And with that, all thoughts of war and freedom are gone.
I’m awoken by the sound of my screen rapidly bleeping.
Something sparks in the back of my mind, and I realize that today is Wednesday, and at 2 a.m. I get to walk out of this cell and be free for a few hours. But then I realize the alarm that’s woken me isn’t my regular wake-up call.
I recognize the sound; it’s a high-pitched beep that signals a Delay opportunity.
I sit up in the darkness and rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“Can’t be,” I mutter, stumbling toward the screen. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but I see that it’s 4:04 a.m. and the red dot at the bottom right corner is flashing below the word Delay. This is impossible. Delays are offered once every six months, and it’s only been three months since I completed my last one.
I blink a few times and try to clear my head. I look at the screen again, but nothing has changed.
My heart begins to thump in my chest. This is new, this is different, and different is amazing in the Loop. Anything that is not the daily routine is something to be savored, good or bad.
I press the red dot, and the screen changes to a white background with lines of text; it’s a Delay contract, but what’s it doing here on my screen at four in the morning and three months early?
THE UNDERSIGNED (INMATE 9-70-981, HENCEFORTH “THE INMATE”), IS OFFERED THE OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE PART IN A CLINICAL TRIAL OR TRIALS AS PART OF GROUP B, IN EXCHANGE FOR A DELAY IN THE FULFILLMENT OF THEIR COURT RULING (IN THIS CASE THE PENALTY OF DEATH).
UPON ACCEPTANCE OF THIS OFFER, THE INMATE WILL HEREBY BE GRANTED A STAY OF EXECUTION FOR 168 DAYS, AT WHICH TIME—SUBJECT TO CONDITIONS SPECIFIED BELOW—A FURTHER OFFER MAY BE MADE.
THE INMATE RETAINS THE RIGHT OF REFUSAL OF THIS PROPOSAL AT THIS TIME BUT UNDERSTANDS THAT REFUSAL OF THIS CONTRACT WILL RESULT IN THE IMMEDIATE EXECUTION OF THE RULING OF THE COURT FOLLOWING A ONE-WEEK COOLING-OFF PERIOD, AFTER WHICH THE INMATE WILL ONCE AGAIN BE OFFERED THE OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE PART IN THE TRIAL. IF—ONCE SIGNED—THE INMATE CHOOSES TO RENEGE ON THIS CONTRACT, THE RULING OF THE COURT WILL BE CARRIED OUT IMMEDIATELY.
THE NATURE OF THE TRIAL WILL REMAIN UNSPECIFIED UP TO THE TIME OF SAID TRIAL AND MAY REMAIN UNKNOWN TO THE INMATE FOLLOWING ITS COMPLETION, DEPENDING ON THE NATURE OF SAID TRIAL.
FURTHER DETAILS AND CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATIONS CAN BE FOUND ON PAGES 3–14.
IF THE INMATE AGREES, CONSENT CAN BE GIVEN BY ELECTRONIC SIGNATURE (PROVIDED BY FINGERPRINT AND IRIS SCAN) BELOW.
THIS OFFER STANDS FOR 24 HOURS FROM THE TIME OF SUBMISSION (4:03 A.M., ON THE FIFTEENTH DAY OF JUNE).
BY ORDER OF THE WORLD GOVERNMENT AND REGION 86 OVERSEER, GALEN RYE.
It’s the standard Delay contract apart from two things: the bit about Group B and the fact that it doesn’t make any sense. Surely, from a legal standpoint, the offer of a six-month contract becomes invalid by offering a new one after only three months? It doesn’t matter, though—it’s not like I can hire a lawyer to fight my case or voice my dissent to the government, and they wouldn’t listen even if I could.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper into the silence.
I convince myself that it can wait until later. The offer stands for twenty-four hours, after all. And then I remember I have Happy.
“Happy,” I say, commanding the screen to talk to me.
“Yes, Inmate 9-70-981?”
“Why have I been offered a Delay?”
“Everything is as it should be, Inmate 9-70-981.”
“No, it isn’t,” I insist. “I have three months left until my Delay. Can you explain this?”
“Everything is as it should be.”
I stare, disbelieving, at the screen. I try to slow my breathing, try to think rationally, but this unprecedented occurrence is causing adrenaline to pump through my body.
“All right,” I say finally.
I climb back into my bed and rest my head on my flat pillow. I don’t even bother to close my eyes; I know that I won’t sleep.
* * *
The sun comes up and I go about my daily routine, but I can’t help but be distracted by the constant flashing of the red light below the contract—reminding me that something is wrong, something is going on. I’m practically bouncing off the walls waiting for Wren to show up so she can tell me exactly why the Delay contract arrived early.
It feels like time is moving in slow motion, like every second lasts a minute, but finally exercise hour arrives and I don’t even wait for the back wall to fully open before ducking into the yard.
Immediately, I’m hit with a wall of concerned voices all talking at once, and I know that I’m not the only one who received the offer.
“Did you get the contract?” one older-sounding inmate yells to his neighbor.
“I took my Delay last week!” someone calls back.
“What does it mean? I got Group A, what did you get?”
“I’m B, what’s the difference?”
And still—over all of this—Tyco, unfazed, sticks to his murderous mantra.
“Luka, I’m going to kill you, are you listening to me? I’m going to kill you.”
I walk to the wall between Kina and me. Before I can say anything, she speaks.
“What does it mean, Luka?”
“I don’t know. It has to be a fault, doesn’t it?”
“Which group are you?” she asks.
“Group B. You?”
“B. Did you accept it?”
“No, I decided to wait and talk to Wren. Did you?”
“No, I’m going to do the same thing.”
“Something’s going on, Kina. It might be time to tell me about those rumors you heard.”
There’s a moment of silence. “They were just rumors, though, silly gossip I heard from my mom.”
“They could be important.”
“The thing is, my mother, she didn’t spend a lot of her time in the present, if you know what I mean?”
And I do know; Kina’s mother is a clone.
The clones aren’t clones exactly, it’s just what Regulars call victims of the epidemic, those who got lost in a combination of technology and a drug known as Ebb. They got the nickname “clones” because after a few months on Ebb, they all look the same: dull gray skin, missing teeth, matted hair, and skinny because they have no desire to eat.
The rich who get hooked on Ebb use it with a Lens, a piece of technology that every Alt has. It’s essentially a contact lens that displays information, records what the wearer sees, and can overlay virtual reality or augmented reality on top of the real world. In the Verticals—where the Regulars can’t afford such tech—Ebb users rely on old-fashioned VR headsets. The effects of the drug coupled with the virtual world let the user truly believe that they are living an entirely different life. In reality, they become emaciated, their teeth rot, and their skin develops sores. They just don’t have the will to take care of themselves in the real world. Why bother when you’re always perfect on Ebb?
“I’m sorry,” I say, lost for anything of worth to add.
“No, it’s good,” Kina tells me. “As far as I know, she’s completely unaware that I’m even in this place, and she didn’t have a clue about Orla.”