The Last Tattoo

“I get a tattoo every year before the Forgetting,” Eira told her trusted tattoo artist.

Five years ago, Eira had been hiding out in abandoned neighborhoods in the vast City of Angels. One day she miscalculated the distance she had to leap from one rooftop to the next; Eira had fallen into a pile of discarded boxes. She had not been hurt, but the noise alerted a nearby patrol and she was re-captured.

The Plutocracy of the City of Angels had decided that Eira was still useful. They repurposed her as a maid, wiping most of her memory and giving her a new housing assignment at the end of each calendar year. The Memory Police maintained that the memory wipe was to keep Eira’s hard drive from getting too cluttered, but Eira knew better. If they kept wiping her memory, she would not be able to gather the information she needed to be free of the government’s reach forever. She would never be able to leave the city and look for her true maker.

“I knew it! Thought I was noticin’ a pattern. What’ll it be this year, girlie?” Doris, the tattoo artist, wiped down her needles with rubbing alcohol as she spoke.

“Today’s date, as usual. And a bear this year.”

“You sure do love them animals…You ever been to the zoo, Eira? That’s the only place got any animals anymore.” Doris spoke absentmindedly as she checked ink levels and put extra needles back in the drawer.

“No. No, I’ve never been. I read books…and keep up with the news.” Eira held her breath as Doris inserted the first needle into the skin of her lower back. The bear would join the four other tattoos she had gotten: a mouse, a tiger, a deer, and a turtle. To the Memory Police and the rest of the Plutocracy, these would look harmless: a mere bit of fad-following. It was to be expected from Eira’s generation of machines; every generation came with their own quirks and, occasionally, an appearance of personality.

No, what the Memory Police didn’t know would in fact hurt them one day. The mouse was Nicolo, the soft-spoken butler in the first house Eira had served in. He had given her useful information about security flaws at one of the government buildings; Nicolo had paid for his espionage with his life. He had been her friend.

The tiger was Celestia, a little girl Eira had tutored during her second year in captivity. Celestia had been brave, and wise beyond her years. She had given Eira the name of her father’s co-worker, a government official, by accident. Celestia had gotten sick, and now she was gone too.

It was the same with the others: the deer, the turtle, the bear. Eira thought about who the bear represented and took a deep breath to fight the tears that threatened to gather in her eyes.

An hour later, Doris withdrew her needle and placed a bandage over Eira’s new tattoo. “Now you keep that on until tomorrow,” Doris commanded. “I don’t want that gettin’ infected. Don’t you forget.”

“I won’t.” Eira stood up and lifted her shirt, turning so she could see her tattoo collection in the mirror. She was a machine, expected to forget; but Eira remembered those people every time she saw the tattoos. Her friends had marked her much more deeply than the tattoos had marked her skin, and she would not forget.

“Will I see ya next year, honey? Same time, same place?”

“I don’t think so.” Eira grabbed her backpack and prepared to leave. “I’m done getting tattoos.”