CHAPTER 4 #2
“Good day, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to The Civilized Voice,” he says.
“I am your host, Benjamin Bogart, reporting live from the Rainbow District with breaking news. At 5:00 a.m. this morning, representatives from across the Civilized World gathered in the council chamber to decide the fate of the Bliss Prohibition Act. The event was a battle many will not soon forget, a thriller from start to finish. In a shocking twist, the motion passed with forty-seven votes in favor and forty-six against. The final, tie-breaking vote was cast by Green Representative Bruce Waldsten, an outspoken critic of Bliss who has long campaigned against the drug’s legal circulation. ”
The screen cuts to the council chamber, a grand hall with fluted geometric pillars and tiered chandeliers, featuring private booths for the ninety-three representatives. The Blues have thirty-three representatives, while the Greens, Oranges, and Purples each have twenty.
The footage, taken immediately after the vote, shows Dad surrounded by shouting Blues at the podium.
They tower over him in their midnight blue velvet suits and silk chiffon gowns, their faces twisted with rage.
Dad remains calm, but a slight tremor in his hand makes it clear he’s feeling the pressure.
Instinctively, my hand rises, reaching out as if I could touch his and hold it still.
“In another unprecedented turn of events,” Bogart continues as the camera cuts back to him, “President Reeve has signed the bill, making Bliss officially illegal in our great and glorious Civilized World. The news is sparking protests nationwide, especially outside the Capitol Estate, where the vote took place. For the first time in our history, high-citizens and low-citizens are marching together, united in their desire to overturn what many are calling a tyrannical decision.”
The screen splits, showing protest footage of Blues leading the charge to re-legalize Bliss: militaristic marches, flashing signs, and catchy slogans.
The protests seem too organized to be spontaneous, suggesting they were planned for this specific outcome.
Most Blues support keeping Bliss legal, especially since they control its production, distribution, and sales.
One of the few high-citizens who has publicly opposed the drug is President Reeve.
“And now, to answer the burning question on everyone’s minds,” Bogart says, “who exactly is Green Representative Bruce Waldsten? To many, he’s known for his unpopular stance on digital privacy, but behind the curtain, he is a family man—husband to public relations expert Evelyn Waldsten and father of three daughters, Miss Vivian, Miss Loredana, and Miss Hillaire Waldsten. ”
A family photo from one of Dad’s political events appears on the screen; Mom and Dad are holding hands, Vivian flashes a flirty smile, Hillaire stands stiffly with her hands in her pockets, and there I am, slack-jawed and caught off guard by the photographer.
I try to breathe, but my throat locks up, forcing the air back out in a strangled gasp.
“That skeevy bastard,” Charlotte growls. “How’s he getting away with showing the faces of Private People? It’s illegal.”
“No. It isn’t,” Harrison counters. “Not when it’s for reporting purposes.”
“Reporting purposes, my ass. That purple-eyed insect is probably on the Blues’ payroll.”
Right now, I don’t care whose payroll Bogart is on.
Not only is he painting Dad as a villain, but he’s also broadcasting our faces to millions of people who want us dead.
Even if murder sends you to the guillotine, desperate people in withdrawal won’t care.
They’ll come for me at Grandmaster, for Dad at the Capitol Estate, and for Mom, Hillaire, and Vivian at home.
“Harry, you have to turn the plane around,” I say.
“I would if I could, Lore, but we don’t have enough fuel.”
“Then we’ll refuel when we land. You and Charlotte can deboard, and I’ll fly home alone.”
Harrison and Charlotte trade a glance, almost too quick to catch, but it communicates the situation clearly.
“The Coppers inspect every aircraft that lands,” Harrison says. “You’re still a Private Person, Lore, and you don’t have special permission to enter the Rainbow District. Unless you become a Public Person, they’ll slap you with an illegal entry charge.”
“How is that possible if I don’t leave the plane?”
“Because landing is considered entry.”
I glance out the window, searching for a glimpse of the Rainbow District in the distance, feeling like I’m going to be sick.
The sky remains overcast, with a soft pink-and-gold glow from the sunrise tracing the clouds.
I check my Bond, expecting a flood of messages from my parents, but my inbox is empty.
Neither of them answers when I try to call.
Mom is probably still asleep, while Dad is likely still in the council chamber, where personal devices are banned.
I turn into the corridor, making it only halfway to my bedroom before panic sets in.
The protest footage from Bogart’s broadcast flashes through my mind, fast and disjointed, like the aftermath of a car crash.
I brace myself against the wall, my chest locking up as I imagine a violent mob waiting for me on the landing strip at Roaring Rails Station.
We expected this, I remind myself. Whenever my family talked about the possibility of Bliss being banned, Dad warned that the backlash from losing access to the drug could be strong enough to blow a hole in the side of the Civilized World. And yet a part of me is still surprised.
Heels click on the floor behind me, followed by warm fingers touching my shoulder. “What can I do, Lore?” Charlotte asks.
“Check if Harrison’s got a parachute in the cargo hold.”
“The plane isn’t high enough, Lore. Not unless you can jump from a thousand feet.”
She knows I’m not serious, but I appreciate that she humors me.
Harrison approaches us with a determined stride, as if already looking for solutions. His Bond is activated, and his skin looks ghostly in the blue glow of his left eye. “How many security drones does your family have?” he asks.
“Ten, I think. Maybe a few more.”
“Ten? You’ll need fifty now. I’ll have them at your house by tonight.” He works on his Bond for a moment longer, then pauses to look at me. “My advice isn’t just advice anymore, Lore. You need to join an entourage.”
“How?” I ask. “Most Blues use Bliss, so why would they protect the daughter of the man who banned it?”
“They wouldn’t,” Charlotte cuts in. She shoots Harrison a glare, as if telling him to drop the entourage idea, then glides her hand comfortingly down my back.
“Attention passengers, we are approaching the end of our descent,” an automated voice crackles over the PA system. “Please prepare for landing.”
Harrison jumps up as if realizing he’s still in his pajamas. He excuses himself, nearly bumping into a Pinkie carrying a large black case as he hurries toward his bedroom. The robot gracefully sidesteps him, then approaches me with a curtsy.
“Good day, Miss Waldsten. Please allow me to assist.”
I walk mechanically as I follow the Pinkie to the sofa, where it opens the black case and uses the makeup inside to restore color to my face.
I force myself to stay still as the robot paints my lips and curls my lashes, but its gentle touch only heightens my anxiety.
Even if there’s a way out, some legal loophole I can use to get home to my family, I don’t have the time or the expertise to figure it out.
The best I can hope for is that Dad is right: As rotten as our system is, we still have the rule of law.
The Pinkie works quickly, styling my hair into loose finger waves and pinning it back with a gold chevron comb. My diamond jewelry shifts against my sweaty neck as I slip into a green, floor-length gown with a column silhouette and short beaded fringe sleeves.
As the Pinkie fastens the buttons, Charlotte drops onto a sofa beside me and lights a cigarette with trembling fingers. “Harry’s advice about us sticking together doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?”
I face her slowly. “You’re seriously thinking about staying with me?”
“Of course.”
“What about your reputation?”
Charlotte snorts and taps ash into Harrison’s empty espresso cup.
“In case it isn’t obvious, my life went to shit after Jack and I broke up.
I lost him, I lost all my fancy new friends, and I had a falling-out with my dad.
” She shrugs, as if she’s talking more to herself than to me.
“The truth is, Lore, I’ve been on my own for the past year. ”
“What do you mean? Where were you living?”
“Hotels, mostly.” She takes a restless drag on her cigarette. “It was fine for a while, but… I realized I don’t like being alone.”
I’ve realized something, too. Charlotte has changed far more in the past two years than I have. She’s so unrecognizable that if she told me she’d started dealing on the black market, I’d nod and ask what she’s selling.
Charlotte clears her throat stiffly, then points her cigarette toward the window. “Looks like we’re landing.”