by Ted Weber
Kiyoko stood and looked at Charles. Maybe Pel would come around in time. “Whatever it takes, I’m for it…”
Dingo threw two quick jabs to the air. “Let me know, I’ll raise an army to bust her out.”
Pel wiped his eyes and curled his lips into a sneer. “Don’t be fools. Enough acting like fools.”
“What are you talking about?” Charles said. “We totally owned the biggest bossmen in the world. It’s all everyone’s talkin’ ’bout on the Comnet. All about our twelve minute Super Bowl broadcast and everything we released.”
“And how MediaCorp should be dissolved,” Kiyoko added, “and the president impeached.”
Shakti’s aunt looked over. “Yes, even here in Guyana people talk about it.”
Pel shook his head. “I never would have agreed to Waylee’s plan if I’d known I’d lose my house, never see my family and friends again, and see the woman I worship spend the rest of her life in prison.”
Everyone stared at him. Kiyoko picked up her sleeping cat from the coffee table and squeezed onto the sofa between Pel and Dingo. “We don’t know that, Pel. Have some faith. You saw. With faith and a plan, we can do anything.”
He didn’t respond.
“And if you asked Waylee,” she said, “she’d say the sacrifice was worth it.” Pel stood. “You know MediaCorp’s spin machine will bury everything we did. And the president will order a crackdown. I should have tried harder to stop her.” He marched out of the room.
Kiyoko returned to the window. Shakti’s aunt had pointed the way north, toward Virginia and Maryland. Beyond the white houses with red-shingled roofs, the tangles of electrical wires, and the scattered palm trees, beyond the leaky seawall and hungry Caribbean, her sister sat imprisoned somewhere.
Stay strong. We’ll get you out.
* * *
March 1
Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia
Waylee
“You’ve got a visitor,” the stocky female nurse told Waylee.
Who was it this time? Did they expect her to say anything without legal counsel?
At least it would be relief from the unending boredom. She lay in a white-walled hospital room by herself, with only medical staff and interrogators for company. No Comnet access, no entertainment channels or books even. And they’d completely immobilized her, strapping her limbs to the bed. Metal and plaster scaffolding clung to her neck and left arm.
The only good news was she could think clearly, not overcome by depression or anxiety. Her demons had died in the crash. Or at least entered a coma.
“Damn.”
Waylee couldn’t move her head to see who her visitor was, but the voice sounded familiar. “Who is it?”
“Your legal team.” Francis Jones strolled into her field of view, dapper in a charcoal pinstripe suit.
“Oh my God.” Waylee couldn’t help it—tears of happiness welled up and streamed down her cheeks. And she couldn’t wipe them away. “Look at me. This is so embarrassing.”
“No need to feel embarrassed.” Francis grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and dabbed her tears away. “Sorry it took so long to get access.”
He introduced her to three lawyers licensed in Virginia, which he was not, he said. All three—two women and one man—looked fresh out of law school.
“I’m pretty fucked up, Francis. Doctors said my seatbelt saved me. But I won’t be playing any gigs for a while.”
“Well, we intend to sue the government for excessive use of force, among other things.” He held up a finger. “Before we get started… I insisted that our conversation remain private, as a matter of attorney-client confidentiality. The authorities here agreed, but I can’t promise they aren’t watching or listening anyway. And obviously we couldn’t bring any detection equipment, assuming we had any, on the base.”
She couldn’t move her head to nod. “I wouldn’t trust them.”
Francis sat in the metal chair next to the bed and pulled a data pad out of an inner pocket. He stretched it to lap size. “I understand you haven’t been charged yet?”
“They said I was an enemy combatant and the Constitution didn’t apply.”
He huffed. “That’s bullshit. The FBI tried that tactic with your sister and it didn’t stick. You’re an American citizen on American soil. You get due process.”
“Homeland thugs come in almost every day and ask questions, but I haven’t said shit. They say I was driving a stolen car, committed acts of conspiracy, fraud, and espionage, and I might as well confess.” Maybe I should.
He leaned forward. “Have they described the proof?”
“No. I invoke the Fifth Amendment, and that’s as far as the conversations get.”
Fingers flew on his data pad. “Robert Luxmore’s taken a special interest in your case. Said on camera you should get life in prison.”
“I must have tweaked him good.”
Francis looked up and smiled. “MediaCorp stock took a nose dive, and a lot of stockholders want Luxmore gone. The public is ready to tar and feather him. There’s even talk of revoking their corporate charter.”
“Do you think that’ll happen?”
He frowned. “We’ll see. Corporations have committed some horrific crimes—oil spills, poisoning, fraud, even mass murder—and received little more than a slap on the wrist, if anything at all. In this case, it’s not clear that MediaCorp has actually violated any laws, although the People’s Party and others are looking into it.”
“What about President Rand?”
He leaned back in the chair. “His approval ratings are at an all-time low. Congress, believe it or not, plans to hold hearings.”
So much for party unity. “Rats fleeing the ship. Any chance of impeachment?”
He shook his head. “None. Just righteous indignation so their constituents will think they give a damn.”
Her skin tingled. “We’ve gotta break up MediaCorp and put the ‘Net in the hands of the people. Give everyone an equal voice, like the original vision. Without freely shared, accurate information, we’re doomed as a species.”
He nodded. “I’ll pass that along.”
One of the Virginia lawyers stepped forward. “All this public outrage can help your case. Some say you’re a political prisoner.”
“Aren’t we all.” She looked back at Francis. “Well if they bury me, a lot of great writing’s come out of prisons. Francis, promise you’ll get me published?”
“If it comes to that, sure.” He patted her hand. “You know, your band is getting quite popular.”
“Fastest trending music on the Comnet,” one of the other lawyers said.
“Kiyoko will be happy about that,” Waylee said. On to more important things. “Promise me something else?”
“What’s that?”
“They told me Pel and Kiyoko left the country.”
“I haven’t talked to them,” he said, “but yes, they’ve all been granted asylum.”
“Get them a message. It’s important.”
“Of course. What’s the message?”
“Tell them I’m fine and I love them.”
Francis nodded.
One of the other lawyers pulled a camera out of her bag. “Do you mind if I take some pictures? For the case?”
“Sure.” She tried to sit up but had forgotten the restraints. “Could you unstrap my arms?”
Francis unbuckled her arm straps.
Waylee sat up in the bed, reveling in the slight freedom of movement. She met her lawyers’ eyes. “Thank you for caring.”
The female lawyer pointed the camera at her.
Waylee stared at the lens. I didn’t go quietly. She clenched her right fist and thrust her unbroken arm up in defiance.
Then she spoiled the effect by smiling.
m.Net
