Free Imposter by Chanda Stafford Page A

you’re extremely busy.”
    Amy’s forced enthusiasm falters. What does she want me to say? That I’m not really Socrates and want to meet someone else whose procedure failed, too? That maybe in this strange, damaged First I can find someone I can relate to?
    “We will do anything we can to accommodate an important guest such as yourself.” She turns and flits up the stairs, not waiting for us to follow her. I shrug at Will, and we both take the steps behind her.
    Ahead of us, Amy swings open one of the front doors. As we pass through, I run my fingers over the heavy, dark wood. Its smooth soft surface reminds me of the little crosses back at the farm; particularly my sister’s, though ours were softened by the weather and the fingers of mourning family members, not oil or stain.
    Through the wide front doors is an enormous room with ceilings arching high above us, lit by small round windows in the roof. Curving staircases wrap around each side of the room, embracing the black and white tiles on the floors and leading to a well-polished cherry desk. When she reaches it, Amy drops into the chair behind the desk and taps her fingers over the empty wooden surface. An opaque screen flashes into existence. Amy runs her fingers over the translucent frame until pictures of people appear.
    “What’s that?” I ask.
    “Um, that’s our visitor log. We keep track of who comes to visit. It’s one of our standard security measures.”
    Heat rushes to my face. “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of technology like this at my home in Santa Fe.” I let out what I hope is a self-conscious laugh. “Eliot’s been trying to convince me to join the twenty-sixth century, but so far she hasn’t succeeded.”
    “One more thing,” Amy says. “I just need to check you in.” She grabs what appears to be a shiny silver pen from a drawer underneath the front of the desk. She slides in front of me and pushes a button on the top of the pen. It starts to glow, and before I can react, she shines the red light right into my left eye.
    “What the—”
    “It’s just a retinal scan.” She does the same thing to Will, but he doesn’t react. Maybe he’s used to retinal scans somehow, even though I never saw one at the Smith.
    “Thank you.” She puts the pen back in the desk. “Follow me, please.” Amy walks through the wide doorway behind her desk. Her mincing steps echo loudly in the strangely unoccupied room.
    “How will that show who I am, since I haven’t been here in this body before?”
    “It won’t. But it catalogues your unique retinal signature so any future visits are processed appropriately and securely.”
    Will and I follow Amy into a well-lit room with big, leafy plants that strain toward wide windows overlooking a backyard just as impressive as the front. Several yellow chairs cluster around the windows as if they need the light as much as the plants do.
    A young man sits motionless in one of those chairs, his hands folded in his lap. He’s unnaturally pale, and his hair is a deep blue-ish black. His eyes are closed, but when we approach him, they snap open to reveal pale blue irises that almost seem to glow with a silver light. I shiver. One of the corners of his mouth twitches.
    The man’s gaze flickers from me and barely grazes across Will before settling on the nurse. “Visitors? Miss Amy, you are full of surprises today.”
    Amy fidgets from side to side. “I apologize for the break in your routine, Mr. Carroll, but your good friend Socrates insisted on visiting today.”
    He returns his focus to me and a toothy leer blossoms across his face. “I would never have expected such an esteemed guest. Not for little old me.” He touches his chest for emphasis.
    Amy ignores his antics and turns toward me. “Would you like me to stay?”
    “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you for offering.”
    She smiles at me, as if relieved, and darts from the room without another word.
    “She’s always in such a hurry to