Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (8 page)

He clicked on another video revealing a discussion between the President of the United States and a representative from the Chinese government. The President was promising the natural resources of the United States to the Chinese after the demise of the dollar to pay off the enormous debt the United States had accumulated with the country. Franklin looked at Tyler as if to ask if this was some sort of a joke.

Tyler assured him everything he was watching was real, and he instructed Franklin to open another file containing the list of his sources in the government. When he did, there were five names listed. Barbara was on the list and so was Benson! Franklin could not believe his eyes, and then he realized how easy it had been to capture Tyler. It all made sense to him.

He immediately picked up his phone, dialed Benson, and heard a phone ring in the adjacent room. Benson opened the door. He never kidnapped Tyler’s family. They were on vacation. For the next several hours, Benson and Tyler filled Franklin in on progressive thought and their desire to form a world utopia—a world completely controlled by the ruling elite. It was that night the three of them decided to form an underground resistance recruiting the best Americans for their team.

Tyler toned down his rhetoric so Burton would think Franklin and Benson really made a dent into his sources. Meanwhile, they worked on creating their own network.

“I’m sorry I asked,” Camille sighed. “This stuff is so boring. I don’t care about the Progs.” She put her pistol in her holster and turned to Franklin. “Can we just go home?”

“Sure,” Franklin replied.

Camille could see he was upset, and she felt bad. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mr. Franklin.”

He was already picking up their equipment, and without acknowledging her, he turned to walk back to the farm.

Thirteen

The Year: 2172

345 and the rest of the world awoke to the
Morning Show
fully expecting to see replays from the Giving Class Ball, but to everyone’s surprise, Cassandra Williams herself was standing on the street outside someone’s house. Cassandra was not the usual morning reporter. In fact, 345 could not recall a time when she was ever on the
Morning Show
.

“Good morning, I’m standing outside the famous fashion designer’s house. We all know him as Nikolai.” The camera panned toward the house where there was a flurry of activity with what seemed to be officials from every division of the government. Hologram yellow tape barriers separated the yard from the sidewalk, letting officers with e-chip clearance embedded in their badges pass through, while keeping the onlookers out. “It is our understanding that Nikolai is still in his home. Clearly something is going on, but we don’t know what. We are aware that Nikolai is to be questioned very shortly. Judge Kelleher himself will be arriving to start the interrogation.”

The morning anchors back at the station were trying to prolong the scene with the anticipation that Judge Kelleher would arrive while Cassandra was on air and before viewers left for work. The Judge took care of that by making sure there were massive tram delays this morning.

“Cassandra,” Doug Davis, the handsome, young anchor, started, “have any of the sources on the ground given you any hint of what this could be about?”

“Well, Doug, they aren’t telling me much. However, what they have divulged to me is that this had nothing to do with the events we saw at the Giving Class Ball last evening.” In reality, no source had told Cassandra that, but she, like the Judge, needed to deflect attention away from Marco and Thatcher. She was incredulous with her good fortune when her phone rang at 5 a.m. giving her this tip. All the person on the other line said was, “Be in front of Nikolai’s home by 5:30 a.m. and be thankful. This should get you out of what you did last night.” Although she was thrilled to dodge a career-ending bullet, she didn’t appreciate that she was now indebted to someone. Who that was, she wasn’t sure.

Doug knew well enough not to touch what happened at the Giving Class Ball. “So, it doesn’t sound like your sources are talking too much this morning.”

“No, Doug, everyone here is pretty tightlipped. That tells me this is a big deal. This is serious, and Nikolai may be in real trouble for something. When you hear the Judge himself is coming to lead the interrogation, you know this doesn’t look good for Nikolai. Now, maybe this has nothing to do with him personally. Perhaps it has something to do with someone he designed for. After all, he has access to the highest of high society, both in and out of government. I don’t want to speculate too much because, at this point, all we know is the Judge will be here and things are being removed from his home.”

Other reporters started to accumulate outside of Nikolai’s home. With the crowd swelling, the Social Keepers were working hard to keep them from interfering with the government agents. Cassandra noticed a sudden influx of Social Keepers, which was the signal to the seasoned reporters that the Judge was close. One of the benefits of being Cassandra Williams was that everyone was willing to help her. A source told her exactly where the Judge’s limousine would be stopping. She had herself positioned in the right area to get a quote from him—if he was willing to talk. Coming down the street were six motorcycles, side by side, leading the way for his sleek, black limousine. The limo pulled up right where Cassandra’s source told her it would. Social Keepers walked over to the limousine, opened the door, and formed a pathway for the Judge to walk. Cassandra tried to push through the Social Keepers. Catching this from the corner of his eye, the Judge slowed down and nodded to the Social Keepers to let her through. With her chance for the first question, she eagerly approached him, shoving the microphone in his face.

“Judge, can you please comment on what is behind your visit to Nikolai’s?”

The Judge was savoring every moment, taking his time to answer. Cassandra wondered to herself if he was behind her early morning mysterious phone call.

“Cassandra, I understand that you and the rest of the world would love to know why I’m here. This is a very early investigation, and I must proceed with caution. Any information that’s released to you or the rest of the media may be harmful to the case the State is building.”

“Is the State building a case against Nikolai?”

“I cannot comment on the particulars of the situation at this point. We will release information when we know it will not jeopardize our pursuit of justice.”

The Judge understood politics and media. Get the story out before anyone goes to work, but try to give them nothing. This will let everyone speculate about what is going on all day long. Once there’s no more speculation, release some more information to keep the feeding frenzy going. This morning he was going to break that rule. They would have something very soon. It would give them a lot to talk about for weeks.

345, absorbed by the Nikolai story, realized he was running late and started to rush toward the door until his female virtual companion announced the trams were running behind by thirty minutes. He wasn’t the only one running behind, and for once, people didn’t care that the transport system was slow today. Judge Kelleher was made aware of the intense public interest in this case, and this confirmed his decision to move forward with his plan.

Nikolai was sitting in the kitchen of his two-story home as officials scurried throughout his house. He was one of the very few people who still owned property in the Elite Recipient Class. His family, chosen as the main designers since the time of the Crash, passed the home from generation to generation until Nikolai took ownership. After today, he would be the last generation to own it, and it would be given to someone in the Giving Class. His home was a frenzy of activity with Social Keepers and officials going through his materials and computerized appointment calendars, ripping apart paintings and clothing designs. Not exactly sure of what they were looking for, they were working off information from the Ministry that he was committing treason, and there was proof hidden in his home. Nikolai sat at his kitchen table nervously drinking his coffee. He didn’t know why they were there or what they were looking for.

The Judge entered his kitchen, glaring at him, unemotional, distant. “Good morning, Nikolai. Sorry we are meeting this way. I think you would much more prefer to see me with a suit in hand.”

“Judge Kelleher, there has to be some kind of mistake. What’s going on?”

“Nikolai, I think I should be asking you that question. We have it on good authority you are committing treason. We have information you are in possession of some forbidden material. I really hope none of this is true. I have always liked your designs. It would be such a shame to have someone else work on my family’s clothes.”

Nikolai knew Judge Kelleher had ice running through his veins and his demeanor only confirmed this for him. Staring at each other, Nikolai didn’t have anything to say. He wasn’t even sure of what was happening. Suddenly, a voice called out, “In here! I found it!” Everyone rushed toward Nikolai’s bedroom. A Social Keeper had a book in his hand. An actual book! He himself had never touched one before and only saw pictures of them during his training. His hand was shaking as he handed it to the Judge.
Animal Farm
.

The Judge acted as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Nikolai,” he said bitterly, “possession of a book? You do understand this is a crime that carries the penalty of death.” The Social Keepers immediately grabbed Nikolai by both arms. He looked wildly around, confused.

“Judge, this had to be planted! I’ve never owned a book, and I don’t know where this one came from. You have to believe me, Judge. You’ve known me since you were a little boy!”

“All the more reason to be extremely disappointed in you. You have access to my home”—he pounded his fist on the book for emphasis—“access to my own home and my books! Is this from my home? Did you steal this? How dare you!”

Nikolai struggled to free himself from the Social Keepers. Finally successful, he fell to his knees, burying his face into the Judge’s shoes, grabbing his ankles, screaming, “Judge, I would never do such a thing! You must believe me! Please, please, you must believe me!”

“Take him away. He makes me sick. I will deal with him later. For now”—he pointed to the Social Keeper who found the book—“you come with me. I congratulate you on finding this.” The Social Keeper was honored to have been chosen by the Judge to plant the book in Nikolai’s bedroom. They walked out together. All cameras were upon them with reporters shouting out questions. “Why was Nikolai arrested? What did Nikolai do?” But his crime became apparent to everyone when they saw the book in the Judge’s hands. A hush came over the crowd as they walked toward his limousine. The Judge wasn’t sure whether their silence was because they were surprised that Nikolai possessed it, or because they were seeing a real book for the first time.

Fourteen

The Year: 2032

Camille carried sadness deep in her heart, and all of this information was very overwhelming to her. Franklin and Camille were deep in the woods and had about a mile walk back to the farm. The sun was going down, and she picked up her heavy backpack filled with all the essentials she would need to survive on her own. She was used to lugging it around. It was with her at all times. She slung her rifle over her right shoulder, chugged some water from her canteen, recapped it, and looked around for her dog, Bailey. When she didn’t see him, she gave a quick whistle and heard some rustling in the woods toward her left. Bailey emerged from the brush.

“That dog really took to you,” Franklin said, his anger dissipating.

“I know. Me and my brother always wanted a dog, but my mom refused. She always said she would be the one taking care of it. She was probably right. It’s just nice to have him here.” She bent over and gave him a quick pat.

They made the trek back home and walked into the farmhouse as the welcoming scent of dinner filled the kitchen. They unloaded all of their gear and made their way to the kitchen where Barbara was loading their plates with roast beef, corn, potatoes, and gravy. Camille excitedly ran over to Barbara, hugged her, and said, “My favorite, thanks.”

Barbara returned the hug. “I’m glad you’re happy.” It was clear to Franklin, however, that Barbara seemed a little bit off. She was a little rushed with things and ushered them to quickly sit and eat. When they settled down at the table, he looked at Barbara and asked what was going on.

“Franklin, we need to move sooner than planned. I think it’s only a matter of time before they find us. I found out some disturbing information from some of my sources today.”

“You’re sure that your messages are secure?”

“Absolutely,” Barbara replied emphatically. “I would never compromise our position. I may not have been a tough CIA agent like you, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know how to keep us safe.”

“Okay, okay,” Franklin said with his hands held upward in mock surrender. “No need to get testy. What’s the info?”

“The NSA has a new computer program that is combing through phone calls, emails, texts, and social network sites from the past ten years and is identifying people who advocated for smaller government and individual rights. They are even going as far as to tag any call that was made to a conservative radio talk show. It is a repeat of what they did during the Middle Eastern War, but they can’t claim national security on this one. People who are outwardly and publicly rejecting the Prog agenda are being detained without an attorney and being designated as
terrorists.
Most of the media is going right along with it, almost reporting the detentions with a sense of purpose, as though these individuals are a real threat to the country.”

“Damn Progs,” said Franklin.

“Wait, don’t they need an attorney with them? Isn’t it their right?” Camille asked.

Both Franklin and Barbara looked at her in surprise. This question from the girl who didn’t care? Without drawing any attention to her newfound interest, Barbara went on as though Camille engaged in conversation like this all of the time.

“Unfortunately, over the years, Congress passed laws that gave the federal government the authority to detain terrorists and do exactly what they are doing at this moment. Anyone who tried to oppose the legislation was called a
conspiracy theorist
and
wacko
. Those who fought brought up the point that the definition of terrorist could evolve over time—and be used against its own citizenry. Well, fast-forward a few years, and their prediction came true.”

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments before Camille spoke up. “Why would they know we’re here?”

“People in our network have been disappearing, and although many have been trained to resist confessing during interrogations, we just don’t know how far they will go to get information.”

Franklin tried to soak all of this in as he was chewing his roast. He was deep in thought as he stared down at his plate. “Who so far?”

“I have heard rumors that Benson might be among them.”

“Do we know for sure?”

“No,” said Barbara.

“Do you think this is the start of things to come? We know that the President has plans to completely centralize authority within the presidency and work with the Progs who want a one-world utopia. Essentially, to dissolve the United States of America as we know it. What have you heard?”

“I have heard enough to know that we need to get out of here tonight. It will be a matter of time before someone reveals you are still alive.”

“What do you mean, before someone realizes you are alive?” asked Camille.

“I faked my death in order to work full-time on forming our resistance network,” said Franklin.

Barbara cut in. “We have to assume satellites and drones are watching over this area. We’re going to have to leave on foot through the woods.”

Camille looked a little uneasy. Even though she was more prepared for this escape than her previous one, she didn’t want to live on the run again. But she knew she didn’t have an alternative. Barbara could sense Camille’s fear.

“Honey, you are with us, and we will protect you.” She gave her a wink. “And you are not too bad at protecting yourself, either.”

The three stood up and grabbed their weapons, backpacks, and any extra bullets they could stuff into their already loaded bags. They took the rickety stairs that led to the old unfinished basement—the type that would be a great backdrop for a horror flick. The floor was an uneven concrete and dirt mixture surrounded by concrete walls with outlawed incandescent light bulbs lighting the way to a large barn-style wooden door at the far end of the basement. Barbara reached it first, unlatched the lock, and pulled hard to open it over the uneven floor. She turned the light on, and at first glance, it looked like a pantry filled with canned goods, water, and garden supplies. She and Franklin walked to the back of the small room, reached toward the third shelf, and moved some of the canned goods. They pushed against the wall, and suddenly, they were able to slide the wall and shelves to the right, revealing an open area.

Franklin looked back at Camille and asked her to close the door to the pantry. When she did that, they entered a small passageway, and he rolled the wall back to once again conceal the secret entry point.

“This farm used to be part of the Underground Railroad,” said Barbara. “They used this passageway to hide slaves from capture.”

Walking for what seemed to be forever, they finally reached a ladder leading up to a hatch. Franklin spoke up. “Okay, let me go up first to make sure things are clear.” He climbed up the creaky ladder, and when he reached the top, he pushed hard on the exit door directly above him. With some force, he was able to open it. He crept up a little farther and popped his head out to the forest floor. He did a quick visual, and then put on his night vision goggles for another 360-degree look to make sure there was no one in the area. Once he was sure things were okay, he climbed out into the forest. He then crouched down, sticking his head back through the hatch opening. “All clear, come on up.”

Barbara made it out next. Camille and Bailey were the last to come up. Franklin looked down and said, “Oh, no he doesn’t. He can compromise us. He’s not coming.”

“Fine, then I’m staying here. Leave without me,” she said, settling to the ground. Bailey, jumping into her lap, sat there while Camille pet him. “No one’s leaving you here, Bailey.”

Franklin was getting irritated. “Camille, get off that ground and get up here now! We don’t have time for this!”

“Too bad then. I’m not leaving Bailey here.”

Barbara looked at Franklin and shrugged her shoulders. “Franklin, she’s thirteen. She just lost her parents, her brother, and really, her entire world. I don’t think we have a choice. Now, go down there and help her lift Bailey from the passage.”

Franklin was upset, but with no time to waste he gave in and helped Camille lift Bailey to the outdoors. He thought about shooting the dog while Camille was asleep. He had done too much planning and preparation to let the dog ruin their plans.