I was, as many were, dismayed, disappointed, discouraged, and depressed by the outcome of the election. I had started a light-hearted, family-oriented storyline about Castle and Beckett's little girl and, maybe, at some point, I'll get back to that, but not for a while. In the meantime, there's this.
I'm postulating an AU future where Donald Trump, as President-elect is tried and found guilty of various felonies. As a convicted felon he is unable to go on as President so his Vice-President, Michael Pence, is now President.
For those of you who are offended by my view of an America under the governance of an extremely conservative Congress and a man who has indicated at every turn that he feels that this country should be a theocracy – I'm not sorry for my views. But do remember, this is a work of fiction.
I don't own Castle.
The man carefully inserted the disk that would reformat his hard drive, hopefully wiping the evidence of his activities away – at least sufficiently to keep the government from finding it too soon. He had been careful, at least as careful as he could be, to keep his activities off the grid. He took the thumb drive that held the data he'd gleaned and hid it in a place where, as the old saying had it, "the sun don't shine". It wasn't comfortable, but he hoped it would discourage searchers should he be caught.
He, Richard Castle, was a wanted man. He was considered seditious, treasonous, an enemy of the state. Even his past writings, best-selling novels that had been considered thriller-fluff, were being pulled from libraries and bookstores because of "treasonous content". It was getting harder and harder to keep from being a traitor, as more and more things were pronounced seditious by the current government. Permits for government sanctioned book burnings had been given in some areas, and there was talk of mandatory book burning in the future. He had been driven underground and his family and friends had been forced to disavow him or suffer imprisonment and worse.
It had not been hard for his wife. She had simply faded back into her police work; only now instead of investigating homicides, she headed a unit that investigated people like him - intellectuals, thinkers, questioners - because these things were now considered, by some, to be worse than murder. While it had disappointed him that she had chosen to unquestioningly follow the new administration; it hadn't surprised him.
His daughter and mother stayed together, without him. It wasn't because they disagreed with him, but because, after the election, his mother's health had taken a decided turn for the worse. She had always been an ebullient, youthful, life-loving, playful woman. Suddenly, she had become old, frightened, and sick. There was no way she could follow him into the fringes where he had to live now. The medical care she needed, as difficult as it was to come by under the new Administration, was impossible to find where he was. Alexis stayed with her to care for her and fight the battles she could no longer fight for herself. Ethan Slaughter was with them. He was back on the force, his actions when he had been in the Gangs Unit, dicey and shady as they had been before, were considered by the new America to be heroic and praiseworthy. The strange thing was that his association with Castle and his family had altered his perception of his past behavior and he was finding it harder to continue the borderline activities that were now completely legal. He was an essentially good man and he stayed to protect Martha and Alexis. Alexis, who was finding it increasingly difficult to be a pretty, young, unattached woman in a country that, more and more, considered pretty, young, unattached women to be prey had reluctantly welcomed his protection.
Hayley, as soon as the new President-elect had been announced, had, regretfully, said her goodbyes. She could not, she said, function effectively in the new America. She was a woman of color and an immigrant, unwanted in his country. She had gone to Canada where the political mistakes of her native England and the resurgent misogyny and racism of his country couldn't reach as easily. She stayed in contact with Castle's family as much as she could, though communication with what the New America was beginning to term an "enemy state" was difficult.
Espo and Ryan had had the same dismayed reaction to the political developments; but with very different responses. Espo had simply quit the force, taking Lanie with him. A Latino man and a woman of color, no matter how accomplished, how courageous, how determined, how intelligent, would not be able to serve effectively, especially in support of a government that would not support them. They were with Castle: Espo teaching military and police tactics: Lanie providing much needed, though severely limited, medical care. Ryan stayed on, not to blindly serve, but in hopes of working within the system to change the system. He had said that he probably couldn't do much, but as a white man with a badge and a gun, he could do something.
Victoria Gates and her family, husband, sons, sister, had decided to stay. She was, though an African-American woman, highly placed as Deputy Chief of Police. Her sister was also placed advantageously in the AG's office. They felt they were well-positioned to help stem the tide they knew was coming. They would, they reasoned, use all legal means to counter the more extreme actions of the new America.
Castle removed the disk and considered what to do next. Computers were hard to come by, easily compromised, and absolutely necessary to what he was doing. Reformatting the hard drive was risky, there were ways a good technician could recover the data, but destroying it was out of the question. These were things you used until they couldn't be used any more just because they were so hard to get. Two years ago, shortly after the election, his laptop had been brand-new, state-of-the-art; now it was showing signs of overuse and abuse. He desperately needed a new one, but, without access to his money and with computer sales being subject to background checks and restrictions based on things like race, gender-preference, religion, political views, it was impossible for him to acquire one legally. He laughed without humor. In this America, anyone could legally buy a gun, but almost no one could legally get a computer.
He stood up, rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out, then stretching. He got ready to leave this latest hideout. He'd been here too long already and if he wasn't careful one of the periodic sweeps that the National Guard had been commissioned to do would catch him. Another thing he found humorous without actual humor; the National Guard was all too ready to follow the dictates of the President of the New America. They would hunt down and capture anyone they were told was an "enemy of the state"; and they weren't always careful to see that they were taken alive. The regular military wasn't willing to do that, citing the Uniform Code of Military Justice regarding illegal orders. As a result, the regular military was slowly being replaced by the National Guard and militarized police – and there were plenty of eager recruits waiting to fill the ranks of both.
He gathered his belongings, and put on his ghilly suit: then he checked and double-checked to make sure that he was leaving nothing behind. As soon as it was dark, he slipped outside and, skirting the edges of the road, moved silently northward.
It had taken him an hour to walk a mile. Several times he had taken cover as he heard voices or car engines, waiting for several minutes after they had passed before moving on. It wasn't a heavily travelled road or it would have taken him much longer.
He stopped at the mile marker and went into the bushes at the side of the road. After a short time he found what he was looking for and removed the camouflaging material. The motorcycle was not, as he had dreamed, a Harley. It was a newer model BMW: fast, silent, and unobtrusive. Barring unforeseen difficulties, he would be able to make the three hundred miles to his group's temporary headquarters before dawn.
He stopped at the mile marker and went into the bushes at the side of the road. After a short time he found what he was looking for and removed the camouflaging material. The motorcycle was not, as he had wistfully hoped, a badass chopped Hog, it was a newer model BMW: fast, silent, and unobtrusive. Barring unforeseen difficulties, he would be able to make the three hundred miles to his group's temporary headquarters before dawn.
He removed his camouflage suit and proceeded to do what he could to change his appearance so that he would be less recognizable as Richard Castle. There were limits he had to work within. He couldn't appear as a man of color, because the motorcycle was financially out of reach of that demographic. He couldn't disguise himself as a woman because a woman alone, even one as ugly as he would have been, was subject to harassment and assault. He was limited to maintaining a white, male identity. He did what he could with padding, false hair, contact lenses, and fake tan. His nose and size, though would be hard to disguise. He then turned himself to the motorcycle. He checked to make sure the onboard GPS was disabled. This was risky because the government required that all vehicles be equipped with a functioning GPS that was tied in to their system and all traffic cops were equipped with GPS detectors. He tinkered and fretted for a time, but finally he had to pronounce himself ready to run the gauntlet.