Reborn
by Ken Liu
Each of us feels that there is a single “I” in control. But that is an illusion that the brain works hard to produce. ... —Steven Pinker,
The Blank Slat I remember being Reborn. It felt the way I imagine a fish feels as it’s being thrown back into the sea.
The Judgment Ship slowly drifts in over Fan Pier from Boston Harbor, its metallic disc-shaped hull blending into the dark, roiling sky, its curved upper surface like a pregnant belly.
It is as large as the old Federal Courthouse on the ground below. A few escort ships hover around the rim, the shifting lights on their surfaces sometimes settling into patterns resembling faces.
The spectators around me grow silent. The Judgment, scheduled four times a year, still draws a big crowd. I scan the upturned faces. Most are expressionless, some seem awed. A few men whisper to each other and chuckle. I pay some attention to them, but not too much. There hasn’t been a public attack in years.
. . .
