hide, nothing else she cared enough about to want to hide.
“I swear it,” she said.
The Henleys stepped close to her. Ponder Henley took her left hand and Mrs. Henley her right, forming a circle. Hannah’s palms were damp, but theirs were warm and dry. She was several inches taller than the reverend and towered over Mrs. Henley, and she felt ungainly and red next to them. They bowed their heads. “Blessed Jesus,” prayed Reverend Henley, “You have shown this walker the path to salvation. Guide her steps, Lord, and help her keep to the path when Satan tempts her to stray from it. Light her way, Lord, and open her eyes to Your will and her soul to true repentance. Amen.”
The Henleys let go of Hannah’s hands, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. Mrs. Henley took a cross identical to Eve’s from her pocket and told Hannah to put it on.
“You must never take it off, even to sleep, until you’re ready to leave us,” said Reverend Henley. “The cross is the key that will allow you to enter the center and your assigned areas. You won’t find much else in the way of technology here. We have no netlets, no servbots or smartrooms, nothing to come between us and God.”
“Did you bring your NIC?” asked Mrs. Henley. Hannah nodded. “Give it to me. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
When she hesitated, Reverend Henley said, “No one is forced to stay here, Hannah. You’re free to go at any time. All you have to do is ask, and we’ll give you back your card. But once you leave and reenter the world, there’s no returning, do you understand?”
“What about my renewal?” Hannah would have to leave the center for that, at the end of January. Renewals were mandatory every four months, and the consequences for tardiness were severe. If she didn’t get her injection by her due date, the half-life of the virus would begin to deteriorate and the chroming gradually to fade until her skin color reverted to normal. Unfortunately, by that time she’d be too fragged out to care.
Fragmentation was the government’s way of making sure Chromes stayed chromed. Melachroming, despite the best efforts of scientists, was impermanent; the compound that caused the skin mutation started to wear off after four months. So to guarantee that Chromes showed up for their renewals, the scientists had piggybacked a second compound onto the first, this one designed to remain dormant for four months before activating and beginning the fragmentation process. That was all Hannah, or anyone else other than the geneticists employed by the Federal Chroming Agency, knew; the exact science behind fragmentation was a closely guarded secret. But like every other American over the age of twelve, she’d been well-schooled in its effects.
It started with faint whispers, sporadic and indistinct. As your brain slipped further into fragmentation, they grew louder, giving way to full-blown auditory hallucinations. You became convinced that the world and everyone in it were malevolent. You didn’t even notice that your skin was returning to normal, because the paranoia consumed you to the point where you disconnected from your physical self, forgetting to bathe, to brush your hair or change your clothes, to eat or drink. Your speech became nonsensical, as scrambled and incoherent as your thoughts. Eventually, the voices turned on you, and you mutilated or killed yourself. Only a renewal shot could stop the process.
Hundreds of Chromes had tried to beat it, to hold out long enough to get to the other side of it. None had succeeded. There was no other side.
“Of course, we’ll take you when you’re due,” Mrs. Henley said. “We take all the girls. There’s a Chrome center in Garland.” She held out her hand for the card. Hannah pulled it from the pocket of her skirt and gave it to her.
“Thank you. And now,” Mrs. Henley said, her blue eyes sparkling, “we’ll leave you to get undressed.”
“What?”
“You must set foot upon the path
“I swear it,” she said.
The Henleys stepped close to her. Ponder Henley took her left hand and Mrs. Henley her right, forming a circle. Hannah’s palms were damp, but theirs were warm and dry. She was several inches taller than the reverend and towered over Mrs. Henley, and she felt ungainly and red next to them. They bowed their heads. “Blessed Jesus,” prayed Reverend Henley, “You have shown this walker the path to salvation. Guide her steps, Lord, and help her keep to the path when Satan tempts her to stray from it. Light her way, Lord, and open her eyes to Your will and her soul to true repentance. Amen.”
The Henleys let go of Hannah’s hands, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. Mrs. Henley took a cross identical to Eve’s from her pocket and told Hannah to put it on.
“You must never take it off, even to sleep, until you’re ready to leave us,” said Reverend Henley. “The cross is the key that will allow you to enter the center and your assigned areas. You won’t find much else in the way of technology here. We have no netlets, no servbots or smartrooms, nothing to come between us and God.”
“Did you bring your NIC?” asked Mrs. Henley. Hannah nodded. “Give it to me. I’ll keep it safe for you.”
When she hesitated, Reverend Henley said, “No one is forced to stay here, Hannah. You’re free to go at any time. All you have to do is ask, and we’ll give you back your card. But once you leave and reenter the world, there’s no returning, do you understand?”
“What about my renewal?” Hannah would have to leave the center for that, at the end of January. Renewals were mandatory every four months, and the consequences for tardiness were severe. If she didn’t get her injection by her due date, the half-life of the virus would begin to deteriorate and the chroming gradually to fade until her skin color reverted to normal. Unfortunately, by that time she’d be too fragged out to care.
Fragmentation was the government’s way of making sure Chromes stayed chromed. Melachroming, despite the best efforts of scientists, was impermanent; the compound that caused the skin mutation started to wear off after four months. So to guarantee that Chromes showed up for their renewals, the scientists had piggybacked a second compound onto the first, this one designed to remain dormant for four months before activating and beginning the fragmentation process. That was all Hannah, or anyone else other than the geneticists employed by the Federal Chroming Agency, knew; the exact science behind fragmentation was a closely guarded secret. But like every other American over the age of twelve, she’d been well-schooled in its effects.
It started with faint whispers, sporadic and indistinct. As your brain slipped further into fragmentation, they grew louder, giving way to full-blown auditory hallucinations. You became convinced that the world and everyone in it were malevolent. You didn’t even notice that your skin was returning to normal, because the paranoia consumed you to the point where you disconnected from your physical self, forgetting to bathe, to brush your hair or change your clothes, to eat or drink. Your speech became nonsensical, as scrambled and incoherent as your thoughts. Eventually, the voices turned on you, and you mutilated or killed yourself. Only a renewal shot could stop the process.
Hundreds of Chromes had tried to beat it, to hold out long enough to get to the other side of it. None had succeeded. There was no other side.
“Of course, we’ll take you when you’re due,” Mrs. Henley said. “We take all the girls. There’s a Chrome center in Garland.” She held out her hand for the card. Hannah pulled it from the pocket of her skirt and gave it to her.
“Thank you. And now,” Mrs. Henley said, her blue eyes sparkling, “we’ll leave you to get undressed.”
“What?”
“You must set foot upon the path
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