Tin Smyth is early and I'm still squeezing into the clothing Charlotte had tailored for me.

The shirt is pale blue, made from silk and cotton, and my pants are some kind of linen. I lace up a pair of brown boots. I tuck my hair behind my ear and take one last deep breath.

Downstairs, Charlotte and Nic wish me luck and promise they'll be there. William is nowhere to be found. I find myself upset by this.

"Are you ready to go?" Smyth turns to me.

"Yes," I say. The two of us leave the cabin together and head down the lane.

I stagger behind Tin Smyth, keeping a safe distance. He doesn't speak to me, which I appreciate. We head straight to a stone building with a sleek steel face and a metal sign: Municipal Services.

"Here we are," Smyth says.

"Let's get you inside." Smyth directs me through he doors.

A stout woman is sitting at the front desk, wearing a red coat that perfectly reflects her fiery hair. I look at her nametag: C. Reggie Regineva.

"Good morning, Tin Smyth!" Reggie looks up from her paperwork and beams. "How can I help you?"

"Morning, Reg. We are here for the Evaluation." Smyth nods his head toward me.

"Name?" Reg asks.

"It's the only Evaluation scheduled for this morning." His voice is easygoing but slightly agitated. "Unidentified number thirteen-hundred-ninety-nine," he finishes.

"Of course. Go right in," Reg squeaks behind her desk.

"Thank you." Tin Smyth waves his hand behind as he turns down a narrow corridor. "This way."

"You said I'm the only Evaluation today?" I question, remembering that groups usually are judged together. "What happened to Anna?" I look up at him.

"Anna?"

"The other girl who at my briefing –what happened to her?" I slowly repeat my question.

Tin Smyth's expression shifts and his eyebrows furrow. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid Anna did not make it past the pre-Evaluation stage. Doctor Bishop feels her psychological state is still precarious."

Oh no. I picture the fragile girl with dark hair and frightened eyes. My heart sinks.

We reach the end of the first hallway. Smyth veers left and turns down another corridor; I follow closely behind him.

"We're here." He stops at the end of the hallway before a steel door: Hall 3.

The room is long and rectangular and resembles a courtroom. There are chairs lined on either side of a narrow aisle with a large wooden desk at the front.

There's only one other man inside, dressed in a gray jumpsuit with a hoop of keys dangling at his waist. He looks up as the doors shut behind us.

"Tin Smyth, what a pleasure." He bobbles up and down. "Here for the Evaluation?"

"Yes." Tin Smyth places his hand on my shoulder. "I am a voucher this time around."

"Excellent! I was just finishing some last minute setting up; don't mind me." He shifts around the table.

"Farewell, Neo." Smyth nods his head and the man disappears behind the doors.

"You will be seated here." Tin Smyth gestures to the austere wooden chair at the front of the line. "The board members will be seated against the wall and face outward." Smyth points to the desk at the front of the room.

"We should get you set up and situated before the people arrive. Do you have any last minute questions?" He asks.

I shake my head.

"You prepared your Hasmav, correct? You will be subject to interrogation on any of the required reading materials in your pamphlets," he says sternly.

"Yes," I nod again.

"Splendid. You should be set," he concludes. "Let's move over here and get you situated."

He circles the table, takes a seat and motions to the vacant chair next to his. I follow orders. I survey the room and weigh my options. I could leave. I wouldn't get very far. And I wouldn't have a place to run to.

The room is silent and still. Smyth rummages through his satchel. His notes are cluttered. He shuffles them to the other side of the desk and out of my view. They're about me I figure. I let myself ponder what they could say.

Thirty minutes later, the long room fills –clustered with townspeople, board members, and guests. I look desperately at the door, waiting to see a familiar face.

Board Members Kline and Caine sit in chairs behind the high table next to two other men whom I do not recognize; to the right is a band of neatly manicured women sporting uniforms the same slate blue color as Tin Smyth's suit. Jurors.

The center chair on the panel remains empty as the room fills. I glance at the clock above the door. It's 8:30 on the dot. I turn back and look at the open seat.

Another 10 minutes tick by. Charlotte, Nicolas and William have slinked into the row behind my chair. VIP seating.

I recall Teho, the short beefy man from the town square. I see Tria and Dr. Bishop from the Refinery, and a few other people whose names have escaped me. My eyes wander to a thirty-something man I do not recognize perched on an elevated platform behind the front desk.

He wears a grim expression that suits his dull civil uniform. His entire ensemble is ordinary apart from one noticeable accessory –a metallic gun strapped to his belt.

Everyone seems to have settled down. It is now just before 9:00 and the tallest chair is still vacant. I begin to panic, but before I let myself worry the worst, the back door opens slightly and a thin frail woman saunters down the aisle and takes her seat.

The woman situates herself in the upholstered throne. She is plain enough. Her hair, woven into an intricate knot, rests on top of her head. Unlike the others, her ensemble is not slate blue, but rather a deep crimson.

Her face is deeply blushed with a glowering stare. Grim features and bothered expressions are enough to reveal she wishes to be somewhere else –anywhere else.

Me too. We have something in common.

The woman looks in my direction and I hold her focus. After a few moments, she stands to her feet. Almost in unison the entire congregation rises.

"Good morning, all." Her voice rings through the chamber. "Welcome to the Evaluation of unidentified number thirteen-hundred-ninety-nine. It is pleasing to see such a fruitful turnout." She pauses and looks back in my direction. Her voice sounds much friendlier than I anticipated.

"I am Helga Hawthorne, senior C.R.I.S. Arbitrator, and I will be presiding over today's hearing," she affirms. I know this must be for me, as I am the only person present who seems not to know her.

All eyes on me.

"First and foremost, I'd like to welcome you, on behalf of the entire Kemper Square community, to our town," her voice remains steady. I know this is for me. Who else would she be welcoming?

"Let's start, shall we?" Hawthorne raises her eyebrow in my direction, waiting for approval. I nod. She lowers her eyes onto the sheet of paper before her.

"We are here today to evaluate the refugee as she undergoes the refugee integration process," she recites. "The refugee will be evaluated on all levels of performance after clearing the screening process, including mental and physical health –approved by Doctor Bishop."

I listen to the regulation in her voice and wonder how many times she's done this –presided over a refugee hearing. It sounds rehearsed. I hope my preparation sounds this believable.

"Does the refugee understand the evaluation process as it pertains to citizenship eligibility?" Hawthorne waits for my response.

I nod again. I think I understand. I cannot let my thoughts roam away from me now. Trying to remain calm and prepared, I replay Charlotte's words in my head.

"You have been properly acquainted with your H.A.S.M.A.V., yes?" She asks.

I nod again, but can feel Tin Smyth readjust beside me. I remember his advice. The committee wants me to show initiative and knowledge, that's all.

"Yes," I answer plainly.

"Very well," she continues. "I will require you to prepare your knowledge on each of the following areas. Do take as much time as is needed."

"Alright," I mumble. I shift, uncomfortable in my chair. Here it comes.

"History. Could you please share your understanding of the current situation; remember to be concise and display confidence." She gazes at me from behind her protective desk.

I take a moment to breathe. So far, I have only garnered a handful of possible ideas and even fewer facts, all of which string together to create absurd far-fetched theories.

At first I thought maybe it was a joke –my mindplaying a trick on me. Of course, I probed the idea of this all being a dream,an elaborate picture painted in the foreground of my subconscious. After Ispent more time here, I allowed myself to believe it was something more.

Perhaps this is my afterlife –a heaven that has allowed me to live out the remainder of my life in another era –a reality inside my subconscious.

"I am a refugee," I hesitate. I focus my attention on the wooden panel behind Board Member Kline's head. I exhale.

"Continue."

"I am not from around here. I have come here from a former time." I pause again building myself up for the next part.

Hawthorne, Board Member Kline and Board Member Caine all have the same look of concern, teetering on the brink of fear, as though they're afraid of what I might say. I shake their skepticism and finish my answer.

"I died," I sigh. Everyone's reactions are normal enough. That's all I need to say.

"Very well. Your Approach?" Board Member Kline asks.

I'm rather taken aback by her sudden spark of interest. She has not spoken yet today. I figure, though, they all take turns with the questions. After all, they are all board members evaluating me.

I clear my throat. "I understand my Evaluation is necessary," my voice falters. "I accept any inquiries that you may have."

I remember William urging me to play along. All they are really looking for is my willingness to integrate. What other approach is an option?

"Situation," Hawthorne speaks again. "Describe for us your situation."

This is the tough one. I remember going over the words with Charlotte but not fully comprehending their meaning.

I ramble off a few sentences the board might be happy with. I tell them that I am a refugee living with a surrogate family that is also my reassignment team. My answer must have sufficed because they move on to the next category.

"Memory," Board Member Caine squeaks. "Remember, this is particularly important. You must disclose all germane information."

"I understand," I begin.

The audience has been waiting for this question specifically. I can feel them take deep breaths; the whole room goes silent. The townspeople cling onto my every word.

"I remember waking up on a rock, my neck was wounded," I say positively.

"Go on," Caine urges politely.

"I remember being found and brought back here. I remember the Refinery and that's all," I finish.

I feel a pang of guilt. I wonder if my nightmare counts. Maybe I should have told them. But I chose not to. I can tell people are dissatisfied with my response.

"That is all? You're sure?" Hawthorne asks.

"Yes, I remember nothing before that," I proclaim in a curt but steady voice.

The board members whisper amongst themselves for a moment before moving on.

"This concludes the first session of the Evaluation hearing," Hawthorne announces. "We will resume in thirty minutes."

She steps down from her chair and the room relaxes at once.

"Not too bad." Smyth smiles at me. "The next session will be a bit more intense," he promises.

"I am ready," I tell him.

I feel confident now. Well, more confident than before.

"You are doing great," Charlotte coos from the seat behind me.

"Thank you." I smile.

During the break, a number of people came to talk with me. I didn't know most of them, but they all wished me good luck.

For Application, I threw around ideas of possible contributions I could make to the community. Charlotte helped me come up with a few different things; I tried to remember most of them. Hawthorne seemed temporarily satiated. Next, Tin Smyth will be called to the stand to give his voucher speech.

From what I know, tinmen are chosen as vouchers for unidentified refugees. There are three tinmen in Kemper. Smyth told me about them when we first met. Vouchers are accountable for their refugees and for their behavior.

As my voucher, Smyth is responsible for setting me up with my reassignment team and making sure I have the proper pamphlets and information I need. I know my behavior reflects his work, so I try to focus. I know he means well.

Tin Smyth shuffles in his chair again, preparing his segment. The paperwork in front of him is skillfully stacked. All eyes are on Hawthorne as she finishes discussing the importance of the voucher statement.

After Smyth, the only part left is my reassignment team's character witness statements. I know the play-by-play is for my benefit; everyone else seems to be following the standard steps with no problem.

My focus is brought back to the room as Board Member Kline calls for the voucher to walk forward.

"Here we go," Tin Smyth grumbles under his breath. He pushes the chair back, steps up, and crosses the short distance between our table and the board. A small metal chair stands alone in front of the officials.

"Tin Burke Smyth, second-class of Wenonah," Board Member Kline begins reading from the script before her. "You are the assigned tinmen voucher for the refugee in question."

"Yes, that is correct," Tin Smyth verifies.

I listen intently to the first half of his speech, trying to respect the fact it is mostly about me.

I soon lose interest.

The room becomes stuffy and I begin to roast. I think about the outside and the warm breeze. There are no windows in the room so I have no idea what is going on, though it must be at least mid-afternoon by now.

For a minute I wonder how much longer this will go on. By now most of the crowd has dwindled down. There are still a few people I do not recognize sitting poised and alert, clinging to Tin Smyth's every word.

A brief applause echoes throughout the tiny room. I snap back to the moment and watch as Tin Smyth steps down from the sleek metal chair and returns to my side.

I study their reactions; the board members have stern but pleased expressions and the townspeople are beaming. William looks content.

Board Members Kline and Caine whisper to the two men beside them. They appear to be discussing something under their breaths. There's a long pause before Hawthorne concurs with an audible, "okay."

"Next, the reassignment team witnesses. We ask for Charlotte James to step forward," Hawthorne states.

There's a scuffle of movement in the row behind me and I hear a few hushed voices. I watch intently with all the others as Charlotte makes her way to the chair.

After Charlotte, they called on Nic. William was last, as he was the Garner who found me. They saved the most detailed questions for him, mostly about my mental state when I was retrieved and how I have matured since then.

William finished briefly. He was straightforward and concise. The board deliberated and went in the back room to decide the verdict. Ten minutes later they stepped back into the room and returned to their places.

Hawthorne stood to read the preliminary report, which described the board's initial impressions and concerns. Next, Hawthorne delivered the verdict.

"The Committee of Refugee Integration Services, in accordance with myself and active voucher Tin Burke Smyth, hereby declare number thirteen-hundred-ninety-nine: Approved."

There was applause and I was submerged in congratulations. My official reassignment location was also included in the verdict. I will remain at the James' residence until I wish to leave. Charlotte scooped me into her arms and Nicolas clapped my back.

"Congratulations!"

"Well done! Very well done!"

All four Board Members: Kline, Caine, and the two no-names, formally congratulated me one by one. Hawthorne merely bowed her head in a congratulatory manner.

It is mid-afternoon. William and I walk side by side in silence. He is wearing a peasant blouse. It looks outdated, but strangely enough it suits him. I smile. Vintage looks good on him.

We continue through the building and arrive back at the receptionists' lobby where Reggie is still sitting perked and alert behind her polished desk. A squeal escapes her as she sees me.

"Congratulations, miss! I just knew you'd do swell," she chirps.

"Thank you." I blush. Even after an overwhelmingly copious amount of hugs today, I'm still not used to it –the friendliness.

The town square is crowded and the day young. The official integration will take place this evening in the town square. For now, we have a reprieve.

Nicolas and William leave us and return to the stables, bidding farewell. I stay close to Charlotte, unwilling to venture into the congested streets alone. We pass the hospital on our left and the school on our right.

The children huddled on the front lawn stop as I pass by. Pairs of gaping eyes peer at me from across the street. They must know who I am.

"They like you." Charlotte nods in the direction of the school.

"Like me?" I raise my brow.

"Children always like new refugees. They're very accepting." She smiles.

"They can tell just by looking at me?" I ask.

Their youthful faces are smooth and tan, just like the natives'. I notice three young girls who have pale skin with yellow plaited hair; they are more awkward than the others and their body language is stiff and rigid. They look more like how I feel.

"For the most part everyone around here looks familiar. There aren't many people we don't recognize," she says.

"Everyone lives here..." I trail off. Charlotte pauses for a minute, considering it.

"We have tourists come through for the holiday season, but they don't arrive for a few more weeks," she says. "It is easy to tell. Plus, you do look the part."

I think about this. I look the part. I wonder what the part is. I haven't seen myself in over a week. I've fashioned an image of myself in my own head without any intentions. I've only ever seen myself in reflections of windows, the water in the tub at the Refinery, and the opaque glass at the James' house.

"You said the children like refugees?" I peer sideways at Charlotte. "Why?"

"They're new," she shrugs. "It's new for them –foreign even. But children are resilient, they adapt. I have discovered that sometimes they handle change better than adults."

"Adults don't like refugees?"

"Oh no, of course we do! But we are older. It is different for us." Charlotte nods.

"What about the natives, do they mind?" I wonder. It must be strange for the town to see people washing up in their land.

"It's different for natives," sighs Charlotte. "You see existing refugees can share in the experience. They can relate. There is an intangible bond linking all refugees of every age together." She pauses.

"And the natives don't share that," I say.

"For natives it is something completely extrinsic. We welcome refugees but it's second nature to us. We are born here so we know nothing else."

I sense a sad note in her voice. It never dawned on me that Charlotte was a native, but it is unmistakable now that she is. I assumed since I was reassigned to their family, all the James' were wash-ups. I gaze at Charlotte now, more closely than before.

Her dark brown curls envelop her face; she has distinguished cheekbones and beautiful bright eyes. Although she is slightly less tan than the other natives I have come across, she has a flawless complexion. Beauty. She could be part white or African American, with parts German or Latino. Her qualities encompass them all.

"Nic and William," I pause, careful not to sound too eager to pry. "They must both be refugees, right? William mentioned something about it before." I search my memory. It hadn't dawned on me before that if William was a wash-up, certainly Nic had to be as well.

William and Nicolas are both handsome and greatly resemble each other. There was no way they weren't biological brothers. What are the chances that both should die and resurface here?

"Yes, they are." Charlotte answers cautiously.

She must sense my next question because I barely open my mouth when she delves into explanation.

"Nic and William... Their case is what we call a simultaneous transport. No one knows for sure how one is chosen to resurface in our land. For two people to be transported together –to have both been chosen –well, that is exceptionally rare. In fact, it's almost unheard of..." She trails off again.

I nod my head for her to continue.

"Upon their arrival, the Garners could only assume the two of them had been together when they died, that they sort of latched on to each other. It wasn't until after Nicolas regained consciousness that he confirmed their suspicion. They were indeed biological brothers," Charlotte breaks off.

My face must reveal the confusion engulfing my mind, but I nod urging her to continue.

"Our land is shielded from other eras; it is difficult enough for the few refugees who do make it to pass through the portal and survive the transportation. It is almost impossible for two beings to travel together," she says. "Both souls need to be ready at the exact same moment."

I grasp on to a few key words –era, shield, portal. How evolved, sophisticated even, in an eerie science-fiction kind of way.

"The Garners will be able to share more information with you. Resurfacing is an intricate and complex process." Charlotte looks over at me.

"But if a simultaneous whatever never happens," I say. "Maybe they–"

"I said it was rare, not that it never happens," she interrupts. "Anyway, save your questions for now. I promise later we will have time to discuss everything and anything you'd like."

Charlotte and I stroll through the town for another hour before William and Nicolas meet up with us. I am scheduled to meet with Tin Smyth and Board Members Kline and Caine out front of the municipal building just before dusk. It is almost the end of my Evaluation day.

The street lampposts flicker to life with tiny yellow flames. I know about electric lights, but can flames have automatic timers?

"Nic, Charlotte!" Tin Smyth shouts.

We turn to see him and the others pacing over from behind the municipal building.

"Tin Smyth, Board Member Kline, Caine." Charlotte is poised and proper, her usual prim self.

"How was your afternoon?" Smyth peers down.

"Fine," I say.

"Just fine?" Smyth arches an eyebrow. "You're officially a resident!"

"It was great," I smile broader now, trying to really sell it.

"That is wonderful to hear!" Caine squawks happily.

What a different experience meeting with these people outside of the courtroom. They are nonchalant and casual. Shrill cold contempt is seeping from Board Member Kline. She has not spoken directly to me since I met her.

I stare at her now hoping for some sort of appraisal or recognition but she just glares through me with her empty eyes.

"I will warn you now, you may have a bit of an audience behind you for this," Tin Smyth whispers. "It is, after all, your official Kemper integration ceremony. And people are curious."

Startled. That is not only how I feel but also how it must register on my face as the others jump to correct Tin Smyth.

"Not a real ceremony," Charlotte steps in. "It's nothing big. Just a few casual words preceded by some more formal words."

"Nothing to panic about," William says.

My cheeks swell.

"Of course not," Smyth pardons himself. "If we could just have you step over here."

He grips my shoulders and shifts me to the side of the Municipal Services building. "Excellent, and we can begin."

Board Member Caine unclips and unravels a tiny scroll of parchment to reveal a prescribed document titled Unidentified No. 1399, Kemper Square. How thoughtful. Caine stretches out the document and reads the beautifully crafted calligraphy.

"On behalf of the C.R.I.S. and Kemper Square of the Wenonah regional land, we are pleased to formally integrate unidentified number thirteen-hundred-ninety-nine into our society. Let it be stated that today, the twenty-sixth of the eighth month, is your official K-Day," Caine pauses to catch his breath.

He finishes up with a last comment about "citizenship" and "starting over".

I hear a muffled applause.

A civil dressed in a slate uniform strolls up to Smyth and hands him a medium-sized leather satchel. Smyth passes the parcel off to me.

I stare at the knapsack. It has a thick strap and drawstring closure. Woven into the fabric is the iconic Kemper emblem.

"Your start-up package," he whispers in my ear.

"Thank you." I take the package.

It is heavier than I expected and its contents are hidden beneath the flap. To circumvent prying questions of passersby, I fight the urge to peek inside.

"Are you ready?" Charlotte asks. "Or we can stay for a while longer." She motions to the crowded town square behind me filled with my spectators.

"No." I smile. "I am ready."

"Too much fun for one day?" William challenges.

"No," I reply defensively.

"That is expected. We'll get you back for a full night's sleep," Nicolas adds.

I say goodbye to Smyth, who assures me we will see each other soon, and to Board Member Caine. I catch the evil eye of Kline, but quickly revert my eyes back to the satchel swung over William's shoulder.

The water wheel glistens under the strong sun and pale sky. Tiny electro-lights bolt through the water as it churns into the tranquil pond at the bottom.

We make it to the top of the incline. I turn back and admire the sight, as I always do. The valley below is picturesque –a perfectly manicured town square with crooked cobblestones, glowing lights and mismatched rooftops.

As I sit down on the cool silky sheets, I see William standing in my doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Where do you want this?" My leather satchel is dangling from his shoulder. He holds it out to me. I stand up and cross the room to him.

"Thank you for today," I say.

"For what?" His voice is hardly a whisper.

I search his face in the hope of finding answers. The sincerity. The familiarity. It's unnerving.

"With the trial, having you there... you helped," I mumble under my breath. I've never been skilled at the casual exchange of sentiments.

He waits, but I stay silent because I know he understands. His eyes are intense, his face smooth and immaculate, the face of a native, of a natural born native.

"You're welcome." William hesitates.

His eyes flicker with dissatisfaction and I hear the longing in his voice.

I break our eye contact and stare down.

I suppose it's as appropriate a time as any to share a piece of me with this new unknown world. After all, I need to start somewhere –with someone. I may as well start here with William.

Baby steps.

"Wait," I say. I feel open and vulnerable but I'm not scared.

"Yes?"

"It's Evelyn. My name is Evelyn."

"Evelyn."