Familiar Assassins

I woke up feeling that something had changed.

I blinked twice, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and glanced at the clock beside my bed. It read 6:38, as it did every morning. I slid out of bed and moved to my dresser, where I opened the third drawer and pulled out a dark blue V-necked shirt with short sleeves and a dark blue pair of pants. I changed in front of the mirror and examined myself. I looked just as I had the last time I'd looked in the mirror: long, straight, dark brown hair; blue eyes; an absurdly straight and narrow nose; the slight scar at the edge of my eyebrow. The scar whose origin I still couldn't remember.

Shrugging, I turned away from the mirror and grabbed my bag from where it lay on my desk. I'd had the same bag since the entry-level academy, and by now it looked like it had been through a war, as much of Terminus had. I'd taped the straps back in place several times, and one of the pockets had torn open. Academy policy said I wouldn't receive a new one until I moved into Fourth Level.

I shook off the feeling with which I'd woken minutes ago. It must have originated from some sort of dream.

I pushed open the door to my room and entered the hallway. I could hear the voices of my parents and my younger sister Maegan across the house, in the kitchen. My sister and I would walk to school together soon, and once we'd reached the plaza we would split up. She would go to the second-level academy, and I would move in the direction of the third-level academy. This had been our routine for the past year.

Not many days remained until I would be allowed into Fourth Level. I'd read the list of fourth-level academies and their students for years, following everyone who moved up from their third-levels, wondering which academy I would choose. But I'd gotten my Instruction Letter through the mail system a week ago. In another week I would move into the Academy for Fourth-Level Programming and Operation, as long as I passed my exam. I would run programs necessary for the technology of Incipio. Necessary for the System. Necessary for everything.

I looked up and nearly collided with Drea, one of the Omri of our house. She had her hair coiled up into a bun and wore the traditional gray uniform. "Excuse me," she murmured, ducking her head to move past.

"Good morning, Drea," I called out. She didn't say anything.

My parents and sister sat around the kitchen table, talking. My sister wore a uniform identical to mine, but her dark hair was short and formed little waves at the ends. Ora, our other Omri, poured cups of coffee at the counter. She turned and smiled when she saw me.

"Morning, Miranda," she said, offering me one of the coffee cups.

"Good morning," I echoed. "Thanks, but I have to go to class soon."

"All right," Ora said, setting the cup back down. Strong, lovely wrinkles flooded the surfaces of her hands, a map showing where she'd been and what she'd done. She'd twisted her hair into a bun just like Drea's, but her hair was the gray of the cloud cover that enveloped Incipio during storms. Wrinkles framed her face, too, lining her eyes and mouth. They could have fixed it, could have made her skin smooth again, but Ora had told me she'd never been interested in such things.

I sat down next to my sister. My parents smiled at me from across the table. "Good morning, Miranda," my mother said.

"Good morning," I said. I glanced from them to Maegan and back again. People always told us we all looked extremely alike. I guessed the System had held my parents in higher favor for that.

"Are you ready for your final exams today?" my father asked.

"I think so," I said, dropping a piece of toast onto my plate and smearing it with protein spread. "I looked over all of my notes last night, anyway."

"I can't believe you're actually going to Fourth Level, Miranda," Maegan said, grinning. A spot of jam stained the edge of her mouth, and I reached over to wipe it off. She raised an eyebrow, disapproving.

"Yeah," I said. "Too bad you still have a few years until you get out of Second Level."

"I'll come visit you," she promised.

Minutes later, we had all finished eating, and Maegan and I collected our things and left for school. I looked over my shoulder at my and Maegan's school bags - hers looking brand-new, mine looking like it had been eaten - and knew I couldn't wait to get to Fourth Level, if only for the new gear.

We moved through neighborhood streets full of housing units and moved into market streets flanked on either side by peddlers and vendors. This wasn't the fastest way to get to the Academies, but our parents had mapped this route out for us when we were younger, so that we wouldn't have to take the direct route through the slums. The market streets always fascinated my sister. Maegan's eyes wandered as she took in everything that they had for sale, the way she did every morning. I had used to tell her she couldn't buy any of it, but she'd never shown any interest in owning the things. She just wanted to see them, to understand them.

The streets everywhere, from the neighborhoods to the business districts, were cobbled in a light-colored brick. Grass surrounded the roads. The houses were built from stone and brick and glass and shimmered in the sun's mid-morning glow. The colors everywhere in this area were uniform and balanced and comforting, like our routine.

Finally, we reached the Plaza. Here it was obvious that there would be no cloud cover crossing Incipio today. The skies were blue in all directions. I breathed in the scent of the morning air and grass and shoes and wares.

At the edge of the Plaza, Maegan waved to me. "See you later, Mir," she said. "Have a good day."

"You, too." I gave a small wave back.