Be Nice

by David Portlock

  “They’re lying! Don’t listen to them!” Ms. Fallings said. “They’re the heads of The Blue! They’re the terrorists!”

  One of the biggest Be Nice Denver members turned to Wallis and Janey.

  “Forget her!” Janey said. “Because everything outside, outside of the cities, it’s all a got-damn lie! There’s Klanny haters everywhere! They got J freaks burnin’ people on crosses! They got the Dead out here workin’ in the hot sun, and they got other people, the oldies, makin’ big green, makin’ serious profits!”

  Wallis stood. “And nobody’s on the meds!”

  “I saw it! I did!” John Tom said. He grabbed Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon. “These two was talkin’ to a room full of oldies! They’re still runnin’ shit! They’re usin’ Be Nice!”

  Tyler tugged Janey’s sleeve. “The selli.”

  Janey took Tyler’s selli out of her pocket.

  “Key the viddies.”

  Janey hit the viddi arrow and held the selli over her head.

  Viddies showed footage of the farm in Jamesville; the Dead working in the cotton and vegetable fields.

  “A friend of mine, he asked me to shoot that before I met with Wallis and Janey. Now you see those people doin’ all the hard work…they’re the Dead. And the Be Nice higher-ups, they made a deal—”

  Janey cut in, “Be Nice higher-ups made a deal to turn people, who do shit, like, make drawings they don’t like, or think what they don’t like, into the Dead, and then they send `em away to work!”

  Night viddi of the attack in the desert by the racist biker gang.

  “And they got haters still runnin’ around! But the Be Nice higher-ups, they don’t give a shit! And this Klanny, he tried to make me suck his funky dick!”

  Viddi from inside Tyler’s shirt pocket; the selli camera aimed through a button hole. Rev. Brown and his congregation; everything they said at the picnic tables.

  “They let the Christ-ees be out in the open, sayin’ and thinkin’ whatever they want! Cuz they give Be Nice food, same as the Klanny farmers! Be Nice, they’re all liars!”

  The biggest Be Nice Denver member gave a sideways look to Ms. Fallings.

  More viddi played. The three crucifixions. A long distance shot. The sinners on the crosses and the crosses set on fire.

  “Everything is bullshit!” Tyler shook his rifle. “And, look, a rifle! A firearm! Shit, they got these everywhere!”

  John Tom faced Mr. Dylon and said, “Hi.”

  Mr. Dylon pushed John Tom, whipped his collapsible baton, and hit two Be Nice Denver members in the face. The other members grabbed him and pinned him against the side of the train.

  John Tom pried away the baton. “This is for Pete!”

  “No!” Janey ordered. “No more stomp stomp! No more—”

  John Tom swung the baton like a madman.

  Be Nice Denver stepped back.

  Wallis shouted, “Stop!”

  The ceiling and walls of the car ran with blood.

  Mr. Dylon tried to crawl down the aisle.

  John Tom didn’t stop.

  Mr. Dylon was soon no longer recognizable as human. John Tom kicked what was left of him off the train.

  Out of breath, John Tom said, “You see? I didn’t kill him.”

  “All of you! You’re nothing but animals!” Ms. Fallings hissed.

  Janey grabbed her by the hair. “Bitch. You’re mine.”

  “You stupid little whore! You’re finished!”

  Janey stuck Tyler’s selli under Ms. Fallings’s nose. “Not after we show everyone what we got on this.”

  Wallis yelled, “It’s gonna be hard out there! It’s gonna be real hard! But it’s time for us to fight back! We’re gonna think for ourselves! We’re gonna say whatever we want, we’re gonna do whatever we want…!

  Janey stepped forward. “And we’re gonna draw whatever we want!”

  Several older kids pounded on the sides of the train car.

  The smaller kids sat still, quiet, unsure of what to do.

  The Be Nice Denver members removed their masks. They were a gang of late teens and young men. The biggest Be Nice Denver member, the leader, a black man in his mid 20s, gave Wallis and Janey a nod and said, “Just call me Big Larry.”

  Shock wands and bare fists slammed into Ms. Garner’s cabin door. It came apart, splintering in half. Kids rushed inside from the corridor.

  Ms. Garner leaned against the back wall of her cabin; her knees pulled to her chest.

  Becky pushed her way past the kids and activated a shock wand.

  Unconscious, badly beaten, Ms. Garner was pushed off the train. Her limp body landed on top of Mr. Dylon’s.

  Minutes later, bound and gagged, the remaining Learning Center teachers were tossed outside to the ground.

  The female train porters were led out of their crew quarters. They had on red, white, and blue panties and Nation Star Line sweatshirts and windbreakers. Waiting in the corridor, Janey and a few of the older girls looked them up and down.

  Janey gestured to one of the porters with the forty-five. “You and your friends, you can go in the kitchen and make us some food.”

  As the porters exited the corridor, the engineer, wearing yellow pajamas, peeked out of his cabin. “I drive the train.”

  Janey gently patted his shoulder. “That’s good. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “You want to go back to Santa Monica?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  “I drive the train.”

  The train porters served trays of hot food. The kids were in their seats in the dining car, behaved. Be Nice Denver and Big Larry maintained order.

  A skinny young man in glasses entered from an adjoining car. He stood behind Wallis and Janey and waited for them to finish their meal. He offered his hand to Wallis and said, “Hello. My name is Frank Jestle. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Wallis shook Frank’s hand. “Yeah, uh…it’s nice to meet you.”

  Frank cleared his throat. “Sir, I was, uh…I’m sorry...I meant to say I am on the legal track at the Brennan Learning Center.”

  A few of the younger kids looked over their chairs.

  “Mr. Barber…Miss Typermass…a sizable percentage of the passengers…they wanted me to inform you that they’re not sure if they wish to proceed. They’d like to be—”

  Janey stood. “What?”

  Nervous, Frank wiped his glasses on his shirt sleeve. “Ma’am, Sir…some of us…we…well, we don’t want to have anything to do with this, uh…this apparent insurrection of yours. We’d like to go home as soon as possible.”

  Janey made a move toward Frank. Wallis waved her off.

  “You said your name was, what, Frank?”

  “Y-yes, sir, that’s right. Frank Jestle.”

  “Eff it! So we’ll leave them out here with the teachers!” Janey snapped.

  Wallis pulled her back into her seat and kissed the palm of her hand. “I got this.” He looked at Frank. “Okay. Talk to me.”

  Frank got on one knee. “All right, well…I’d say there’s roughly three hundred students on this train. Now, uh…whatever you have planned for the long term, say, when you get everyone back to Santa Monica, the cost of feeding and housing alone is going to be—”

  “There’s over three hundred kids on this train, that means over three hundred bank cards.”

  “Why, yes. Yes, that’s quite right, sir. But I’m afraid there’s a slew of other problems you have to consider.”

  Wallis and Janey traded a look.

  “For example. When you stop to pick up supplies, you’ll face the possibility of other Be Nice groups laying in wait. Granted, you have the advantage of possessing a train capable of reaching speeds close to four hundred miles per hour, but that still won’t be enough. I believe Be
Nice numbers over twelve point six billion members—”

  “Frank?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You have any other ideas?”

  “I…I do.”

  “Go on. Get down.”

  Frank put on his glasses. He thought for a second. “The information you have on Miss Typermass’s selli, and the cam viddies…I’d put it online…and, I mean, I’d do it right now. I’d send it to Pace, Jack, Bleep, all of them. And let’s assume you’re telling the truth, that everything Be Nice has been telling us for all this time is nothing but a lie…that old people, not on the meds, are still in control…well, if you did happen to get that information online, there’s absolutely no way Be Nice could shut down the internet to try and stop you, because that would only prove what you’re saying is true. And, if your evidence was out in the open, so to speak, you might, and I say might, gain a sizable force to join you. Of course, the information you have would have to be edited down…and I believe there are some on the Hollywood track on board.” He turned in a circle to think. “And between here and Santa Monica there are dozens of other trains stations. Yes, yes. If I was you, I’d think about switching trains, try and throw Be Nice off your trail—”

  “Frank?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ll let the younger kids go…but I want you to stay on board with us.”

  Janey leaned over and gave Frank a hug. “I’m sorry I got mad just now. Please, stay with us, Frank. We could really use your help.”

  Frank glanced at the smaller kids in back. He sighed, blushed, and said, “I’ll stay.”

  Janey kissed him on the cheek.

  “But, first I…I’d like to ask a small favor. If that’s okay?”

  “What is it?”

  “My boyfriend, Chas, and I, is there any way we can get our own private cabin?”

  Janey smiled and gave him another kiss.

  The engineer settled in behind the control board. He was dressed in his Nation Star Line uniform, sporting his red, white, and blue engineer’s cap. He sounded two dozen air horns as he guided the train out of the Durango rail yard.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mr. Brennan and his wife, Charlotte, had their breakfast and coffee on the mirrored terrace, overlooking midtown Manhattan Prime.

  Charlotte wore her nightgown during the morning hours to reveal her synth breasts and perfect waistline; at fifty-seven, she was still a max stunner.

  Mr. Brennan scanned his newspad as a promo-blimp floated past. The words Be Nice Manhattan Prime scrolled in bold letters around the hull of the ship.

  Charlotte noticed her husband’s silence. “I guess you still haven’t found them?”

  Annoyed, Mr. Brennan threw his newspad on the dining table. “I was told they hijacked a bullet train in Colorado last night.”

  “A bullet train? Pardon me?”

  “They also left one hundred and two students and six teachers behind and brutally assaulted an art teacher and a sec guard.”

  “Well, what have the other members said?”

  “Conference call in one hour. The investors aren’t happy.”

  Charlotte tousled his hair. “A couple hundred kids on a stolen bullet train, what’s the absolute worst that could happen?”

  Mr. Brennan gently pushed her away. “This terrorist group, The Blue, they’ve made it their own.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Mr. Brennan looked over the city.

  “But, dear, I thought you told me this Blue organization, it was a ploy, it’s not real, it was a ruse to…” Her voice trailed off as Mr. Brennan left the terrace.

  Mr. Brennan stared out of the mirrored windows of his mini-car. Pedestrians strolled on the peddie walks, the shopkeepers hawked their wares, the Broadway shows were packed, and the ad signs were animated. The young shuttled their brain-addled parents from shop to shopping mall, and Be Nice Manhattan Prime kept a quiet vigil, watching, looking out for any indiscretion. Kids flashed their Be Nice gang signs back and forth; a young boy even flashed one to the mini-car.

  The mini-car cruised into the Brennan Building’s lower parking garage. It was the only vehicle. Mr. Brennan got out, said “thank you” to his over-thirty-five driver, and entered an elevator. He was whisked to the top floor. His over-thirty-five assistants, in black suits and striped ties, were waiting for him.

  The African investor had a rugged face. The Asian investor had a pitiless face. The Indian investor had a jovial face. The Arab investor had a young face—almost too young.

  Alone in the conference room, Mr. Brennan talked to the four men on separate telescreens.

  The African investor asked, “What is this…this terrorist organization we’ve been hearing about…the Blue?”

  The Asian investor remained pitiless.

  The Indian investor smiled.

  The Arab investor said, “And could you, please, tell us who…”, he held up a screen grab of Wallis and Janey,“…Wallis David Barber and Jane Elizabeth Typermass are?”

  “We have the situation under control,” Mr. Brennan responded. “There’s no need to—”

  Skeptical, the Asian investor cut in, “Yet they, and over two hundred other children, have recently confiscated a bullet train.”

  The African investor said with a scowl, “It does not look like you are in control to me.”

  The Indian investor smiled.

  The bullet train raced along at 357 mph. The sandstone cliffs of Monument Valley towered in the distance.

  The kids were seated at attention in the train cars. In the front car, mic in hand, Wallis addressed them on the PA system. “…after we edit the viddies and put them online, after we put Be Nice HQ on notice, that’s when this shit is really gonna get crazy. And when we get to Santa Monica, we’re gonna set up camp in Water Town. Janey and I know a place, we stayed there before; it’s safe. We’ll get plenty of food and water and we’ll be ice. If anybody has any questions, needs to talk it out, we’ll be up front.”

  The passenger seats in the front car had been removed. Tables from the dining car had been pushed together, fold-up chairs were placed around them: a kind of conference hall. Frank Jestle had covered the tables with maps, pads of paper, pencils, pens, laptops and sellies. Using a red felt pen, he charted routes to Santa Monica on a railways map.

  Wallis, Janey, and John Tom sat in a group of chairs placed in a circle at the front of the car.

  “Frank Jestle? Seriously? Get the eff out,” John Tom remarked.

  “The boy’s crazy smart,” Wallis said. “We can use him.”

  “But why’d you let all those other kids go if—”

  “Think about it. We let `em go, they’ll talk. They’ll spread the word we ain’t bad, that we ain’t out here tryin’ to hurt people.”

  “We’ll only go after the assholes,” Janey said.

  “Right. So, I guess, you two runnin’ this shit? You’re the captains?”

  “Yeah. We are,” Wallis said. “And if you got a problem with that—”

  “Nah, son, nah. I’m ice. I’m just askin’. Hey, y’know what, when I kicked your ass a long, long time ago, way before Be Nice, I mean…I always knew you was gonna be special.”

  Frank waved from the other end of the car.

  Wallis and Janey stood at the head of the dining tables. John Tom, Becky, and Abe moved to either side of them. Frank and Big Larry stood side-by-side at the opposite end.

  Frank tapped a red line drawn on his railways map. “This is the quickest route to Santa Monica.” He tapped another spot. “We can also make one stop here for supplies, outside of Vegas. But if we’re being tracked, which we most likely are, Be Nice could call in Reno, Carson City, Vegas…”

  “What about the viddi?” Janey asked.

  “The Hollywoodies are almost finished. They said they w
anted to add a few digital FX, a voice-over—make it look as ice as they can.”

  Big Larry tapped a second red line on Frank’s map. He traced his finger to a black dot, Kayenta, Arizona. “I know this place. It’s a Native rez. It’s safe for a supply run too.”

  “You’ve only got one problem,” Frank said. “You’ll have to hike almost three miles to get there.”

  Big Larry thumbed his hand to the back of the car. “It’s no problem. We got plenty of vehicles in the back.”

  Surprised, Wallis leaned on the tables.

  “The last train car, it’s storage. I managed to put in your hog, a few of our hogs, and my SUV.”

  Abe gave him a high-five. “So when the eff did you do that?”

  “When I was thinkin’ `bout lockin’ up the kids that didn’t wanna come with, but when Wallis said leave to `em, we ended up with extra space.”

  Frank pointed to his map. “Last question, where do we make the switch?”

  Big Larry frowned. “Switch?”

  “We’re gonna switch b-trains,” Wallis said. “Try and confuse...”

  Tyler entered. “Okay, folks! Next stop is where I get off!”

  Taken aback, Wallis and Janey turned to him.

  “I’ve gone about as far as I can go. I did my job, I kept you two safe…but my life, it ain’t in no goddamn seaside—”

  “But you can’t leave us. Not now. We still need you,” Janey said.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but stayin’ wasn’t part of the plan. My life’s out in the wide, wide open, not locked away in a concrete box.”

  The bullet train slowed on a desolate mountain pass. As it came to rest, the tail section of the last car opened and lifted over the roof.

  Wallis, Janey, and Tyler entered the storage area. Big Larry’s SUV was parked in front. Six high powered hogs, including Wallis’s hog, were stored near the exit ramp.

  Wallis shook Tyler’s hand and said, “You’re gonna see some things soon. Some real big things. Don’t you believe any of it.”

  Tyler winked. “You got it.”