Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (15 page)

The President was now standing inside a courtroom leaning on the juror’s box. “All of you out there will be the jury for the four people on trial. Each person to be announced tonight has abandoned the principles that formed the foundation of our Progtopia. Love is only permitted among the Giving Class and the Elite Recipient Class. Life is determined by the State and no one else. Freedom, as defined by the State, is freedom from disease, war, and starvation. It is not some esoteric notion of liberty and free will promoted by the United States of America. It did not serve them well then, and it will not serve us well now. I will leave the announcement of our four criminals to our host, Jonathan Kelleher.”

President Burton disappeared, as the stage lights illuminated Jonathan and Cassandra still seated in their chairs.

“Well, Jonathan,” Cassandra said with astonishment, “that was quite dramatic!”

“I know,” he said smugly.

“Jonathan, I think everyone is at the edge of their seats now. Who are the four?”

Jonathan stood up and walked to the front of the stage. “Our first criminal thought he was capable of love. As a member of the Recipient Class, however, it has been proven time and time again that love only interferes with thinking and productivity. Our first criminal, number 345, is being charged with the act of loving another Recipient Class member. Why don’t we take a look, shall we?”

Behind him, the scene where 345 approached and hugged 888 played out. The crowd’s gasps over their embrace quickly turned to cheers as the Social Keepers pulled them apart and arrested them.

Once the audience’s shouts died down, Jonathan announced the next person who was going to be on trial. “Our next criminal, 07261973, had one responsibility—to preserve the integrity of our gene pool by destroying the
defectives
in our life factories. She neglected her duty, therefore 07261973 is being charged with protection of defectives —the very thing she was duty-bound to destroy.” The scene of 07261973 working in the life factory appeared behind him. She was in a large room filled with hundreds of incubators holding babies at different stages of development. One incubator was flashing red: “Genetic defect—spina bifida—destroy.” 07261973 stared at the command and pushed the override button, sparing the life of the baby-to-be. The scene disappeared, and the image of 07261973 being arrested appeared before the audience. A thunderous applause erupted, and Jonathan put his hands out signaling them to hold their applause. As it started to die down, Jonathan said, “I haven’t even gotten to the best criminals yet. You might want to save your energy.” Despite what he said, the audience continued to clap, some even standing. He walked back toward Cassandra and whispered into her ear, “The next one is because of you, and you better report exactly what I want you to during these trials, or you will be implicated. If you do what I say, you will be fine.”

Thatcher watched this exchange, wondering what her brother had whispered to Cassandra. She noticed the shift in Cassandra’s body language, and knowing her brother, she figured he was trying to hold something over her. As he announced the next person being placed on trial, the exchange became all too clear.

“For our third criminal, most of you here saw the crime play out in front of your very eyes. This person was foolish enough to commit his criminal act in front of the world. Our third trial participant is being charged with soliciting an individual outside of his class.” Behind him, the scene of Marco approaching Thatcher and dancing with her at the Giving Class Ball played out once again. As this was going on, Jonathan glanced at Cassandra who was watching the scene, shocked.

They cut to a live scene of the Social Keepers arresting Marco while he was watching the live show on his virtual reality screen. The crowd cheered, with Cassandra clapping, throwing full support behind the arrest. Thatcher, acting supportive of the State out of obligation, never knowing when the camera was on her, was sick. She could not believe the audacity of her brother to go after Marco, knowing full well he was only doing it for ratings, not for justice. Thomas squeezed Thatcher’s hand, leaned over, and whispered, “Your brother is a jerk.” Thatcher, nodding in agreement, watched below as the crowd went wild over Marco’s arrest.

By this time, Jonathan settled into his chair. Taking a sip of water, he turned to Cassandra. “I bet you don’t think I can top that one, do you?”

Cassandra, still reeling from the shock of Marco’s arrest, realized she still had to play along or she too would suffer Marco’s fate. “I don’t know how you could, but since you’re asking me, I suspect the final person may be quite a surprise.”

“
Surprise
is not the word I would use. I would use the word
shock
. As I stated in the beginning, my duty is to protect the integrity of the State, and that means at all costs.”

Jonathan arose from his chair, sauntered to the middle of the stage, and scanned the entire auditorium. “The final person who will be part of
The Trials
is someone who has been entrusted by the State to carry on its mission. This person is being charged with treason.” This accusation electrified the crowd, waiting on the edge of their seats for the announcement. Jonathan built the anticipation by pacing slowly back and forth with the only sound in the auditorium his footsteps making contact with the wooden floor below him. The stunning revelation of treason meant it was someone big. No one famous had ever been on trial in public.

Jonathan himself knew he was about to take one of the biggest risks of his life, but he thought it was worth it to advance his career. He stopped pacing, turned to the crowd, and interlocked his fingers in front of him.

“I am charging Thatcher Kelleher with treason!”

Rumblings were heard among the crowd, no one knowing quite how to react. Thatcher, stunned, quickly turned to Thomas. Aghast, he shouted, “This is crazy! This must be some type of mistake!” They heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and within seconds, the Social Keepers entered their private box. Thatcher and Thomas embraced as he whispered, “I will do whatever it takes to get you out of this. I love you, Thatcher. I love you so much. I will not let them hurt you. I cannot live without you!”

The Social Keeper placed his hand on Thatcher’s shoulder. “Ma’am, please don’t make this difficult. You need to come with us.”

Thatcher felt trapped, betrayed, furious, but she refused to go down without a fight. She slipped off her heels and backed toward the balcony of her private viewing area. Noticing that the decorative rope tied to the outside of her box originated from the rafters above the stage, she quickly untied it and swung from the balcony above the crowd, landing on the stage. Lunging toward her brother, she punched him in the face, knocking him out. As she stood over him she said, “Add assault to your bogus charge of treason!” Before she knew it, Social Keepers had jumped her from behind, piling on her. She reached her hand in between her cleavage and pulled out the pill given to her at Nikolai’s execution. Putting it in her mouth, she swallowed quickly.

Twenty-seven

The Year: 2173

It had been a long evening for Thatcher. Once she had been restrained on stage, she was whisked away by the Social Keepers and brought to the detention center where she was processed and forced to exchange her one-of-a-kind Jake
—
his new fashion line—for the State-issued orange jumpsuits given to all prisoners. Once her digital booking photo was taken, she was led to her private cell. Finally alone, she lay there on the uncomfortable bed staring at the ceiling, exhausted, processing the last few hours of her life. She knew her brother was ambitious, but she had clearly underestimated him. As her anger swelled again, she knew she couldn’t let it consume her. Fury alone wouldn’t get her out of this mess. She needed to focus her resentment on finding a solution to her predicament. If there was one thing Thatcher was known for, it was solving problems. Her mind was spinning with questions.
What evidence did he have on her? Whom could she trust? Could the evidence he had on her be refuted?

She also knew that never in the history of
The Trials
was any criminal represented by counsel. No citizen was willing to provide representation for criminals, for fear of suffering the same fate as the criminals themselves. She knew she would have to represent herself, and as she drifted off to sleep, she slowly started to devise a plan that may just backfire on her brother. She would make him regret he ever chose her.

Across town, Jonathan was sitting in his father’s study with a bag of ice on the side of his face. The welt caused by his sister’s fist was impressive. It looked and felt painful. Despite all the advances in technology, good old-fashioned ice was still the best way to help a black eye. Settled in a chair awaiting his father, still in a slight daze from being knocked out, he knew when he chose Thatcher his father would be furious—not because it was the Judge’s daughter, but because she knew too much. Jonathan, startled by the Judge’s entrance, watched as he approached his desk while puffing furiously on his cigar.

With the cigar in his mouth and hands at his side, the Judge glared angrily at his son. As the smoke drifted away from the stogie and engulfed his face, he looked like a possessed man. No one would dare cross him right now.

His voice started to rise as he began firing questions. “Have you gone mad? It was bad enough you picked Marco, but Thatcher? Do you have any idea the Pandora’s box you just opened with her arrest? What were you thinking?!”

Jonathan, expecting this reaction, was prepared to handle his father. “Father, I have this all under control,” he said, still holding the bag of ice against his face.

“Yes, Jonathan, I can see that,” he responded sarcastically. “Thatcher was very well-controlled by you tonight.”

“To you it may look bad, but the ratings tonight were through the roof. Her punching me in the face reached an all-time ratings’ high.”

“I know that, you idiot! Don’t you understand? The masses enjoyed someone from the State being assaulted and knocked out—not really the direction the State wants to go.”

“Father, you worry too much,” he said as he placed the ice on his lap. “I have Thatcher dead to rights. There’s nothing to worry about. Thatcher thinks she is so smart, logical, and cunning, but I am already ten steps ahead of her. She is one person—an individual—whereas I have the power of the State behind me. She will not win, and she is the perfect example to show to the world the individual cannot triumph over the State.”

“What about this mystery punishment? What’s that all about?”

“Father, that will only be revealed if it is chosen. Benefactor Simon is aware of the punishment, and is in full support of it. I am under strict instructions by him not to reveal it to anyone—even you.”

With this, the Judge’s eyes filled with anger, realizing his son’s ambitions superseded any loyalty he may have had for his family. He expected such a move from one of his political enemies, but his very own son going above him—the Director of the Department of Justice and Reeducation and his father—to the Benefactor was an act of betrayal.

“Son, your actions have disappointed me, and I am afraid your naïveté and ambition have set into motion events that may very well unravel beyond your control. I would not have advised choosing Thatcher, and if your mystery punishment is anything similar to the poor decisions you’ve made up to this point, I truly fear for your future.”

Jonathan stood up from his chair and looked his father directly in the eye. “Father, you are an antiquated fool.” He stormed from the study.

The Judge, standing there in silence, knew better than most what inspired revolutions. The books surrounding him told the same story over and over again, and although his son thought he was a fool, it was actually his son’s hubris that may have just planted the seed of rebellion.

If the Judge had any knowledge of what was occurring in his daughter’s brain at that moment, he would’ve had her executed immediately, but fortunately for her, he did not. Thatcher was fighting exhaustion, trying to devise a strategy to save herself. She finally surrendered to the deep slumber she so desperately needed. Once asleep, she entered a dream so vivid, it seemed real. Standing in a cemetery, she could see Fitz lowering a casket into the ground. Fitz, as one of the State’s undertakers, was responsible for burying those in the Giving Class and the Elite Recipient Class. Unlike most undertakers, he was quite a unique character. Never dressed formally as one would expect from someone in that position, he appeared more like an auto mechanic from days gone by. A stocky man with a beard and pipe hanging from his mouth, he donned a baseball cap and blue, long-sleeved shirt usually rolled up to his elbows and khaki pants with red suspenders. Thatcher watched as he lowered someone’s casket into the ground. He turned and waved for her to come to him. As she approached the fresh grave, she realized it was Nikolai’s. Overcome by great sadness, Fitz approached her, putting his arm around her. “Thatcher, why don’t you come with me to my home and share a cup of tea with me?” She complied, walking away from the cemetery toward a log cabin sitting at the far edge of the graves. When they entered, she was elated to see Nikolai sitting at the kitchen table.

“Thatcher, darling, I never thought you would get here,” he exclaimed as he stood up, giving her a warm hug. Thatcher was surprised at how real all of this felt, reminding herself she was in a dream. Nikolai was dead. Nikolai placed both of his hands on Thatcher’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “If you are experiencing this, it means I have died, but it also means you’ve swallowed the pill.”

Thatcher pulled back from Nikolai, not knowing quite what to say. Before she spoke, Nikolai said, “The pill you swallowed was filled with nanobots. If you swallowed it, it means one of two things—you were curious, or you are in trouble.”

Fitz stepped in and said, “Our technology surpasses anything seen or used by the State. Our nanobots are manipulated real-time. I am really talking to you, and Nikolai gave us the information he wanted conveyed to you before he died. Our nanobots create the image of the person who is talking to you. We control what we say from a remote location. The conversation we are having is real. You speak from your thoughts, and we respond to them in the form of the images created by the nanobots. We know you took the pill because you are in trouble, and hopefully we can help you.”

Thatcher, trying to wrap her head around what was going on, turned to Nikolai for some type of explanation.

“Thatcher, I was part of the resistance, and part of my mission was to find someone in the government who shared the same thoughts and principles we do. You are that person. I never had a chance to formally recruit you while I was alive, but I knew you were someone who believed in individual freedom, unlike your father and your brother.”

“Nikolai, I never knew,” she said with a soft whisper, almost to herself.

“I know, darling. I fear you are in grave danger, and our job is to help you through this. Why don’t we sit and have a cup of tea?”

All three of them sat down at the table. Thatcher, feeling more comfortable with Nikolai, directed her conversation toward him. “I’ve been arrested and will be put on trial.” She reached her hand across the table, clutching his. “I’m really scared.”

“I know you are, Thatcher. That is why we are here. What you need to understand is, after tonight, you won’t see me as often as Fitz and the others, but know I am always with you. I have created different discussions with you, and you will see me if those particular circumstances arise. My friend, Fitz, and others in the resistance will communicate with you every evening in order to provide you with assistance. I know this is a lot to take in, but we don’t have much time. Shall we get to it?”

For the next hour, Nikolai and Fitz briefed her on the history of the resistance and how they planned to move forward.