“Oh, hell no. I doubt none of ‘em survived that Independence Day. We wasn’t expecting nothing to happen to us, and especially nothing like that big hit squad they sent out in all them sport-tilities. I never seen Brother Zeb again, neither. If I did, I doubt I’d be breathin’ right now.”
Ruppert struggled to think of another question, but he was too shocked to concentrate. He steadied himself by thinking of all the viewers who would eventually see the video, unknown millions around the world. What would they want to know?
“How did you manage to evade Terror so long?” he finally asked.
“Just keep to the poor places, mainly,” Westerly said. “Places they don’t have time to watch too carefully, cause there ain’t nothing worth watching. Keep outta the big cities, that’s the most important thing.”
“What do you think about all this, now that you know what it was really about? And after Zeb’s betrayal?”
“I'm glad we did it,' Westerly said. 'I think it was a good thing, in all. An important thing.' Westerly sat back, sighed, and coughed up a fresh spatter of foamy blood, which dribbled down his chin. 'It was real important to everybody, wasn't it?'
TWENTY-TWO
After the interview, Turin carried the holorecorder into another room to burn copies onto discs and cartridges, to begin the distribution process. A mass of copies would be made for the safest the method of distribution, hand- to-hand, and eventually the interview would be uploaded to websites and newsnets throughout the world.
Archer led Ruppert and Lucia upstairs to the main house, where they emerged from behind the false wall of a closet in a dusty first-floor bedroom. They sat at a plastic-coated redwood table while Archer busied himself frying eggs and toasting bread. Ruppert was exhausted.
“I can’t believe any of that,” Ruppert said to Lucia. “Do you think it's true?”
“We know it is,” Lucia said. “We spent the last two years searching for him.”
“How were you able to find him when Terror couldn’t?”
“Terror is best at watching the obedient,” Lucia said. “We’re better at finding people running for their lives, since we usually try to help them out.”
'This non-organization is sounding more and more organized,' Ruppert said.
'People make their own order.' A wheelchair-bound woman with long, graying hair rolled into the room. The first thing Ruppert noticed was the stunning beauty of her face, and the second thing he noticed was that she looked strangely familiar.
“Order must be made and abandoned as we go,' she continued. 'Don’t burn my stove down, Archer.”
“I don’t believe you can burn a stove, Mrs. Kendrick,” Archer replied. Ruppert tried to remember: Kendrick, Kendrick…
“If anybody could…” She shook her head, then focused on Ruppert. “This is our reporter?”
“Yeah,” Lucia said. “Daniel, this is Maya Kendrick. This is her vineyard.”
“Not much of a vineyard any more,” Maya said.
“Maya Kendrick!” Ruppert said, then felt himself blush. He’d actually fantasized about this woman when he was a teenager. “You’re the movie star, aren’t you?”
“I was an actor, when the world was different,” she said.
“I thought they took you in the purges,” Ruppert said.
“They did,” she said. “I took a bullet in the back from the Freedom Brigades. And the bastards killed my husband.”
“Jorge Mendez, right?” Ruppert asked. “The director?”
“He saw the hammer coming down,” Maya said. “I used to laugh and say he was paranoid. Then they started posting Terror agents at all the studios, and then the purges…By the time they finished, there was nothing left but cowards and fools.” She raised an eyebrow. “Present company excepted, naturally.”
“No, I’ve been a coward and a fool,” Ruppert said. “I’m trying to change that.”
“Once this interview circulates, they’ll come after you,” Maya said.
“They’ve been after me already,” Ruppert said.
“Not like this. You’re showing the world the rabbit hidden in their hat.”
“What do you think people will do when they find out?” Ruppert asked.
Maya smiled. “Rise up, revolt, destroy the system. Start anew, with better ideas this time. That’s what you’re hoping I’ll say, isn’t it?”
“How else could they respond?”
“Denial,” Maya said.
“What is there to deny?” Lucia asked. “It’s the truth.”
“Never doubt the human capacity for self-delusion,” Maya said. “Terror doesn’t. That’s how they rule.”
“Then what’s the point?” Ruppert asked.
“Not everyone will refuse to believe,” Maya said. “The truth will be available for those who risk looking for it. It will take time. It may not even happen in our lifetime. But now there’s a record of what Columbus really was, and who was behind it. And in the end, I don’t think an armed revolt will be possible. Or necessary.”
“But there’s no other way to stop them,” Lucia said.
“Eggs, overeasy,” Archer set plates in front of Ruppert and Lucia. “Toast, gently blackened.”
Lucia wolfed her food. Ruppert poked his fork at the greasy, pepper-sprinkled whites of the eggs, not convinced he had an appetite.
“Did you ever learn about the Soviet Union? How it collapsed?” Maya asked.
Ruppert nodded. 'It was because of a weapons race.'
'Not precisely,' Maya said. 'Some people say it collapsed because it lost a war, or because of poverty, but I think they’re wrong. I think it really fell apart once the Russian people stopped believing what they read in the newspapers.”
“And you think people will react that way when they see the interview?” Ruppert asked. “They’ll stop believing?”
“In the long run, truth is powerful because it doesn’t change. Lies fade, and political lies are the weakest kind, because they so rarely make any sense in the first place. Westerly’s confession takes Columbus away from them. It removes the keystone from their false reality. It will change minds.”
“But not enough minds,” Ruppert said.
“Possibly not,” Maya agreed.
“Clear out!” Turin burst into the room wearing only a shirt and his briefs. He was fumbling his way into a dark suit. “Cops! Front door!”
The room erupted around Ruppert, chairs overturning as Lucia and Turin scrambled to their feet. Maya rolled backwards into the main hall of her house, looking towards her front door.
“How many?” she asked.
“Three cars,” Turin said. He hurried to buckle his pants. Lucia and Archer grabbed plates, glasses, silverware from the kitchen table, slopping the contents into the sink before hurling the tableware into the dishwasher.
“Hurry!” Archer snapped at Lucia.
“Is it Terror?” Maya asked from the hallway.
“Just Hartwells,” Turin said.
“Thank God for that much,” Maya wheeled back into the room. “You two have to get downstairs-”
Booms echoed from the front door. It sounded like the police were knocking with a wrecking ball.
“-right away,” she finished. Turin rushed by her, on his way to answer the door.
Ruppert felt a compression against his skin, as if all the air in the room had suddenly turned heavy, and then a loud crack echoed through the house. The police forced the front door with a pressure gun, blasting it from its hinges.
“You! Down! Hands on head!” a rough voice shouted from the front doorway. Ruppert heard the two thuds as Turin’s knees slammed into the floor.
