Off-world labour or to the Games - Part 16

Foxtrot and Joyride are charged with terrorism

The droid nearest Foxtrot stood over the cuffed adolescents. The thick metal devices, that looked like the infinity symbol when no one was restrained, hung from the boys’ wrists. Both sat with their legs spread and elbows on their knees.

Foxtrot stared at Boyer and wouldn’t look away. She didn’t have the heart to meet his gaze. Surge like this were radically against all types of government intervention. Different branches of different insurgents could be traced back to the first global shutdown, the quiet revolution when the maps, unofficially, started to be remade.

They had different branches all around the world. Many weren’t connected. Many were at odds–even at war–with each other. However the walled-in power centres all over the remade globe lumped them in as an interconnected network, branches of the same tree. A hydra with one hundred heads that was a critical existential threat.

She was too young to understand it at the time, but the nodes of these branches traced back more than 20 years, before she took the train through Mexico, before Boyer and her mamá slipped through the border.

The droid handed Boyer a tablet. “What’s this?” she asked, taking the device from it.

“You’re the only human rep of the Corridor on the transport, you must read the charges.”

“I’m not an official–” Boyer started to say but she was cut off by the woman’s voice on the intercom, the same one who’d spoken during the attack.

“We’re going to run this by the book,” the woman’s voice said. “Plus, cameras are rolling. This footage will be used for their intro package to the games.”

The Gov never missed an opportunity. Boyer scanned the screen of the device she was handed. They were throwing the book at them. Boyer winced at every bullet point. Given that they were in lands formerly known as the nation of Canada, she knew that the droid was likely pulling details from the AI cloud its quasi-sentience depended that were relevant to the territory. Never one to reinvent a well-worn wheel, the Gov had spliced together the laws that worked to achieve the purposes of the Corridor in the spirit of governing efficiency. She was looking at a mashup of one of the world’s once-great democracies’ criminal codes.

Boyer cleared her throat, but she couldn’t look at Foxtrot or Joyride as she read them.

“I am going to read the charges against you. These are serious accusations about breaking the laws of Corridor West.” She read through a list that sounded just like an AI readout of policy, information compiled by machines but meant for human understanding. “Do you understand?”

Boyer looked up at the camera when neither of the boys responded.

“Keep reading,” the droid and the woman said at the same time. Boyer looked at the droid then back at the camera.

“In Corridor West, we have laws to stop terrorism. Terrorism means doing harmful things, like hurting people or damaging property, to scare the public or force the government to do something, often for political or religious reasons. The charges against you say you broke these laws. I will now read each charge slowly.”

Boyer hesitated. Joyride winked.

“You are charged with participating in a terrorist group. This means we believe you knowingly helped a group that plans harmful acts, like making bombs, planning and executing an attack against citizens of the Corridor. When found guilty, you could be extradited to an off-world labour camp or receive the death penalty in the Games. Do you understand the charges?”

Joyride let out an audible laugh. Boyer looked up from the tablet. Joyride winked at her again. She had to restrain herself from not leaning over and slapping him across the face. This winking, foolish boy had no idea what was about to come at him.

“We’ll take that as affirmation,” said the woman over the comms. “Wrap it up.”