The first time I met Marina, I was so surprised I dropped a tray of semiconductor components. They rolled across the workspace and under the tables. It took us an hour to pick them all up, crawling around on hands and knees, hardly able to take our eyes off each other.
I suppose with a hundred and thirty million people in Mexico, there are chances, but it was still uncanny to meet someone who looked almost exactly like me. People kept mistaking me for her at the factory, so lately I’ve started bleaching my hair. It’s less confusing for the others, since she works just down the line from me in the manipulator assembly.
Or, she worked. Last night they found her dead. Hit by a car on her way home just after she got off the bus.
Now, I’ve been to her place a couple of times. The way the street turns there, a car would have to jump up on the sidewalk to hit you when you get off the bus.
And who drives manual these days anyhow?
They’re treating it as suspicious.
But I know it is.
Because I’m the one who’s been sneaking components out of this drone factory for a year.
Now I’m counting the seconds until this shift ends. I have to get out of here and see the old man in the market. The one who takes my components.
He’ll know what to do.
If he’s still there.