The National Guard officer blinked. “I don’t make the rules, miss. Just come along peacefully, all right? No one wants trouble.” He caught her arm and attempted to turn her around.
She shook him off and took two steps backward, lightning quick. “Sure you do. Make the rules, I mean. This is a democracy, right? You vote, don’t you? It must be nice. I’ve never had the chance.”
He beckoned for backup. “Take it up with the courts. Right now, you’re resisting arrest.”
“No,” Loup said thoughtfully. “If I were resisting, you’d know it. I’m just asking you to think about what you’re doing.”
The officer drew a stun gun. “You going to make this hard?”
Loup cocked her head. “I just want a chance to—”
He fired.
“Goddamnit!” Donny yelled. “She’s just a girl!”
The electrode darts made contact with the bare skin of her abdomen. Loup doubled over, her muscles seizing. She straightened, wincing. “Is that all you’ve got?”
The officer’s jaw dropped. “Holy fuck!”
Another guard stunned her from behind, and then another.
She doubled over again and braced her hands on her knees, riding out the agonizing muscular convulsions.
“Loup!” Charlie’s voice, genuinely alarmed. “Cut it out!”
“America sucks!” Randall added fervently. “This is bullshit!”
“It’s okay!” Loup hauled herself upright, breathing hard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brian McAfee giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “It’s okay,” she repeated, exhaling hard. “I’ve kind of done this before.” She put her hands together in front of her. “Jesus, guys! I said I wasn’t resisting!”
The National Guard descended on her. They spun her around and handcuffed her hands behind her. Real metal cuffs, no plastic strips this time.
Loup let them.
“Hey, Donny!” She stumbled past him, shoved from behind. “Tell Pilar I’m okay, will you? This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just for show.”
“You’re hurt!” he protested. “They hurt you!”
“Not bad. Just tell her, will you?”
He nodded, eyes damp. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks.” Loup craned her head around for a last look. “Good luck. Play good, guys. Have a good concert. Sorry I couldn’t be there for it.”
“You fucking bet we will,” Randall said softly.
They did.
They played very, very well.
FORTY-FOUR
Niiice.” The guard drew the word out.
“Yep,” Loup agreed. She watched the concert footage on the Dataphone the guard held thoughtfully for her. A montage of clips featuring her played on the big screen behind the band while Randall addressed the crowd.
“This all started out as a lark,” he shouted. “People said it was a gimmick when we hired the world’s only GMO bodyguard, and it was. But it’s bigger than that now. And an hour ago, it stopped being a lark!”
On the big screen, the footage of Loup being shot with the stun gun played.
The guard winced.
The crowd yelled in protest.
“This one’s for Loup!” Randall called as the band launched into “Cages,” an ongoing montage playing in the background all the while.
“Thanks,” Loup said when the video clip ended. “I appreciate it.”
The guard shrugged and pocketed the device. “Thought you’d like to know. It’s all over the news.” His voice softened. “I got a kid sister your age, and you don’t seem all that different from her. What they’re doing to you, I don’t think it’s right.”
“Is there any news about the Outpost hearings?” she asked. “They’re supposed to start today.”
He hesitated. “Maybe. I’ll see what I can do, okay?”
“Thanks.”
The guard left, taking her breakfast tray and locking the door of her cell behind him. Loup lay down on the cot and folded her arms behind her head, staring at the ceiling.
At least it was a lot better than the last time. She wasn’t sure where she was being held, but she had a cot with a pillow and a blanket. The cell had a toilet and a sink. The temperature was tolerable. She had a clean orange jumpsuit to wear instead of sweat-soaked boxing gear. She hadn’t been interrogated or hosed. So far, she’d been served meals at regular intervals even if it was MREs, and they’d turned the lights off overnight.
It was still prison, and the empty feeling told her she should be scared that this time there would be no escape.
It was boring and it was lonely, horribly lonely. She missed Pilar; and that was worse than before. They’d been separated for long months before the boxing match, only reuniting the day before the event. It was harder being alone now. And it was doubly frustrating not to know what was going on in the outside world. The first time, Loup had been resigned to an unknown fate. Now she was desperately curious to know.
Hours later, the same guard returned to serve her lunch, sporting a grin. “You’re in luck. The duty officer’s a soft touch.”
“Yeah?” Loup opened the warm pouch. Diced turkey and gravy steamed unappetizingly. “What does that mean?”
“Eat up. I’ll be back.”
He came back a while later, opening a small sliding window in her cell door. “Stick your hands out.” Loup complied. He put on handcuffs. “You do that like you’ve had practice.”
“Unfortunately, yeah. Hey, what’s your name?”
The guard hesitated. “Bradford. Bradford Prince.” He unlocked the cell door. “Come on. Duty officer says you can be allowed a couple hours of rec time as long as I’m willing to supervise.”
“Okay.” At his direction, she preceded him down an empty, brightly lit industrial hallway to a sizable carpeted room. There were books and magazines on the shelves, a few board games, and a single television. “What is this place anyway?”
“Recreation room.” Bradford Prince turned on the television and began flipping channels.
“No, I mean where am I?” She glanced around. “And how come there’s no one else here?”
He hesitated again. “You’re, um… let’s just say it’s a detention center that hasn’t gotten much use in the past few years. We’re running a skeleton staff recruited on short notice.”
“All for me?” Loup asked wryly.
“For now. But if you’re tempted to get any ideas, don’t. Security’s tight and you’ve got nowhere to go.”
“If I was going to run, I wouldn’t have gone to the fucking concert,” Loup observed. “I’m not stupid.”
“Glad to hear it, because that’s exactly what I told the duty officer.” He found the channel he was looking for. “Okay, they’re carrying the hearings live on C-SPAN. As long as you behave yourself and don’t give me any trouble, you can watch a couple hours every day.”
“No strings attached?”
He shook his head. “No strings.”
She glowed. “Thanks, Bradford!”
He smiled back at her. “You’re welcome.”
The hearings were already in progress. It was a dry, tedious process that should have been boring, but Loup sat glued to the TV, watching Senator Ballantine construct a painstaking history of border security and the creation of the Outposts, laying out how many decades ago a raid by Mexican forces desperate for medication on a hospital in Laredo had spawned the legend of Santa Anna El Segundo that had created the basis for the entire policy.
“So there really was an El Segundo,” Loup murmured. “Sort of.”
“… creating a climate of paranoia that led to these extreme measures!” Senator Ballantine thundered. “Measures that led to an edifice of deception intended to justify their ongoing existence!”
There was testimony from Esteban Sandoval from the Department of Foreign Relations in Mexico, who produced documents establishing that the rebel general, Marcos de la Jolla, on whom the El Segundo legend was based, had been tried and convicted
for his crimes by a Mexican military tribunal.
There was countering testimony from American military brass who produced evidence to the contrary, documenting the continued alleged activities of El Segundo.
“That’s bullshit!” Loup said indignantly to the TV. “After a certain point, it was all us, wasn’t it? We faked it.”
Bradford Prince glanced at his watch and turned off the television. “My shift’s ending. Time to go.”
She sighed. “Okay. Hey, Bradford? Did you ever serve on one of the Outposts?” He didn’t answer. “Did you?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
“You did. You so did!” Loup rose effortlessly, extending her handcuffed wrists in a pleading gesture. “Look, I know they made it illegal for military personnel to tell the truth. But there are thousands of guys like you, good guys who were just doing their jobs. If you all stuck together, it could make a difference. And if the good guys don’t tell the truth, who will? What if Miguel and Pilar aren’t enough? They’re only two people.”
He steered her down the hall. “I stay out of politics.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the smart thing to do.” He maneuvered her into her cell and locked the door. “Give me your hands.”
Loup stuck her hands through the window. “Doesn’t mean it’s the right thing.”
Bradford Prince unlocked her cuffs. “You’ve never been in the military, have you? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Several tomorrows later, the situation was largely unchanged. The hearings continued to move at a glacial pace, rehashing the details of the past. Neither Miguel nor Pilar had been called to testify yet.
But Loup was appointed a lawyer.
His name was Tom Abernathy and he was a military attorney serving at the behest of the Office of the General Counsel of the United States Department of Defense, and the first thing he informed her of was that under the current rule of law she had absolutely no rights.
“None,” he said primly. “None at all.”
“So what do we do?”
Tom Abernathy’s pale eyes gleamed. “Change the law.”
“How do we do that?” she asked.
“We try to get the Human Rights Amendment repealed.” He glanced at her startled expression. “It’s a deceptive title. It’s meant to sound like legislation designed to protect individual rights. It’s not. In essence, it decrees that only individuals with one hundred percent human DNA are entitled to rights and protection under the law. And as long as it’s in effect, you can be held indefinitely without any right to a trial.”
“So how come I have a lawyer?”
He gave her an unexpectedly boyish grin. “Because the DOD’s taking a lot of heat over your detention. That video was a piece of genius. Whose idea was it?”
Loup didn’t answer.
“That’s okay, it doesn’t matter.” Abernathy opened a laptop. “Look, I don’t expect you to trust me. But I’m not just here to provide cover. I want to help.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said. “First I just have to make a good-faith gesture, right? Admit I had help in the Santa Olivia conspiracy? Tell you how I escaped? Or maybe now I’m supposed to confess that I was involved in a plot to smuggle my precious DNA out of the country in the service of pop music?”
He pursed his lips. “No. But the situation’s complicated. The Santa Olivia business…” He shook his head. “Ms. Garron, none of your recorded history can even be formally acknowledged outside a military tribunal at this point.”
Realization dawned. “Because it all took place on an Outpost. Which supposedly doesn’t exist.”
“Right.” Abernathy nodded. “So pending the results of the hearings, our hands are tied. If that dam breaks, we can tackle the next one.”
“And that’s the Human Rights Amendment.”
“Right.”
Loup sighed. “What are our chances?”
“It’s a long shot,” he admitted. “But it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. I think we might see a significant shift in the next few weeks. And if that happens, things will begin to move. They won’t move quickly. But they will move, slowly and inexorably.” He glanced at his laptop. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to verify your history and confirm your testimony regarding those crimes to which you have confessed.”
“I thought you said it was irrelevant.”
“At this point, yes. I’m anticipating that that will change.”
“Okay.” She answered his questions while he took notes. When she got to the part about dressing up as Santa Olivia in a blue dress and a white kerchief and throwing a small boulder through the windshield of a Jeep, he interrupted her.
“Why did you do it?”
“Doesn’t it say?”
Abernathy consulted his notes. “No. The rape charges against the soldier you assaulted earlier are on file. No motive given for the destruction of property.”
“Jesus!” Loup said. “So you guys keep a record of this stuff? That a girl who supposedly doesn’t exist was raped?”
“The private was acquitted.”
“Yeah, because his buddies lied for him!” she said in frustration. “That’s why I did what I did. Anyway, that’s not the point!”
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Throughout history, people have documented all sorts of atrocities they denied committing. We’re no better.”
Loup shook her head in disgust. “You could be the one to break the dam, couldn’t you? You know all this stuff; you’ve got documentation. You’re only admitting it to me because I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
He had the decency to flush. “I angled for this post, Ms. Garron, because I do believe the Human Rights Amendment is an abomination. If I went public with classified information, I’d be cashiered and pulled from your case in a heartbeat. Most likely, I’d be replaced with someone far less sympathetic to your plight. The public is fickle and they have a short attention span. There’s already speculation that the Kate video is a hoax. You could easily vanish into a black hole here. Is that what you want?”
She thought about the anguish in Pilar’s face and murmured, “No.”
“All right. Why did you throw a rock at the Jeep?”
“Because the soldiers driving it ran over an old man’s dog for fun, okay?” Loup said. “He left a petition for Santa Olivia at the church praying that one day they might repent of having destroyed his last happiness. We checked it out—”
“We?”
Loup fell silent, cursing inwardly.
“It’s all right,” Abernathy said in a quiet tone. “General Argyle was more than a little paranoid there at the end. No one has any interest in digging deeper into the affair. I think matters have progressed far beyond that point. I just want to know what sort of person I’m dealing with here.” He studied her. “One with a rather keenly developed sense of justice, I’d say. You might make a good lawyer.”
She smiled reluctantly. “Nah. Too much research.”
Tom Abernathy returned her smile and closed down his laptop. “That’s enough for today. I’ll be in touch as matters progress.”
“Hey, can you get a message to Pilar for me?” Loup asked. “Can you tell her I’m okay and that it’s not like last time? That they’re not starving me or anything? I know she’s gonna be worried sick about it. I can give you her number or you can reach her through Senator Ballantine’s office.”
He hesitated. “I’m not permitted to communicate directly with the family or friends of the detained. But I’ll be issuing a press release confirming that I’ve met with you and you’re receiving excellent care.”
“She won’t believe it,” Loup said glumly.
“I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do.”
FORTY-FIVE
The Outpost hearings wore on.
“So who’s on the docket for today?” Bradford Prince asked cheerfully. He’d gotten engaged in the proceedings.
&
nbsp; “Science geeks.”
They watched two hours of testimony from experts analyzing satellite photos. None of it offered conclusive proof of a civilian population, only a certain amount of undemolished infrastructure. Senator Ballantine railed about the existence of a no-fly zone over the cordon. Military brass defended it.
“Boring,” Bradford said.
“Yeah.” Loup sighed. “Why don’t they just call the damn witnesses?”
“They’re saving the big guns for the last. That’s how it’s done.” He checked his watch. “Cell time.”
She went obediently. “Thanks, Bradford.”
Days passed.
The testimony grew warmer.
Senator Ballantine unearthed a parade of refugees who had fled the Outposts when the military gave them the opportunity. An endless stream of middle-aged to elderly men and women recounted tales of friends and neighbors left behind, too sick or impoverished to flee.
“My mom was there when it happened,” Loup mused. “She didn’t understand what it meant when they said that by agreeing to stay, she wasn’t an American citizen anymore. She was only thirteen. Her and her cousin Inez. My aunt and uncle were already sick. She said what she remembered most was the generators and the lights, and how healthy the soldiers looked. She always liked soldiers, you know?”
Bradford Prince was quiet.
Military experts debunked the refugees’ testimony, pointing out that they had no way of knowing what measures had been taken to evacuate the remaining civilian personnel.
“None,” Loup muttered. “Not a fucking one.”
“You don’t know that,” he said. “You weren’t even born.”
She eyed him. “Well, all those civilians were still there when I was. And they were still there when I left. I’m pretty sure they’re still there now.”
After two weeks of testimony, they called in the big guns.
Loup took a sharp breath when the name Pilar Ecchevarria was announced. She scooted as close as she could to the television, sitting cross-legged before it.
“You’ll wreck your eyes,” Bradford warned her.
She ignored him.
[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray Page 32
