Freedom Incorporated by Peter Tylee (me reader .txt) đź“–
- Author: Peter Tylee
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“It’s only going to grow worse… I want you to shoot me.”
She recoiled at the request. No. “What?” She shook her head in shock. “I can’t do that.”
“I’m dead already.” He pointed out. “Nothing can save me.”
But… She desperately wanted that to be a lie. It’s not fair! She opened her mouth to protest but Dan coughed on a lungful of blood before she could speak.
The toxin, although fast acting, maximised the victim’s torture. Some casualties had snapped their own spines during the violent pre-death contortions, documented back when nanotoxins were more prevalent, before the international ban.
She picked up his discarded Colt, the cold metal laughing fiendishly at the injustice of the situation.
“I suppose I should say thank you.” Dan smiled at her through his agony.
Jen’s eyes glistened with a fresh wave of tears. “Why do you suppose that?”
“Because you saved my life.” He found it somewhat ironic that their roles had reversed.
She didn’t understand the depth of his allusion and asked through a torrent of tears, “What? How?” Under the circumstances his words seemed tastelessly incongruous.
“You reminded me who Dan Sutherland was… after I’d done a good job of forgetting.” He spoke the truth. Jen’s passion to change the world had saved Dan from his zombie-like trance. She reminded him what it felt like to have a soul. She reminded him what it meant to care. She’d made the past week of his life more significant than the preceding eleven months.
Jen remembered the conversation they’d had in the car and played her part through tear-blurred vision. “Well if you feel grateful then by all means, thank away.”
Dan smiled at her for the last time. “Thank you.”
She fired twice, mercifully ending his pain and sending herself into a spinning vortex of grief. It consumed her, tearing at the fabric of her sanity. She couldn’t fathom how life could be so bitterly cruel. She’d given her heart to a bounty hunter and the wrenching pain in her chest told her that her heart had died with him.
Perversely, the shareholder meeting didn’t miss a beat. The hiss of metal and zing of bullets from silenced firearms wasn’t loud enough to carry to the enthralled attendees.
They voted overwhelmingly in favour of their new CEO.
*
Tuesday, September 28, 2066
World Economic Forum
14:30 Washington DC, USAJohn Cameron entered the forum for the first time, believing himself prepared for his initiation into a world of power and corruption. It wasn’t hard to find his seat; an aide had briefed him thoroughly prior to arrival. The information kit he’d received had included a neat holographic representation of the forum chamber.
Spiffy. He used a word from his generation to describe the décor. It was certainly impressive; they’d done a good job of ensuring their own comfort. I just wonder about everyone else’s comfort. A twinge in the back of his mind pointed out he was starting to think like Jen. But maybe that’s natural. It was an intriguing thought. Where was humanity heading? Straight to the depths of hell, and they were in an awful hurry to get there. It felt right that he should object to practices that were accelerating the downward spiral. Maybe we really are ready for a change. But the calibre of the human spirit in the chamber begged to differ.
A chairman of considerable girth waddled onto the platform to launch the day’s proceedings. There was a good turnout, though John had no previous experience with which to compare it. Everybody was interested in summing up a new member, to decide whether he was worthy of potential deals. So they all wanted to judge him. Although they looked conspicuously absorbed in their own affairs, in truth they were concentrating firmly on John.
“I call the session to order.” The chairman had the rattle of thick catarrh in his throat. “First order of the day, we have a new member. John Cameron, would you care to take the podium?”
John stood, acknowledging the chairman’s request. It was a well-known fact that John was the son of Mike Cameron, the infamous revolutionary - or attempted revolutionary. Yet he was also the CEO of UniForce and had the right to attend WEF meetings.
He felt all eyes upon him when he trekked across the platform and assumed a comfortable stance behind the podium. “Good afternoon.” He smiled into the silence. “I wanted to take this opportunity get two things out of the way. Firstly, I want to say how honoured” - uh-huh - “I feel to be here today.” He adjusted his stance. “And secondly, I want to raise an urgent matter to your attention.” He held up his hands to stave off potential objections even though there was none. “I realise it goes against protocol but it won’t put us behind schedule. We have 15 minutes for my introduction to be used, I believe, however I wish.”
The silence was palpable.
Nobody even feigned reaching for his or her objection button.
John motioned to someone at the rear of the chamber and a tall, wafery man clambered down the steps to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen…” John had their attention dancing in the palm of his hand. “Hans van de Berg shall be giving a short presentation about SuperFlex.”
*
Fifteen words into the presentation, Nathan Bradford drew his own conclusions and much of the tension drained from his body. So, now it happens. It was out of his control and for that, he was thankful.
The assembly would finally hear the truth about the miracle material SuperFlex, the kernel of portal travel.
At the heart of this convergence of anticorporate activism and research is the recognition that corporations are much more than the purveyors of the products we all want; they are also the most powerful political forces of our time.
Monday, October 4, 2066
SuperFlex Manufacturing Plant
09:00 Detroit, USA“Hey man, what’s happening?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“No, what?”
Jake disbelievingly shook his head. “I dunno man, word is we’re shutting down.”
It was unfathomable. How could the biggest corporate giant in the history of the human race cease manufacturing their prime product? “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Apparently this shit’s toxic or something.”
“So?” Angus didn’t care if it was toxic; he was willing to take his chances. He had a family to think about. He needed this job; it was his lifeline. “Everything’s toxic, why do we have to shut down?”
Jake shrugged and lit a cigarette, spitting in the face of company policy. “Don’t shoot the messenger, it’s just what I heard, that’s all.”
Angus doubted it was true. It’s probably just some suck-arse rumour started by the boys on vat one. The worst case he could comprehend was the company shutting down the local plants and moving offshore where labour was cheaper. But even that would spell doom for his loan repayments.
For the first time in over three decades, every PortaNet manufacturing plant stood still and the corporation’s army-like workforce hung lazily about with nothing to do. Based on the weight of the evidence presented before the World Economic Forum, members had voted unanimously to force PortaNet’s plants offline - it was, after all, in the world’s economic interest. No further portal manufacturing was permissible until PortaNet discovered a responsible method of folding space. The WEF had also charged PortaNet with the task of finding a long-term solution for cleaning up the mess they’d already scattered over the galaxy - if a solution existed.
*
Friday, November 5, 2066
18:44 Carnarvon, Western AustraliaJen loved being able to talk without having to guard her words. “So you found another one?”
Samantha’s voice came loud, clear and confident over the mobile. “Yep, his name’s Shane Roberts.” She giggled. “I think you’re going to like him Jen.”
Jen caught the inference but chose to ignore it. “Okay, so that’s, what… seven now?”
“Yep,” Samantha said triumphantly. “We’re really growing.”
They were referring to the increasing number of people willing to join their voice for a fairer, more responsible, and more accountable corporate world. Once UniForce had ceased tracking activist-related conversations, Samantha and Jen had reached out electronically - without fear of reprisals - and made positive contact with a number of other resistance cells. They hadn’t truly been alone. They’d just felt alone.
“When’re you coming back?”
“An hour or two,” Jen replied. “There’s something I have to do here first.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
“Bye.” Jen hung up and flipped her mobile back into her pocket. She was wearing her favourite pair of jeans, her most comfortable boots, and a new flannelette shirt that would’ve looked at home on a construction site.
She was sitting under the big tree on her land. It was the first thing she’d done with the Raven’s money: purchased her dream plot from Realty King and torn down the hideous billboard. The second thing she’d done was decide on the plans for her house and contact a local builder. She was using a small, locally based contractor that worked out of Carnarvon instead of a major corporate player. Sure, it would probably take longer to build and be a fraction more expensive, but it was the principle that counted. Jen knew she’d feel more comfortable with the finished product if a local crew built it.
And then there was her yacht. She’d commissioned the local construction yard to begin building a 17-metre cruising catamaran. They wouldn’t finish it for over a year, but that was okay with Jen who was going to be busy in the interim anyway. She had demonstrations to organise and messages to help the public understand.
The sun was setting and the warmth was slowly draining from the late spring air. Jen gazed out over the ocean and watched the war of colours, each hue battling for supremacy over the ripples on the surface. It was spectacular.
I wish you could’ve been here to see this Dan. It still stung when she thought about him. It knotted her heart with a pang of regret. She wrapped her arms around herself to shelter from the renewed onset of grief.
She’d already decided on the name of her yacht: Sutherland Hope.
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