The New Humans

Chapter 1

Ash couldn't sit still. He tapped his heel, glancing out the window as if there was an electrostatic charge inside him desperate to earth. With all the traffic, the car was moving at a walking pace, and Ash could see the faces of the people crowding the sidewalk. Each betrayed a different emotion: some wept, some peered around with grim expressions, some wore a frightened look. Ash knew that December 3, 2229 was a date that few would forget.

His mother had made him wear a black jacket and a shirt that kept coming out of his pants, forcing him to fidget on the seat to tuck it back in. His sister, Rachel, though one year younger, seemed already used to her formal clothes, as did his parents. They were apparently calm, but there was no way they weren't asking the same question as Ash: Now that Luther Wall is dead, will they try to kill us again?

"Will you sit still? We're going to a funeral, not a samba class," said Rachel.

"You remind me of old women in nursing homes who complain about everything," Ash snapped.

"Your sister is right," said his mother. "Sit still—you're fourteen, not five."

Ash snorted and sat with his arms folded, but couldn't stop tapping his heel. Maybe they were living the situation differently. Luther Wall was a myth for him, the man he dreamed of becoming. He'd grown up reading of Wall's deeds and his superhuman powers. Why was he dead? The question kept bouncing around his head. He'd been so sure it would never happen—and he'd not been the only one.

He met his father's gray eyes in the rearview mirror and stopped tapping. That pale color, almost white, made him feel, as always, as if he had done something terrible. Adding to that, his father's wide jaw and big nose always gave him a threatening look.

His mother was the opposite: a porcelain doll with soft cheeks and big, hazel-colored eyes.

Ash had inherited his father's manly face and his mother's well-shaped nose and dark brown hair. Rachel's, on the other hand, was blonde, like the few remaining strands on Dad's head.

His father pressed a button on the dash. Net, the onboard computer, greeted them in a warm, masculine voice. "Good evening, everyone."

"Net, how long until we get to Serena's house?" asked Dad.

"Estimated travel time by car, accounting for current traffic: forty minutes."

Ash snorted like a bucking horse. He'd been in the car for four hours now; he needed to stretch his legs.

"We could walk this last bit; it would be faster," Mom said.

Dad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Then, in a tone of surrender, he said, "Okay, let's go down here. Net, go and park yourself. We'll call you when we're done."

"I advise you to get away from the crowd as soon as possible," Net said. "Having analyzed social networks, I deduce that there have been riots."

Ash swallowed. He watched Rachel and Mom exchange worried glances, while Dad sighed as if he'd been expecting it.

The car stopped. The moment Ash opened the door, he was engulfed by the jumble of voices rising from the street. He stepped out of the car. Man, how cold. The wind was sharp, and he rubbed his hands to warm himself.

Dad gestured for them to follow.

"Two hundred yards from here, on the left, there's an alley," he said.

One after another, they penetrated through the crowd. Ash was forced to say "sorry" to some hurrying figure with every step.

On the fifth "sorry," he heard a voice rise behind him, perhaps amplified by a megaphone: "Synthetics! Your time has come!"