Most Revolutionary — Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chautauqua
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 to ransom a better world.
Previously: Secret Service Director William Kingsley and new FBI Director Priama Steiner hold Sabia Perez for new interrogation in her farmhouse. Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez delivers a revolutionary speech in the White House Press Room. In the coal mine survival bunker far beneath the Perez farmhouse, captive President Kristen Silver tricks fugitive ex-FBI Director Maximilian Castelan into confessing his role in the bombing, assassination, and coup attempt against her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine — Chautauqua
In the White House Press Room, Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez announces that America must be re-ordered as a libertarian socialist country, ideally along with the rest of the world, to meet the emergencies threatening and ending life on the planet. Anyone can see this who chooses to look. Alecta has explained how and why to the nation at large, to the reporters at hand, to supporters and opponents. The idea of America leading in any other way is total bullshit.
Alecta thrills to the moment. She wants to say it all again, and keep saying it forever without end. She thinks she must, she knows she must. And she must act to get it all done. The feel and resonance of her own words echo in her head, while the import and impact flash across the globe:
“If you want to get your money back — and I know you do — and if there is to be a free and fair, just and prosperous, caring and healthy society — then the pharmaceutical companies must be nationalized, the banks must be nationalized, the biggest industries must be nationalized, AI must be nationalized, because the national and international Emergencies demand it! If ever there were a time when we could let giant financial entities burn and play with all our money and other resources, that time is gone, long since. Gone, gone, gone! Get your money back! We are all on the brink of death now, not just the impoverished and terrorized masses. The climate will kill us all if we don’t nationalize our society. That means democratize our society — build a livable, hospitable, convivial future. It's what we must do. It's what we ought to do. Long since. It's what we will do. And now I’ll take your questions.”
Alecta's supporters applaud and shout. Reporters practically throw themselves from their chairs trying to get the Acting President to call on them for questions that come as often as not in the form of accusations, indignations, and outrage — sometimes phony, in service of their corrupt and profiteering masters, and sometimes real, in service of the reporters' own broken and backward ideologies — fake and toxic lines of thought imprinted by the systems of plutarchy onto brains dented, damaged, and destroyed. And yet there are a few reporters more keen and open of mind.
Acting President Alecta O’Roura-Chavez keeps a firm grip on the lectern and answers as she will.
President Silver and her re-election Campaign Manager Ellen Lin prepare dinner in the well-stocked kitchen of the coal mine survival bunker far beneath the Perez farmhouse in Iowa. Lin has not spoken to Silver since Lin stormed out of Silver’s bedroom in the midst of the President’s hideous intimacies with their would-be assassin.
Silver has moved fugitive ex-FBI Director Maximilian Castelan to the kitchen table and tied him there. How Sabia and Roca and Jenna were able to capture Castelan still amazes Silver and Lin, and one other thing remains unchanged. Castelan must be captive by the captive women for their own safety.
“A captive society is a stable society — don’t you think, Ellen?” says President Silver, but Lin continues the classic silent treatment against President Silver. The President has been canceled by her closest confidante.
It feels exponentially hurtful in the windowless depths of the bunker. Nevertheless, they prepare food side by side. No getting away. The tight confines have all but canceled the cancel.
Thank God for the two LED TVs mounted on the wall, the only windows to the world. And mighty windows they are, in their own way. No internet, no phone, so nothing but the parasocial — a one way relationship to life through screen, to the land up and beyond their cold stone grave in Earth — their living grave.
President Silver thinks this is how people live — not only out here in the boons of the Midwest — Flyover Country, Remotesville. At least there’s TV in this tomb. Silver would turn it on to swamp her sorrows, except she knows what she will see: Queen Alecta in her White Palace acting like a President. Silver’s palace, Silver’s place, Silver’s Presidency.
“Oh, Ellen,” President Silver says at last. “You know it’s been fifteen years since my husband and I slept in the same bed together.”
“That man — Castelan — he tried to kill us.” Lin uncancels President Silver to castigate her. “Castelan killed our staff in the bombing of Ground Force One. He wants us dead.”
“He says he didn’t do it.”
“He tracked us for the killers.”
“What if he did? It wasn’t personal. It was politics.”
“The Hell kind of politics are we engaged in here, Kristen?”
Silver throws up her hands.
“I’m not a philosopher! I harvest votes. And you help me do it.”
“You can't be sleeping with the enemy! Our enemy!”
“I tricked him into confessing.”
“Everyone knows he’s guilty. There’s a nationwide manhunt patrolling for his ass. They know what he did.”
Castelan pulls at the cord that binds him to the table. He marvels that something so slight could be so strong against him. He glares at Lin. How could such weakness hold him captive. He masks his outrage to play the long game.
“I didn’t do it,” he says. “They told me to put the tracker on Ground Force One. That’s all I did. I didn’t pull any trigger, shoot any naval sub missiles. How could I? I’m innocent. I didn’t know about any assassination plan — or any plan at all. I thought they were going to arrange protests along the route. People have the right to protest.”
“You fucking murderous spy,” says Lin. “You didn’t ask about the tracker because you didn’t need to — it was understood. You’re guilty as sin. You repulsive murderer. Sometimes you are what you are.”
“He may be guilty, okay, he’s guilty, Ellen, but don’t pull this Puritan shit on me. What — are we burning witches now? Let me be free to be me. Do you see where we are?”
“Burning in Hell, Kristen. How did that happen?” There’s no avoiding the fact that Silver and Lin were once free to escape, free of the bunker in the chaos of Roca’s heart attack. They were out, but Silver decided to remain captive to keep her once fatal poll numbers high enough to guarantee a win in November. Of course, they can’t speak about this openly in front of Castelan. “You want to win this fall, Kristen, I know you do, but I think really it’s Sabia that’s going to win, and Alecta, and do you really care anymore? You seem happy enough with your life in the bunker now.”
“It’s out of our hands, Ellen. Please.”
“All we do on the outside is rule, Ellen. We don’t live. We don’t move to the left to help the people, not much. Because the donors, the donors. We rule from the right. But you won’t rule down here? I guess you’ve had enough ruling for one life. Maybe that’s a good thing.”
Castelan listens carefully and wonders how he can use the contentiousness against them both.
“What is this, Ellen?” says Silver. “You’re not President. I am. I brought you this far. You were happy to get me elected and put me in power. I'm no socialist like Sabia and Alecta. You know that. I can’t be.”
“Bullshit, Kristen. If you could get re-elected by implementing all of Sabia’s ransom demands, you would do it in a second.”
“Well, I can’t.”
“Because you’re an opportunist. That’s your whole problem.”
“Oh — that’s news. I didn’t realize I had a ‘whole problem’.”
“I think we’re beginning to find out exactly what your whole problem is, Kristen.”
“Fuck you, Ellen. This says more about you than me. You’re just mad because we're cooped up. You’re going crazy. I’m not a bad person. Neither are you. Castelan may be. Even Sabia is not entirely a bad person. The difference between Sabia and me is that I’m not going to sacrifice myself for a cause. There's no point in it. Sabia could never become President like me. So she does her own thing. A crazy thing. But that’s what it is. That’s all it is.”
“And Alecta — she does her own thing too. It just happens to benefit everyone else.”
“So much is out of our control, Ellen. Alecta is where she is because of me. And you. No other reason.”
“I wonder,” says Lin. She was responsible for bringing Alecta onto the ticket for the first campaign. Made her job easy.
Lin goes to the cable TV hung on the stone of the wall and powers it on. The news shows clips of Alecta’s speech from earlier in the day.
President Silver throws out her elbows as if to block a hard charging attacker. Then she points at Lin.
“I don’t care about Alecta O'Roura-Chavez! Or Sabia Fucking Perez! I’m the President! I got Castelan to confess. I’m in charge here!” Silver glares at Alecta on TV — her Vice President ascended on high, talking constantly, with that geeky and nervy, resolute face. The big smile. Those purposeful eyes and defiant jaw. “What people see in Alecta is beyond me! I’m still in charge out there too!”
“Okay, Kristen.”
They watch Alecta reign on screen.
Then Lin serves the food. Black bean soup and rice, a few nuts, canned mixed vegetables and rehydrated fruit.
Lin picks at the rice and veggies. Everything they eat has been canned, preserved, dehydrated or rehydrated — prepared direct from the bunker storeroom.
Castelan eats heartily, bound to table. Between scoops of soup he stretches his neck and flexes his shoulder where Roca shot him and Jenna operated. It seems to be healing well enough. He feels strong, ready to break from captivity if only he can figure out how.
He needs to get free of Silver and Lin first.
Ellen is prissy but she’ll get over herself, Silver thinks. Ellen has a stunted little complex of a paranoid brain sometimes. President Silver knows she’s not for everyone. Sometimes you need to be intimate with the devil, as long as the devil remains under your command, as long as what happens in the bunker stays in the bunker. It’s politics, pure power and personal politics of the sort that Kristen Silver has long since practiced and mastered.
Lin pushes aside her plate and bowl. She goes to the TV and increases the volume for the question-and-answer session following the speech by Alecta. And then Lin, Silver, and Castelan pull out of their individual lines of thought and listen to the suddenly radical news of the day.
“I warned everyone,” says Silver. “Alecta knows no bounds — she’s dangerous.”
“She’s what got you you elected,” says Lin.
“So you say.”
“And she will get you re-elected this fall.”
“Not if she keeps this shit up, she won’t.”
A journalist leaps wildly on TV, waving his arms in the front row of the Press Room. He asks accusingly, “Wouldn't the nationalization of industry make for a Communist takeover of the country?”
“That's right,” says Silver. “It's Communism. All my Capitalist donors will go berserk — hammers out, hammers flying.”
Alecta rises to her full height at the lectern:
“America has long-since implemented national mandates to provide health care for many of the young and the old, the infirm and the imprisoned, the impoverished and for government workers, including all members of the military. And America nationalized universal basic income for retirees. It's called Social Security. Is that Communism? Call it what you will. These national mandates provide for the well-being of the population that corporate America otherwise disregards, takes zero responsibility for, and in fact often runs over. We are held hostage by corporate America and the financial barons, which have a stranglehold on your government and communities! And now we face new times that require new mandates.
“The climate will kill us all if we don’t nationalize our vital resources now, on an accelerated timeline, to build a livable, hospitable future. And in any case, too many people continue to struggle in dire poverty and misery and die for lack of sane and humane national mandates that we as a nation constantly fail to deliver!
“Those days are gone, they must be. Better days lie ahead, to the extent that we mandate them into being. Poverty is a policy choice. I suggest we choose otherwise. I insist on it. The people insist on it. War is a policy choice. We must stop invading and bombing. It's the only decent thing to do. Climate collapse is a policy choice. We must choose otherwise. Immediately — to literally save the world.
“A police state is a policy choice. We need to replace the police state with far more civilized community forces and services. A brutal and destructive tyranny of banks and corporate boards and white supremacy is a policy choice. We must choose otherwise and democratize at long last the economy. There’s no reason not to. No good reason. Artificial Intelligence automates jobs out of existence. We need to take a day off the workweek and lower the retirement age to create more opportunities for everyone. And we need to do it now. Boss economics must be a thing of the past. Only a People’s economics can save us now.”
“Who does she think she is?” says Director Castelan. “That kind of talk goes against everyone who has power in the world.”
“Alecta has power now,” says Lin. “The People’s Power, according to her.”
“Max is right,” says President Silver. “The Big Money boys — the boys he protects at all costs, the boys he spies and attacks for, they are the real powers of the world, and they won’t tolerate Alecta for long. You can’t ignore them.”
“You can’t ignore your own donors, you mean,” says Lin.
“I didn't throw those bombs at your bus, Kristen. I was happy enough in my job,” says Castelan.
“Lord Castelan. Darth Castelan,” says Lin. “Why don’t you crawl in a hole and die.”
“I think we have,” says Silver.
“Here’s the new thing now — the rich are not Alecta’s base or donors,” says Lin. She’s on the loose. She got turned loose. The People cut her loose. So look out.”
President Silver studies her campaign manager and wonders if Ellen Lin is thinking of jumping ship from her team to Alecta’s squad. If they ever get free.
How Lin would transition into that bullshit, Silver wonders. She better not.
“That wasn't my question,” says the reporter. “Of course the government funds a lot of social programs and sets public policy for all kinds of things. But to take over entire industries is unfair to the owners, it's theft, and it would lead to terrible service and other bad results. It's not legal. It sounds immoral.”
Alecta waggles her left index finger and shakes her head.
“I suggest you check your assumptions. I think you'll find they are exactly wrong in every way. Public health care — Medicaid and Medicare — people rate it more highly than private insurance. It's also far less costly, and has better health outcomes. So that's the health care industry. And it's true of every industry.
“Take the energy industry — government-owned utilities are far less costly and more reliable than those privately owned by the profiteers of Wall Street. Exactly as one might expect.
“And take the banking industry. Credit Unions, because they are democratically run, are far less costly, have far better service, and are far more fair than privately owned banks. That's why banks have bought legislators and laws to outlaw credit unions for most people. That’s how the entire economy is rigged against the people and for the profiteers. You kill the rule of democracy and hand power to the tyrant profiteers.
“Go through every industry — same result — unless sabotaged by big money, public industry gives better results, better work conditions, more reliable service, more environmentally friendly impacts, and on and on and on. Because public works are not run by the profiteers who buy legislators and legislation to destroy public services and public industries in the sick attempt to make good things go bad so they can take loads of money for themselves.”
“It sounds like nothing that could ever work,” says the reporter.
“I've just explained the opposite reality. The unreality that you are describing and defending is capitalist control of industry and the economy. Rule of the rich. Plutocracy. Plutarchy. Oligarchy. Rule of the few. Financial tyranny — that’s capitalism. Police state capitalism is fascism. Call it what it is. It doesn't work. It literally never has, not for everyone. Capitalism is not democracy. It’s inherently opposed to democracy. It sucks money from people until they are broken and have nothing more to give.
“And what does capitalism give to you for free? Nothing! Not a single human right. Only the government gives freely. Only the government can.
“So Capitalism — plutocracy — is the real enemy of the People. You don’t get to vote for Chief Executive Officers in capitalism like you get to vote for the President and Congressional leaders in democracy. That means there’s no democracy in capitalism. Only tyranny. The government grants ever single corporate charter and it can revoke them all for cause and in emergencies. Exactly what we face now. We don’t even need to buy out the corporations to nationalize them, make them public. But if it helps smooth things over we could.
“The People are desperate and abandoned, suffering and dying needlessly. The planet is being annihilated. The weapons industry drives massacres and wars. For profit. 'Nothing that could ever work' is capitalism. Exactly. Capitalism is rule by Big Money. By design and by sold-out law, capitalism does not work for the public. It pillages and profiteers off society to enrich the private few. And the Devil — that horrific predator — takes the hindmost.
“Financial tyranny tears apart societies, crushes the people to feed the top of the pyramid of ownership. Like fiefdoms in feudalism. Like Kingdoms in Monarchy. Like plantations in slavery. Wage slavery crushes and grinds and dehumanizes people worldwide. Like banks and debt. The People must own the banks and the businesses! The money is theirs to do with as they will! The workplaces are theirs, they must be. The community spaces are theirs. The People must claim society for themselves — to get their money back. And their time. To save themselves. And to save the world.”
Alecta holds up the palm of her left hand.
“Look, I'm not proposing to outlaw all private industry. I'm proposing two things. The laws that ban and discourage governments from competing against private industry should be thrown out. Make it a level playing field. If big-money industry can compete against public-owned industry, great. It can't — because the one profiteers and the other does not. If you think private profiteers can out-compete public operations, I suggest you check your assumptions. Not to mention the research. You've been duped or bought. The less polite and probably more accurate term is 'brainwashed.' Brainwashed by big money. That's why so many laws exist to prevent fair and humane competition with government, with unions, and with other forms of actual democracy. The capitalist takeover of government by the profiteering few is killing us all — some of us more quickly and more hideously than others.
“Simply throwing out these corrupt laws would greatly shift society in a far more social direction, a libertarian socialist direction. Toward actually healthy and functioning democracy. And then we implement new laws and Presidential orders. The People's laws, the People’s commands, the People’s orders.
“Who and what do you trust more, a People’s Democracy of Human Rights — or the billionaires’ fascist plantation of megalomaniac and narcissist schemes, profiteering for themselves?
“Sounds Communist to me, and to most people, I think,” says the reporter.
“Years of capitalist brainwashing can have that effect,” says Alecta. “Police state capitalist propaganda is everywhere. It's in all the cop shows, which are most shows, which is what you would expect in a police state. It's all across corporate media. It's in all the bought-and-sold talk and votes of elected officials who serve wealth not people. It's in the courts. It's in lit and the schools. It's pushed at the point of a gun in the so-called security forces. And of course in advertising, 24//7.”
“It's a scary world,” says the reporter. “People need to be reminded exactly how scary it really—”
“Do they?” says Alecta. “Capitalism is scary. In succeeding for itself and the elite few, capitalism has failed the people and the planet. Capitalists are tyrants of money, like the gold-plated Kings of old. Capitalism is scary because so destructive, because it shreds people and communities and the planet, and leaves most to a savage fate, one way or another. Capitalism crushes democracy. Who will protect the people from the profiteers? Only the people can provide for their own protection.
“That's why my second main proposal is necessary: federal, state, and local governments, and democratically elected organizations like Credit Unions must — by legislation and Presidential orders — buy out the bulk of the profiteering industries. We can pay a fair price. Why not? It takes simple credit to do so, not tax dollars. It's Constitutional even.
“The exploitation and destruction must stop now. Finance, energy, housing, health care, agriculture, transportation, water, and every major and crucial industry must be run by popular democracy, rather than by the boards of the super rich, as is currently done, like an open cabal of profiteers. Some call such a shift socialism or communism. Call it for what it is: real democracy. It's by far the most sane, fair, and humane way to go. As far as anyone knows.”
“She's asking to get shot,” says Castelan.
“By you, you thug,” says Lin. “You acted as a Bag Boy for the profiteers of poison and terror that she's talking about. That says it all, Maximilian. You may or may not be a devil personally, Max — I don’t know and I don’t care — but you definitely drove the Devil's car, didn't you.” Lin stares at President Silver. “And you, Kristen, you consort with the Devil!”
“Ellen, I'm not on the job, right now. Not down here. Neither is Max.”
“It's a fucking sick world,” says Lin.
“She's right about that,” says Castelan.
“Shut up, Max,” says Silver. “Ellen, we’re locked in a dungeon, okay, one that we may never escape. No one will ever know what goes on down here. What happens in the bunker stays in the bunker, I’m telling you. And in any case, anything that goes on in here will be forgiven. We’re captives! Crazy out of our minds, who could blame us! Shit, the more crazy stuff we do, the bigger and better the book sales and movie rights for you when we get out. It's win, win, win. Hear me now, Ellen. I’m going out of my mind down here. And I think you are too.”
“You’re literally fucking with disaster, Kristen. You're fucking disaster — you're own murderer. And mine. Not that you care.”
“Jesus Christ, Ellen. Get a grip. Do you see what Alecta is doing? Do you think going full-blown Socialist will really get me re-elected this fall. How, Ellen? How will she spin it?”
“Maybe she doesn’t need too. Maybe the people are on her side. Maybe she can dispense with the spin and tell the truth for once to everyone. I think that’s what she’s doing.”
“Oh, Hell, Ellen. That’s not realistic.”
“When's the last time you prayed, Kristen?”
President Silver if flabbergasted. She has neither the time nor the need for religion. Not that she believes any of it either. “When's the last time you prayed, Ellen?”
“I'm not religious. So I don't need to. You should be religious, Kristen, because you’re that kind of President. Hypocritical and holier than though and mad with make-believe, appeasing the moneyed powers, destroying the planet, genociding anyone who gets in the way, and—”
“Holy shit, Ellen. Who the fuck are you right now? I’m sitting here in this goddamned burial box and you suddenly transform into Sabia fucking Perez.”
“She gets under your skin, doesn’t she,” says Lin. “Maybe you need that. Maybe you need to get your head put on straight, Kristen Silver, Madame President, before it’s too late. Because we may get out of here at some point. We may get back to the real world, and I wonder if you will recognize it when we do. You better. You need to be a recognizable human being. If we ever get out. Or the whole world could change around us and leave us behind to die in this pit. Why on Earth would Sabia release us now? She’s getting everything she wants!”
“I’m the lawful President!” Silver looks around. She begins to realize that maybe nobody cares, at all, anywhere, anymore. She looks to Castelan.
“Are you religious, Max?” says Lin.
Castelan glances up at the low ceiling of the coal mine. “I don't think anyone cares what I think about anything anymore. It’s only what I can do. I could help you both escape. Then you might listen to me for a change.”
“Can you do that?” says President Silver.
“I can try.”
“Not happening,” says Lin. “You and Kristen should be down on your knees deep in prayer right now. The two of you — side by side. Just the way you like it. If you really want me to sell a hostage memoir, start there. Repent and be saved.”
“Says the atheist.”
“Maybe the atheist knows best, by this late day and age,” says Ellen Lin. “No God is coming to save us. And there is no afterlife. So — there you go. Better start praying now.”
Avery Yonkin zips on his snowmobile onto the snow-buried lawn in front of the Perez farmhouse. He parks in the yard by the drive and removes his helmet. Sabia told him to never come over uninvited but he hasn’t heard from her in days.
The only other time that Avery showed up unannounced was to shoot his brother’s spy drone out of the air above the greenhouse. When Avery gave Sabia the gun, she was glad for it. Not that Avery hopes she ever shoots the thing. Especially at his brother. Sabia hates guns. But she hates being spied on too.
All seems quiet and usual today on the farmstead except for the security agents who prowl the perimeter of the Ground Force One blast crater and occasionally glance at the farmhouse.
Avery sees across the road another snowmobile swoop to a stop on the opposite ridge. It’s Avery's older brother, Sabia’s senior classmate, Billy “The Moto Kid” famous on Youtube now thanks to his exclusive videos of the Ground Force One bombing aftermath. Billy sustains his channel by posting spy videos of Sabia and accusing her of sympathizing with the hostage takers of President Silver.
Billy dismounts the snowmobile and detaches the camera drone from the luggage rack. He prepares it for launch over the Perez farmhouse.
Avery reconsiders the official vehicles and security personnel. More today than in recent weeks — both at the temporary FBI headquarters newly built in the stubbled cornfield across from the farmhouse, and also near the blast crater itself.
Dystopian upscale tanks for the rich, two hulking black SUVs, the powerful vehicles of Secret Service Director William Kingsley and new FBI Director Priama Steiner, are parked by the blast site, close to where the agents patrol near cars of their own. The agents speak on phones and increasingly watch the wintry residence.
Avery looks to the porch and front door and window blinds. He considers again the fact that Sabia has told him to never come over unless instructed. He thinks the worst she would do is tell him to go away. She gets mad, but Sabia is often mad. She seems to make a point of it. Just when Avery thinks he has learned how to temper Sabia’s anger, she goes ballistic for no reason.
One time in the greenhouse, by the deep sinks, she flipped over a potato crate and stepped up onto the slats and pointed her finger and looked down at him — not by much given how short she is — and began to lecture. Then she lectured the air and the sky above and the clear walls. Something social and political. Something about the plutarchy. Boy was she mad.
Avery watched as the pronouncements poured forth until finally Sabia wound down with a few last proclamations and denunciations against the plutocracy. “And fuck you all!” she finished. She hopped off the potato crate and put it back near the sink. Then Sabia said the only other thing that Avery remembers: “Your hate needs to be pure, Avery. Don’t ever forget that.”
Sabia washed and dried her hands for no reason that he could see. Then she reached up and hugged him. She soon got back to rinsing used trays and pots, and Avery wondered if there was something about Sabia that he did not need to understand and maybe never would.
You shouldn’t hate, he thought. But maybe Sabia needed to.
Avery loves Sabia.
He worries about her.
He can’t bring himself to knock on the front door of the farmhouse. He thinks if he stands long enough in the yard he will eventually gain courage. He could be wrong about that.
An old red car rattles down the road from the direction of Des Moines. The car pulls into the drive and parks near the house. Jasmine Maldonado gets out. Jasmine — water protector pipeline bomber and accomplice of Jenna Ryzcek —not to mention Sabia Perez.
Sabia talks to Avery about Jenna and Jasmine. Of course she does not mention her own well-guarded role in the DAPL bombings. Avery has seen Jasmine and Jenna only on the news, on trial.
Jasmine gets out of the car and looks at the snowmobile in the yard and at Avery, this lanky scrawny kid half her age. She thinks she can safely ignore the officials at a remove.
Jenna Ryzcek has fled home confinement, and now Jasmine has come to ask Sabia in person if she knows anything about that. Jasmine tried to contact Sabia securely through Signal but no luck. Sabia has gone dark, as she sometimes does.
Jasmine’s tough lawyers are still fighting against conviction and sentencing in the DAPL bombings. Jasmine is well-connected, she’s free on bail.
But Avery knows that Jasmine is definitely going to prison, maybe with a lesser sentence than Jenna Ryzcek for not being the leader of the attacks — supposedly.
Jasmine comes onto the walk near Avery.
“Who are you?” she says. “You belong here?” She glances again at the snowmobile.
Avery’s a country boy, lives on farm a mile down the road, works summer in the orchard and gardens with Sabia and her abuela Roca. He’s Sabia’s boyfriend. He more than belongs. Jasmine is from Des Moines, the city. She’s the outsider here, not him. “Who are you?” says Avery.
Jasmine offers her hand and Avery accepts. “Jasmine Maldonado. Sabia’s friend.”
“I’m Avery Yonkin. Sabia’s boyfriend.”
Jasmine claps her hands. “Oh shit! How old are you? You look like someone Sabia would chew up and spit out before dinner.”
“That’s disgusting,” Avery says. He says it for no other reason than he thinks he should say something to defend himself in face of someone as strong as Jasmine Maldonado.
Jasmine is surprised Sabia would spend time with this kid. He looks young and naive and entirely conventional. But everyone needs someone to hang with, no matter if you’re not serious about them forever. Avery’s youth reminds Jasmine again of how young Sabia is.
Jasmine mock punches Avery on his shoulder. Left fist, right shoulder. “I’m kidding,” she says.
Avery is put off.
“What did you think of the President's speech today?” says Jasmine. Not that it’s a test.
“I didn’t hear it,” says Avery. “What speech?”
Dear, dear, dear. And Sabia gives Avery the time of day? “The Speech. By Alecta. O’Roura. Chavez. The People’s Queen. Our Hero. Alecta gave an almost revolutionary talk to the fools in DC this afternoon. She could’ve gone a lot farther — she’s no anarchist — but Hell — compared to the rest of the shitheads in government, Alecta is one righteous goddess.”
“I just got home from school.”
Okay, Kid. “Did you learn a lot in school? It’s like kindergarten everyday, isn’t it.” Jasmine winks. “I can say that. I’m a teacher.”
“I’m a sophomore in high school. I learn a lot of things.”
A good student. Bless his heart. “Sabia must have a lot of fun with you. So are you really smart, or what? Is that what Sabia sees in you?”
“I’m her neighbor. I work with her and Roca in summer. In the orchard.”
Handy. Jasmine nods. Sabia is nothing if not resourceful. And efficient.
“You’re more than a neighbor to Sabia or she wouldn’t give you the time of day, Kid. I know Sabia and her country neighbors. They only get along so much. ‘You need your neighbors,’ she says, but she has a funny way of showing it sometimes.”
And now here she is — rocking Avery Little House on the Prairie style. Sabia is complex if she’s anything at all.
“I’ve known Sabia my whole life.”
“You’re lucky, Kid. But don’t be surprised if Sabia keeps things close-knit and then blows it all up. Small world and all, it gets on her nerves. Everyone too close to each other even spread out here on this desperate tundra. Such a charming land.”
Jasmine didn’t think Sabia had it in her to hunker down in these boons. But it’s her home. Family history, a bitch. Home girl, Sabia Perez, a real root digger, like a radish, a radical radish — spicy and bitter and stuck in the Earth.”
“You from Des Moines?” says Avery.
“It ain’t New York City. You ever been to New York, Kid?”
“No.”
“Some people like it. On the other hand, big cities make a lot of country people nervous. Like, they have a physical reaction to it, get all tense, and only relax when they get back to the trees and open spaces. I don’t know if Sabia is like that or not. Probably not anymore. What about you?”
“I don’t know. I’m not much for the city, I guess.”
“I don’t blame you, Kid. Nothing is for everyone. It’s just that in the country everyone can be so goddamned the same, compared to the city. Plus, let me tell you — new travels slow in the countryside. Gossip and lies — fast. Those go fast everywhere. But real news — Slow — capital S Slow. Even now with the internet. Maybe it used to be different. Not recently.”
Jasmine and Avery watch Billy launch the camera drone from the opposite ridge. It flies across the field and road and over the farmhouse.
“That fucking guy. That’s why. That’s Billy the Moto Kid,” says Jasmine. “Sabia told me she’s going to kill him. She slags him pretty good online.”
“He’s my brother. He and Sabia don’t get along.”
“Goddamn! You’re the Moto’s Kid’s little bro! And you and Sabia digging in the orchard together like Eve and Adam. Jesus Christ.” Jasmine pokes the center of Avery’s thick winter parka. “Small fucking world getting smaller. Sort of amazing where Sabia goes.”
If Jasmine only knew. And Avery.
“Sabia knows a lot of things,” says Avery. “She teaches me a lot.”
“I bet she does.”
Jasmine wonders again if Sabia knows where Jenna is.
Jasmine stares at the farmhouse. She looks at the barn. She glances to the greenhouse.
The drone burns past in a nauseating metallic whir. Jasmine points her fingers like a gun. The drone circles around mean and menacing, fracturing the air, cutting their ears. It hovers directly above them. Jasmine pulls the trigger.
Another old car comes down the road. It slows and turns into the drive and parks with the others in a row.
“Who called the party?” says Jasmine.
“That’s Sabia’s classmates,” says Avery. “Roane and Gabe. They get in trouble with Sabia at school.”
“Good folks,” says Jasmine.
Roane Alexandre and Gabe Makato get out and look around at Avery and Jasmine, Billy and his drone, the security agents in the distance.
“Have you seen Sabia?” says Roane.
“Not in a while,” says Avery.
“Me neither,” says Jasmine.
“Jasmine Maldonado! Still fighting the courts?” says Roane. “Sabia said she knows you.”
“The courts are fighting me,” says Jasmine.
“No shit,” says Roane.
“Could not be more impressed by what you did. You and Jenna,” says Gabe. “Blowing up the pipeline. We should all be so direct in action.”
“It don’t burn easy,” says Jasmine.
“I wish I could’ve been there, if only to warm my hands on the fire,” says Roane.
“There’s so much still to do,” says Jasmine. “Better keep out of prison, I think.”
“But would you do it all over again?” says Gabe.
“I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Bigger bombs?” say Roane.
“Maybe. Ours rocked though. Some people kill with dozers. We killed dozers.”
“Good on you,” says Gabe.
“And you stir things up at school with Sabia, I hear,” says Jasmine.
Gabe smiles. “We’ve been known to lock down the school. To be taken seriously. We have real demands for the environment, for healthy food, for education.”
“At Senior Class Day, Sabia got voted ‘Most Revolutionary.’ Gabe and I got ‘Most Socialist’ and ‘Most Anarchist’,” says Roane.
“Creative,” says Jasmine. “I go for ‘Most Lively’ myself.”
Gabe and Roane are Sabia’s classmates and strongest allies at school, but they know as little as Avery and Jasmine about Sabia’s involvement in the kidnapping of President Silver. And the sheltering of Jenna. And like Avery and everyone else, they know nothing about Sabia’s DAPL bombings with Jasmine and and Jenna.
It seems two decades not two years, to Jasmine, since the DAPL attacks — their skilled assaults with acetylene torches and homemade fire bombs. Sabia’s high school friends today look like babes in the wind, brains still forming, if plenty strong in their own way. Everyone’s brains always forming and reforming. As should be.
Otherwise:
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ERAEWDEDNIMWORRANWOH
ERAEWDEDNIMWORRANWOH
HOWNARROWMINDEDWEARE
Neither Roane nor Gabe has met Jasmine or Jenna, but they know them from the news even more than Avery does.
So what is Avery doing here with Jasmine? And where is Sabia? She keeps missing school.
Jasmine gestures to the Perez farmhouse. “Let me guess. You're here to celebrate with Sabia about Alecta’s big talk.”
“Sabia disappeared. She keeps missing school,” says Roane. “She doesn’t respond, doesn’t post online. It’s like she vanished.”
Jasmine studies Roane. A black girl with an Irish first name, in white-bread Iowa. And Gabe gender complex. Two rabble rousers. They each look vaguely alternative, if that’s a thing anymore, wearing boots and dressed in thrift shop gear, but they almost look ready to work in the fields or industrial shops too — a kind of homespun cosmopolitan look, probably a reaction to the ever unholy holy Puritanism of the Midwest. Of Society. Roane and Gabe — independent, progressive, gender diverse, and yet somehow still country, as if the open land got imprinted on their faces and took hold as tattoos that may never erase.
“Sabia’s a warrior,” says Jasmine. “Could be she needs to go underground for a breather.”
“She lives to battle though,” says Roane.
Yes. Maybe Sabia really is hiding Jenna Ryzcek. Jasmine wonders. Or could be anything. “How’d you like Alecta’s speech?”
“Alecta kicked ass,” says Roane. “Sabia must be stoked.”
“Alecta will get hit with endless blowback. In this country, are you kidding?” says Gabe.
“We’ll back her,” says Jasmine. “A lot of us will. Alecta is tough as nails. Tough nails.”
“She needs to be,” says Roane.
“She wants to be,” says Gabe.
Jasmine nods to the farmhouse, looks at Avery. “What do you say, Boyfriend? Let's go on in.”
Avery considers the front door.
“Sabia told me never to come over uninvited.”
Jasmine laughs. “Oh snap! Sorry, Boyfriend. Shit!”
“That’s Sabia,” says Roane.
Roane, Gabe, and Jasmine share a moment. They can’t help but enjoy it, their shared connection with Sabia, and with poor Avery. Finally Avery begins to see the humor in it.
“That’s Sabia being Sabia,” says Gabe.
“I feel you, Boyfriend.” Jasmine puts her hand on Avery’s shoulder. “No fear, Kid. We'll cover you at the door.”
“I’m not afraid of Sabia. I broke her rules before.”
“Good man,” says Jasmine.
“With a shotgun — I brought to her. I shot down my brother Billy’s drone.”
Everyone studies the drone buzzing above the barn and greenhouse.
“That’s the new one. I would do it again. But I gave her the gun.”
“Jesus Christ — this country,” says Jasmine. Life on the frontier. Still gunning, after all these years. First they killed off the Natives, then they enslaved the Africans, then they turned the guns on each other. What a country. “What the fuck, Boyfriend? You gave Sabia a gun? She hates guns. What kind of gun?”
“Shotgun. 12 gauge. And a box of shells. Billy was spying on her. She said she would kill him if he didn’t quit, and maybe she would, so I shot down the drone. But I don’t believe she would really kill him.”
“Believe Sabia. That’s what I learned,” says Jasmine. “You go all in with Sabia, she’ll go all in with you. But you’re probably right, Kid. Sabia doesn’t kill people. That’s not what she’s about. You gave her a gun though.”
“I had no choice.” Avery squints at the memory. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
The camera drone circles back for a closeup view of the four in the snow below.
Jasmine raises her hand as a gun again.
Too many goddamned cowboys out here on the prairie.
Too many fugitives. And hostages.
Jasmine begins to understand why Sabia may want the gun. May need the gun.
Sabia, Jasmine thinks. Tough Sabia.
Jasmine pulls the trigger again.
“Don’t worry, Boyfriend. I’ll talk to Sabia. She’s more mouth than bullets. Her mouth is her bullets.”
“I’ve seen her kick butt. On the playground,” Avery says. “Sabia hates bullies. She’s not afraid of anything or anyone.”
“Family values. Christ,” says Jasmine. “Deep in the heart of America. Lots of bullies around here. No shortage of that.”
“And bullets,” says Gabe. “You know I think there’s no worse country in the world for a civil war than America. So many bullets, guns, and other weapons. Heavily armed military bases and police headquarters. And so much crazy.”
“Let’s go find Sabia,” says Roane. “Both her trucks are here.”
Jasmine, Roane, Gabe, and Avery step onto the porch, led by Jasmine who rings the doorbell. They are forced to wait.
Jasmine rings the doorbell again. Then she pounds the door. “Sabia! Sabia, Girl!”
Jasmine turns to the others and looks past them and sees several security agents closing in on them now, eyes locked.
Jasmine begins to review the situation. The agents are not after her, she assumes. They can’t know it’s her from a distance. And anyway, she’s not on the run. That would be Jenna. Jasmine is going to prison, no question, but her lawyers can keep her free as long as she doesn’t get into any more trouble.
“This pathetic school you go to, Roane,” says Jasmine. “How many days did you say Sabia missed?”
In the underground home, secure beneath the farmhouse, Jenna sits at the kitchen table playing cards with Tucker and Roca. Tucker’s hands are loosened so that he can participate without too much difficulty.
“Last round?” says Jenna. “Winner take all.”
“I’ll play forever,” says Roca. “I can't focus on anything else until Sabia gets back.”
“Sabia needs to beat them on her own, Roca. We can’t do anything for her now.”
“Never talk to cops,” says Tucker. “Don’t give them the time of day. Get a lawyer.”
“Sabia’s smart. She won’t mess up. She probably knows she can’t count on Roca and me to intervene this time.”
“She’ll figure something out,” says Roca.
“She always does,” says Jenna.
“Impossible,” says Tucker. “You’re just telling yourselves what you want to hear. You got two big-time Directors up there. Sabia’s not long for the farm, I would say.”
“You might be surprised. She could throw them off,” says Jenna.
“Not gonna happen,” says Tucker.
“Never say never. That’s what I learned about my Sabia,” says Roca. “She wants a revolution, she gets a revolution. She changed this whole country already, maybe so. She gave Alecta the power she needs to lead and redirect even the whole world. You saw her speech today. It’s a new day in America and beyond.”
“Leaders are important, but they only matter if they have the power of the People behind them,” says Jenna. “Now we need a full revolution in the way people see themselves, and each other. It will take a revolution in what people do with themselves, and in what they do with each other.”
Tucker holds up his bound hands. “You mean like this. Bondage? Keeping people in captivity.” He watches Jenna and Roca both go silent. “I had to mention it,” he says.
“There's a reason you're tied up, Tucker, okay, and you know what that is,” says Jenna. “A good reason.”
“Not to me it's not.”
“Well we can't know if you would do what you say you would do. That's the problem.”
Roca deals the cards.
The farmhouse front door alarm rings.
“There it goes again,” says Jenna. “Does that mean they left?”
Roca sets the deck of cards on the table. He stands up. He turns toward the front of the house. “It fucking means something. Someone is coming or going, and we have no way to tell which.”
FBI Director Steiner peers out through the blinds from the Perez farmhouse living room and sees the group of four young people on the porch. The oldest one rings the doorbell again. Steiner thinks she might know her. She wonders why.
Director Kingsley looks outside alongside Steiner. Sabia watches from the kitchen table.
“Sabia!” Jasmine yells and pounds on the door.
Steiner holds her gun in both hands.
“Bill, draw your gun and stay behind the door when you open it. When they’re all in, shut it hard.”
“Are you crazy, Priama. They’re kids. You see them.”
“You do it, Bill, and don’t you tell me what they are and are not. They're walking into the most important investigation in this country. In the world. And we’re going to investigate them too. I'm picking up your pieces, Director Kingsley.”
Steiner crosses the room to the kitchen, then faces the front door directly, her back to the opposite wall by the cellar door. She hides her gun behind her body.
Sabia sits at the kitchen table, off to one side and in front of Steiner.
“Sabia, don’t you so much as twitch.”
Kingsley stands, draws his gun, puts one hand on the doorknob. He looks at Steiner. “This is nuts. Why don’t you go out and talk to them? Send them away. I’ll do it.”
“They’re coming in. This is your fault, Director Kingsley. Do it.”
Kingsley opens the door and moves half behind it, gun pointed at the floor.
Jasmine steps through into the farmhouse and sees Sabia and Director Steiner. “Sabia!” she says. And she considers Steiner.
Jasmine leads everyone inside as she stutter-steps with joy toward her friend. Then the weight of Sabia’s face sinks in.
Jasmine points at Steiner. “Who's this?”
Kingsley slams the door shut, and Steiner aims her gun at Jasmine. Roane screams.
“FBI,” says Director Steiner evenly. “Sit down on the couch. All of you.”
Director Steiner waggles her gun to the living room and the couch that faces the kitchen.
Jasmine doesn’t move from Sabia. No one moves.
“I said get on the couch.”
Jasmine holds up a hand to Gabe, Roane, and Avery — “Don’t do it.” She looks hard at Sabia. “Sabia?”
“And we walked into what?” says Gabe.
“Sabia?” says Avery.
Roane spreads her hands toward Sabia.
“Are these clowns really FBI?” says Jasmine.
Sabia nods. “And Secret Service. Afraid so.”
“The fuck do they want?”
Director Steiner shows Jasmine her FBI ID. “Here you go, Sweetheart.”
Jasmine looks at the ID and then at Steiner. “Director Steiner. No shit. Priama. I’m already on trial for trying to save the world from burning up. Like a witch from the old days. People like you love fire though. You love to burn people like me. And planets. Allow me to introduce myself.” Jasmine touches all of her fingertips to her chest. “I’m Jasmine Maldonado.”
Steiner pockets her ID. “The DAPL pipeline bomber,” she says. “One of them. What are you doing here?”
“Alleged. Out on bail. I know they're going to hit me with that bogus terrorism charge that they slapped on Jenna. But they haven't yet. I've got lawyers like you wouldn't believe, Director.”
“It won't be enough, Jasmine. You know the judge — you know the laws. You'll be convicted like your partner in crime, Jenna Ryzcek. The one on the run — know anything about that? Did she run to you first? How do you know Sabia? Catholic Worker House. We got that. How else?”
“I have the right to remain silent, Bitch,” says Jasmine. “Sabia. What the Hell is going on?”
“I love you,” says Sabia.
Oh, shit, Jasmine thinks. It’s bad. Real bad. Bad as it looks.
“Get on the couch and we’ll have a nice little chat,” says Director Steiner. “All of you. Get on the couch now, or that man behind the other gun, Secret Service Director William Kingsley, he will put you there.”
Jasmine faces Kingsley. “I thought he fuckin’ looked familiar. Lose the President much, Boss?”
“Sabia has already been merciless to me,” says Director Kingsley. “So you’re covered there, don’t worry.”
Jasmine needles anyway. Let them know you’re fearless, because you are. “Blizzard Bill. What a fuck-up that was. Hailstorm to the Chief, you incompetent fool. You never heard of an Iowa blizzard?”
“On the couch. All of you,” says Director Steiner.
“For what — analysis? Is Dr. Freud in the house? That wouldn't be such a bad thing, I guess,” says Jasmine. “Especially for Avery.”
Avery looks like a fragile vase on the edge of a shelf. He appeals again to Sabia. She shakes her head. Gabe and Roane don't move. They watch the Directors.
Jasmine begins to realize that she might better tend to her new flock of pupils, put them all before herself. She turns to Sabia. “What do you say, Sab? These your buds?”
“Roane, Gabe, and Avery. My allies,” says Sabia. “They’re warriors like me.”
“That sounds like a threat, Sabia. No more from you,” says Director Steiner. “Get on the couch, now, you four, or there will be a warning shot fired through the ceiling, and my agents will pour in here.”
“Relax, Hotshot,” says Jasmine. “This old house never did anything to you.” Jasmine turns to Avery, Roane, and Gabe. “Alright, you heard the Evil Lady. Throw down your coats, kick off your boots, and let’s cozy up on Sabia's couch. This should be good.”
Jenna deals cards at the table in the great room, then points to the mud room door. “What if we sneaked up into the farmhouse basement and tried to learn what's going on?”
“You said it yourself, Jenna. Not this time,” says Roca. “That's the real cavalry up there.”
“You can't fight the law — not forever,” says Tucker. “Not like this.”
Jenna turns on Tucker. “Me and Sabia. That's all we do.”
Jasmine lays her coat over a kitchen chair and unties her boots. Gabe, Roane, and Avery follow her lead.
Then Jasmine turns to Director Kingsley. “I’d like a cup of hot chocolate. And so would my friends.”
Jasmine nods to Sabia. “You okay, Kid? Remember, I told you — you’re too young for this shit.”
They squeeze hands. Steiner allows it. She watches, listens.
“I'm older now,” says Sabia.
“You and me both, Girl.”
“Hello. I have a gun at your back,” says Director Steiner. “Move it.”
Jasmine turns and looks at Steiner and then at the gun, both with contempt. “Blizzard Bill has a gun too,” says Jasmine. “And your troop of goons outside, standing derelict, pissing on their boots and phones, no doubt they have guns galore. Well, congratulations, Big Shot. You’re the Queen of Noshitsville. Why don’t you fuck off, while I go relax on the couch.”
“I see,” says Kingsley. “We’ve got another Sabia here. Maybe worse. Maybe that’s where she gets it from.”
Kingsley wonders once again if these local federal criminals Jasmine and her fugitive accomplice Jenna are involved in the kidnapping of President Silver. There’s been no evidence though.
“Shut up, Bill,” says Sabia.
“No more speeches,” says Director Steiner. “Get to the couch.”
“Speeches. Shit,” says Jasmine. “Alecta gave the big speech today. Did you see it, Sabia?”
“Steiner had me tied up and interrogated. I saw nothing. Was it good?”
“It was great. Finally, nationalization — democratization.” Jasmine turns again to Director Kingsley. “That’ll be four hot chocolates, in the living room. Thanks, Bill.”
Jasmine nods to Gabe, Avery, and Roane.
“Come on, Kiddos. We’re about two seconds from me calling my team of attorneys, but until then let’s hear out the fool and her sidekick, while we relax on the couch. Who knows — this game might be worth the candle yet.”
Jasmine walks into the living room.
“Actually, I think I'll stand,” she says. “More room for everyone. Jasmine gestures to the end of the couch beside her. “Right here, Gabe.”
Gabe sits. Roane sits by Gabe, and Avery by her.
Avery continues to stare nonstop at Sabia.
Roane takes Avery’s hand and holds it. Roane puts her other hand in Gabe's.
Steiner and Jasmine engage in a kind of death stare. Steiner stands at an angle between the couch and Sabia at the kitchen table. Kingsley stands across from Jasmine.
“I greatly look forward to hearing what everyone has to say,” says Director Steiner.
“My friends have no obligation to speak a word to you — with or without an attorney present,” says Sabia. “You've detained us. So, we're each entitled to our own attorney. Isn’t that correct, Director Kingsley.”
“Of course.”
“This is an open, active, ongoing, onsite investigation, so no one, I repeat, no one leaves this house until I’ve completed my work here, today.”
“That's not legal,” says Sabia.
“A matter of interpretation.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake, Steiner,” says Sabia. “Why the rush to find Silver? Who gives a shit. Alecta is doing a great job as President. She made a landmark speech today — and you forced me to fucking miss it!”
“It was super solid,” says Jasmine. “We all wanted your reaction, Sabia. Instead we get this police state shit. In an isolated farmhouse in Iowa that never did anything to anyone.”
“The speech was awesome. I mean it was beyond brilliant,” says Roane.
“Alecta kicked ass,” says Gabe.
“It was gutsy and to the point. And about time,” says Jasmine.
“Happy, Steiner?” says Sabia. “I missed it. You're just a nasty old German gunslinger, aren't you — Steiner. The Germans sure were spectacular a few decades ago. Remind me — who did they fight? Oh, that's right — The World. Who does that? And what does 'Steiner' mean, anyway? Knife-in-the-Eye?”
“You’re a real comedian, Sabia. That’s great,” says Director Steiner. “That’s a great look on a revolutionary.”
“How the fuck would you know. It’s sure not the Germans who are funny. You know, with their batshit idea of fighting and conquering the world, like, oh, say, America has been doing these last many decades.”
“I’ll tell you this, Sabia. 'Steiner' in German means 'stone' or 'rock' much the same as 'Perez' in Spanish. So we're maybe not so different after all.”
“Oh fuck you,” says Jasmine.
“Don't you even begin to think you're on my level, you German freak,” says Sabia. “You've got that grotesque Nazi sheen to your personality that's just sickening to be near.”
Jasmine claps. “I knew it! I knew the game would be worth the candle. Let it burn all night at this rate. I’ll stay up for this shit.”
“You got any pizza?” Gabe asks Kingsley.
Everyone looks at Gabe.
“I haven’t eaten all day. We just got out of school.”
“Pizza, sure,” says Steiner. “We've got lots of pizzas, Kid. Just a phone call away. All the pizza you can eat. As long as I get what I want. Real answers to real questions.”
Sabia shakes her head. “They're still looking for what they lost — President Silver, that plutocrat tool. I’ll ask the questions here in my own home. Jasmine, do you know anyone who knows where Silver might be?”
Jasmine considers. Then she reconsiders. And for a moment, she says nothing.
Then something else occurs to her, and she looks sideways at Sabia.
No, it can’t be.
Then she looks directly at Sabia.
“I have no idea where President Silver is,” Jasmine says. “And I don't know anyone else who does either.” Jasmine speaks the truth to Sabia and to Director Steiner but she begins to think now that she may not be speaking the truth at all.
“See that, Steiner,” says Sabia staring directly back as Jasmine. “They know nothing. They're innocent, like me. Let them go.”
Holy shit. Jasmine keeps her eyes on Sabia. Her brain is on fire.
Girl, what have you done?
Has Sabia has gone full DAPL? Way beyond what she and Jenna ever thought possible?
So maybe it wasn’t that Sabia was too young — 15 at the time — to be attacking the Dakota Access Pipeline — as Jasmine worried. The problem was maybe Jasmine and Jenna were too cautious in doing what they did — burning tens of millions of dollars worth of fossil fuel infrastructure and equipment to save the waters and the people and the planet.
Or maybe Sabia learned from them, a lesson badly needed, to go farther. To go beyond the improbable possible to the probable impossible.
One of the damn thing is enough — reality. Give us something other, some other reality, some new impossibility, so greatly needed now and always no matter how seemingly outlandish. Give us what we need.
And now here they were.
What had Sabia done? Does she know where President Silver is? How had she done it?
Alecta rose to the occasion today, maybe because Sabia had made it possible in the first place. In an earlier day.
And what a day that must have been.
“Sabia, you little Devil,” says Jasmine.
“For what?” says Sabia.
“For everything.”
Sabia smiles. She winks. “Thanks, Jasmine. Devil take the hindmost, I say, but only when the hindmost is the corporate state.”
“Okay, that’s it,” says Director Steiner. “The two of you — you’re both coming with me. You want arrest. You got it.”
Jasmine and Sabia laugh.
“But I don’t know anything! Really I don’t!” says Jasmine. “I’m one hundred percent innocent, I swear!”
“Me too!” says Sabia. “One hundred percent!”
Jasmine folds over on herself with laughter. “She’s innocent,” Jasmine gasps. “Sabia is so innocent. I’ve never known anyone more innocent than Sabia Perez!”
