her hands through her hair before starting to pace
again.

“Did you get anything useful from it?” I shoulder my rifle.

“We got maybe half the data. We’ll have to sort through it to see if it’s useful. Some of it’s encrypted.”

Tibs nods, though his eyes remain glued to his screen. “Curious, too. It was his first death. Encryption is an expensive upgrade.”

I raise my eyebrows. “His first death? How can you tell?”

In typical Tibs fashion, he explains as he works. “Part of it is simple math; there isn’t enough used memory on his chip to account for an entire life, at least, not a long one. The other part is the quality of the data. It degrades a little with every incarnation.”

“Like they lose their memories? What’s the point of reincarnation then?”

Tibs pushes his glasses up. “Not lose, no. When a memory is uploaded, it’s converted from an analog experience to a digital one. Some of the quality is lost in reversing the process for a new incarnation, so the memory loses some of its depth, if you will, each time. The Immortals have slowly been losing bits of themselves for ages—both literally and figuratively.”

I pity them for a moment, and it must show on my face because Maiwen nudges me. “They’re monsters, Mila, don’t feel bad for them.”

She’s right, of course. I shake my shoulders and square my jaw. “I don’t. Just thinking maybe they’d be different if they could fix it, make real memories again.”

Tibs nods and scratches his beard. “Maybe, maybe. They’ve been trying for centuries to overcome what they call the ‘Uncanny Chasm.’ The ones who know about it, anyway. Most have forgotten what an actual memory feels like. Supposedly the lived experience of their clones is a little off the memory. The disconnect causes their brains to disassociate a little, resulting in a loss of emotion, empathy, and sensations.”

“Wow. All that to live a little longer?”

Tibs taps at his compupad. “Well, a lot longer, but for what? As Emerson says, ‘it’s not the length of life that matters, but the depth of it.’”

“Emerson? Is he a friend of yours?”

Tibs chuckles. “Sometimes it feels that way, but no, he was a philosopher of the Last Men, long before immortalization was created. What are those educators teaching you anyways?”

“Oh, you mean the Emerson. It’s possible thy missed that particular tidbit of his. They are busy teaching us the essentials: astrophysics, hand-to-hand combat, basic wilderness survival— all sprinkled with some Emerson for good measure.”

“It should be the other way around,” Tibs replies.

“You’ll let us know when you’ve decoded the encrypted data?” Worry gives Maiwen’s words a little staccato note.

Tibs raises his eyebrows at Maiwen before turning back to his compupad. “Patience, youngling. I’ll let the people know who need to know. That may or may not include you.”

Maiwen rolls her eyes and turns away. We walk out together, and when we are finally outside, I look at her. “So what were you able to see from that chip that has you so worried about what he’s hiding in the encryption?”

She starts down the steps. “I think the Immortal knew we were here. Seems like he knew before he left IC-7.”

“We’d better tell Dad.” I shuffle down after her.

Her anxious look returns. “Yeah. Let’s go find him.”

She stops at the bottom, and I give her an encouraging smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay,” I say. “No one is going to blame you. If anything, they’ll blame me and Avi.”

Maiwen shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it? Moving? We’ll move if we have to. We’re Nomads. It’s what we’re supposed to be good at.” I nudge her in the direction of home.

She sighs and starts walking. “You’re probably right.” Her mouth twitches into an unconvincing smile. Something is still bothering her—she studies the ground with her brows knit together as we walk.

The tech building is right in the heart of Glenwood site. Maiwen lags a little behind me on our way north through the community buildings to our family camp. I slow my pace to match hers and try not to look too sympathetic. She doesn’t like to show weakness. Not that getting your side sliced open by an Immortal is weakness.

“I’m sorry, Min,” I apologize as we pass the school. “I should’ve shot him sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had him, and I’m fine.” She elbows me in the ribs. “It will take a lot more than a mere Immortal to do me in.”

I can tell the minute we enter the refugee camp, as much from the smell as by sight. It’s now twice its normal size, and that many hungry humans stuffed together have a scent, like desperation caked in anticipation. I nod at Wick, the one-armed cook who feeds them, as we pass through.

He winks at me, then turns to the next kid in line. “I see you’re checking out me arm.” He chuckles. “Had a rough winter last year—chopped it off and made a stew.”

The kid’s eyes go buggy.

I shake my head. The truth is he lost it in a grizzly bear attack back when he was one of the hunters, but he likes to entertain people, so I keep quiet. I try not to stare too hard at the long line of hungry refugees. “I didn’t know there were so many.”

Maiwen follows my gaze. “Jaxole was a big community.”

Normally Glenwood houses around two thousand people, but with all the refugees here we must be nearly half again as many. Most are young. One of the little ones stares at me open-mouthed. He nudges what I assume is his brother and points
at me.

I smile and wave, which makes him shy, then pull my hood up over my head.

Maiwen shakes her head at me. “He’s probably never seen a redhead. You gingers are supposed to be lucky.”

“Whoever decided that clearly never met me.” Red hair like mine is rare. As if I need another way to stick out like a sore thumb.

My family camp consists of one large canvas tent, sewn and patched over many years, but still clean and neat, with four peripheral tents for each of us to sleep in. Mine and Isa’s are close together with doors facing each other so we can chat late at night, while Maiwen’s and my dad’s sit a little separate for privacy.

There are raised voices inside our central tent when we arrive. As we approach, two chiefs exit. The star on the civil chief’s yellow armband is as crisp as he is. The ranger chief’s armband, by contrast, is worn, and half the compass is missing. Maiwen and I give a small salute as they approach. They stop.

“Ranger Greenwood, may I have a word?” The ranger chief nods to Maiwen.

She presses her lips together, and we exchange glances before she waves me away. I go into the tent alone. My father, Callen Greenwood, is at the table, head in his hands. I’ve rarely seen him so upset. He usually greets a challenge with an easy calm and a cutting wit. I sit down opposite him and rest my hand on his head.

He looks up and gives me a half smile.

“Mila.” He says my name like he’s trying not to break it. I forget sometimes that my sister and I are all he has left of our mother, but then I see how it twists him up inside when he looks at us. As if he both loves and hates the reminder. The strong resemblance probably doesn’t help; people say I could be her twin.

“Are you okay? How’s Maiwen?”

“I’m fine, just shaky.” I pull my hood off. “So’s Min. Not that she’d admit it if she wasn’t.”

The tent flap whisks open and shut behind me.

“I’ll be fine,” Maiwen says, sitting down beside me. “It’s just a scratch.”

My father takes us both by the hand. I know what he is going to say, and fear stretches deep inside me. I should be used to it by now. “We have to move. It’s always dangerous, but we can’t stay here anymore.”

I stare at our entwined hands. All three of us have the same tattoo between our thumb and forefinger. It is the symbol for infinity in dashed lines. It reminds me of my mother’s lessons: Though our lives are temporary, our family is forever; it stretches ages into the past and ages into the future.

I know I ought to say something. I want to say something. But this is one of those moments, a slow, pregnant moment before a change, and all I can do is look at our hands. I pull mine away, and the world catches up.

“Where will we go?” I stare at my lap. It will take months for the move. We’ll have to travel in groups of ten or fewer to avoid unwanted aerial attention. There will be a lot to organize. I’ll miss it here. We got comfortable and stayed too long.

My dad clears his throat. “We don’t know yet. Probably west, to the Desert site—it’s been vacant for a while. Or south, back to Lulu.” His green eyes probe me. Our last move didn’t go well. I got lost. My dad, Maiwen, and Isa stayed behind looking for me. Which meant we weren’t there when the Raiders came. I can’t shake the feeling that some of our people died because two of their best rangers were searching for me.

Exhaustion sweeps over me like a wave. I swipe my hand over my eyes to fend it off. “I’m sorry. I need some food and some sleep.”

“I can debrief you later, Mila. Get some rest.” My father nods at me, a quick dismissal. He’ll trust Maiwen’s account more than mine anyway.

I stand and look at Maiwen. “You should tell Dad what he said to you.”

My dad’s gaze sharpens. “The Immortal spoke to you?”

“Yeah. As he was trying to stab me, he said our funeral words: ‘Life without death is not life.’ Then, ‘do not lie softly—’”

My dad’s eyes dart to a small stack of books and back to Maiwen. “‘Lie’?”

“Yeah. Or die. Something like that.”

My dad rubs his chin. “Do not die softly. Shine bright, shine rare, shine finally free. Feel it all. Rise.”

The same thrill I felt the first time ripples through me at the words. I lean forward. “Does it mean something?”

“Maybe. It’s an old poem. I’ll look into it.” My dad shakes his head and pinches his lips between his teeth, a sure sign he’s hiding something. Great. Now they’re both keeping things from me.

I frown. It bothers me that I don’t know the poem despite our educators’ heavy emphasis on art and literature. It was always my favorite subject. I absorb poetry like Maiwen does combat skills. Less useful, but still, I ought to know it.

“I felt something when I heard it. Reminds me of Thomas or Angelou. Would Mom have known it?” I’m pushing him a little harder than I should, but I can’t help it.

He half-smiles. “Of course you felt something, Cricket. Poems, and all art really, are expressions of emotion. You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t move you a little. But yes, your mother probably knew it. She loved the literature of the Last Men.”

“It was more than that.” I shake my head.

“That’s real immortality—poets like Dylan Thomas can just reach out and speak to you from six hundred years ago.” There’s a brightness in my dad’s eyes I can’t decipher. Like maybe he’s proud of me, but I can’t figure why.

“So why would an Immortal know it? Isn’t art kind of lost on them?” Maiwen asks.

My dad shakes his head. “That I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

I nod and lift the tent flap to go. “Good night.”

Just as I’m leaving, Maiwen’s hushed voice catches my ear. “Dad, I need to tell you something. About the chip.”

My interest piques, but I dip my head to hide it—if it was something she was willing to discuss with me, she would have already. Instead, I sneak around the tent and crouch near the table. I can’t hear the whole conversation or even half of it; they’re speaking too low.

“Isa’s mom,” “the arena,” and, “What if they didn’t kill her?” are the only snippets loud enough to decipher from Maiwen.

My dad is easier to hear. “For her sake, let’s hope they did.”

 

 

CHAPTER 3

I’ve never been a good napper, and imagining Maria Domingues in the arena isn’t helping. Isa’s mom was a feisty artisan with a soft spot for awkward kids like me. The arena would have destroyed her. After an hour of stuttered sleep, I roll off my cot and head for the cellar. Should I tell Isa? It isn’t anything she doesn’t already know. But if it is on the chip, she could see it. Would that help? I grunt in frustration and try to steer myself onto safer ground. It’s the last day of the month, I have school in two hours, and tomorrow is the trade announcement ceremony. As if I’m not restless enough, I have to worry about whether my application for ranger gets turned down. Again. I’ve never put in an application for anything else, but I only have another month until I’m seventeen, then I’ll be assigned to whatever trade needs workers the most, usually sanitation.

I snag a withered apple from our supplies and chew it as I walk, head down and hood up. I weave my way between people without thinking and avoid eye contact. I’m not paying attention—my head is too full of worry for attention—still, I make it to the medical tent without seriously maiming anyone. The smell of drying herbs wafts from the apothecary just outside, only to be overwhelmed by the burn of stringent sanitizer tinged with metallic iodine when I duck inside.

Isa is still in bed, but her eyes are open.

“Hey-hey,” she says by way of greeting.

“How are you?” I ask tentatively, pulling up a chair beside her.

Isa meets my gaze, her dark eyes drowning in worry; she knows as well as I do that we will lose people in the move.
She knows how moving scares me.

“Okay. You?” she asks. “We don’t have to move, you know. We could stay and fight them off.” She has more reason than most to fear the Immortals, but she doesn’t seem to. I wish I could say the same—they terrify me. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I’d escaped one of their hunting parties like she had. Especially if my parents hadn’t.

“Just you and me?” I give her a weak smile.

“Well, we might need Min, I guess.”

I sigh. “I’d rather move than fight, but I wish we didn’t have to do either.”

She shakes her head. “I never saw it coming. I’ve scouted that direction all week. How did I miss him?” Her gaze is flat and tight, and her nostrils flare slightly. I can tell she’s angry, but more with herself than with me.

I swallow and close my hands into tight fists to still their trembling. “I saw everything. I noticed right before you came down the path. I couldn’t warn you. I couldn’t do anything. I completely froze. If Avi hadn’t been th—”

“Stop it.” Isa cuts me off midsentence. “I’m fine. Min’s fine. Stop blaming yourself; you did your job. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

“I’ll stop blaming myself if you stop blaming yourself. Deal?” I hold out my hand. I know neither of us will follow through on this bargain, but we shake anyway.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Isa is quiet for a minute, then she looks at me again. “Are you nervous?”

I know she’s asking me about the announcement ceremony.

“Damn.” I lean back in my chair. “I was hoping a massive shot of tranquilizer would’ve made you forget that’s tomorrow.”

She smirks. “Not a chance. Better get your application in today.”

I pat my pocket, and the paper crinkles inside. “I’ll drop it off when we’re done.”

She nods with a satisfied smile. “Good. You didn’t answer my question. Are you nervous?”

I flick her bedsheet, watching the ripples as I consider. “Eight years,” I say, finally, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice and failing miserably. “We’ve been doing training rotations for eight years. I’ve worked my ass off, but no chief ever gave me a commendation or requested me, not once. Yes, I’m nervous.”

Isa is quiet, so I bluster on. “They all keep expecting me to be Min and are disappointed when I’m not.” All the chiefs had requested Maiwen. I’ll be lucky to get an assignment at all.

“They aren’t the only ones with false expectations,” Isa says.

“What do you mean?”

“You do it to yourself, Mila,” Isa speaks softly, looking away from me. “You think she’s the ideal, that everyone idolizes her. She’s not and they don’t. You think you have to be like Maiwen to have value. You don’t. You have worth all on your own.”

When I don’t respond, she continues, “Maiwen locks her whole heart away. People call her the Ice Bitch, just so you know. Not you, people can tell you have feelings.”

I scoff. “I wish they couldn’t. Emotions are weakness. Empathy got my mother killed.” And daydreaming about dumb Avi got your friend tranqed and your sister hurt, I remind myself.

“Your mom saved a whole tribe the day she was taken. She wasn’t afraid of caring for others. It was her biggest strength.” Isa’s voice cracks and she falls silent.

“Maybe next time I run into an Immortal, I’ll just overwhelm him with the strength of my emotions. Teenage angst to the rescue!” I laugh.

Isa laughs, too. “Yes, well, maybe it isn’t a superpower, but if people know you care about them, they’ll care about you. It’s important for a community, especially one like ours.”

“I know Min has a hard exterior, but she cares.”

Isa’s smile broadens. “You’re just proving my point. She lets you know she cares because you accept and adore her, and she can see that. I bet not even your dad gets to see that side of Min.”

“Well, thanks. I just wish it would get me into the ranger program.” After today, it seems like a long shot. “Are you nervous?” I ask, though I know the answer. Isa is a born scout—she survived alone in the wilderness and made it home after her parents were taken. She has nothing to worry about.

“Nah.” She smiles and her eyes twinkle. “I figure we’re both bound for sanitation.”

I chuckle and stand up. “I gotta go. I’ll turn in my scout application on my way to the school.”

I slide into class two minutes late, my application still jammed in my pocket. The educator spares me a glare before turning back to her pupils. They vary in range between four and seven years old. I take up my usual spot leaning against the corner support of the open-air canopy and put on my best assistant-educator look.

“Today we begin our unit on Immortal history. First, let’s review what you learned in science about Immortality. Can anyone tell me the difference between these people?” She props three posters on easels and points at them with her eyebrows raised.

I give them a cursory glance. They’ve been in use since I was a learner. They show the front and back of three identical male humans. There’s only one visible difference—the lights. One has three subdermal green lights in a vertical row at the nape of his neck. Supposedly they turn blue when an Immortal is syncing and red when a chip is inactive or no longer recording. I picture the red lights of the bloody chip that glowed in my hand all morning and wipe my palms on my pants as if it will wipe the memory away.

“Who is this one?” She indicates the first figure in the picture.

“Educator Allen!” someone yells, and the class dissolves into giggles. I hide a smile. The man does look remarkably like the dry, thin math educator.

She shakes her head. “No, not Educator Allen, but they are mortal like you or me, like all Nomads or Raiders.”

“Raiders can die?” someone pipes up.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t recommend trying to kill one unless you have to. Avoid them, they’re very dangerous.”

She points to the second figure on the poster, it has three purple lights at the nape of its neck. “What about this one?”

“A chippie!”

“How can you tell?”

“The lights are purple.”

“Nice job. Is a chipped worker Immortal?”

The class buzzes with discussion for a moment but doesn’t come to a consensus.

“Mila?” The educator looks at me.

I clear my throat. “No. A chipped worker can die, but they
are being recorded and tracked by the Immortals because
they hope to become one someday. Be careful when interacting with them.”

“Very good.” The educator points to the last figure. “Has anyone here ever seen an Immortal?”

The children are wide-eyed as they look around at each other. Eventually, I raise my hand and one small boy in the back does, too. It’s the kid that kept staring at my hair earlier.

The educator kneels before him so their eyes are level. “You are very lucky to survive seeing an Immortal. That must have been scary, and you must be very brave.”

The boy ducks his head and mumbles. The educator pats him on the head and raises her voice. “What do we do if we see an Immortal?”

The class responds in unison from years of training. “Run from it.”

“What if you cannot run?”

“Hide from it.”

“What if it finds you?”

“Fight it. Kill it.”

I let out a slow breath. I didn’t do any of those things. Years of training, and I froze like a deer before a cougar. Not really an ideal ranger move. I finger the application in my pocket.

The educator stands and dusts her knees off. “What about you, Mila? What did you do when you saw an Immortal?”

“Nothing.” My voice is hollow.

“Nothing? How did you survive?”

“My friend shot it.”

She shakes her head, chiding me. Not ranger material at all. “You are very lucky indeed.”

She turns back to the class, clasping her hands behind her back. “Immortal technology was invented about five hundred years ago in 2047, and the first human to be Immortalized was the inventor himself, Simon Morreau, then his family and siblings were, too. Immortals tend to gloss over this, but to convince investors the Nugeneco technology worked, they cloned, killed, and reincarnated Anders Morreau, Simon’s younger brother, at least six times in 2048.”

The kids gasp. Six deaths in a year.

“Who killed him?” a boy asks.

“I believe his brother did it all six times. At the time, Simon did not enjoy killing like he seems to now, so this was hard for him. Anyone know what else is significant about Anders Morreau?”

Silence.

I clear my throat. “He deleted himself in 2072, becoming the first Immortal to choose eternal death over eternal life.” Something about that always made me sad.

“Right, thank you. Moving on, the Immortals established the first Immortal city, IC-1, in the city then known as New York . . .”

I tune her out as I mull over Anders Morreau’s deletion. Giving up eternal life. That was a ballsy move. What must have so haunted him in life to make him welcome death? We Nomads have a deep respect for death, though we don’t seek it out. Death gives our lives meaning. Or at least, that’s what we believe. Myself, I’ve never seen it that way. My mom died. Not for any reason or greater good—the Immortals killed her along with thousands of others, and nothing happened. They still hunt us, and we still die at their leisure. Her life wasn’t special, and her death wasn’t either. Death is just death. Though if they’d had better scouts, she might still be here. I pull out the application and turn it over in my hands.

“Mila?” The educator stands before me, hands on her hips.

“Hmm?” I give my best I’ve-been-paying-attention-all-along eyebrow raise.

“Could you kindly take over for a minute?”

I glance around and see the civil and education chiefs tapping their feet impatiently outside. I slide the application back in my pocket and straighten up. “Yep. Sure. Where were we?”

The class giggles and says in unison, “The Charlotte Convention.”

“Right.” I clear my throat again and try not to fidget. “Uh, so in 2147, on the centennial of Immortalization, the warring groups met in Charlotte to sign the Morreau Accord, granting nine US cities for Immortals and their supercoms, leaving the rest for the mortals.”

I stumble through the end of the lesson and then wave the kids away with a half smile. As I leave, the educator falls in step beside me. We’ve worked together before in my training. I like her—she’s logical and helps me work through my gut reaction reasoning.

“What were you thinking about?” she asks.

“What? Oh.” I shrug. “I’ve always wondered about Immortals choosing deletion. I mean they can live forever in their midtwenties. Who wouldn’t want that?”

I flush at my admission, but she just smiles a little. “Maybe it isn’t all that was promised. What is worse than death?”

I sigh and settle in for a debate. “I mean, I guess if I was in constant eternal pain, I might opt out. Hard to imagine what else.”

“What about constant sorrow? That’s a type of pain.”

I guess it is. “Eternal life without my loved ones would be pretty miserable.”

“I agree.” She nods.

“Hmm.” I smirk. “It’s also possible that they have really dull educators that drive them to deletion. Eternal history lessons or eternal silence. I think I might pick silence.”

She elbows me in the ribs. “Very funny.”

She waves goodbye at the encampment core. I watch her go before turning my heavy feet toward the civ center.

I remove my application from my pocket and smooth it out. My name is written across the top, and beneath it I ticked the box for ranger so boldly that the tick next to scout looks weak in comparison. I refold it, trying to make the lines crisp and neat. Anything is better than sanitation. I hold my breath as I slide the ragged application into the box, then let it out slowly before heading home.

On watch shift the next day, I’m taut as a bowstring, jumping at shadows and scrutinizing every pile of leaves. By the time I head back for the trade announcement ceremony, I’m all jitters. Every muscle hums beneath my skin as I change. I drop my shirt, twice. Once again, I’m tempted to avoid the humiliation and skip the ceremony, but Isa wants to go. Will this one be any different from the others? I sit on my cot and take a deep breath, letting it out slow, focusing on stillness, then stand up.

Clothes are strictly utilitarian in the encampment, not decorative, but I dress up a little for Isa’s sake. I have two pieces of jewelry, both bracelets. One Maiwen found for me on a ranging. It’s made of flattened silver and iridescent green beads. The other my mother made for me, leather, with four metal circles. I wear them both.

“Hey-hey.” Isa lifts the flap and pops inside. “Do my hair?”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and nod. “Feeling better?’

“Much.”

Her hair is soft and curls gently as I brush it out of its signature braid. I twist it into a low bun and secure it with some pins. She returns the favor, taming my wild mane. The curly tendrils that escape her pins tickle my neck as we duck out, giving me the shivers.

We head to the civ center. It used to be a school, but when we moved here from Lulu, we cleaned it out and repurposed it. Large sections of the roof are missing, but it serves its purpose. The crumbling mortar between the old bricks smells chalky and makes me sneeze as we enter the building. We make our way to the large common room. Everything important takes place in the common room: trade assignments, trials, and, very rarely, celebrations.

A few trainees cluster to one side, full of nervous energy. A front-row bench has been set aside for us, but no one is sitting on it. The eleven chiefs stand behind a long table, talking. Their trainers stand nearby, and I pick out Avi and Maiwen almost instantly. The butterfly party in my abdomen intensifies. Avi nods and gives me a small wave. I blush like a moron and wave back before looking quickly away.

Isa and I sit on the wooden bench, and the four other sixteen-year-olds crunch in around us. Behind us are maybe twenty more people, mostly family of the trainees. I know the other trainees well; we’ve been in the same training rotations since we were eight. I glance over them, guessing their trade assignments.

Magnus sits on my right, chewing his fingernails. Despite his name, he’s a scrawny, intellectual kid who likes to invent things. He’s tight with Tibs and is probably bound for tech. Beside him, Jan catches me looking and sneers at me. She’s blond and prone to paunchiness. She likes to pick fights and boss people around. With my luck, she’ll get civil duty, enforcement. She has never liked me. The feeling is mutual.

“How’s it going, Greenwood?” Jerah reaches across Isa, holding out his fist for me to bump, his dark green eyes smiling into mine. He’s strong and smart. Avi has been molding him for ranger duty.

“Okay.” I touch my knuckles to his briefly before I glance at the girl beside him. Cally cowers at the end of the bench, hiding behind her sleek black hair. She’s a wisp of a girl who’s quiet and prefers being alone. Seems like she will be an artisan. Isa’ll get scout. Which leaves me. The one who isn’t good at anything. I fidget with my bracelets until Isa takes my hand and squeezes it.

My dad stands up then, ripping my attention from the trainees. Guard chief doesn’t pick new trainees. Guards are drawn from rangers and scouts. So my dad usually acts as the master of ceremonies. Although I know most of the chiefs, I’ve only worked directly with a handful of them. They let their trainers handle that.

“Will the trainees please rise?”

We stand in unison. He looks us over. I try to read his face for a hint to my trade. He’s as expressive as a bot.

“The Council of Chiefs would like to thank you for your applications. After careful consideration, we have picked a tech, a civvy, two rangers, and two scouts from your applications. The chief responsible for you will give you an armband after they read their picks. Chief McCray?” He steps back and waves the civil chief to the front. I barely notice. He said six trades: I’m one of those six. And two rangers. My insides bubble. Two! I grab Isa’s arm and she smiles at me. My excited smile threatens to burst out of me and ruin the ceremony.

McCray is formal and quick. “We pick Jan Durst for Civil Duty, Enforcement Division.” I am almost happy for Jan as she struts forward. Almost.

Tibs takes center stage next, squinting through his glasses at the name on the paper as if it is a surprise to him. “Magnus Treviak, the techs would be pleased if you would join our ranks.” He ties the armband to Magnus while I hop impatiently from one foot to another.

Finally, Chief Begay comes forward. “The rangers are honored to add Jerah Paulsen and Cally Wen to our trade.”

Cally? I swallow a whole icicle of disappointment. It sinks through me and settles in my gut, right behind my stomach. They made Cally ranger?

Tears sting my eyes. It was idiotic to think it would be me.

I don’t even hear Chief Forrester calling my name. Isa tugs me to the front with her. I shake my head and paste on a smile. Aedna Forrester ties the green band around my bicep and gives my shoulder a pat.

Isa gives me a soft smile and pulls me into a quick embrace. “You okay?” She squeezes me extra tight, then lets me go.

I nod, rubbing at my eyes with my palms. “I’d make a crap ranger anyway.”

Maiwen claps me on the shoulder with a wince. “Nice job, Mila. You’ll make a good scout.”

“Thanks.”

I feel foolish. Ranger is the hardest trade. I’m not strong enough to be a soldier, and I never will be. I should have known it wouldn’t be me. At least I’ll get to work with Isa now.

My sister keeps her arm around me as I watch my classmates celebrate. Jan struts about, showing off her yellow band for her family and punching her brother on the arm. Magnus and Tibs are already deep in conversation. Jerah smiles and hugs random people.

“Where did Cally go?” Maiwen asks. I glance at her—casual interest is carefully written in the arch of her eyebrows, hiding something deeper.

I nudge my sister. “You like her.”

“Don’t be silly.” The emotion vanishes from her face. “I don’t have time to like people.”

I smirk. “Careful. You’ll break Avi’s heart.” I’m teasing, but my chest still twinges at the suggestion.

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “You think everyone likes me.”

“Uh, maybe because they do.”

Maiwen shifts her gaze to Avi and raises her eyebrows, considering. “If he were interested, I’d almost be tempted. But he knows better than that.”

Avi turns to find us watching him and gives a small wave before ducking his head.

My chest burns. “Oh, does he?”

Maiwen shrugs. “Doesn’t matter anyway—he’s spoken for.”

My stomach turns to stone. “By whom?”

“You.”

“What? I don’t—” I give a strangled laugh and wave one arm around as if that will make it go away.

“You aren’t the only one who can read people.” Maiwen smiles and walks off.

Isa rescues me, snagging my arm and dragging me over to the scout chief. Aedna Forrester gives us our schedule for the week. Then it is over. The assignment I have been alternatively anticipating and dreading for eight years is done.

I am a scout.

 

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