Access Restricted

by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

  They all sent me the same watery-eyed glare that said, Don’t count on it—except Uthondo, who glared a little less.

  “In a moment, you are going to be free. Your eyes will no longer ache with that low-grade shock they’ve used to control you. You’ll be able to decide for yourselves what to do with the incredible strength MonSantos™ gave you.”

  At the head of the room, the Commander-in-Chief Justice folded his hands—a public domain gesture I was surprised to see. He was patient. He was ready. He seemed much too sure of what was about to happen. Whatever he had up his sleeve, I only had one more move to make.

  I turned and again faced the courtroom.

  “According to Silas Rog, words have meaning only because they are assigned meaning in a database. His father, the dishonorable Commander-in-Chief Justice, ruled, legally, that without the Word$ Market™, words have no meaning. They claim that if the database is wiped, none of us will be able to speak or understand anything. If I say the word zebra, it will mean nothing to you.”

  I raised a finger, ready to blank the assigned values, meanings and ownership of each word. Everything else I’d leave intact. There would still be WiFi. The printers would still work. The Patents were all mine now. People wouldn’t starve. They wouldn’t die for lack of medical treatment. We would still be able to communicate with each other. I held my Cuff high and waited, bringing my finger a millimeter away for dramatic effect.

  “But if the meaning and value of every word is wiped out, and you can still picture a horse with stripes when I say zebra, it will prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt that the system is—” I turned slowly so the whole assembled crowd could hear “—absurd, ridiculous, farcical, broken, illegitimate and, frankly, utterly dishonest.”

  While I spoke, I pressed AGREE to wipe the Word$ Database.

  Of course my brain still worked. No one realized, at first, that I had done anything at all. Our brains were not tied into the system like they’d always told us.

  Silas Rog looked down at his Cuff. “Take her!” he shouted the moment he realized he could speak again.

  The nine freed Modifieds just stared at him, wiping at their eyes. I could only imagine how good they felt now, after a lifetime of constant, threatening pain. They looked to me with grateful, pain-free eyes—all except Uthondo. He had already pushed past me, heading straight for Lucretia Rog. His brothers followed him, and Silas and Lucretia tried to back away, their fury morphing into panic. The crowd behind them tightened, and Saretha and Sera both moved to either side of me.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” Lucretia screamed as she pointed to her father.

  On the high bench, the Commander-in-Chief Justice sat, hands still folded, eyes still blank behind his judicial visor. He didn’t move, like he was waiting to pass judgment.

  “What is he planning?” Saretha asked. Sera took a step closer to me, her shoulder pressing against mine.

  “Creepy,” Sera said, pulling at a strand of her long dark hair nervously.

  Lucretia kicked out at the giant men advancing on her, but it was no use. “You fools! You’ve rendered words meaningless to him!” she screamed.

  “What is she talking about?” Sera asked.

  I stepped up to the bench and waved a hand in front of the elder Rog. He reacted, moving back, unfolding his hands like a spooked animal. He stood, as carelessly and awkwardly as a toddler, and then began to move off. His status as the leader of our nation still seemed to intimidate some of those around him, but there was no malice left in him now.

  “He was directly linked to the system,” I said, sickened and sad that he’d been rendered mindless. “For him, the meanings of words were tied to the database. His thoughts have been reduced to feelings. His mind can’t call up any meaning.”

  “It will be like that for all the Judges, I’m afraid,” Kel said.

  Uthondo took hold of Lucretia.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I said.

  I couldn’t tell who looked more stunned, Lucretia Rog or Uthondo, who was seconds away from taking his revenge for a lifetime of pain. The mob was pressing in, and Lucretia took advantage of his distraction to twist out of Uthondo’s grip. She flung her Pad across the room, to the Modified by the door. “Go!” she shouted.

  He snatched it from the air gracefully and seemed fairly pleased with himself for the catch. He quickly stuffed it into his bag and took off with the speed and style of a Placer. I didn’t know how she’d brainwashed him—maybe he didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t have control of the situation anymore.

  “Don’t hurt her?” Silas Rog roared. “What about me?” As if I owed him anything. Victoria wanted me to protect her mother, but she’d made no such plea for her uncle.

  Silas Rog was swallowed up by the crowd. I wouldn’t have any further part in his fate. He sputtered vicious Legalese as he went down. I’d worked hard to save a lot of people—I would not try to save him. Lucretia was enough.

  Uthondo was clearly struggling to resist every violent urge he felt toward Lucretia. “Hand her over to them,” I told him, indicating the Téjicans with me. Uthondo looked crestfallen, but he obeyed, which made the whole thing feel sicker to me. I didn’t want his obedience, but I saw no other way to fulfill my promise to Victoria.

  I glanced back at the gallery and saw Mandett and Itzel cheering for me, which roused those around them. The Affluents remaining didn’t know which way to turn. Everyone was looking to me.

  “I never meant to be a leader,” I said loudly to the crowd. “I just wanted to be free. I want all of us to be free. Now it’s up to you—all of you. We all need to talk, not just me—and we need to listen. They kept us apart by controlling what we could say and what we could know. They took nearly everything: our parents, our sisters and brothers, our friends. They didn’t want us to know each other, or ourselves. They didn’t want us to have selves. They didn’t want us to know where we come from. But they failed.”

  I took a deep breath. “Every little act of rebellion, and every little thought you held close in your mind, preserved something. Now we need to preserve more. We need to be known. The good and the bad, from our history down to what makes us our best selves, needs to be remembered. We need to share all of it. What we say can’t be restricted.”

  A cheer went up. Mandett whooped from the crowd, his face glowing. I knew what they expected me to do next, but I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be a leader.

  I had to stop. Sam would have been proud of me, and that made it so hard to know that he didn’t live to see this moment.

  But he would have understood what I had to do next.

  It was time for me to leave. It was time to go home.

  Epilogue

  Santos359™ looked at me as I knelt beside him on the flagstones. A warm wind blew through the small, open-sided dome over us. I wanted to hug him, but worried he would bolt off. Would he feel different from Sam, or the same? Both ideas tugged at my heart. Sera knelt beside me, her arm pressing against mine, shaking.

  “He won’t bite,” I promised. She wasn’t afraid of that—she was still unsure of her place with us.

  A light flashed in our brother’s eyes. He barked and gnashed his teeth, then fell backward into giggles. I’d been making progress with him. I dreamed that one day we would speak to each other, but for now, he only listened—a silent boy.

  I giggled right back at him and gave him a playful bark of my own. This was something Sam would have done when he was little. Maybe this boy had the same mischievous heart. I hoped so. I didn’t want him to replace my Sam, but he helped me remember everything I’d loved about my lost brother. I could love him for himself, too. That didn’t seem like a terrible bargain.

  He stopped and examined his forearm to check it was still free of his Cuff.

  “No more Cuff,” I said. I showed him my arm.
Sera showed him hers. My father had warned me MonSantos™ had swapped out his Cuff each year on this date—their sick birthday present to him as he grew.

  My father watched from the edge of the courtyard, hanging decorations for Santos359™’s birthday celebration. It would be his first. My mother was half-hidden with Mrs. Croate behind leaves and vines in the garden. I wouldn’t have thought they would want to do such work after so many years enslaved on a farm, but the two of them found the garden soothing. It helped to know they would reap the rewards—in this case, tomatoes, peppers and squash. I could smell them in the air, ripe for the picking, ready for the party. Mrs. Croate and my mother didn’t talk much as they harvested, but they could, and that seemed enough for them.

  Saretha hurried out of the building that had been printed for us. It was Mr. Stokes’s design: a Spider Jupiter original. He’d made a space for each of us here, deep in Téjico, near other refugees. The house was wildly ornate and maybe a little too much, I thought, but I’d rather have too much space made than see it cruelly printed away. Mira, Margot, my parents, Mrs. Croate, Sera, Saretha, Santos359™ and I each had a bedroom, plus there was space for guests. We would need that space today.

  My father wanted Mr. Stokes to join us, but Spider Jupiter had been gone for weeks. As he’d hoped, his mother had escaped with a group of Indentureds after the data center in DC went down, but no one knew where they had gone. He intended to find them.

  Saretha made her way over to us. We all knelt before our brother like he was a little king. This was his day, after all.

  “Is it dumb that I’m just a little bit sad he won’t have a Last Day?” Saretha asked.

  “Yes,” Sera and I said together. The three of us laughed.

  “We could create something new,” I said. “We could call today a First Day.”

  “Día del Primero.” Saretha smiled.

  “Trademark!” Sera called, mostly joking.

  Santos359™ looked at us and took off running. He hid behind a pillar and peeked out, grinning. He needed another name, too, but we’d all agreed it was up to him to change it when he was ready.

  “We all need a little time,” I said, rising to my feet. Sera followed my lead.

  “Or Día del Comienzo,” Saretha suggested, warming to the new tradition she was cooking up.

  “Norflo’s Spanish lessons are paying off,” I said to her, peeking up the road to his house. I expected Norflo and his brothers would walk over any minute.

  “Javier,” Sera corrected, tucking her hair behind one ear.

  On the road, a car headed toward us, glinting in the sun. I wanted Kel and Kiely to be inside, but they were too busy. The people needed leaders. Their broadcast of the DRM codes made them very popular and it would be a good while before a real, fair election could be mounted. Until then it appeared Kel and Kiely were in charge.

  The car slowed at the edge of the courtyard. Its doors swung open, and for half a second I feared Lawyers would step out.

  Instead, it was Victoria Rog.

  She crossed the courtyard flagstones and headed directly for us. Behind her, Nancee and Penepoli unloaded presents from the car. It had taken them weeks to make it from DC to us. Despite the hope that things would improve, the transition wasn’t simple, and travel was slow.

  Santos359™ peeked out, sensing the gifts were for him.

  Victoria looked at Sera, her head cocked. “I know you,” she said in a quiet voice. She gave Sera a gentle hug. “You were at the house. My mother did this.” She put a hand on Sera’s face. It would never be the same. But whether it was on the outside or the inside, none of us would ever be the same.

  “You saved my sister,” Saretha said, putting a grateful hand on Victoria’s shoulder. I’d told Saretha the story on our way back to Téjico.

  Nancee and Penepoli hurried over now, laden with bags. I had no idea what they’d brought. We wanted for nothing here. We had food and shelter and each other.

  I hugged Nancee and Penepoli. I’d missed them. “It’s been so long.” I meant more than the weeks it had taken them to travel or the months since I’d left Portland’s dome. I had missed them since my Last Day set us apart. I hoped no one ever had to have a Last Day again.

  “I am sorry,” Victoria said with a tight swallow. “A legal admission of guilt I was never permitted to speak.” She put a hand to her forehead, like she was pained. Her uncle was dead. Her grandfather, the former Commander-in-Chief Justice, was spirited away by fleeing Lawyers, but there was little hope for him. Like many Affluents, we had heard, they were trying to get to the western United States™, beyond the stretch of Téjico and Canada that cleaved the nation in half.

  Lucretia had been taken by the Téjican authorities and granted asylum, so I could keep my promise that no harm would come to her. I didn’t know what that would mean for her. I looked at the car, worried she might be inside it.

  “Your mother isn’t here, is she?” I asked.

  Victoria shook her head.

  “She’s up on a solar farm,” Penepoli whispered, her eyes darting north toward the mountains.

  “Earning her keep,” Nancee added.

  Victoria’s face went red.

  “She’s not Indentured, is she?” I asked, a little alarmed, even if it would be a suitable punishment.

  “She has a job,” Victoria said. “To her, it is the same.”

  From the front door, Mira came blazing out of the house and rousted Santos359™ from his hiding place. He ran from her and circled us, with Mira right behind, teasing she would catch him. Margot hung back in the doorway and watched.

  “You could stay here,” I said to Victoria.

  “That’s kind,” Victoria said, her eyes dropping to the ground. “But I can’t.”

  “Don’t be ashamed of caring about your family,” I said. “Your mother—”

  “It isn’t my mother,” Victoria whispered quickly. “I’m going back to find Andromeda.”

  Santos359™ widened his circle and zipped behind my mother and Mrs. Croate, then across the courtyard by my father. All the while, Mira was close behind. I felt like they were corralling us—trying to keep us together. I looked at Norflo’s house up the road. He and his brothers were emerging, party hats on their heads. If there was one thing I was glad to keep from the Onzième, it was the Juarez brothers as neighbors.

  I looked at Nancee and Penepoli. “You could all stay here. If you want.” I wanted good people around me. I wanted to be surrounded by people I could trust—by people I loved.

  My two oldest friends shook their heads.

  “We’re going back, too,” Nancee said, jerking a thumb toward the north.

  “Not tonight,” I said, trying to hold back a lonely feeling in my throat.

  “No. After we visit,” Penepoli said, mussing my hair.

  I nodded, but I had to ask, “Why?”

  “You said you never wanted to lead a revolution,” Nancee explained, “but you led one, anyway. Now that it’s started, we want to see it through.”

  Penepoli gave a bright-eyed nod. A warm wind blew up around us all.

  I had to digest Nancee’s words a moment. I’d hoped the revolution I’d started had finished, but it hadn’t. There remained generations of work to be done—just not by me. I had done enough, both bad and good. I had what I wanted, and needed, and maybe even what I dreamed. I had my family here—less than I should have, but more than I’d ever hoped for.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from All Rights Reserved by Gregory Scott Katsoulis.

  Acknowledgments

  In the time between writing All Rights Reserved and this sequel, a lot has changed in the United States. I want to acknowledge how much closer we appear to have moved toward the world I have written. But, scary as it is, I also find hope in knowing, dear reader, that people like y
ou still want to fight against such a troubling future. So, first and foremost, I want to thank you. Seriously. Thank you for reading this book.

  I want to thank my publisher, Harlequin TEEN, who gave me the license and liberty to write a second Word$ book. They gave Speth a chance to finally, truly speak, which she desperately needed. Lauren Smulski, Shara Alexander, Laura Gianino, Siena Koncsol, Evan Brown, Linette Kim and a host of others have done so many things to get this book and its predecessor out in the world and into your hands.

  I need to thank Oscar Kochansky for meeting with me to give me notes, even though it meant forgoing bread; Johnny Frank Dunn, for his insightful commentary; and the Fayerweather Street School, for providing access to these brilliant minds and others.

  Thanks also to Catalina Bertani and Annette Gaudino, who both offered counsel in several very important ways. Lia Novotny and Jennifer Dorsen, who provided invaluable feedback, and, of course, Lee Gjertsen Malone, whose help was, as always, immeasurable.

  I must also thank the talented Frankie Corzo for giving voice to Speth in both Word$ audiobooks.

  Finally, I must thank my wife, who makes all things possible, and my daughter, who makes everything worthwhile.

  All Rights Reserved

  by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

  Speth: 9¢

  We had just started over the bridge, toward my party, when the famously cheerful “Don’t Jump” Ad clicked on. This had never happened to me before. The billboard’s advertising systems scanned me—analyzing my age, my style, even my pulse—and calculated I was in need of a friendly reminder not to kill myself. Colorful, hopping bunnies sang at my feet, on a waist-high screen that arced the full length of the bridge wall. Traffic roared along eighty feet below. Above, the city dome was lit a diffuse, fading gray by the evening sky beyond.

  I felt a little queasy. Jumpers had been growing increasingly common, but I’m sure a higher railing would have been more effective than a glib cartoon. I wasn’t planning to kill myself. I had other things to concentrate on.