Free Divided by Elsie Chapman

thousand square feet in size, the station can also accommodate more than one Alt per training session,” the Operator says, a proud parent, “and therefore a variety of replicas. Such scenarios won’t happen in the natural environment, but it’s a unique option that only our elite mirror program can offer.”
    “An Alt learning to chase down one that isn’t their own?” I shake my head. The idea is exactly as he says—not natural. “Why?”
    “I believe what the program designer had in mind was for the kids to achieve a sense of camaraderie, which is loosely connected to the release of endorphins to produce a performance ‘high’ that can help during completions.”
    My stomach is in knots. The way he talks about completions … as if they are a sport. “How do you change the settings?” I ask, still looking at my Alt if only so the Operator can’t guess how his words unnerve me. A handful of pixels on her cheek is darker than the rest—a reflection of my scar. “To go from being the chaser to being chased?”
    He points to a control panel mounted on one of the mirrors at the maze’s entrance. “Stripping the code resets it. Though, again, teaching our Alts how to be the aggressor is why we designed this program. There is little room in the maze for those who hide.”
    If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. These Board idles … they are the ones. They are worthy.
    I poke my finger into the girl’s eye and the replica of my Alt dissolves into nothing; I wish it were as easy as that to pretend she never existed in the first place.
    I brush past the Operator on my way out of the maze. “I’m leaving. I don’t need to hear anymore.” Home calls, Chord calls, and I desperately want to get away from here.
    Whatever he sees on my face convinces him there’s no point arguing, and his expression is as pleasant as it was when he first walked into that meeting room. The same way the surface of a lake looks inviting, until you dive in and your breath is taken away at just how cold it is beneath.
    He passes me a small, white, round disk. Nothing on it except for a bar code. “Scan this with your cell when you’re ready to talk. You have until morning to make your decision. I hope I’ve managed to convince you to make the right one.”
    I take the disk and stuff it carelessly into my pocket. “And if I make the wrong one? Am I supposed to believe you’ll be fine with that?” Because I know the dangerous truth now. That even the Board can’t guarantee that the system always works.
    “If that’s the case, then we’ll consider the offer void and without repercussions of any sort.” A chill in those hazel eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, he continues. “Of course, circumstances might change if we find that details have leaked.”
    My skin crawls at the meaning behind his words. They fill me with grim premonition, the sense that my life has again altered forever. I stalk past him and head for the door that connects to the training room. The way out. There’s another closer door that opens to the outer hall, but it’s still pulled shut.
    “Wait here,” the Operator says to my back. His voice isn’t raised, but irritation filters through, anyway. I’m not supposed to be left alone, to navigate freely through the Board’s territory. “Someone will lead—”
    I yank at the closed door, suddenly not wanting to see all those stations again, and dart out into the hall. Half running down the wing, I will myself not to fall apart, not here. The sound of my footsteps in the hall is desperate, my breathing more ragged than I want to admit. I dash across the amber-lit lobby, that cavernous trap of a wide-open room, and burst through the revolving front door as though I’m being chased.
    And I am being chased. By guilt over the ghosts of the Alts I’ve killed, by what I’m already starting to consider.

Chapter 5
    Considering the Board’s offer means no longer being able to see the people seated around me on