Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy (20 page)

“Yes, she wanted to relieve the State from taking care of the unproductive deadweight.”

“Did the State really do that back then? It is my understanding that most social programs exploded later in the century.”

“I’m not sure,” he said, hesitant, looking to Thomas for help, who was useless to him.

“Who determined who was unproductive deadweight? Her? The State? The people?”

His armor of confidence, being chipped away by Thatcher, was starting to anger him. He knew where she may be going with this, and he didn’t know how to stop it. “Well, now, we determine it.”

“I’m referring to her time. Who determined it in, let’s say, Russia in 1937?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he answered, but Thatcher was aware he knew more.

“Dr. Higgins, we are waiting,” she said, tapping on the defense table. “A hint—the Ukraine?”

“Ah, yes. Well, Stalin knew those peasants,” he said with disdain, “wouldn’t go along with his program. He needed to control them, to show them who was in charge. Plus, he considered them to be uneducated, unenlightened, and simpleminded. Those types would never amount to much. They deserved what they got. Good riddance. At least my DNA isn’t tainted with them.”

“Are we speaking of the same thing? I’m referring to his planned and deliberate starvation of an entire nation.”

“Yep, me too,” he said, gaining more confidence, evil dripping from him. “Stalin starved, killed thirteen million people in one year. Got rid of the poor masses. Sanger didn’t have the guts to go that far. She wanted the same result, but her methods were too slow.”

“Who is the Neanderthal now?”

Realizing his misstep, he tried to recoup the damage. “We are not that drastic. In fact, we are compassionate. We eliminate the life before it’s aware.”

“Wow, that is quite nice of you,” Thatcher said, caustically.

“Let’s be truthful here, Dr. Higgins. Isn’t it true the State believes it can kill, indiscriminately, for whatever it believes is for the good of the State?”

“In essence, yes.”

“Kind of like Hitler and Stalin?”

“No, more like Sanger. We do it before the life reaches nine months maturity. We do not advocate mass genocide.”

Thatcher finally rose from her chair and moved toward Dr. Higgins. “So, Doctor, you will need to help me understand Margaret Sanger a little more.”

“Okay,” he said as he used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his brow. Thatcher was destroying him.

“Didn’t Margaret Sanger advocate that women should be in full control of their bodies? Quite a different stance than the State has today.”

“I’m not aware of her ever saying that.”

“Well, for argument’s sake, let’s say she did say that. Would you agree with me that our current set of laws prohibit women from controlling their own bodies, and for that matter, anything in their life?”

“I’m not here to question the State.”

“No, Doctor, you aren’t here to question the State,” she said as she started to walk back to the defense table, “but I am.”

Thomas felt sick. She just destroyed his witness. He needed to change the momentum.

“Your Honor, I would like to introduce into evidence the video feed of 07261973 committing her crime,” Thomas requested.

Thatcher stood up, firmly stating, “Your Honor, since we have shown Margaret Sanger pushed for women to use birth control to help prevent the birth of defectives in society, was not an advocate of abortion, and believed in intellectual superiority, we do not object to showing this video. We believe the law that bears this woman’s name is as flawed as her theories.”

With that, several instances of 07261973 turning off the incubator alarms were shown to the audience. It was clear and irrefutable she had committed the crime. Thomas, feeling unbeatable, glanced at Thatcher, expecting her to appear defeated. To the contrary, she was slowly getting to her feet and calling the next witness.

“Your Honor, my next witness is whom the State calls 07261973. I will call her Margaret—not to be confused with Margaret Sanger, as this Margaret is named after the disabled St. Margaret, patron saint of the disabled.”

Thomas couldn’t believe his good fortune.
Was Thatcher insane calling her to the stand? What a fool she is,
he thought. The audience watched Margaret approach the witness stand. The tall, thin, brunette walked with a strong confidence that all but erased the memory of the nervous woman seen the day before. She got settled and raised her hand as the court reporter asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you?”

“I do swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me
God
.” As she uttered those words, the audience gasped.

The Judge, banging his gavel, commanded, “Thatcher, please control your witnesses! I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Thatcher smiled and approached her witness. “Margaret,” she said, pointing toward the prosecutor’s table, “Thomas has expertly shown some video with you in it. Was that you?”

“It was.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Who am I to destroy human life? What authority does the State have to give me permission to kill an innocent, growing life?”

“Well, as you just heard, it is Sanger’s law giving you that right. Why do you question that?”

Margaret didn’t answer. She just sat there in silence. The longer the silence ensued, the more uncomfortable everyone in the room became. The Judge, turning to her, instructed, “If you don’t answer the question, you will be removed from the stand.”

“Your Honor,” Margaret inquired, “do you like the music of Beethoven?” Margaret asked even though she knew the answer along with everyone watching the trial. The Judge was famous for his love of Beethoven’s compositions. In the first years of
The Trials
, Symphony No. 9 was used as the introduction music each evening.

“My taste in music is not germane to these proceedings, and therefore, I will not answer the question.”

Thatcher suspected her father would respond that way, but she told Margaret to ask it with the hope he would.

“Margaret, have you watched
The Trials
each year?”

“Yes.”

“Who is involved with the production of
The Trials
?”

“Your father, the Judge in today’s proceedings.” Margaret could see where Thatcher was going with this line of questioning.

“What was the theme music to the first three years of
The Trials
?”

“Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.”

“Margaret, why does Beethoven fascinate you?”

“Because, Thatcher, if Sanger’s law existed during his time, he would’ve never existed, and we would’ve never been exposed to his wonderful music.”

Spontaneous chatter erupted, forcing the Judge to hammer his gavel over and over again to silence the courtroom. “This is your last warning. Anymore of these outbursts, and I will empty the courtroom.”

“Margaret, what is it about Beethoven that would have made him susceptible to Sanger’s law?”

“He suffered from severe depression, and that would have been picked up during embryonic development. That one defect alone would have led to embryonic termination. He also suffered from a hearing disorder, and although we consider that to be defective and burdensome on society, he composed some of his greatest works while deaf. So again, I ask the question—who am I or who is the State to decide who lives or dies?”

“Are there any other people who contributed to mankind who would have been terminated under Sanger’s law?”

“Yes, Thatcher. There are a lot, but I will only name a few, just to give you an idea. Alexander Graham Bell, who improved upon Antonio Meucci’s first telephone device to patent the telephone, had a learning disability. Leonardo da Vinci was dyslexic. Isaac Newton suffered from epilepsy. There are so many more, but I think you get the point.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” she said as she turned to Thomas. “I have nothing further. She is your witness.”

As Thatcher walked back to her table, Thomas sat there, dumbfounded. He didn’t know how to discredit her, so he did the next best thing.

“Your Honor, since it’s getting close to lunch, I am asking for a one-hour recess.”

The Judge, recognizing Thomas was grossly unprepared for Thatcher’s tactics, knew he had to give him time to prepare. On the other hand, he was afraid to end the morning on testimony favoring the defense. The pundits would have a field day for the next hour, discussing how the State’s case was being challenged. Even though they could manipulate Cassandra Williams to bias the coverage, he wasn’t sure whether that would be enough. It was clear to him, though, Thomas was asking for this recess because he was in a jam. He recognized Thomas didn’t know how to cross-examine the witness, so he granted the recess.

“We will break for one hour.” Slamming the gavel, he stood up and went back to his chambers. The Social Keepers surrounded the defendants, taking them to a holding cell where they could be fed lunch. This would be the first time the four of them were together to discuss their case since their meeting on VRS several nights before.

When Judge Kelleher entered his office, Jonathan was already waiting for him. “Father, I have already spoken to Cassandra, and she is aware of how to approach the public with the events of this morning.”

“Jonathan, your sister destroyed the State out there this morning. Choosing her for
The Trials
was a grave mistake, and although it might be great for your ratings, it may be a disaster for the State, and unleash civil unrest.”

“Really? Are you really concerned this is going to happen? Father, one thing we know that the others don’t is history. The United States of America, freest nation since the beginning of time, had the truth before them day in and day out, and they ignored the arrogance of their representatives until it was too late. Their Congress passed laws for the citizens while exempting themselves from the same laws. Very few protested. The ones who did were demonized by the media as being extremist and crazy. They were marginalized and silenced. Even while their rights and freedoms were slowly extinguished on a daily basis, the people remained silent. They were ignorant of their own Constitution, letting television pundits interpret it for them instead of reading it themselves. The same stands here. Only four people are on trial, and at the end of the day, it will end with those four defendants. Everyone will be sufficiently entertained, maybe feel bad for them for a few moments, and then move back into their daily routine. Just like the Americans turned a blind eye to the truth because they didn’t want to give up their comforts or their assistance from the government, so too will the Recipient Class. Do you really think the Recipient Class, who solely depends on us, is going to rise up? Don’t get me wrong, some will. But we are ready for them. Any voice they think they have will be silenced by the boot of the State crushing the life from them. So, let Thatcher have her fun thinking she is so clever. But in the end, she can’t beat the State. No one ever beats the State.”

“Jonathan, I sure hope you’re right because this trial is out of control, and we have three more people to go. You better get out there with Thomas and figure out a strategy to silence your sister.”

Thirty-seven

The Year: 2033

The shire’s central command center was brimming with activity. Operatives were scurrying about, making last-minute adjustments to the most important mission of their lives. The intelligence Camille had uncovered at the G8 summit unleashed panic among the resistance. Project Renaissance could change the face of the planet. A worldwide pandemic would end humanity. Sleep was abandoned, and no agent was spared. Montgomery’s network pursued every lead to uncover the details of the President’s secret plan. They discovered the existence of a vaccine—a drug to protect the proponents of a One World Government. This morning’s plan was to get their hands on that vaccine.

For the last several weeks, the CDC had reported some outbreaks of mumps, measles, and rubella. In response to the pockets of disease popping up throughout the country, the federal government had implemented a booster program, making it available to federal employees and healthcare workers initially, and then to the general public. The catch, though, was this—it was not a booster. It was the vaccination to the Project Renaissance virus. It was a brilliant cover to disseminate the vaccination to the lethal germ because no one thought twice about getting a booster shot. Since Homeland Security officers were in the field, they received the first round. Then, it was given to thousands of federal workers, including those in foreign embassies. What no one knew, not even the resistance group, was that all of the President’s enemies received only a placebo, saline, which provided no protection from the wrath about to be unleashed among humanity.

Solid intel came to their group. It was the first break in a few weeks. A truck carrying the vaccine was traveling through Kentucky. Its final destination, Fort Knox. Their plan—intercept the truck and steal the vaccine. Unknown at the time, an FBI agent had already been infected and was making his way to an emergency room in Pittsburgh.

Watching from the command center, Peter’s anxiety heightened. Camille was part of the ambush team. His feelings were growing for her, and he hated her being out there where she could get hurt or worse. He begged her not to go with Franklin, but she insisted, feeling it was her duty to avenge her parents’ and Barbara’s death. So many lives, and the future of the world, depended on them carrying out a successful mission, but he really only cared about her.

Everyone in the shire watched as the first Humvee came into sight. A military caravan leading a tractor-trailer with a Homeland Security insignia displayed on its side roared past Franklin’s crew. They remained in position, not launching an attack. Franklin’s team knew the vehicles were nothing but a diversion. They carried no value. In the silence of the forest, they waited.

Strategically hidden along a remote road winding through the mountains of Kentucky, Franklin’s men were scattered for twenty miles in both directions. It was a perfect route to transport the vaccine, but it was also an ideal location to set up a trap. Although time passed slowly, lazy in the thick hills near the road, Franklin’s men remained focused, waiting for the black, unmarked SUV carrying the vaccine. Fifteen miles out, the ambush team was making final preparations and by mile five, Franklin’s group was in position, ready to strike.

The two men in the SUV had no idea what precious cargo they had in the back of the truck. They were just happy to have a job that wasn’t too hard. All they had to do was deliver twenty metal cases in the back to the Homeland Security barracks outside of Fort Knox. The driver’s friend was asked to transport freight to the same location. He was jealous of his friend, chosen to transport high-priority materials, flanked by so much security. Wondering why he was never chosen for the important jobs, he rounded the corner. Startled, he slammed on his brakes.

Franklin was tense. His team was positioned in the woods next to the road, watching the scene unfold. Every piece of this mission was under their control except for this. This was the wild card. Its success hinged on both officers getting out of the car. They couldn’t risk one of them radioing ahead to headquarters.

The driver shocked by Camille on her knees in the middle of the road, crying with blood dripping down her face, reflexively jumped from the car and rushed toward her.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “My car,” she said, pointing to a vehicle smashed against a tree.

Finally reaching her, the officer knelt down. “You’re going to be okay. Me and my friend can radio ahead and get you some help.” Turning to the SUV, he yelled for his friend. The man put down his window, sticking his head out. “We received strict orders not to leave this vehicle until we reached Fort Knox. I’m not leaving.”

This is what Franklin hoped wouldn’t happen. If he radioed ahead, their mission would fail. Their original plan was to subdue the officers. No fatalities, but they needed the vaccine. The stakes were too high. Having planned for this scenario, in a coordinated effort, Camille lunged forward with a syringe in hand and plunged the needle into the officer’s thigh. At the same time, a bullet shattered the silence of the peaceful Kentucky roadside, piercing the head of the officer in the car.

With no time to waste, Franklin and his crew sprinted to the back of the SUV, opened the back door, and celebrated as they found the metallic cases. After opening the precious cargo, he was staring at five hundred vials of the vaccination. The jackpot! With twenty cases, they had just landed about ten thousand vials. Hurriedly, his team removed the containers to the side of the road, waiting for the arrival of their Humvees disguised as Homeland Security vehicles, a camouflage to help them travel undetected. No better way to hide than in plain sight.

They needed to keep the Homeland Security SUV heading toward its final destination. Its tracker would give away any prolonged interruption in the vehicle’s movements. As quickly as they unloaded the vaccine, one of Franklin’s crew got into the SUV, peeling away from the team. Without a minute to spare, Fort Knox radioed the SUV requesting an update on their stalled progress. Franklin’s crew reported back, “No problems, sir. Had a brief stop to move a dead deer from the road that was blocking our way. I guess you never know what you’ll find in the backwoods here.” Homeland never suspected the attack until the shipment never arrived.

Franklin, aware he had to keep things on schedule, helped the others load their Humvees. It was only a matter of time before Homeland at Fort Knox realized their vaccine was stolen. While they were frantically dividing the cases, Camille dragged the drugged Homeland Security officer to the side of the road into the woods, and zip-tied his wrists and ankles.

With their vehicles stocked with their treasure, each Humvee planned on taking different routes back to West Virginia. Even if a few of them were captured, they increased their chances of getting some of the vaccine back home where their own scientists could replicate it. Camille jumped in with Franklin, and Benson came to the window.

“Well, phase one of this mission was successful. Get home safely.” He shook Franklin’s hand and blew Camille a kiss.