Free Progtopia: Book 1 of The Progtopia Trilogy by Eula McGrevey Page B

the first news story we both know will be a false report. Once the real deal hits, all hell will break loose. It will truly be hell on earth.”
    The President’s secretary was concerned. She still didn’t know what the true nature of Renaissance was, but she knew the G8 summit was only several months away. The microscopic listening device she had planted on the bottom of the President’s favorite coffee cup provided some key information. She just hoped other operatives were gathering enough intelligence to piece this puzzle together in time. She knew Renaissance could change the world as they all knew it, and it was up to them to stop it.

Ten
    The Year: 2172
    Thatcher exited the Ball with her parents, while Jonathan and his girlfriend left separately. Once they were settled in the car, her father, angry, asked, “What on earth were you thinking? Do you even have a comprehension of what your actions have unleashed tonight? I cannot believe you!” His voice was starting to rise, and Muriel put her hand on his knee. “Honey, she just took that nice young boy to the Ball.”
    “Nice young boy! Nice young boy! Muriel, are you absolutely clueless? She took someone from the Elite Recipient Class to the Giving Class Ball! Did the Benefactor’s speech go right over your head? I think he made it pretty clear what his feelings were on this. Nothing like giving permission for a lower class to approach one of us. Nothing like giving the impression that anyone can have what we have. They have what we give them! It’s plain and simple—nothing more, nothing less!”
    He turned back to Thatcher. “Thatcher, do you understand what this does to my position? Do you understand what this could do to your future? Marco should go to a reeducation camp for this. Now, I have major damage control to deal with tomorrow!”
    Thatcher knew better than to open her mouth. She just listened to him scream. The sad thing was that her father was right. Marco should go to the camps for what he did—according to the current laws, which she did not support. She didn’t really believe much of what her father thought. No one knew that, but Nikolai. She kept all of it to herself, formulating her own opinions over the years. Being her father’s daughter and having access to so many books that were banned and unknown to the world, she consumed everything from the moment she could read. She suspected her father knew she carried some doubts about the current political and economic systems, otherwise he would not meet with her on a daily basis to review what she may or may not say in class. She was smart enough, however, to keep her opinions to herself. Sure, she would ask him things that might be challenging just to see what the State’s response was to some of her questions, but she never let on that she herself believed some of the things she was asking. Her stunt at the Ball was not intended to be any type of political, economic, or social commentary. It was personal. She disliked Cassandra Williams. She thought she was manipulative, and like so many in the media, empty. She would carry water for anyone who could advance her career and keep her popular.
    The Judge’s voice startled Thatcher from her thoughts. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
    “No father. I really wasn’t thinking.”
    “I don’t believe that for a minute, Thatcher. You, not thinking? You’ll be thinking a lot tomorrow if I’m out of a job, you are kicked out of school, and we are all sent to reeducation camps. I know what all those things are like—I run them! My own daughter! My own daughter!”
    “Father, I really wouldn’t worry about it. Do what you always do—create a scandal for tomorrow and today’s will be forgotten.”
    That was a good idea , the Judge thought.

Eleven
    The Year: 2172
    Judge Kelleher, still brooding over the events of the evening, paced in his study. Angry with Thatcher over falling for Marco’s stunt, he suspected the fine hand