Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (6 page)

“Marco, I think you will have a very good time tonight. Now that we are finally seated, let me introduce you to my family. Marco, as you may already know, this is my father, Judge Kelleher, and my mother, Muriel.” Before she could introduce her brother, Jonathan stood up and reached his hand out to Marco. “Hi, I’m Jonathan, and this is my girlfriend, Michelle.” Jonathan knew he should milk this publicity stunt for as far as it could go. He would make sure to capitalize on it. When he saw the cameras, he tried to engage Marco in conversation throughout the evening. What would look better than brotherly approval of the young, brave cameraman who approached Thatcher? On the other hand, he knew his father would discourage further actions like this by others who might feel emboldened to mimic such a brash approach. His father’s opportunity to address such concerns came when Cassandra interviewed them later in the evening.

“Welcome back, this is Cassandra Williams, here with Judge Kelleher and his son, Jonathan. Judge, can you let us in on any inside scoop for the upcoming
Trials
?”

“Well, Cassandra, as you know, your cameraman could be one of the unfortunate stars in
The Trials
for what he did tonight, but we will have to see about that.” The biometric suits across the world were registering extreme displeasure with the Judge’s response. Cassandra knew this because she continually received instant feedback on the audience’s reactions to her questions. She constantly adjusted her interview according to the feedback. The Judge also knew this and would rephrase his answers depending on the direction she gave him.

“Well, Judge, it seems our viewers are big fans of what Marco did tonight. I don’t think anyone would like to see him at
The Trials
—unless he was just working them with the camera.” The Judge didn’t like this. He needed to remain popular, but he also couldn’t have people breaking the law openly on live VRS—and getting away with it. He was a shrewd politician, though, and could easily get out of this.

“Why wouldn’t they be fans of this? My daughter’s a beautiful, intelligent, and extraordinary woman. Any father would be proud of her, but at the same time, quite protective. It’s in our nature. It seems that she’s having a fine time with Marco tonight, and that is all that matters. So you young men out there, don’t get any crazy ideas in your head.”

He flashed a smile, knowing his answer satisfied the audience when Cassandra said, “Judge, you are certainly right, but I don’t think anyone out there will attempt such a brash move. They know the rules, but I see you are expertly evading my question about
The Trials
.”

She laughed and turned to Jonathan. “I hear you’re helping your father with planning the upcoming
Trials
. Surely, you can give us a little morsel to keep us going until they begin?” Jonathan smiled. He was fully expecting this question. “Cassandra, all I can say is that we have some fantastic surprises up our sleeves. Some things my father doesn’t even know about.”

She turned quickly to the Judge and asked, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“I can speak to the fact that we will be doing something this year that has never been done before with
The Trials
, and not in entertainment in over 150 years. Obviously, there are certain things my son and the planning committee have not shared with me yet. I have left the selection of the criminals to them this year. In fact, I will not know who they are until they are announced live. One of the criticisms we have received over the years is that by me being involved in the selection, I am biased as to the guilt or innocence of each person on trial. Therefore, I have recused myself from this process. Hopefully, the public will see that I am unbiased in my questioning of the criminals during the proceedings this year.”

“Well, Judge and Jonathan, this sounds like it’s going to be quite an exciting show this season. We’re looking forward to it!”

345 and 888 were still watching, but they couldn’t help but wonder, just like all the other viewers, what this year’s
Trials
would be like. They were mandatory to watch, yet often entertaining. However, the last few years were getting repetitive with the same types of crimes and the same line of questioning that led to the foregone conclusion of guilt and death for those on trial.

Finally, the speeches were over and dancing was to begin. The Benefactor himself always introduced the beginning of the dancing at the Ball. All watched as Benefactor Simon approached the podium. A hush fell over the crowd. Before he spoke, he cleared his throat. What he lacked in size and stature, he possessed in power, ruling the entire planet with an iron fist. “Tonight, we celebrate the achievements of our Progtopia. We are one people, whom under me, are indivisible. Each and every one of us, through our work, our achievements, and our progress, has helped society evolve into what we have today. As Benefactor, I’m responsible for everything that each and every one of you has. Without me, there is nothing, but without you, we also have nothing. We are linked in our success as well as in our failures. Our society has grown, progressed, and evolved to where we are today because of structure and knowing one’s place.”

He paused and took a sip of water, his habit to place emphasis on what was to come next. “To the Recipient Class, who are watching tonight, your work, labor, and dedication are the foundation of our society. For that, you are given everything one would need—food, shelter, work, and good health. Your labors do not go unrecognized. For those in the Elite Recipient Class, you are given special privilege to work directly with the Giving Class. Because you serve us directly, you are given access into our lives, but access does not mean you are one of us. It is only the Giving Class that has the power to give to everyone in the world. Without us, you could neither exist nor survive. Remember this, now and always.”

Finished, he walked away. The speech was received loud and clear by each and every person in the room as well as at home. It was clearly directed toward the stunt Cassandra Williams put Marco up to. When Marco and Thatcher started to dance, the world’s biometric suits registered intense discomfort. The Benefactor’s message had succeeded.

345 took off his biometric suit and climbed into bed. He thought about the Benefactor’s speech, replaying it over and over in his mind. He knew the Benefactor was right. He had nothing without the Giving Class. Where did he think the pursuit of 888 would end? Romance? Being together? The very daughter of the Director of the Ministry of Justice and Reeducation could not be with Marco if she wanted to. He knew he was crazy to keep showing up early at the tram station, but some feeling deep inside was driving this. He didn’t have any control over it. Was this what the Giving Class called
love
? How did he possess such a feeling? He was a recipient.

Marco and Thatcher were among the multiple couples who took to the dance floor after the Benefactor’s speech. She held him closely and whispered into his ear, “Marco, I know you were put up to approaching me, and you know this has to end tonight. For what it’s worth, I’m having a really good time, though.”

“Thanks, I’m sure my camera days are over, and I just hope that’s the worst of it. Maybe you could put in a good word for me with your father,” he said nervously. They both started to laugh. Thatcher held him tighter, hoping he wouldn’t be detained at the end of the evening.

Thomas Quinn saw this scene unfold in front of him. Even though he was with the most sought-after woman at their Institute, he envied Marco. He wondered what they were carrying on about. He never had the courage to talk to Thatcher besides the occasional hello. He admired her and would have traded places with Marco in an instant. “A penny for your thoughts?” Catherine’s voice interrupted.

“Oh, I was wondering what that Marco character is like. Don’t you?”

“Not really,” sighed Catherine. “He’s below us. Why would anyone care?”

“Listen, I bet some of your friends who are not here tonight will ask you about him tomorrow. Let’s try something.”

Without the slightest hesitation, he directed Catherine toward Thatcher, and when they approached the couple, he offered to switch partners. Catherine was horrified and started to protest until she saw a camera upon her. Suddenly, she willingly took Marco into her arms and let go of Thomas.

Thomas took Thatcher and asked her if she knew how to tango. “Of course I do,” she replied.

“Great, because you’re about to dance the best tango of your life!” He looked at the director of the band, who was a close personal friend of his family, signaling him to play “Assassin’s Tango” by John Powell.

When the music changed, some of the older couples left the floor, and since Marco didn’t have any formal dance training, he left with Catherine, who was irate.

Within seconds, Thomas and Thatcher took the dance floor by storm. He was an expert, keeping the weight on the balls of his feet while maintaining a firm arm and upright stance as he gently pressed against Thatcher’s hands to direct her every move. The infatuation they had for each other, the tension that had built up between them over the years, was spilling out into their dance routine. It was strong, sensual, and passionate. They were lost in each other, suspending all inhibitions, forgetting their surroundings, taking notice of no one but each other. They were oblivious to the applause and cheers at the end. They just stared at each other, deeply into each other’s eyes, wishing the night would not end. But it did.

Nine

The Year: 2032

President Burton was sitting in the Oval Office waiting for his Chief of Staff along with the directors of the NSA and CIA to update him on Project Renaissance. He stared at the painting proudly displayed for all to see. He knew when he had the famous Soviet artist Viktor Koretsky’s piece displayed in the White House, the Liberty Party would go ballistic. It wasn’t just any painting. It was one that mocked two timeless American symbols—the Statue of Liberty and the American flag. He started to grin, almost laughing, at his plan. The painting ignited a debate within the country about him as President. Was he a Communist sympathizer?
Let them argue, while I move ahead with my plans. Keep them distracted
, he thought.

He glanced down at his desk, looking at the photo of him standing between his parents. He was only five years old and proudly holding the
Communist Manifesto
. At that age, he had no idea what the book symbolized, but his parents did. He sighed. They were happy. He missed them. But that was the past, and Communism was his parents’ fight, not his. He learned well from his parents, though. He understood the importance of diverting the people’s attention from the true agenda. The painting on the wall was serving that purpose. Let everyone think the first openly progressive President of the United States to be elected to office was striving toward Soviet-style Communism. He, of course, had much bigger plans, not only for his country, but for the world.

He sat there looking around the Oval Office. He still had to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Being President of the United States was hard enough to comprehend, but the fact that he ran openly as a man who wanted more government, not less, and won the election in a landslide was almost unfathomable. He figured being Vice President during the Middle Eastern War gave Americans the impression he was a strong leader. By the time he ran for the presidency, the economy was still in a free fall. The War didn’t turn it around as everyone had expected. Close to seventy percent of Americans were on government assistance, completely dependent on the thirty percent of Americans who still worked. The new Liberty Party didn’t have a chance—they ran on the platform of good work ethic, capitalism, and independence.

Growing up in the 1970s and 80s, at the height of the Cold War, East versus West, and Capitalism versus Communism, the President never thought he would ever see such a dramatic shift in political philosophy in his lifetime. His parents, hard-core Communists who surrounded themselves with like-minded people, taught their son to be patient in achieving the overall plan. The Communist revolution in America was to be silent, slow, and progressive in stark contrast to the violent Communist Revolution of Russia in 1917. Unknown to most Americans, the Communist takeover of America had been going on since the early twentieth century. American Communists decided to take a methodical, progressive approach by infiltrating the media, universities, politics, and regulatory agencies and slowly introducing their agenda one generation at a time. They predicted it would take close to one hundred years. President Burton was the culmination of their long and tireless efforts. Americans were so busy celebrating the fall of the Soviet Union at the end of the Cold War, they missed the fact that Socialist and Communist ideas never ceased infiltrating the media, public schools, and universities. When all was said and done, Communism had won the day.

But Burton looked beyond his parents’ vision of Communism as the ultimate goal. He had started to align himself with advocates of a borderless world controlled by one centralized governing body. He and his allies clearly understood that the barrier to such a world was the United States of America. America had to fail. They had to collapse and march the country to economic chaos. He and his international allies were striving for a One World Government controlling all aspects of people’s lives, making things better for everyone. Equalize the playing field, so to speak.

9/11 was the catalyst for the silent progressive movement to emerge. Americans were scared. It was the perfect opportunity for them to increase government control over American citizens. By creating the illusion of concern for American safety and security, they implemented the Patriot Act; increased surveillance cameras throughout cities; formed the TSA and Homeland Security; gained access to private emails and phone conversations; and searched without probable cause. All were eagerly accepted by Americans. After all, it was all in the name of
safety,
but it was a façade. The Progressives methodically depleted the American citizenry of their liberties. With the government gradually introducing programs for protection, Americans acclimated to the change. By the time President Burton ran for office and pushed for a nationalized police force, very few resisted.

With the government controlling most Americans’ lives through regulation, surveillance, and harassment, the President knew the next piece to play out was economic collapse. He worked closely with his progressive brethren in the world to manipulate the world’s currency. He played his part by printing the dollar at a manic pace. Doing this only devalued it further, pushing America toward economic disaster. That was imminent, but he was now afraid he would lose his leadership position when economic turmoil ensued. Uncontrolled, the fall of America may leave the President without a seat at the table. He didn’t just want a seat—he thirsted for power, domination, and absolutism. He wanted to control the One World Government himself.

Discussing various scenarios with his Chief of Staff, they decided the collapse of the dollar would rip America apart, making it very unlikely he would be in charge of the One World Government. Striving for supreme authority, he devised a plan that would guarantee his ascension to the top.
Project Renaissance
. Top secret, the scheme would give him control of the world. Even those working on it didn’t know its purpose. Only he and his Chief of Staff knew all the details of Project Renaissance.

One piece necessary for its implementation was the presence of Homeland Security in all of the major cities. Needing grounds to send them in, the thirteen-year-old girl was his gift. He couldn’t believe his good fortune when protests broke out in support of her, giving him the justification to make Homeland Security the national civilian police force. When Camille’s actions went viral, igniting protests, the President announced to the American people he was sending Homeland Security into the cities to maintain order. Assuring them he wanted to protect them, most cities welcomed them. Now with Homeland in place, they would be in prime position to implement Renaissance when the time was right. Before the thirteen-year-old, he agonized over the pretext for sending Homeland into cities. That was a detail he no longer worried about.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts. “Come in.” His secretary, Abigail, the most attractive person at the White House, entered, announcing the Directors and his Chief of Staff had arrived for their appointment. A beautiful redhead dressed in a professional but suggestive manner, she always made heads turn. She knew how to get the President’s attention—a dress almost too short, showing a hint of cleavage just enough to let every man’s imagination, including President Burton’s, run wild. Often running her hands through her long red hair, she had the President eating from the palm of her hand.

“They can come in,” he murmured.

She smiled, making his heart skip a beat. Exiting briefly, Abigail re-entered with the three men. Once settled, she brought them coffee, then left the four alone to discuss the project. NSA was represented by a tall, thin man in his sixties. As a career government employee, he steadfastly believed the government was the answer to all problems. He never quite understood the small government movement, and he was completely perplexed by the firestorm caused by the thirteen-year-old who ran away. He was a data man who believed the collection of information for the benefit of society should trump any privacy concerns.

By data mining phone records, emails, the Department of Education’s core curriculum information, and protected health information, the NSA was able to produce a comprehensive list of the President’s enemies and allies. That list was critical to successfully achieving Project Renaissance. The President sipped his coffee, deep in thought. No one dared to speak. He leaned back, relieved the list was complete.

“Very well,” the President replied. “I want the enemies’ list given to the Director of Homeland when I direct you.”

The CIA director, peeved he was not privy to the full details of the plan, displayed his irritation with arms folded, tense, and silence. The President, not caring much for him, had appointed him as a favor to a generous political donor. Finally speaking, he asked, “Do you have a backup plan to distribute this list if electronics go down?”

The NSA director shook his head.

“Well,” the small-statured CIA director said, “that’s a big problem. Since I haven’t been briefed on the full extent of the project,” he said with irritation, “if there is any chance of a power outage, there needs to be a backup plan for distributing this list. I suggest that a CIA operative has a back-up list and be located regionally.”

The President didn’t say a word, but again took this information in. He needed to let the American people think the people on his allies’ list were randomly selected. If the list were discovered before Renaissance was initiated, his plan might not succeed. On the other hand, the CIA director brought up an excellent point. Although there should not be any power outages caused by Renaissance—at least initially—power failure in the early stages could foil the whole plan.

“There are key regions that need to be taken care of within twenty-four hours of implementation of Renaissance,” the President said. “I would be willing to release that list to key operatives whom you trust twenty-four hours before Renaissance commences.”

His Chief of Staff stood up, signaling the end of the meeting, informing the attendees they would hear about Project Renaissance when it was about to begin. Once the men left the room, the Chief of Staff sat with the President to update him on the full details of Renaissance.

“Mr. President, we are close. At what point do you want to inform some of the world leaders of your plan?”

“How long after G8 will Renaissance be ready to go?”

“Not long.”

“Okay. We need to arrange a meeting with the leaders of Germany, France, England, and Italy. I want you to make sure that anyone who was involved in this project at any level is not on the allies’ list. That includes the leaders of those four countries.”

“Consider it done, Mr. President.”

“Are we on schedule?”

“Yes, Mr. President, it is on schedule.”

“I don’t want this to start until a few weeks after we plant the first news story we both know will be a false report. Once the real deal hits, all hell will break loose. It will truly be hell on earth.”

The President’s secretary was concerned. She still didn’t know what the true nature of Renaissance was, but she knew the G8 summit was only several months away. The microscopic listening device she had planted on the bottom of the President’s favorite coffee cup provided some key information. She just hoped other operatives were gathering enough intelligence to piece this puzzle together in time. She knew Renaissance could change the world as they all knew it, and it was up to them to stop it.