THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT: $42.95
“You have the right to remain silent,” a recording on Officer Shalk’s police-issue Cuff warned me. Shalk had to shake his head. Of all the people he could ever hope to play it for... I let out a laugh at the absurdity of it, which quickly dissolved into sobs.
The gold brother sniggered as Officer Shalk bandaged my elbow, then bound my hands behind my back with a sharp plastic cord. I glared at the brothers with all my hate.
“Anything you say can, and will, be charged against your account, with a 20 percent surcharge to cover processing fees. Anything this officer or any other Law enforcement official says in the course of the investigation will be charged to you, and billed at such time as your case is adjudicated. You have the right to an Attorney. If you cannot afford an Attorney, one will be assigned to seize your assets, and you will be turned over to Debt Collection. Do you understand these rights?”
What rights? I wanted to scream.
“Silence is not a waiver,” he sighed.
He placed me carefully in the back of his police cruiser and pulled away. The brothers and the other officer receded in his rearview mirror. Shalk’s shoulders relaxed a little, but he slumped a little more from it.
“You aren’t doing yourself any favors,” he said, shaking his head as he drove. “I don’t know what you thought vandalism was going to accomplish. You don’t want the Ad people against you. You’ll lose discounts and whatnot.”
Discounts? Was this what he thought I was really concerned about? I stifled the wail that mushroomed in my gut and kicked hard at the seat instead. He ignored me and sped onto the outer ring, gunning the engine with a small sigh of pleasure. The road hummed smoothly under us, like the hiss of heavy rain on the dome. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see what was back there. I pushed the thought of what had just happened to the back of my mind.
“Was the movie actress with you?” the officer asked, perplexed by how we were connected.
I narrowed my eyes at him in the rearview mirror. Why was he talking to me? The city swept past us, Ads blazing across billboards to keep up with the cars, desperate not to lose even a potential second of advertising. What would happen to Saretha now? The thought of how she must hate me stabbed at my conscience. I should have just said no.
But would the brothers have spared Sam if I spoke? Or would they have made me speak another word, and then another?
I tried to bring my breathing under control. I forced myself to remember: I hadn’t dropped Sam. I hadn’t murdered him. They did. They chose to. Would I be able to make Saretha understand? Would I ever even see her again?
It still seemed impossible Sam was gone.
“Did that Lawyer say she was studying you for a role?” Shalk was asking. He didn’t seem to think much of the idea.
My body shook as I started sobbing. I couldn’t stop. How had this happened? My head ached a little less, but my elbow hurt a little more. I tried to focus on what lay ahead, but what did any of it matter now? Everything I cared about was gone. The brothers would sue, the Ad companies would sue and people who were nearby and inconvenienced would sue. There was a good chance I’d find myself in Debt Collection by morning. I’d be a fine prize.
The only shred of hope I had lay hidden my left hand: a chip pulled from the Ad panel with evidence of Sam’s murder. It bound me together, like a single thread. Without it, I knew I would finally understand how Beecher must have felt. I had no other reason to go on.
Was I really so foolish as to think anyone would care? I wanted to ask Henri what to do. The thought of it almost made me laugh. Henri? I could hear Margot laughing at me, and at him. They would see the brothers’ story on the news: not mine. Henri wouldn’t understand. No one would.
Shalk was sighing. “I’ve seen a lot of jumpers, but never this young. It’s a shame, a terrible shame.”
I wished he would talk about something else. I pressed my head to the window. We blazed under one bridge after another. The walls of the great speedway zoomed past, a glittering blur of Ads in my wet eyes. People, distant and small, went about their business. How could they continue to go on when my brother was gone? I dropped my eyes to the ground. I couldn’t bear to look at them.
There would be no justice for Sam.
I felt nauseous realizing my parents had to be told. I couldn’t face the thought of what Saretha might say to them. I couldn’t tell them myself. I needed Sam, but I would never have his help again. I tried to catch my breath between tears. Officer Shalk stopped talking, even though he could speak freely—every word charged to me.
Shalk swerved off the exit and righted the car onto a main street with the precision of a stunt driver. A moment later, we were at the police station. He turned off the engine, and the electric motor whirred down.
He slid a finger across his Cuff in a convoluted gesture, shunting it into a mode I’d never seen. The curved screen went deep red and lit his face with its light. Informant Mode™. He eyed the parking lot to see if anyone was paying attention, then turned to face me.
“I had to ask if they want to sue. I couldn’t have Silas Rog coming at me for a breach of protocol. I don’t have—” He leaned a little closer and whispered, even though no one was around. “I don’t have any more choice than you do.”
Was that true? Officer Shalk was at least my father’s age, and like my father, he looked weary, pouchy around the eyes. Was it like this for everyone?
“Did they kill him?” he asked softly.
I bit my lip. Somehow he knew.
He went on grimly. “But you know they’ll scrub the evidence.”
All he needed was the chip in my hand. I strained against the plastic binding my wrists. I tried to shift my position, so he could see my hands.
He looked down at the blank spot where my Cuff had been.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was sad. I teared up again. Poor Sam—he would have liked this officer.
Shalk tapped his Cuff again and got out of the car.
* * *
In the station, my body was scanned, and my retinal maps confirmed who I was. There was a brief moment of amusement when the officers pulled my records and saw Arkansas Holt listed as my Lawyer, followed by surprise when they found my occupation sealed. Shalk seemed at once impressed and disappointed.
“She’s a Placer,” a sharp-eyed officer named Yundoro said in a bored voice. “Look at her build.” He looked me up and down. My cheeks burned. He clearly wasn’t impressed.
Shalk considered it. “A Placer with Arkansas Holt for a Lawyer? I thought Placers made good money.”
Yundoro shook his head as he unclipped the plastic binders on my wrists to take my fingerprints, and then he froze. “What’s this?”
He dug hard into my clenched fist, prying my fingers open. His hands were rough. He found the chip.
Officer Shalk straightened. “Is this from the scene?”
Yundoro looked at me like I was something he might scrape off his shoe.
“This came out of an Ad Array,” Yundoro said, holding it up between his finger and thumb. “We can’t take it into evidence. Brinkly versus Kleen ’n’ Brite™. ‘Police are barred from accessing or copying scans pursuant to’—”
I foolishly reached out to grab it back from him. He shoved me against the wall, his forearm against my throat.
“Assaulting an officer?” Yundoro growled, releasing me. His eyes flicked to Shalk. “Add it to her charges.”
“What do you think’s on it?” Shalk asked, taking it lightly from Yundoro while ignoring his request.
“Doesn’t matter,” Yundoro answered, wiping himself off like I was unclean. “Police are barred from pulling scan data. We can’t take these from the scene.”
I watched the chip between Shalk’s fingers, cursing that I couldn’t tell them why I had taken it. Maybe I could show them. I reached out and plucked it out of Shalk’s hand, knowing I might get slammed against the wall again.
Shalk looked at me, calm. “She stole it,” he said, taking it back again.
“Yeah?” Yundoro grunted.
“It has to go into evidence,” Shalk said, his eyes darting to me almost admiringly. “Theft isn’t covered by Brinkly versus Kleen ’n’ Brite™.”
A small, hopeful fire burned in my belly. My plan might just succeed.
Yundoro pursed his lips. “Whatever. If you want the paperwork.” He handed over an evidence envelope, clucking his tongue. “Should’ve kept her in restraints,” Yundoro commented.
“If the judge orders it,” Shalk said, finishing my intake with a press of a button on his Cuff.
At that moment, The Blocks came on. Anything that wasn’t explicitly in the public domain was blurred to little more than colored squares. Shalk and Yundoro became two masses of moving blocks in the approximate shape and location of the human behind them. As far as the authorities were concerned, I had basically lost my right to see. In all likelihood, I would be like this for the rest of my life. My hands were the only thing I could see. They were shaking. My chest tightened. I couldn’t have ever imagined how crushing and claustrophobic The Blocks now made me feel.
“It’s okay.” Shalk set a gentle hand on my back and pressed me down a hall I could barely see. Behind us, Yundoro sniggered at me. I deliberately slowed my breathing and stood up tall.
Shalk locked me in a holding cell with the blocky shapes of four or five people. It was hard to tell through the blur exactly how many or who they were.
“I’ll contact your Lawyer,” Shalk sighed.
When he was gone, the room was silent. No one spoke. It would hardly do for them to spend money on words in here. Cameras whirred in the corners, tracking our faces. I could hear them and sense them, watching our lips, our blinks, our sighs.
I couldn’t believe I would never hear Sam’s voice again. I would never see his face. I didn’t even have a picture to go home to. The Rights Holders owned every picture ever taken of Sam. The Ad companies probably had dozens of his scans stored away, but I had nothing. I began to sob softly, letting the tears fill my eyes and blur whatever was left to see.
I thought things couldn’t get worse, but then I reminded myself that soon the Collection Agency would come to retrieve me. There would be no trial; I couldn’t afford that. A judge would remand me to the custody of the highest bidder. The small flicker of hope I had in the Ad Chip faltered. I could never afford to bring the case to trial, so what good would evidence do me?
I wondered what Henri, Margot and Kel would think when I didn’t show up. I knew they would probably just go on, and I couldn’t blame them. What else could they do? Whenever Henri came up short looking for his little blue device, Kel would know I had stolen it. I doubted she would see or care about the loophole I’d found to justify my actions.
I tried to conjure some optimism, but found only the desolation of my future stretching out before me. I tried not to think about being sent off to do crop pollination or factory work. Beecher’s sad face came back to me. When confronted with the same prospects, his choice was to have no future at all. At that moment, right then, would I have jumped if I had the chance?
No. They could kill me, but I would never take my own life. I would fight to the end.