False Hearts Read online

  After I finished my education, I never touched a Chair again. I hate the feeling of information trickling into my brain. It’s like it fills my skull with noise and pushes out who I am. I always woke up after a night of downloading information as tired as when I’d gone to bed, muttering facts to myself as I made coffee. Perhaps it was harder for us because of our high retention rate, or the fact that Zeal is not as pleasurable for us as for others. In any case, I prefer to learn things the way the brain was meant to absorb them.

  The Chair by itself is fairly antiquated. As of a few years ago, most people can download information directly into their brain, with extra implants in the hippocampus and frontal cortex. They don’t have that in Zeal lounges, but it’s the inevitable next step. Neither Tila nor I have those extra implants, and I’m glad they haven’t asked me to get them. I’d rather have the Chair.

  “You have your room to store your things, but I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping here, most of the time,” Nazarin says. “Come on, let’s go have some coffee. I’ll help fill you in on what you can expect over the next few weeks.”

  Finally. Oloyu hadn’t gone into a lot of detail about the day-in day-out plans of being undercover. He didn’t know.

  He makes the coffee—well, orders it from the replicator—and sets the makings on the table. I’ve been in his presence over half an hour and I still have no idea what to think of him.

  “So. We don’t have long to train you,” he begins. “Tila works at the Verve lounge a few times a week. We know where she goes and what her shifts are, and we do know how she communicates with them. We can tell them you’re ill, which means you can miss one, maybe two shifts, but after that they’ll expect you back. I can’t have the luxury, so I’ll still be working my usual night shifts while you brainload.”

  “Verve … lounge?” I ask.

  “That’s what she does for them and how she rose so fast through their ranks.” He seems frustrated that I’m confused. “Surely Oloyu told you about Verve?”

  “Some. That it’s different from Zeal, and they need lucid dreamers to mine it. I didn’t realize that I’d have to do it so soon. Or that there were lounges for it.”

  “By the time that happens, you’ll be trained and know what to do.” His words are so confident I allow myself to believe them, at least a little.

  “OK,” he continues. “Today, you’ll be contacting people with your cover story, and we’re going to switch your VeriChip to your sister’s. Once that happens, you’ll contact your friends to tell them her cover story, and then you’ll be able to contact the Ratel. We’ll also start your training. It’ll be physical, hand-to-hand combat, and weapons, and as much information as you can retain. I’m here every step of the way, and any questions you have, you can ask me.”

  Despite his harsh features and his scars, his eyes are warm. It steadies me a little more.

  “How long have you been undercover?” I ask.

  “A little over two years.”

  That’s a long time. If he’s deep undercover, that means he might not have been able to contact his close friends and family, and even if he could, he’d have to lie to them day in and day out about what he was really doing with his time.

  Like Tila lied to me. And how long will I be doing this? A few days, weeks, months? Years?

  I push the thought away, but a worse one follows in its place. “Have you … met my sister?”

  “I have. Not often, but we were at some of the same parties, and I saw her in passing if I dropped off deliveries at the Verve warehouse.”

  A strange thought. I feel strangely exposed. “What about … the fact we don’t look alike?”

  “Visiting a flesh parlor will be one of the last steps.”

  I touch my face. Like everyone else, I’ve been to flesh parlors and erased a line here, a dimple there. I’ve never done anything drastic, but I’ll have to change my hair, my nose and my cheekbones. Not much, but enough that I won’t recognize myself so easily in the mirror. Enough that I’ll look like Tila again. “Can I change it back … after?”

  “There’s no reason you can’t.”

  I’m not reassured. I stare at the dregs of my coffee, counting my steady heartbeats.

  “Do you feel ready for the first step?” he asks gently.

  I look up, pressing my lips together. “Sooner we start, the sooner it’s over with.”

  He gives me a smile, and it transforms his face. His eyes light up, and they crinkle around the corners. I can almost forget the scars hiding beneath the buzz cut of his hair, and the smile puts me a bit more at ease, despite the strangeness of this day.

  He gives me my script but leaves me alone to make the calls, saying he’s only a ping away if I need him. I thank him, glad he won’t be hovering.

  One by one, I go through my few friends and colleagues. I’m only amending the story of my life a little—or what was going to be the story of my life, before all this happened. I’m to say I’m going to China earlier than I planned, and Tila’s coming with me. Once I change my implant, I’ll phone Tila’s friends. It’ll be my first undercover role: to convince them that I am my sister. I shiver at the thought.

  After those first calls are done, it’s physical training. Detective Nazarin takes me to the room with the Chair and the gym. He faces me, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have muscle mods, correct?”

  I nod. “Enough to keep me toned without having to exercise much.” Because I’m lazy.

  “Good. That’ll help with recovery. Fighting techniques will be part of the information you download, but let’s see how you are on your own.”

  He runs me through a basic diagnostic, figuring out how much weight I can lift or press, how flexible I am, how fast and far I can run. His fingertips rest on the pulse of my neck, taking my resting heart rate. I look up at his dark brows, the scars, the square jawline. He’s attractive in a dangerous way.

  “Slow resting heart rate,” he says.

  “They programmed it that way.”

  He smiles a little, and again it lights the harshness of his face.

  I think I do a little better than he expected, which is good, but I can tell he wishes I were stronger than I am. I think of my sister—the muscles on her arms. She claimed it was from dancing with customers at the club, plus a few extra implants. I didn’t wonder at the time why she felt the need to be so much stronger. How dangerous are the Ratel—has she needed to physically protect herself?

  Nazarin teaches me self-defense moves. I’ve never taken any kind of combat sport, though I’ve often wanted to. Tila convinced me to go with her to dance classes instead. Some of the moves I learned in capoeira transfer pretty well, at least.

  Overall, though, it’s a thoroughly humbling experience. Detective Nazarin doesn’t hurt me, but after a while his light blows start to ache. My limbs aren’t moving as quickly or as seamlessly as I’d like. Nazarin easily dodges my paltry attempts to attack him.

  “You’re small and quick. Your best hope is to avoid the blows. If you came up against someone like me in a real fight, you wouldn’t stand a chance.” He probably weighs about half again what I do, so he has a point. It grates, but I learn.

  He’s not a bad teacher. He doesn’t shout—he tells me what I do wrong, but praises what I do right. As my muscles grow more exhausted, his voice seems to hum near my ear: “Duck, left, back,” and I move almost without thinking.

  Detective Nazarin calls a stop after three hours. I’m panting, but proud of myself that I kept going and didn’t ask for breaks except the odd gulp of water. Nazarin is glazed in perspiration, but strangely, he smells good. Musk and cologne and clean sweat.

  “Strong start,” he says. “Soon, you’ll be better.”

  Once it’s wired into my brain.

  “Now,” Detective Nazarin says, “it’s time for you to legally become Tila, at least for a little while.”

  * * *

  I have enough time to shower and choke down some vat jerky and dried
fruit before Detective Nazarin takes me to meet Dr. Kim Mata, a biohacker working for Sudice, Inc.

  We can’t go to the Sudice headquarters: they’re the parent company of VivaFog and I’ve already told my co-workers I’ll be on a jet to China imminently, and it would compromise Nazarin’s cover. But we can’t bring Dr. Mata to the safe house. Instead we make our way down to one of her empty properties. She’s often hired by the SFPD to do these sorts of jobs, Nazarin says, but she keeps it quiet from Sudice. I’m surprised she’s able to.

  Time to switch identities.

  On the way there I lean against the window, my tired muscles quivering. It feels good, though, like my mind has connected better with my body now that it has that particular buzz of exercise exhaustion. I’ll take some Rejuvs when I get back, and between that and my implants, tomorrow my muscles won’t even be sore, but I’ll be that much stronger.

  How much stronger do I have to be? What exactly do they think is going to happen?

  We meet Dr. Mata in one of her townhouses by SF State. The walls are pure white and there is no furniture. Dr. Mata is Japanese-American and tiny, barely coming up to my shoulder, and I’m not the tallest of women. She’s also one of the few people in San Francisco who has let herself age, at least a little. There’s the barest hint of wrinkles around her eyes and at either side of her mouth. It’s refreshing to see a face that looks lived in, evidence of countless smiles reflected on her skin. I estimate she’s about forty-five. She has dark hair cut in a bob to the corner of her jaw, and a face that’s always on the verge of grinning.

  “Can’t keep away from me, can you, darling?” she says, dimpling at Detective Nazarin.

  “My heart beats only for you, Kim,” he responds, deadpan.

  She rolls her eyes. I’m amused by their exchange. Dr. Mata is open and friendly, and Detective Nazarin seems more at ease around her. With her easy manner and the way she slouches against the wall, she doesn’t strike me as one of the most prominent biohackers in the world and worth a few million credits or more.

  “What’s it to be this time, sweets?” she asks. Her gaze flicks to me, assessing me from head to toe, before she focuses on the detective again. “Better not be too trying. I have back-to-back meetings all afternoon and if you tire me out, I’ll nap through them.”

  “Identity switch,” he says. “This is a sensitive matter. I saw you returned the confidentiality agreement to HQ.”

  “I’m hurt you don’t trust me,” she pouts. “When have I ever let you down?”

  “Never. I trust you implicitly.”

  In contrast to their earlier banter, he’s serious here, and she feeds off it. Dr. Mata looks at me again. “OK. What’s up?”

  “Kim, this is Taema Collins. Her sister, Tila Collins, has been accused of murder.”

  Dr. Mata’s eyes widen. “Civilian?”

  “Not exactly,” he replies. “Tila Collins is implicated with the Ratel. Last night she was caught and accused. You know what I’ve been doing with myself the last few years.”

  “Yeah, being an idiot and playing with fire. I’ve told you time and time again you need to get out of that game.”

  “You speak sense as always, but I can’t. Anyway, I never would have been able to do what I’ve done without you.”

  She blows him an air kiss. “Damn right. So you’re being taken into protective custody or something?” Dr. Mata asks, addressing me for the first time. “Need a new identity to lie low?”

  I shake my head. “Not exactly. Tila and I—we’re identical twins, you see.”

  Her eyebrows rise. She looks between us, and her sharp mind fills in the blanks. “Well. That’s a first for me. Switching sisters. You got all the paperwork in order?”

  Nazarin nods.

  “OK then. Let’s get started.”

  She motions for me to come closer, and I do. She takes hold of my wrist, turning it over. Her hands are cool and dry. “Thank you, Dr. Mata—” I begin.

  She waves her free hand. “Call me Kim.”

  “Kim.” She meets my eyes and grins. There aren’t a lot of people who smile genuinely in San Francisco. She holds nothing back, and I can’t help but return the gesture.

  She takes a little electrode from a box in her pocket and fastens it right over the tiny mark where the chip lies under my skin. Her eyes unfocus, and on the blank white tablet in her hand is code only she can see. Before long, she has full access to my identity. I shiver, realizing that if she wanted to she could wreak complete havoc with my life. She senses my nervousness.

  “Don’t worry, buttercup, your identity is safe with me. You don’t have anything I don’t already have ten times over. Hmm.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Your chip wasn’t put in at birth. You’ve only had it for ten years.” Her gaze is piercing. I want to look away, but I don’t. “And no record before that. How’d that happen?”

  “I’m from Mana’s Hearth.”

  “No shit!” she exclaims, her head jerking back. “Really? Your sister, too?”

  “Yes. We came here when we were sixteen.”

  She meets my eyes, still holding my wrist. “Well, before, I thought you were cute and must be at least a bit interesting, to be hanging around with Sugarcube here.” She jerks her head at Nazarin. “Now, I find you endlessly fascinating.”

  I can’t help but laugh a little.

  “And what’s this?” she says, noting the top of my scar.

  I pull down the collar of my shirt a few inches. “My sister and I were conjoined until we left.”

  She whoops. “Now you’re officially one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. When this is all over, I’m taking you out for a drink. Sound good?”

  “All right.” I smile, but it fades. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll even return to a normal life after this.

  “Come on, you charmer,” Nazarin says. “Can you do the switch?”

  She scoffs. “Can I do the switch? That’s just insulting.”

  She cocks her head, sending the projection of code onto the wall.

  There we are, up on the screen. All those numbers represent our identities. Me and Tila. Side by side. I wonder what she’s thinking about, just now, in her cell. I wish she’d speak to me, and I don’t understand why she won’t. Nazarin says she chose not to, but what if they aren’t letting her speak to me? Hope flares within me at the thought. Or perhaps she thinks by keeping quiet she can protect and shield me from all this. Does she realize I’m caught right in the thick of it?

  Dr. Mata waves her fingers, moving code around so quickly I can barely follow. She clicks her tongue against her teeth. “There. Done.”

  I blink. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it, buttercup. You’re now officially your sister, Tila Collins.” She takes the electrode off my wrist and rubs the skin with her thumb.

  “That’s scary, how easily you could do it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m one of only about three or four people in San Francisco who can do it at all, let alone that quickly. I helped invent VeriChips.”

  I rub my thumb over the chip, covered by a thin layer of skin. “Well, thank you,” I say.

  “No prob. But remember, when you’re done dipping your toes into danger, come meet me for that drink and I’ll reset your own identity.”

  “I will.” I’m not sure if it’s an invite for an evening of chat or a date. I don’t mind either way.

  Kim pats me on the shoulder, and then goes over to Nazarin. “You better not get her hurt, Naz. She’s way too innocent for the shit you’re about to throw her into.”

  My stomach flutters. He looks at me, then away. “She’ll be fine.”

  Kim holds out her arms and he gathers her into a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. She whispers something in his ear, but I can’t hear it.

  “Thanks a million, Kim,” Detective Nazarin says. “You ready, Tila?” he asks me.

  And now I am Tila, for all intents and purposes. At least legally.
But for all that I know my sister better than anyone, I’m not her.

  “I’m ready,” I say, though I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

  SIX

  TILA

  The first cracks between us happened long before the surgery, although Taema would never admit it. When we were little, we were two halves of the same coin. We’ve gone so far from where we were. So far from that long-ago innocence.

  Life was simpler in the Hearth, before we knew for certain it was a prison.

  Supply ships came to Mana’s Hearth every two weeks, and it was always a big deal for us. A glimpse into a world that wasn’t ours.

  As soon as we heard the distant roar of engines, we’d find somewhere to watch the ship set down. The men and women, dressed in strange uniforms that clung close to their bodies, looked so different from us as they directed the droids to unload the crates.

  It was the droids that fascinated Taema—a lot more than they did me. They weren’t something we had on the Hearth, of course, and I thought they were freaky. The blocky machines looked roughly like humans with blank faces, but moved with much less grace as they unloaded the crates onto the lawn and then walked back up into the ship and powered down. Just like that. They moved around, and then they looked dead.

  They didn’t say anything about droids in the Hearth school, but Mom and Dad had told us a little bit about them. Kept stressing that they weren’t “sentient.” That they didn’t have feelings, and were just machines made to do humans’ dirty work.

  “Why make them look human, then?” I remember asking. Surely having more than two arms would be better for lifting. Taema and I often found our extra limbs handy.

  My parents didn’t have an answer to that.

  We usually stayed out of sight of the supply ships. Obviously the droids didn’t care, but the humans from the city stared something awful when they realized we weren’t hugging—that we were connected. Say what you like about Mana’s Hearth, but at least they treated everyone equally. When we were younger, this one guy from the supply ship came up to us and actually reached out like he was going to touch the spot where our flesh joined, but I bit him. He jumped back and put his finger in his mouth, sucking the blood. Taema didn’t even tell me off for it; she was just as mad. After that, it was just easier to stay hidden and watch secretly.