ANIMUS NOCENDI: $50.99
It wasn’t possible. Sam was dead, and Saretha didn’t look completely right. She looked just a little too like Carol Amanda Harving. Sam looked mischievous, but more like a cocky kid from a Disney™ film than himself. He jutted his chin at me as if to say ’Sup.
Sam would never do that.
I blinked hard to shake off the hallucination. The image of them remained for a fraction of a second too long in the darkness under my eyelids. I reminded myself that Sam and Saretha hadn’t appeared in the thermal display. They weren’t here. Rog was inserting them directly into my vision through my corneal overlays.
Rog saw my expression and shrugged off his trick, like he’d had to try it. I looked him over, my skin bristling. His face was still nothing but Blocks, so I couldn’t read his expression. He slid a finger over his Cuff, and Sam and Saretha’s projections vanished.
I wanted to run. I wanted to run as far as I could, and escape from the dome, the city, the country, the world. I wanted to run headlong at Rog and take my chances trying to kill him. Could I bash him over the head with one of these giant legal books? Could I strangle him? Were my hands strong enough?
“I recognize your expression. Before you commit any additional felonies, take a moment; deliberate on your circumstances.”
I’d “deliberated” enough. I don’t know why he came up alone, but he would regret it.
“I still have Saretha in my care,” he said quickly. He gestured to the spot where her image had been. “Even if she isn’t here, I can have her brought up.” He tapped something at his Cuff. “And you don’t have any real hope of hurting me.”
He rotated his forearm, to show me a small hole that was bored into the metal of his Cuff, the size and shape of the barrel of a gun.
The book was at his feet. He kicked it at me, keeping the Cuff’s gun trained on my head.
“That book proves the opposite of what you wish. Freedom of Speech was carefully and legally carved away in order to preserve the nation and to keep people from harm.”
He was used to talking; I could hear it in his voice. I ground my teeth in frustration. I mentally went through my bag, thinking what I could use to harm him. If I could knock his Cuff aside, could I turn it against him? Could I shoot my grapple hook into his chest? Could I club him with my pony bottle of sleep gas, or spray it in his face?
Probably not. His gun was trained right at me.
“It is far better and more profitable to own the idea of a chair than the chair itself. Intellectual Property has the advantage of being at the root of all things,” Rog continued. “Control it, and you can control anything. A meal, or a gun, cannot come into being without the idea of a meal or the idea of gun.”
He took a step toward me.
“I don’t want to kill you. I want to defeat you. I want to eliminate the insolent idea you have that you might dare express yourself without paying. I want to hear your voice. This keeping silent...” He shook his head. He wouldn’t put up with it. He brandished the Cuff at me, and his blocky face glowed pink, warmed by his passion for control.
“I’ve offered you an excellent deal. I am deeply frustrated that you seem to be rejecting it.”
He turned his attention to the Cuff on his arm. He kept the barrel pointed at me and swiped. He sighed.
“I’ll do it the hard way,” he said. “I’ve sent word to construct an interview with you. In a few hours, the world will see you speak for the first time. It will be broadcast everywhere, through every WiFi node in the city. Not that it’s necessary at this point. Your silence scarcely matters now. If everyone wants to keep quiet like you, so be it. I’ll Patent the silent protest myself, and then I’ll simply scan their brains for thinking about going silent. It’ll be ludicrously profitable.
“I suppose I should thank you for forcing my hand. Without you, I wouldn’t have been motivated to innovate. But still, I would like it clear that Silas Rog never loses. My reputation is at stake.”
There was a hitch in his voice. He still wouldn’t be satisfied. Everyone would think he had won, but he and I would know differently. In the history of things, I would have this small, unknown victory.
The view on my Pad changed. He’d somehow altered the feed from Kel’s to the one coming from my own corneal implants. I didn’t understand how this was possible. How was my feed being transmitted without my Cuff?
“There will be no more late-night Product Placements, or flying under the public radar. You can go on with your silence. I don’t care. What will it matter once everyone has seen ‘you’ speak? Afterward, I will ship you off to some hot, dusty field in Texas, far from any dome or hope. I’ll put the feed from your eyes up for sale. Everything you see will be broadcast on WiFi everywhere, so people can watch the wretchedness of your existence—just like Belunda Stokes.”
The WiFi, I thought numbly. The WiFi that once let everyone exchange ideas freely was now used to control our every move.
“I’ve taken ownership of your parents, your sister and you. I’ll have each of your brains scanned for infringements until your family is so deep into debt that I’ll own your grandchildren’s grandchildren. Do you like babies? You can have them safely eight at a time now. You sluks call them litters, unless I’ve been misinformed. You’re a bit young for such a brood, but not Saretha. Trust me, I’ll be sure she has so many children that there will be generations of Jimes to pay your ceaseless debt. I’ll send you a picture of each litter just before they are carted away and raised to pay me.”
His body warmed with the thrill of his cruelty. I felt suddenly nauseous and doomed. This must have been how Beecher felt. I would rather die than face such a future, but I couldn’t leave Saretha alone to this fate. I could not let him win.
Rog stared hard at me, waiting to see if I’d crack under his threats, but I gave him nothing. I kept myself still. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. He was too arrogant to believe I could hurt him, but he didn’t realize the depths of my fury, or that I’d worked out what he was afraid of. He thought I was stupid, or at least dumber than I was, for believing the book really held some answer.
It sat at my feet, and I took the time to finally read what the cover said—A Complete History of U.S. Intellectual Property Reform. He’d lured me to the top of the building with this book—or some book; he may well have chosen one at random, for all I knew. But there was something here that he didn’t want me near. If we were at the building’s top, then it was at the bottom.
It came to me in a rush. The servers for the entire city were there. He’d centralized the WiFi himself. I thought of my father during the FiDos of long past, and how he’d longed for a different world. Maybe I could make that world exist, even if only for a moment. Everything required an always-on connection. What would happen if it was turned off? Beecher’s father had been convinced that if it all went down—if it was destroyed—then it could not be set back on.
Rog was expecting me to weep and beg for his mercy. I bent down slowly, and the blocks that comprised his face shifted. Staring at him, I pulled my bag around, carefully placed the book inside and took a deep breath.
His shoulders relaxed. He laughed at me like I was a child.
“Oh my God,” he gasped through his mocking laughter. “All this time, I thought you had some clever plan. You really don’t understand, do you?”
I kept my face blank. Go ahead, I thought, underestimate me.
“The. Book. Won’t. Help,” Rog said slowly, like I wasn’t capable of understanding. “I could print up a thousand books and make them say whatever I want and call it history!”
I reached deep in my bag, letting the book settle. I exhaled and breathed deep again. I held that breath. I reached past my grappling gun to the small knob on the canister of sleep gas. I turned it slowly and counted in my head.
“Would you like some more?” he asked, gesturing to the books all around. It would take maybe ten seconds for the gas to reach him. I didn’t know if I could last. I closed my eyes. I shrugged ever so slightly, silent, my mouth sealed tight. He laughed at me.
“That was communication!” he exclaimed, victorious. “And a willful skirting of the Law! Bronsky versus State of Maryland—‘Sight occlusion whilst in commission of a deliberate gesture without authority from the state shall be considered...’” His head cocked slightly as he sniffed and swayed, trying to keep his Cuff trained on me.
My lungs burned. I longed for air.
He went on, voice slightly slurred, “‘...willful elusion of Intellectual Prop...’ Wait...” Panic radiated from him as I rifled through my bag, hoping to find my mask before I needed to draw a breath.
The elevator pinged. Rog frowned, his eyes unfocused. “They shouldn’t...” But he was not able form the words he wanted.
I only had to stay conscious a little longer, before his guards—or whoever was on that elevator—arrived. Rog faltered. I moved toward him. My lungs felt ready to burst, and stars swam in my vision.
There was a loud bang and a shattering of glass. Had he shot at me? I inhaled in shock—a gasp. My plan wasn’t working. I needed to get to Rog, but the room began to darken around me. I heard a woman’s muffled voice calling my name as my legs buckled. Rog said something, but his voice came out strangled.
The room swam away from me, the blue dawn at the windows dimming. I saw Sam, Saretha and my parents gathered around a spinning table, all talking at once, but I couldn’t hear them. Kel was there, but Henri wasn’t. I opened my eyes to a darkening blur and thought, for just a moment, that I saw Margot. Then everything went black.