The Theta Prophecy (22 page)

Year: 2048

Matheson got up from the sofa and returned to the very window where, only an hour earlier, he had seen a protestor’s limp body get tossed into a van because he had been holding a sign the Tyranny didn’t like. The Ruler, staring off into space, stood at the next window over.

“No one cares,” the Ruler said softly, not bothering to mention if he was referring to how the man had died, or perhaps how no one seemed to care about anything anymore.

Two generations ago, the act of brutality they had witnessed would have been plastered all over the television. Every news show would have been screaming for justice or at least replaying the part where the man went into convulsions because it would have made for good television and offered a nice ratings boost. Even back then, the Tyranny’s thugs wouldn’t have been held accountable for what they did, but people would have united in their outrage. A wave of similar killings had occurred in various places around the Tyranny, each more gruesome and unforgiveable than the previous, and yet each one received less airtime and less outrage because people had grown accustomed to it, the way the Tyranny knew people could become accustomed to anything if they were forced to.

“This one was nowhere near as bad as the McClusky incident,” Matheson said, observing how, after only an hour, people were already laughing with each other on the very same spot where the man had been killed. A group of children on a field trip, all wearing matching navy blue uniforms, stood in a puddle of the man’s blood as they posed for a souvenir photograph for their yearbook.

“Which one was that?”

“The killings from last month where the Security Service went to a girl’s sweet sixteen party and blasted everyone there, without asking any questions first. Our guys had the wrong address. Turns out they were supposed to go to the next building over.”

“Oh yeah,” the Ruler said, shaking his head. “That was a rough one. I had to spend the entire week going on news shows to defend our guys’ actions and insist those girls were suspected Thinkers.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad,” Matheson said, “if one of the Thinkers hadn’t managed to get the security footage and post it online. Millions of people saw the video of our guys shooting girls in sparkly dresses and boys in suits.”

“Those damn Thinkers,” the Ruler said. “I swear, I think we could kill as many people as we wanted and no one would care as long as the Thinkers stopped pointing out that anyone could be our next victim. So our guys went to the wrong house? So what? It happens to everyone.”

“At least you won’t have to go on television and apologize for this one.”

“I guess I have that to be thankful for.”

The McClusky sweet sixteen slaughter wasn’t the only time the Ruler had to go on television and promise that changes would be made so the same thing didn’t happen again. Every time there was a particularly gruesome killing, whichever Ruler was in charge at the time would go on television and tell people that an investigation would be conducted and measures taken to remedy the situation. But no measures were ever taken, and the same thing did happen again. Over and over. The public learned to ignore the killings and the apologies that followed. Most people thought that if they focused on loving their family and not on a stranger’s brutal death, maybe they could go on believing the same thing wouldn’t happen to them. Out of sight, out of mind.

“I guess I could go on television anyway,” the Ruler said. “You know, earn points with the people. Appear sympathetic to their plight, that sort of thing.”

Matheson looked away from the scenery on the other side of the window, looked at his friend and chuckled. “I don’t think that would go over well.”

“No, I guess not.”

The people’s ambivalence, combined with the Tyranny’s cunning and savagery, and its audacious insistence that a review panel analyzed each killing and found that no procedures had been violated and that all of the officers had acted responsibly, made the population realize it didn’t matter what the Tyranny did. It would always find a way to excuse its own actions.

That was why no one had joined the man in whatever he had been protesting; the Tyranny didn’t care what the people complained about or what happened to the dissidents. Anyway, joining in the protest only meant your family would never see you again. It was also why no one had come to the man’s defense when he was being beaten, because the Tyranny would excuse its officers for whatever they did. And it was why no news crew would arrive to film the red stain on the pavement.

“What do you think the guy was protesting?” Matheson said.

“Does it matter?”

“It just seems like if he was willing to hold a sign like that, knowing it’s illegal and knowing our guys would give him a severe beating at the very least, that it might be worth knowing what was so important to him.”

“I don’t think it matters.”

“No, maybe not.”

A man had died just on the other side of the fence, and yet life continued around them as if nothing had happened.

“Don’t let it bother you,” the Ruler said, looking over at his friend. “He wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last. Just think of all the other places we walk every day where people have probably died and yet you never even realize it. We all have short memories.”

“Everyone except the Thinkers,” Matheson wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, he smiled and said, “Very true.” Then he turned away from the window and resettled his gaze on the table full of documents they were supposed to be talking about before the experts came in and told the Ruler which stance he was to take and why. “Very true indeed.“

Year: 2048

“What’s going on?” Amy said.

Decades of working with Jerry had taught her that he was always the level-headed voice of reason, the calm and collected member of the newsroom who kept everyone else grounded when the stress of the job got to be too much. For him to barge into her office and kick the intern out, something urgent really must be happening.

“You aren’t going to believe this,” he said, his eyes wide like a maniac’s. “It’s going to sound crazy.”

“Okay,” she said in a soothing monotone. “I’m all ears.” Leaning back in her chair, she waited to hear what was so important.

“Someone just appeared out of the sky!”

“The Tyranny threw another guy out of a plane?” she said, smiling. “They—”

But Jerry shook his head and smacked his hands together. “No, no, you’re not listening. He didn’t fall from a plane or anything else. He appeared right in the middle of the air, out of a burst of light, and fell to the ground.” He paused for only a brief moment, just long enough to see if Amy would take all of this as a joke. When she didn’t laugh or roll her eyes he said, “There was a burst of white light, about a hundred feet off the ground. Right in the middle of the day. The guy appeared out of it and hit the ground.”

“Maybe some sort of new AeroCam—”

“No!” he said, almost shouting now. “Listen, this is important. The guy was hurt after he hit the ground, both of his legs were broken, but he was still alert enough to talk with a guy who ran up to him and asked if he was okay. The guy who fell out of the sky ignored the questions and asked what year it was. When he was told it was 2048, he started yelling and smacking the ground. Already, the Tyranny’s sirens were approaching. The guy knew he only had a limited amount of time. He asked what the date was. When the onlooker told him, the guy closed his eyes and began to cry. ‘I was only sent back a single day,’ he said.”

Amy looked out the window at the AeroCams all over the sky. “What does it mean?”

“The guy said he was from the future, that he had been sent back in time to prevent the Tyranny. But instead of being sent back fifty or a hundred years, he was only sent back a single day. That was when the Security Service ran up to him. The poor guy must have known he was going to be tortured into telling everything he knew because the first thing he did was push the onlooker away so he wasn’t hurt, then he reached under his shirt as if he had a blaster, and the Tyranny’s men killed him right there.”

After a moment of silence, one in which she stared at her senior reporter and friend without blinking, Amy said, “And how did you happen to hear about this?” It was a nicer question than “Do you have any proof at all that this fanciful story actually happened?”

“A guy who saw it all told my buddy. And my buddy, knowing I worked for a news station, called me right away.”

And then she couldn’t help herself: “Is there any evidence at all to back this story up?”

He clapped his hands again, and this time, instead of having a frantic look in his eyes, he smiled bigger than she had ever seen him smile before. “I have something better than proof. I have actual video. An exclusive! The guy recorded the entire thing on his phone. He emailed it to my buddy and my buddy sent it to me.”

She didn’t say anything, only leaned forward while he opened his laptop and turned the screen so she could see the video.

After a moment of nothing happening, his eyebrows scrunched together and he said, “I don’t get it. The video’s gone. It was just here.”

Rather than call for someone to take Jerry for a mental health checkup, Amy remained silent and let him do whatever it was that would make him feel better.

He took out his cell phone and dialed a number, telling her that he would have his friend send it again.

A moment later, though, without leaving a message or speaking to anyone, he closed his phone.

“What happened?” Amy said.

“We must be having problems with phone service. I couldn’t get a connection.”

Something dark moved in the corner of Amy’s eye. When she looked up, she saw four men in black suits step out of the elevator. They were here for her. Someone had skipped calling her boss and had gone directly to the Tyranny. Maybe it was the stories she wanted to run, or maybe it was all the people whispering that she must be a Thinker. Either way, her time was up.

“Stay here,” she said and walked out into the main newsroom floor.

All around her, televisions were displaying live footage of what their station and all of their competitors’ stations were airing. On one, a leader was saying that additional checkpoints were for everyone’s good. A series of threats had been detected and prevented, he said, because of the existing checkpoints. Which threats? The leader wasn’t allowed to say because that was classified. Everyone should just trust him. On another screen, a foreign affairs expert was giving all the reasons why the next war was absolutely necessary. No one bothered to mention that the expert worked for a group that was funded by the same men who would profit from all the dropped bombs. On another station, a leader was saying that all of the Thinkers needed to be eliminated. They were a risk to national security, he said. He couldn’t explain why, though, because that was classified.

It was all enough to make her go a bit crazy. “Turn off the god damned televisions,” she screamed.

The intern held up a remote control and the televisions went dark. Everyone around the offices looked at her to see what was wrong. The few people who hadn’t noticed the Tyranny’s men step out of the elevator now did and inched back toward the corners of the room. The four men, who had previously been asking a nearby secretary some questions, all began walking right toward her.

“Are you Amy Giroud?” one of the men said, not bothering to introduce himself or his men or give their reason for being there.

She took a deep breath. This was her moment. The men had been alerted to the stories she planned to air.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said, resisting the urge to put her wrists out so she could be handcuffed and led away.

“We’re here for Jerry Inewa,” the man said. “Where is he?”

“What?” Her first thought was that Jerry must have been the one to report her to the Tyranny. That was the only explanation for them asking if he was there. “Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Sorry. It’s a matter of national security. Can’t say anything else.”

One of the men pointed past Amy, toward her office, and to the man standing in there. Two of the men walked passed her and went into her office. A moment later, one of them was escorting Jerry out, his hands cuffed behind him. The other man was carrying Jerry’s laptop and phone.

“What’s he being charged with?” Amy said.

“Not allowed to say,” one of the men said. “That’s classified.”

Jerry walked past her without saying a word. No one said anything at all, only watched as one of their co-workers was escorted away, all of them knowing they would never see or hear from him again.

On their way out, one of the men in black veered off from the other three and walked toward a tall blond woman wearing a bright sundress.

“I’m sorry,” the man from the Security Service said, “But we’ve gotten intelligence that the radicals are planting bombs under women’s dresses.” He gripped her arm tightly enough that she gave a faint cry. Turning her around so she wasn’t facing him, he ran his hands up and under her dress, felt all around, felt some more, then said, “All clear. I’m sorry I had to do that, but the Tyranny can never be too safe.”

The other three men in suits chuckled.

Right before he was ushered into the elevator, Jerry looked back at Amy one last time. Then he was gone, just like all the others.