Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (5 page)

Camille was sick. She knew—knew before she even asked. Her parents were dead. “How?”

“Executed by the Feds.”

“My brother?”

“We don’t know where he is. I don’t think they killed him, but Mr. Franklin hasn’t been able to locate him. His contacts are either not talking, or they truly don’t know.”

Camille looked back over at the pigs rolling in the mud and wished she was one of them right now.

Eight

The Year: 2172

Cassandra Williams was holding the microphone in her right hand while using her left to brush some hair from her forehead. She looked at her cameraman and asked, “Do I look okay?” Marco nodded yes and gave her the thumbs up. He was Italian with dark hair, olive skin, and a bright smile. He loved being Cassandra’s cameraman. She was the world’s most famous political and entertainment reporter, and she had access to everyone, including the Benefactor.

Cassandra herself was one of those feel-good stories giving everybody on the planet some hope of achieving greatness. She wasn’t born into the Giving Class, but because of her position, she was treated as though she were. There were several thousand people who fell into her category—rising from the Recipient Class to work among the Giving Class. She was born in Africa, and her aptitude tests placed her into a category of being good with language, linguistics, and communication. As such, she was developed in her State-run home to work in the media. She may have remained in her job as a writer, but on one of the Benefactor’s visits to Africa, he toured the South African Media Center where Cassandra worked. As the Benefactor was being escorted through, she was discussing something quietly with one of her colleagues, and the Benefactor overheard her. When he turned, he was overcome by her stunning beauty. He made a point to speak with her, albeit briefly, and several months later, Cassandra had an on-air position. The rest was history.

Now, she was on the red carpet preparing to barrage the State dignitaries, prominent political figures, actors, and actresses with questions, comments, and opinion. Being one of the most influential events of the year, everyone in the Giving Class knew Cassandra used this venue to bolster or ruin reputations. She drove the pulse of popularity with her approval, but dashed dreams instantly with a negative comment. Having launched and crashed many a career, everyone feared her. Having an eye for the latest fashion trends, Cassandra abandoned proper etiquette by openly critiquing style. In fact, she was probably the only person on the planet who could openly scrutinize anyone in the Giving Class without repercussions.

“Marco, they are telling me we are five minutes to airtime. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Cassandra. All ready. Satellite feed is up. You look dynamite. Looking forward to some great interviews.”

He was right. She did look like dynamite. She was a tall, thin woman with beautiful dark skin, high cheekbones, soft eyes, and a kind smile. Her warmth was not only felt by the people she interviewed, but also by the people watching her on their VRSs at home. Her presumed innocence allowed her to ask the tough questions and get away with it. She could make the strongest and harshest government official cry like a baby on television. Her career was launched with her interview of Judge Kelleher when she chatted with him, live, about a major shake-up in the production of
The Trials.
Her interview style—angelic, unoffending—engendered a false sense of security for the Judge. Unknowingly playing into her hands, he displayed emotion and weakness by expressing sympathy for a criminal he had condemned to execution. Disappointed the public voted for execution, he confessed he would have preferred the person be sent to a reeducation camp. At first, the Judge thought he was ruined. His authority, integrity, and prominent position in the government were all threatened by his moment of vulnerability. To his surprise, his popularity soared, and he even received a call from the Benefactor himself congratulating him on the wonderful media ploy.

“Good evening, world! I am Cassandra Williams, who will be bringing your favorite people into your homes tonight. We are live here at the fiftieth Annual Giving Class Ball. We have quite the guest list tonight, and as always, I will try to get you all the information, dirt, innuendo, and any generalized gossip—maybe mixed in with some facts—about your favorite stars and politicians. And you know, I will be here to tell you who are wearing something flattering and fabulous. Don’t forget to tune in tomorrow for my Annual Giving Class Ball
Thumbs up, Thumbs Down Review Show
. You can help me vote for the ‘best-dressed’ award and the ‘should’ve never left your home’ award. Keep your eye on your VRS, and if you like what you see, give a thumbs-up, and if you hate it, thumbs-down. We will keep track of your votes and reveal them on the show tomorrow. Remember to keep your bio-suits on, so we can record the intensity of your likes and dislikes too.”

Marco shifted his camera to the arriving limousine, panning the crowd, waiting to see who was going to exit the vehicle. The door opened. Cameras flashed and applause thundered as one of the most famous international actor-actress pairs stepped from the vehicle. Julie Nelson and Michael Jones were two of the most popular film stars on the planet, both starring in multiple blockbuster hits. They glided toward Cassandra, happy, in love, and hand-in-hand. Reaching the fashion guru, Julie spun around. “Do I pass your test, Cassandra? This is an original Nikolai.” Cassandra took a few steps back looking her up and down—slowly—for maximum effect.

“Honey, this is fabulous! It compliments your body and works well with your skin tone. If I were Michael, I’d be worried about all the looks you’re going to get tonight.” Michael gave Cassandra a warm hug. The three chatted a little bit before they moved on.

The viewers were unaware of the influence Cassandra’s fashion opinions had over them, often not giving their thumbs-up or thumbs-down until they heard her review.

Cassandra was thoroughly enjoying her night. “For everyone watching at home, we have some breaking news.” She pressed on her earpiece for effect. “The Kelleher family will be arriving shortly. I promise to try to get the latest scoop on
The Trials
. As you all know, Jonathan just joined the Ministry and is working closely with his father on the show. Let’s be honest, does Thatcher have a love interest? That girl is quite a tough nut to crack, but I promise I will try to get something from her. Stay tuned, we’re going to break for a brief commercial.”

Cassandra handed her microphone to an assistant, while the makeup team scurried over to freshen her up. Putting his camera down, Marco made his way over to her. “Marco, honey, how do you think things are going?”

“Great.”

“Marco, do me a favor when the Kellehers arrive?”

“Sure, anything.”

“I need you to try to block them from moving down the red carpet. That Thatcher disappears fast. She doesn’t talk much, and the fans expect me to get the dirt on her. In fact,” she said looking off into space, thinking, “bear with me, but I have a better idea.”

She told him what she wanted to do. He was concerned her scheme would backfire on him, but he figured she could get away with it. All he asked of her was to take full responsibility if it went awry. She assured him she had his back as always.

“Welcome back, and we are in luck. The Kellehers have just arrived.” As Cassandra had expected, the Judge and his wife were leading with Jonathan and his girlfriend following, and Thatcher flying solo behind all of them. She had to strike quickly with Thatcher or she would miss her opportunity.

As the clan got closer, Cassandra suddenly said, “Really? You really want me to do this, Marco?” She then looked into the camera for added effect and said, “Folks at home, you will never believe what is happening. Marco, my handsome cameraman, who I might add is single, wants me to take his camera for a few moments. Bear with me. I’m not sure I can hold the camera as steady as my trusted Marco.”

With that, she exchanged his camera for her microphone. Focusing on Thatcher, the rest of the family automatically stood to the side, not really sure what was happening.

Marco, microphone in hand, walked over to Thatcher, embellishing his Italian accent for effect. “Thatcher, I couldn’t help but notice that you have no one with you tonight. It saddens me to see such a beautiful young woman coming to the Ball without anyone. Your dress,” he paused, “it takes my breath away. It must be a Nikolai.” He reached out, touching her arm affectionately.

Thatcher was no fool. She knew Cassandra had concocted this stunt, but she realized if she didn’t play this right, Marco could end up in prison for approaching, let alone touching, the daughter of a prominent government official in public. She could sense Marco’s nervousness. The whole world was watching. What kind of power did Cassandra Williams have over everyone? She didn’t like it, and she certainly didn’t like her.

“Well, Marco, I see you have picked up a lot of fashion sense from the wonderful Cassandra Williams. Yes, I’m wearing a Nikolai.” She leaned toward him, and pretending he was Thomas Quinn, she put her arm around his waist while whispering into the microphone, “For you, Marco, I will let you in on a little secret. Nikolai has an apprentice, who is handsome, but not as handsome as you. Tailoring this dress just last night, he told me the first man who saw me would ask me for a dance at the Ball. Well, Marco, I accept. I hope Cassandra has a backup cameraman tonight because you are now my date.”

Thatcher looked at the camera, but was really looking beyond it at Cassandra’s face—shocked and bewildered. Thatcher knew she was trying to figure out who was going to run the camera for the rest of the night.

Thatcher took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, since we need to find Cassandra a new cameraman tonight, we will have to cut to a commercial break. Enjoy the show.”

She handed the microphone to Cassandra, took Marco by the arm, and walked with her family into the building. Cassandra was left speechless.

345 was watching the show, seeing Thatcher link arms with Marco. He knew such actions were forbidden by those in the Recipient Class, and his thoughts immediately turned to 888. If he even touched her, he could be executed. Just trying to catch a glimpse of her could get him arrested and sent for reeducation. He never met anyone who underwent reeducation, but rumor had it, you never wanted to. He couldn’t believe that the man, who enforced the laws and sentenced people to death, had a daughter brazenly breaking them in front of the entire world.

With the commercial break over, Cassandra Williams was back, enthusiastically reporting the amazing turn of events. “If you’re just tuning in, you missed the beginning of a new relationship unfold live on the red carpet. Thatcher Kelleher, yes Judge Kelleher’s daughter, was approached by my cameraman, Marco. He is now her guest tonight, and as all of you know, I’ll be sure to try to capture every moment of their evening. I have it on good source”—she gave a little wink—“that Marco was quite nervous about her arrival.” Cassandra planned on pleading ignorance of the plan and would pin it completely on Marco if it were investigated. She was getting reports from the network that the biometric intensity data was through the roof in favor of Marco’s approach of Thatcher.

Even though 345 knew he would never be with 888, he at least liked the fact the Giving Class was kind enough to give him this entertainment and a view into their world. He really had no intention of watching the entire Giving Class Ball, but now with these new developments of Thatcher and Marco, he would be sure to see it out until the end.

Back at the Ball, other guests were being ushered to their tables, including the Kelleher and Quinn families. As Thatcher and Marco, arm-in-arm, were walking to their table, Thatcher caught a glimpse of Thomas Quinn and Catherine Gilmore coming toward her. Catherine was gorgeous. Everyone at the Institute of Progress and Forward Thinking wanted her. Thatcher couldn’t hold a candle to her. She could feel her insecurity rising as she realized that Thomas, the person she wanted to be with, had the beautiful Catherine, while she was with a cameraman she didn’t even know. Suddenly, she felt very out of place. Thinking she was so smart out on the red carpet with Cassandra Williams, she didn’t think ahead about the rest of the evening.
What an idiot I am
, she thought.

Catherine approached them first, and just as Thatcher had expected, tried to make Thatcher smaller than she already felt. “My, my Thatcher, what do we have here?” Catherine glared at Marco. He reflexively shifted, displaying his discomfort, realizing how very out of place he was. Not only was he among the most elite in the world, he was grossly underdressed. Everyone was wearing a Nikolai, Carmini, or Bosch, while he was wearing khakis and a blue T-shirt. Before either Thatcher or Marco could respond, Thomas swooped in.

“Catherine, didn’t you hear? Marco is the man.” Thomas slapped him on the back. “Wow, are you fearless! Not one person in our school could ever muster up enough courage to ask this one for a date,” he said pointing to Thatcher, “and you did it in front of the world. You’re a hero for every shy man on this planet.” He turned to Thatcher and said, “Cameraman or no cameraman, this guy may be a keeper.”

Thatcher blushed as she linked arms with Marco once again and pulled him a little closer. “So far, so good. We’ll see how the rest of the night goes.”

Unbeknownst to them, this entire exchange was being watched by the viewers. Everyone at the Ball understood that all conversations may be broadcast to the world. The Giving Class, not used to every moment of their lives being captured on camera, often forgot they needed to watch their words carefully. In fact, they legislated themselves from being monitored like the Recipient and the Elite Recipient Classes were.

345 watched this exchange and wondered if 888 was watching too, feeling she must be a romantic like him. If she lacked affection for him, she wouldn’t linger behind the crowd while getting onto the tram—she would be the first in the tram in order to avoid him. But she did just the opposite—she hesitated with the hope he arrived early.

They both watched the Ball, thinking of each other, wondering what it would be like if they were Thatcher and Marco, or Thomas and Catherine. The biometric suits registered all of their fluctuations in breathing, heart rate, and pheromone and hormone levels, but those monitoring them assumed any abnormalities were because of the Marco-Thatcher relationship, which had spontaneously evolved on live television.