Chapter 1: A New Job

It’s days like today—when it’s hotter than hell and I’m already sweating through my clothes—that I wish I had the funds to bodyswap more often. Plenty of City Hall employees swap with nearby locals, meaning they don’t have to spend more than a few seconds in this goddamn heat.

I live in the city, but unlike most twenty-somethings, it’s not to let some wealthy out-of-towner rent my body during the workday. It’s because rent is cheap here—well, cheaper than most places. Ever since the Collective launched, nobody wants to live in the city anymore. Not when they can live out where the air’s cleaner and just swap into a city body for work or fun. The Collective has changed a lot about society, including how people live and travel.

My heels click against the hot sidewalk as I head to City Hall. I spent way too much money updating my wardrobe, but I’d rather die than start my first day looking like the receptionist. Not anymore.

I know the route well, and I tap my band to load a transfer of twenty dollars. I don’t always give money to the homeless ludd who camps out between my apartment and City Hall, but I’m feeling generous today.

I turn the corner, ready to touch my band to the homeless man’s in order to complete the money transfer, but he’s not there. In the five years I’ve worked at City Hall, I’ve never seen him missing from this spot. Plenty of people walk this street in the morning, so I’m sure he rakes in quite a bit of cash here.

But I don’t have time to contemplate the whereabouts of a homeless ludd, so I cancel the transaction and continue to City Hall. The building seems brighter today, as if the marble exterior has been sprayed clean overnight. People flow in through the large bank of doors at the entrance, but no familiar profiles pop up in my view.

Another great thing about the Collective is that the retinal interface makes it much easier to identify people you’ve met before. Each person is tagged with a unique marker when they join the Collective, so their profile always pops up on your retina display if they’re in a body near you. Remembering faces is useless when someone can be in a completely different body the next time you see them, so CollectiveIDs help us keep track. And not having to memorize anyone’s name is a godsend.

I quickly make my way up the stairs and through the center set of revolving doors. The air conditioning greets me with a jarring yet pleasant slap to the face. As I cross the foyer, I discreetly wipe the sweat from my brow. I smile and wave at the woman at the front desk who’s replaced me. Her profile pops up in my display—Sonya G—even though I don’t recognize the physical body sitting there. She’s swapped into a man’s body today, a good-looking guy with a head of thick black hair.

I try my best to avoid looking at the other people around me. It’s never great to compare yourself to people who’ve bodyswapped. Tons of young, attractive people in the city make a living just by renting out their bodies for the workday. People want to look good, so the more attractive you are, the higher price you can charge someone to use your body. It’s really fucked up my generation’s concept of self-worth, but hey, who cares as long as you can make more money, right?

The elevator bank is empty, and I push the up button as I tap my foot nervously against the floor. I force myself to stop. No showing anxiety today. The bell chimes, and I step into the elevator, pressing the button for the sixth floor—the city councilmembers’ offices.

Today’s my first day working for Councilmember Warren McKinsey. I’d tried for years to get a job with any councilmember, but apparently my front desk experience wasn’t enough to make the transition. But one of McKinsey’s aides had quit unexpectedly, and his office was desperate to fill the position. I’d applied, not thinking much of it, but it was apparently my lucky break. He offered me the job right on the spot after my interview, and I accepted. I didn’t even know the pay, but I didn’t care—working for a councilmember was a surefire way to get into the political world and start my career.

The bell chimes again, and I step out onto the carpeted floors. Even the air smells better up here. The lobby smells like too-strong cologne and hospital-grade cleaner. I turn left and make my way to the door labeled W. McKinsey. I take a deep breath. This is it. Hopefully, this is the beginning of the rest of my life. No stress, right? I release my breath, grab the handle, and open the door.

An attractive young woman with curly blonde hair sits behind a wooden desk. She looks up, and her smile falters when she sees me. Shit. I can tell she’s reading my profile on her retina display—I’d given McKinsey’s office access to my profile—and for whatever reason, she has the audacity to sneer at me. But I know how to play this game, so I give a fake-ass smile and introduce myself. She doesn’t introduce herself back. Instead, she looks at her computer.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice clipped. I look at the clock in my retina display—I’m not late. I don’t say anything, though. No need to make a scene on my first day.

“McKinsey’s waiting for you,” she says. She tilts her head behind her. “You know where his office is?” I nod and thank her before heading in the direction she indicated. I walk down the hallway to the office at the end. It’s cracked open, and I knock softly but firmly.

“Come in,” McKinsey says from inside. I push the door open and step into his office.

Warren McKinsey sits behind his desk, his eyes squinting at his computer. His salt-and-pepper hair is thick and swept back, giving him a dignified but vibrant look. His light skin is wrinkled, but in a way that makes him seem weathered and reliable. Like many older politicians, he tends to stay in his real body. He’s connected to the Collective, but some politicians think it’s important to give their constituents a consistent face to rely on. An old-fashioned value, but it helps that McKinsey is good looking for his age.

He smiles at me before pointing to his screen and indicating he needs a few more minutes. He motions for me to take a seat. There are two chairs across from his desk, one of which is already taken.

Kelly Hawthorne, McKinsey’s chief of staff, sits with her thin, tan legs crossed in her sleek black skirt. Her body is turned away from me, but her head is twisted in my direction, her curtain of silky black hair hiding part of her face. Her profile appears on my display, but I recognize her since she’s in the same body she was in for my interview. Her lips are pursed as she eyes me up and down, judging my outfit and wanting me to know it.

I smile and take a seat. She pulls out a tablet and types away with her perfectly manicured nails. We remain like this for a few minutes, McKinsey and Kelly working while I sit awkwardly. Eventually, McKinsey clicks off his screen and claps his hands together. Kelly smoothly tucks her tablet away.

“Sorry about that,” he says, a bit too loudly for someone sitting only a few feet away. “Just had to finish up some last-minute documents for a meeting later.” I nod as if he’s just said something insightful. “We’re so excited for your first day with us, Selene,” he says.

“I’m excited to be here,” I respond, matching his energy. People like when you match their energy. “I’m ready to get to work.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” he says with a chuckle. He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “As you know, our office wants to make Capital City the best city in the country. And that requires every member of our team pitching in.” I nod in agreement. McKinsey may be too high-energy for me, but I’m excited to work for him.

“Kelly here wasn’t so sure about you,” McKinsey says with a wink to his chief of staff, “but I told her you’d be a great fit. You’ve been at City Hall for years, you know the folks here, and you’ll be able to help us serve your people better.”

I’m still processing his not-so-subtle comment about Kelly not wanting me here, so it takes me a moment to realize what he just said. My people? A lump forms in my stomach, and McKinsey must be able to tell something’s wrong because his smile vanishes and he leans forward. Kelly remains still, but her lip twitches slightly into what I swear looks like a smirk.

“I just mean the community you come from,” McKinsey tries to correct. “I noticed in your file that you lived in the Baker District, right? That’s quite a ludd-heavy part of the city.”

I do better this time at masking my emotions. He’s not wrong. I did grow up in Baker, and the ludd population is higher per capita there than in other Capital City neighborhoods. For whatever reason, people from Baker don’t join the Collective at the same rate as other parts of the city. But I didn’t take this job to be McKinsey’s spokeswoman for the ludd community. I barely visit Baker anymore; it’s not a part of who I am. I’ve moved on, and I pray to God McKinsey will let me work on other projects.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” McKinsey says, as if that’s an apology.

“No, of course not,” I respond. “And you didn’t,” I add quickly. “I’m honestly just excited to be part of the team. I’m willing to work on whatever projects you have for me,” I say through my fake smile. I can help him save face; I’m used to that. He smiles then leans back in his chair, a bit more reserved this time, though.

“Excellent,” he says, “Well, I just wanted to officially welcome you to the office. I’ve got some more paperwork to go over, but Kelly will show you to your cubicle and get you onboarded. We’re excited to have you.” He smiles at me again before turning back to his screen.

Kelly stands up, and I follow suit. She turns around and heads to the door, not saying good-bye to McKinsey and not checking if I’m behind her. I glance at McKinsey, who’s already back to working on his computer, then follow Kelly to the door.

Time to start my new job.