by Jim Stark
"Shoot,” he said, looking up at her soft brown eyes and noticing her fine, dark lashes. “You got great eyes,” he said before she could begin. “I'd feel better if I could hold your hand for this."
Lilly felt distinctly uncomfortable. She had her right arm on the back of the sofa, the other on the arm of the sofa, holding the Sniffer. She put her right forearm on his chest, and tried not to show her feelings as he clapped his hands on top and began to stroke her fingers. “So, have you broken any laws?” she began. “Or are you intending to break any laws?"
"Marijuana's legal now, eh?” he asked.
"Yeah."
"Then ... no,” said Victor.
"Beep,” went the LieDeck in her Sniffer.
"What laws?” she asked bluntly, but gently.
Victor had to think about that. It was obvious that his subconscious knew what the reality was, that he had broken at least one law, but his conscious mind was unable to lock on. There were a lot of new laws now, WDA laws, world laws, and ignorance was no defense before the law. He occasionally used his MIU like an old-fashioned TV, to watch shows that didn't require interacting, and he watched newscasts regularly, ever since the Revolution ... so I must have heard about some new law that I broke without realizing it, he figured. He wanted to kiss the hand he was fondling, but didn't want to push things, or offend. “I've never taken the WDA oath,” he said. “Is that a law now? Does everybody have to do that now?"
"No,” said Lilly. She looked down at the troubled face on her lap, and felt sure that the man who had so much to say about truth wouldn't likely lie on purpose, especially with her LieDeck active. “You really ... don't know, eh?” she asked.
"No,” said Victor, “I—"
"Beep."
"Not consciously,” he said, and this time there was no beep.
"Are you...?” began Lilly. She felt ridiculous to find herself asking this one, but that was the proper procedure whenever there was any doubt, and no way did she want to end up having to explain such an important omission to Control. “Are you—uh—planning the overthrow of the WDA?” she asked sheepishly.
"Yes, that's it!” yelped Victor. “I—"
"Beep,” went the LieDeck.
Lilly couldn't stop herself from smiling. He may be gross and weird, she thought, but he still plays a mean brain game. “Do you want...” She ran into the same embarrassing wall as before, and reminded herself that this wasn't about her, or about her feelings ... or even about his feelings, about what he “wanted.” It's intentions that matter, Lilly scolded herself, internally. Do your damned job, she said to herself. “Do you intend to overthrow the WDA by force?” she asked.
"By force?” Victor repeated.
"Yes or no,” she insisted.
"Yes,” he said.
"Beep,” went the Sniffer.
Victor thought it was far more fun to lie and get beeped than to tell the truth straight-away, but the time had come to get things moving along. “Okay, replaced,” he clarified, without getting contradicted by his own invention.
"So you want to see the WDA overthrown by political means?” she asked carefully.
"Yes,” said Victor. “And the sooner the better. And before I croak, I plan to release my tapes and help the world's Evolutionaries achieve full Human Three Consciousness, which I hope and expect will be the basis upon which the WDA will become obsolete, redundant, unnecessary, and eventually wither away and disappear à la Karl Marx, what he said about the state ... quite incorrectly, of course. Is that ... a crime?"
Lilly was very surprised to hear that he planned to finally release the three reel-to-reel tapes he'd made two decades ago on the effects of the LieDeck on human consciousness, but for the moment, she had to concentrate on what he had said about the WDA. Could intentions, combined with expectations, constitute planetary treason? she wondered. The WDA had always championed the twin causes of free speech and academic freedom, even if the words at issue were absurd or dangerous. Could it be that some things can't even be thought without incurring the death penalty? Surely not! “Do you believe what you intend to do is a crime?” she asked.
"Belief” was Victor's least favorite word. Belief was the human failing that he most detested. Belief meant accepting something as true when you hadn't the foggiest notion whether it was or not, or accepting as true what one imagines to be true. He wasn't sure if he “believed” anything at all, let alone this. He wanted to clue her in to the great writings of Dr. Michael Shermer and other skeptics ... but what would be the point?
Victor had to consciously rewind his mind to get back to the question that his “guest” had asked before he'd flown off on his philosophical tangent. “Uh ... I'd say ... yes?” he said, questioningly, hoping there wouldn't be a beep.
The LieDeck had stayed silent. “Well, there we are!” said Lilly, while smiling. “You thought that you were planning to commit a crime, but really you weren't. Your thoughts, plus your intentions and expectations, can't constitute a crime,” she explained. “It's like if a man thinks about committing a rape. Even if he says that he's going to do it, and even if he really intends to do it, as long as he doesn't do it, there's no—"
"Or she,” interjected Victor.
"—there's no crime,” finished Lilly.
"So I was wrong, subconsciously, about having broken a law, or rather I was wrong about my intending to break a law?"
"It would seem you were ... mistaken,” she said.
"Yes or no?” he said.
"Yes,” said Lilly. “On that score anyway. Are there any other laws you've broken, or that you believe you broke? Or do you know of any other people who have committed a crime, or intend to commit a crime?"
"No?” said Victor, with an inflected question mark in his voice. There was no beep, so they were finally free to get past the formalities and down to business, or at least free to get on to something else. “So, how's your love life?” he asked.
"That's ... none of your concern,” she said stiffly.
"Whoa, Human Two alert!” wailed Victor. “Listen up, Lilly. You made a unilateral decision to let yourself care about me. God knows why, but that's what you did, and it's been LieDeck-verified. So if I'm to reciprocate and let myself care about you, then it is my concern. So, again, how is your love life?” He wondered why his words “God knows why” weren't beeped, but then he remembered. It's just an expression—not meant to be taken literally.
Lilly knew that giving a damn about this old fart wasn't going to be easy, but it really irritated her that he showed no respect for conventional social mores ... or Normal social mores, anyway, she thought. “My love life sort of ... stinks,” she said. “I'm going to stay celibate for the next while. I don't really need a man in my life ... or a woman ... at least not in that way.” Lilly and Victor were both somewhat taken aback that the LieDeck had let all of that get through unchallenged. “So, how's yours?” she countered.
Victor laughed heartily. “Try again,” he said.
Lilly realized that her question was a low blow, a cheap shot. I'm just pissed that he forced me to talk about private stuff. He had a point, and he had the decency to laugh at my jab rather than scolding me for being a bitch. “Well,” she said, “you never explained to anyone why you stopped talking back in two thousand and fourteen. Would you like to tell me about that?"
"Yes,” said Victor, unbeeped.
Lilly waited, and watched. Victor's eyes stared up at her face as he caressed her wrist. “So ... talk,” she invited.
"No,” said Victor.
"But you said you wanted to, and there was no beep."
"I do,” said Victor. “Want to,” he added.
"But ... you ... won't?” she asked. “With me?” she narrowed it down. “At this time?"
Victor raised his legs, let go of her hand and kicked, rising to a sitting position. He stood up, and walked over to the spot where he always stood to wonder at the seasons and resent the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. “The l
ast time I opened my fucking mouth, more than ten million people died,” he said flatly, staring through his reflection at the black void that awaited the turn into the sun. “And millions more were injured in the two cities that were hit, and are still suffering and dying, all these years later.” His voice was steady, but it was now resonating more like a cello than a violin. Facts were facts ... and death was the end. Spit it out, he told himself.
"My brain knows that all that unnecessary suffering and dying wasn't my fault, but my instinct won't agree. It's like if a man is driving a school bus, and a bee gets in and stings him, and because of a half-second lapse in his attention, he drives into a ditch. A bunch of kids die. It's just an accident. He knows that, but for the rest of his life he has ... you know ... nightmares, or daymares, a horrible sense of guilt. He can fix the problem internally, in his emotions, but all those kids are still dead. As a bare minimum behavioral reaction, he stops driving busses. Or, in my case, he shuts up."
It was a good start. Lilly stayed silent, trying to fathom the unique “cross” that Victor Helliwell bore.
"So I thought the least I could do was to give the traditional one minute of silence to each victim,” he continued. “And ... that would be ten million, six hundred and seventy thousand minutes—give or take a few tens of thousand of lives—which is a hundred and seventy-seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight hours, or about seven thousand four hundred days, which is about twenty and a third years of not talking. I've run those numbers in my mind every day since the LieDeck Revolution, and watched on the Net as the number of deaths grew almost daily for all that time. I've still got a year or so to go, but by then I'll be—"
He cut himself off, and felt again the powerful crush of his impending departure from this ... this vale of tears. “So I thought if I'm not going to be able to make it to the end of my penance,” he continued after sniffing for courage, “and ... if I'm not going to even be here to see the consequences of my actions, I might as well take one last risk and spill the beans about Human Three Consciousness ... the rest of the beans. Quite frankly, I don't think that Human Twos can turn that corner without the help of the LieDeck, but ... well, maybe they can. And maybe I owe it to them to try to help. Maybe I should give them the freedom to choose, to decide that I'm full of doggie-doo, or to decide that I'm not full of shit and become it, become Human Three, fully Human Three. Are you ... following me here?"
"Yes,” said Lilly. She was familiar with his ideas, his wild theories, the often-told tale of Victor's real reason for inventing the LieDeck back in ‘14, or in the decade preceding 2014. All WDA agents learned about that in History 101, and most either dismissed him as a lunatic and/or felt sorry for him. In any event, she was following his soliloquy, but it wasn't easy, emotionally. He takes himself so seriously!
Victor turned and read her face. I don't say a fucking word for nineteen years, he said to himself, and now I can't shut the hell up. “Never mind,” he said. “You'll ... see soon enough.” He picked up the cushion he'd flung across the room and walked back to the couch. Conversation isn't so much a lost art with Human Twos, he thought, as it is an undeveloped art. His failing memory tried, without success, to find the name of a German philosopher he had once heard of, a man who apparently wrote a very long dissertation purporting to prove beyond all doubt that meaningful inter-human communication was simply not possible under any circumstances. And according to the laws of physics, bees can't fly, he remembered reading in his youth.
He put the cushion on Lilly's lap and eased himself back to where he was before she got into challenging his vow of silence ... or questioning it, he re-positioned his attitude. Inviting me to open up. No offense intended, none taken—no harm, no foul.
Lilly didn't want to put her right arm and hand back across his chest, but she'd done far less palatable things “for the cause” in the past ... and if I'm really going to let myself care, then ... She just did it, and Victor rested his hands on her wrist, nothing more. No caressing this time, she noticed. Maybe he's trying to meet me half way.
A minute of silence ensued ... the amount of time he's been giving to every victim of the LieDeck Revolution, thought Lilly. She knew he was looking up at her, but she didn't feel she could look down at him—at least not without betraying her discomfort. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on their reflections in the black bay window. The peacefulness was a welcome relief, but the situation was also awkward, and seemed to call for a new direction. “I am curious about one thing,” she said finally, looking down at his smallish, wrinkled face. “According to your file, it seems—"
"I have a file?” asked Victor, seemingly surprised.
"Everybody has a WDA Netfile,” she said—she almost barked those words, had she not been so vigilant in keeping her darker feelings out of the process. “And I'm sure you know that's why there's no more war or—"
"So what did it say ... in my file?” interrupted Victor. He began to explore the thinly wrapped wrist bone that lay on his chest.
"Well, it said that you never use the Net to communicate with other people, not even anonymously, using the keyboard and a fake cybername,” said Lilly. “Why is that?"
"I write letters,” he said. “By hand. Short ones, mind you, but people who write actual letters deserve to get answered, I figure. It seems that even after all this time, some folks still want to know what became of me. They ask if I'm really okay. Some people write to insult me or to condemn me for inventing the LieDeck. Some women want to lop off my penis or marry me or screw me or have my child. A lot of people want to know if it's true that I never talk any more. I send them all the same answer. I write, ‘Dear Human Two: Thank you for writing.’ Then I write the word ‘beep’ in square brackets. Then I conclude: ‘Leave me alone. Yours sincerely, Victor.’ They only want my autograph anyway. I try to answer ten or so a day, then I throw the rest away. I get hundreds every day. I read the first few words of every letter, and then I lose interest. If people try to face me on the Net, I ignore them—I don't respond. They're just lazy, those people. I ignore all my Netmail."
Lilly found this somewhat enlightening. Of course she knew from his Netfile that he wrote letters telling people to screw off, but she didn't know about the square-bracketed “beep” or the reference to Human Two. All she knew for certain was that he'd never been known to write anything reportable. “Don't you watch any Netshows?” she asked. “How come you don't observe or audit chatrooms, or at least watch the Netnews to see what's happening in the world?” She knew he did watch the Netnews, and even peeked in at the Netsex teasers once in a while, but those things were both known by way of the WDA's eavesdropping capabilities, and she couldn't say anything that revealed that he was being observed through his MIU.
Victor stopped massaging her wrist, and a look of confusion seemed to wrap his face in a worried web. “I really try to keep up with the news,” he said earnestly. “I really do. I always have, but..."
Lilly waited, without reward. “But what?” she finally asked.
Victor seemed to be grouting around his mind for the right word, or an explanation that washed. “I watch the Netnews—of course I used the keyboard to make commands because of my vow of silence—and when it comes on, I see the images, and I hear the words, but it's like ... like it's in another language, or from another plane or something. It doesn't seem to register, somehow. I sit there for hours, but when I shut down, I've got only the vaguest notion of what I've been watching. It's ... weird. It makes me wonder if I'm still ... you know ... sane. But it's not the tumor. I've had this problem for since long before the SuperNet got started back in ... when was that; two thousand and eighteen? ... way back in the days of the Internet, ever since the Revolution, really. But in spite of this problem, I still watch the Netnews every day. I have no idea why I do that. It seems so ... so pointless."
Lilly was beginning to understand Victor, and she was also beginning to wonder just how sane he was—even how sane he used to be. “You kn
ow,” she said cautiously, “I ... have the occasional problem with guilt too—I mean, assuming that's your problem—and I often find ways of dealing with it so that it goes away, or at least doesn't bother me so much.” Victor didn't respond, so she decided to soldier on. “If you think about it, the—uh—the invention of the LieDeck led to the Revolution, and that cost ten point six seven million lives, like you said. But the LieDeck Revolution also gave rise to the WDA, and the WDA has managed to eliminate war and crime from the Earth for nineteen years now, and that ... that has probably saved more than ten million lives, maybe twice that number. So if you—"
"Ms. Petrosian,” Victor said sternly, “do you know the difference between a rational thought and a rationalization?"
"Of course I do,” snapped Lilly. “What kind of a question is—"
"Well I prefer to be rational,” he said as he threw off the bony hand and rose from the couch. “I would also prefer to be alone right now. So, if you don't mind..."
Chapter 22
JESUS-E
Monday, February 14, 2033—6:00 p.m.
Annette Blais was in Sleepery #1, her bedroom-office hideaway right in the hub, near the entrance to Mainspoke. She was trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace, relaxing with a book—Cold War Blues, by some obscure 20th-century peacenik—when a knock came at her door. “It's from Herb Pringle, of Pringle Polling in D.C.,” said a V-Insight messenger as he handed her an old-fashioned disk, making an uncomprehending shrug as he did so. “Jimmy Ball said it had to go to you in this format."
Annette knew immediately who the sender really was from her long-ago days as a Patriot agent. It was from her old friend Gil Henderson, the American journalist who had tweaked the overly tender nose of the WDA so often and so successfully. She also knew it must be important to have come in such a secretive way, and if she had known that the message had arrived that morning and had taken half a day to reach her, she would have stripped her clutch trying to get Jimmy Ball's head onto a stake.