“We do not force Proxies to fight, because that would counter their very purpose. Between a slave in chains and a servant who wants to clean your house, who do you pick?” - extract from The New World Order, apocrypha, banned by Federated decree

Static. It covered the ground of his mind like snow, eclipsing all.

“I…what?” His tongue stuck like glue to his palate. He could taste vomit.

The calm mien that Martin wore like a mask fractured. His mouth remained open, though no words exited. His fingers fidgeted on the bar counter.

He had hoped to gain from this meeting, but the offer, implicit as it was, exceeded his wildest dreams. He blinked, unsure as to what to say.

“I-“

He swallowed and made his fingers slow down. His chest expanded, ready to burst. Breathe. The beat of his heart started to slow. Then, the mind goes down strange paths when confronted with the unlikely, and Martin’s was no different.

“What about the Conscription Act?”

No child could get access to their individual profiles under Federated law without passing the history module that described how some of the early Proxies had fled. Conscription had saved Mankind, though not willingly and the World Government wanted every child to to remember that lesson.

Stolen novel; please report.

Chiyo shook her head. “This is not the Devastation, Martin. We don’t force people to fight anymore. Though we shouldn’t have to,” she added in an muttered aside.

Those words calmed him, albeit not by much. The cloying feel of vomit began to abate.

“If one of the Sovereigns were to attack Vänern Arcology, this conversation might go a little different. But for now…”

She trailed off.

A choice. Unsettled as he was, he recognised Chiyo’s direction. She was offering him a choice. He swallowed again, trying to clear mucus from his throat.

“What…if I do this, what would it mean?”

Chiyo smiled in the manner of elder siblings comforting younger ones. Martin thought so atleast; he was an only child. “Nothing definitive. While those scans I did were suggestive, you’d have to have confirmation from the Bureau of Administration and other instances. That’s roughly a quick morning of tests for you, and some days as the paperwork percolates. Even then, and if the shrinks find you suitable, you’d have a choice.”

His heart wasn’t in the words that followed, though they needed to be said. “If I say no?”

She shrugged. “You keep your access. Barring a catastrophe, an arcology-wide infrastructure failure or something similar, you live your life.”

Those blue eyes stared at him without guile, without judgement. In them, he saw only his reflection. Like their first meeting, here too was a sense of camaraderie. Then, she had remarked that he hadn’t run when faced with danger and a choice.

She had called him brave, but was it bravery to do what first came to mind when faced with a choice? To act according to one’s nature?

Martin looked at their frozen vista, thinking of what he had said when she asked him why hadn’t run in the Reception Hall. He remembered the visage of a monster, how he had felt so helpless even so long after the incident.

Their conversation had been about time, and the lack of it. He had tried to buy it, and he had failed. His parents were dead because of time. Ten years had passed. Ten years, in which a question had haunted him. If… if a Proxy had been close. If he had an Implant. If they had lived in a arcology, not a damn provincial camp.

He stared around in the café which time had forgotten and thought of questions that offered no answers, only torment. But…

But here was a question that he could answer. An answer that did not require courage, merely a hand seized, an offer accepted.

“Yes.”