“Ceilos modified your earpiece to allow you to go offline. It’s a protocol he invented and installed on the System… surreptitiously. It makes it so the System can’t track you. Then he plants a decoy elsewhere in the citidome, so that if anyone looks at the System’s tracker, they’ll think we’re somewhere else. They won’t be alerted to our absence. Ceilos and I are monitored a bit more closely than the other citizens, for obvious reasons.” A stubborn strand of coarse hair slipped across my forehead. I sighed and tucked it back behind my ear. “I was offline last night when I found you outside the dome.”

“I thought that was you,” said Isaak. “When I woke up”—he laughed—“I thought you were an old woman.”

I frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, because of your hair.”

“What is wrong with my hair? Everyone in Hope Renewed has hair this color. It was selected as our regional trait after the Progression. It represents sea foam. Our capital used to be on the coast.” I still thought I heard the waves against the shoreline, sometimes, even though I hadn’t seen the sea since I was a child.

“Ceilos doesn’t have white hair,” Isaak said.

“Ceilos is from Bright Horizon. They selected a wheat color because that region was an agricultural hub… before.” My voice hitched on a knot in my throat. I swallowed it down.

“So, what, everyone on Iamos is, like… genetically modified?”

I tugged my earlobe. “It was a necessity for survival. The increased solar radiation from the atmospheric changes can be deadly, so we need all the protection we can get. Besides,” I said, “the Progression really taught us that all of us on Iamos are a family. We didn’t need differences of appearance to tear us apart.”

Isaak looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me that I’m wrong,” I sniffed. “Let me guess: that’s not how it is on Mars?”

He looked down at his feet. “It’s not. But Mars isn’t Iamos. Not really. Anyway, so if things are so great here thanks to the Progression, what’s up with this Liberator guy?”

“The so-called Liberator is an anarchist. He doesn’t care about the welfare of Iamos. He just wants to see the world burn.”

“Sounds like Henry,” Isaak muttered. I cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate.