“How fast does it work?” Jen asked the woman behind the counter.
“Depends on the dosage, the person’s weight, and how it’s taken. Couple of drops on food and it could take a day or so. A couple of drops in a drink and you’re looking at two hours tops. If someone drank it straight, the whole bottle, they’d be dead within a minute.” The woman eyed Jen, thinking. “If the body is autopsied, the poison will show up in toxicology. It’s not a good murder weapon if you’re going for stealth.”
“If I ever have to use it I’ll be long gone by the time an autopsy is done.” Jen said. “I’ll take it.”
“You got treason or credits?”
“Either.” Jen said.
“It’s fifty PAC or a half mil credits. We prefer PAC.”
“I guess so, that’s a pretty steep exchange.” Jen said. She paid the woman in Pacific Alternative Currency bills and took the vial. Her bugout bag was now complete, she could take the identity of Marcia Peterson, born in Canada to Brazilian parents. Jennifer Tracer was trapped like everyone else in the Prison States of America, but Marcia Peterson could cross borders with ease. No one would question why she had four different types of currency, and they certainly wouldn’t suspect that the bottle of eye drops in her bag was filled with poison.
She made her way through the Market Street bazaar and down the alley to the new mobile com center. She descended the stairs and put her thumb on the screen lock. When the door unlocked she opened it and found Tad working the security desk. “What are you doing working the desk?” She asked him.
“Carlos didn’t show up.” Tad said. “Neither did Bobby or Jerry. They’re all freaked out because of the election. The policy paper from the new Attorney General has everyone paranoid.”
“With good reason.”
“I guess so.” He said. “There’s a Pick-screen in doc 6 that’s ready for you.”
She thanked him and headed down the hall. She went down two flights of stairs and entered the com center. She could hear Barry Stees doing his comedy show to be posted the next morning, but otherwise the center was quiet. At a time like this no one wanted to be caught doing a political show -even from a secure bunker, hidden behind voice changers and animated avatars.
Doc six had a new curve-screen display and Jen pulled up her notes as her avatar booted up. Her avatar was derived from image data of the old film actor Denzel Washington. The voice was a program from the writer William Burroughs. It was a sophisticated program that not only changed how she sounded, but changed her inflection patterns to avoid even the best voice detection software. The Burroughs program had a strangely soothing nasal twang that somehow went perfectly with her avatar’s face. It had taken several combinations of famous faces and voices throughout history until she had stumbled on this combo, which had struck a chord with the public for some reason.
Her show was called ‘We are Already Dead’ and she did it five days a week, with special episodes now and then, like two days ago, election day, when California had struck down a ballot measure to outlaw the state currency. It was also the day that George O’Donnell had been elected president.
Jen started the broadcast with her opening theme, and waited for her cue to come in. The credit sequence ended with raw footage of a little girl throwing rocks at police in riot gear. The person filming her asks her if she’s afraid of the police. “I aint ‘fraid a nuthin’ cause I’m already dead.” She says.
The screen faded to Jen’s Denzel avatar. “Today we’re starting the show with a question. What kind of exchange rate are you getting out there in the real world? I was at a store today, and maybe I frequent stores with a certain political bent, but I was offered a product for fifty Pacific, or a half-mil credit. Has anyone else had this experience? I want to hear what kind of exchange rate you’re getting, and I already have a reply from Bitchface 297 -go.”
A cheap avatar of a giraffe from a popular kid’s show popped up in a little square screen to the left of Jen’s avatar. It was a man, speaking through a cheap voice changer. “Yo Whips, what are you doing a show for? Don’t you know that your party is considered a terrorist organization now? You gotta get your ass underground.”
“Going underground would be a valid response to the recent policy paper, but as of this moment I’m still willing to risk doing my show. I do it for you Bitchface 297. What kind of exchange rate are you getting these days?”
“I’d tell you if I could find any treason anywhere. I’m up in Canada, the PAC hasn’t made it up here.”
“An awful lot of Canadians calling the show lately. There seems to be a lot of concern up there about American politics.” Jen said. “And in case William Burroughs isn’t conveying it properly, that was sarcasm. Next up Sexhurt 001. He’s always got a unique take on things. Sexhurt go.”
The giraffe was replaced by a realistic man with jet black hair and a creepy mustache. It seemed like a caricature of a pervert, which made Jen think Sexhurt was probably a woman. “I’m no Canadian,” the voice of the pervert said, “I’m an American and a member of the Revolution Party. What do you think of that?”
“I think that in the eyes of the O’Donnell administration you are a terrorist.” Jen said. “What’s your point?”
“My point Doctor Whipshit, is that unless there is a major break or some sort of mass movement, I’m going to jail.”
“Now, now Sexhurt, you can, as Bitchface pointed out, go underground. There are always alternatives to succumbing to the power structure. You sound like you’re afraid, and fear is exactly what the CNP wants you to feel.”
“Well it’s working right now Whips.”
“I can tell.” Jen said. “The Bay Area free speech encampment has gotten a lot bigger since the election, did you know that? And there’s a rally tonight against the new policy paper. People are waking up. Locking up the unemployed in corporate prisons is one thing, but putting people in jail for belonging to a political party is another. Those people out in the streets are true heroes. What about you Sexhurt, will you be there?”
“Hey, I’ve been working for the Revolution Party for over a year now.” The mustachioed avatar said. “I think I’ve done my part okay? The buttons will come for me, I don’t need to go to them.”
“If what you say is true and you work for the Revolution Party you should be able to get an alternate ID and disappear.”
“Is that what you’re gonna do Whips?”
“No comment.”
“I hate to break it to you but the network for paper trips has been compromised. I know of five people who’ve been arrested trying to get on planes or trains. One I saw with my own eyes. We’d heard some rumors so I went to the train station when I knew one of my colleagues was leaving. She bumped her small-screen at the ticket counter and the buttons came down on her in a second. No talking, no questions, they just cuffed and bagged her and dragged her off.”
Jen was momentarily silent. “Well, I’d like to point out that Sexhurt 001 is an anonymous avatar and we don’t know if what he says is true or not. The danger with my format is that I let the show open to party propaganda being disseminated here. Revolutionaries with fake identities should take this information with a very large grain of salt.”
“Hey, you’ve been putting me on your show since the beginning.” Sexhurt said. “You think I’ve been spreading party propaganda that whole time?”
“I don’t know.” Jen said. “Let’s open it up for others to comment. Any other Revolution Party members heard of ID busts? We’ll hear from you after this.” Jen threw to a sewerpunk video. She took her small-screen off the dock and sent Sexhurt 001 a Pick message: I don’t think you’re CNP, but my show is anti-fear. Is your info solid?
-Yes, solid. Five confirmed, rumors of many more. Be careful Whips, the new IDs will put you in a hole-
Jen could almost see Marcia Peterson dissolve from her future. She got confirmation from three other commenters who said they were Revolution Party members whose friends had been nabbed trying to disap
pear.
She was about halfway into her show when her LA connection came in with more bad news. NightRipper had a demonic lizard avatar and the voice of a well-known child actor. “Your viewers need to know what’s going on here. The feds are shooting people down in the street. I barely got out Whips, we were at the free speech camp in front of the federal building and the security forces just opened fire on us. They weren’t trying to arrest anyone, they just wanted us all dead. I’m talking about a fucking massacre Whips. When the drones came we ran, and we got pretty far away but we could still feel the heat from the white phosphorous. They musta killed hundreds of people. It was the worst thing I ever saw and I’m from Chicago. Right now I’m talking to you from under a bridge…” Static chewed up the image for a moment. “…knew the Pick system was compromised…” He said before the transmission went out.
“We lost NightRipper,” Jen said. She took a moment to try to grasp the new information. “So it’s come to this.” She said. “I guess supporters of free speech can expect zero help form Governor Gyllenhaal. The CNP can hire thugs to mow us down in the streets and those empty suits down in Sacramento wont do a thing to stop it. I guess there’s no point trying to hide anything anymore. This is the last episode of We are Already Dead. My plan was to go underground -to run. It appears that that is not possible now, my new ID was from the Revolution Party, so it’s nothing but a ticket to oblivion. Our brothers and sisters are being slaughtered in the streets of Los Angeles, even if running was still an option, I wouldn’t do it. When I started this show I named it We are Already Dead as a way to combat the fear we were all feeling at the time. It’s like saying ‘Hey, all they can do is kill you. You’re gonna end up dead one way or another anyway, you might as well fight.’ Fear is the enemy, not the Well-Regulated Militia, not the Well-Armed Militia, not the Christian Nationalist Party, not the O’Donnell administration. Fear. Once you’ve conquered fear, you’ve won. I guess it’s no secret that I do this show from the Bay Area, so I’ll tell you all that I’m going to the free speech rally right after the show. I’m going to fight the thugs. Will we win? Probably not. Will I die? Maybe. Who cares? I’m already dead.” Jen shut down the avatar and flipped the curve-screen’s camera on. “This is the real me,” she said, “Doctor Whipshitup, also known as Jennifer Tracer. I am ready to die. If you care about freedom, you’ll stand up too. If you’re in the Bay Area, maybe I’ll see you in the street.”
She cut the transmission and pulled her small-screen off the dock. She was met by Tad on the stairs. “Nice work asshole, we gotta pull up stakes now. Just cause you wanna die a fuckin’ hero doesn’t give you the right to take out the whole com-center…”
“Tad, relax, my small-screen is under a different name. there’s no way to trace me to this building, and even if they could, they couldn’t do it before the scheduled move day after tomorrow anyway.”
“You think they can’t figure out where you’ve been without the small-screen? They have facial and gait recognition software in every camera in the city. They’ll know what block you’re on within the hour.”
“That shit doesn’t work as well as they say.”
“You’re a selfish asshole. It’s more important to you to make some grand dramatic exit from your show. I hope it was worth it.”
“Me too.” Jen said. She went past him and continued up the stairs.
“Keep your head down on the way out.” He called up after her. “And walk funny!”
Jen left the building feeling empty and weary. She put her hand in her front pocket and held the bottle of poison. It was the only bugout left. She walked the deserted streets, and wondered where everyone was. All the shops were closed, even though it was only 8:30 PM. She turned the corner and was greeted by a mass of humanity, many blocks from the federal building. They were so far from the center of the demonstration she thought the crowd might be for something else until she saw the pro-democracy, pro free-speech, anti CNP signs. A surveillance drone came down close to the protestors and someone threw a bottle at it, barely missing. A chant was going up and Jen joined it and the crowd started moving. There was a hand on Jen’s shoulder and she turned to see a large black man. “You’re Doctor Whips!” He said. “We were just watching your show.” He nudged the guy next to him. “Hey man look, it’s Doctor Whipshitup, right here!”
Jen smiled at them. She’d often heard people talking about her show in public places and had almost felt famous, but this was different. These people knew her, not just her show. She thanked them for watching as some pushing and jostling separated her from her new friends. Jen pushed forward and found a lamppost, which she climbed partway up to get a better view.
She could see five large prison trucks, all open, and soldiers in black riot gear throwing people in them. Everyone going into the trucks had their hands bound behind their backs and black sacks over their heads. Jen heard a loud pop somewhere above her and all the lights went out. The sound cannons started strafing the crowd and Jen jumped down from the lamppost so that her hands would be free to cover her ears. There was a huge surge of people running into the crowd from the cross street and a cloud of tear gas was following them. Jen was pushed down and her hands came away from her ears and the sound entered her head like a drill, reverberating in her sinus cavity and making thought impossible.
Someone pulled her to her feet and she saw two people fall screaming and she ran. The cloud of tear gas was moving in and she stumbled over the legs of a kid bleeding out through a hole in his neck. He was holding a lit Molotov cocktail, so Jen took it from him and hurled it at the soldiers marching through the smoke. She saw flames jump onto one of the men’s feet, and she ran headlong into the crowd, feeling a bullet fly by her ear.
She was in a mass of people all trying to go different directions and her body was being pressed from three sides, making it impossible to breathe. She managed to get low to the ground, thinking she could get some air, but she inhaled tear gas and started coughing. Her peripheral vision was going dark and she knew she was about to pass out. Between some legs she saw an open space and lunged toward it.
She woke to the feeling of her feet dragging against concrete. She looked up to see a hulking mass of Kevlar, plastic, and hatred, and he shoved her onto one of the prison trucks. Another protestor was thrown in on top of her and they both fell. “Get up!” Yelled the soldier guarding the open part of the truck. He pointed an automatic handgun at them, shining an array of red dots where the projectiles would penetrate both their bodies if he pulled the trigger. “Get in the back of the truck, NOW!” They weren’t bothering to bind and bag people anymore.
Jen went to the back of the truck where about twenty people huddled together, bloody and coughing. Between the sound cannon, screaming, and gunfire, Jen could hear a helicopter flying low. Another few protestors were shoved in the truck. Jen pulled the poison from her front pocket and held it. The tear gas was still in her lungs and she didn’t want to take it until she was sure she wouldn’t cough it up.
The helicopter came back, and this time Jen heard loud machinegun fire from above too. “Jesus,” someone said, “they’re mowing people down from a chopper.”
“No,” someone else said, “the chopper is shooting at the buttons. It’s the California National Guard.”
As if in answer to what the man had said, the machinegun fire flared up again, and the sound cannon stopped it’s wail. The shouting got more urgent and insistent and the thug with the automatic handgun jumped from the back of the truck. They all moved to the opening and a couple jumped down. There were soldiers in pale camo marching by. Jen jumped from the back of the transport. “Hey,” she got the attention of one of the soldiers, “are you guys California National Guard?”
“Yup.”
“What are you doing here?” She asked.
“Governor Gyllenhaal sent us to protect the rights of you protestors.” He said. “You’d better get out of here, these guys want a fight. We might have to call in airstrikes
.” He kept moving and Jen realized she was still holding the bottle of poison. She slipped it back into her pocket.
“What does it mean?” A teenage girl who was climbing down from the back of the truck asked her.
“Don’t you see?” Jen said. “California just went to war with the federal government. This is a miracle.”
“Hey,” the girl said, “you look familiar. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
“Come on.” Jen said. “Let’s get out of here.”
-back to table of contents-
Shopkeeper’s Daughter