The Liedeck Revolution Book #2: Endgame

by Jim Stark

  We'll try this system out for five years, and if everything goes well, I expect the WDA will then unban the LieDeck completely ... at least I will certainly support a complete unbanning of the device in such a circumstance.

  Now, there's one more little...

  Randy and Lucky hugged and kissed—and cried—as the room broke into applause.

  "Hey, I can go back to university!” Randy realized suddenly. And I'm not needed any more to head up USLUC, he also realized, silently.

  "Yeah,” Lucky said as she wiped her eyes. “I ... I guess so."

  Chapter 55

  DECLARATION OF WAR

  Thursday, March 17, 2033—1:03 p.m.

  On the roof of the mess hall in the central Pliesterine bubble, a crowd of two hundred or so Victor-Eens had gathered to listen to Sheena Kalhoun's Netcast. They were dancing, shouting, crying, kissing, and a few were already heading down the stairs to celebrate privately, carnally. Everywhere, Victor-Eens were divesting themselves of those pesky voice-activated digicorders they'd been wearing for the simLV program. The LieDeck was unbanned! It was as if life could finally start in earnest.

  In the midst of this joyful mayhem, Annette Blais kept watching the hideously huge MIU screen that had been wheeled onto the stage and parked between the two columns of speakers. One hand was vaguely gesturing for everyone to shut the hell up, and her other hand held her Sniffer to her right ear, with the sound cranked up.

  Sheena Kalhoun had only a few more words to say, but they were killers. When the WDA emblem filled the screen, indicating the end of the Netcast, Annette turned to the whooping Victor-Eens and held up both her arms, demanding silence. The decibel level fell gradually as a few people noticed their leader and alerted those who hadn't. When the last few had simmered down, Annette moved to center stage and spoke.

  "You missed the final bit,” she said solemnly. “Derek,” she called to the technician at stage left, “rewind and roll that last section please. And—uh—people...?” she continued as Derek set things up. “Listen carefully, okay?"

  Now, there is one more minor matter I should mention. It's ... one thing to suspect malice and call for answers, as Gilbert Henderson did, but it's quite another thing to jump to conclusions and incite lawlessness on a global scale, as Randy Whiteside did on behalf of USLUC. That's not legal, and while we understand and appreciate USLUC's contribution in bringing an end to the demonstrations and vandalism of last Sunday, we don't look kindly on any person or group that defies the law. But the worst thing of all was the utterly indefensible rush to judgment and the defiance of world law that we saw from the Evolution movement. Had it not been for those people, the Evolution clans, and their collective response to Randy Whiteside's call for civil disobedience, research polls show that this idea would have fizzled out and flopped miserably. We have heard that several important voices had encouraged the Evolution movement to support the USLUC call for defiance. Who suggested this is not important to us; what is important is that the Evolution movement responded as it did. We hope and expect that history will take a dim view of this action.

  However, after due deliberation, we have reluctantly decided as an administrative matter not to prosecute anyone from USLUC or Evolution. But we do feel, if I may make a modest suggestion, that such irresponsibility should be noted, recognized, condemned ... and factored into all of the personal decisions that civilian families and individuals make in the course of their daily activities.

  Thank you. Net, down, now.

  The Victor-Eens were suddenly as low as they had been high a moment earlier. No one ever underestimated the power of the world body since the stunning coup of ‘14, the final revolutionary act—including the vaporization of Leningrad—by which the political United Nations mutated into the military WDA. A mere hint from Kalhoun carried the same clout as a papal decree or a royal edict in 16th-century Europe. Some whispered voices on the Net had even compared the relationship between today's civilians and the WDA to that of the citizens of the Soviet Union and its Communist regime, back in the 20th century; with only one employer of any consequence in Russia, you got into a full-time sucking-up mode early in life, and jumped through any and all hoops to not piss off “the boss.” What Sheena Kalhoun had called a “modest suggestion” was neither modest nor a suggestion. For Evolution, it was a disaster!

  "What she just said,” Annette intoned into the potent silence, “amounts to ‘don't join or support the LieDeck unbanning committees and don't buy anything from Evolution.’ What happens to CANLUC and USLUC and all the unbanning committees is not going to matter much in the end, now that the LieDeck is available to us all. However, as I see it, the WDA has just declared war, economic war, on Evolution, on us.

  "Board meeting in ten minutes, with internal Netcast. I expect the Board of Evolution International will Netlink in a couple of hours, and ... well, I have no idea how that will go, or whether it will be Netcast. We may have to meet on the warm if we don't want the WDA to know about our discussions. So ... that's about it, I guess."

  Annette stood on the stage, her head hung. Derek, the technician, went up and hugged her, bringing tears to both their eyes. Then a solo voice began to sing, and by the second line, two hundred voices bellowed out the old union song of the last century, “Solidarity forever” ... except the last line was: “Evolution marches on."

  Chapter 56

  NO LONG FACE

  Thursday, March 17, 2003—1:05 p.m.

  "Well,” said Becky as she slapped her thighs and rose from her chair, “I guess, thanks to Sheena Kalhoun, we're financially kind of—uh—all fucked up!” She was half-trying to be humorous—she almost never swore. “What's the long face for?"

  Michael had turned off the MIU as soon as the WDA emblem came on at the end of the Netcast, and he'd been staring at the blank screen for half a minute, trying to make sure that his face revealed nothing ... at all. They're watching me, he kept realizing over and over. In fact they're probably smoking wacky-backy in Sheena's office and laughing their tits off.

  "No long face,” he answered as he got up. “We got a lot to think about, that's all.” They're LVing me, he thought, and I slid that by them. I don't have a long face, literally, and Becky and I assuredly do have a lot to think about. It slipped his attention that his last two words, “that's all,” would get surely beeped. “Let's go for a walk on the Indian trail before I chopper off to the office."

  Becky appreciated her husband's dilemma, and she knew the main reason behind his suggestion. She took his arm gently and leaned her head on his shoulder momentarily as they walked out of the den.

  There were five vaguely circular “theme walks” throughout the estate, four of which had artifacts in keeping with the themes. The Indian walk was Becky's favorite, and was artifact-free. It was short—forty minutes at a stroll—and except for the lightly trodden pathway, it was exactly the way God would have made it—had there been One. She was already dressed in jeans, runners and a sweatshirt from her alma mater—the University of Toronto. Michael was wearing one of his wide collection of virtually identical and utterly boring business suits. “Throw on some rags, honey,” she said. “It'll only take a minute, and—” She was about to say he'd enjoy himself more and not get his good shoes scuffed or mud on his pants, but switched horses on impulse. “All those big-shot executives at the office ... they'll wait,” she finished.

  Michael needed that. His wife did love him, in spite of Lilly, and in spite of her own adventures with other men. “I'll just be a sec,” he said as he took off up the spiral stairs two at a time. “Would you get my walking stick, hon?"

  "Already on it,” she hollered back.

  * * * *

  Spring is a moist business, thought Michael as he slogged along behind Becky, using his walking stick more for fun than for assistance. She liked to lead so that she would see any birds or animals first. Michael didn't care who saw wildlife first, but pretended he did—it was a fun game they had played for almost tw
enty years, since before they were married.

  When he reached the top of the third hill, he found himself somewhat out of breath, leaning on his walking stick for support, and that concerned him. Becky was already on their “sitting rock,” taking in the un-budded forest as it sucked at the scalp of a melting planet. To his surprise, the multi-billion-dollar monkey wrench that had just jammed his corporate gears was far from his mind, and every time it had tried to sneak back onto the front burner of his internal MIU, he just ... changed channels. Becky, however, was ill-equipped to assess what the new corporate situation really meant for her, for them, and Michael could sense worry on her forehead. “We'll manage just fine,” he said as he sat beside his teenaged bride of 2014.

  For a few moments, they just drank in the sun-warmed air and the sights and sounds of the valley below. There were occasional pockets of snow nestled guiltily in low-lying, shaded areas, standing out against the general brownness. Some of the birds had already returned from their vacations, or were stopping here temporarily on their treks to points north. Squirrels were busy rushing around doing whatever squirrels did so frantically in the spring. The natural seasons had no impact on the business world, or on matters of the human heart.

  "So ... you love her?” asked Becky.

  Michael flushed, but he knew too much about Becky's internal LieDeck to fib to her. “She's mad at me right now, but yes, I do love her."

  "Well, then I think we should get divorced,” said Becky, ignoring his reference to the undefined squabble that her husband and his new “friend” were having.

  Michael's heart rate had just crept back to near-normal; now it doubled again. Jeeze, she does get to the point. “Why?” he asked.

  "Oh, we don't have to,” she said. “And I certainly don't want to, but..."

  "But what?” asked Michael, picking a long blond stalk of last year's wild grass that had somehow stayed erect under the great snows of the previous winter.

  "I'm ... pretty much Human Three,” said Becky plainly. She knew she hadn't come to grips with the fact that real Human Threes did productive work, but ... all things in good time, she said to herself. She paused briefly, and decided to use the unbanned LV service of the WDA to check herself out on that score ... later. Perhaps she wasn't as far along as she imagined herself to be. In the meantime, she tried to organize her thoughts for her husband.

  "Our present situation doesn't bother me,” she said softly. “In fact I like it as much as I ever did ... well, almost ... but I can manage my feelings, Mikey. You're ... well, you surely know that you're Human Two. I don't mean that negatively, just as a fact. You're Human Two, and so is Lilly, so it just seems to me that us getting a divorce is necessary ... for you.” Well, for Lilly too, she thought, although she didn't want to overcomplicate this analysis.

  Michael chewed on the ragged end of the grass stalk. He had been staring at the rock between his feet, and now he rotated his head to face her, and some words came out of his mouth that he never expected to hear, words that he seemed not to have planned. “I listen and watch a lot,” he said into her eyes. “I'm about ... Human Two-point-eight,” he quipped, “so it's not that big a leap to ... for me to, you know ... to turn that corner."

  Becky was rocked. “Mikey!” she said, clasping her hands. She felt like doing a wee Scottish jig—here—now—naked. “You'd enter transition!?"

  "I'm ... pretty sure I want to,” he said, assuming he'd answered his wife honestly and well.

  "But Michael,” said Becky, with a concerned look suddenly draped all over her face, “wanting to isn't enough. It's good, mind you, but everyone's first unemotional Human Three decision is to become a Human Three. It has to be the only reasonable choice, my darling. The intellect has to be so sure of itself that you'd do it even if you didn't want to, even if it felt all wrong. Is it eminently sensible and rational for you to make this move? Does your mind know that it's right and smart and necessary?"

  God damn, she asks hard questions, he said to himself. “Well ... no,” he admitted. “But I'm going to give it the old college try anyway. I feel quite confident that—” He stopped himself short, realizing that how he felt was not the issue, not the question; not even allowed. “I ... I think that as I learn more, I'll find this new knowledge sufficient, and satisfying, in support of such a decision, and then I may be able to say ‘yes’ to your question."

  Becky had always gritted her teeth when Michael did his “lawyer-talk” thing, but she picked up his right hand and kissed the back of it. “I'm so ... proud of you, and happy for you,” she said. “It's not that easy, though."

  "I know."

  "It took me about half a year just to get to the point where I was ready to make my decision."

  "So you're ... you said you were pretty much ... there now?"

  "Oh yeah, since about a year ago February, really. That's not to say I don't have lots to learn and a thousand changes to go through, or that I don't face the constant danger of regression, but my CQ is up around a hundred and fifty already, and I'm aiming to break two hundred by Christmas. It's like shaking a drug habit. It takes constant vigilance, and I have to take it one day at a time ... like in AA. I have to ... rededicate myself every hour, sometimes, but most of the time now it just comes natural, and sometimes I even forget that I ever was a Human Two. It's going to take you a while to catch up, but I'll help you. Some people go right from two-digit CQs to over two hundred in a few weeks. I mean, it can be done, but..."

  "But what?” asked Michael. “Maybe you think I'm not clever enough to—"

  Becky slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand, enough to smart but not nearly enough to offend. “You're not the problem,” she scolded jokingly. “It's..."

  "Whaaaaaat?” whined Michael playfully. He really didn't know.

  "Lilly,” said Becky, in a tone that hinted at: “Wasn't that just a bit obvious?” “She's Human Two, Mikey, and she's WDA! She literally can't come with us ... or with you."

  Michael's high humor collapsed immediately. He really was interested in becoming a Human Three, in fact he'd been subconsciously moving in that direction for months, but he wasn't even close to understanding how anybody could play their own emotions like some kind of obedient musical instrument. “Listen, Becky,” he said quietly, “this is all a bit fast for me. I haven't had much chance to concentrate on me for a lot of years. I think that maybe I'll...” Michael fell silent, and stayed there.

  "What?” asked Becky after Michael failed to carry on for more than a minute, and a minute in the forest is considerably longer than a minute anywhere else. Becky was fine with long pauses, but she knew Michael wasn't there ... yet. “Whatever it is, I'll support you,” she promised.

  "You know what I'd really like to do? I'd like to go over to my cabin on the lake, on Wilson Lake, by myself, for maybe a month or two, and just ... be."

  "So ... do it!” said Becky. “I'll get food sent over from the lodge, and whenever you think you're ready to get back in the saddle, I'll be there too, we'll all be here, still loving you, as always, no matter where this ends up for you."

  Chapter 57

  BOO!

  Thursday, March 17, 2033—1:07 p.m.

  Lilly took her time returning from her pee-break, and she even said hello to a particularly handsome pine tree. When she finally reached Lars’ old shack, she smiled inwardly at the “hunting” trip that her new pal had taken such joy in sharing with her. She stepped up on the single stair—it looked fairly rotten and unstable, so she placed her foot near the edge, the side. When she reached the hole where the door used to be, she raised her eyes ... and saw nothing. Where did our young apprentice plumber go? she wondered. He must have slipped out for a pee too, she concluded as she walked through the entrance.

  "Boo!” shouted Lars as he stamped a boot on the wooden floor.

  Lilly's adrenal gland went instantly ballistic. “You son-of-a-bitch, you scared the crap outa me!” she screamed. She was as angry as she was fright
ened, but it was hard to hold on to the anger. Lars had been hiding behind the doorjamb, much like she had done down in Freeport, except that Michael's villa came equipped with an actual door. Now Lars had collapsed onto the floor and was laughing out of control, wiping tears from his eyes.

  "That was a fucking ... ten!” he gurgled.

  "A ... ten?” asked Lilly, as annoyed as she was becoming amused.

  "Ten out of ten,” said Lars as he struggled to his knees. “I'm ... sorry,” he cackled insincerely as he got to his feet.

  "Fine,” conceded Lilly. “It was a ten, but what was the friggin’ point, you bastard? Why the fuck did you—"

  "You're scared of me, Lilly,” explained Lars as he tried to collect himself. “You set yourself up to take a ten-point fall, by your fear."

  "I am not,” she protested—she instinctively touched her vest pocket as she reminded herself that her LieDeck was turned off.

  "Oh, sure you are,” said Lars as he relished the last few stanzas of his laughing fit. “And that feeling of fear is completely inappropriate.” And insulting, he thought, but did not say. “I wouldn't hurt you in any way ... or anyone, for that matter. I really like you, Lilly ... but then I really liked that squirrel too, and we both enjoyed scaring the shit outa him ... or her."

  Lilly finally let a smile creep out, and her mouth uttered words that she couldn't recall thinking. “You absolutely know I'll get you back,” she said.

  "Yeah, I know,” squeaked Lars in a high voice.

  That started them both laughing, and their mood caught the mother of all waves. It grew and grew until both of them could do little but point at each other and laugh. They were emotion wrestling, and it was ... what? ... fun? ... sexy? Lilly stopped herself from trying to find the right word and just went with it. As the experience peaked, Lars flung open his arms and Lilly fell into them, hugging him back, hard, as they teetered together.

  "I'm trained to break various bones from this position, you know,” she snarled into his ear.