Immunity Index by Sue Burke (best fiction books of all time txt) 📗

customers, still coughing from the noxious smoke, hoping to get a ride faster by asking in person. She pulled out her ID badge and used it to work her way inside.

“Hey, Jalil! I’m back to help.” He looked up and mouthed the word thanks.

People wanted to get home, be safe, and the corporation had a lean fleet, but cars could be rerouted and rides doubled up if someone knew how to organize things. She knew how.

She stepped behind the counter. “Please enter your destination in your phones. We can get you out of here faster if we know where you want to go. Tell everyone outside to do the same thing. We’ll get you home safe.”

Fuck the Prez and fuck everything he did, and fuck the patriots who tried to kill people at protests. She could fight back in this little way, and she’d do it with breathtaking efficiency.

A half hour later, everyone was on their way home but her. Jalil gave her a dubious glance, as if he’d witnessed a DNA-engineered superpower. Well, if it was true, maybe being a dupe wasn’t all bad.

She was tired—but the protest hadn’t been a total failure. A woman had come to thank her for her help and had handed her a little folded plastic card that Berenike had slipped into her pocket without looking at it. Tomorrow was still the day, and giving up wasn’t an option. Giving up was a drug that beckoned with a moment of serenity and a lifetime of disaster: Momma’s choice, not hers. As she waited for the bus, she checked her messages for any sign of Papa.

Nothing. But Swoboda had left a message:

“Take your time thinking about it. Twenty-four hours,” he said. “Come live with me. I have plenty of room. If not, you and your clone will become famous.”

In less than twenty-four hours, can I find a gun and shoot him?

No, that was a foolish thought, and she’d be too busy tomorrow anyway, but her fists were clenched tight enough to throttle him from a distance. She’d rather sleep under a bridge than in his house.

“Think about it,” he said. “The offer is open. For your clone, too.”

She heard Momma’s voice in his intonation like a horrible distorted mirror—no, she heard the voice that had made Momma want to protect Berenike … and as if a switch had been flipped, she instantly forgave Momma for all the hurt she had ever caused. Instead, she shared every single moment of Momma’s rage against Swoboda. If only Momma were alive.…

Momma would protect her, and Momma would protect her clone, too—all her clones—out of spite for Swoboda. By the time the bus came, she knew what she had to do: she had to make sure that the mutiny succeeded in every way she could, and starting now, she was going to act like Momma, and Momma was dangerous.

Avril saw Hetta in the lobby as she was leaving to go find lunch. She lifted the visor-screen she was wearing to keep anyone from taking a close look at her face. A lot of people might have seen that mammoth video.

As soon as Hetta saw her, her expression turned sour. “I need to talk to you. So you aren’t from Milwaukee.”

Milwaukee? “No, I’m from Chicago.”

“I saw someone who looks like you in Milwaukee. I thought you were her. That’s why I had Cal talk to you.”

Like me? “Just like me?”

“Come outside and we’ll talk.”

Avril followed her out behind Dejope Hall. In the buzz of her thoughts, she realized she must have another sister besides Irene. Triplets! I’m one of three!

Hetta looked around. No one was near. “The one I saw in Milwaukee looked just like you. And Cal said he talked to someone who looked just like you up in Wausau.”

“That must have been Irene. Irene Ruiz. She rode the mammoth. She was a student here.” Hey, wait, I just outed Irene. Well, anyone can see the video.

“How many of there are you?”

“I don’t know. Three? I just found out I’m a…”

“Yeah. And Cal said your father’s in the government.” Her tone accused her.

“My father hates the Prez. He’d support the mutiny.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. His daughter’s a dupe, a second-class citizen. I can’t be here legally. What’s he going to do?”

“We didn’t know that before.”

“Well, you know that now.” And if the mutiny was what they said it was, they’d have to let her in.

Hetta took a couple of breaths, still looking her in the face. “Do you have somewhere to be now?”

“I was going to lunch.”

“Then come with me. There’s going to be a protest.”

“A—” Avril paused. Be discreet—no one needed to tell her that. Be calm. “A protest,” she whispered. Finally!

She followed Hetta across campus and up State Street.

“The city is going to protect this protest,” Hetta said. “Liberty for all, that’s what the mayor says. The city is for freedom. We think the mayor will mutiny. So don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.” But Avril’s armpits were wet with anxiety. That dog. She wanted to hurry, but no, Hetta walked at a normal speed, as if they were looking for takeout food or enjoying the scenery.

“In the mutiny,” Hetta said, “we have to keep a lot of secrets. Our secret weapon will be surprise. A lot of people want what we want.”

Avril tried to act cool and calm. “Old-fashioned freedom, that’s what I heard.”

“You heard right.”

“I saw a protest once.” She tried to keep fear out of her voice. “There was a drone and it attacked.”

She shrugged. “A lot can happen. That’s why we we’re so careful.”

Avril envied the sangfroid in that shrug.

Near the end of State Street, they turned south, and a few blocks later, Avril recognized, even from a distance, Celia Ruiz, a square-built woman, the children’s book author, a known firebrand, Irene’s mother. Celia stood at a street corner kitty-corner from City Hall with three other people, and one of them was Cal, and they were talking—no, arguing.

A surprise protest. She looked away,