I’m posting all I have of this here in case anybody wants to add chapters, either in conjunction with ideas outlined in Project proposal for Bootrib members or just because you feel so inclined for no particular reason.
I seem to have gotten sort of stuck, and with so many good word writers on hand, it seems like the thing to do.
Haley’s Nose: A GoodJob Day in America, 2009
Haley frowned at the mirror. Her nose was the problem. There was no makeup trick (and Haley knew them all) that could camouflage that nose. No clever earrings, or hat, or artfully designed spectacle frames had any effect. It was impervious to all that, resolutely, steadfastly, even proudly there, right in the middle of her face, jutting out defiantly, bump and all, dominating her profile.
It was the only feature she had not been able to conquer. Haley sighed, and flipped out her blue contact lenses into their night-time bath, checked her honey-colored hair carefully for black roots, and smoothed pearl cream into her skin. Including the nose.
She went over the figures again. No way she could afford surgery, and if she was forced to get a GoodJob, even less chance she would ever be able to.
She had been pretty lucky, really. Only a couple of Security Forces had ever really noticed the nose enough to question it, and they seemed satisfied with her explanation of an Italian grandmother. Roman nose, she smiled at them.
Incredibly, in all this time, it had apparently never occurred to Homeland Security to ask people to remove their contacts. Or maybe it had, but it was just a question of funding, since so many people had them, and black eyes alone added only a few points to the Score. One could always claim an African-American ancestor somewhere, and any Security Force personnel who challenged that would automatically trigger the lengthy and annoying process of Testing Detention, and in yet another HSA convolution, the Hero points would go to the testor, not the officer that sent the suspect in.
Still, Haley worried about the nose. Since the last HSA procedural review, the Hero Points formula had been revised, and there was more pressure on Security Forces to increase their weekly General Detainee Production. As a General Detainee, testing would be recommended, but might not take place for months, even years, or never, since the only requirement for General Detainee was General Suspicion. It was not necessary to document what the suspicion was. The Wackenhut Provision, they called it, and it was expected to double the company’s revenues in the first quarter alone. Acquisition of the behemoth Homeland Depot family of companies insured that streamlined Facility construction would keep up with growing demand.
As an Informally Employed, Haley was not Protected, and was subject to everything from wand search to seizure on sight. Haley preferred to take her chances. She was an unreconstructed Ninetenner. At fifty-five, she simply could not think of GoodJobs as anything but slavery and imprisonment, nose or no nose.
“It’s not so bad,” her niece had told her at last month’s Vacation Hour. “In lots of ways, it’s better than before. I mean I don’t have to worry about rent any more, or food. And as long as I keep up my Conduct Rating, I get to see Josh every Family Hour.”
Haley tried not to look at the remains of the Nutri-Loaf on Kristin’s plate. Food? At least Josh and the other kids in the Family Friend Center got milk, veggies, a regular diet, Until they were 16.
For many mothers, seeing their kids only an hour a month was a small price to pay for the knowledge that they would have food, and could not be Selected, even for a few years. Something will happen before then, they told themselves.
Kristin’s GoodJob was considered a plum. As a Wal-Mart Associate, she received a guaranteed bunk, a shower three times a week, one Nutri-Loaf for every eight hours worked, and treatment of minor injuries and ailments at the Health Center.
Illness or injury that required hospitalization or more than 24 hours off work invalidated the contract, but most GoodJobbers were young and healthy – they had to be to pass the extensive medical workup required for acceptance, and as the company pointed out, the injury clause of the contract did double duty as an incentive for workers to maintain good safety practices.
In return for her compensation of bunk, shower and Nutri-Loaf, Kristin worked “as needed.” It averaged out to around 16-18 hours a day, usually, seven days a week, although occasionally she would be put on 36 on, 12 off for a couple of weeks. As a valued asset and member of the Wal-Mart family, Kristin’s contract would be invalidated if she left the Associate Compound when off work, or left the Store while on duty, but the outside world had become a pretty dangerous place, so all in all, the Wal-Mart GoodJob was considered to be one of the better choices available for young people.
The GoodJob Haley was trying to avoid was with OneBanc. Since the Bank of America-Wachovia Merger, and the resultant WachovAmeribank’s subsumption into CitiGroup, OneBanc had become one of the foremost GoodJob providers to Golden Boomers. Most of the jobs were sedentary, and took advantage of the education most of Haley’s generation had, before the No Child Left Behind Acts and privatization had streamlined the public schools into a sustainable and lean worker-processing machine. In just five years, America’s public schools now produced graduates more than twice as likely as their grandparents to be functionally literate, and with the arithmetical skills necessary to enable them to operate simple calculators and cash registers, but without the massive loads of half-learned and forgotten trivia that they would be unlikely to need in order to be useful and profit-friendly assets to their employers.
It was generally agreed by both Administration and Congress Committee that it was neither fair nor kind to subject most children to years of classes in subjects that would do neither them nor the companies that would one day employ them, as study after study had shown that this archaic practice had produced little but unrealistic hopes on the part of the children, and in many cases, their parents, which in turn led to rejectionism and insurgency that gobbled up HSA resources that could be put to much better use identifying genuine Suspects, and channel a robust stream of workers into GoodJobs.
The quality of Post5 education had also improved remarkably as a result, and it was not at all uncommon for children of the affluent to graduate from college at age twelve, and medical school at 16, and while rumors of bribes and corruption were rife, as they are anywhere, anytime, 80% of medical workers were employed at GoodJob Health Centers, and there were few complaints from patients. (And even fewer from foreign medical centers, where the affluent Americans obtained all but the most rudimentary of their own health care).
Haley put out the battery lamp and nestled in to her bed in the storage unit. Morning would come soon enough, and she would have to be up before dawn to secure a good spot on the street to get some morning sales before the Security Forces arrived to clean the area for the business lunchers.
Her store was a very simple, but very functional pushcart, containing her wares – rare books. Most of them were on one or another of the No-Read lists, which enabled her to charge a premium for them, which the more adventurous Professionals were happy to pay for the little frisson of rebellion it offered. Few actually read the books, most of them were old enough to have done so before they were removed from market, and had as little interest in reading today as they had then, but they enjoyed having them on the shelves in their homes. “Look at this one! It just screams ‘leftist dissenter!'” exclaimed her excited customer, a trial lawyer who occasionally wore a tiny vintage lapel pin that read “Kucinich.” Most of his clients, and almost all of his worthy opponents arguing for the state thought it referred to a little-known vegetable. The lawyer was also known for his dissenting dietary practices.
“No Dairy!” he would shout to the boy at Starbucks, and he didn’t care who heard him. He was more than ready to invoke the First Amendment if anyone objected.
Haley gave him a friendly smile, pocketed the $500, and handed him the dog-eared, paper-back copy of “Chain of Command.”
Not bad, thought Haley. From this sale alone, she could pay another week on the storage shed, buy batteries and two day’s food. No way could she live like this with a GoodJob. All she had to do now was get her cart out of the area before PreLunch Clean and she just might sell another book or two before SafeDown.
It was her lucky day. A liberal security mom in a Hummerado V rolled down her tinted glass window a couple of inches to give Haley $200 for a copy of “The Handmaid’s Tale.”
“Sorry it doesn’t have the covers,” Haley stood on tiptoe to pass the book through and take the money.
“No problem, sister,” said her customer, eyes darting around, “I’m a progressive!,” she hissed in a dramatic whisper as the window hummed back up and the massive vehicle sped away.
Haley decided to call it a day. There was just enough time before SafeDown for a treat.
“Yo, Haley!” Rick shouted to his friend. Come on in hang a bit. Even when she had no money, Rick always gave her some tea, a bit of roti and raita, but today she was flush, and ordered a kebab and a large biryani.
“For your sunlamp treatments,” Haley winked mischievously as she slipped an extra $20 into Rick’s pocket. “I had a good day.”
Red-haired, green-eyed Rick, whose mother had named him Rahim over sixty years ago in Lahore had never once seen a sunlamp, but the alibi worked for him and millions of others whose skin Suspicion Level was beyond the power of pearl cream to rectify. “The things people will believe,” he had remarked to Haley once. “Sometimes it works against you, sometimes it works with you.” That was the closest they had ever come to discussing their shared coping strategy. No one had ever questioned Rick’s assertion that his Pakistani accent was Swiss.
“Rick, you’re an artist,” Haley said, her mouth full. Rick smiled and switched on the TV. The perky CNN anchor was recounting the latest details of the latest sensational murder trial, the victim, a pretty blonde affluent newlywed found shot in her Carnival Cruise stateroom. The crawl line at the bottom of the screen informed them that while the US preferred to exhaust all diplomatic channels, the European Union’s continuing strategy of denial and deception was wearing thin..
The Four Notes interrupted both stories, and the Breaking News graphic filled the screen. “CNN has just learned that President for Life Jeb Bush will make an unannounced address to the nation from the Oval Office.”
Rick turned the volume up, and he and Haley watched as Bush repeated after his earpiece the same thing about the EU, denial and deception, and announced that he had just signed an Executive Decree authorizing the Selection of GoodJobbers’ children aged eleven and over.
“In authorizing this unprecedented Selection,” the President for Life went on, “I am conscious of the brave sacrifices the nation now asks of both the young people and their parents, and as evidence of the transparency and honesty of our Democracy, I also acknowledge that there were those in the Cabinet who presented very sound arguments for lowering the Selection age to seven, but America is a nation that loves our children, they are our future, and we owe them a happy normal childhood.”
Haley recalled the blank eyes of her friend Anna’s son, a Selectee returned as Honorably Unusable. His burns and the loss of his legs had earned him Hero points good for three months’ worth of pain relievers. He had taken the last weeks’ worth at once, and cried when it didn’t work. The Motivational Supplements Centcom had given him during his Service had left him with a tolerance for drugs that would have been unusually high in a large adult man. Scotty was a little fellow, only fourteen. He had hung himself the next week. No one knew how he did it, or if he had had help, and no one asked. The nature of the duties assigned to Juvenile Selectees required the Motivational Supplements, even the ones who had been through the full Know the Enemy course. Selectees who survived Service were usually warehoused, permanent custodial care, even if they had all their limbs. “Permanent” in this case meant a year. Studies had shown that it took a year for the family to adjust, the visits to drop off, and the news that the Honorably Unusable had passed away peacefully came as a relief, more often than not.
“…the Highest Form of National Service,” Jeb finished, “in the words of my father’s worthy opponent in America’s second Fair and Free election, and what better gift can we give these young people, our future, than the privilege of that Service in the Liberation of Europe, the continent that gave us our past.”
Haley and Rick looked at each other. Finally Haley spoke.
“So,” she said, “Do you suppose they’ll be rounding up people with European appearance for Protective Detention?”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Defense Secretary William Boykin frowned. “Eleven?”
1550749595
“The President for Life, um, misspoke, sir,” Chief of Staff Rick Santorum looked uncomfortable. “The Selection applies to offspring of GuestJobbers, sir.. Not Goodjobbers. The media has already been alerted, and the correction is out now. If I may, sir,” and without waiting for an answer touched a switch on Boykin’s desk.
The screenbank came to life. Every screen had the correction in its crawl line.
Boykin sat back, relieved. “Ah, Mexican kids.”
“And only in support positions sir. Kitchen and whatnot.”
“Well that makes sense,” Boykin grinned. “In their blood, isn’t it?”
“Not that I object on the basis, but the logistics, you know, there are advantages to small troops in operations, but you can go too far in that direction, and what have you got? A C-130’s worth of Honorable Unusables every couple of hours, and DOV will raise a stink unless you bring back actual remains for a Christian burial.”
Although Boykin was a Man of Faith, his relationship with Secretary of Values The Reverend Jerry Falwell was not without friction. Both men attributed it to wartime tension.
Santorum, sensing his audience was over, collected his papers. Neither noticed the man with the cleaning cart outside the open door.
Roger pushed his cart down the hall and into the next office. Unlike Boykin’s, it was empty. In this administration, it was only the bigwigs – and Roger – who were still around at 4 AM.
Roger had avoided GoodJob status by virtue of his long-time Federal employment. He was grandfathered in as a Federal Protected, and even assigned a Preferred card, which carried with it the privilege of living off-compound. It did not, however, carry with it the privilege of an Approval Exemption for MariLuz, and he had had to throw himself on the mercy of his boss and a long chain of higher-ups to get an exemption for Chuchito. “Jesus Rogelio,” MariLuz had whispered to him, when their son was only a few minutes old. It seemed like another lifetime, but it was barely seven years ago. And barely three when they came for MariLuz.
“Approved,” they called it. Approved for the GuestJob program. GuestJobbers did not enjoy the same luxuries as the GoodJobbers. Instead of bunks, they had thin foam mats, 100 to a cell, one communal shower a week, and one Nutri-Loaf for every twelve hours worked. Hours were steady, 24 on, 8 off. There were no Vacation Hours. Phone calls, letters, visits, were forbidden, and no Family Hours. The silver lining was, unlike GoodJobbers, GuestJobbers actually received a small amount of cash for their work, which they could either deposit into a bank account to take care of their final expenses, or opt for General Disposal when that time came, and have the money sent directly to family back home.
GuestJobbers’ children were kept in cells identical to those inhabited by workers, the only difference being smaller mats for the younger children. Infants received formula for one year, then a gradual weaning to pureed, then solid Nutri-Loaf. At age five, they began their year of Intensive 3R, after which they were assigned cleanup and landscape tasks around the facility. Unless they were Selected, or Empowered as Givers. Few GuestJobbers voluntarily brought children with them. Almost all the kids in the facility were the result of Approval Roundups.
Roger’s job required very little thought, so he was able to spend every waking minute trying to figure out some way to get MariLuz out of the Approval Facility to which she had been assigned, and be a father to Chuchito, who still cried for his Mami at night.
He had a ray of hope. A lawyer, an old friend from Back Then, had found some text in a forgotten corner of Patriot IV that could possibly be interpreted as a provision for Compassionate Deportation.
Roger didn’t know much about subsistence farming, and had no illusions about the quality of life he was likely to find in the Mexican Semi-Autonomous region, where things were so bad people were streaming into the US to get jobs as GuestJobbers, but if men and women were not segregated at the Approval Facility, and he didn’t have Chuchito, he would gladly have claimed to be Mexican and Approved himself, just to be with his wife again.
The Reverend Jerry Falwell bowed his grey head. “Thank you, Lord, for blessing the work of this great Task Force, and thank you for the gift of this miracle of technology, thy Blessed Rod of the Latter Days.”
Falwell raised his head and smiled at the men at the conference table. Before him sat the newest revision of the Juvenile Tasering Guidelines prepared by the Task Force for Chastity and Godliness.
“Brethren, I commend you,” the Secretary of Values smiled. The Task Force was one of his favorite projects.
“I don’t mind telling you that I believe it is another Heavenly Sign that within the framework of the Constitution of the United States, remember, Congress has passed no law – that we have been able to bring so many souls to Christ.”
“Sir, you know there’s a new video -” began the man on Falwell’s right.
“Yes, Mr. Reed, I have heard about it, the CIA has not yet confirmed its authenticity, but in any event, it was to be expected. That the enemies of America, the messengers of Satan, attack our every move toward bringing our Homeland to the Path of Righteousness is no surprise.”
They were referring to a video received that morning by Al Jazeera, purportedly from the head of the European branch of Amnesty International. Now in its fourth year on the Pentagon’s list of terrorist organizations, AI did little, at least publicly, besides issue communiques delivered by men in ski masks. This particular videotape excoriated the US for the routine use of Tasers on children and elderly people.
“Nobody takes these thugs seriously. Except the Anti-Terrorism Agency,” Falwell chuckled.
“And our mortality rates in all tests were well within range,” replied Reed.
“Richard, here on earth, our mortality rate is one hundred percent,” Falwell rested his hands on the report. “I prefer to see the forgiveness of a loving God who rewards even these young sinners with Eternal Life. Now I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I’m ready to accept some of God’s bounty in the form of lunch!”
Haley was having a slow day. Buoyed by recent success, she had decided to try her luck on a new street. Apparently the Preferreds in this neighborhood were not interested either in reading or giving the impression that they did. She was just about to flip the tarp and move on when she saw the man and the little boy.
“Hey, is that what I think it is?” the man asked eagerly, pointing to a book whose cover was only partly visible behind some others.
Smiling, Haley took it out. “It’s new,” she said. “As you can see, most of them aren’t.”
“Chuchito, I think we’ve found your birthday present,” the man handed the book down to the little boy. “He had one, well, Back Then,” he said to Haley, his voice low. “It was his favorite.” He shrugged. “Weird kid.”
“DAD!” Chuchito shrieked, “This IS it!” He sat down on the sidewalk and began turning the pages. “There they are!” The blue people!” He looked up at Haley. “They are so cool!”
“Whoa, son,” laughed Roger. “We haven’t bought it yet. How much?” he looked at Haley, hoping he had enough money. No-Read books weren’t cheap, and this one was new, not to mention…
Haley noticed the embroidered nametag on Roger’s shirt. He might be a Preferred, but he was no professional, and if this was the kid’s favorite book, so much so that he remembered it from Back Then…
“Twenty bucks,” said Haley, grinning at Chuchito. “Birthday present.”
“Thanks, but I can’t let you do that,” Roger opened his wallet.
“You just did!” Haley’s hand darted out, grabbed a twenty, flipped down the pushcart’s plastic tarp, and was halfway down the block before Roger was quite sure what had happened.
“Thanks, Dad!,” breathed Chuchito, cross-legged on the sidewalk, happily re-acquainting himself with his Forbidden Book, “The Kid’s Guide to World Religions.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God’s wayward Children of Israel
“Now I won’t be offended if you don’t want to answer, but where do you get them?”
Haley grinned at Rick and dipped her roti in the small bowl of thick, creamy raita.
“You won’t believe it, but I scavenge them. You know, from houses, when people are Priced Out. They leave most of their stuff, it’s not like they can take it with them, whether they go Informal or GoodJob. I wait a few days, let whoever comes first get the other stuff, then I move in and get the books. I guess you could say I’m a bottom feeder.”
“So, these books people pay you hundreds of dollars for, those same people could just get them free if they went to an abandoned house?”
“YES!” Haley dissolved in giggles. “Is that a hoot, or what? And I only get those big sales once in a while, as you know all too well,” she gestured at her complimentary dinner.
“And sometimes you practically give them away.”
“Less often than sometimes. Like practically never. I can’t afford to. Haley helped herself to more roti. “I did today, though. It was, I dunno, this little kid, there was this book about different religions, written for children, and he was all, ohh, the blue people! I mean, what can you do?”
“You can eat this biryani,” said Rick. “Otherwise it’ll go to waste.”
Secretary Falwell did not like taking questions from the press. In fact, he abhorred it. So much so that lately he had begun to question the need for a press at all. He prayed about it often, asking God to lay a Word of Wisdom on his heart, that he could in turn lay on the desk of Vice President Emeritus Rove, at whose behest he was here today. Even if an argument could be made that the American public needed any more information than was disseminated by the White House press secretary, Falwell could find no justification at all for continuing to permit the existence of foreign media. As he had told Boykin the other day, allowing these hotbeds of anti-Americanism to have television stations and newspapers was technically speaking, giving aid and comfort to the enemy.
“I know we’ve had our differences, Jerry,” Boykin had said. “But I hope you know, I’m with you on this one. It’s a slow process, but we’ll get there.”
The process was too slow for Falwell. It had taken him almost two years to make the No-Read lists a reality. It could have gone a lot faster had Falwell not stood firm on the Books of Faith Whitelist.
The battle had been worth it, though. Now no book pertaining to religion could be printed, published or sold in the US or its Occupied Territories without first passing muster with Falwell himself.
“Congress shall pass no law,” he had begun his remarks at THAT press conference, “and Congress has passed no law. This does not however, give the government of the people license to shirk its duty to protect our Homeland from the Devil.
And as long as we allow our printing presses, our publishing houses, and our bookstores, to corrupt themselves and our blessed children with works of blasphemy, idolatry, and terror, we have shirked our duty.
Today, we ask God for forgiveness, and we ask you, the American people, for forgiveness, and pledge to you a New Leaf, a New Day in the Lord, as we cast this sin from us.”
Falwell’s Whitelist was not a long one, and it did not include the Koran, the Bhagvad-Gita, the Maharabata, the Granth, Bibles except the King James Version (that had caused the Vatican to break off diplomatic relations with the US, which Falwell considered they should never have had in the first place). He prayed hard over the touchy subject of Torah scrolls, until some Words of Wisdom had been laid upon his heart, and some Freewill Gifts had been laid upon his hand, the latter from some shadowy figures in the NSA that Falwell had not realized were interested in religion at all.
So the scrolls stayed, as did the synagogues, but stationed outside the door of each was a team from the Department of Values, who maintained a constant prayer vigil that God’s wayward Children of Israel would accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior, interrupted only for the purpose of giving witness to those entering or leaving the temple, and beseeching them to embrace their only path to salvation, be washed in the Blood of the Lamb.
Attendance had dropped rapidly and dramatically. Most Jews now worshipped discreetly in private homes, as did all Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Catholics, and everybody else. This was, of course, a privilege reserved for Preferreds. GoodJobbers and GuestJobbers were considered to be doing the Lord’s work of keeping the American economy strong every day without the need for formal worship, and Falwell doubted that Informals had any religion at all, and their precarious existence was punishment for it.
“So,” the lawyer held out both hands, palm up. “Good news and bad news.”
“Good news first,” said Roger, rubbing his own palms on his twill workpants, trying to dry them.
“Well, I was able to pull a few strings to get some info on MariLuz. Turns out her grandmother is an elder of sorts in a clan of the Tarasco tribe in Michoacan. That means, if we can get her out of Approval, and into Mexico, she has a home, and tribal custom says that as her family, so do you and Chuchito. Legally, it should be doable, as Compassionate Deportation, from Patriot IV, or from Native Repatriation, from Reservation Protection II. That’s the one that is typically used to root out Native Americans and transfer them to Reservations, but since Mexico is now only semi-autonomous, meaning it is technically under US jurisdiction, we can also argue that MariLuz has the option to waive Approval status and request Repatriation.”
“Great,” Roger felt a shiver of hope, but kept his emotions in check. “What’s the bad news?”
“The bad news,” replied Ben, “is that you’d be living in a mountain village so remote that almost no one there has ever seen a car. Only a handful of people speak Spanish, and those that do speak it as a distant second language. You’ll have to learn Tarasco. There is no electricity, no running water, no telephone, and you’ll live out your lives there living in a house made of sticks and leaves, maybe a little mud in winter, and you’ll survive on whatever you can scratch out by walking behind an ox and an iron plow.”
“with MariLuz and Chuchito?’
“Yes, all three of you.”
Roger grinned. “I thought you said there was BAD news. How soon can we go?”
~~~~~~~
Noushin scrubbed her wet clothes on the flat river stone, glancing occasionally at Sholeh and Sharuz, their wet, plump bodies glistening in the sun. Noushin wasn’t worried about the twins, the water was shallow, the sun was warm, and there was no one about to complain about their nakedness. She was a bit concerned, however, about Niki, the goat, who did not seem pleased at being dressed in Sholeh’s best clothes. “Tuck it up higher,” she called to them. “She might trip.”
At sixteen, Noushin had little patience for overbearing busybodies, and her widowed status brought some measure of independence as a compensation for the poverty.
Although she could not say that she had come to love Akbar in the few weeks of their married life, her grief when he was killed in the massive air strikes of ’05 was sincere. He died without knowing the secret she herself scarcely knew or comprehended. The twins were born a month to the day before her fourteenth birthday, and Noushin was not sure if the backbreaking, assiduous struggle to care for them, and keep them alive and healthy, was motivated by true maternal love or the simple desire to have playmates again.
According to the customs in her remote village, technically in Iran, some said, though so close to the Afghan border that the topic was a frequent subject of the kind of lively debate occasioned by a question of local interest whose answer makes absolutely no difference to local life, she should have stayed with Akbar’s family and raised her children with the help and interference of dozens of in-laws, but Akbar was the only son, his mother had died when he was born, and his sisters had spread out across the globe, married with families of their own.
She could have gone with her father-in-law to live with his youngest daughter in Turkmenistan, but the ravages of war, and the question of whether an aged blind man would count as a valid chaperone for several days’ journey in the company of the sisters’ husband and the half-dozen Turkmen brothers and cousins he had brought with him rendered the invitation lukewarm, and her politely regretful decline of it less of a scandal than her acceptance would have been.
So she stayed in her little mud-walled enclosure, barely more than a cave, and managed to provide enough basic care, and avoid enough social opprobrium, to at last have her longed-for playmates, though she had little time to play with them, she made a face at the pile of clothes still unwashed. She wanted to dress up the goat, too.
****
Boykin motioned to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Ricardo Sanchez to sit down. Although he admired Sanchez’ steadfastness in the wake of the media frenzy over the souvenir photos that had found their way into the media Back Then, he was not comfortable with the man’s ethnicity. Still, he had to admit that Sanchez had pulled his weight in containing the situation, and privately, had accepted full responsibility for his error in failing to implement a strict camera ban. In fairness, though, Boykin reflected, the real heroes in that incident were the American people, who reaffirmed his faith in them by accepting the photos as what they were: American soldiers just wanting to show the folks back home that they could do their jobs defending freedom and have a little fun at the same time, that life in theatre wasn’t all about sweltering behind shitty buildings and getting your legs blown off by improvised explosive devices. It was generally conceded that overall, the photos had boosted morale at home, as well as on the battlefield. Boykin chuckled to himself. Five years later, and all the new recruits and Selectees alike STILL wanted to work the Ghraib.
“So, tell me how this works, exactly.”
“The Citizen Defenders Program, sir,” is the kind of innovative, outside the box pro-active strategy that the nation needs to win the War on Terror,” Sanchez began.
Boykin waved his hand impatiently. “Don’t recite the press release to me, Rico-Suave. Just tell me how the damn thing works.”
“Yes, sir. A company in Texas has developed a highly sophisticated and adaptable system of remote weapons activation, which the Core of Engineers has reconfigured and customized to dovetail with current operational needs in critical corridor sectors.”
“Damn it, boy! I said don’t read me the press release. Tell me in English. You were born here, weren’t you. Don’t tell me you don’t speak English.”
“It’s like an online computer game, sir. The Citizen Defender, stateside, clicks his mouse, and destroys whatever target we assign him, wherever on earth it is, sir.”
“And how much will this cost us to set up?”
“A lot, sir. But the Citizen Defenders pay to play. The program will pay for itself and then some, within the year. We have already have paid applications from almost every Professional and Preferred adult in the country, and about 80% of the minors.”
Boykin threw back his head and laughed. “God bless the Resolve and Patriotism of the American people, Sanchez. Put your faith in them and you can’t go wrong. How soon can we have this thing up and running?”
~~~~~`
Without the Jews, we have no Rapture
“Haley, why do you do this to yourself?”
The OutReach worker shook her head.
“Just look at yourself. Do you know you’re old enough to be my mom? And what do you have to show for it? You weren’t even a Professional Back Then, were you? You were a hippie. You know that’s enough to get you Detained, right there. You don’t even wear a yellow ribbon. Or a flag. I don’t see how you have managed to keep out of Detention as long as you have.”
Haley looked the young woman up and down.
“I’m sure you have TIPS on your speed dial,” she said. “Why don’t you call them?”
MaryBeth sat down on the crate that served Haley as occasional chair.
“Don’t think that’s not a question I haven’t asked myself. I guess it’s just that I hate to see you just let your whole life go by without having it mean anything at all. If you got a GoodJob, you could be making a contribution, helping the economy, you could be part of the War on Terror. Don’t you ever think about that? The things everybody wants and you just let the opportunity go.”
“I would help the economy more as a Detainee.” Haley poured tea from a thermos into a paper cup for her guest. “The per capita cost of Detention is about twice the net profit from GoodJob labor.”
“Huh?” MaryBeth wrinkled her nose, both at the tea and Haley’s annoying habit of saying things that made no sense. “per capital? Is that English? I can’t believe you would just sit here in an American storage shed, with an American Outreach Worker, and just thumb your nose at the English for America Act. Please tell me you didn’t just do that”
“I think certain Latin phrases were grandfathered in.”
“So you WERE speaking a foreign language!”
Haley stifled a yawn. It had been a rough day. SafetyCleans all over the place, apparently there was some big event tomorrow.
“Listen, MaryBeth. I appreciate your concern. I really do, and I will look at the new brochures, and think it over, and I promise, cross my heart, that if I decide to work for OneBanc, it will be you I will call first, and you who will get whatever Hero points can be gotten.”
“Really?” MaryBeth’s face was wreathed in smiles. “I would really appreciate that, Haley. You know if I get just 30 more points I’ll be up for a Gold Yellow Ribbon! Well, you can choose between that and an Internet Access pass, but nobody does. How would THAT look? And right after you just got Hero Points, too.”
MaryBeth laid out the OneBanc brochures carefully on Haley’s bed.
“Thanks for the tea. I know you will make the right decision, Haley. I just know it. You don’t really hate America.”
**
“It’s really simple, Reverend Secretary.” Ralph Reed brushed an imaginary speck off his Armani sleeve. “Without the Jews, we have no Rapture. I would think you, of all people, would understand that.”
Falwell pursed his lips. Rove had just told him essentially the same thing, although the Vice President Emeritus had used a lot more words to do it.
“Ralph, believe me, I am not suggesting that we not HAVE the Jews, at least not in the same way that we no longer have the Muslims, Praise God. But I do not agree, and I have been very frank about this to Mr. Rove and now to you, I do not see why we have to have them so visible.”
“And I am sure that Mr. Rove explained to you, Reverend Secretary. Morale. Incentive. Motivation. People need to SEE the Signs. Jews are a Sign.”
“No, they are not a Sign!” Falwell was losing patience. “They are nothing but Unsaved, Ungodly, HEATHENS who walk openly on the streets, even appear on TELEVISION, for crying out loud, and set a bad example for Christian Youth.”
“The people see them as a Sign, sir. They need to see them, just like they need to see the Insurgents on TV. They need to see the Enemy at home and Abroad. It is a constant reminder to them, not only to be Vigilant, but of WHY they are being Vigilant. They need them to Witness to.”
“They could be Witnessed to, and seen, in a Protective Facility, Richard. We have teams in all of them. There are Christians whose every waking moment is spent in intensive Witness to Muslims and Hindus in those things. But it’s a moot point. Rove agrees with you, and he is the boss. At least here on earth.” Falwell allowed himself a small chuckle.
At least he had won out on the public display of Hanukah parephenalia, even if he had had to get a little apoplectic to do it. “We CANNOT allow GRAVEN IMAGES on the streets of Christian America!” he had shouted. He thought it had frightened Rove a little. Good. Sometimes Rove needed a little reminder of the high standards that a Man of Faith should maintain.
“One more thing, sir.” Reed handed Falwell a manila folder. “Some suggested talking points for tomorrow. Boykin wants you to make a few remarks on the Faith-Based Nature of the Citizen Defenders Program.”
“Good, good,” Falwell peered into the folder. “Tell him to get that Marine Band. Have them rehearse “Onward Christian Soldiers” and let’s see if we can’t get the lyrics on a big screen. Have a sing-along going on during the actual launch.”
~~~~~~~~~
Welcome America’s very first Citizen Defender
“Ms. Hughes, this is, um,” The nervous aide checked his notes. “Matthew.”
“Hi, Matthew! My name’s Karen. This is a pretty big day for you, huh? I bet you’re excited about being on TV!”
“I’m going to be on TV!” Matthew yelled, spinning in his swivel chair.
“Matthew!” admonished his mother. “That’s not how we behave!”
“Kids are kids,” Hughes smiled. “He’ll do great. He’s just perfect!”
“They’re almost ready for him, ma’am,” the aide’s Adam’s apple twitched.
“Secretary Reverend Fallwell is finishing up.”
*******
To say that Daniel Pipes felt constrained would be an understatement. Since his appointment as Homeland Security Secretary, he had found himself hemmed in at every turn.
His Protocols for a New America had gotten rave reviews at the Pentagon. Rove called it one of the most compelling post-911 documents to date, but getting it implemented was like pulling teeth.
“We have to pace ourselves, Dan,” the Vice President Emeritus had told him. “Look how far we’ve come in less than a decade. Besides, I have some ideas about one of your Protocols. I like the savings figures you projected on the Transition to General Disposal for the High Risk Detainee population. It’s a labor-intensive, high-cost operation. I’m thinking that we can go beyond savings, actually make it a source of revenue.”
Pipes frowned. “Private sponsorship? But who would – “
“Nope,” smiled Rove. “Empower them as Givers.”
Pipes tried to suppress an involuntary shudder.
“Mr. Vice President, do you think the market – “
“Would want Arab organs?” Rove chuckled. “Not if they are presented as such, of course not. But clients don’t ask things like that.”
Individuals selected as living organ banks were officially called “Givers.” Though neither they nor their survivors received any compensation, recipients paid a hefty fee to Schering-Bayer-Pfizer, as well as to both surgeons.
The Givers program was, according to the White House, compassionate conservatism at its best. “No longer will any individual be obliged to be a burden to the State,” the statement read. “Every American, no matter what his circumstances, can make a significant and unique contribution to our great economy, and help his fellow man at the same time. America is still and always will be the Land of Opportunity.”
“With all respect, Mr. Vice President Emeritus,” Pipes chose his words carefully. “To be a Chosen as a Giver is a privilege…”
Rove smiled. “Indeed it is, Dan. And America does not withhold privileges on the basis of religion or ethnicity.”
******
Roger didn’t get too many days off, and he didn’t want to waste a minute of this one. Whatever Big Event was going on, they didn’t want cleaning people around, they were emptying out every building. Security, they said. Roger could care less. “Wake up, you lazy penguin,” he tickled his son awake.
“Are we going on an adventure?” Chuchito rubbed his eyes and reached for his sneakers. “Not with dirty teeth,” Roger pushed his son toward the bathroom.
An adventure meant getting on a bus and going somewhere in the city they knew nothing about, just to see what and who was there. Most Preferreds would consider this both dangerous and foolish, but Roger was not a Suit. He did not come from Suit stock, and Chuchito made friends wherever he went. Roger had never met an ethnic or economic group that did not have something good to eat or an interesting story to offer him and his little boy, and if they got lucky, both.
Today Roger decided they would check out the street the book lady had told them about, with the little food stand. He needed distraction more than Chuchito, just so he wouldn’t call his lawyer every five minutes.
******
“And so, my American brothers and sisters, thanks to this wondrous gift, and to your Blessed Resolve, the hard work of the War on Terror is about to get a little easier – and to give you an idea of just how easy, I’d like to introduce you to a young friend of mine who is taking his place in history today – Brothers and sisters, please welcome America’s very first Citizen Defender – Matthew Connor!”
Falwell stepped away from the podium, microphone in hand.
“Your parents gave you a good name, Matthew. That’s a name from the Bible. How old are you, Matthew?”
“Eight”
“And you like to play the computer games, you must be pretty good.”
“Matthew stared at the mike, nodding vigorously. Falwell chuckled.
“Well, Matthew, you know you don’t have to be a long-winded preacher like me to play computer games or to help America win the War on Terror. Now you just sit down here. You’re the expert, not me, I never have understood the computers much, just too old, I guess.” Falwell paused to allow the audience to applaud politely at what tomorrow’s papers would call a quip.
“Now General Graner taught you how to play, didn’t he? What was that like, learning a new game from a real live Abu Ghraib hero?”
Matthew shrugged. “It’s not a very hard game.”
“Well, folks, you hear that. Out of the mouths of babes. All right, Matthew, let’s show America what you and General Graner have been working on. Why don’t you tell all the boys and girls watching at home how to play.”
“Um, well, you click start, see? and in a minute a little red dot – there it is – ok, it’s going to get bigger, wait till it’s as big as a dime, and then you put your mouse on it and click – and see, the little red thing blows up.”
Matthew grinned and reached for the microphone.
“I just killed a bad guy! I just killed a terr’ist!”
The audience rose to its feet, applauding. “Matthew! Matthew!”
Matthew jumped up and down. “Yeah!”
Falwell beamed, let the applause continue for a minute, then closed his eyes, held up his hand. His other hand dropped to Matthew’s head.
“Brothers and Sisters, let us pray. Heavenly Father, we thank you today for Matthew, our little Citizen Defender, we thank you for the gift of this technology. In the Bible we read that a little child shall lead them, and we thank you for….”
******
“Sholeh, Niki can’t carry you and pull the clothes too,” Noushin tied one more knot in the bundle and wedged it into the rickety cart. Niki shot her a baleful look, twitched her tail. “Lazy thing, it’s just clothes,” Noushin laughed, rubbed the goat’s ears, and scooping up Sholeh, ran back to the bank for one last splash before heading home.
Sharuz placed a baby turtle carefully on his sister’s head. “Turtle hat!” he shrieked. Sholeh lay down in the shallow water and watched the bewildered turtle paddle away. “Turtle hat wants to swim!” she announced. “And so do I.”
“Next time,” Noushin gathered up the wriggling twins. “Time to go home now. “Turtle hat will still be here.”
The road home was really more of a path. The “good” road, though not paved, was wider and smoother, and had served the little village for more centuries than anyone could count, but it was full of landmines now, and such a frequent recipient of US bombing raids that there was not one family in the village who did not have at least one grave to tend.
Although they had been told to walk, the twins’ preferred method of locomotion, when Niki was otherwise engaged, consisted of a few hops followed by falling to the ground and rolling over and over while tickling each other mercilessly.
Noushin shook her head. Half the day at the river, they were so clean, and here she would bring them home for all the neighbors to see, literally rolled in dirt. At least it won’t be a shock, she thought. This happened every time she did the family wash.
Now they came running up to her, tugging at her skirts. “We want bread and honey when we get home!” Noushin smiled at them, “Bath first.”
The flash, the blast, came without warning, but her mother’s instinct extended her arms to her children before she could even think. And arms, twins, clothes and goat exploded into a red mist, her scream still hanging in the air.
****
“It was a very successful launch. Our target was a known terrorist command and control center in the north of Iran. An area where Americans have taken some return fire more than once. I guess you could call it a rat’s nest. But today, thanks to little Matthew, it’s insurgent-free. It’s safe for Americans. Little Matthew saved some American lives today, and now as Citizen Defenders, every American can do the same. We are very excited about this program, and thank you, Larry, for having me here tonight”
“It’s an honor and a privilege to have you here, Sir. Mr. Chairman, Mr. Chief, General Chief. How should we address you General Sanchez?”
“Larry, you can call me Rick. And I just want to say, before we go on, that in just the few hours that the Citizen Defender Program has been operational, we now have over 7 million homes online, that participated in our advance enrollment, and almost 40 million in the pipeline.”
“40 million?” King sat up. “Now that is – well, that is simply amazing. That is – well, that is like effectively increasing our armed forces by 40 million, is it not, General?”
“It certainly is, Larry. And I think another reason the program is so popular, it’s something that families can do together. A lot of times nowadays parents don’t have as much time as they’d like to spend with their kids, and here is a way to spend quality family time, and also protect our American way of life.”
“And I believe we have an 800 number, and a website? Where people who haven’t signed up yet can be a part of this, can become Citizen Defenders? Producers, can we get that number up on the screen?”
****
The shy-looking man and his irrepressible little boy reminded Rick of another time, another place, another chatty little boy out for a treat with his dad.
“I can read!” Chuchito called out to him. “See my book?”
Against his better judgment, Roger had let Chuchito bring the Kids Guide to World Religions along so he wouldn’t be bored on the long subway ride to the bus stop. It had not occurred to him that Chuchito would call attention to the illegal book in a public place. He looked around nervously. Luckily, it was still early. They were the only customers.
Rick did not seem alarmed. “Good for you!” he said. “That’s a very nice book.” To demonstrate his prowess, Chuchito read a few sentences from his favorite section – Hinduism. “It doesn’t say why the people are blue, though”
“The people who live there aren’t really blue.” Rick laughed. “But you are a very good reader!”
Chuchito looked disappointed. “The gods and goddesses are blue,” Rick added quickly. “They are blue to represent how God is so big he is not only the earth, but the sky and the ocean.”
“Can you tell me about Krishna? The book doesn’t really have it all.”
Rick smiled. Who better than a good Muslim from Lahore who claimed to be Swiss to tell a little Mexican boy about Krishna? Some things about America not even Washington could change. He poured some tea and sat down next to Chuchito.
“Once upon a time, in a far-away land called Mathura, there was a bad, evil king named Kamsa…”
******
Time to move, Haley thought, completing her morning ritual of brushing her teeth and bemoaning her nose. She didn’t feel comfortable having MaryBeth know where she lived any more, and she’d been here six months. That was a pretty long time for an Informal to stay in one place anyway. And the murmurs of an impending crackdown on Informals showed signs of eclipsing the nose question.
“Those who choose to live outside the norms of society, those who reject our American way of life, at the same time that they benefit from the use of our streets, they don’t reject our dollars when they have something to sell you, now do they?” Homeland Intelligence Czar Zell Miller had a three point plan: Round em up, and bring em to General Detention. The third point of his plan involved phasing out the term “Informal.”
“It’s deceptive,” he said. “It’s an innocent sounding name for people who are anything but innocent. They are a threat to everything that as Americans, we hold dear. Calling them Informals gives loyal, hard-working Americans a false sense of security. That’s a raw deal.”
Miller recommended using the term “Persons of Interest.”
~~~~~~~~
The Department of Chastity and Doctrine
General Boykin was not a happy man. Despite its overwhelming popularity, the Citizen Defender program was not living up to expectations in the field.
“I want some answers, men.” The General held up a spiral-bound report. “According to this, we’ve got almost 100% participation among Preferred households with Internet Access cards, including those who requested, and received, cards just so they could be part of CD. That’s over 50 million households, that’s I don’t know how many million targets – it says somewhere in here – fired on every day for 90 days. Now you tell me how come we don’t have a depopulated and secured region.”
Rick Sanchez took a deep breath. “Well, sir, there are several factors. One, the one we believe is responsible for the majority of failed hits, is insurgent sabotage of the remote sensors. And jamming of the GPS signals.”
“How the hell are they able to do that?” Boykin demanded.
“Sir, our intelligence indicates that the enemy is employing a number of strategies,” General Graner opened a folder. “One that we didn’t anticipate is the use of decoys specifically designed to foil the heat-sensitive sensors.”
“What kind of decoys?”
“Heated scrap metal sir, bricks, also heated. On some occasions it appears the enemy has used bread.”
“Bread? BREAD?” Boykin’s face was almost purple.
“Are you telling me that we have spent billions of dollars, and given the American people to believe that they are eliminating terrorists, so that the US armed forces can blow up loaves of bread?”
“Well, not exclusively bread, sir. Sometimes bricks…”
The problem lay, at least partly, with the technology itself. The sensors could not be completely hidden from view, or they would not be able to receive or transmit signals. Within a few days of the launch, over 80% of the sensors had been damaged or destroyed. Repair teams could not keep up. It took one person only a few seconds to render a sensor useless, and it took two men at least half a day to repair or replace and test one.
“And how the hell do they get the bread or the bricks or whatever the hell they put in there without triggering the sensor?”
Sanchez squirmed in his chair. “Um, catapults, sir.”
“Catapults? What the hell, catapults? They think this is the Dark Ages?”
“Um, well, they’re a primitive people, sir.”
“And foreign fighters, sir.” Graner was worried that Boykin would have a cardiovascular incident. Maybe if he could change the focus from bread and catapults…
“The information we’re getting from the theatre is that in recent weeks, over 95% of Indonesian support personnel have deserted their posts within 24 hours of arrival, and there are credible reports that they have joined the insurgency.”
“Or been kidnapped by insurgents and forced to fight, ” he added, noticing that this information did not seem to be calming his commanding officer down.
“And just how many Indonesian support personnel are we talking about, General?”
“We think no more than 14 million, sir. Over a period of 12 or more weeks.”
******
President for Life Jeb Bush did not enjoy cabinet meetings. Though not a brilliant man, he had no illusions about the nature of his position, and was acutely aware that his cabinet had none. Their false deference to him was embarrassing. Everybody knew that he was window dressing, with about as much real political influence as senile old Queen Liz. He just wanted to get the damn thing over with and get back to his yacht, where, his personal assistant had informed him, some very nice merchandise awaited him. General Detention had some good product. Fresh, clean, new in box, the way Jeb liked it.
“Secretary Miller, while I completely agree with you that the problem of Informals must be addressed, surely you must be aware that at this time we simply do not have the resources to apprehend over a hundred million individuals, even for a direct transfer to General Disposal.”
“Mr. vice President, I do not feel it is a problem we can afford to ignore any longer.”
“Then let me see a plan, Mr. Secretary. Show me how you intend to fund it, and staff it, and get back to me. Meanwhile, what I will do is instruct the news media to refer to them as Persons of Interest. That’s a sound idea, doable, and will help us out a lot down the road when we do have the wherewithal to move.”
Miller sat back, silent, the tips of his ears a bright pink.
Secretary of Values Reverend Jerry Falwell cleared his throat to break the awkward silence. “Mr. Vice President Emeritus, I see you have a copy of my proposal – “
Rove nodded. “Oh yes, the Department of Chastity and Doctrine. You were thinking of this as a new cabinet post?”
“Sub-cabinet, sir. Such a department would fall under the broader umbrella of Values, thereby maintaining the constitutional mandate of separation of church and state. Congress shall pass no law…”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Rove waved his hand impatiently. “Do you have a candidate in mind?”
“Why yes, Mr. Vice President Emeritus, I do. An old colleague of mine, extremely well qualified. In fact, I have taken the liberty of sounding him out on the idea, very indirectly and discreetly of course, and I believe I can say that he will be proud to serve, his life has been one of service, to the Lord, to his country – “
“Name?” Rove sneaked a glance at his watch. It had been a long week, and he was looking forward to a little downtime with Jeb, on the yacht.
“I was thinking of my good friend Dr. Pat Robertson,” Falwell smiled round the table. I believe he is already well known to all of you.”
******
Ben Silverman looked at the wrinkled little snapshot. She was not what Ben would call a babe. Plain, really, but to his client, this was the most beautiful woman on earth. Ben put the photo back into his inside pocket and ordered his coffee.
“No dairy, right?” the teenaged boy smirked at him.
“No dairy!” declared Ben. Funny how a few weeks ago that had felt like an Act of Resistance somehow. Working on Roger’s case was working on his head. For the first time in his privileged, Preferred life, he felt like he was doing something worthwhile. A couple of times he had been surprised to find himself wondering what it would be like, to love someone, someone with zero babe points, so much that you would spend your last dime for the chance to spend the rest of your life walking behind an ox and living in a grass hut, just so you could be with her.
Ben punched Roger’s number into his cell phone. “We’re getting closer. Got some papers for you to sign.”
********
The Restoration of Democracy Act of 2005, said the official press release on the subject, “protects America two ways: One, by eliminating needless spending. Americans do not want to spend their money on politicians, they want to spend their money keeping America safe. And it gives our legislative branch a long-overdue update, bringing it in line with the nations post-911 needs.”
There was no doubt that streamlining the 535-member bicameral body into the ten-member Congress Committee had saved billions of dollars annually, or if it had not technically saved them, it had definitely redirected them to the war effort.
The identities of the Committee’s members, like most of the laws they passed, were secret, for reasons of national security, but it was widely believed, and correctly so, that the Committee consisted of the Cabinet.
Pat Robertson was both proud and humbled to be allowed the privilege to serve in both capacities, and on the day the Committee voted unanimously to ratify the Chastity Amendment to the Constitution, Robertson felt that if God called him home in that moment, he could go serene in the knowledge that he had served his nation and served it well, without regrets of anything left undone.
Falwell shared his joy. Smiling at the little group at the round table, his eyes twinkled. “You know I’m gonna say it,” he began. “Congress has passed no law…”
He lowered his voice, his expression serious again.”And I do not believe that there are any who will suggest that our Founding Fathers, the framers of our blessed constitution, carried in their hearts the intention that our sisters, our wives and daughters, should be UN-chaste.”
Technically, the Chastity Amendment applied to both males and females, but only unmarried females would be subject to mandatory virginity tests, while males would merely be required to sign an affidavit. When questioned about this discrepancy by a free-lance journalist from Denmark, Falwell answered with a stony look that “it was thus that the Lord hath ordained.” Later that day, the Danish ambassador was summoned to Washington to receive a formal demand that the journalist be voluntarily waived over the US jurisdiction for indefinite detention. Failure to do so, the ambassador was informed, would leave the United States no other choice but to assume that it was the official policy of the Danish government to challenge the sovereignty of the United States, and appropriate steps would be taken, with military action not ruled out. Before night fell in the nation’s capital, the journalist was hooded, shackled, and bolted to the floor in Special Detention Camp Six, whose location was officially undisclosed but unofficially known to be about an hour from Pittsburgh.
The initial reconnaissance flights over Paris as Operation European Freedom grew nearer had made the campaign very real to Denmark. Nor could Denmark deny US intelligence reports that indicated the reporter had links to the International Red Cross, listed as a terrorist organization since 2006. She had sat on the board of directors of the Copenhagen chapter.
******
Education Secretary Bob Jones III re-read the letter, trying to decide whether and how to respond. It was from an old friend, even more significantly, a wealthy and generous alumnus of the institution his grandfather had founded, and to which he was still connected, both emotionally and officially, despite his having had to resign from the Presidency in order to serve in the Cabinet.
Edwin Ivey’s daughter Melissa had failed the virginity test that since the passage of the Chastity Act, was now mandatory in all schools.
Ivey cited a history of medical findings from a variety of standard reference works that agreed that hymeneal tissue could be compromised as the result of using internal sanitary protection, as well as participation in certain sports, including gymnastics and equestrian activities, among others, even if the young woman had not been sexually active.
“Melissa,” the letter went on, “turned eleven last month, and has scarcely been out of the sight of either her mother or me since the day she was born. The idea that she has been involved in sexual activity is preposterous, and to subject an innocent child of Preferred status to brutal Taser torture is not only barbaric, it is un- American.”
There was, in fact, quite a flurry of activity going on in his office, in cooperation with the Departments of Values and Chastity and Doctrine, on this very subject. Not Melissa specifically, but the idea of subjecting Preferreds to Tasering was controversial. By unwritten agreement, even before the Chastity Amendment, Preferreds who stepped outside the law were fined, or occasionally given community service sentences, the old fashioned kind that involved picking up trash or mopping emergency room floors. This had the strength of tradition, those who contributed more to the economy had always been allowed a little leeway when they needed it, and it went a long way toward maintaining support for rigorous measures as needed against non-Preferreds, thus keeping Taser sales strong.
Calling the law barbaric and un-American, however, was a violation Patriot IV. That, decided Jones, bumped the whole thing above his pay grade. He pushed a button on his phone. “Get me Secretary Reverend Falwell.”
******
Haley was relieved that the plan to round up Persons of Interest (previously known as Informals) had apparently been scrapped. “How would they do it?” asked Rick. “with what army that’s not already off occupying one country or another?”
“Still,” insisted Haley. “It’s time for me to move.” MaryBeth had been back again, this time trying to persuade Haley that if she was really so dead-set against a GoodJob, to consider applying for a Personal Sponsorship. MaryBeth knew some people who might be interested, even though Haley was older than most applicants.
Personal Sponsorship meant that any Preferred with a certain income level could pay a fixed fee to the Office of Homeland Security, and receive any General Detainee, GuestJobber, or Person of Interest as Special Category Taxable Property. The individual would them become the private property of the sponsor, with no use or disposal restrictions, however the sponsor would be held financially and legally liable for any act committed by the Special Category Taxable, or “scat” as they were commonly called.
General principle aside, Haley had no desire to become a scat. She was quite aware of what happened to them, more often than not, although CNN and its fellow networks frequently ran heartwarming feature stories about down on their luck people who had been lucky enough to get Sponsors and now worked only eight hours a day in luxurious homes, ate good food every day, had their own private rooms and baths, and had become born-again Christians into the bargain.
“How about those apartments over by the river?” Rick suggested. “They’ve been vacant for a few months, but construction won’t start for almost a year.” The crew chief of the company that got the contract was a customer of Rick’s, but wouldn’t be
That is a heck of a long story, I’ll try to read more of it later but my eyes are going out right now.
Is this to be a short story, or book length and what is the centerpiece of it, I guess I want to say, I read a little but not all, is this a mystery???
That is probably the best way to get answers to your questions, since answers might be different for different people.
a paying customer for much longer, he had said, unless he got a good steady gig to bridge the gap between now and converting those apartments to offices.
“Worth a look.” Haley sipped her tea. “Sounds better than the storage container. I’d be movin’ on up to the big time.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rick offered. “Hey, by the way, I think a customer of yours came in here a couple of weeks ago. Guy with glasses? Has a little boy?”
“Hmm, maybe,” Haley was wondering if by any chance, the water might still be connected in the apartments. Sometimes they forgot.. “Oh, yeah! the one I almost gave the kid’s book to for free!”
Rick nodded. “Yeah, he was reading it in here.”
Haley frowned. “That’s not cool. I mean – in here, sure, but his dad really shouldn’t encourage him to carry books around in public.”
“And I told him as much,” Rick wiped down the counter and reached for his jacket. “But I think they are going to be leaving the country soon, anyway. He was kind of vague. Now let’s go take a look at your new home – maybe.”
****
“Brother Robert,” Falwell took Jones’ outstretched hand, but instead of shaking it, clasped it between his own. “The Lord is not a respecter of persons, and he is not a respect of the agents of unchasteness. Satan assumes many forms, and we are not here to debate the means of the girl’s sin, whether it be by foreign object, man, or beast. It is our duty to love the sinner enough to punish the sin, and help the lost lamb back to the fold.”
Falwell released Jones’ hand and bowed his head. “Let us have a word of prayer.”
****
“So what happens now?” Roger put the pen down. He was not used to writing so much, even his name, and he had signed so many documents his hand was cramping.
“Now I fax these in,” Ben handed the stack of papers to his paralegal. Actually, Peggy faxes these in,” he smiled at the young woman. “That gets the ball rolling. Then I FedEX the hard copies over, in a few days they’ll send us, well, another stack of papers.”
“But those you won’t have to sign,” he added, seeing the dismay on Roger’s face. Ben paused. This was fun.
“Those you put in a folder with your passport and take with you to the airport. Those papers will include one-way tickets for you and Chuchito to Morelia. From there you’ll get a bus or a buggy or whatever they have down there to the village I’m not even going to try to pronounce. Everything you need will be in the packet, and the authorities in Morelia will know who you are and give you any help you need with transportation.”
“And MariLuz?”
Ben grinned. This was REALLY fun.
“She’ll be at the gate, waiting for you. You’ll fly to Morelia together, all 3 of you.”
Roger closed his eyes, took deep breaths. He would not, would NOT let himself get carried away yet. He needed to see those tickets, hold them in his hand. And he needed to see MariLuz there in the airport, sitting on an ugly plastic chair, waiting to take him home.
“Thanks, Ben,” Roger breathed.
“It’s my pleasure,” said Ben. To his surprise, he really meant it.
*
*****
“It’s a nice area,” Rick gestured toward the little park. “Just one checkpoint in and out, and there’s a shortcut around that.”
The water was still connected, Haley was pleased to note. “And I think we can keep it that way,” Rick winked. Being generous with one’s biryani here and there had its rewards. The water bureau had to hire Persons of Interest sometimes. There were just not that many blue collar Preferreds, and one of the regulars was one of Rick’s regulars, in times of water bureau contracts and in between as well.
Haley looked around. The place was pretty clean, a little dusty from disuse, but no real dirt or what she called “demolition chunks.” And as Rick had promised, demolition had not begun. The apartments were indeed, just sitting there, waiting for occupants.
Best of all, it was free. No rent to pay till the crews came in, ten months from now, almost a year. If she was really careful, and cut down on food and batteries, she could save, maybe enough for a seat in a van to Mexico and a new nose….
~~~~~~“
As chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, it was Ann Coulter’s job to keep the media on Message. Thanks to the Media Responsibility Act of 2006, this was not a problem. Every licensed news organization received a daily memo from Washington, containing a list of the day’s news stories, a statement from the White House or other relevant department relating to each story, and a corresponding list of guidelines, suggested tie-ins, and a longer list of topics that were under cover ban. A network, newspaper, or broadcast station either played it by the memo, or they didn’t. If they didn’t, they lost their license.
Thus, her meeting today with MSNBC’s Programming Director was quite unusual.
Ann cut directly to the chase.
“OK, Sid, just tell me how it happened.”
Rosenthal sighed. “It was a new guy on the mike. He’s gone. And yes, I already made a full report to Homeland Security. He was apprehended, and he’s in custody.”
“Right, but let me ask you again, Sid. How did it happen?”
“Ann, I don’t think he was even listening.”
“Well, we both better hope that’s the case. Because if HSA finds out he has Links, we need to be ready with a complete timeline, beginning with his first contact with the network. Who hired him anyway?”
“I’ll find out, and I’ll have that timeline on your desk in 48 hours.”
The incident occurred during a popular morning show, hosted by network star Don Imus. The topic was the Melissa Ivey case, and during the viewer call-in segment of the show, a rogue caller had been allowed to go on for several seconds inciting terror.
No one should allow their daughters to be tasered, he said, in fact, no one should allow their daughters to be tested, and if the American people were ever going to grow balls and take their country back, being ordered by Washington to submit their daughters to strangers poking around their vaginas, and subsequently torturing them with Tasers was a damn good reason to hit the streets.
Imus let the young man have it, denouncing him as a terrorist and an idiot one, at that, and on the air, ordered the switchboard to trace the call and alert the authorities immediately. Off camera, he had demanded, in a much louder voice, to know who the hell had left that dirtbag’s mike on.
There was no denying that Melissa’s case had captured the public’s attention, sparking lively debates around water coolers, dinner tables, and media discussion panels all over the nation, not to mention Sunday sermons.
Chastity and Doctrine Secretary Pat Robertson had put aside his momentary annoyance that Jones had called Falwell first, and risen to the occasion, preparing a comprehensive KODS (Keeping Our Daughters Safe) Testing Information Pak for schools and parents, and was currently directing production of a six part TV series that complemented the KODS Infopak, and went more in depth on the importance of Christian Punishment as the most effective Chastity Enforcement Strategy.
With Ivey and his family detained on charges of Violation of the Patriot Act, parents and educators with “questions” about the program were very careful in their phrasing. The position most popular with the “left” was that making an exception for judicial punishment of a rich man’s child was exactly the kind of thing they had been fighting against all these years, and Washington’s firm opposition to such an exception was a welcome sign that the administration was reaching out and seeking unity.
*
******
“Time for bed, penguin head.” Roger had let Chuchito stay up surfing the net scandalously late. Watching his son, it hit him like an anvil to the head in an old cartoon. He was taking Chuchito to a place where not only was there no internet, there were no books. Not even the limited supply permitted in the US. No books at all. No TV, no radio, no movies. He, MariLuz and Chuchito would, in all probability be the only literate people in their new community, the only people with any knowledge of the outside world.
By the time he reached puberty, his son would have only faint, blurry memories of running water, electricity, buses and cars.
“You ok, dad?” Chuchito emerged from his father’s unusually hard good-night hug to peer into Roger’s face. “You bet, penguin brain,” Roger smiled. “I just love you a great big bunch.”
The next morning, Roger arranged to take a long lunch break. He returned two hours later, and placed a bag in his locker. In it were over a hundred used WalkMedia compatible EduDisks on every subject still legally sold, and a few, like the one on Greek and Roman mythology, that he was fairly certain were not. He would relabel them at home.
*
********
One unintended consequence of the Chastity Amendment was the flood of applications rushing in to the admissions office of every medical training institution in the country, from young men eager to train for careers as Official Testing Officers. Because only Preferreds were eligible for medical training of any kind, it became too difficult to establish a hierarchy of Preferredness, and in near-desperation, a lottery had been established.
*
********
“Winston Churchill
was a fine man. A man of faith, and his wisdom is as apt today as it was in his time.” General Boykin could not hide his emotion when he spoke of Churchill, nor did he try to. He merely cleared his throat.
“So what’s wrong with this new gas Defense Development was crowing about last week? Why can’t that be used to clear a corridor for the pipeline. Do you realize we’ve been in that hellhole since 2001? Ken Lay over at Commerce is on my back now, says he’s got 2 or 3 corps who are ready to jump ship if we don’t get more funding AND a corridor, and Rove says we have to have something for him to fund. A plan. So why can’t this new crap be our plan?’
“It can, sir,” if we can get a General Contractor Waiver,” said Sanchez, passing his own missive from Rove down the table to Boykin.
“Waiver? what do we need that for? Didn’t they say this new shit turns into some harmless compound or some such seconds after payload?”
“Well, it did in tests, sir. But it’s new, there are no long term studies, and our suppliers are not optimistic about a General Waiver. In fact, they say the Limited Waiver has cut their renewals in half.”
“Oh really?” Boykin sneered. “So just where are they going to go? These guys are getting 6 figure incomes, and Dyncorp is telling you that they’re all out of there and signing up for GoodJobs as Wal-Mart greeters?”
“Um, no sir.” Sanchez wished he could get through one meeting with Boykin without having to tell the Secretary of Defense something that would turn his face red and cause a dangerous spike in his blood pressure. “They – I mean, some of them, are um, changing companies.”
“What company are they changing to? Sandline? Bechtel?”
“Not exactly, sir. They’re – well, like I said sir, just some of them, are signing on with, uh, smaller companies.”
“We don’t have any small personnel suppliers, Rico Suave. What the hell are you trying to tell me?”
“No, sir, we don’t. I mean WE don’t, but um – “
“The ENEMY? Our Dyncorp people are signing up with the goddamn TERRORISTS? What are they doing, offering 72 virgins with every year?”
Sanchez wished he could be anywhere but where he was. “um, no, sir. shares of oil futures.”
Boykin was on his feet, standing over Sanchez, his face a giant overripe raspberry. “The hell they are!” He screamed.
“That’s AMERICA’s oil!”
*****
Haley shook out her newly silver hair and contemplated her reflection in the bathroom mirror of her new home. For once she was not thinking about her nose.
Having a real bathroom, being able to take a bath, even if only a cold one, since it was not really practical to heat large quantities of water on a battery operated hotplate, was a luxury. And ten months free rent was a windfall. At least ten, Rick had said. If the project runs into delays, could be longer.
Haley was not thinking that far into the future just now. She opened the package of Max Factor pancake, Fair #1, wet the sponge and swirled it around the pinkish-white cake, then carefully began coating her olive skin. And again. And again.
While waiting for the last coat to dry, she surveyed her wardrobe. She had discarded the few clothes she had, fearing that they might not work now. Instead of t-shirts, she now had long polyester overblouses in dull, muddy colors, ugly prints. Her jeans had been replaced by stirrup pants. Her new Nikes were older than their predecessors, vintage.
Her face now dry, Haley faced the mirror again, smiled. Grinned. Frowned. She relaxed her face and nodded approvingly at the results. The thick pancake makeup had obligingly cracked along every crease and line in her face. If before she had looked younger than her 53 years, she now looked at least sixty. And with her new corresponding hair color and formless style, she should be safe from Testing Sweeps.
The Department of Chastity and Doctrine was not overly concerned with the purity of old ladies.
*
*********
*”I do not understand this sqeamishness about the use of gas. I am strongly in favour of using poison gas against uncivilised tribes.”
Winston Churchill, referring to the people of Iraq and Kurdistan
http://www.globalresearch.ca/articles/CHU407A.html
~~~~~~~`
GDA (General Disposal Agent) Alpha, developed for the US defense department by the Monsanto Corporation, won a Nobel Prize for its inventors, and was credited with empowering billions of dollars to be funnelled into the War on Terror.
The compound was also hailed as an environmental breakthrough, as the War on Terror required the speedy disposal of increasing numbers of Imminent Threats, which would otherwise present quite a challenge.
GDA-Alpha vaporized dead tissue at the molecular level. The potential problem of contaminating a Threatwaste containment facility with living tissue was solved by a system of cost-effective checks and balances. Efficient packing for initial transport was believed to reduce the incidence of non-disposal safe tissue by over 98%, and containment facility loading was done from a minimum altitude of 500 feet, followed by a ten minute wait, as an additional environmental safeguard. GDA Alpha did not require that tissue have been dead a long time.
Almost every week, there was at least one editorial praising the administration for its implementation of such progressive environmental standards.
“Vaporizes it into what?” asked a firebrand scientist at the National Institute of Health, hours before he was escorted to a van for transport to Special Risk Detention Facility 14.
*
*******
“America is a meritocracy,” Karen Hughes spoke slowly and clearly, carefully enunciating every syllable. It infuriated Jeb, but all those years with his brother had forged the habit in steel too thick for Hughes to break.
“and which Americans can claim to have more merit than our seniors? Without their hard work, without their sacrifices, where would we be today? We would not have our freedom, our way of life,” Jeb lightened his tone to signify the approach of a Presidential Quip. “Without our seniors, the rest of us wouldn’t even be here.”
“As I have travelled around this great land of ours,” Jeb went on, I have been privileged to sit down and talk with seniors from all walks of life. And you know the one thing they have in common, the one burden every single one of them lives with every single day? Mr. President for Life, they tell me, I don’t want to be a burden to my children. That’s what scares me.”
“And let me tell you, right now, in America, our seniors are not a burden. Thanks to the Retirement Freedom Act that modernized Social Security and put decisions about retirement in the hands of our seniors, where they belong, I am proud – THEY are proud – to tell you that today over 95% of our seniors are working full time, and doing their part to help this great economy grow and become even greater, and what means just as much, and to some, even more – they are very much a part, an important part, of the War on Terror, because of their contribution to our economy. We cannot fight the terrorists with a weak economy, an economy of socialism, of communism, of handouts that degrade our people, and set a bad example not only to our coalition allies, but to the people to whom we bring democracy and freedom.”
“We have some folks, some members of the Greatest Generation still with us,” Jeb paused to allow the audience a moment for reverent applause.
“Most of those fine folks have spent their lives as wealth-builders, as risk-takers, and they’ve made some good choices, they are not going to be a burden to anybody.” Jeb paused for Quip Two “except their tax lawyers, maybe. But not at invoice time.”
But what about those folks, ordinary folks who don’t have tax lawyers? I’m talking about all those seniors who work hard to keep our economy strong, our health care system healthy. They don’t want a handout. They want to the freedom to pay their own doctor bills, pay for their own medicine. And they don’t want the government telling them when they can retire and how many hours they can work. And thanks to Retirement Freedom, they don’t have to worry about the government poking its nose in their business. But we can still do more. And we are doing more. I don’t think we CAN do enough for our Seniors, and today I am proud to announce the President’s Initiative for Senior Empowerment.”
“That’s just a fancy name for saying we are not going to chip away at the freedom our seniors fought for. In the words of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, we are living out our dream.”
“Let’s face it. We are all going to get older. We are going to get to that day when we realize there are some things we just can’t do anymore. It’s not something anybody looks forward to, but it’s part of the Lord’s plan. Now you tell me why in the greatest democracy on earth, we should say to our seniors when that day comes, no more freedom for you. That’s not how we want to do things in America. How can we tell these beloved seniors, that’s the end of your independence. Now you’ll just have to watch your children struggle, work longer hours, watch your grandchildren go without toys, give up their rooms. We can’t. It’s un-American, it’s un-Christian, and it’s just plain wrong.”
“My initiative will empower our seniors to make their OWN decision. No matter what their state of health, even if they can’t work a sedentary job, even if they can’t walk, every American senior has the right to become a part of their children’s future. From today on, no senior who requests General Disposal will be turned away. For any reason. No questions asked. And no fees. That, my fellow Americans, is what a meritocracy is. That is what a democracy is. And that is what freedom is.”
******
“Hand-crank, solar, whatever you can do for me,” Roger laid the WalkMedia down on the counter.
“Going trekking, huh?” the young man behind the counter thought for a minute. “We’ve got a player, but it doesn’t have all the features. Probably the simplest thing would be to add a solar chip to that one.”
“Can you do that?” Roger asked. “And yes, trekking. One of those Wilderness Adventure things. How soon can I get the chip put on? And lots of extra batteries. I um, lose things.”
“Wanna leave it here you can pick it up tomorrow,” the clerk attached a ticket to the WalkMedia and gave Roger the stub. “So where you going?”
Roger was not expecting that. “Uh – Arizona. Desert.”
“Good. See it while you can. They say General Disposal is filling it up fast. Oh well, gotta put em somewhere, right?”
Roger shrugged one shoulder. “Guess so.”
*
*****
Since being Tested, Melissa Ivey had practically stopped eating. She had stopped talking completely. She had not, however, completely stopped making sounds. Every night she woke up, screaming.
The facility in which she was being held, pending the outcome of the various legal actions related to her case filed by Ivey Metal Component Corporation on behalf of her father, was considered a “country club.” Specifically designed for Preferred Juvenile Offenders like Melissa, sentences were short, interrogations were rare, young inmates were fed cereal twice a day as opposed to the half-nutriloaf every morning enjoyed by the vast majority of Juvenile Threats, there was an hour of outdoor “exercise” every day, and cells were private. Melissa spent most of the 23 hours she was in hers curled up, knees under her chin, trying not to think about being Tasered. Some of the other girls who had already had it said they did it in the same place where you got Tested, and it hurt worse. A lot worse, and kept on hurting a lot worse for a month.
Minus detention and court case, millions of young girls all over the country were in much the same shape.
Melissa’s father, due to his own detention and status as a Patriot Act Violator was unable to instigate legal proceedings or have any contact with any attorneys.
His employees, as well as the shareholders of Ivey Metal Component were not at all pleased with how things were going, and at the last meeting, the shareholders had voted unanimously to pay out and declare void their contract as a supplier for International Taser, whose attorneys promptly refused payout and filed suit.
*
******
“In America,” said Secretary of Chastity and Doctrine Pat Robertson, “no one is above the law of the land, and if no one is above man’s law, with what firmness must we also say that no one is above God’s law.”
“Amen, Brother Robertson,” Secretary of Values Reverend Jerry Falwell nodded in approval.
“The Lord has laid a Word of Wisdom on my heart tonight, brothers and sisters. Satan is testing our great nation. He is mocking our faith. He is mocking our Resolve to keep our precious daughters safe. You know we are all sinners, brothers and sisters. I am a sinner. Every last one of us has sinned and come short of the glory of God. And what do we do, what does a Christian do, when his sin is revealed to him, when a way is opened up for him to rebuke that sin, to accept the healing and chastening Rod of the Lord, to be made whole again? Well, he rejoices! I rejoice! You rejoice! For our God is as the young folks say, an awesome God. And he is a forgiving God, and he forgives us seventy times seven. So when we see these young flowers of God’s kingdom, God’s America, given this wonderful gift, this blessed, merciful gift of revelation of sin, of healing, chastening, being made whole, when we see them rejecting God’s gift, rejecting even nourishment, when hard-working Christian mothers and fathers are awakened in the night by the shrieks of demons who have possessed their daughters, it was not enough for Satan to lead them to sin, to make them unclean, unchaste, in oh, brothers and sisters, so many ways. Through forgive me brothers and sisters, but through objects, through animals, through entering the bodies of these innocent young girls, turning them into vessels of temptation, stumbling blocks of lust for good Christian men, sometimes members of their own families, innocent girls as young as seven, eight years old, we have found to be unchaste. And if these girls are rejecting the power and might of the Lord Jesus Christ, we know that is Satan. He does not want to give your daughters back to you. Well, it’s time for Satan to learn that America rebukes him, that American parents cry out with one voice, from one heart united in our love of country, and our love of the Lord, “Get the behind me, Satan!”
*
*****
After Falwell’s speech, several additional phone lines were diverted to handle the volume of incoming calls to the Department of Values. Most were from businessmen and government officials, offering Private Sponsorship to the unchaste seven and eight year olds Falwell had mentioned. They had found that part of his speech extremely disturbing, and picked up their phones immediately.
It was a busy night for the operators. “They all sounded, I don’t know, upset, like they were almost out of breath,” remarked one of them on her way home, as she rubbed the little red spots on hear ears left by long hours of wearing a headset.
~~~~~~~`
Carolyn Cook did not believe her daughter was lewd, unchaste, or in danger of being possessed by Satan. She could not voice these sentiments aloud, of course, but what she could do, and did, was very quietly remove Savannah from school. Homeschooling was permitted, as long as one parent remained in the home, so Carolyn and husband Steve sold most of their belongings, broke the lease on the condo and moved to a tiny apartment in a run-down area of town, the only place they could live at all on Steve’s Preferred, but nevertheless modest institutional baker salary.
They missed their home, they missed the creature comforts and little luxuries they had enjoyed. They even missed the company of social acquaintances that they had privately sneered at. But Savannah had not been Tested, and therefore had not been put in danger of being Tasered, and to keep it that way, Steve and Carolyn would gladly live in a cave and gather berries.
They were not alone. The Department of Chastity and Doctrine did not have the funds to search every private residence in the nation, and from Seattle to Galveston to Bangor, millions of parents took advantage of that, and brought their daughters home, and kept them there.
It was not a perfect solution. While there were no door to door dragnets, there were plenty of sweeps, which meant that something as simple as going to the supermarket could result in the event one had turned one’s life upside down to avoid.
Shut away, deprived of their friends, fresh air, and the sights and sounds of ordinary life outside the walls of their homes, the girls grew restless, fretful, and angry. Some blamed themselves for being the cause of their parents reduction in circumstances and change of lifestyle. Others refused to believe that such extreme measures were necessary, and declared that they would rather stay in school and be Tested, and a few ran away and were never heard from again.
Most however, kept their concerns to themselves, and quietly accepted things as they were, as they had learned to do by observing their parents and other adults their whole lives.
*
*****
It was at the shoe store that the finality of what he was about to do hit him. Realizing that he had no idea what he should pack for his one way move to a mountain village in Michoacan, Roger figured he couldn’t go wrong with tennis shoes. He picked up a sturdy pair for himself, matching ones for MariLuz, and a miniature version for Chuchito, then realized that the little boy would need a larger pair in a few weeks, and reached for the next size.
Wait, he shook his head. And in a few more weeks, the next size. What did he propose to do? Fill both the child’s bags with ever larger Rockports? The people, MariLuz’s people, Chuchito’s people – HIS people now – had feet. Their children had feet. The presence of six more would not present an unprecedented and unsurmountable challenge. Either there were local shoes, or people developed callouses.
*
******
Ivey Metals, argued the attorneys for International Taser, had committed a flagrant and egregious breach of contract. The simple payout of the contract was a token gesture, and nowhere near sufficient to cover the losses the company would suffer as a result in the halt in production while they scrambled around to find another supplier with the capacity to meet need, not to mention the time required for the necessary security clearances any raw material supplier to a government vendor must obtain.
This would take weeks, even with all procedures expedited due to the urgent national security implications.
The attorney stressed this last point, accompanied it with a solemn and meaningful look over his spectacles. A nation in the midst of a war on terror facing a shortage of tasers, even a temporary one, was in a very vulnerable position, so much so that there was a very salient question of Patriot Act violation, on the part of the company itself, and as all knew, the CEO of this very company was currently held in indefinite detention for an individual Patriot Violation.
The plaintiff therefore petitioned the court to order Ivey Metals to continue to fulfill the obligations of their contract until a replacement supplier could be brought online, in order to avoid a dangerous pause in the tasering of delinquent individuals as required by law, including Mr. Ivey’s little daughter, Melissa.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Rick did not recognize Haley at first. “What can I get you, Auntie?” he asked, so surprised to see an elderly woman in his little establishment that he forgot himself and addressed her using the common South Asian honorific, and it was only the twinkle in her eye and her familiar giggle that made him look close. “Beautiful!” he laughed. “Perfect!”
Haley had had a good day. She had found a treasure trove – a bundle of two dozen paperback copies of 1984, almost mint, just a few dents and dings, and had sold 8 of them already. She ordered chicken curry, and burst out laughing when Rick set it down in front of her.
Rick had taken some new security precautions of his own. The curry was served in a vintage 1970s fondue pot.
He shrugged and tossed back his Clairol Awesome Auburn hair.
“Hey, I’m Swiss.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
MaryBeth stared at the memorandum. All unmarried female federal workers would be Tested in compliance with the Chastity Amendment. Each worker would receive a notification informing her where and when to report.
She closed her eyes, felt dizzy. All her life, MaryBeth had been a 100% loyal American. She loved her country, she trusted her leaders to make the right decisions. She was up for a Gold Support The Troops pin, she had worked hard for it.
The Chastity Amendment had sounded like a good idea to MaryBeth. So had Testing for schoolgirls. Parents had a right to know if their daughters’ schoolmates, and the daughters themselves, were experimenting with promiscuity. Never one to question her country’s policies, she had not had a problem with Random Sweeps. She did not think they were really random. It was just another net to cast to fight terror.
Her conflict now stemmed from the fact that she was not a virgin. She was a Christian and would never consider herself promiscuous, but she had been intimate with a college boyfriend. She had considered them to be practically engaged, but shortly after graduation, he broke off the relationship, and shortly after that, married someone else.
MaryBeth threw herself into her work, and church activities, and with time, her broken heart recovered, and she still had hopes of becoming a wife and mother. She had never considered her one sexual experience as either a sin or harmful to America, although now, she reflected, she supposed it was, and she should face up to it and accept the consequences of her actions.
Somehow, that seemed more easily said than done. She was unused to contradicting emotions, especially of such intensity, and might have started to cry right there at her desk if her supervisor had not touched her shoulder, and asked if she could come have a drink with a few of the girls after work.
+++++++++++++++++++
Carolyn felt a little guilty, waiting for Steve in the bar. For one thing, they couldn’t really afford extras like beer any more, and for another, it just didn’t seem right to enjoy a romantic outing, just the two of them, when they no longer went on family outings with Savannah.
But Steve had insisted. They needed a little fun, he said, just an hour or so to themselves, a date. Didn’t she want to go out with him, putting on that face she never could resist, so here she was, sipping her beer and discreetly reviewing what was apparently a group of co-workers at the next table. Out of the workforce for a few months now, she couldn’t help but remember drinks after work, the release of complaining about workplace annoyances, sharing gossip about promotions, who was sending out resumes.
“Well, there is a possibility,” one of the older women was saying, her voice dropping to a whisper. “..Alphabetical, but that won’t start for at least a month, so you have…”
Carol knew she was eavesdropping, or trying to, she could only catch bits of the conversation.
“..completely legal…yes, trust, because it IS a real legal marriage…can’t be any agreements like that, or it would be, you know…the thing is, it takes you off the unmarried list, that’s the main thing….won’t it be suspicious though…all those people divorcing right away?….the fee is different depending on how long…yes they probably will catch on but by then you’ll be in the clear…hard to prove…”
She had heard some vague rumors about this, people who set up marriages for unmarried women who wanted to avoid Testing. The “bride” paid a fee based on how long she would have to remain “married” before getting a divorce. Most opted for the shortest term possible, and the lowest fee. It was a risky business, but it would save you from the Taser, so it was spreading like wildfire.
Spotting her husband across the now-crowded bar, she waved at him. Enough peoples’ lives being ruined, she would not ruin Steve’s fun date with her tonight, but later, she would have to figure out some way they could leave. There had to be a way. For herself, she could stand anything, but she could not stand the idea of her husband and her daughter living out their lives in the nightmare her country had become.
+++++++++++++++
“It looks like an incident of simple incompetence, Ann,” Rosenthal jammed the phone between shoulder and cheek to reach for the official report. “Here’s the gist of what we just faxed you. New hire, came from an agency, one we’ve used before with no problems, guy passed all their security checks, skills tests, he’s got no priors, came up with nothing on any family members, yes, they’ve all been detained, plus a couple of neighbors and close associates, guys he plays badminton with…”
“Nope, so far interrogation has produced nothing. Of course, they’ll keep it up, none of them are going anywhere any time soon, unless it’s to General Disposal, and if anything should turn up, they will notify you before they notify me, but so far, everything points to the guy just flat out not paying any attention to the feed….”
“Sure, I can get a plane tonight and be there tomorrow, if you think it’s necessary…”
FCC Chairwoman Coulter toyed with a strand of hair. She did not want to do this. Her inclination was to believe Rosenthal’s investigation was correct – just a kid that slipped up and allowed a rejectionist caller to spew anti-Chastity Act incitement over the airwaves – through pure negligence, and without any terrorist intent.
On the other hand, the buck stopped with her, and like it or not, the incident had occurred on Rosenthal’s watch. She could see no alternative but to ask for his resignation, but how could she ask for the resignation of a broadcast hero who back in 04 had had the courage to call for the extermination of the Palestinians on national TV?
Maybe she should have Sid start the investigation over. Maybe if he could be made to understand that terrorist intent on the part of the employee would make him a victim who survived a close call with terror and stopped it before more damage could be done. She knew a couple of people in Interrogation. If the guy could be made to confess live, on the air, it just might save Rosenthal’s job.
~~~~~~~~
Required by Law to Submit Graciously to Her Husband
Haley’s Nose, Part 11, America 2009
MaryBeth was lucky. Thanks to her supervisor, she was able to obtain an ethical matchmaker, who screened the grooms, and held all moneys in escrow until the agreed-upon time had elapsed and the marriage was successfully dissolved.
MaryBeth’s husband needed the money, but didn’t mind waiting 30 days for it, and he had hardly looked at MaryBeth. One quick appraising glance, and apparently decided she wasn’t his type, he had signed the papers and walked out with a cheerful, “see you in a month.”
Some girls were not so fortunate. Most matchmakers took any prospective groom who expressed an interest, solicited or otherwise, who frequently took the money and failed to appear for the divorce. Others insisted on consummation, which the brides were in no position to refuse. The man was legally her husband, to whom she was required by law to submit graciously, as stipulated in the Protection of Marriage Amendment.
Still, her heart was not at peace. She fingered her Gold Yellow Ribbon lapel pin guiltily. She had betrayed her country to avoid punishment of her sin. She had, at least in her mind, questioned the wisdom of those whom God had appointed to guide her country on the path of Righteousness. She might even be contributing to terror. How could acting against America not be terror?
Sometimes she thought of that eccentric older woman who MaryBeth suspected was involved with the trafficking of incitement materials. Maybe she was being punished for not trying hard enough to save her. Maybe she had not really wanted to save her. MaryBeth grabbed her Bible, and prayed hard for the salvation of her own sinful, selfish and possibly anti-American soul.
++++++++++++++++++
Roger was walking on air. At last the call he had been waiting for. Ben had given him a date. Two weeks. Two weeks and he would hold MariLuz again, two weeks and Chuchito would have his Mami again. Two weeks and he and his son would say good-bye forever to everything they had ever known.
His supervisor thought he was nuts, but made no protest when Roger asked to have all of his accumulated vacation time, to put his affairs in order.
He spent every minute he could taking Chuchito on adventures, seeing things for the first time, knowing he was seeing them for the last time. Also for the first time, he noticed that there were not nearly as many women to be seen anywhere. In stores, on the streets, in the subway.
In the Bushonian Museum of Natural History, Chuchito was fascinated by a diorama depicting Mexican village life. A woman with long braids patted tortillas by a stone griddle, while a small boy on a burro waved a palm leaf at a gaggle of baby goats.
“I want to ride a burro!” said Chuchito.
“You will soon, penguin breath” smiled Roger.
++++++++++++++++++++
The subject of televising interrogations had been discussed before, Rove reflected, but had never made it up high enough on the priority list to really go anywhere.
Privately, he thought it would make pretty boring TV, after the first few times, people screaming in pain got pretty monotonous, but he conceded this could just be his personal taste. He liked snappy dialogue, like those Terminator movies had.
But he had to admit, Coulter made a very compelling argument. Morale could use a boost. He just didn’t get the sense that people were excited about the War on Terror anymore. They weren’t exercised, that was the word.
The people need to see more results, Coulter had said. Dead insurgents and bombed out villages just weren’t getting the same ratings they used to, and the last interrogation-related thing that had really had people glued to the sets was the Apology ceremony for the Abu Ghraib heroes, who had been subjected to show trials back in 04-05 as part of a misguided and counter-productive public relations offensive.
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Ivey Metals, ruled the court, had knowingly and willingly endangered the national security of the United States, by engaging in conspiracy to slow production of equipment critical to the war on terror, thus creating a false and artificially constructed Taser shortage, and causing International Taser to fall in arrears on its contractual obligation to the United States government, and bringing about unnecessary and reckless delays in the correction of American citizens, thereby depriving them of their constitutional right to punishment as specified in the Chastity Act and other anti-terror measures.
The company was ordered to resume production in 24 hour shifts until such time as a replacement metal supplier could be approved, at which time all company assets would be seized and all officers of the company still at large, along with their families, would be indefinitely detained.
In its compassion, the court sentenced all lower level employees, from managers to janitors, to indefinite probation, chip implantation, and GoodJobs. No detention or interrogation was ordered.
The liberal nature of the court’s decision, and the fairness shown to innocent assembly line workers received lavish praise from left wing editorial writers.
++++++++++++++++
Haley did not want to get out of bed. For months now, she had tried to deny it, to tough it out. At first she had thought, so this is what dying feels like. But as time went on, she had come to realize that this is what menopause feels like.
Although she considered herself pretty damn resourceful, for help with this problem, she did not know where to turn.
Medical care of any kind was a luxury for Preferreds, and only those Preferreds who had either exceptionally high salaries or exceptionally generous benefit packages.
Informals (although officially now known as Persons of Interests, the longer name had failed to catch on outside of government offices) doctored themselves as best they could, or took their chances with Informal practitioners of a variety of medical arts.
Haley knew she could probably score some herbal tablets, if she put enough legwork into it, but her symptoms were so incapacitating that she had an idea that herbs would not be enough. She needed hormones, and she needed a regular supply of them. She did not mind having to look like an old lady to avoid Testing Sweeps and checkpoint hassles but she was not at all ready to BE one.
++++++++++++++++++++++
Steve pulled Carolyn onto his lap. Savannah was supposed to be asleep, but so what if she woke up. She would just make fun of them and pretend to be disgusted like she always did.
“So where exactly would we go?” he asked. “And how do you propose to get around the Citizen Desertion Laws?” Steve was referring to provisions of the 2006 Patriot III that removed distinctions between military personnel leaving a foreign battlefield and US civilians making unauthorized exit from US soil during the course of the War on Terror. Authorized exits were limited to employees of vendors holding supply contracts with the military.
Carolyn thought for a minute. “How about France? Don’t you have cousins there?”
“Well, yes,” Steve answered. “But cousins in France don’t really give you a legal advantage. Actually, I have been worrying about where THEY will go. Air strikes will start in a few weeks.”
“Oh, honey, call them! They have to come here!”
“Did you hear what you just said?”
“I know. I knew as soon as I said it, I – I’m just not used to it, I guess. I kept thinking somebody would stop it, do something, you know, the pendulum swings one way and then it corrects itself? Well, it’s not going to correct itself, and nobody is going to do anything. Who can? Either they are scared to death like we are, or they are going along with it! There were these women today in the supermarket, saying that being Tasered was the best thing that had happened to their daughters, that it really taught them a lesson, straightened them out, one of them said her daughter was a changed girl. Yeah I don’t doubt that.”
Steve held his wife close and let her talk. He envied her that ability to just let it go like that. He was just as angry, and having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that he could not protect his family, neither his cousins in France, nor his wife and daughter in his home. And he could no longer deny that they needed protection – from the very people he had grown up trusting to protect them all.
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The governments of Poland, Hungary, Yugoslavia and Ukraine, among others, passed emergency conscription measures requiring every able bodied male between the ages of fourteen and sixty, and every able-bodied female between the ages of thirty and forty-two to report for military service. Within days, soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder along the borders, with orders to shoot to kill any individuals believed to being attempting to flee Old Europe in a bid to escape the consequences of anti-Americanism.
General Boykin gave his nations allies his personal assurances that the US would provide air support for Operation Tight Drum as the day drew nearer, and that the family each brave man who fell would receive a letter of thanks of President Jeb Bush himself, suitable for framing, and the governments would receive several billion dollars in loans, with which the US would sell them the latest fighter jets at cost.
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After several hours of brainstorming, an outline for the show began to emerge.
A montage of young girls dressed in short, tight skirts dancing provocatively with boyfriends, cut to indistinct but suggestive flashes seen through steamy car windows, then quick shots of the girls in tears, covering their faces in shame, resignedly picking out baby clothes or receiving painful injections to cure them of STDs, families taking one last look at the home they must now leave, unable to bear the opprobrium of their neighbors now that it was known that they had failed to protect their daughter and guard her chastity.
“Then we have a voice over, but the hatred of some for America, for our freedom, our way of life, the hatred for our children, knows no bounds.”
The producer looked around the table brightly. This was her big chance, and she would not blow it.
“Then Zahn I think, with a little piece about crossing the line of common decency and such a big issue with its chilling implications, networks put aside competition, etc etc and all America wants to know is why and here tonight we – and you – will find out why, a rare glimpse into the mind of a homegrown terrorist, not a foreign national fed a steady diet of hateful anti-western propaganda since infancy, but someone who on the outside looks just like you and me but etc etc and then show some of that video they got from his house, of him at his birthday party and then a little bit of the call – no I know we can’t play most of what he said, we’ll stop it after the Chastity Act is – then back to Paula who’ll reassure the viewers we’re not going to play the actual incitement, then we’ll go live to – who? Cooper? at the interrogation center whose location we can’t etc etc for security reasons, and he’ll do the lead in, then they bring the guy in and just have it be a live feed from there. Secretary Pipes, how strong a disclaimer will we need? From the memo I got yesterday it looked like they were planning to have his kids there on I guess, stand-by?”
“Very impressive. very professional. Yes, that is my understanding. He’s still not cooperating, though we’ve had to essentially suspend interrogation for the time being, medical reports are favorable that he should be able to say SOMETHING by our air date, my concern is that once he begins to become more conscious of his surroundings, but still, what I mean is, if he tries to say it too soon, before they get the kids hooked up – “
“Oh don’t worry about that, Mr Secretary,” the producer flashed Pipes a bright smile. “We will be working very closely throughout the broadcast with the interrogation specialists, we’ll be on five second delay, and if he let’s go the money line before it’s time, we’ll cut his mike and play it back in. Marketing says those kids should mean at least another 8 points, so you know we are going to do everything possible to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
~~~~~~~`
CIA: Voice likely that of Fisk
Haley’s Nose, Part 12, America 2009
Melissa Ivey’s condition had deteriorated. Detention facility staff physicians were reluctantly obliged to acknowledge that while she would feel the physical pain of the Taser, they could not be optimistic about her comprehension of just what would be causing the pain, and why.
The Department of Chastity and Values Special Task Force on the Taser Cleansing of Juveniles was divided on the subject of whether physical pain alone was sufficient to deliver to a child the full benefit of punishment, some arguing that in questionable cases, invoking the special circumstances provision of the Guidelines for Tasering of Juveniles would be more than justified, and that increasing the physical pain level could compensate for any psychological affects that might be reduced, as was so often the case with both children and adults who spent more than a few days in Special Detention.
Others stood firm that no child could be said to be truly cleansed unless they were fully aware during the punishment, and able to reap the blessings of accompanying verbal rebukes delivered by men of God, that even such a small detail as being conscious of their nudity before such a distinguished assemblage of interrogation specialists and correction technicians, not to mention the men of God who would be giving their own time and talents, would be to deny these children the full and comprehensive correction experience that was their right, not only according to the laws of man, but of the Almighty Himself.
After a word of prayer and testimonies by several who had been privileged to take part in some very spirit-led Tasering sessions, during which the demons of lewdness and inchastity had been roundly renounced by the young girls themselves, the task force voted to postpone Melissa’s punishment and approved a transfer to the Correction Preparation block of the facility, where every effort would be made to help her regain the necessary level of mental awareness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Paula Zahn’s Patriot Portraits:
…come a long way from one of the darkest chapters in our nation’s history, when the Enemy Within could spin even a soldier’s simple souvenir photos of America’s best and brightest defending freedom into incitement.
General England, those must have been, it is hard for us to imagine what those days were like for you. A young patriot, expecting your first child, and even after – the first year of your child’s life – such a special time that most young mother’s take for granted – how did you – what kept you going?
“That’s easy, ma’am. Before I ever even went to Iraq, I had been saved. My mama made sure of that. I clung to the old rugged cross. I claimed the precious blood of Jesus. You know he will not forsake you. Though men revile you for His sake –
“So your faith, it was your faith that got you through it. You know, I’ve had the honor of interviewing so many of the Abu Ghraib heroes, and that is a recurrent theme, besides your love of country, and love of freedom, that strong faith is something you all shared.”
“Yes, ma’am. There is a closeness and a bonding that comes with that kind of fellowship, when you’re in harm’s way together, and you know America is counting on you. You know you can all count on Jesus.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Haley, what’s wrong? You look terrible.” Rick sat the food containers down on the former crate now known as the table and felt his friend’s forehead.
Haley laughed. “I don’t have a fever,” she said.
“You don’t happen to know a, well, a doctor, do you?”
“You ARE sick! I knew something was wrong when I didn’t see you all week. What have you been eating?”
“Oh I’m OK. I always keep some stuff around, you know, you never know”
“You are not making sense.”
Haley sighed. “This is embarrassing. Here, sit down.” She moved some clothes from another crate, and sat down on her bed. “I don’t really know how to – “
“Just say it,” Rick’s eyes opened wide “You’re not – pregnant? What? What is so funny? Are you?” Haley lay on her back, dissolved in giggles. With difficulty, she finally gasped it out.
“Come on. Is that all?”
“IS THAT ALL? Haley hurled her pillow at Rick’s head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man slumped in his chair. No, he had not been drugged, insisted the Custody Transport Officer. He had been fed, watered, and walked in the fresh air for several days. No not Nutri-loaf. Cereal. Just like the Juvenile Preferreds got. That’s just how some of them do on you. Usually means they were hiding something during Interrogation.
The production assistant frowned. “Well we have to get him looking better than that. Can he respond to questions. Sir, can you respond to questions? I don’t think his eyes focus. Is there something they can give this guy, get him to perk up for just a little while?”
Paula Zahn took some deep cleansing breaths. She hadn’t been this excited since her first day here, on the 911 Holy Day. This could be almost as big.
“OK, we’re going to open with Secretary Reverend Falwell with a blessing, cue up Paula on “sins of the fathers,” she’ll intro, then live to Tucker, graphics get me a baseball card on tonight’s Interrogator, Mattis, that’s the one. No? He’s zapping the kid? So who’s interrogating? And who fucked up my notes? I was at the fucking meeting, dammit, they told me Mattis will ask the questions, and there was supposed to be a lottery for the zapper, morale for the troops or something, didn’t Rumsfeld say that? Hey, do this, hit your red phone, get me a hard copy – stat.”
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An audio tape containing the voice of a man claiming to be the wanted terrorist Robert Fisk was found outside the door of a local television station in Los Angeles. They promptly turned the tape over to local authorities, and even under intense interrogation, the station manager stuck by his story. It was there when he arrived to open up. There were no fingerprints, and the message it contained, that over 100 cases of pneumonic plague had been reported by Paris hospitals, was not considered credible, although the CIA analysts said the voice was likely that of Fisk. To be on the safe side, the station manager’s family was brought in for interrogation. The suspect confessed immediately that the tape had been delivered by a male of medium height with black hair and olive skin, and indeed such an individual was apprehended shortly thereafter.
Individuals who attempted to contact France by telephone, cell phone reached a recording informing them that their call could not be placed at this time. Emails sent to any server residing on French soil were returned with a similar message.
US news media agreed with government assessments that the reports of plague were not credible, as none of their reporters had been able to obtain independent confirmation, and Wolf Blitzer pointed out that it was longstanding US policy that any nation that harbors terrorists….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Married? She’s 14!” Carolyn could not believe what she was hearing. She had called Diane, hoping to arrange a sleepover for the girls. Savannah missed Krissie and Carolyn thought it would do both of the girls good to have a little diversion.
“I know it sounds awful,” Diane continued, “but we were running out of options. Krissie has just not been doing well, cooped up in the house. She’s been acting out, you know, who can blame her? I would go nuts. If she’s married she can at least have some normal things, I mean, she can go shopping, maybe go back to school. She won’t have to worry about being Tested.”
“Is it legal?” Carolyn was still in shock.
“Oh yes. We talked to a lawyer. No state can prohibit any minor from marriage if the parents consent. Part of the Protection of Marriage laws or something. And nothing else will change. I mean, the boy’s parents know about it. They have a daughter too…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
General Boykin informed the Vice President Emeritus that fighter pilots for the initial air strikes on Paris would have to return to the Middle Eastern theatre within 72 hours.
The General regretted that the only ground troops he had available to send in for cleanup at this time were a few emerging Teen Battalions with no combat experience, but he assured Rove that they would be under the very able leadership of the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
“It’s an ideal match, sir,” Boykin explained. “The youngsters have the energy, they’ll be armed with the very best equipment, designed and sized especially for them, state of the art. And the VFW fellows are damn impressive. Most of them have more combat experience than I do.”
Rove was silent for a moment, then smiled. “I like it, General!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh Christ! Makeup! Look at the kid’s face, what a clusterfuck. Who did this? I don’t care if he resisted, SOLDIER, what’s that Taser for? Do you realize what kind of budget we are working with here? Because if he’s bruised you lose the impact. The dad’s confession comes after they zap the kid. Cause and effect. Ever heard of that? God you guys are a box of rocks. Where the fuck is makeup?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Word of Roger’s impending departure was spreading, and Ben was receiving a surprising number of calls from people who wondered if they too could possibly qualify for Repatriation. Or anything that would get them out of the country.
To his surprise, Ben was actually able to unearth birth records for a couple of them that did in fact establish parentage that would suffice to have them declared members of listed tribes, but nothing prepared him for the astonishment he felt when he realized that he had done almost all of the research himself, alone, after hours, and pro bono.
~~~~~~~~`
“But what IS it?” Haley eyed the odd shaped pill suspiciously. “I don’t want to take anything without knowing what it is.”
“If I tell you what it is, you will REALLY not want to take it,” said Rick. “It will make you feel better and it won’t hurt you. Remember the old Nike commercial? Just do it.”
“It looks handmade.”
“It is. Now take it.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Them.” Rick tossed a brown paper bag into Haley’s lap. “That’s a year’s supply. And I got them from a sweet little old lady who happens to know some very useful things about ladies and their chemistry.”
“Is it legal?”
Until the Equine Urination Prohibition Act passes, it is.”
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Read top half – will finish in the rest in the morning. Are you familiar with any of the Roman Sumptuary(?) laws from the late Republic? For some reason they jump to mind.
I think we need a bit more time than 4 years to get to that point – just because I think that there would be massive opposition when people en mass start loosing their material things, and I don’t think people would handle their kids being worked or ‘molested’ at such a young age. Pretty creepy. though – I like Jeb’s freedom speech, and the idea of having Matthew send off the nuke(?) was something I would trust these people would have no hesitation doing. You get the point across of what these people really are, and what they would like to be able to do with this country.
The laws I was thinking of last night had to do with control of people’s dress, how much people could spend on entertainment, the banning of philosophers and so on – ‘course when Augustus took over he implemented all sorts of moral regulations – all rules that didn’t apply to the rich.
Ductape, I just copied into Word to read) the first part of this story and it’s 26 pages long. That is the longest thing I have ever copied.
See comment I made on world thread.
I keep paying attention to Booman and I am missing The American Idol. I look up and they are already done singing every time.
Do you call in to vote? (I did that once.)
Ducty, you are quite a writer. You have a great narrative going. I wish the ‘net weren’t so difficult for posting longer items.
That’s what the slide bar is for
<div style="height: 150px; width: 400px; overflow: auto; border: 1px solid #666;background-color: #XXX; padding: 8px;">TEXT GOES HERE</div>
print it out and read it in the tub. And some of the browsers don’t like it.
I started to, but I was constrained by those factors.
I can’t wait to finish this story, but it’ll definitely have to be printed out or something. I hope you finish it… from what I’ve read so far, it’s like our generation’s version of 1984 or the Handmaid’s Tale or something.
Only it’s not at all far fetched, sigh.
This is some wonderful writing and plausible enough to make me squirm. And thank you for not using the slider-I know it’s easier on post size but I really wanted to print this and read it without inducing a migraine-old monitor.
I don’t usually read distopian stuff, what we’re dealing with now is bad enough, but this was so well written that I couldn’t help myself!
Well Duct I was just going to scan the story and got hooked. Having all the different characters in a book is something I always like…and how they all tie together.
I take it from this that Robert Fisk is a hero of yours and of course Paula with a Z isn’t..speaking of Fisk I haven’t seen anything by him lately. Is he still writing for the Independent?…isn’t it?
You know that Citizen Defenders idea was pretty scary. Probably cause I can see a lot of idiots thinking that would be just too cool for words, what fun, eh.
The whole Chastity Act and Tasers on young girls is extremely creepy especially imagining Falwell and people like Dobson secretly enjoying something like that..creepy…reading this at midnite I hope I don’t end up having nightmares with Falwell and company tonight.
Greatly looking forward to more installments ok..