A Glibertarians Exclusive:  Breaking Out, Part IV

Outside the dome

Denver tried the edge of the hatch experimentally.  It moved.  “Well, the hatch is still open.”

“Told you.”

“They’ll be looking for us by now,” Romano pointed out.

“Let them.”  Brietta laid a hand on Romano’s arm.  “I know where we can hide – at least for a while.  And I can contact my friend who works in Maintenance.  He may be able to get us into the computer net.”

“So just how do you know this guy, anyway?”

“Relax, Romero.  His sibling was a classmate of mine in school.”  The four had already slipped effortlessly into the use of ‘archaic’ pronouns.  “She told me when he was selected for Engineering and Maintenance training.  Then, when he had been working there for a year, he was released and assigned to work in waste disposal, because there weren’t enough ‘traditionally disadvantaged’ ethnic, cultural and sexual preference members in that department.  So, he’s not very happy with the system.”

“Why didn’t he leave with us, then?”

Brietta blushed.  “I think he was… interested in me.  But I made it clear I wasn’t into it, so…”

Romero grinned.  “I see.”

“Let’s go on in,” Denver said.  “Brietta, show us to this hiding place you mentioned.  Then you can see if you can reach your friend.”

Interestingly, the hiding place proved to be a heavy-equipment storage compartment on the main level.  The equipment stored was mostly earth-moving and farming equipment, which had set idle since the Modern Cities had forsworn the use of fossil fuels.  Most of the machines ran on something called ‘Diesel fuel.’

Brietta’s contact, Julian D-455, met them in the big compartment, showed them around, pointed out bathroom and shower facilities, and a compartment he called a “break room” where they could store and prepare food.  He had even managed to secure some protein blocks and soy paste for them.  “Nobody comes here,” he assured them.  “Most of this equipment hasn’t been touched for a couple of generations.”  The thick dust that lay everywhere spoke eloquently to that.

Denver noted one other thing on the other side of the big compartment.  “What are these?  Doors?  They’re huge.”

“Doors,” Julian D-455 agreed.  “So they can roll the equipment out when they need to.”

“Out?”

“Outside.  Out of the City.”

“Well, that might be convenient.”

“They’re sealed,” Julian pointed out.  “Have been for decades.”

“Seals,” Denver said, “can be broken.”

“Where can I charge my ‘phone?” Brietta asked.  “I need to get our photos and videos sorted out.”

Julian looked at her for a moment.  He looked at Romero, then back at Brietta.  He shrugged, then smiled.  “I’ll show you.”

Over the next day Brietta, with Denver and Helena helping, carefully edited all of the photos and video they had taken before their ‘phones had gone dead.  Romero, while they were doing that, examined the equipment.  “I think I may have an idea how they work,” he told Denver.  “At least, most of them.  But it’s like Julian said – no fuel.”

On the second day, Julian D-455 returned to the compartment with a tall, imposing figure he introduced as Marielle K-120 (she/her.)  “Marielle,” he said, “works in the computer network, in Disinformation Control.”

“Is that good?”

“I know how to bypass all the filters and blocks,” Marielle said.  “And I brought this.”  She handed Denver a small object.  “That’s a storage chip.  Use this cable, attach that to the chip and the charging port on your ‘phone, and you’ll see how to copy your information onto the chip.”

“Can you show me how?” Brietta asked.

“Yes.”

That evening, the four of them sat alone in the ‘break room’ and talked as they munched on protein blocks.

“You know,” Denver pointed out, “If this works, we’re going to bring everyone that listens to the message right here.  If it works, we’ll bring the City Security and Disinformation Control people here as well.”

“We’ll just have to hope there are more of the people than there are Security troops,” Romero said.

“Soon enough, we’ll find out.  Marielle will be here in the morning for the chip.  She promised to put it in the system at noon tomorrow, when most of the people will be surfing while they’re having lunch.”

“At least we picked a good name to give everyone,” Helena said.  “The Freedom Caucus.  It has a great ring to it.”

They slept.  Then, they waited.

Shortly before noon, Julian and Marielle showed up.  “Whatever happens,” Julian said, “we’ll face it with you.”

At noon, Helena held up her ‘phone.  They gathered around to watch.  A prompt popped up; Helena tapped it, and the video began to play.

“People of Thunberg-121,” Brietta’s distorted voice began.  The screen showed scenes of tall grass waving in a gentle wind, of tall trees under a blue sky, of gentle evening rains.  “The images you are viewing are not from the distant past.  These images were taken within the last few days, outside the City.  The environment outside the City is not ruined.  The City’s power does not come from the ‘green’ installations of solar panels and windmills atop the dome, but from the nuclear power plant you see here.  You have been lied to…”

The video went on for ten minutes.  It began to repeat – then was suddenly cut off.  The seal of the Disinformation Control Bureau replaced it.

“Well,” Romero said, “it’s done.”

They waited.

A short while later, someone entered the compartment.  A small person, pale, tentative; he approached the six rebels timidly.

“I’m Gregor B-344,” he said.  “Uh, he/him.  Is it true?”

“It is,” Helena said.

More people came.  It began as a trickle, but it quickly became a flood.  The compartment filled with people, all with the same question: “Is it true?”

Denver climbed up on one of the big machines.  “Everyone, listen to me.  Everything you saw, everything you heard, it is all true.”

An electronically amplified voice suddenly rang out.  “Everyone here!  Listen carefully.”

The crowd turned.  Two people in the black uniforms of Security stood, flanking another in the white uniform of the Disinformation Control Bureau.  The one in white held a megaphone.

“What you have heard is disinformation!  Do not believe these people, these terrorists…”

A roar from the crowd cut him off.  “We saw the images!  We saw the video!  We heard birds singing!”

“And it’s all there,” Denver shouted.  He pointed at the big doors.  “Just outside those doors!  You can see for yourselves!”

The crowd surged forward.  They pressed against the doors, which bulged, and finally gave way.

To a person, the crowd stopped.  Amazement was on every face.

Outside.  A gentle wind was stirring the grass.  The sun shone, low in the sky.  Evening was coming, but somewhere, a bird sang.

“It’s all there,” Denver shouted.  “It’s all there.  Don’t believe their lies any longer!  Come with us!  Come and see!”

The crowd surged outside.

***

Come mothers and fathers

Throughout the land

And don’t criticize

What you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters

Are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly agin’

Please get out of the new one

If you can’t lend your hand

For the times they are a-changin’