Weeping Justice

by Jennifer Froelich

The Sand is not how I remember it.

  The residence where I grew up was always old and in disrepair, but so was everyone else’s. State landlords did not respond to requests for help, so dishwashers stayed broken and we washed by hand. The air conditioning never worked, forcing us to open windows during the scalding summer months, and rust coming out of the bathroom faucet turned the water brown as far back as I can remember. Trash cans outside our building were always overflowing because collection workers were notoriously behind schedule, and stray animals skulked through the alleys at night, looking for food scraps that were not there. No one had anything left to throw out.

  But I cannot see any of these details today, standing on the street corner, shifting from foot to foot because my high-heeled boots hurt my feet. Instead, my old building looks quaint, the cracked stucco façade almost artful in the waning evening light.

  Did Middlebrooks do something here? I wonder. Has she regained enough power to have the streets cleaned, the garbage cleared, the graffiti covered with fresh paint?

  “One more shot, Xoey, and we can leave.”

  I nod and follow the photographer’s instructions, planting my feet wide and tilting my head at just the right angle, which forces me to stare up at my old bedroom window. With a fake smile spread across my face, I can feel my genuine connection to this place fading like the sunlight we are rushing to capture.

  Jan Jen strides toward me, his camera bigger than his face. Middlebrooks has told me he is a legend in Hollywood. “Even tier-one actors are on a waiting list,” she said yesterday. “You are a lucky, lucky girl.”

  “Now hands on your hips, Xoey and…smile!” Jan Jen says.

  Yes. I am a lucky, lucky girl.

  I follow orders for the next twenty minutes until the sun dips completely behind the building. With a brief wave, Jan Jen hurries off, his two assistants trailing behind, laden with camera bags and all the clothes, hats, and scarves they used to make me look like someone I am not. Middlebrooks and I are left standing alone in the gloom. As if she suddenly remembers this might not be the safest area of the city, she quickly summons a transport to take us back to my father’s home in a newly-renovated building reserved especially for up-and-coming celebrities.

  “Good work today, dear,” says Middlebrooks. She grips my hand for a minute, which reminds me of how precious I am to her—her ticket back to favored status—and someone she is still reluctant to let out of her sight.

  “I will see you tomorrow,” I say when the transport glides to a stop by my father’s curbside. I have been back in the Sand for a month, and I still cannot call it my home.

  “Nine a.m.?” Middlebrooks smiles but the crease between her eyebrows tells me she is still worried.

  “Nine o’clock, sharp.” I smile brightly.

  Middlebrooks nods and the transport pulls away. I have no doubt she will be here by 8:30 tomorrow, ready to whisk me away to another engagement. In this case, back to the recording studio, where I will finish a single that everyone is clamoring to hear.

  My nanochip unlocks first one, then a second security door as I enter the glossy lobby. A working dishwasher and clear bathwater are not the only upgrades in this place, I think wryly. Then I bite my lip. Ever since returning to the Sand, I have been struggling to repress my true feelings about almost everything I see.

  “This isn’t goin’ to work unless you stick to your act,” Bess told me. “The first word people should think of when they talk to you is ‘rehabilitated,’ okay?”

  I nod as if Bess has just told me this again and totter toward the elevator, more than ready to take off these ridiculous boots. A young man wearing the blue uniform of our utility guild is replacing an energy sensor on the other side of the lobby. He does a double take when he sees me and his face breaks into a wide smile.

  “Xoey!” he says. “You’re Xoey, right?”

  I nod and press the elevator button two more times. “Yes.”

  “Welcome home!” He crosses the lobby and pulls me into a hug, as if we are the best of friends instead of complete strangers.

  “Thank you,” I manage.

  “Can we take a selfie?” He’s already pulling out a pocket-sized Plexi-Flexi, not bothering to wait for my answer. “My sister won’t believe this. She’s your biggest fan!”

  He pulls me close to his side again, and I fight the urge to wrinkle my nose at his body odor. Instead, I smile at his device and step back into the elevator as soon as the doors glide open.

  “I’ll tag you in my post!” he says as the doors close on his eager expression. I slump against the mirrored elevator wall, press number twelve, and ask myself for the hundredth time, What am I doing here?

  But I know the answer.

  General Kelly was adamant when he refused my request to return to the Sand.

  “Too many things can go wrong. That doesn’t just endanger you, it endangers all of us.”

  Jasmine stood next to him, her face wet with tears as she nodded her agreement. “Xoey, think about this. Why would you risk your life to go back to that place?”

  “You know why,” I said. “Anyway, Bess is helping me with a plan. One that helps you as much as it helps me, sir. Wouldn’t you like a new resource in the western Sand since losing contact with Harvey?”

  “Do you honestly think you can replicate Harvey’s value?”

  “No, sir. But wouldn’t a connection to President Amaron be worth the risk I’m offering to take?”

  “At least listen to her idea before you dismiss it, sir,” Bess said quietly. “It willnae take more than five minutes.”

  “Alright, Xoey.” General Kelly crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his desk. “Tell me your plan.”

  Bess and I began to formulate my plan the night I talked to her in the Sentribot tower. The first step was convincing her.

  “Why the blazes would’ye want to go hame?” Bess asked. “I’m sorry, Xoey, but yer da’s a bit of a tube.”

  “I am not going back for him,” I said. “I’m going back for Oliver. Kino has him locked up somewhere, Bess. And she’s taunting me with it. Maybe if I return to the Sand, she’ll come looking for me.”

  “You want that sadistic woman to come lookin’ fer you?”

  “If it helps me find Oliver, yes.”

  Bess sighed. “Xoey, you know I like Oliver, right? He was pure brilliant during training. A great, loyal lad. But if Kino’s taunting you, she means you harm. As soon as you get back on UDR soil and that bloody bug in yer arm connects to Big Brother, they’ll put you in a hole and torture you until you tell them all your secrets—all our secrets! It’s too great a risk.”

  “If we set it up right, they won’t have a chance.”

  “How do you figure?”

  I blushed. “Because I am famous.”

  I told Bess the story I repeated later to General Kelly and Jasmine, starting with Middlebrooks and her fall from favor after the president’s disastrous visit to Windmill Bay. “She is smarter than she seems,” I said. “And she was fond of me, or at least she was fond of what I could do for her. I doubt that sense of self-preservation has changed. If I can make contact, get her to organize my ‘rescue’ and let her and Amaron take credit for it…”

  General Kelly nodded. “The president has been struggling with approval ratings ever since General Northcote’s rise in popularity, and his position weakens every day. Early on, the general was publicly supportive of Amaron and his policies, but lately there has been a subtle shift.”

  “Which we can capitalize on,” Bess said. “Just think of how his popularity will rise after he orders a team to rescue the most popular lass in the Sand!”

  “And Middlebrooks can make sure it’s all captured live and broadcast wide. Everyone from Sand to Sand will see it.”

  “Which means no one in the military, including Kino, will have a chance to lock Xoey up and interrogate her.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I just have to make sure the first words out of my
mouth are, ‘I want my dad.’”

  “Where do you propose we set up this rescue?” General Kelly asked.

  “Bess thought the safe house in the desert would be ideal,” I said. “You have already decided it’s too risky to use anymore, right, sir?”

  “Yes,” admitted the general. “Our limited intelligence tells us it might have been compromised.”

  “If the UDR already recognizes it as a legitimate Resistance holding, all the better,” Bess said. “That makes it perfect for the ransom drop.”

  “Ransom?”

  I nodded. “I got the idea from the Scottish royalty story. You wouldn’t just drop me in the desert for no reason after holding me for months, would you? You would want something from it. Money. At least, that’s the story we ask Middlebrooks to sell. She sets up the fake exchange and you have a team leave me at the safe house, tied up, dehydrated, and with a solid story to account for the past few months…”

  “There isn’t time to develop a proper cover story!” Jasmine said. “Acting isn’t as easy as it seems.”

  “But you could help me, Jasmine.” I took her hands. “You could train me to do what’s necessary to be believed. To survive.”

  “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” Bess said. “She wore a black hood to travel, was locked in a small room all day and all night. She heard muffled voices, overhead a few sentences we feed her to corroborate things the UDR already knows.”

  For several minutes we sat in silence, waiting to hear what General Kelly thought. Finally he stood up and led us to the door. “It has merit,” he finally said, “but there are also risks that are incalculable.”

  “But, sir—”

  “I’m sorry, Xoey,” he said. “But unless you can add something else to the table, I can’t approve this idea.”

  For another week, he stuck to his guns. Meanwhile, I was praying and preparing my cover story with Jasmine, who either decided to placate me because she thought the general would never change his mind, or that helping me become a better actor was the best way to keep me safe, since I was too stubborn to give up my plan.

  Then my prayers were answered. One of Gwen’s jobs is to communicate with other tech-savvy rebels at other bases, sharing news, tips, tech, and even gossip. That night, she was given some intelligence that checked all those boxes: an intercepted message that someone at Fort Eagle had spent hours decrypting. It turned out to contain not just intelligence on General Northcote, but a picture, as well.

  “Sir, you need to see this,” Gwen said one evening after dinner. Then she followed him into his office and closed the door. Half an hour later, the general called me, Bess, and Jasmine in to join them.

  “Do you still think you can set up your homecoming with Yvonne Middlebrooks?” the general asked.

  “Yes, sir.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling.

  “Show them the photo,” General Kelly said.

  Gwen handed me her tablet, which I held so that Jasmine, Bess, and I could study the image together. It was obviously taken at a distance, without the knowledge of either of the two people in the photo. One of them I recognized immediately, despite the fact that she was only dressed in a bathrobe and being embraced by the burly man next to her.

  “That’s Wanda Kino,” I said.

  “And that man with her,” Gwen said, “is General Northcote.”

  My father’s residence is at the end of the hall on the twelfth floor. I take a deep breath before I step up to the door, allowing my nanochip to connect with the security system and unlock it at the same moment I plaster a smile on my face.

  “Is that my Xoey?”

  Lights, cameras, action! I think. My father rushes toward the small foyer and wraps me in a big hug.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, trying not to choke on his aftershave.

  Life with Sean is one of those reality shows that films all day, every day. The editors screen the footage and pull their favorite parts, splicing them together for an hour-long episode which streams every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Cameras have been fitted in every corner of the house except the bathroom. I’m allowed to cover the bedroom camera at my discretion. “As often as you like,” my father said, before going on to suggest that it should actually be as often as he likes—just when I’m changing my clothes and sleeping.

  Of course, this entire charade involves me being happily reunited with my father, so I always sit down with him in the evening and let him pretend to love me before I excuse myself to the semi-privacy of my room. Right now, he’s escorting me to the bright kitchen with his arm around my shoulder, giving Portia the chance to pull me into another hug and tell me that I just missed Nox and Electra.

  “They would love for you to join them and their friends some night,” she says. “When you’re ready, of course.”

  My father interrupts, offering me Pad Thai, which he has been learning to cook, probably because it was recommended by his Life with Sean producer, M’kay Cherry, who has already recommended my father change the show’s name to Life with Sean & Xoey, an idea both my father and I detest.

  It is nice to have something in common.

  “Sit down and eat,” he says, putting a steaming bowl in front of me. He and Portia stand to one side, smiling as I take my first bite. It’s no wonder they are so happy. Being in a reality show has perks. Not just a new apartment, but regular food while the rest of the citizens are nearly starving.

  Jasmine told me about this before I left Fort Liberty. “They don’t want international audiences knowing the truth about how we live in the UDR. That’s why celebrities get better food, clothing, and housing.”

  Of course, my story is different, highlighting where I began and where I am now, which is part of Middlebrooks’ vision for my rehabilitation story. “They want to see that you were once just like them, Xoey. There’s no story more inspiring than yours, so let’s exploit it!”

  The photos we took in my old neighborhood today were just part of a spread that will be in next week’s People magazine. “I have no doubt you’ll make the cover,” Middlebrooks said. “Readers will read every harrowing detail of your kidnapping story and tap through myriad photos of your transformation. It will be quite dazzling.”

  Dazzling is not the word I would use. Confusing is a better fit. But Jasmine said the key to a believable performance is to tap into my real emotions. “People will expect you to be confused, sad, angry, even afraid,” she said. “Anyone who was kidnapped would feel those things too, so let them see what you’re really feeling. Then just…explain it in the context of the story you’re telling.”

  “So long as you dinnae forget to hide your scorn,” Bess added.

  I play with my food while my father drones on and on, playing up to the camera, fussing over me, making comments about how skinny I have become, and offering to listen if I want to talk anymore about those horrible traitors who kidnapped me.

  I just nod and smile, hating every moment. Hating every lie.

  28

  Riley

  “That’s all for today.” Mr. Chen bows.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” I say, bowing in return. He heads to the kitchen and I retrieve one of the oldest tablets from under the reception desk and head toward a booth in the corner, hurrying to take full advantage of my earned half hour of Internet time. Tucking one foot under my leg, I login to Dally and start decrypting my messages. There’s a brief one from Adam with not much more than a list of facts. He is completely healed and rehabilitated from his gunshot wound. Now he’s both securing Fort Liberty and working on a new operation that he can’t explain. He wishes Reed and I well.

  Next, I hear from Sam:

  R,

  Since X left, things are not so good. Mom worries. She even cries. At least we can see what is happening on TV. That she is safe for now, but it’s not the same. A is grumpy too. We just focus on what’s next on our list, which I won’t explain. I wish you and R were back, though. I miss P too and worry about her. I keep trying
to fix that problem, but don’t know how. She’s not safe and has no access to the web. I miss how you and O used to help me deal with stress. It’s not the same. Not that I want to go back to how it was at WB. I just thought everything would be better once we left. It’s not. Gotta go. Be careful. - S

  Poor Sam. We all hated Windmill Bay, but at least we were together. With Xoey leaving for this insane reunion with her father, we are more torn apart than ever. I’m afraid he will suffer most. I type my response, then read over it before encrypting and sending it through Dally’s instant message feature.

  S,

  R and I are okay. Both working our jobs and working toward our goal. No sign of L yet. I miss you and our chats. I didn’t realize how much we had to talk about until I left. I’m worried about P too. Isn’t there a Resistance plan in place to help people in her position? If I was there, you can bet I would be yelling at someone about it. In the meantime, I have been following X’s advice to pray. Speaking of X, I need to write to her, but is it safe? Let me know. I’m anxious to know if she’s okay and if she’s heard anything more about O. Say hi to A. I read his message but have no time to respond until later. Take care of yourself. Lots of love, R

  I spend the rest of my half hour scouring the web for a new Floodlight post. I find nothing. Has it jumped servers again, or has the most recent writer given up—or been caught? I remind myself to ask Sam about it the next time I message him. I also need to ask him if he has any ideas about how to scramble Lexie’s location detector when we rescue her. We should have asked about it before we left Fort Unity, but chalk that up to one more thing in a long list of mistakes. I have to believe Sam can help us, even from a distance. I’ve never met anyone as smart as Sam—and we’re getting Lexie out of here, no matter the cost.

  Before I logoff, I see a photo that catches my eye. It’s Xoey, standing next to President Amaron during a visit to the presidential residence in the Western Sand. She’s dressed like a movie star and smiling ear to ear as the president leans over, telling her something the press isn’t meant to hear. I should be happy to see my friend looking alive and well, but there’s something about the image that leaves me unsettled.