Remake Read online

  Remake

  Ilima Todd

  © 2014 Ilima Todd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit us at ShadowMountain.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  (CIP on file)

  ISBN 978-1-60907-924-6

  Printed in the United States of America

  Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Daniel

  Adoring husband, loving father, epitome of perfection.

  Basically the greatest man on the planet . . . happy now?

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Part Two

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  To: All Seekers and Security Force

  From: Prime Maker, Freedom One

  Subject: The Rising Threat

  This message has been marked High Importance

  The attached document was found on the grounds of Freedom One. As you know, the information presented in this piece of propaganda is nothing but traitorous lies.

  I call upon you, as loyal citizens of Freedom One, to be on the lookout for any hint of the Rise in your area. If such treasonous activity is uncovered, I authorize you to take swift and necessary action to put down this rebellion. Destroy all of these flyers immediately.

  Eridian

  Prime Maker

  View attachment

  You are a prisoner.

  They shackle your wrists with chains of fear.

  They cut you to your knees with blades of oppression.

  The noose they bind around your throat silences your voice. And you hang lifeless. Useless.

  Yet you boast religion, peace, and freedom.

  Freedom?

  You are not free.

  You are no more free than their own citizens. Those people think they are equal—choosing their names, their bodies, their consequence-free lives.

  But they are bound just as you are.

  We must make them realize their lives are not real ones. We must introduce them to a new world where words like family and love and real freedom abound.

  Only it’s not a new world—it’s an old one. One that’s been forgotten by some, yet remembered by many.

  Because you cannot kill truth.

  They have forgotten. But you know the truth. You remember.

  Make them remember too.

  There is a time to run. A time to hide. A time to keep silent in an effort to protect all that is precious. That time has passed.

  Now is the time to fight back.

  We are no longer safe. We are no longer content to stand aside and feign ignorance.

  We are the Rise, and we will be silent no longer.

  Join us.

  Male or female?

  My finger hesitates over the touch screen. How can I decide which to be for the rest of my life? It’s so . . . permanent.

  Theron puts his hand on the small of my back in encouragement. I glance at his blue eyes beneath long lashes. They’re longer than the hair on his head. I smile, knowing what little hair is left will be shaved off in a few minutes.

  He returns my smile and rubs my own shaved head. Our lack of hair keeps those in our Batch equal—both the boys like Theron and the girls like me. Except the stubble that grows from my head is red, while everyone else’s is dark brown. The Maker that designed me must’ve had an odd sense of humor.

  Theron tilts his head toward the computer, reminding me why I’m here. I push my shoulders back and focus on the screen again.

  Male or female?

  My finger connects with the third option.

  Undecided.

  “You know, Nine,” Theron says. “In three days, you won’t have that option anymore.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”

  In three days we will turn seventeen and travel to the Remake facility. Through advanced cosmetic modification, we’ll be Made into whomever we choose. Blonde or brunette. Tall or short. Full lips, broad shoulders, slender thighs, dark skin, tiny waist—whatever we wish. Though we can make our choices at any time, our last chance to choose will be just before the shuttle flight to our Remake. I sigh, wishing I could decide on the one thing that has haunted me the most: male or female? Why is this particular question so hard?

  My finger slides across the transparent screen, logging me off the system. When the display goes blank, Theron leads me through the automatic doors and out of the computer room. We walk down a brightly lit corridor that makes me feel like I’m on display. I instinctively clutch my elbows and try to cover as many freckles as I can, even though it’s just Theron with me, and he doesn’t care. I wish my hands were bigger—supernova big. Then maybe they could hide the evidence of another Maker mistake, one that singles me out like a target. No one else in our Batch of ten males and ten females has anything but flawless, light skin.

  We come to the back of the line at the next station. My bare feet are cold against the perforated metal floor. I never wear shoes when we stay inside all day, but I wish I’d at least worn socks.

  “Nine?” Theron’s comment reminds me I will need to choose a name as well. I’m the only one of my Batch that still goes by my given Maker number.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “Check out the Healer,” he says, pointing ahead. Several kids from our Batch stand in front of us. Wearing matching white tank tops and gray sweats, they’re all the same height as Theron and I, so I have to step out of line to get a better look.

  The Healer is small and blonde. Female. Her eyes are a sunset: swirling shades of gold, red, and orange. I look at Theron to see him grinning, and I wonder if he thinks she’s beautiful. Turning back, I see what he wants me to. She opens her mouth to speak, though I cannot hear her words. Her teeth are the color of deep ocean.

  I scrunch my face at Theron, and he snickers, satisfied with my reaction. But inside, my heart races so fast my chest aches. Making a bad choice on the day we are Remade has permanent consequences. We cannot change back—ever.

  In three days I must also decide what Trade I will study. After a month of recovery at the Remake facility, we’ll all begin our nine-month placement training in our Trade. I glance back at the Healer. That’s what Theron has chosen to be. I shudder to think he’ll be around needles all the time.

  The line moves quickly, and it’s Theron’s turn. I don’t think he fears anything, needles least of all. As if to prove my point, he strides to the Healer with his chin up. After a quick backwards grimace at me, he tilts his head, exposing his neck to t
he woman. She taps a long needle to release any air, then presses the hormone suppressant into his neck.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. After a lifetime of blockers, I still can’t stomach seeing the long needle pushed deep into flesh, even when it’s not mine.

  And then Theron’s done. I remind myself it will be over quickly and walk to the Healer. She smiles a blue smile, and I press my lips together to hide my nervous grin. I tilt my head and tense as the needle breaks through my skin. The cold liquid spreads through my neck and down to my shoulders and limbs. A familiar tingling enfolds me for a moment, and then it’s gone.

  This is the last dose of hormone suppression I’ll receive. If I choose to remain female, my natural hormones will surface within a month, and my body will respond accordingly. My breasts will develop; my hips will widen. If I choose to be male, testosterone pill treatment will begin and a permanent female-hormone block will be installed in my shoulder. I’ll likely gain height and muscle mass, and my voice will deepen. I don’t fully understand the emotional changes that will take place either way, though. I hate how much that scares me.

  I rub my neck as I follow Theron to the shearing station. Does he ever worry what his gender choice will mean? I lean against a wall and watch him get his hair shaved off by a wide man with several tattoos and body piercings. The man laughs at something Theron says. I crave Theron’s confidence. He’s already chosen to be male. He plans to keep his blue eyes and dark hair, though he wants to grow it out for a while.

  “No more monthly shearings for me,” he said last month at this very spot.

  I try to picture him with longer hair, but I can’t erase the image I’ve always had of my best friend: bald, blue-eyed, and smiling since we were small children.

  “You’re up, Nine.” Theron waves me over and sits in the chair beside me. He looks at my reflection in the broad mirror in front of us, then asks the tattooed man, “So why would one choose to be a Shearer? For the glamour?”

  The man chuckles and brings a razor to my scalp. “I’m not a Shearer,” he says. “I’m a Hair Artist.” The studs in his bottom lip shift as he speaks. I nibble on my lower lip and wonder what piercings would feel like. But that would mean more needles. No thanks.

  “Hair Artist?” Theron asks.

  “As lovely as you kids are,” the man says with a smirk, “this is just a small part of what I do. Mostly, I style hair in a small shop on Freedom’s Main Street. I can cut hair to any specification, or form it into a special shape for a wild evening in the nightspots.” He shrugs his shoulders as though it isn’t a big deal, but I can tell by the glint in his eye he loves his Trade.

  “In that case,” says Theron, rising to stand behind me, “let’s take a little off the top and curl the sides a bit.” He motions across my bristly head and winks at me in the mirror. “We’re getting Remade in a few days and want to look our best.”

  Theron knows how to get me to relax. I reward him with a wide, freckled smile as the Hair Artist shaves my head. Small bits of red hair fall to the floor among the otherwise dark brown pieces. I look at my reflection and try to convince myself I’m not as hopeless as I think. Although I haven’t decided on a gender, name, or Trade, at least I know I’ll be getting rid of these freckles and my blazing hair.

  “All done,” says the Hair Artist.

  His lips remind me of another choice: I won’t be pierced. No freckles, no red hair, and no piercings. I sigh—what a sorry model of resolve. It’s a tiny list of things I don’t want. What about the things I do want? I would exchange all three decisions for the courage to make the hardest one.

  I often wish we were all the same gender. Or better yet—neither. Why bother with gender at all? The Makers’ job would be easier without having to decide who is Made into what, and our Remake would be simpler without gender changes since there would be no gender to change. Most of all, I wouldn’t lie awake at night worrying what my life would be like as male or female.

  I walk with Theron to the eatery for dinner. We quickly grab individual square metal dishes containing tonight’s meal—some kind of colorless mashed starchy vegetable, pale meat patties that smell like our protein supplements, and hard rolls. As always, I force myself to eat as much of the bland food as I can and let Theron pick at my leftovers. I hope the food we eat outside the Batch tower after our Remake will provide more variety for my taste buds. I stir what’s left of the mashed veggie and realize I’ll only have to endure this food for a few more days.

  “Sometimes I want to hurry and get this over with,” I say. “Close my eyes and let the time melt away before our Remake.”

  “Are you anxious to change, Nine?” Theron stuffs a piece of bread into his mouth. “I’ll sneak you into the Remake facility tonight.” His face lights up, and I think he actually would if I asked him to, if the facility wasn’t an ocean away.

  He knows it’s not what I mean, but I play along and nod. I am ready to be who I’m going to be. I’m just not sure what that is yet.

  I glance around the room. It’s filled with the familiar faces of my Batch. The same faces I’ve seen my entire life. Our Batch does everything together. Thanks to the hormone suppressants, we are all the same height and build, with the same immature bodies. In almost every sense, we really are equal.

  The thought makes me glance at my freckled arms. I rub at the skin there, trying to wipe off small bits of hair left over from my head shaving. I should have showered before dinner.

  “Doesn’t matter how hard you try, Spots.” Cree’s familiar voice pricks me like a needle. “You can’t rub them off.”

  Sora and Bristol snicker beside her, the three of them pausing in front of our table. Bristol narrows his eyes at me while Sora sticks her tongue out like a child. I choose to ignore the loathsome crew; their taunting is a normal part of my routine. Theron, unfortunately, does not.

  “Take it back,” he says, shoving his chair back and standing to face them, his eyes focused on Cree’s.

  I stand and move behind Theron, touching his elbow in an effort to calm him. He’ll stop at nothing to protect me. These three know that better than anyone, which is why they usually stay away when Theron is near.

  Cree hesitates and steals a quick glance at me. I can see the resolve in her eyes. She can’t resist a final chance to goad me before our Remake. With a look of disgust, she turns back to Theron and steps closer until they are almost touching. “No.”

  “I said, take it back.” Theron speaks through clenched teeth, and his hands ball up at his sides. His shoulders shake from the tension. He’s going to snap. Maybe this time is just one too many.

  I open my mouth to say something, then bite my lip, not sure which of the two I should warn.

  “That’s right, Freak.” Cree reaches to me and shoves my shoulder. “No one wants to hear what you—”

  Before I can blink, Theron dives into Cree. The two of them fall to the ground and tumble across the floor to the side wall. Cree shrieks and the noise attracts a crowd; Batchers gather around the fight. Theron is on top of Cree, punching her face like it’s a practice bag from our training room. She tries to shove him off, but Theron swipes her hands away and she can’t find a grip.

  “Theron!” I yell. “She’s had enough.”

  Theron doesn’t think it’s enough until three punches later. He stands and spits on Cree. Her nose is bleeding, probably broken. Blood spills onto the floor. Bristol swears and glares at me, as though I was the one who beat up Cree. He and Sora pull her to her feet and lug her out the room.

  “You should thank me,” Theron calls after them. “I’ve given the Remakers a head start with improving your dog face.”

  Theron turns to me and frowns—his way of apologizing.

  I say nothing—my way of telling him it’s all right.

  Blood drips from Theron’s hand, and he removes his tank top to wrap around his knuckles. I follow him to a utility sink in the kitchen area so he can rinse his hand clean. I take a long look at him. Both o
f our shoulders are slender, our chests are flat, and our hips are narrow. The only real difference in our anatomy is hidden beneath gray sweats.

  We are taught the organs that distinguish us male or female are nothing more than superficial features. They are trivial, insignificant parts of us. But sometimes I wonder if there’s something more. Something greater. Because I can’t find anything else about Theron that would support his fearless nature. Nothing that’s different from the rest of us, anyway.

  I wonder, not for the first time, if the gender I choose will affect more than the way I look. If it will affect who I am inside. Though my body will be Remade, what will happen to the rest of me? My weakness and cowardice? Will they still exist?

  We abandon our food trays and head for the showers. I press the start button on the panel in front of me, the cycle beginning with hot water on my bare skin. It comes from above and the side. When the water changes from clear to soapy, I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining my fear and uncertainty slipping away into the drain below, wishing there was a courage option on that computer screen.

  When we go to our sleeping quarters, Cree is not there. She must still be at the Healer station. Bristol and Sora are missing too. The rest of the Batch is there, though, climbing into bed. We are a sea of white tank tops and gray sweats.

  I slide under my sheets while Theron settles to the ground next to my bed, his chin on my mattress. His bed is a few feet away from mine, as it’s been since I can remember. Just knowing he’s close makes me feel safe.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod. “I’m glad you hit her.” And I am. Cree deserved it. I just wish I had been the one to do it. “Theron?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What do you think I should choose?” I try to look at the wall behind him, not sure I want to see his reaction. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than his blue eyes right in front of me.

  “You know it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re fat, green, or floppy-eared, you’ll always be Nine to me.” Theron smiles. “Okay, maybe you shouldn’t go with floppy-eared. But other than that, you’re good.”