Recoil (20 page)

Chapter 23

Interrogation

“Okay, you know I’m a specialist in
intel
,
right?” Quinn said.

“Uh-huh.” I’d snagged a couple of extra sodas from the cafeteria
at dinner, and now I handed him one.

“Thanks.” He popped the tab and took a long swallow. “My unit is
the most recent set of recruits, so we don’t get to work on stuff with the
highest security clearance, but we still see a lot. We get passed masses of
information and we have to analyze it, look for patterns and meaning, pick up
unusual activity and guess, or predict, how and where we think illegal actions
might occur. Some of the data comes from spooks on the outside.” He jerked a
chin in the direction of the window. “But we also sift through information on
cadets and specialists in here.”

“That’s how you know the cameras are not purely for security, and
that they’re checking our communications?”

“Yes. Of course, a lot of this is legit. They have to make sure
that none of us is an insurgent mole. And we need intelligent information.” He
fiddled with the tab on the soda can, twisting it and bending it back on
itself.

“But?”

“There’s more. I’ve picked up more. They’re doing —” He broke off
as if unsure how to continue. He took another sip of soda then rubbed the back
of one hand over his mouth. “We’ve been trained to see patterns and meaning in
raw data. And we see what they want us to see, but also what they don’t. Bottom
line: I think they’re getting and using the information in ways that they
shouldn’t. This country has changed radically, and some people have benefited
from it enormously while others have really suffered.”

“What do you mean?”

He downed the rest of his soda and crushed the can between his
long fingers as he spoke. “Let me give you an example. I’ve been working on a
project to track rat fever patterns in the Southern Sector, in this city in
particular. And here’s what I’ve noticed: the business of rat extermination
occurs mostly in middle-class suburbia. Why would that be? It’s not because
most of the rats are there — if anything, there are more of them in the inner-city
slum areas. I think it’s because populations in poor areas are seen as more
expendable. There are too many unemployed down there, too many sick, not enough
useful, educated citizens. They’re a drain on social funding, and they’re being
whittled down, or at least,” he said, reacting to the skepticism I could feel
on my face, “allowed to be whittled down by the pestilence.”

“No! No way.”

“So how many ratting expeditions have you been on in the slums?”

I considered that. “None,” I admitted. How had I never registered
that before?

“And how many M&Ms have you taken out in suburbia?”

Again, none. I shook my head. This was incredible, unbelievable.

“But isn’t that simply because there are more ill people in the
inner city?”

“Perhaps, but that would be in part because there are more rats
there, not so? It happens too often, too systematically for it to be pure
coincidence. To me, it looks like a kind of social engineering.” He tossed the
squashed can into the trashcan beside the door.

“
What?
That’s absurd.” It sounded like utter paranoia
to me. I wanted to laugh, but nothing about this was funny.

“They’re allowing rat fever to run rampant in areas with high
populations of suspected illegal immigrants and the poor and unemployed. But
they’re making serious efforts to keep it out of middle-class suburbia — in the
voting districts that support this government. And they’re keeping the
population segments separate.”

I just shook my head.

“Answer this: did you ever go on a Fun outing with groups from
another part of the city?”

“No, but that could be because it’s more convenient to collect
everybody from one area, surely?”

“
Convenient
? Of course it’s convenient. But don’t you
think the government has a responsibility, even if it’s
in
convenient,
to make sure that different segments of the population get together?”

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, leaving it tousled
and messy. My fingers longed to smooth the tangles. I forced my mind back from
his hair to his argument.

“Quinn, this sounds like some crazy conspiracy theory. Even if
there was no plague, and no social program, I’d probably never mix with people
from the other side of town anyway.”

“Oh yes, you would. You’d go to college with people from all
backgrounds, you’d mix at the workplace and on the bus or metro, or at music
concerts. But the way things are now, how would a girl from your neck of the
woods even meet a boy from mine?”

“We did,” I pointed out.

“We’re the exception. Almost everyone is only mixing with their
own kind, and the status quo is getting entrenched.”

I frowned in confusion, not sure what to believe. If he was
right, then it was worse than I could have imagined. He grabbed the other can
of soda, popped the tab and lifted it to his lips before seeming to realize
what he was doing.

“Sorry, this is yours.”

“It’s fine, you can have it.” He looked like he needed it more
than I did. “Say this is all true — and I’m not saying I believe it is — then
why? Why would they do it?”

“Well, my brother, Connor, says all history is economic and we
have to think about whose interest all of this serves. Who benefits from a
population bound by fear of a disease that probably isn’t as infectious as
we’ve been led to believe?”

“What are you saying?”

“My brother says that there is a respected section of the medical
establishment that believes the plague isn’t transmitted by airborne virus or
touch.”

“
What
? No way!”

“Think about it. No terrorist would engineer a bioweapon that
spreads too easily, because within days it would be all around the world,
including in their country, killing their own people and their allies. There
would be no way to confine it to your enemy.”

Horribly, that made sense.

“And the same specialists say there’s no way you could get it
from spiked food or drinks.” He took another long drink from his own. “That’s
just an urban legend the government allows to continue circulating. The only
way you can get it is from blood and bites. And” — he tilted his head at me,
his lips pursed in sympathy — “direct attacks with injections, of course.”

“But we all wear masks and gloves, and stay inside, and, and
everything revolves around that,” I protested, even as I remembered that
neither of the terrorists I’d taken down had worn gloves or masks. Neither had
the perpetrators in the bank attack which killed my father.

“Everything revolves around
fear
. A fearful population is
easier to control. Look at the rights we’ve given up,
Jinxy
,
in practice if not officially — freedom of movement, privacy of information,
freedom of association, the right to free assembly and birth control.
Censorship is up, civil liberties and protections are down. Hell, you don’t
even need a search warrant to send a SWAT team into someone’s house if you have
‘reasonable suspicion’ that they might be involved in insurgent activity. And that’s
not even to speak of covert black ops.”

It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen, or even been informed of,
warrants for the work I’d done. Was
I
black ops?

“We’ve now got a massive government with all sorts of extended
powers. It spies on its citizens, limits our freedoms, and labels
whistle-blowers and critics as treasonous,” said Quinn, passionately.

He stood up and stalked over to the window, braced his arm
against the glass, and stared into the darkness outside, leaning his forehead
on his arm. Beyond the window, thunder growled and wind moaned. A storm was
blowing up. I wished I could run out into it, have the wind blow my doubts
away, have the coming rain wash away my confusion. But Quinn was still talking,
pelting me with facts like hailstones.

“We’ve repatriated hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions,
of foreign residents, refugees and workers. We’ve insulated ourselves, sealed
our borders against immigrants and imports and competition. We’re forced to buy
local. And as a nation we’ve channeled billions into a defense industry that
was sitting idle after the last wars fizzled out. We couldn’t keep invading
foreign territories, especially not when they started threatening to nuke us.
What better solution than to fight a war on home ground? Connor says we needed
a war to keep our economy afloat — war is big business.”

“Big business? You can’t think they’re doing this for money?”

“Connor says that’s exactly the motive.”

“ ‘Connor says, Connor thinks’ — you remind me of Bruce, only he
says, ‘
Sarge
says.’ What do
you
think?”

With a crack like a rifle, lightning split the darkness beyond
the window, flashing pale against Quinn’s features. He sighed and then turned
back to me, but I could no longer see his face in the gloom of the room. I
switched on the bedside lamp, and Quinn stepped into the circle of its light.
He looked sad.

“I think … I
think
that the people who made the changes to the law
and set up all the surveillance and controls probably thought they were doing
the right thing for the right reasons. They had good intentions, but they
didn’t think it through, didn’t imagine the possible negative consequences. I
don’t think it was done in order
to
profit. But,
Jinxy
, people
have
profited — out of our fear
and illness.”

Quinn crouched down in front of me and took my hands in his. His
stormy eyes were so full of cynicism that he suddenly seemed much older, and I
felt like an ignorant little girl.

“Think about all those gloves, masks, disinfectants and
sanitizers, the
decon
units and hot-boxes, new Q-bays
and medical facilities and incineration plants, all the money to be made if a
pharmaceutical company comes up with a vaccine, the tens of millions of copies
of The Game sold every year. And that’s not to mention the money that’s been
pumped into arms, ammunition and special training units like this.”

“Are you saying the government wants us to be at war, that there
isn’t a threat?” I remembered Bruce telling us
Sarge’s
opinion that nothing unites a country like a common foe.

“Of course there’s a threat. We were attacked, and many victims
lost their lives before we got a grip on this thing. But there are a growing
number of people, like me, who think that the threat has been exaggerated
because there are factions in government who want to extend its power over the
individual, and there are fat cats who want to keep making obscene profits.”

My head was buzzing. I pushed myself off the bed, walked to the
bathroom and drank a glass of water, then splashed my face. The girl in the
mirror looked like me — sixteen-year-old Jinx James. Friendly, but a bit on the
shy side, likes computer games and brownies. Recently developed a love for the
color gray. Even more recently got her heart broken. Could I really be a social
engineering operative for a covert task team?

I returned to the room, to Quinn. Rain was driving against the
window, coursing sideways in rivulets which split and forked off in different
directions.

“Well?” Quinn leaned up against the desk, looking at me intently.

“I don’t know what to think. It all sounds so unbelievable. And
there’s a part of me that thinks all’s fair in — in war. What they’ve done,
Quinn! My father …”

“Let me be absolutely clear. I want the plague ended as much as
you. I do
not
support terrorists. They are murdering criminals, and I think every last one of
them should be arrested and brought to trial. But
legally
. And under
the rights guaranteed by our constitution. In fighting the lowest of the low,
we shouldn’t become just like them.”

“Your brother — what’s he got to do with all this?”

“Officially, Connor’s with the Civil Libs, but he’s also with … a
group that’s working to expose how the government is bending and breaking the
law, how lobbyists have too much power and money and are corrupting our elected
representatives. His group is collecting information on what’s actually going
on, so they can challenge it and turn things around.”

“He’s a …?” I began, but I couldn’t say the word. I knew what
people like
Sarge
and Bruce and Roth would call him.
“He’s like a rebel?”

“We need groups like his. Too many people in this nation are too
afraid to protest. Or too preoccupied with staying safe and not catching the
fever. We’re giving up our liberty in exchange for security.”

I thought of my mother. She would happily stay in the prison of
our house as long as she thought that would keep her, and us, safe. She
followed the rules when it came to being a “responsible citizen”, even going so
far as to report our neighbors for a minor violation. We’d once been friends
with the Johnsons next door. We’d swum in their pool, had them over for
Thanksgiving dinner, and gone trick-or-treating together with their daughter
every Halloween. Yet Mom hadn’t hesitated to rat on them. She unquestioningly
believed what she was told and did as she was instructed.

Had I been like that?

“And the rebels are growing in number. Connor estimates that they
are about 15,000 strong in the Southern Sector alone, and they’ve made contact
with similar groups in the Northeast and Mid-and-West sectors. They’re still
collecting information and trying to confirm their suspicions, but already
they’re planning a big campaign to reveal everything to the public. Next year
on Independence Day, stay tuned to your T.V.” A thin smile ghosted across his
face.