Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (22 page)

“Your Honor, in light of this information, I would like to discuss this with my fellow defendants to see how they would like to proceed.”

The Judge thought it would help his personal poll ratings if he showed some type of leniency and granted them time to weigh their options. “We will take a ten-minute recess.” He ordered the Social Keeper, whom Thatcher thought had whispered something to her, to take them into the room adjacent to the courtroom and supervise them.

The four defendants stood with the Social Keeper leading them to the side room away from the crowd of the courtroom. Once alone, the Social Keeper took a small device, placed it on the wall, and activated it. Turning to the four, he said, “I just activated a feed to the cameras watching us. It appears you are engaged in a discussion around the table with me observing. Since I am here, they will not care the sound is altered. They’ll think it’s a glitch. Feel free to say whatever you want.”

Thatcher asked, “Why are you doing this?”

The Social Keeper responded, “You all need to understand something. This trial has awakened a sleeping giant among the Recipient Class, and even some in the Giving Class. Many are joining forces, and we will try to make sure you are not put to death. We are still trying to find out what the mystery punishment is. My recommendation is to keep Thatcher as your representation because her cross-examination of all the witnesses continues to expose the fallacies of this supposed utopia. All I know is that our Progtopia is not freedom.”

Marco spoke first. “How do we know this is not some type of trap? I need to testify. I need to proclaim my innocence and tell the truth about what happened that night.”

The Social Keeper spoke. “It’s not a trap. I’m really on your side.”

Thatcher knew the trademark symbol of the resistance from her interactions with Fitz, and because of that, she knew the Social Keeper wasn’t lying. He had one of the signs he was part of the resistance, a very small cut on his earlobe. Not revealing the trademark to the rest of the group, just in case one of them wanted to trade that secret for their freedom, she said to Marco, “This Social Keeper whispered in my ear when he was taking us back to the courtroom after lunch. He did it in the middle of the chaos in the hallway. I believe him.”

“I don’t know,” said Marco. “I still don’t feel like I’m getting a fair trial.”

The Social Keeper bellowed with laughter, saying, “You act as though the trial has been fair up to this point. Do you think you’ll actually get any better without Thatcher? How well did it go for those in previous trials who represented themselves? All the cards are already stacked against you, and even if you get in the truth about Cassandra—which by the way, the entire world already suspects her involvement—do you think it’s really going to change the outcome? None of you are leaving here with an acquittal. Even if every single person in the world voted for you to be free, the system is rigged.”

All of them seemed to be genuinely surprised by this revelation, deflating any hope they had of gaining freedom. The Social Keeper, sensing the need to remain positive, said, “Like I said, we will try to keep you from receiving the death penalty.”

“But you can’t guarantee it, can you?” said Marco.

“No, there’s no guarantee.”

The four of them digested this information and weighed their options. Thatcher decided to speak to the group. “I won’t be offended if you drop me as your representation. The choice is entirely up to you. We have very few freedoms in our lives, and this decision should be yours. Not mine. Why don’t you decide, and let us know when you come to a decision.”

She turned around and spoke with the Social Keeper while the others were making their decision. “What’s your name?”

“My given name was Woodrow, but I despise that name for many reasons we don’t have time to go into here. My friends call me Jefferson.”

Thatcher immediately thought of Thomas Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of Independence, and wondered if he was named after him or just liked the sound of the name.

“Jefferson, who do you work with?”

“The resistance. That is all you need to know at this point.”

“I need to ask you a favor, and I’m not sure if you can deliver.”

“I can try.”

“I want five minutes alone with Thomas. I need to know,” she said with sadness.

“Know what?”

“If he ever truly loved me or if it was all a lie.” Her eyes started to fill with tears, but she had to collect herself, not let the others see her sadness. The group interrupted them and announced they had come to a decision.

Thirty-nine

The Year: 2173

As Thatcher stood to report their decision, Thomas could tell from Thatcher’s body language she wasn’t pleased. She announced she would no longer be representing the others. Thomas silently celebrated his good fortune at the turn of events.
Should be smooth sailing from here on out,
he thought.

“Very well,” said Judge Kelleher. “I call 345 to the stand.”

345 stood, and before he walked to the witness stand, he requested the Judge call him Patrick. Judge Kelleher, laughed and retorted, “I will call you whatever I want to. You must be reminded that everything you have is because of the State, including your name.”

Thatcher sat there, cringing. This was just the beginning. Her father was well known for slaughtering any chance a defendant had at acquittal. 345 nervously approached the witness stand, gave the oath, and then sat. The Judge started out by showing video after video of 345 following 888. If that was not incriminating enough, it coincided with all of the biometric data showing his bodily reactions to the encounters. Thatcher, aware of how she would’ve handled that on cross-examination, would never have the chance to protect him now.

By the time the Judge presented all of the evidence, 345 was sweating, twitching, and scared. Treating 345 as wounded prey, the Judge came in for the kill. “Is it true you were created by the State?”

345, wiping his sweaty brow, stammered, “N-N-N-NO.”

Thatcher looked up, surprised. Despite his overwhelming display of fear, he was going to fight.

“What do you mean, no!” The Judge’s voice boomed. His intimidating tone could shake the confidence of the strongest individual. Nevertheless, 345 turned to the Judge and stammered, “Your, your, your Honor, the, the life factories are a t-t-t-tool that humans have created. They, they did, did not create the genetic material that is the ultimate source of life.”

The Judge, irate with this answer, knew dwelling upon it may further sink him into a hole and changed directions.

“Do you have a place to live that is provided by the State?”

“Y-Y-Yes.”

“Has the State always provided you with healthcare?”

“Y-Y-Yes.”

“Has the State always provided you with food, clothing, shelter, education, and employment?”

“Y-Y-Yes.”

“Now, I understand this concept of God has been brought up in this trial, and this God that my daughter so cleverly refers to was popular before the Crash. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did this God provide for its people? Did this God provide all the things the State provides for you now?”

“N-No, b-but God gave freedom and life, not materials. God gives us the ability to do things for ourselves.”

The Judge, ignoring his statement, asked, “Isn’t it true you did all of this because you thought you were in love with 888?”

“Yes.”

The Judge leaned forward and looked toward the witness, and then at Thatcher. Before he was about to ask the next question, he grinned. Thatcher knew whatever was coming out of his mouth next was not good for her side. She took a deep breath as she heard her father say, “What if I was to give you a choice? What if you had the option to be free?”

345 looked to the Judge, surprised. “How? What choice?”

“You see, 345, I believe true love is nonexistent. Rarely is one’s love and loyalty truly tested. I’m going to be generous enough to give you that test today. The result depends solely on you.”

Thatcher was sick—afraid for Patrick.

“345, I would be willing to give you complete freedom, but in exchange, 888 will take your place at the defense table.”

The spectators reacted. Surprised murmurs swirled throughout the courtroom. Unlike previous outbursts, the Judge let this one linger to emphasize his point. 345 looked to Thatcher for help, but she could give none.

The Judge, banging his gavel to quiet the disturbance, continued on with his offer. “Your complete freedom in exchange for 888. Simple choice.”

345 sat still, wrestling with his conscience, and weighing his options.

“Maybe this will help you make a decision,” the Judge said as he pointed to the virtual reality screen. Previous trial defendants punished by death were displayed on the VRS. All of the executions were inhumane and horrific. It was the third death penalty that finally tipped Patrick’s decision. It was a young man pinned down on a rock in the middle of the desert with his abdomen cut open and intestines lying next to him. It sent 345 over the edge.

“Okay, okay, okay. I will trade! I can’t go through that! I just can’t!”

Thatcher sank in her seat. She wasn’t sure anyone could blame 345. She remembered that man. It took him three days to succumb. The State broadcast his excruciating torture for what seemed like an eternity. Still hearing his terrified screams shattering the silence of the desert, she could forgive 345 for giving in. That man’s crime? Having a copy of the book,
Atlas Shrugged.

“Are you sure, 345? Once you make this decision, you cannot change it.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, trembling. “Trade us! Trade us!”

“Very well, then,” the Judge said through his maniacal, evil laughter. “Oh, there was something I forgot to tell you. 888 was hanged to death yesterday.”

Stunned at first, 345’s shock evolved into anger and he unexpectedly lunged from the stand toward the Judge, trying to strangle him. Social Keepers rushed over and pulled him from Kelleher. “Get this man out of my sight!” the flustered Judge commanded. They dragged the infuriated Patrick from the courtroom.

Sobered by the turn of events, Marco was seriously concerned about his decision to represent himself. It was a mistake, but there was nothing he could do now. He looked into the eyes of 345 as they hauled him past the defense table, a broken man, angry.

“I would like to keep things moving along here, and therefore, I call Marco to the stand.”

Marco stood without the confidence he possessed just an hour ago. After he took the oath, he sat and scanned the crowd, waiting for the Judge’s first question. His eyes locked with Cassandra Williams. She smiled nervously at him, her eyes pleading not to reveal the truth of that evening. Although Jonathan promised she wouldn’t be prosecuted in exchange for positive press coverage, she didn’t truly trust him.

“Marco, I think it is well established you approached my daughter at the Giving Class Ball and asked her to be your date. The entire world saw that play out.”

“That is true, Your Honor. For me to deny the events of that night would be futile.”

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

Marco looked confused. “What do you mean, I’m dismissed? Don’t I have the right to tell my side of the story?”

“Rights?” the Judge retorted.

“You need to know who put me up to doing it in the first place!”

By this time, the Social Keepers were already at his side, pulling him from the stand as Marco fought and screamed, “It was Cassandra Williams! Cassandra put me up to it!” He looked at Cassandra as they yanked him from the courtroom. “Tell them the truth! How can you live with yourself if I’m executed?”

Once order was restored, the Judge said, “Cassandra, the State’s deepest apologies to you for such an outrageous accusation. We studied the film from that evening, and we know that no such conversation between the two of you ever took place. Marco acted independently.”

Cassandra shook her head in agreement with the Judge and said, “Thank you, Your Honor, for clearing my name.”

Forty

The Year: 2033

The President was meeting with his Chief of Staff in the Oval Office before they made their way down to the situation room. There was full-blown panic over the outbreak in Pittsburgh, and both of them knew this was just the beginning. The President had already received phone calls from the leaders of Germany, France, England, and Italy thanking him profusely for providing them with the vaccine for themselves and their families. What they didn’t know was they were actually given the virus. Not only would they all be dead within two days, but they would have successfully spread the virus throughout their own countries. The President already ensured the vaccine was supplied to his trusted key players throughout the world. He also made sure every employee working in U.S. embassies throughout the world received their booster shots, with those on his enemy list getting the virus or a saline vaccine. There was no place on earth shielded from the highly contagious disease. The only survivors would be those who were vaccinated, those chosen personally by Burton.

The President, still irate over the stolen vaccinations in Kentucky earlier that day, was concerned about a mole. Who leaked the details of the shipment? The President’s Chief of Staff sensed he was perseverating on this.

“Mr. President, don’t worry about the stolen vaccinations. Half of those cases hold the actual virus anyway. I think we’ll be able to handle a few thousand individuals who dare to resist us.”

This was the last piece of information the President’s secretary, Abigail, heard before she left. She was being summoned to the
shire. She made sure, however, to pass that information on to Cornelius Montgomery, but she hoped it wasn’t too late.

“Well, Chief of Staff Kelleher, should we head to the situation room and feign concern?” They both started to laugh.

The situation room, the command center located in the basement of the White House, afforded real-time access to any crisis that brought them there. In this case, the viral outbreak in Pittsburgh. Multiple TV monitors displayed reporters from every network standing outside the hospital in Pittsburgh, with men and women in biohazard suits from Homeland Security and the CDC scurrying behind them.

“Okay gang, how bad is this?” the President asked with concern.

The director of the CDC reported the situation in Pittsburgh may well be contained due to the emergency room going into lockdown mode almost immediately. There had been only one individual who left before lockdown, and they were able to get her back into the emergency room within a few minutes of her leaving. She claimed she hadn’t come into contact with anyone.

“Well, I hope you’re right. What is this infection? Is it a disease we’ve seen before?”

“Well, Mr. President,” the CDC director replied, “it’s fast and it’s deadly. Being airborne, it spreads quickly, and causes death within hours of contraction. This could be our saving grace.”

“How do you mean?” the President asked.

“Well, Mr. President, fast moving viruses usually burn themselves out—if it cannot jump to another host, it will die in the one it just infected. Isolation is the key. We need to get our citizens to stay home until we have a better handle on this.”

“Well, let’s just bring the economy to a screeching halt!” the Vice President exclaimed. The President hated his Vice President, and only chose him to get the Christian vote. The President made sure he didn’t receive the vaccine.

“There’ll be no economy if everyone’s dead, you idiot!” the CDC director yelled. “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this. If this gets out, people are going to start dropping like flies. We are going to have bodies piling up everywhere.”

“Speaking of flies,” the President turned to the Health and Human Services Secretary, “what happens when bodies start piling up?”

“Mr. President, a massive health risk to say the least. Rotting flesh will attract animals that will try to eat the bodies. Who knows if it can be transmitted from human to animal? Even if it can’t be, and animals drag human-infected flesh to our water supply, it can become contaminated. If we don’t retrieve the bodies from homes or wherever they die, put them in mass graves, and burn them, God knows what will happen. I agree with the director of the CDC. We can’t worry about stopping the economy. This needs to be contained.”

This is the first time the director of the CDC agreed with the HHS secretary who, in his opinion, had no business commenting on anything health- or disease-related since she didn’t have a medical background. Somehow, her title magically gave her powers to speak and rule on topics for which she had absolutely no experience.

The Vice President counteracted the argument. His face was red, angry. “Okay, we make everyone a prisoner in their home. How do they eat? How do they get supplies? Who is going to produce anything if everyone is home? What do we do about the power? Water? Groceries?”

“Okay, okay,” the President said with his arms outstretched and palms facing down, “calm down. Everyone in this room needs to know about a highly classified incident that may very well explain what is happening.”

Everyone stopped arguing, turning to the President who was still standing, relaxed, despite what was going on in Pittsburgh.

“About a year and a half ago,” he lied, “there was a double agent working in Fort Detrick who stole a super virus. We weren’t sure if this was for the Russians or if he was going to sell it on the black market to the Muslims. After it was stolen, the agent was never seen again, and neither the CIA nor NSA were able to pick up any chatter or intelligence about the location of the virus.”

The directors of the CIA and NSA looked at each other and nodded as though they knew exactly what the President was talking about. In reality, they didn’t know of such an incident. In fact, they both were thinking the same thing —this was the beginning of his Project Renaissance. The CIA director would have never been involved in this project if he had known this was the President’s plan.

The President continued to speak. “I was hoping this day would never come, but a comprehensive plan has been outlined in order to deal with a massive outbreak—if that occurs. I’m still holding out all hope the Pittsburgh situation is contained.”

The same morning of the outbreak, Suzanne Klintock awoke earlier than usual so she could get a workout in before her flight. She was meeting a dear friend in San Diego that evening and knew she wouldn’t have time to exercise after she arrived. Suzanne, known as Captain Klintock to all her colleagues, was an American heroine. Growing up on her farm in Iowa, she would often lay in the corn fields, watching planes pass over her small, no-name town, while she dreamed of being at the controls. She had always wanted to look down at the quilt-like pattern of the Midwest from the cockpit of a commercial jet airliner. She, along with her siblings, helped her parents run the farm while being homeschooled. Knowing the aspirations of her daughter, Suzanne’s mother ensured math and science were heavy areas of her subject load. With hard work, she became one of the best test pilots at the United States Air Force Academy, and after she moved on to civilian life, she became an airline pilot.

She embraced the culture of the airline industry because of its similarities to the military. However, at a time when it was common to have women fill the ranks of most professional fields, the world of aviation didn’t share those characteristics. It was rare to see a female in the cockpit. It wasn’t an attractive career to most women.

Suzanne remembers quite well the plane crash of a commercial jet in Wisconsin in 2020. Unfortunately, none of the 153 passengers or crew survived. The disaster was described by all eyewitnesses on the ground as a
fireball falling from the sky
. For the first week following the tragic loss of life, the media dissected the skill of the first officer, who happened to be female. In Suzanne’s opinion, it got so bad that the media should have just stated, “There was a female pilot, and that’s why the plane went down.”

After a several-month investigation, the NTSB uncovered that an initial mechanical defect along with pilot error by the captain—who was male—was the actual cause of the crash. In fact, flight recording data revealed the female first officer begging the captain to push forward on the yoke instead of back. She insisted his actions would cause the plane to lose its lift and essentially fall from the sky. It’s unclear to say if the first captain could have saved the doomed flight, but with certainty, the captain sealed its fate. That crash, and the reaction to it, made Suzanne realize everything she did had to be better than any of her male colleagues. Because it was rare to be a female pilot, any involvement she may have in an accident or crash would be heavily scrutinized.

That fateful day arrived. With 250 souls on board, and hundreds of miles from any airport, the silence of the cockpit was interrupted by an emergency alarm signaling,
low fuel
. Her captain immediately reacted with disbelief. Suzanne, however, didn’t want to focus on how this could’ve happened. That wasn’t going to land them safely. After quickly running her checklist, she calmly told her captain, “Sir, this is for real, and we need to get the plane down safely. Let’s do it.”

Her experience as a test pilot was invaluable. She had been in many precarious situations requiring quick action. She reassured the captain she could get them down safely. “I know how to do this. It’s going to be rough for everyone, but we can land this bird.” With warning alarms blaring in the background, she was given the go-ahead to do whatever it took to get them on the ground.

The captain calmly reassured the passengers over the intercom the next few minutes were going to be scary, but everything was under control. He instructed the flight attendants to prepare for a crash landing. In the cockpit, Suzanne started to fly on instinct. She was smart enough to get her landing gear down and flaps in the right position before they ran out of fuel and the plane lost all electricity—something that may have been missed in a moment of panic. By the time her plane was visible from the ground, it was approaching a cornfield at a very high speed. Eyewitnesses knew something was wrong because there was no sound coming from the plane. The engines were not working, and although everyone knew the plane was going to crash, the large jumbo jet airliner appeared peaceful, graceful as it broke through the clouds. The silence shattered with the cacophony of the metal plane ripping through large stalks of corn. The left wing ripped off, and the plane finally came to a stop after the mile-long excursion through the field. Her expert skill saved every soul that day.

Captain Klintock took her job very seriously, and although she was feeling a little under the weather while working out, she didn’t think it was serious enough to warrant a call-off. Today’s flight was from New York City to San Diego—a nonstop excursion across her beautiful country. She had just informed her passengers they were next to take off when she received word from the tower that some heavy crosswinds were coming in from a rainstorm, delaying them a bit. She knew what this meant—more time on the tarmac. Announcing the bad news to the flight crew and passengers, a loud moan erupted in unison from the 156 passengers on the plane. She too felt the same way and instructed the flight crew to pass out free beverages and snacks. After an hour or so, she came out to greet the passengers. Just seeing her uplifted the spirits of passengers. She was recognizable and well known to just about every American.

Back in the cockpit, she was starting to feel more ill. Wondering if she was coming down with something more serious, she considered canceling the flight, but then she received clearance they were next for takeoff.

About two hours into the flight, she broke out in a fever, and her nose started to bleed. Her first officer, concerned about her ailing health for the past hour, was starting to feel ill himself. Not sure he was really sick or just weakened by the sight of her blood, he kept the plane on autopilot and went into the cabin. Several of the flight attendants appeared ill, and many of the passengers were feverish. By the time he returned to the cockpit, Suzanne was hemorrhaging from her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. The first officer vomited at the site of his bloody Captain. Becoming delirious, the first officer radioed ahead to Omaha, Nebraska, seeking permission for an emergency landing. All the tower could discern from his pleas for help was something about a contagious outbreak on the plane. Klintock was dead, and he was dying. Although he had clearance to land, the plane never made it to the airport. It barreled from the sky, exploding, killing thousands as it hit Creighton Medical Center.