Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (18 page)

Thirty-two

The Year: 2173

Jonathan directed the Judge and Thomas over to the sitting area at the far end of his office. They settled on the comfortable chairs in front of the virtual reality screen. Letting out a sigh as he turned on the VRS, he wondered what damage his sister could inflict upon their case in the next thirty minutes.

As the VRS turned on, it captured Cassandra Williams sitting in the studio explaining that Thatcher was at the detention center and ready to meet with the others on trial, who all agreed to Thatcher’s representation. Explaining that cameras were positioned throughout the room at the prison, Cassandra promoted the phenomenon of reality shows, impressing upon the audience they were about to experience the ultimate reality show—unedited, uncut, and live.

The show cut from Cassandra to Thatcher who was sitting in a comfortable leather chair with three empty chairs surrounding a circular coffee table. The door to the room opened and Marco, 345, and 07261973 walked in, appearing nervous. Thatcher immediately put them at ease by greeting each one with a strong hug. Once they were all settled, Thatcher leaned forward and spoke, not wasting any time defining the issues.

“As you three probably already know, my name is Thatcher Kelleher, and I too have been charged with a crime and will be on trial. I think our best chance at beating the conviction is to have representation from someone who has some knowledge of the legal system, but before we talk about each of your defenses, we need to get a few things straight. First, I refuse to call you,” she said as she looked at 345 and 07261973, “by a number. You are human beings, not statistics.”

Turning to 07261973, she asked if she ever thought about having a name. As suspected, 07261973 answered it had never crossed her mind.

“Well, would it be okay if I gave you a suggestion?” Thatcher asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Okay then, now stick with me here,” Thatcher said as she stood from her chair, starting to pace the room. “There used to be this religion called Catholicism. I know we are told there is no existence of God and no need for religion. The reason behind that is simple. How can all your rights, privileges, and rules come from the State if there is a Creator? But I digress. Getting back to Catholicism, they believed in a God who created life and gave humans free will. The person, not the State, chose their path in life.”

“You’re kidding,” said 345.

“No, I’m not. There was a time when things were that way. Free will and choosing right from wrong without direction from the State are so foreign to us, it’s almost impossible to imagine, but that’s how things were back then. Temptation being everywhere, it was sometimes hard to always do the right thing, but the Catholics had this concept called saints. They were people who were ordinary, like you and me. Some were really bad people who found their way to God and changed their ways. They went on to live extraordinary lives, acting as an inspiration to others.

“No one became a saint when they were alive. They were made one after they died. Most of them had a specific thing they were known for. For example, St. Anthony was known to help you find things if you lost them. If you prayed to him, you would find it.”

“No way,” said Marco. “Can I pray to him for my freedom?” he asked sarcastically. Thatcher paused. If she was losing him, she may be losing the rest of the audience.

“Marco, I know you and everyone else are wondering why I’m talking about Catholicism and saints, but there is a point.” She looked at 07261973 and said, “You’ve been accused of preserving life, a life the State considered to be defective. In essence, you are protecting the imperfect, the disabled. In the Catholic Church, there was a patron saint of the disabled, and her name was St. Margaret.”

Thatcher stopped pacing the room and asked, “How do I know all of this? Simple. I seem to accumulate many useless facts, and this happens to be one of them.” She laughed. “However, today, it doesn’t seem to be that worthless.”

Thatcher had the full attention of Marco, 345, and 07261973, as well as the audience at home. No one had ever heard about saints or miracles. 345 spoke up. “Why was she the patron saint of the disabled?”

Thatcher walked over to her chair and took a seat. “Excellent question.” She leaned back and began telling the story of St. Margaret.

“Margaret was born in 1287, and at that time, there was little to no technology. I know this may be hard to believe, but there was a time when there was no electricity, running water, cars, or VRSs. In her time, they used candles for light, horses for transportation, and rivers and wells for water. Margaret was born blind, with curvature of the spine, one leg shorter than the other, and a severely malformed left arm. She was born into a family of nobility—something like the Giving Class—who could have provided for her and cared for her. Instead, they hid her from the public, hoping she would die, but when that didn’t happen, they decided to take her, at the age of six, to see if they could get her help. When it became obvious nothing would cure her, they abandoned her in a city. Can you imagine being six years old, blind, barely able to walk, and left alone in a city of strangers?”

The Judge, watching from Jonathan’s office, had to catch himself from trying to picture the situation. “Darn, she’s good,” he said shaking his head. “If I’m interested in this story, so is everyone else.”

Thatcher continued. “Margaret was taken in by a kind, generous, and loving couple who helped raise her until she reached her teen years when she decided to join a convent.”

“What’s that?” inquired Margaret.

“It’s a place where women live. They were not just any group of women, though. They were Catholic and dedicated their lives to serving the people of the community. Unfortunately, Margaret voiced her opinions about the lack of dedication these women seemed to have for the Church, and she was kicked out. It was a very low point in her life. Distraught and severely disabled with multiple limitations, she questioned the purpose of her life and the purpose of a God who could do this to her. She didn’t give up, though. She continued to pray for God’s guidance. Soon, she made her way to a different convent, and their mission was more in line with what Margaret expected. Even though she was blind and crippled, she tended to the poor and her community every single day of her life. Her spirit of service and faith in a Creator was known far and wide.

“When she died, the entire town and nearby villages and farms stopped everything they were doing to attend her funeral. Her burial was to take place in the cemetery at the convent, but the people wanted her to be placed in a tomb in the church. That type of burial was considered a high honor, reserved only for important people. As the priests, the nuns, and the villagers were arguing over what to do, a young disabled girl crawled up and touched Margaret’s casket. Immediately, the girl was able to walk, and because of that miracle, Margaret was buried in the church’s tomb. After several other miracles, she was named to sainthood, and specifically known to be the patron saint of the disabled.”

Thatcher turned to 07261973 and asked, “Why didn’t you terminate the defectives at the life factories?”

“I don’t really know, but it didn’t feel right ending life—even if the State gave me permission. Unfortunately, I used to do it all the time, but the more I terminated a life, the worse I felt. I knew on the day I decided to no longer follow the State regulations, I would be arrested. Thatcher, I have terminated thousands—thousands of human beings.”

07261973 started to cry. Thatcher stood up and walked over to her. Looking her in the eyes, she said, “The important thing is that you stopped, and you stood up for what you believe is right. So, what do you think about the name Margaret? Or would you like another?”

“No,” she said through her tears. “I love the name and what she represents.”

345 looked at Thatcher and said, “What should I be called?”

Before Thatcher could answer, she was told they had to go to a commercial break. While the commercial was on, the Judge stood up, glared at Jonathan, and quipped, “She is winning in the court of public opinion, and I’m afraid to even hear what name and story she’s going to use for 345!”

“Father, don’t get so excited. I think you’re overreacting. This is great for ratings, and once we start
The Trials
, we will be able to refute all the nonsense she is spewing on the air right now.”

Thomas sat there watching the argument unfold between father and son, relieved all the heat was now on Jonathan and not him. The Judge, outraged, reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigar, and lit it. He puffed heavily in deep thought.

Thatcher and the others were back on the screen. Thatcher was well aware of the importance of winning over the audience to her side, and this forum was the perfect way to do just that.

“Well, 345, it sounds as though we are back from commercial, and you were wondering what your name should be. Do you have any thoughts?” Thatcher asked.

“Well, just like 0726—I mean Margaret—I never really thought about it before. I was always 345. The number was tattooed into my arm at the harvesting.” He pulled up his sleeve to show the number that was forever etched into his skin.

Thatcher stood up, walked to 345, stroked her hand against the tattoo, and asked, “How did this make you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when you see that number or think of your number, does it do anything to you inside? What does it represent to you?”

345 leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands supporting his face, pondering her question. “Well,” he said slowly, “I guess I see myself as a number, one of the group who works with the others for the good of the State. In exchange, the State takes care of me.”

“Do you see yourself as anything more than a number?”

“I guess I really never gave it thought until recently. I’ve always been told my role is important for the achievements of the State, and I guess I was fine with that until I saw 888. Before then, I was okay with being told what I had to eat, where I had to go, what I had to do for work, and where to live. The worry of all those responsibilities was lifted from my shoulders in exchange for my labor. But when I saw 888, I became confused. I started to wonder if there may be more to our existence than what we have right now. I want to have the choice to talk to 888—or to anyone, for that matter. Sure, I’m given virtual reality sports, entertainment, and even virtual reality girlfriends, but what I want is reality—or at least the choice to try reality and not have the State dictate what I can do.”

Thatcher decided to let those statements hang in the air momentarily, hoping those watching digested what he had just said. His little speech was illegal, punishable by death, and never expressed so publicly as he had just done. She hoped his words sunk in for those on the other side of the camera.

“345, I think you’re trying to express the idea of freedom. Something none of us have. Its concept frightens many for different reasons. From the State’s perspective, they can’t let you have it or they lose control over you. For all those not part of the State, more freedom means more responsibility and less protection,” Thatcher explained.

All three looked at Thatcher, puzzled. She realized if she was losing them, she was losing the audience as well, so she stood up, placed her hand on her mouth, and looked down as she was thinking of how to explain this better to her three clients and the rest of the world. Removing her hand from her face, she looked up and said, “Let’s think about it this way. The State takes care of you, and in exchange, you must do what they tell you. They provide you with security from illness, starvation, and poverty, but if you had freedom from the State, you, and only you, would be responsible for your health, shelter, and food. Some people like the concept of freedom, but when it comes down to it, they are very comfortable in the prison of their government.”

“Wow, I guess I never really thought about it that way.” 345 leaned back in his chair and said, “I do admit there is comfort in the sanctuary the State provides for me, but there is something in me that doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it, but I have this desire to do things with my life beyond what the State dictates. Maybe it’s free will I desire, but you’re right—with that, I would be giving up security and taking more responsibility onto myself.” He looked toward the others, and then back to Thatcher. “If I were having this conversation with you a few years back, I think I would’ve sided with the security of the State, but to be honest, their refuge has only left me with a vacant feeling, and that emptiness has been eating away my desire to live.”

The Judge, who was still watching, wondered if this was the cause of the increased suicides seen among the Recipient Class. This was very concerning.

His words triggered something Thatcher had read. Excitedly, she exclaimed, “I have the perfect name for you! During the founding of the United States of America, there were tremendous arguments about whether or not to break away as a new country. Those who didn’t agree with the break were afraid to give up the protection the English government was providing them, while others felt they could forge a new country with unimaginable freedoms and opportunities for its citizens. There was intense debate on both sides, and one of the founding fathers, Patrick Henry, had a famous quote: ‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’ You seem to be expressing his sentiments. So what do you think, 345, should we start calling you Patrick?”

“Absolutely.”

Cassandra Williams cut into the live feed to try to wrap up the show. The intensity with which the Judge puffed on his cigar exponentially increased as he considered the damage his daughter had just done. He turned to both Thomas and Jonathan, ordering them to clean up this mess, then stomped out of the room.

Thirty-three

The Year: 2173

Awaiting the beginning of the trial, all of the defendants were seated at the defense table. Each of them was nervous and dealing with the stress in their own way. Thatcher was rehearsing her opening remarks while the others seemed afraid and overwhelmed. The courtroom was on the larger side accommodating over one hundred spectators, and well on its way to filling beyond capacity. Thatcher glanced toward her right at the empty prosecutor’s table, wondering who would be doing the dirty work of her father and brother. The State’s decision to announce the prosecutor at the trial rather than in advance worried Thatcher. She liked to prepare for her enemy beforehand. Turning her attention to the crowd building behind her, she scanned the faces, hoping to see someone she knew. No one but her mother and Cassandra Williams looked familiar. Not having seen Thomas since her arrest, she was troubled he too may have been detained.

Disheartened she didn’t see Thomas, she turned around and shifted her focus to the front of the courtroom. The witness stand, her father’s bench, and the bronze engraving above his perch were now surreal since she never expected to be on trial herself. The engraving reflected the oath that she had pledged daily, “Dedication, Strength, and Progressive” —its true meaning was now apparent. Why had it taken her so long to realize that progressive was just a play on words? While it sounded forward thinking and open, in reality, It was neither. The progressive agenda, since its inception in early twentieth-century America, was only open to its own beliefs and goals, which was the complete control of people’s lives by the State.

Margaret whispered into Thatcher’s ear, “I’m scared.” Thatcher gave her a reassuring look, and before she could say anything, the door to the Judge’s chambers opened with Judge Kelleher entering the courtroom. Appearing even more menacing and authoritarian when he wore his black robe and white wig, Thatcher swallowed hard. Everyone in the crowded courtroom stood, waiting for him to speak.

“Good morning. We are here to commence this year’s trials, and as many of you know, the format this year will be somewhat different than those in the past because each defendant has legal representation—a first in
The Trials
. Due to this change, the rules dictate a prosecutor must try the case, minimizing my role to merely settling the arguments between prosecutor and defense.

“When we announced we needed a prosecutor, our office was inundated with volunteers. The one who was ultimately chosen stood out among his peers, not only because of his qualifications, but also because of his insistence on trying this case. His pursuit of me and my son to be the prosecutor was relentless, and for that reason, he was given the privilege to be the first prosecutor in the history of
The Trials
. I would dare say that most in this courtroom, as well as those watching, are very familiar with him, and without much more of an introduction, I would like to welcome our new prosecutor, Thomas Quinn.”

A loud murmur rippled through the courtroom as everyone instinctively turned to the back as the doors opened. Thomas strutted in with a cool confidence. Thatcher stood there shocked, speechless, and momentarily unable to process what was happening. She glared at Thomas as he walked toward the prosecutor’s table, but he snubbed her. She was unsure if his refusal to make eye contact was because he was coerced into this or something else. She shuddered to imagine that he truly wanted to be prosecutor. She knew, however, that whatever the reason, he would have to come at her full force in order to deflect any hint of bias.

Judge Kelleher figured Thatcher would be thrown off her game with this news, which was confirmed when he asked both of them to approach the bench. Thatcher remained at the table, in a daze, unable to fully process the unfolding events. Margaret leaned toward her and whispered, “The Judge is asking you to approach the bench.” Thatcher, still not responding, was nudged by Margaret. “Thatcher, we need you. They did this to throw you off, and you’re playing right into their hands. You’re better than that. Now get up there and protect us.”

Snapping out of it, Thatcher knew Margaret was right. Dwelling on Thomas was not going to help any of them. Amid the shock still electrifying the courtroom, Thatcher slowly walked toward the Judge’s bench, meeting her father and Thomas. Her father placed his hand over the microphone and directed his comments at Thatcher.

“Thatcher, you need to understand your burden is going to be very high, and your chances of winning any ruling from me are nil. I can’t even for a moment display any favoritism toward you, and frankly, even though you are my daughter, you sicken me. This young man here,” he looked at Thomas, “begged me to prosecute you when he realized how you jeopardized his career. You unleashed anger in this man I wasn’t aware he had. So I suggest you tread lightly during this trial and understand you have no friends in the State.”

Thatcher turned directly toward Thomas, pleading, “Is this true? You really want to prosecute me? Can you look me in the eye and tell me this is what you really want?”

Thomas fully expected this line of questioning from Thatcher. Even though he had initially been forced to be the prosecutor, the more he worked on the case he realized how much her actions could have risked his family fortune and his success. He looked her straight in the eye and with a cold, firm tone, replied, “Thatcher, what I want is not only to prosecute this trial, but to make sure each and every one of you are sentenced to death.” A pang of guilt shot through him as the words crossed his lips. He really didn’t mean it, but the cameras were on him. His inner struggle to choose himself and his family over Thatcher tormented him to the core. He turned back to the Judge who dismissed them from the bench. His words were like a sword through her heart.
Where did this come from? Did I really ever know him?
Blindsided, she made her way back to the three people who were counting on her while her disdain over his betrayal grew. But instead of letting this emotion defeat her, as was her father’s and Thomas’s intention, it only strengthened her resolve to win an acquittal for all of them.

Judge Kelleher asked Thomas to stand and give his opening statement outlining the charges against the defendants. Thomas rose from his chair and directed his comments to the audience since there was no jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to begin the trial of four enemies of the State: Thatcher Kelleher, 07261973, 345, and Marco. Each and every one of these defendants has their crime captured on video and audio, and frankly has no defense. In the course of the trial, I will show you that Thatcher Kelleher conspired with a known enemy of the State and expressed thoughts that were contrary to the State’s mission to serve humanity.

“07261973 is being charged with disobeying Sanger’s law. Please,” he said to the audience, “don’t be concerned if you aren’t familiar with this law. You will know more about it than you will probably care to by the end of this trial. It will be clear that 07261973 violated it. The law is named after Margaret Sanger, who in the early twentieth century was far ahead of her time. She recognized the burden the sick, disabled, and unfit placed on the whole of society. She pursued an agenda to free society from the shackles of useless and disabled human beings. She realized their only contribution to the human race was holding back the progressive achievements of society. Her aim was to do this through birth control and eliminating the reproductive rights of populations whom she felt were unfit. She was an open supporter of eugenics, but her visionary leadership was not fully recognized by the ignorant masses of the time. We, in our advanced state, have realized the wisdom of eliminating the defectives, as we call them. 07261973 will have her guilt exposed here.

“345 broke the law by seeking the freedom to be with a woman, which is strictly prohibited as a member of the Recipient Class. Finally, Marco was seen by everyone approaching a member of the Giving Class, which is prohibited by our social code. I ask that each and every one of you vote for death.”

Once Thomas was finished speaking, he looked at Thatcher and mouthed the words, “Beat that.” Thatcher rolled her eyes at his juvenile behavior. Emboldened to crush his case, she stood, turned to the audience and before she started to speak, she scanned the courtroom, starting from the left and slowly turning her head to the center and then the right. She made sure to make eye contact with everyone in the courtroom before she uttered a sound.

“Thank you for coming and giving the four of us the time to explain ourselves. I would also like to thank the audience at home for watching, and I’m going to ask all of you for something.” Appearing sincere, everyone took to her.

“I’m going to ask you, please do not view this trial as a form of entertainment, but rather as something that will affect the course of four people’s lives.” Holding her hands toward the camera, she continued, “Our fate, our future is in your hands.” Pacing the courtroom with an ease and comfort, she gained everyone’s undivided attention.

“Your job over the next few days is to listen and think,” she said as she pointed to her ear and then to her head. “Don’t rely on what the State says you should think, but use the brain that God gave you. Yes, I said God,” reaching her arms halfway up into the air for emphasis.

“I want you to use your brain to interpret the information that comes out during the trial. The State will extol the virtues of their laws and present statistics and facts to explain the logic behind their actions. I will present to you a counterargument for each and every one of their supposed truths.”

Continuing along, she pointed to her ear. “Listen.” Hesitating before she walked a few steps, she turned to the crowd and said, “Pay attention to my questions and the answers. There is meaning behind
everything
that comes from my mouth.”

Moving across the courtroom to allow her last words to sink in, she finally spoke. “Question everything.” She had their full attention. You could hear a pin drop until the Judge’s gavel smacked down startling everyone. Recess until the next day.