“We’re filtering,” Gao replied. “High success. News is spreading by word of mouth, however.”

Bo Jintao nodded. He leaned back and regarded Gao.

“Do you know about the Nanpo incident? 2023?”

Gao narrowed his eyes.

“That is… censored.”

Bo Jintao chuckled. “Tell me, then. You have my permission.”

Gao Yang gave a small nod.

“An illegal protest. A few thousand, I believe. It was cleared. Video of police clearing the protesters spread, angering locals. The protest grew to tens of thousands, until the army had to be called in. There were a few… injuries.”

“Deaths,” Bo Jintao said. “One hundred and thirty eight of them. Because the police chief mismanaged the situation.” He looked hard at Gao. “I was the police chief.”

Gao nodded a fraction of a millimeter.

So he had known that as well? Bo Jintao thought. Interesting. No filter is perfect.

“Premier,” Gao said. “Our censors are much more advanced today. No video would spread.”

Bo Jintao turned to look out the window, at the lake and the ducks, the serenity of this place, at the heart of the nation.

He’d dealt with so many protests over his career. Protests over particles in the air or pollutants in the water or soil turning to dust. Protests over corruption. Over villages being moved to make way for highways and dams and resorts. And over silly, stupid things – myths and falsehoods and rumors.

There were times to clear the squares. There were times to listen, to make the protesters feel heard. There were times to speak to them directly.

And there were times to simply ignore them.

Bo Jintao turned back to Gao Yang.

“Striking will only feed energy to the protests. Let’s see if they die off by themselves. Tell Deputy Minister Ho to keep them contained. For now.”

59
Lisa, Lisa

Wednesday 2040.12.12

It was a Wednesday when they took Lisa Brandt.

She was walking, on her way from her flat to the train stop, and from there to Cambridge, to her office at Harvard, when the black sedan pulled onto the sidewalk in front of her, cutting her off.

She turned, startled, found that another had pulled onto the sidewalk behind her, its electric motors giving away no noise to alert her.

She reached into her purse for her phone. But by then the men in black suits had her, were wrestling her into the back of one of the sedans.

“Homeland Security,” one of them whispered into her ear.

They blindfolded her, took away her purse, her rings, her bracelet, her shoes. They pried open her mouth and shone a flashlight inside it, then searched through her hair, patted her down brusquely and invasively under her clothes. Whether they were looking for communication devices or weapons or suicide pills or something else she had no idea. She resisted, had her hands pushed away and held down by one agent while the other continued the invasive frisk. She felt violated.

She was terrified.