Chapter 1
Tam
By the time I see them, it’s too late to run.
I’m on the sidewalk about a block from the pickup point for the school shuttle, about to go under the over-pass, with a twenty-foot-high concrete retaining wall on either side of the street. Two uniformed officers are heading straight towards me from the other direction on what I initially hope is a routine patrol. But when I glance behind and see two more officers a dozen or so yards behind me, also heading in my direction, I know they’re here for me.
I stop, unsure of what to do, but before I can decide whether to run or not, they’re on top of me. The uniformed officers push me up against the wall, forcing my hands behind my back. The handcuffs they fit me with are uncomfortably tight and I feel a tap on my helmet as one of them places a jamming device on it to prevent me from warning anyone else. A van suddenly appears as if out of thin air. I’m violently shoved into the back and pushed onto a bench that runs along the side of the cargo hold.
Two of the officers get in, shutting the doors as they do, and sit down on either side of me. Soon we’re speeding away to an unknown destination. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour, and I’m scared out of my mind. In a panic, I wonder if they’ve arrested Veritas, too. God, I hope not. I hope she’s spared all of this.
The whole event transpires in less than thirty seconds, and in that short period of time, I’ve gone from being a high school junior returning from winter break to a prisoner of the state.
The entire course of my life has just changed.
* * * * *
I’m guided into a small room with a two-way mirror on one wall. There’s a grey prisoner’s helmet on a shelf with laminated instructions taped to the wall beside it, but I don’t have to read them. I’ve seen enough police procedural shows to know what I’m supposed to do.
A tired, monotone voice emits from a small speaker mounted near the ceiling, “Remove your helmet, place it on the shelf, and put on the grey helmet.”
I know there’s a watcher on the other side of the glass whose job it is to make sure I don’t try to slip any contraband into the prison helmet. But I don’t have anything on me. I’m not a criminal. I’m just a kid who wanted some freedom to be who I am.
And now this.
I comply with the instructions, noting the ID on the front of the grey helmet and my new name—00XJ5. Once my helmet is in place, the guard’s voice sounds over the internal speakers.
“If you can hear me, raise your right hand.”
I raise my right hand.
“For the duration of your stay, you will be referred to as Prisoner 00XJ5. Repeat your name, please.”
“Prisoner 00XJ5,” I reply.
“In a few seconds, you will hear a clicking sound. You will exit through the door behind you and proceed down the hall, following the yellow arrows and entering the interrogation room indicated. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I hear a loud buzz behind me, followed by a click. I turn to find an unlocked door and follow the arrows to the previously mentioned interrogation room. It’s spartan, with only a single chair bolted to the floor in front of a Plexiglas divider separating me from the other side of the room. There’s a much nicer-looking chair along with a small table on the other side.
Countless hours spent watching crime drama online helps to lessen my fear a notch or two. At least I think I know what will happen next. At some point, a police detective will come through the door on the other side, sit in that chair, and start asking questions. But I don’t just know that. I know what they’re going to ask about. I know exactly why I’m here and what crime I’ve committed. And I know that the least serious penalty I could get is being expelled from school. The maximum sentence is five years in re-education camp.
It would make sense if I were in tears right now, overcome with fear, but all I feel is numb.
* * * * *
Earlier the same morning
My hair is a mess. I stare into the mirror and survey the mass of tangles and weirdly angled follicles sitting atop my head. Why even bother to brush it? Why does it even matter?
After a half-hearted attempt to tame the chaos with a brush, I grab my duffle bag and helmet, and head downstairs to say goodbye to Greg and Shantarius, my parental pair. My sister Philantrius is sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal. I envy her freedom. She’s nine years old, so she won’t be sent off to state boarding school for another three years. I long for those carefree days when I could go outside the house without having to wear my equality suit.
“Good morning,” Greg says as I put my duffle bag down beside the front door.
“Hey.”
“Want some eggs benedict before you head out?”
“Nah. Not that hungry.”
Philantrius glances up from her cereal and sees me in my suit, a frown immediately replacing her neutral expression.
“Don’t go!” she says as she jumps up and runs over to me, giving me a big hug. I’ll miss this, the hugs from my family. Staring at avatars on the viewscreens of other people’s helmets and hearing the computer-altered, androgenized versions of their voices all day gets old.
I return the hug, pushing back the threatening tears.
“I’ll miss you, too, Phil. I’ll be back again at spring break.”
“But that’s too long!”
“We can video-chat every week.”
“Don’t you leave without giving me a hug, too!” Shantarius says as she comes down the stairs and joins Philantrius in the hug-fest.
“I’ll miss you guys.”
Greg puts down his spatula and walks over. He waits until Shantarius stops hugging me before he leans in for a quick hug of his own.
“Take care out there, Tam,” he says as we embrace.
“I will. Well, the shuttle leaves in ten minutes, so I better get going.”
Greg pries Philantrius away from me, and Shantarius gives me a quick peck on the cheek before I put on my helmet. I wave goodbye as I head out the door.
Per my usual routine, when I get to the end of the walkway leading from our house to the street, I turn and look back, taking a picture in my mind. Our house is a remodeled 1960s style two-story with a partial basement nestled in a gently sloping hill with an exposed garage door on the lower level on one end. A rock wall that runs two-thirds the length of the house supports the front porch and comes up high enough to serve as the porch railing. Four columns of the same material rise up from the top of the railing and support the roof. The columns are wider at their base than at the top, giving them a pleasing geometrical shape that I’ve always found appealing. The house itself is hunter green with white trim and wooden shingles. Shantarius—one of my parental pair—has a green thumb and keeps the flower beds full of blooming flowers during the spring and summer. The shrubs are trimmed to perfection, and the thick, well-manicured lawn is always lush and green thanks to the lawn service that comes by once a week during the warmer months. The whole place has a nice, warm feel to it.
Just then, I turn to see my next-door neighbor, Jeremy, heading up the sidewalk. The facial avatar on her viewscreen looks pensive.
“Hey,” she says flatly.
“Hey,” I reply.
Jeremy and I have known each other since kindergarten. We went to summer camp with each other every year until we went away to school. I know her well enough to tell when things aren’t so great at home.
“Your parents fighting again?”
“Yeah. You’d think they could get along for two weeks.”
Jeremy’s parental pair are both males—Javier and Sheila. Some parental pairs develop a close relationship like mine did and get along well. Others, not so much. Javier and Sheila have been fighting for as long as I can remember. They don’t even live together except for when they have to perform their parental duties. Jeremy once confided in me that she feels like Sheila resents her for the situation. I tell her it’s not her fault, but I’m not sure she believes me.
We part at the corner of Fifth and Elm, saying our goodbyes as we head to our separate pickup points. You aren’t allowed to attend state boarding school with anyone you grew up with. Knowing so much about them—their gender, race, and who knows what other identity markers—would violate the equality laws.
I give the command to my helmet to switch over to dictation mode, sending Cynthia a text as I walk.
“Good morning. I’m on my way to the shuttle now. Hope you had a good break. See you at school.”
I can’t say too much. We all know that Googlomerate monitors all communications for the government. We’ll have plenty of time to talk in private once we’re back at school. I wish I could contact Veritas, too, but the risk is just too great.
I wait for a response from Cynthia, but don’t get one. And that’s when it happens. That’s when they arrest me, and my world changes forever.
