Dissidence

by Jamie Canosa

  “We’re not going anywhere today, so why don’t you just get some rest.” There’s no arguing with Peter when he’s in overprotective mode. And, as annoying as it may be, after last night, it feels good to be protected.

  But right now, there’s work to be done. ‘3 days,’ I write.

  “Three days?” Peter asks. “You want to leave here in three days?”

  The doctor said I should be mostly healed up by then, and I am anxious to get this moving as soon as I can speak again. I might need my voice to negotiate. ‘Yes.’

  “We’ll have to start making preparations now, then,” Connor points out, and I nod. That would be why I’m saying it now. Duh.

  “How many should we take with us?” Peter has abandoned his attempts to keep me out of it.

  ‘Just leaders.’

  “You want to go see the President with only the nine of us?”

  I really wish I could speak. This is going to be a pain to have to write out. ‘We don’t want to look like a threat. We’re not going there to fight, just talk.’

  “She has a point,” Connor tells Peter, who doesn’t disagree. Maybe I should argue on paper more often.

  “All right. Three days, are you sure?”

  ‘Yes.’

  Peter resigns himself to agreeing with us, and the two of them leave again to go and tell the others. This time, I have some serious thoughts to keep me occupied. What will we do once we reach Pennsylvania? I seriously doubt we can just walk up to the Presidential compound and ring the doorbell.

  ***

  The doorbell ends up being unnecessary, seeing as how we’re greeted by nearly twenty soldiers—and their guns—the moment we disembark. We’ve just spent the past sixteen hours sitting on a train, my throat is still raw, and my face is still sore to the touch, so I’m hardly in the mood for this. Most of the welcoming committee is dressed in normal guard uniforms, but about a half dozen of them are sporting old-fashioned Army fatigues. I’ve never seen someone dressed like that outside the movies. It’s one of the regular looking guards, however, that addresses us first.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “We’re the dissidents.” Now may not be the best time to rub our transgressions in their faces, but Connor says it so proudly that I can’t help but smile a little. “And we’re here to talk to the President.”

  “Are you in charge here?” One of the strangely dressed men steps forward and examines us all with a critical gaze. No one moves. No one says a word.

  “You were asked a direct question,” the first guard barks.

  Connor subtly shifts in front of me. Like that’s going to stop me. Sidestepping the human wall that he and Peter have decided to erect in my path, I push my way to the front of the group.

  “No, I am.” The look on his face when I step forward says it all. Trust me, pal, I was no less surprised when I found out. “We need to see the President. We have something to say, and he’s going to want to hear it.”

  “The President, huh?” he laughs. “Arrest them.”

  Before I can react, my hands are yanked behind me and secured, making my ribs scream. The others are taken into custody as well, and we’re all shuffled forward as a large fumbling group.

  “Take them inside.”

  It may not be exactly the way I’d hoped, but at least we’re getting through the front doors. Baby steps. We’re urged toward two metal doors built right into a mountain side. Yeah, a mountain. Thoughts of the mines come rushing back to me, and I’m immediately feeling claustrophobic at just the memory of those cramped, airless tunnels.

  The men dressed in the army fatigues remain outside when the doors swing open, and the guards usher us through. Inside, I’m amazed by what I see. It’s nothing like the mines at all. In fact, from this side of the door, you’d have no idea you were inside a mountain whatsoever. The hallways are brightly lit and spacious. The few rooms I can actually see into as we pass by are lavishly decorated with thick rugs and fancy looking furniture. It’s like some kind of optical illusion, and it’s completely messing with my head. For a few minutes, I completely forget where we are, and why we’re here, and even the fact that I’m in handcuffs as I gawk at the sights.

  One of the guards gives my arm a harsh tug, causing a breath to hiss between my teeth. “What’s going on? Where are you taking us?”

  He doesn’t answer. I can’t say I’m really surprised. None of them says a word as we’re escorted along several corridors and then left standing in one while the guy in charge, I assume, disappears into a side room. We wait around for about ten minutes, twiddling our thumbs, surrounded by our silent sentries until he remerges, looking somewhat amused. Of course, that immediately cranks up my nervous level, which was already floating somewhere just south of the panic zone.

  “What is going on?” I demand.

  “You want to see the President? Then let’s go see the President.”

  Chapter 30

  We’re propelled into another room, and I promptly trip over one of those plush rugs I was just admiring. Without the use of my hands, I stumble right into Peter, who tries his best to steady me without the use of his. Not exactly the first impression I’d imagined.

  “Release them.” I recognize President Syms immediately, sitting at the head of a large, intricately carved wooden table. Who wouldn’t? “Kaleigh Matthews?”

  I can only nod, stunned silent by the sound of my name on the President’s lips. Then I remember who I’m speaking to and address him properly, “Yes, Sir.”

  My still aching ribs make me think of a few other things I’d like to call him instead, but you catch more flies with honey, and if there was ever a bug worth catching, it’s this guy.

  “I’ve been hoping to have a chance to meet you.”

  He has? “You have?” My brain to mouth filter seems to be malfunctioning again. Not great timing.

  He laughs. I’m being laughed at by the President. Enough said.

  “Yes, I have.” I ease down into a chair about as far away from President Syms as I can get. Connor and Peter take the seats to either side of me, and everyone else just fills in wherever seats are available. “I apologize for your not-so-warm welcome. That was all a rude, yet necessary show.”

  “Show for who?” Connor inquires.

  “The troops outside.”

  “Aren’t they your troops?”

  “There’s so much you don’t know. Allow me to explain. How much do you know about the camps?”

  “If you’re talking about Permatech, then we already know. We heard all about it from Drew Reynolds.” I figure it’s best to just get that out of the way. If there’s anything I hate more than a history lesson, it’s an ancient history lesson.

  “So you know all about William Perman, then. How he took control of the resources and negotiated for the release of them to the general public, but do you know what he got in return?”

  “Yeah . . . us.” It comes out a little harsher than it was meant to, but I still can’t believe people could trade in human lives.

  “That’s true. We did agree to supply his camps with a labor force, but it was so much more than just that.”

  More. Is that even possible?

  “What else?” Peter sounds as frustrated by all of this as I am. I didn’t ask because I’m honestly not sure I want to know the answer.

  “Perman wasn’t happy with just some workers and more money than you or I can fathom. He demanded control of the remaining military be turned over to him. And it was.”

  “Robert Perman controls the Army?” My voice comes out steady, not at all like my hands which are trembling so badly I have to shove them in my pockets just so that no one will notice.

  “Yes.”

  It takes a few moments for my shocked brain to make any logical sense out of his words. Annnnd, I’m sorry I asked. That was just about the last thing I expected to hear. Reynolds certainly failed to mention that little nugget of information.

  “What t
he hell is he using the military for?” Connor blurts out.

  “Guards mostly, for himself and his company. And, in case you didn’t notice, he’s planted more than a few in my front yard to keep an eye on things here. Thus, your warm reception. If he got wind that we were talking with you instead of arresting you on site, he’d know something’s up, and he would have his men do it for us. Mostly, they’re just an insurance policy. We can’t decide to just take what we need by force if he controls all of the force.”

  “How is it no one knows this?” Peter’s words echo my thoughts exactly.

  “That was one of the terms set by our side.” He says ‘our side’ like we’re on the same team as the people who handed us all over to Perman in the first place. “Can you imagine what it would be like out there if everyone knew that the government had no actual power? It’s hard enough to keep the population under control with just the hollow threat of force. We rely almost entirely on the inter-colony alliances to keep the peace. If individual colonies decided to start fighting amongst themselves, there would be nothing we could do to stop them.”

  “So, you just kidnap people and force them to work for Perman.” Connor sounds disgusted, and I’m right there with him.

  “You have to understand.” Please tell me he is not going to try and justify this . . . to us. “We assign jobs and set up strategic unions between the colonies to maintain peace. If people start questioning those things and refusing to go along, then everything could fall apart, everything! Dissidents risk spreading radical ideas and causing total chaos out there. We needed a way to control those people, and Perman required us to supply workers for his camps. It was the only way.”

  “Those people?” Uh oh, Connor may have been pushed off the deep end. “We are those people. You took us away from our homes, our families . . . our lives.”

  I drop my hand on Connor’s knee beneath the table and he quiets, but his back is still stiff as a board.

  “It was the only way,” Syms insists, and I almost pity the guy. He’s stuck in an impossible situation with no real power to do anything about it. Sounds familiar.

  “What is it you want from us?” I’m curious to know. Besides, arguing over what happened a hundred years ago isn’t going to get us anywhere. It’s time to move forward.

  “I want your help.”

  I can literally feel the waves of aggravation rolling off of Connor. “Help? With what? All we have are resources, which we’re willing to release to you, if you promise us our freedom.”

  “I’m not interested in your resources.”

  “Well then, what?”

  “Perman controls the military, but it seems you control a force of your own.”

  “It’s hardly the military,” I point out, needlessly. He knows who we are.

  “The military isn’t all you think it is. The numbers are nowhere what they used to be, and you would be surprised what a properly motivated group of people can accomplish.”

  I think we’ve already accomplished quite a bit, actually. After all, I’m sitting here learning state secrets from the freaking President.

  “I have a question. If Perman controls the military, then why hasn’t he just come in and taken the camps back yet?” Peter just throws it out there, but it’s what we’ve all been wondering for some time now.

  “Like I said, Perman’s a business man. To him, you’re all assets. Valuable assets that he can’t afford to just throw away. I doubt he has any intention of letting you leave that camp, but while you’re still there, I assume he’s coming up with a better business plan. One that will regain him control of your camps without costing him too much collateral damage. If this goes on much longer, however, I have no doubt he will do just that. Every day that you are not producing resources, he loses substantial profits.”

  This seriously all comes down to money. All of our lives have dollar signs attached. I wonder how much I’m worth. Probably not much, considering how much trouble I’ve caused.

  “Perman’s troops are scattered across the country right now, reinforcing the remaining camps, thanks to your little rebellion. That leaves his home front vulnerable.”

  Is he seriously asking us to go to war with some crazed billionaire who controls the entire military?

  “If your forces were to attack his company, they would stand a good chance at taking out Permatech.”

  Yes, yes he is.

  Chapter 31

  “I thought no one knew where Permatech was.” I’ve got him there. Oh well, too bad, so sad. Guess he’ll just have to come up with some other plan.

  “Being President does have some benefits.”

  Well . . . hell.

  “And, if Permatech falls, then who gets control of the military?” Connor’s fingers beat an erratic rhythm on the table similar to that of my heart. I cannot believe we are seriously discussing this.

  “Robert Perman doesn’t have any heirs, so if Permatech falls, and Robert Perman with it, then the military reverts to the control of the President.” Of course it does. Maybe the guy isn’t as dumb as he looks on TV.

  “What exactly do we get out of this?”

  “Your freedom. I can have you all transported home and kept out of the work camps for life.”

  It’s what we wanted from Drew Reynolds.

  “You would keep the work camps functional?” demands Connor.

  “We still need the resources.”

  “You can’t be serious …” Connor is about to fly off the rails again, but I cut him off before he can go too far and get us all in trouble.

  “Let us think it over.”

  I can feel Connor glaring at me, but I ignore him. Now is not the time or place to start spouting off. Huh, old dogs can learn new tricks.

  “It’s getting late anyway. We’ll find you somewhere suitable to spend the night, and we can discuss it further tomorrow.” Syms seems pleasant enough, but deep down, there’s still something about him that rubs me the wrong way.

  ***

  The rooms here are nothing to scoff at. Large, comfortable, lavishly decorated, and best of all, we each get our own, affording me some much needed time to think. We came here to negotiate, but what we came offering isn’t what he’s interested in. Turns out, our people and our weapons are our best commodity after all. Either way, this is still a negotiation. The plan is still essentially the same. We know what he wants, and he knows what we want, but is a guarantee of our freedom alone worth all of this? The risks are infinitely higher than when we thought all we had to do was take one more camp to get to Reynolds. Now we’re talking about attacking a company guarded by the freaking Army. The rewards for that have got to be higher, but what more should we be asking for?

  This is one of those things that I don’t want left on my shoulders alone. That’s why the others are here with me. I’m just headed out the door to go and find them when they find me instead. At least, Lori, Peter, and Connor do, anyway.

  “Hey. I was just coming to find you guys. Are the others coming?”

  “No, but we can go and get them,” Lori offers.

  “Thanks.” I retreat back into my room while Lori and Connor go to round up the others, but Peter follows me inside.

  As soon as the door snaps shut behind us, he snags my hands and examines my wrists carefully. Umm . . . okay?

  “What are you doing?” I try to pull away, but he only tightens his grip.

  “I saw that look on your face when you were cuffed earlier. Did they hurt you?” A flash of understanding crosses his face. “Your ribs?”

  “They’re sore, but I’ll survive.”

  “Son of a . . .” His jaw clenches tight, but then he shakes it off. “Do you want me to see if I can find a cold pack?”

  “No. Peter, I’m fine. Really.”

  He looks unconvinced, but whatever argument he was about to unleash dies on his lips when the door swings open, and everyone converges on my room. It feels like a sleepover with all of us sitting around a bedroom in our
pajamas, or, well, someone’s pajamas. Except, I’ve never actually been to a sleepover before, and I don’t think they usually involve a strategy session.

  Sandy settles on the bed with me and Lori—she’s so quiet that I forget she’s a part of our group sometimes—while the guys make themselves comfortable on the floor and other furniture. Allan stretches out his long legs, looking more comfortable than I’ve ever seen him in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a white tee. It’s hard to believe he’s not older than he really is sometimes. I couldn’t say for sure, but if I had to guess I’d say he’s probably about . . . twenty? Not that he looks old, not at all, he just seems more . . . mature, I guess. Which is definitely a good thing, considering who else I’ve got to work with.

  Peter slides onto the edge of the dresser beside Jessie. Connor and Thomas lean back against the bed, so all I can really see of them is the backs of their heads, and Kyle finds a spot on the floor next to Allan. Now we’re ready to begin.

  It goes about as well as I expected. Hours later, we still can’t agree. Some of us think that with this increased risk, we should ask for an increased reward. Others think that asking for more is risking the only chance we’re going to get at any sort of a normal life. Both sides make good points. And even if we were to come to an agreement, no one can figure out what ‘more’ we should be asking for, anyway. By the end of the evening, I’m left with no better ideas, but a much bigger headache. Connor announces that we’ll pick it up in the morning when several of us—myself included—can no longer stifle our yawns. The others file out, and, as usual, Peter and Connor are the last two to leave.

  Peter lingers near the door. He watches Connor nudge me back toward the bed, like he’s waiting for him, or maybe waiting for him to leave.

  “Get to bed, Girlie. You look ready to drop,” Connor teases, but I really am. It’s been an exhausting day. Not to mention this bed feels like heaven.

  I slip under the sheets, and before Connor even has the blanket pulled halfway over me, my eyes are closed. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I felt his lips brush over my hair, but it must have been the beginnings of a dream.