My wristband flashes 43,899 hours. I’m thirty-five years old and I have five left to live. It gets me every time, like a punch to the stomach.

Resources are scarce here on Thars, an exoplanet in the Proxima Centauri-b system. The Founders chose AI to control the population numbers after we drained Earth. We’re all given a random computer-generated expiration date at birth. When the timer reaches zero it delivers a single fatal shock.

 

I’m head of security in charge of protecting Leviathan, the servers of the main computer. My successor starts his training tomorrow. He’ll take over from me when I get the shock of a lifetime. I hate him already. Shit - this must be how Adam felt teaching me.

 

I wonder what happened to Adam. He went missing without a trace long before his date was up. I went from being his apprentice to being fast-tracked to his role. I didn’t get much of a chance to think about it. I just know I hate my job, but it gives me enough rations. I’m excelling at surviving.

 

“Malcolm, you’re needed in the interview room, ” a voice over the loudspeaker blasts. What now? Perhaps they caught the perpetrator responsible for the blackouts. The incidents have escalated ever since the rebel group Second Life threatened to disrupt the system.

 

The interview room is bleak with blank metallic walls and an intrusive security camera hanging above the door. A woman dressed in black overalls sits across the table. This is my cue to pull out a chair. She stares at me without blinking. It unsettles me. She’s not what I expected.

 

“You’re getting nothing from me,” the woman says, folding her arms. She has “Cara” tattooed on her forearm.

 

“Cara, is it?”

 

“Cara was my wife. Your machine killed her.”

 

It’s not my machine. “Was it her expiry date?”

 

“We’re humans, not merchandise! You’re part of the problem – you allow that thing to dictate our lives.” She reaches for my wrist but I pull away.

 

“Guards! Take her to the brig.”

 

“The machine doesn’t have to be in charge. They’re stealing time. Listen to me, the numbers are not random! There’s another way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been two days and I can’t get the rebel’s words out of my mind. I ran a search on the system and found a match. Her name is Claire. She has three months left to live. No time at all.

 

“Malcolm to HQ,” the loudspeaker announces.

 

Colonel McCreary is tapping his fingers on his cluttered desk. He barely looks up when I walk in. “I’m told you apprehended a rebel?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Were they responsible for the outages?”

 

“She wouldn’t talk, Sir.”

 

“Did you use more persuasive tactics?”

 

“Not my job, Sir. I’m here to protect Leviathan.”

 

McCreary throws his pen across the desk. “If you’d done your job properly, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.” As he reaches for the pen, I glimpse at his wristband: 262,967 hours, just over thirty years left.

 

“I see you got lucky with your number, Sir.”

 

“Dismissed!” McCreary shouts; the vein on his temple is bulging.

 

Perhaps there is some truth to the rumors. I must speak to Claire before the Colonel’s men get to her.

 

Neon lights flicker across the bars of the brig. Claire is sitting on the mattress on the floor. “You’ve come for round two, big guy?”

 

“I know you’re running out of time.”

 

Claire spits on the floor. “What do you want?”

 

The ticking time bomb in my wrist leaves me no choice. “Have you got proof that the numbers are rigged?”

 

“Get me out of here and I’ll show you.”

 

“I can’t do that.”

 

“Then this conversation is over.”

 

Her sheer arrogance makes me want to leave her at the mercy of McCreary. But I may not get another chance. I need answers, my life depends on it. “The night guard is doing his rounds. Take me to Second Life.” My heart is thumping out of my chest. I may live to regret this.

 

* * *

 

The tunnels run like a labyrinth; it’s dark and oppressive as I pull the cobwebs away. I couldn’t retrace my steps even if I had the chance. I guess that’s how Second Life prefers it. I hear voices ahead. As soon as the rebels see my uniform in the dim light, I feel the cold, metallic barrel of a handgun pressed against my head. My legs shake from underneath me.

 

“It’s all right,” Claire says, stepping forward. “He’s an asset.”

 

The man holding the revolver eases it down slowly. He doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame him; we’ve been hunting down Second Life for months.

 

“Welcome, Malcolm.”

 

I nearly lose my footing. I know this deep-timbred voice, but how? He’s thinner and his eyes have faded. He has a scar where the wristband used to be. “Adam!"

 

Adam puts his hand on my shoulder. “They lied to us."

 

“You disappeared. Why?”

 

“I was curious about how Leviathan worked. I dug a little deeper and found thousands of transactions, stolen months and even years, all recorded in the system. When I challenged McCreary, my timer went precipitously down. I had no choice but to reach out to the rebels.”

 

I’ve always had this nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. I just chose to ignore it. “You’ve been with Second Life all this time?”

 

“I owed them my life. They were mostly amateur hackers and engineers back then, but at least they knew how to remove the electric implant without killing me.”

 

I’m scared but there’s no turning back now.

 

“We better deactivate your wristband, Malcolm. Do you have your security card?”

 

“I do but it won’t work for long.”

 

“Let’s hack Leviathan. There are thousands of us scattered out there. We’ll expose the records and spread the truth to the world.”

 

For better or worse, my second life starts now.