Champion (Page 51)
By the time we reach a series of jeeps waiting for us and begin traveling through Batalla sector, I notice the various things throughout LA that have changed. Evacuation centers have popped up where Batalla sector meets Blueridge, where the military buildings give way to civilian high-rises, and many of the older, half-abandoned buildings along this poor sector have been hastily converted into evacuation centers. Large crowds of disheveled Denver refugees crowd the entrances, all hoping to be lucky enough to get a room assignment. One glance tells me that, naturally, the people waiting here are probably all from Denver’s poor sectors.
“Where are we placing the upper-class families?” I ask Anden. “In a gem sector, I’m sure?” I find it difficult now to say something like this without a sharp edge in my voice.
Anden looks unhappy, but he calmly answers, “In Ruby. You, Mariana, and Serge will all have apartments there.” He reads my expression. “I know what you’re thinking. But I can’t afford to have our wealthy families revolting against me for forcing them into evacuation centers in the poor sectors. I did set a number of spaces in Ruby to be allocated for the poor—they’ll be assigned to them on a lottery system.”
I don’t answer, simply because I have nothing to argue against. What is there to do about this situation? It’s not like Anden can uproot the entire country’s infrastructure in the span of a year. As I look on through the window, a growing group of protesters gathers along the edge of a guarded refugee zone. MOVE TO THE OUTSKIRTS! one of their signs says. KEEP THEM QUARANTINED!
The sight sends a shiver down my spine. It doesn’t seem so different from what had happened in the Republic’s early years, when the west protested the people fleeing in from the east.
We ride in silence for a while. Then, suddenly, Anden presses his hand against his ear and motions to the driver. “Turn on the screen,” he tells him, gesturing to the small monitor embedded into the jeep’s seats. “General Marshall says the Colonies are broadcasting something onto our twelfth channel.”
We all watch as the monitor comes to life. At first we only see a blank, black screen, but then the broadcast comes in, and I look on as the Colonies slogan and seal appear over an oscillating Colonies flag.
THE COLONIES OF AMERICA
CLOUD . MEDITECH . DESCON . EVERGREEN
A FREE STATE IS A CORPORATE STATE
Then, an evening landscape of a beautiful, sparkling city comes up, completely covered in thousands of twinkling blue lights. “Citizens of the Republic,” a grandiose voice says. “Welcome to the Colonies of America. As many of you already know, the Colonies have overrun the Republic capital of Denver and, as such, have declared an unofficial victory over the tyrannical regime that has kept you all under its thumb. After over a hundred years of suffering, you are now free.” The landscape changes to a top-down map of both the Republic and the Colonies—except this time, the line dividing the two nations is gone. A shiver runs down my spine. “In the weeks to come, you will all be integrated into our system of fair competition and freedom. You are a citizen of the Colonies. What does that mean, you might wonder?”
The voiceover pauses, and the imagery shifts to a happy family holding a check in front of them. “As a new citizen, each of you will be entitled to at least five thousand Colonies Notes, equivalent to sixty thousand Republic Notes, granted from one of our four main corps that you decide to work for. The higher your current income, the higher we’ll pay you. You will no longer answer to the Republic’s street police but to DesCon’s city patrols, your own private neighborhood police dedicated to serving you. Your employer will no longer be the Republic, but one of our four distinguished corps, where you can apply for a fulfilling career.” The video shifts again to scenes of happy workers, proud, smiling faces hovering over suits and ties. “We offer you, citizens, the freedom of choice.”
The freedom of choice. Images flash through my mind of what I’d seen in the Colonies when Day and I first ventured into their territory. The crowds of workers, the dilapidated slums of the poor. The advertisements printed all over the people’s clothes. The commercials that covered every square inch of the buildings. Most of all, DesCon’s police, the way they had refused to help the robbed woman who had missed her payments to their department. Is this the future of the Republic? And suddenly I feel nauseous, because I cannot say whether the people would be better off in the Republic or the Colonies.
The broadcast continues. “We only ask that you return a small favor to us.” The video shifts again, this time to a scene of people protesting in solidarity. “If you, as a civilian, have grievances with the Republic, now is the time to voice them. If you are courageous enough to stage protests throughout your respective cities, the Colonies will pay you an additional five thousand Colonies Notes, as well as grant you a one-year discount on all of our Cloud Corp grocery goods. Simply send your proof of participation to any DesCon headquarters in Denver, Colorado, along with your name and mailing address.”
So, this explains the various protests popping up around the city. Even their propaganda sounds like an advertisement. A dangerously tempting one. “Declaring victory a little too soon,” I say under my breath.
“They’re trying to turn the people against us,” Anden murmurs in reply. “They announced a ceasefire this morning, perhaps as a chance to disseminate propaganda like this.”
“I doubt it will be effective,” I say, although I don’t sound as confident as I should. All these years of anti-Colonies propaganda are going to be difficult for the Colonies to work around. Aren’t they?