I have been rebalanced twenty seven times since my seventh birthday. I remember every one. And yet, it did not work. I keep my head low and pick up the pace as I turn the corner to the dorms. The hard metal floor of the Citadel rattles under my boots, the sound grating on my nerves. I can feel the heat on my face though it makes little sense that it would still be there. Nobody but me would know what it was, but I feel like I have to hide it anyway, out of shame as much as out of fear, I think. And yet, there was something else there, when her fingers wrapped around mine, a goosebumpy warmth in my limbs, a squeezing in my chest that didn’t hurt and yet in a way it did. But I didn’t mind it. I wanted to stay like that, feeling it. That’s what pulled me away from her in the end. I was feeling things. So it didn’t work.
I knew it didn’t work the last time, almost six months ago now, felt it somehow. But then, the tests came back normal for the first time. I was cleared. No more rebalances. No more quarantine. I felt a twinge of hope building deep in my bones then, and that’s how I knew that it didn’t really work, not all the way. But for whatever reason the tests didn’t show it. And afterwards, when they put me into the dorm with boys my age, and I wasn’t sleeping alone in a silent, dark room, I made myself believe that of course it worked. Their tests didn’t lie. Their AI wasn’t capable of it. I had to have been cured, is all. It’s happened before like that, they’d told me. A rebalancing sticking when the ones before it had failed. Hormones or something like that finally normalizing. I was good with it, any explanation that made me feel normal was a good thing, an easy thing to swallow.
I press the sensor on the hard metal door, and it beeps twice. I put my eye to the scanner and try not to blink. I’m still getting used to this.
Carter JX blocks my path as the door swishes open and he’s grinning at me. Carter does not grin. I pull my shoulders up, lean forward, waiting. I don’t look him in the eye, but I don’t look down either.
He’s only a little taller, but he’s been fighting for longer than I’ve been alive, I think. The way he goes about it is too casual for someone who had to learn it. Carter fights in the same way other people eat or shower. As a matter of course. And because he isn’t a reb, I know he feels nothing when he does. But he is grinning at me, and that makes no sense.
He pulls me by the hand and into the dark bathroom. I reach reflexively for the light switch, but he slaps my hand away. I can’t see much of his face this way, though he is standing very close to me, his fingers still gripping my arm. He leans in closer still, whispers, “I have to show you something, Eton. But you have to promise not to freak or do anything stupid.” I tug on my arm and he lets go, takes a step back. “Sorry.”
A trail of fear makes its way up my spine, cooling my skin. I hide the shiver and nod. “Alright,” I say quietly, “show me.”
I see a small flash of white teeth and then it’s gone and he’s turned away. I hear the click of the door locking, blocking the only sliver of light and plunging us into complete darkness. Carter turns and pulls off his shirt. I swallow hard. I am suddenly feeling stupid for not seeing that. A new way for him to enjoy fighting me.
Carter just shakes his head again and points to a spot right under his left collarbone. I have to peer at it closely to see anything, but then it’s there, a pale blue dot glowing right under his skin. Or maybe it’s a part of it. It pulsates the way I imagine his heart does, with a steady rhythm. Carter’s face is tense when he points to it. “Go ahead, E.” I put my finger on it and almost jump - the dot’s bright pink now, the color of the girls’ dorm, and it’s pulsing faster. I can almost feel the movement of it without touching it.
I step back and catch myself breathing harder than I ought to be. My face feels placid and I’m grateful for that. Carter smiles at me again, shakes his head. “You have the same thing, E. Maybe not where mine is, but you do. You have to. That’s how they do it….”
“You’re a reb.” The words just come out and I want to pull them back in, but that’s not how this works. He nods, quickly. Holds his hands out to me, palms up. “I think we all are. Not the way they did it with you, but in some way, we’ve all been rebalanced. And I think I just figured out how to undo whatever they did.” Carter pulls out a short sharp blade with a tapered end and a small bottle with a rubber cap. He sticks the edge of the blade through the cap and when it comes out, it’s bright orange. “Iodine,” he says evenly, “so it doesn’t get infected.” He hands it to me, handle first but my hand shakes and I know I can’t do it, can’t cut into him. I’m the wrong person for it. Rita probably could. She can do anything, I think. The memory of what I’d been trying to hide just moments ago floods my bloodstream and I feel myself blush. I’m grateful for the dark now, so Carter can’t tell, and I want to laugh at how silly all of this is. Carter knows. Of course he knows. Carter’s a reb. And I want to ask him if he ever did feel it when punching someone, if maybe that’s why he does it.
I steady my hand and take a step toward him. Carter leans against the door, nods just once and closes his eyes. I hope I can do this right for him.
“Never thought we’d have to worry about 537, boss,” Sandra says, not quite looking at me, her eyes on the screen. “He always struck me more robot than actual droids, you know? I wasn’t convinced he could even feel physical pain, never mind anything else…. Carter’s a reb,” she laughs, then finally looks at me.
I don’t need to say anything. I’ve known what he is from from the day he was born, but I can’t tell her that. I watch in silence as my son’s connection to the net is severed. I need Sandra to turn away from me. I’ve known her too long to do it like this. The syringe is tucked safely behind my back. My body is loose, casual. I step to her and lean over slightly, angling my head toward her screen, as if there’s something new and interesting on it. Of course she follows the movement, her eyes locking on the darkness, watching the shadow hands of the other boy as he stretches a skinex over Carter’s wound. I take a deep breath and plunge the needle into the base of her neck.
“I’m sorry, Sandra,” comes out unbidden. A mere whisper. I hold her tightly as her body sags, liquid and heavy. I have to fight the bile at knowing that body, every curve of it, the warm light olive hue to her skin, healthy and glowing, even in her fourth decade. I know this will eat away at me, no matter the patches. Hell, I don’t want the damn patches for this. I call for the maintenance bot to dispose of her as if she’s so much debris and go to my rooms on the upper deck. I walk slowly, counting the steps to calm myself. My feet take me to the wet bar and I pour much more than the customary two fingers of the oldest Whiskey I have. The bottle my dad gave me when Carter was born seventeen years ago today. I raise the full glass to my lips, my hand shaky again, and take a long swallow. “Happy real birthday, son,” I say to an empty dark room. “Happy birthday.”
You can read Part 2 HERE
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