Most Revolutionary - Chapter Eleven
Panic In The Bunker
Previously: Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez consults with Constitutional Law Advisor Iris Aetos and speaks with Sabia to plan a visit to her farmhouse after an impending commemoration of the bombing. US Speaker of the House Barry Bombarill threatens former FBI Director Maximilian Castelan. Suspended Secret Service Director William Kingsley and Deputy Director Grace Lamont and Castelan converge on Sabia’s home. Castelan attempts to catch Sabia by spying on Jenna Ryzcek.
MOST REVOLUTIONARY — A SERIALIZED NOVEL
During a killer Iowa blizzard, fearless DAPL militant and radical plant nursery grower Sabia Perez first saves then kidnaps the stranded President of the USA to ransom a better world.
Captive.
President Silver looks up at the low ceiling of the coal mine bunker. “My Vice President is going to walk on my head.”
On TV, a news moderator announces a planned commemoration trip by Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez to the blast site and to the Perez farmhouse – including an overnight stay at the farmhouse.
“Splendid,” says Silver. “My own Vice President is going to sleep on top of me. She’s going to eat and shower and shit above me. She's going to shit on my head. Literally. And she won’t even know I’m here below. This is perfect.”
Silver raises her arms to the ceiling. “My own Vice President has ascended high above – me – the President.”
“It’s a travesty,” says President Silver's campaign manager Ellen Lin.
“I never had the guts Sabia has,” says Roca.
“The insanity, you mean.”
“She got a bunch of demands met. She did more than you ever did.”
“She hasn’t done shit. It’s luck, that’s all,” says Silver. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“We were all young once,” says Lin. “It doesn’t last. It won’t last. Beginner's luck.”
“Alecta’s not fit. She's not qualified,” says Silver.
“She's not corrupt,” says Roca. “I think she actually knows what she's doing. Alecta keeps meeting the demands. New presidential orders for immigration reform, prison reform, drug reform, parts of the New Green Deal. She’s saving the climate and peoples’ lives. Alecta is kicking ass with Sabia, she's going all out. And you hate it.”
“I wasn’t allowed to do those things! It was different for me!”
“A double standard,” says Lin. “It wasn’t the same.”
“No, I think you two were the double standard. Look at Sabia. And Alecta. They're proving it.”
“I was forced to have real standards. My donors insisted. Alecta doesn’t need to measure up at all.”
“And whose fault is that. Do you know how insulting you sound? Big lies are what I hear. Constantly told. Pretending nothing can be done. You were President.”
“I am the President!”
Roca winces, turns away, grabs his left arm.
“No way. You’re stuck in a hole in the ground with me. You may never get out of here. None of us may.”
“I’m getting out.” Lin points to her notebook. “I have a story to tell.”
Roca looks as if he thinks they are doomed.
“Breaking news!” A news moderator interrupts the argument in the bunker. Live on TV, O’Roura-Chavez beams in the Oval Office beside her equally happy staff as the moderator reports: “The Supreme Court today has unexpectedly and shockingly declined to hear the main lawsuits challenging the Acting President’s directive to provide free health care to the nation. The big implication is that the Court is unlikely to hear any major lawsuits that might challenge the President’s other ransom demand initiatives.”
“Sabia! You did it,” says Roca.
Moderator: “This appears to be great news for President Silver’s chance of release.”
“And mine,” says Lin.
“Must be the Court really wants you back in power, Silver,” says Roca. “The entire Establishment wants you back. Because only you can stop Alecta now.”
“No one should allow her anything! They can’t do that!” says Silver.
“They just did,” says Roca.
“She’ll want more and more,” says Silver. “They would never do that for me!”
“You don’t know. And you’ll never know. That’s why they want you back.”
“My God, all it took was a single Presidential directive to get free health care for all,” says Lin.
“That and half a dozen Navy missiles launched at my ass,” says Silver. “But other than that – nothing. This is my administration doing what it can for me. This isn’t Alecta.”
“This is Sabia,” says Roca.
“No it's not,” says Silver. “And they don't know her. She won’t let us go. They don’t know her like we do.”
“Sabia will be Sabia,” says Roca. “Even I don’t know what she will do.”
The moderator continues: “This stunning Supreme Court decision comes mere days after Acting President O’Roura-Chavez reiterated her desire to add four progressive Supreme Court justices to the high court to, quote, 'begin to make up for centuries of right-wing corruption on the Court,' she says.”
“This is Alecta in power,” says Roca. “In power for people like her, for once.”
“Sabia needs to be stopped,” says Lin. “And we need to be freed.”
“What if our sacrifice here underground is the world's gain,” says Roca.
“Easy for you to say,” says Lin. “This is home to you, this dreadful hole in the Earth. It's no place for the President and myself.”
“It may be more fitting than you want to admit,” says Roca.
“Alecta would never do anything big to help me when I was in power,” says Silver.
“That's not true, Kristen,” say Lin.
“I think it is.”
“Alecta got you elected,” says Roca. “That’s what Sabia says — and after that, it was your own mess. I wish Sabia’s mamá was here to see this.”
“Her daughter, the kidnapper,” says Silver.
“Oh, Hell on you, Silver,” says Roca. “What’s wrong with you? I keep trying to figure it out. You’re so fucking brainwashed, I guess, like Sabia says. Or heartless. Both. Each must feed into the other.”
“At least I’m not a kidnapper.”
“Oh, you’re a fucking icon of principle.
“Hit a nerve much?”
“Something good happens after a world of hurt rains down and all you do is piss. You’re either a psychopath or a sociopath, or-”
“Blame the hostage much?” says Silver.
“Get a grip, Roca,” says Lin. “You look like you’re going to cry.”
Roca isn’t feeling well. He leans against the wall.
“When you deny people money for education, you hold them hostage to little opportunity,” says Roca. “I know it. When you deny people money for housing, food, medicine, a decent job, you kidnap their entire life. You’re the biggest, richest hostage taker in the entire world, Silver-Brains. Every President is. You command a fucking empire. Like Sabia says, a White Empire. And what the fuck do you do with it? You mint money for weapons and prisons and cops and banks and wars. You create hate. You destroy lives, the Earth.”
“Now we know where Sabia gets it from.”
“I get it from her. When Sabia’s mamá died, I began listening to Sabia more than I listened to anyone or anything in the world including what I was closest to: plants, trees, wind, water, weather. I owed her that. I wasn’t like her. I am now, I hope.”
“It’s not my job to revolutionize the world, Roca. I’m not a magician. My job is to smooth the way for those who make things run.”
“Oh, bullshit. You shovel shit for the fraction of the One Percent who benefit most. You’re so much like what Sabia calls the Republican Death Cult that it’s sick. Masters of Death, all of you. In this terminal Empire. If it isn’t revolutionized to the left, Sabia says, to real democracy, then we’re all dead. And the little guy will continue to suffer and die the most all the way down. It doesn’t need to go any farther to the right, to tyranny, to the rule of the few, the rich. We’re already in the Death Zone.”
On TV, Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez celebrates the Supreme Court news and the beginning of free national health care, free college, and total medical and educational debt relief for all. And much more.
“This can't be permanent,” says Silver. “Things will change. The big money donors will take it away. They always do.”
“Things must change, or we're all dead. The planet is toast. At least it’s a fight finally. You played willing hostage to the donors. Serves you right to be an unwilling hostage to Sabia. She’s the People’s Kidnapper. Poetic justice. You kidnapped entire lives and never offered a ransom.”
“I’m the real hostage, Roca. Project much? Your nieta is the kidnapper. That’s the law.”
“Fuck the law, when it fucks people. There’s as much lawlessness in the law as out of it. A whole criminal civilization is built on the law. Everything the Nazi Good Germans did they made legal too.”
“It’s your little, brutal, criminal granddaughter who’s in the wrong here. You know that’s true. Painful, isn’t it?”
“This is the high point for you, Silver. Down here. You’ve gone way up in life down here. For most people this would be the low point. But this dungeon actually brings you up from where you normally dwell. Don’t talk about my nieta that way, Silver-Fangs.”
Roca presses his chest as if he has a sore muscle.
“Calm down, Roca,” says Lin, alarmed.
“When I get out, you’ll see who I really am. And what I really do,” says Silver.
“Where have I heard that before? 'When I get elected, I’ll be great!'”
“You wait. Things will change. I was attacked. I'll have leverage.”
“That’s so rich. My people know what it means to wait. White Empire does not.” Roca shakes his head, breathes heavily. “Might none of us get out of here. That’s okay. As of this hour, I’ve seen enough for one life. More than I ever thought I would. Sabia showed what’s possible.”
“There are so many things I want to do,” says Silver.
“For yourself maybe. Save it for the campaign.”
Roca falls to the cement floor. Lin is first by his side.
“I knew it!” says Lin. “If he dies here, we’re fucked!”
Silver comes over. “Why?”
“A dead body in this space!”
Both are horrified.
“Think what Sabia would do to us!” says Lin.
“We’re not to blame!”
“She would end us.”
“Fuck.”
President Silver helps Lin prop Roca into a sitting position against the wall. Roca grits out a single word: “Aspirin.”
Lin hurries to the medical kit. Silver holds Roca upright.
“Tell Sabia I’m so proud.”
“Shit,” says Silver.
Lin hurries back.
“Here.”
Lin tries to shove aspirin into Roca’s mouth. It sticks to his lips.
“Goddamn it,” says Lin. She tries to poke the aspirin through Roca's lips.
“Get water!” says Silver.
“Fuck.” Lin is panicked. She goes for water.
“Don’t you dare die on us, Roca Perez!” says Silver.
At the sink, Lin quickly fills a mason jar full of water then returns with the water and aspirin.
“Roca! You can't leave us alone with Sabia!” says Silver.
“Come on, Roca,” says Lin, trying to angle the water to his lips.
“Do it,” says Silver.
“Lift his head,” says Lin.
Silver does so, and Lin tries to jam aspirin into his mouth and pour water down his throat.
“It’s not working!” says Silver. “Crush it. Crush the aspirin.” Silver directs Lin to smash a handful of aspirin, then dissolve it in water. “Hurry, now!”
Lin throws the water into the sink, then crushes the aspirin on the kitchen table with the bottom of the mason jar. She pounds away as if the glass jar were a hammer. Then she brushes the aspirin powder into the jar and refills it with water.
She comes back to Silver who grabs the mix, shoves her fingers into Roca's mouth, and pours the medicine down her fingers into Roca’s throat. He chokes and spits and tries to swallow. Water spills out of his mouth and flows over his chin and streams down his neck.
After the struggle, it’s unclear whether or not Lin and Silver have helped save Roca’s life, even temporarily. He remains slumped against the wall, head bowed.
Silver and Lin sit on their haunches on the hard floor on either side of Roca. Silver can't believe it. “Shit just went from terrible to worse,” she says. “Sabia's great plan.”
Lin touches Roca's forehead. “He's warm. At least he feels warm.”
“We need Sabia. Hate to say it,” says Silver. “Roca needs her.”
“There's no way,” says Lin.
They sit with Roca for a while in silence. They decide they cannot leave him on the cold floor. They work at lifting him and getting him under the blankets on the nearby cot.
“Call 911, Ellen,” says Silver.
“Funny,” says Lin.
Alecta gives a brief commemoration speech in the gymnasium at Sabia's rural high school, packed with students and their families, various invited officials, and relatives of the bombing dead, as well as the families of President Silver and Ellen Lin.
Sabia is not there. Instead, Sabia paces in her kitchen watching Alecta's speech on TV, surrounded by Secret Service agents, impatiently waiting for the Acting President's arrival.
At the lectern on stage, Alecta concludes her memorial:
“We will find the survivors, President Kristen Silver and Ellen Lin, and we will restore them to their families and to their country. And we will never forget the lives, the loved ones lost that cold winter night not far from here. As a nation, we cannot say that we did not see this coming. We must raise each other up, arm-in-arm, in every possible way, and never let it happen again. This is the only way to truly be 'the land of the free, and the home of the brave.'”
Sabia bounds out of the kitchen and onto the farmhouse porch. She goes to the agent standing on the edge of the porch.
“Is she coming! Her talk is over.”
“It's gonna be a bit.”
“Shit. Can't wait!”
Amid the applause for her speech, the Acting President brushes off security and steps down from the stage. On the floor of the gym she offers additional condolences and mingles with families of the victims of the terror bombing.
Afterwards, Alecta is emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. She walks with her staff and security team slowly from the high school auditorium. She steps into a rental bus. All other attendees are prevented from leaving until her bus and security detail exit the icy windswept parking lot for the Perez farmhouse.
Last to arrive, first to leave, Alecta thinks, staring out the bus window into the frozen grays, browns, and whites of the winter Iowa road and countryside. Life is hard. And too often too risky. It's her job to do more about that than anyone now, she thinks. It's her job to lead. So why does Alecta feel she is so often merely following events far outside her control and hanging on for dear life rather than taking charge and guiding the way?
She knows that's not entirely true. Maybe not even mostly true. She believes Sabia would say it's her job to lead, lead, and do nothing but lead. Alecta is excited to meet Sabia, glad to be on the road, happy to be far from the office, Oval though it may be.
Alecta hopes she does not disappoint Sabia. She hopes they meet well. She hopes they do not disappoint each other. She hopes they might each live up to the great expectations that it is hard not to hold in this weighty moment in the Iowa countryside – amid a vast plain, a planet, a universe of crazy times.
Sabia goes back inside her farmhouse, to the living room, and stands in front of a TV and watches the news: “Tragic events in the middle of campaign season, the nation has never seen anything like it. Even as hostage, especially as hostage, President Silver’s approval and poll ratings have absolutely launched through the roof.”
Co-host: “Could this be something candidates try in the future: Get kidnapped! Win election!”
Moderator: “Seems to be the best strategy by miles. It’s already making for a Democratic tidal wave that could create a powerful and unified Congress behind O’Roura-Chavez – or President Silver if and when she is freed. Just amazing.”
“Are we living now in a Hostage Democracy?”
“Not if Republicans have anything to say about it. Despite enormous popular pressure, the Republican-ruled House of Representatives has blocked all new Congressional legislation aimed at freeing President Silver. Except for the bill that abolishes daylight savings time, the first ransom demand. The Republicans approved that one only.”
A clip of House Speaker Barry Bombarill appears on screen. “No kidnappers, no terrorists will bully us. We do not negotiate with Evil. The United States of America must not and will not. We must not give in to terror. We call the shots. We are truly an exceptional people, in this world. An exceptional country.”
Sabia glares at the TV. “You fucking white supremacist,” she says. A Secret Service agent shifts uncomfortably beside her. The agent watches Sabia closely.
“And so far Republicans have been good to their word,” says the news moderator. “This despite growing calls from many in the business community to 'Give a little to get a lot' as one CEO put it, by meeting enough ransom demands to gain the release of the captive President – and even going so far as to suggest conditional pardons. Apparently not to be anytime soon. The kidnappers remain completely underground – foregoing all identification and negotiation. President Kristen Silver and Ellen Lin remain captive, and the Republicans along with some Democrats seem unwilling to budge.”
“It's all politics, right?” says the co-host.
“All politics.”
The President’s rental bus pulls up by Sabia’s farmhouse, and parks on the road. Media everywhere. Two Secret Service agents stand with Sabia on porch.
“Stay here by the door until the President comes onto the porch.”
“Okay,” says Sabia.
As soon as Alecta steps off the bus, Sabia runs and jumps off the porch, rushing to her.
“Alecta!”
“Sabia!”
Sabia bear hugs Alecta. Agents grab at Sabia to pull her away.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” says Alecta.
The agents step back.
“Welcome to fucking Iowa!”
“Very glad to be here!”
“Come on in.”
They walk onto the porch hand-in-hand.
“Your agents massacred my house, Alecta. Filled it with all your stuff. I guess you need space to work. I’m so glad you will stay overnight. It’s so exciting.”
“I figured what better way to show we’re fearless than by busing to the house of the astoundingly fearless Sabia Perez.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
They walk into the farmhouse hand-in-hand.
Recovery.
In the bunker, President Silver and Ellen Lin fixate, watching cable news live as Alecta and Sabia hug gleefully fifty feet above.
“There’s my Vice President. Dancing on my head. Fucking dancing.”
“She doesn’t look half as Presidential as you,” says Lin.
Roca has pulled through for the time being. He is extremely weak. He lies awake on the cot near the TV and watches Sabia make an event of Alecta’s arrival. Cameras follow the duo into the farmhouse.
“Mija. Nieta,” says Roca. “I can't believe you’re with Alecta. I can see it, I can’t believe it.”
“What you need to believe, Roca, is that Sabia shoved you in here in the first place and left you to die all alone. Fucking brutal,” says Silver.
“Alone?” says Roca. “Are you leaving? Please do.”
“That's funny,” says Silver. “Everyone is so funny now. Coal mine hostage humor. That’s great.”
“We saved your life, Roca,” says Lin. “President Silver got that aspirin down your throat.”
“Thank you,” says Roca. “Now let's save Sabia. That's all I care about.”
“She's killing us, Roca,” says Silver. “Hard to save someone like that.”
“It's the planet that's dying. Isn’t it,” says Roca. “We're just footnotes to the fact. The three of us. And look at my Sabia. She's so alive. She's with the President.”
“I'm the President! And your nieta left you to die. Buried alive. What's the deal, Roca? Are you in on this?”
“Stockholm syndrome,” says Lin.
Silver is increasingly angry. She walks in a circle then stops and points her finger at Roca. “You could get us out of here if you wanted to. You could, couldn't you. That was an act, Sabia throwing you into this goddamn bunker. But no, you're going to leave us buried alive until death do us part. You'll die first, Roca. And all for your precious little nieta. You know how to get us out of here, don’t you. There’s got to be a way.”
“No, that's what you did,” says Roca. “You leave us all to die — out there. The whole country. The planet too. That’s what politicians do. Their job really. Believe Sabia, I say. Or don't. You can look it up.”
“Wake up, Roca,” says Lin. “For all Sabia knows, you're dead down here. And us too. Be realistic. We're not safe here. We're trapped.”
Roca gestures toward the TV. “Sabia doesn’t know I'm sick. She can’t get to us now. The Secret Service are crawling all over the place.”
Roca is fasting, surrounded by aspirin bottles and glasses of water, electrolyte powder and mixing spoons. A broomstick used as a cane, leans on the edge of the cot. It gets him to the kitchen and to the bathroom. He wonders if it will get him to the next day. He feels like he has seen the future at least. A future full of his daughter, his granddaughter, her better way of life. Sabia’s way. Roca falls asleep not looking back, not looking around. Looking ahead.
Escorted at a distance by Secret Service agents, Sabia guides Alecta into the sunken greenhouse and tours her through oranges, figs, and frogs, the packing station, and many plants. There's a treadmill in the corner that Sabia likes to run on, year-round, in her own lush world, at speeds too fast to go for very long, always in a super sweating rush or sometimes chilling depending on the season and her amount of clothes. She runs outside too but sometimes likes the greater privacy of the greenhouse. The tour that Sabia gives Alecta is as private as she can make it, despite the Secret Service agents positioned strategically throughout the greenhouse, with guns.
Sabia and Alecta stop near the water feature to enjoy the frogs and soothing sounds and scent of the waterfall. They have each picked and carry an orange.
“I didn't put them in here, these frogs,” says Sabia. “But I helped them survive upon arrival.”
“You have a big heart,” says Alecta. “My God, look at the deep snow outside, and look at this greenery here. It’s so amazing! The foliage. It’s so dense.”
“You could almost hide a President in here among the fruits and the leaves,” says Sabia.
“It’s so tragic. Such brutal killing. And to be held hostage, it’s so horrible,” says Alecta.
Sabia holds up an orange in her left hand.
“I’m left-handed. I know you are too.”
“Southpaws forever.”
They toast with the oranges, tapping their plump sides, like drinks of alcohol, left-handed. Then Sabia laces her arm with the orange around Alecta's arm with the orange, as if uniting one to the other like two glasses of champagne shared between lovers. Sabia takes a bite. Alecta laughs and bites her own orange. Then Sabia kisses Alecta, who after a moment pulls back.
“Whoa now. My long-time partner would be jealous.”
Alecta unlaces her arm from Sabia.
Sabia leans in anyway and tries to kiss Alecta who indulges Sabia briefly. Then she presses Sabia’s face with her fingers, and pushes and pulls away.
“You must be lonely,” say Alecta.
“Well, I love you.”
“And I love you, Sabia. We’re friends.”
“And revolutionaries.”
Alecta angles her head. “I'm a politician, too, you know that,” says Alecta.
Sabia looks away.
She walks a couple steps to a strange twisted brier patch of a little tree. She holds her orange high in the air beside the contorted tree and gazes at it. “I've got hardy citrus, like this one, so-called oranges that grow and survive no problem in the ground outside. Round, small, yellow, big as ping pong balls or bigger, almost golf ball size – with a silky fuzz, like tiny little tennis balls. They taste like lemons, sour lemons, bitter lemons, and they're yellow, so I don't like to call them oranges. I love them as they are. They smell so sweet when ripe, bright yellow and as round as the sun, the silky fruit scent sticks in your nose. In spring the blossoms intoxicate. I’m telling you. The piercing scent of citrus blossoms. This hardy little lemon called orange, it ripens in fall. When you cut one open, it's seedy and tart. It's a type of hardy citrus that doesn't need Mexico, Texas, or Florida heat or even my Iowa greenhouse to survive winter. Isn't that amazing? It's like me. It is me. Look at the awesome thorns on it – big, hooked talons, super-smooth, shiny-green, needle-sharp. Beautiful. The deer don't dare touch it. Even the bear. The deer don't bother my fig plants either, because of the caustic latex inside the limbs that can ooze and burn. That latex will melt the proteins of your skin, when exposed to sunlight. Burn you bad and leave scars. But unlike my outdoor fig bushes, which grow back from the ground each year, my hardy citrus never dies-back in winter. It's really a kind of lemon, I'm telling you, not an orange. I don't care what anyone says. I have my own two eyes, brain, and tongue. Flying Dragon. That's the name of it: Flying Dragon Orange. I'm a Flying Dragon, Alecta. And I'm The Fig Girl. And what I'm full of and what I'm made of will burn you in the sun and pierce you at any point if you — I mean anyone — ever try to cut me or bruise me or even crowd me. That's a big part of who I am and how I live.”
“I'll come back in the summer to see it all, Sabia. I promise.”
“Make it fall. Flying Dragon doesn't scent-up and turn and burn yellow till fall. It ripens with the pawpaws and the in-ground figs, before the persimmons, and after Black-Eyed Susan and goldenrod and when sunroot blooms. Native and non-Native plants – I plant and grow it all. Mostly native but I mix them together. And some places mostly non. It's wonderful. The pawpaws and the persimmons with the citrus and the figs. There's so much that I love, and I love to grow. Dozens of types of caterpillars need those Black-Eyed Susans for food of their own, and dozens of types of songbirds need those caterpillars to feed their young. You don't want to feed the young ones junk, Alecta. And you don't want to raise anyone to not know that little bits of citrus grow in Iowa. And so does cabbage. People should eat more cabbage, you know that? Purple cabbage is to die for, chopped raw and mixed with salt and olive oil. That's a real meal. You can combine it with a million different seeds and nuts and sprouts and diced veggies if you want. Salad is life – especially when loaded with proteins and healthy fats, seeds and nuts. Garlic scapes. Don't cook it, whatever you do. Don't ruin the banquet. People are suffering and dying of chronic diseases by the millions because they don't fast and they don't eat a raw food diet, or one like it. It's as basic as that. Who knew?”
Alecta smiles at Sabia's joy and passion for things that grow and sustain, while Sabia continues to hold the orange high, as if in tribute, almost worship.
“I'll try that, thanks,” say Alecta. “Purple cabbage. And I'll visit in fall then. I'll try. I want to see all that you grow and harvest.”
“Catch me on Youtube in the meantime, Madame President. Fucking corporate profiteering propaganda makes us all dumber than the day we were born. I try to counter it. It takes a lot of repetition. Do you know what the etymology of 'repetition' is? To 're-attack'. I love repetition. I love to attack.”
Alecta laughs. “I can tell. I would visit you here spring, summer, winter, fall, if I could, Sabia. I know I would learn a lot in your magic land.”
“Maybe more than you think,” says Sabia. “Do you know what the etymology of 'garden' is? 'Enclosure'. That's what it comes from. I love to attack from my garden. My gardens. And it's a living, too. All of it.” Sabia feels weary, suddenly. She lowers the orange. “I'm alone here now on the farm. And I feel alone. Not lonely, really. But I – don't know who understands what I need to do now.”
Alecta comes over to her, puts her arm inside Sabia's arm and holds her hand.
“You’re a force, Sabia Perez. You've got so many friends and admirers. I see them online. Your school friends. They share with you, they chant with you, they fight with you. And surely you have friends at a distance. A lot of people are on your side, across the entire country. And world. You know that. They’re on our side. And we’re on theirs.”
“We’re partisans, I know,” says Sabia. “Revolutionaries.”
“We’re popular,” says Alecta. “Without compromising. Much. I mean I got elected. And you found your crowd at school and online. It’s what we stand for and do. That’s the thing.”
“It gets cold in Iowa, Alecta.”
“A lot of places.”
“Mi Mamá – Abuelo didn’t know she had no health care. She hid it from him. That’s how the cancer sneaked up and took her. If she had been in the system, with regular checkups, she would have had a chance to be alive today.”
“I’m so sorry, Sabia. We've got it now.”
“I did so much research when she got sick. Then I went all in on eating cabbage, and you know, raw food, and I try every healthy thing in a healthy way. I couldn't get Abuelo away from all processed carbs, but I kept trying. The whole food system needs to change, Alecta. Food and fasting needs to become our daily medicine. As it is now, high carbs and processed junk, chemicals and toxic oils and constant eating, it's our daily poison. It's an addictive drug. A new food system would save the climate too. And foster wildlife and cut way back on the slaughter of animals for flesh. There's more killing and dying today by far than at any time in human history because of the ever increasing slaughter of animals for food. It’s sick. The planet is becoming bloodier, not more humane.”
“There's so much to be done,” says Alecta.
“I wish it didn’t take holding a President hostage to even begin to get some serious new basic human decency, you know? I mean, plus, it can’t be easy to deal with someone like Silver-Death. Pity the poor kidnappers.”
Alecta considers. “Kristen Silver is a piece of work. I admit. I know – not as bad as the other guys, but-”
“Bad enough. She's no grower of the future.”
“Big money needs people like her in power. You know that Sabia. Plastic people. People who keep the big bucks flowing to the big owners. Ambition drives people like that – people who do what they’re told and who pretend to be principled. While bending every which way.”
“It’s all about the money. All for themselves and none for anyone else. If they would only fucking share. So many Big Shots don’t even bother to pretend anymore.”
“Silver wanted to be President so badly she was willing to suffer me as Vice President. Think about that.”
“You’re such a monster, Alecta! Would serve her right if you were.”
“Complete miracle I wasn’t on the bus with everyone else. I wonder-”
“I would have saved you. I would be your superhero, Alecta.”
Alecta claps her hands. “Super Sabia! To the rescue!”
“Sometimes there's no saving everyone,” says Sabia. “Not even yourself. Like, I've got my own problems here I can't solve. The big guns missed you, but other guns are all around me. Look.” Sabia points to the Secret Service agents standing more-or-less covertly. “I need the FBI off my property. They’re poking everywhere. I see a gun by my greenhouse and I want to kill someone myself. You’re the President. Get rid of the guns.”
“I'll see what can be done,” says Alecta. “It's a pacifist paradise you’ve got here.”
“Whoa. No way am I a pacifist,” says Sabia. “I hate guns, is all. But if Billy the Moto Kid gets any closer to me with that fucking drone, he’s going to learn what kind of pacifist I’m not.”
Alecta hugs Sabia and kisses her on the cheek. “Non-violence though. Non-violence is best.”
“It's ideal, I guess,” says Sabia. “I just wish the world was non-violent against me.”
Sabia and Alecta sit for a long while side-by-side on a bench near the water feature and grow lights. They talk into dark. The Secret Service agents shift in place and keep watch.
Sabia watches them back. She wants to feel like a hawk crouching over voles. But they are giants with guns. And in her greenhouse. And she wants them out. She wants Alecta all to herself, even more than she is right now. And she wants a better world. Immediately.
“Tomorrow we’ll shell some nuts,” says Sabia. “And talk some more. I’ll show you how if you don’t know.”
“Sounds like a plan,” says Alecta.
“Well, an action. It’s always better to act than to plan, I say.”
“I don’t know about that, Sabia.”
“Okay, act — then reflect. If you want. What are you going to do about Barry Bombarill blocking every bit of good legislation? How about bring him my way and I’ll take care of him.”
“And how would you do that?” says Alecta.
Sabia nods. She looks through the greenhouse. “Oh, you know. I would figure something out. I would act. I have my ways.”
