by Jim Stark
In the E-tery, she was a guaranteed showstopper. The cooks and waiters just stared. The Evolutionaries at the tables stopped eating—even stopped chewing. When she briefly took a seat to switch from heels to her new boots, some of the male locals made catcalls, much to the displeasure of wives, girlfriends and daughters.
Lilly had felt herself blush, and she almost made it out of the E-tery without further incident, but Julia espied her just as she got to the door. She skipped over and squealed, “Oh Lilly, you look so beautiful! Who's the lucky guy ... or girl?"
She was trapped, so she told all ... well, almost all. “Actually, I'm having dinner with your brother, Mikey,” she'd said, realizing too late that her use of his nickname would have betrayed her eavesdropping activities if Julia had been sharper on the uptake. “I'm supposed to meet Becky out at the estate and then we're going to the Royal Oaks."
"Oh, you'll like Becky,” Julia had said, and now, as Lilly tried to relax in the back of the limousine, she wished she had used that occasion to tell Julia that the agenda wasn't exactly dinner for three. I'd much rather have told the whole truth, but that would have led to a five-minute explanation, she thought as the chauffeur turned left off Highway 148 and headed north towards the Whiteside estate. Julia likely would have wished me luck in the scoring department, in front of all those people.
"It's about two kilometers from Highway 148 to the estate,” volunteered the driver. “Maybe one and a half miles,” he added, remembering that she was American.
Lilly looked out at the moonlit farmland, and wished that this beautiful country would hurry up and get warm. She'd been told that the snow would be gone by mid-April, only seven weeks from now, but that seemed hard to believe. The cold snap that had started two weeks earlier was still very much on, and it was sometimes hard for her to remember that there were other, friendlier seasons to come.
"Spying is waiting,” she recalled from an old Le Carré novel that she'd read a decade ago, about Cold War One. But the antonym of boring is chaos, she reminded herself. Life often seems to come down to truisms, even if they aren't true, she thought. “A bird in the hand makes blowing the nose difficult,” she remembered good old Ed saying once upon a dull date. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, her Grandpa Petrosian used to say when he got to reminiscing about the 1960s. Finally! she considered. A maxim that might apply to the me and now.
As she walked the few steps between the held-open door of the limo and the held-open door of the great stone manor house, her trained mind focused on the imminent meeting with Michael's wife Rebecca, or Becky. During their Wednesday night Netcall, Lilly and Michael had connected emotionally, with the fire of teenagers, though neither had the courage ... or the foolishness ... to come right out and say it. She wondered how Michael would play his hand. Would he hide all those feelings? If Lester Connolly had gotten his way and the LieDeck was unbanned, Becky would know about me and Michael in an instant, Lilly said to herself. I'm ... glad he didn't die, though.
"Thanks,” she said as the butler closed the door. She removed her new boots, and was relieved that the carpets were thick and warm. “I'll keep my coat,” she said, unbuttoning it quickly so that Michael would catch the pearls, and the neckline. She took her heels out of her bag and slipped them on, leaning on the butler's proffered forearm.
Michael was a perfect gentleman when he shook her hand and welcomed her for the second time to his grand home. His and Becky's home, Lilly re-thought as she let go of his hand, and his eyes. And Venice, and Michael's mother, Doreen, and the live-in staff, of course ... really quite a gang here ... sort of a miniature clan, of sorts.
"Please, come and meet Becky,” Michael said, indicating the way to the living room. My God, she's even taller than I remembered.
Becky was about the same age as Michael, but she looked much younger than thirty-seven. She was also dressed for high dining, or more. In fact, she was a knockout, and obviously knew it. “I'm very pleased to meet you, Lilly,” said Becky after Michael made the introduction. “You're just going to love the Royal Oaks. It's wonderful; the food, the ambience, everything."
"It's too bad you can't join us,” said Lilly, before she realized just how utterly stupid that was, and how insincere.
"Not at all,” said Becky, who seemed to be containing a smile. “It's quite clear that Michael cares for you. I'm well along in the Human Three tradition, you know, and I'm not likely to go back to being a ... I see Michael didn't mention that I was in transition,” she said when Lilly's eyes darted towards Michael's.
Indeed, Lilly had no idea at all, and she couldn't help wondering why Control hadn't mentioned that, or why it wasn't in Becky's Netfile, or Michael's. Control doesn't know, she realized. Which means Becky doesn't ... participate ... she just observes the Human Three chatrooms ... and we don't have her MIU under total archive, but we should. God, I'm always “at work,” even on a date!
Lilly was also taken aback that Michael seemed to have confessed to his wife about the powerful feelings that had transpired between them on Wednesday, over the Net. And she doesn't seem to mind! At all!
"Just ... have a great time,” said Becky to her husband's date. “And if you do think of me, do so kindly, without any guilt or fear. I love this man, Lilly, and I always will. But I have other ... friends. You can be sure my evening will be enjoyable. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we'll get to know each other better at some point."
"I ... hope so too,” said Lilly, and it occurred to her that she had no idea whether her LieDeck would have beeped those words or not. It also occurred to her that Becky's manner with people somehow resembled ... Lilly couldn't make the connection right away, and then it hit her ... her reactions are exactly like Julia's! Well ... similar.
"And thanks so much for your help with Venice the other day,” Becky said as Lilly walked out of the elegant living room on Michael's arm.
"My goodness,” said Lilly as she settled into the spacious back of the limousine. “I didn't know what to expect from Becky, but I certainly didn't expect that!"
Michael smiled wanly, and struggled for words. “She doesn't like the Evolutionary lifestyle,” he said carefully, “but she's been sort of watching Human Three chatrooms for several years, doing the Human Three thing on her own. I hated it at first. For a long time I felt ... you know ... betrayed ... and angry ... and frustrated, but ‘the times, they are a-changing,’ I suppose. We sort of lead separate lives, but ... together, if you know what I mean. It ... certainly wasn't my decision."
Lilly felt she'd thought through this date, but now it seemed to her that she had been too excited to fully consider all the issues involved ... the same mistake I made when I hooked up with good old Ed, she realized. She felt confused, and fell back on that most reliable of WDA ploys, silence. It wasn't an easy commitment to keep, because Michael seemed to feel as awkward as she did.
"I'm ... not completely unhappy about how things are between Becky and me,” he finally said. “Tonight,” he tacked on.
Lilly looked at him in the subdued light as the limo turned east onto the 148, headed for Gatineau. She wanted to say something, or do something, but her reality coordinates were still out of kilter, off balance, and she stayed with her decision to remain quiet until his convoluted explanation was done.
"She ... actually has a date too,” offered Michael, “and I guess I hope she has a good time. It's ... kind of ... disconcerting, this Human Three business. If ... one member of a couple gets involved, the other one sort of gets dragged along, against his will ... or her will ... I guess it's usually the other way around, I mean the man getting into that Human Three stuff first, but in my case..."
Michael's mind seemed to get bogged down, and Lilly realized that she felt sorry for him. That's the second or third time I've felt that way, she realized. Pity sucks, especially when the guy is filthy rich. “So ... let's see what this Human Three stuff is all about,” she suggested. She extracted her Sniffer from her black
handbag. “Do you mind?"
"Not at all,” said Michael, relieved to be off the hook. “Why not?"
"Access any Human Three Evolutionary chatroom,” she commanded. “Observe only ... and no hard drugs,” she added. Chatrooms full of people on narcotics were just stupid.
The small, square, black-and-white screen lit up in a “nine-split"—nine tiny boxes with faces in them. There was raucous laughter all around—heads rocking, eyes tearing up, cheeks in full spasm. Lilly killed the sound. “Can we use the built-in screen?” she asked as she activated the LieDeck in her Sniffer, putting it on the beeper mode.
Michael took the unit and inserted it into the appropriate cavity in the back of the front seat—it saved the time of asking the ID code of the room they had accessed on the Sniffer and starting over from scratch. The built-in screen was revealed by the parting of two flexible panels, rather like the curtains of an early-20th-century movie theater. “Can I—uh—turn on the LieDeck in your Sniffer?” he asked.
"It's already on,” said Lilly, certain that she could justify her decision to Control, if he asked, or if she confessed. “And it's on the beeper mode. I figured ... it might be good for a laugh."
Michael reactivated the sound as the built-in MIU took over the job and presented the same chatroom. The nine people were still hooting, but now they were in full color and ultra-fi.
"Show source,” said Lilly.
"Happy Hookah Evolutionary chatroom number 31,491, Human Three orientation, THC only,” read the words across the bottom of the screen.
"God, there sure are a lot of these Happy Hookah rooms,” Lilly said.
"Becky never seems to care which chatroom she watches,” said Michael. “It just ... it doesn't seem to matter to her. It's as if the actual identities of the individuals are ... well, irrelevant. It's sort of ... I don't know ... ultra-friendly and totally alienating at the same time."
The chatters were still laughing out of control, and Lilly was reminded of the flight attendants on the plane two weeks ago ... week and a half, she corrected her memory ... it just seemed like a lot longer. The nine Human Threes were “emotion wrestling,” trying to stop the laughter, but clearly not trying hard enough to succeed. She wanted to access InfoBank and roll the thing back to see what the big joke was that they'd missed out on, but using “the bank” was strictly forbidden in the presence of any person who didn't have a WDA security clearance. “I wonder what was so funny,” she said.
"Sometimes they laugh like that just because they're stoned, or because it's fun,” said Michael.
He's done this before, thought Lilly.
"I've looked in on these Happy Hookah chatrooms a few times before,” he admitted, wanting to dispel any impression that he did it often, or that he enjoyed himself when he did. “Of course many Human Three chatrooms don't allow any drugs at all ... not even grass."
Lilly offered no sequitur. She just watched as the nine pot-heads enjoyed their globe-spanning guffaw. Spoken words were attempted from time to time—all in English—but to no effect. Some emotion wrestling sessions had been known to go on for ten minutes, or more.
At the bottom of each box were printed words indicating the geographic location of each participant. The SuperNet has shrunk the planet to the dimensions of a communal kitchen and made us all neighbors, she remembered learning at the Academy. They had been studying the 20th-century media guru, Marshall MacLuhan, and what he had failed to anticipate was that “global village” neighbors would want to talk across and over their imaginary picket fences. As of 2018, a world of many languages simply wouldn't do any more. English had been the dominant language in the days of the keyboarded Internet; now it was virtually the only language of the newer SuperNet. Something like eighty-six percent of the world's people spoke English, either as a first or second language. “Two or three more generations, and English will be the only spoken language in the world,” she said as the laughter on the screen began to fade.
"Too bad, in a way,” said Michael. “Language and culture sort of go hand in hand."
"So ... you actually believe her?” asked the teenaged woman in the upper, right-hand box, “Box #3.” She was dabbing her eyes with a sweater sleeve, and small print below her image identified her as living in Colombo, Sri Lanka.
"Well yes!” exclaimed a bearded youth in another box—from Minsk.
"Beep,” went Lilly's LieDeck.
"I absolutely believed her,” the Russian lad went on.
Another “beep” happened in the chauffeured limo.
"I am sure that she is feeling—how do you say that?—she is feeling fucking awful about it."
"Beep,” went the LieDeck in the car.
"Beeeeeep,” squawked an old woman in Tokyo, vocally.
"She probably had his arm delivered to her in New York,” joked a male Evolutionary from Brandon, Manitoba. He looked to be perhaps twenty years old—the only Canadian among the nine players. “Five kilos down, seventy-five to go,” he added, cackling at his own cleverness.
"The long arm of the lawless,” quipped the Sri Lankan woman. And that started the collective laugh all over again, except for three chatters who apparently weren't familiar with the expression, “the long arm of the law."
"Christ Almighty!” said Lilly. She leaned forward and manually killed the sound. “I think ... they're talking about Sheena Kalhoun ... and Lester Connolly's freaking arm!"
"It's pretty clear they're not—uh—too crazy about the WDA,” said Michael. “That's another part of the Human Three mindscape that Becky isn't too impressed with."
There was no beep, and Lilly thought about that. So Becky is in transition from being Human Two to being Human Three, but ... she doesn't like the Evolutionary lifestyle and she doesn't approve of the Human Three contempt for the WDA. Which leaves ... what? she wondered. “Does Becky do grass?” she asked.
"The kid's don't know,” said Michael, avoiding a direct “yes."
"You?” she asked.
"I tried it at college,” said Michael with a playful glint in his blue eyes, “but I never inhaled."
"Beep,” went the LieDeck.
Lilly chuckled, recalling the historical reference to the late Bill Clinton, the 20th-century U.S. president whose laughable little fib had been exploited so successfully by NORML to get THC products—marijuana and hashish—decriminalized. Because it was a civilian outfit, the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws hadn't had the advantage of using a LieDeck back in 2027, when they finally won their sixty-year battle, but of course they didn't exactly need it for the Clinton quote. “Me too,” she said. “I ... still do, once in a while, when I'm not on duty."
Michael reached in the upper pocket of his beige cashmere coat and withdrew a pack of Camel Mini-Jays Mild. “And ... are you off duty now?” he asked.
Lilly was shocked that Michael Whiteside, of all people, would suggest toking up. “I am ... definitely off duty,” she said clearly, so the LieDeck in her Sniffer would confirm her sincerity with its silence.
"Beep,” it went.
"As of now!” she stated, looking crossly at the tattletale device that stuck out of the back of the front seat. This time she didn't get beeped. She threw Michael a purse-lipped nod to punctuate her decision.
He opened the pack, and she accepted one of the skinny marijuana filter-tips. Michael gave her a light, then lit his own. Lilly took a puff ... and then ordered the sound back on the screen.
"It's supposed to revalue life upwards,” said an older man in the section of the screen marked “Box #7"—bottom left—an Israeli, it said, but with a lilting hillbilly accent (the word “life” came out more along the lines of “laaff"). “So now, everybody on Earth kin keep a digitized life profile or a bah-ography o’ themselves at this here World Ah-dentity Bank they's building in California so's their descendants some day kin see ‘em an’ hear ‘em talk about their laavves in a hunnert or a thousand years, so's they kin know their roots. Y'all have to admit it's a
fantastic idea, an’ it shoulda got started up best part of a century ago when we first had tape recorders an’ camcorders an’ all that stuff. Ah shore wish Ah could see mah great-grandparents and mah great-great-grandparents when they was jes’ a couple o’ young folks, talking and carrying on about their laavves, and about what laaff was like back in the early twentieth century. What a treasure that would be! Ah don't even have that much stuff from mah own folks, and they only passed on a few years back. Mah kids and mah grandkids—they faultin’ me for not getting mah parents’ laaff profiles done when it was still possible."
"Hey look,” said the Sri Lankan Evolutionary in box #3, “nobody's saying this World Identity Bank isn't a great idea, but no way is the WDA going to open a hundred-billion-dollar new facility just so our lives can be enriched! They always have another angle. It's a cover-up for a—for something else. You can bet your pension on that."
There were no beeps for any of this, and Lilly sat very still to absorb that electronic silence. What the Sri Lankan woman had said might not be true, but there was no denying that she believed what she had said.
"Maybe,” said the Israeli man, “but Ah mean who the fuck cares what the WDA is up to any more? You just ignore them bastards and make the most outa laaff."
"That's all jolly good, as long as you don't rock the boat!” said a portly woman in the center box—from Loughborough, England.
Robin Hood's old stomping grounds, thought Lilly. Nice accent.
"Or what?” retorted a young black man in overalls in the middle of the bottom row—box #8. He was in Johannesburg. “I mean what exactly are they going to do if you make a fuss? I mean—"
"How many arms do you have, Joe?” countered the British woman. That threw the group out of control all over again.
Lilly killed the sound and butted out her Mini-Jay. Michael also finished his. They looked at each other with slightly pink eyes, smiled ... and burst out laughing. Then Lilly calmed herself. “Jesus H. Christ,” she said, “the WDA sure is taking a shit-kicking these days. Remember how things used to be? Even a year ago?"