The feed went from a wide overhead shot to lower angles, a montage of different close-up views of E4E types beating up H4H types, who suffered like martyrs as the fists and boots rained down on them.
Then the feed cut away from the protestors back to the studio, as the newscaster talked with a legal analyst about how the violence, both the bombings and the riots, could negatively impact the legal challenges to the Genetic Heritage Act. The newscaster was a white guy in his sixties, with a Wellplant. The legal analyst, a younger African American woman without a Wellplant, was outlining the political pressures on the judges hearing the different cases, as well as their predispositions.
“Judges on the state level are elected,” she said. “And that means they want to be reelected. So, when public opinion is impacted, sometimes legal opinions are, too. And with Howard Wells announcing his candidacy for president, that adds a whole new level of pressure.”
The newscaster nodded. “Excellent point, and an excellent segue to our other big story: Howard Wells is running for president. Our own Max Rivera spoke with Wells just after his announcement.”
The camera cut to a Latinx man in his thirties holding a microphone in front of Wells, surrounded on all sides by H4Hers. He asked Wells a couple of questions about how his candidacy would impact the other candidates, and got non-answers in reply, sound bites that meant nothing.
Then Rivera pressed a little harder. “Mr. Wells, you frequently claim that chimeras leech off of society—”
“Yes!” Wells said, cutting him off. “Ours is an era of dwindling resources. Scarce resources. And it’s unconscionable that the hard-working men and women of this nation are being asked to support these mixie freeloaders. And that is what they are, a drain on our economy, on our world.”
“Right,” a sarcastic voice called out from the group watching. “As if rich bastards like him weren’t the ones making those resources scarce.”
The rest of the group murmured in agreement as the interview continued.
“But your group has produced no figures to back that up,” said Rivera. “And your claims that chimeras spread disease have been refuted by experts time and ag—”
“Well, you have your experts and I have mine, and my experts say there is very clearly a link. And it stands to reason: If you make yourself half chimpanzee or half panda bear or half lemur, you’ve not only rendered yourself unemployable, you’ve made yourself a vector for disease, a convenient stepping-stone for pathogens to jump from animals to mixies to innocent people. It’s happened in the past and it killed hundreds of millions.”
“Once again, if you’re talking about the great flu pandemic, scientists have said there is absolutely no link between that and the chimeras.”
Rivera was right. My biology teacher had to spend an entire class going over this exact point just a month earlier, explaining how a link between chimeras and the pandemic, while a legitimate theory, had been conclusively disproved. Yes, he said, it did make some theoretical sense that blending species through splicing could possibly induce a pathogen to jump species, but it had never been proven. And in the case of the pandemic, the first cases of flu occurred long before the first chimera, and were a variant of a flu that had been around for decades.
It was a lesson my classmates and I had learned many, many times before, but our teacher had had to repeat it because of the disinformation being spread by Howard Wells and Humans for Humanity.
“Just because they haven’t found the link yet,” Wells told Rivera, “doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Experts say the timing of it is impossible. The pandemic was already underway long before the first chimeras got spliced.”
“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
With that, Wells turned away and raised his arms over his head, bringing more cheers from the crowd around him.
The feed cut back to the anchor, who welcomed a new panel of experts, which seemed to consist mainly of hosts from other shows on the same network. I didn’t hear much of what they had to say, because at that point, Mom and Trudy emerged from one of the rear conference rooms.
“Jimi!” they both called out, causing everyone in the room to turn and look at them, and then turn and look at me.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay!” Mom said, holding my shoulders.
“We just heard about the fight at the protest,” Trudy said, brushing the hair away from my face.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said. “Are you two okay?”
“We’re fine. We were in the back, stuffing envelopes when someone turned the news on,” Trudy explained. “We saw the violence in front of the Convention Center, and we were so worried about you.” She smiled at Rex then reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “You too, Rex.”
“We’re fine,” he said.
“When did you get here?” Mom asked.
“A minute ago,” I told her. “We just walked in.”
She pulled me in for a hug, then pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she said, crying now, both angry and upset. “First that bomb and now this? Every day, you’re putting yourself in danger.”
“I’m not putting myself in danger,” I said, trying not to snap. “I can’t help it if maniacs and boneheads are doing stupid, crazy things around me.”
“You can help it!” Mom shot back, her voice rising before she got it under control. “You shouldn’t be where these maniacs and boneheads are. That’s the point. I know it’s not your fault, Jimi, but, well, it kind of is.”
I didn’t want to have an argument with my mom at E4E headquarters in the middle of a crisis. Luckily, before we could continue, a voice called out, “Hey everyone, can you all listen up for a moment?”
It was Donna Bresca, the regional director of Mid-Atlantic E4E. She had dark hair and pale skin, with faint gray-and-white tabby stripes on the sheen of fur that thinly coated her face. She wore a slate-colored suit that perfectly complemented the stripes. I knew she was in her mid-thirties, but the way her face was creased with sorrow and stress and fear, she looked closer to sixty.
“Okay, folks, it’s been a tough couple of days, and I think we need to take a breather and get back to it tomorrow. Senior staff, I’d like you to stay for a strategy meeting, but everyone else, I urge you to go home, spend some time with your people, and come back tomorrow refreshed and ready to take on the next chapter of this fight. Okay?”
No one said anything, but a few people nodded.
Bresca clapped her hands. “Okay. Thanks for all you’re doing. We’ve had a couple of bad days, but hopefully tomorrow will be a better one.” She turned as if she was finished speaking, but then turned back and said, “One more thing.” She paused, collecting herself. “We lost two of our own in yesterday’s bombing. Some of you knew Myra Diaz, our national vice president, and Davey Litchkoff, our Mid-Atlantic chairman. They were friends. Good people. Both of their funerals will be family only, but there’s going to be a memorial service for all the victims, non-denominational, from both sides of the issue, next Wednesday, in front of the Art Museum.” She paused again, this time to collect herself. “Most of the senior staff will be going, and everyone is welcome to join us, encouraged to join us. If you want to go but need a ride, or just don’t want to go alone, let us know and we’ll figure it out.”