Migration Chamber 〈360p〉

“The chair does not lie,” Elara said, the official line. “You will wake on Aurora-9 with a new name, a new body, and a new purpose. You will be happy.”

The intercom crackled. Passenger nine-four-one-three, prepare for migration.

“Happy people don’t need chambers like this,” Kael said. migration chamber

Elara had thought the same thing, once. She had been passenger number seven. Her crime: refusing to design a weapon that could target civilians by their genetic markers. They had stripped her name, her face, her memory of her wife. But the chamber had failed, just slightly. A ghost remained—a recurring dream of hands holding hands in a garden. When the previous Migration Officer retired into the compost, Elara had volunteered for the post. She wanted to be close to the machine that had killed her.

Elara Morn was the tenth Migration Officer. Her job was simple: sit beside the chair, hold the hand of each passenger, and tell them they would not feel a thing. She had done this nine thousand, four hundred and twelve times. The nine thousand, four hundred and thirteenth was a boy named Kael. “The chair does not lie,” Elara said, the official line

“That’s sad.”

Elara straightened her uniform. She walked to the door, pressed the release, and smiled the smile she had perfected. Passenger nine-four-one-three, prepare for migration

Elara pulled up the sealed file. It was not permitted, but she had stolen the override codes from the captain’s terminal three years ago. She found Kael’s—no, Solen-7’s—new identity. Occupation: agricultural technician. Emotional baseline: content. Memory footprint: null.