False Hearts (False Hearts #1)(12)
“Sign on, and … pretend to be my sister?”
“Yes. You’d go undercover into the deepest, darkest underbelly of San Francisco. You’ll need to become your sister in order to go into the inner circle of the Ratel. This is much bigger than the first civilian murder in years, whether the victim was a hired killer or not. This is a chance for us to learn more about the inner workings of the Ratel, what their plans are, and to stop them from using Verve to access people’s secrets. We can learn more about Verve, about who’s actually in charge of the Ratel—and then bring them down, once and for all.”
I blink at him. Surely the Ratel can’t be that much of a threat?
“If you do this, then I’ve been authorized to let you know that even if your sister did kill Vuk, all charges against her will be dropped. Any crimes you might need to commit as part of the investigation will also be pardoned, within reason. Is that a deal?”
I fight the urge to grab at the opportunity, even as traitorous hope rises within me. I feel sick. Not only at what it is they’ve suggested Tila has managed to do—for reasons I simply can’t comprehend—but also that they now expect me to do the same thing. That I can do the same thing.
I am not Tila.
“If I was going to do this—how am I supposed to know what to do, or how to infiltrate the Ratel?” I ask.
Oloyu doesn’t hesitate. “We can train you and give you the information you need. The skills that will keep you alive. And we’ll have a partner for you.”
My breath catches. Somehow, the idea of working with a stranger seems even more frightening than working alone.
“I don’t even look much like my sister anymore,” I say, my voice weak with protest.
“That can be changed.”
I raise a hand to my cheek, thinking of scalpels and flesh parlors.
Officer Oloyu interlinks his fingers together, leaning forward, his face starkly earnest. “So, Miss Taema Collins—are you going to join us and save your sister?”
My mouth opens, but I have no idea how to answer.
FIVE
TAEMA
They give me one hour to make up my mind. They can’t give me any longer. If I’m going to do it, they have to start prepping me right away, so that “Tila” isn’t out of circulation too long.
I go to Golden Gate Park, taking the MUNI. No unmarked hovercars anymore—nothing to make me stand out. For this one hour, I am not alone. The SFPD are tracking my VeriChip, watching me through camera drones. I fight the urge to hunch my shoulders, to somehow disappear from their sight. I can’t.
I go through the entrance to the glass dome that covers Golden Gate Park. Though evening is lengthening, it’s still as bright as early afternoon from the artificial light within. It’s always open, even in the dead of night. Tila and I used to come here at midnight for picnics sometimes, watching mothers with day shifts walk their babies in prams, or joggers flitting along the paths, their toned bodies covered in bright neon logos, moving adverts for sports tech. Most people have nano muscle inserts to keep them in shape these days, including me and my sister, though we also take pride in doing it the old-fashioned way, or at least making the odd attempt. I want to take off down the paths, running at full speed until my lungs burn, but I run to stop myself from thinking, and I can’t run away from my own mind, not now.
I sit under a willow tree, taking off my shoes and dipping my toes into the water of the lake. It’s quiet here, with its false eternal daylight, the wafting scent of flowers and cut grass. I search the news with my ocular implant again for a moment, closing my eyes and letting the words scroll past my darkened eyelids. Still no headline about my sister. There’s an article about the mayor of San Francisco and her bid for reelection. She smiles with white teeth from the feed. Sudice says they will announce a new product next week at the tech expo. The city is building more housing and orchard towers to meet rising demand. Nothing in the news about crimes, or the Ratel. I wonder how often they cover up what really happens in this city. If the public doesn’t find out about it, has it happened at all?
Endless adverts flash from the corners of my vision. Go on holiday to Dubai, or New Tokyo. Order this mealpack from your replicator tonight. Another Zeal advert flashes and I bring it forward. This one shows a man sleeping calmly, but over his head he’s screaming at his boss and walking out, slamming the door behind him. He wakes up, stretching, smiling at the camera. “I’ve let it all out,” he says, his voice tinny in my auditory implants. “I’m ready to face the day.” A blink and he’s in a suit. The same tagline twines above his head: Find your Zeal for life. What will you dream today? I send it away, a headache blooming in my temples.
My sister and I surprised people in San Francisco by taking to the implants with ease, considering we were about eleven years behind almost everyone else. The doctors and such never realized how many hours we had already spent learning to control our minds, so that implants were only a small side step.
I sigh and lie down in the grass. I try to pretend I’m sixteen again, in Mana’s Hearth, before we ever found that other tablet and learned that everything we thought we knew had been a lie. But it’s no use. That daydream won’t come. How can it? Tila isn’t by my side.
I open my eyes.
I’ve made up my mind, though it was never really in question. Officer Oloyu knew I’d say yes before he even asked me.