All Rights Reserved

by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

  This was not the book. It said nothing about speech or words. But the logo reminded me of WheatLock™, and the pages detailed the ways food inks needed to be combined and the ways printers functioned to combine them or lock the user out if payment wasn’t authenticated. There was even a key showing which had nutritional value, and which were poisonous.

  It wasn’t the book, but it seemed like it could be useful.

  From the Pad, Butchers’s voice went on: “The trespassers, hereinafter referred to as the Participants, will submit to neurologic survey and inspection for any and all violations of Intellectual Property, and shall be held civilly accountable for any and all verified infractions found therein, as well as attendant animus nocendi.”

  I walked lightly around the thick pillar. On the far side, more wide aisles fanned out to the windows. It was growing lighter outside. There was no sign that any book was more important than another. I prepared to dig in and look through every one if I had to, but how much time did I have left?

  Something clicked and whirred behind me. The answer was that my time was up. The elevator was moving, which meant someone was coming.

  SILAS ROG: $49.99

  I slipped down an aisle and crouched low. I was closer to the windows now and could see a flat expanse of dark, sparkling water to the east. The ocean. The size of it was mind-boggling, and I longed to take it in, but this was not the time.

  The elevator doors slid open.

  “I must register my disappointment.”

  It was Rog. I could hear him sniff at the air. Was he alone? I listened closely. If he had people with him, I couldn’t hear them. But if they were as quiet as Kel and the team, they could have easily spread through the room to surround me, and I wouldn’t know until they were right on top of me.

  I crept back toward the stairwell. Could I escape? Should I? I didn’t have what I’d come for, and my friends were locked up. No, I had to stay and fight it out, or go down trying.

  “I am aware of what you are here for, Miss Jime.” Rog sighed. “But you should recognize that facts on paper are worth very little, despite the mystique.”

  Facts on paper are worth very little? That was an interesting thing for a man standing in his own, massive library of paper books to say. Was he talking about the book? Was he admitting it was real?

  “If you wish to hide like a rabbit, I can send for dogs to flush you out,” he said. He had moved closer; his footsteps were light. I steadied myself, profoundly aware of the sound of my own breathing. I listened intently. Was he really alone?

  “So many unauthorized reproductions.” The voice startled me—it wasn’t Rog. From the small speaker on the Pad, Butchers clucked over the Copyright violations he found in Henri’s mind.

  Across the room Rog laughed, moving nearer. I cursed myself for forgetting about Kel’s feed as I tapped the Pad to mute it and silently scuttled back to hide farther away. This wasn’t much of a confrontation, but I didn’t know what to do. My hands were shaking.

  “Shall I show you where it is?” Rog offered. “The magical book you are looking for?”

  The faintest slipping sound reached me from a few rows away. I felt a little sick. I saw no way out.

  “This is the book in question.” He held a book up; I could see it waving in his hand over the shelves. The dark blue cover looked old, but cared for. I couldn’t read the title. I could almost feel his security people creeping through the stacks to surround me, but I didn’t hear so much as a breath. I quickly tapped the Pad over to its thermal sensor and scanned in a circle around me. It was just Rog and me in the room. Why had he come alone?

  “Transgressors frequently attempt to gain access to these premises with the intent to burglarize this library and its contents, so they may secure this one book. Few make it inside, as you have.” He paused. I watched his outline on the thermal sensor—orange, tall and fit, but I couldn’t see the details of his face.

  “I know when they are coming. I have copious resources devoted to ingesting all the words people speak so I know when they speak against me. Algorithms can easily track patterns of discontent. Sometimes the models predict when they will come even before they themselves have decided.”

  My eyes burned a little. I despised the sound of his voice. His arrogance coiled between the stacks.

  “You’ve never said a word though, have you? That troubles me. There is no algorithm that can parse the intention of silence.” The book fell out of view, followed by the sound of flipping pages. “Your resolve is commendable. Of course, Samuel might feel differently.”

  At the sound of my brother’s name, my blood boiled. Sam. He was Sam! And he was dead because of this man.

  “It is unfortunate he had to be sacrificed in order for me to test your resolve.” My heart pounded in my ears. I thought of Sam when he was little, holding my hand across Falxo Bridge. I choked a little and palmed the tears on my cheeks. He had Sam killed to test me?

  “All forms of expression are subject to Copyright, Patent and/or Trademark. You turned silence into an expression of dissent, but you did not pay. It is a perversion of the Law!”

  His voice was suddenly louder, and terrifyingly raw. I felt weak against it. I was letting everyone down again. Rog was toying with me, and I was going to fail.

  But just as quickly, Rog settled down. “I suppose you have paid,” he said. “Just not with money.”

  Silas Rog was a malignancy. He had ruined my life, piece by piece by piece. I wondered if I could hurt him back, and if so, how much.

  “I can’t have people following your lead. I’ve let it go on far too long. The Silents.” He made their name sound like a curse. “Let me make you an offer—I will assign to you the majority share of rights pertaining to silent protest. It will be, as it already is, your Trademark. From this time forward, any and all parties demonstrably engaged in nonverbal remonstration for a period of more than three days will be required to pay good and valuable consideration to you for each subsequent minute of silence that follows.”

  What the hell does that mean? In my head I could hear Sam asking it, not me.

  “All those Silents out there—more than the Media would have you know about, by the way—would have to pay you for the privilege of their silence. After three days, we could charge 10¢ each minute. You might clear a million dollars a day. They would never see it coming. I think it is a very innovative idea. I would drop all action against you and your friends, and you could go home. I could arrange to have your parents and Saretha waiting for you.”

  The suggestion was ludicrous, and I despised how gleeful he seemed about it. His math made it sound like there were far more Silents than I had dared imagine. Was it just our city, or had it happened in others?

  “Just say the word...” He laughed at himself. “Just say a word.”

  He had to know I wouldn’t agree. I couldn’t trust him—he’d murdered Sam! And even if I could trust him, I wouldn’t betray the Silents. They would be gathering even now, if Mandett had succeeded.

  Rog looked at the book again and took a breath. His lips turned briefly purple on the scan, then warmed again, the color of flame. He was bothered. Something about my silence stuck in his craw. I could not see his face, but somehow I could tell that he was vexed.

  This delighted me.

  “Given all your cleverness, I’m a little surprised you have fallen for this chicanery.” He shook the book in his hands. “If I had thought you were going to fall for it, I would have been up here waiting for you when you arrived.”

  His story was changing again. He didn’t think I would fall for it? If he didn’t think I was here for the book—if he didn’t think I would come to the roof, to his library, where did he think I was headed? I had to read between his words to find the true meaning hiding in them. My mind focused, grappling with what he’d accide
ntally said.

  “What did you think it could possibly contain?”

  The book landed with a thud, not ten feet from me. He wiped his hands.

  “There is no book.”

  The one he’d tossed certainly wouldn’t be it, but it seemed more possible that the book existed now that he said it didn’t.

  He laughed. He was happy. He thought I was no threat, just an irritant he would soon dispatch. I wanted to kill him. Maybe that is what he thought I was there to do. Maybe now he felt safe, because I was only fifteen, and he was a monster.

  I willed the strength back into myself. The foul sound of his voice fired my rage, stinging me with pins and needles. I pulled myself up to confront him, but then he stepped around the corner with Sam and Saretha by his side.

  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.