The God Equation and Other Stories

by Michael A. R. Co

  “Good God,” someone said.

  “Not God,” said the National Security Adviser. “Big Brother.” His shadow didn’t fidget as much as the others.

  “Little brothers,” said Jon, “and sisters. Over six billion of them. Otherwise, aliens from outer space.” The Undersecretary shot him a warning glance: don’t get cocky, not today.

  “What I meant,” Jon quickly recovered, turning back to the President, “is that it’s highly likely everyone on this planet has an Ogle account. Ogle keeps a history, a list, of persons that have viewed through your eyes, logging the date and time, with an instant link back to that person. Conversely, it also keeps a history of your own viewing habits. Like the videos, both lists cannot be deleted. I can watch what you see, just as you can see what I watch. It’s a double-edged sword. But rest assured Madam President, I have not used Ogle on you or anyone in this room during my initial investigation.” In truth, Jon had used it on certain government officials, including the Undersecretary, but thought it prudent to lie.

  “Yet here you are, saying we should allow others to spy on us,” said the President.

  “I’d spy on them in return,” Jon said. “I’d ‘Ogle’ those who’ve ‘Ogled’ me and find out who threw the first stone.” He shivered and wished someone would turn off the air-con. But maybe he was just appalled by his own suggestion.

  * * *

  “This is appalling,” Alexis mumbled as she arrived at the police station. A crowd had gathered outside, most being led in rather than out. The national police was swamped with cases involving petty crimes like theft and slander; on the other hand, incidents of murder and rape seemed to be declining, even after the government decided not to impose martial law. Because unlike the rest of the world, the country did not, as pundits had predicted, spiral into chaos. There were none of the street protests, riots, violent crackdowns, mass suicides, genocides, terrorist bombings, coups, and civil wars that had been hogging the foreign headlines in the five weeks since Ogle appeared. On the contrary, it seemed that most Filipinos just stayed home. She attributed it either to their sense of shame (hiya) or fear (takot), and felt that the former was the stronger form of social control. Those who had no shame (walang hiya) were controlled through the fear of getting caught and punished. As the rate of violent crime fell, Alexis realized that Ogle had become the perfect deterrent. What would she do then? She tried to recall if there was a Tagalog word for “guilt” and concluded there wasn’t any.

  She could switch to family law, like her friend Laura who was making a killing handling legal separation and annulment cases now that husbands are unable to hide their illicit trysts from their wives. As Laura told her over lunch, in between sips of vanilla frap, “Your heart bleeds too much, Alexis. Human nature won’t change. Men are shameless, and they’ll always cheat.” Wiping foam from her small lips with a perfectly manicured finger, she added, “They also pay my bills.”

  To this Alexis replied, “And I mind my own affairs.”

  But perhaps it was due to her innate sense of justice, a misguided moral compass, or simple personal pride that Alexis continued working as a public defender. She squeezed through the crowd, holding her briefcase and cellphone against her chest. The police station was sweltering hot from the afternoon sun. The salty odor of humanity violated her nostrils as did the complex aroma of wood wax, cigarette smoke, leather, cheap cologne, and gun oil. After conferring with one of the officers on duty and almost stepping on the toes of a woman accused of estafa, she found her client sitting on a bench beside a rusty filing cabinet.

  He was obese and nearly occupied half the bench. Sweat trickled down his dark puffy cheeks. He kept blinking. His knee jerked up and down, a habit she herself had trouble suppressing back in law school. The orange t-shirt he wore was drenched and she could see his dark areolas pressed against the fabric, punctuating a large letter P like lewd quotation marks.

  “Good afternoon,” she said in a crisp Filipino vernacular, “I’m Attorney Alexis Lorenzo, your defense counsel.” She pointed at his t-shirt. “Did the police force you to wear that?”

  Peter Portacio’s eyes lit up as he scanned her legs and breasts. He looked at her face almost as an afterthought.

  “This t-t-shirt is m-mine,” he said.

  “Come again?”

  “The l-letter P s-stands for m-my n-name. P-peter.”

  Even before Ogle, many suspects never enjoyed privacy when talking to their lawyers. A policeman was standing less than three feet away. She sat next to her client. “Did they threaten you?” she whispered. “Why so nervous?”

  “N-n-no,” Pete said. “I’m n-not n-nervous. I h-have h-ad a t-t-er-ible s-stutter s-s-since I w-was a little b-boy. I w-work from h-home. Mm-medical t-trans-scrip-scription-n-nist. N-not m-much t-talk-king n-neces-s-s-s—”

  “According to the prosecutor,” she cut in without a hint of pity, “that’s not all you do.”

  “B-but I d-didn’t hurt anyone. I m-mind m-my own b-business. I d-didn’t even use O-o-ogle after I d-d-discov-vered that it allows users to s-see…”

  “You’re a pornographer and a peeping tom so please cut the bull.” He was painful to listen to. “I’m your lawyer, not your mother. You don’t have to lie to me. But you’ve been accused by your next door neighbor for acts of lasciviousness, violence against women, and possessing and publishing obscene materials. The first charge can be dismissed outright because you never touched her. The second charge won’t hold because at the moment, it’s not a crime to use Ogle on anybody, at least not until the First Stone bill is signed into law. On the third charge of pornography, I’m confident I can file a motion to quash on the ground that the evidence was obtained illegally. The police report clearly states that operatives used Ogle to record your activities; that’s inadmissible as evidence. Yours is a test case but we have jurisprudence on our side.”

  “They c-can’t use what they saw against m-me?”

  “Evidence illegally obtained cannot be used against the accused. To do so would be to take the ‘fruit of the poisonous tree.’ They need to follow procedure. You’ll be walking out within the day. Afterwards, you should hire your own private attorney. A civil lawsuit can still be brought against you and I won’t be able to help you there.”

  “They c-confiscated my c-computer. W-will I g-get my files back?”

  “Mr. Portacio, don’t push it. Be happy you’re a free man.”

  “Am I? Are w-w-we?”

  She honestly didn’t know.

  Alexis also didn’t know that her involvement in the case of People vs. Portacio would trigger far reaching legal and social consequences. After being cited for contempt and paying the necessary fines, the private prosecutor elevated the case to the Supreme Court. The Court, sitting en banc and taking judicial notice of Ogle’s ubiquity, decided that the exclusionary rule, or the “fruit of the poisonous tree” doctrine, did not apply to Ogle. The Court argued that because Ogle’s records and video archives were universally accessible, the contents were, de facto, in the public domain and any incriminating evidence discovered through the use thereof shall be the legal equivalent of a plain view search. A concurring opinion also raised the possibility that to suppress evidence obtained from Ogle would give criminals blanket protection from all searches while they themselves use the website to plan and commit their next crime. Consequently, Peter Portacio would serve four years in jail for pornography after the Court declared the First Stone law as unconstitutional.

  Alexis had no way of knowing any of this, however, as Ogle did not peer into the future, just as she had no way of knowing that in nine months, she would be having her first child.

  * * *

  40 days O.E. (Ogle Era)

  They say Noah’s Ark drifted for forty days and forty nights as the Flood cleansed all the evil from the earth. Jon had been drifting only a week, and was back to teaching full-time. Forty days had passed since Ogle revealed itself and Jon Lorenzo, formerly the senior consultant f
or the Presidential Task Force on Cybersecurity, had been leading a fairly clean life. He resolved never to work for the government again.

  As he locked his office door, he noticed a Post-It note below his name and room number. He peeled it off. It was blank but smelled of raspberries and roses, an expensive fragrance he remembered buying two months ago. Before crumpling the paper and throwing it away, he ran his thumbs along the surface which had a sequence of raised bumps. The crude Braille message read: “5pm. Park bench. Pls come.” It was already 5:05pm.

  She was staring west, her oval face framing her small ruby lips, a perfectly manicured finger idly twirling her hair. She was sitting on the hilltop bench, the same place where, forty-five days ago, they had last met in private. She must have something important to say, he thought, to risk meeting here.

  “Jon!” she said, looking fabulously surprised. “You’ve lost weight!” They touched cheeks, a gesture of beso-beso, a mock kiss. She smelled expensive, raspberries and roses. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Her eyes. Something in her eyes.

  “Yes, it has,” he said. “What brings you all the way here? Weren’t you supposed to have lunch with my wife?”

  “Jon naman, that was hours ago! I came from a medical appointment and I wanted to watch the sunset. Come, have a seat!”

  I can’t, he thought. But complied without protest. Forty days, he remembered. Clean life. Clean slate.

  “You said you saw a doctor? Is anything wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Great.”

  Her eyes were light brown. Quivering gold. She couldn’t look away from him.

  “I’m pregnant, Jon.”

  Inexplicably, his spirits sank and he was struck speechless. The gold in her eyes disappeared but the quivering remained.

  She kept smiling, perfect teeth between perfect lips. “Say something,” she said. “Congratulate me. Please.”

  “Oh, sorry. I mean, congrats! I’m so happy for you. That is good news. Is it good news?”

  “Good news,” she said. “Definitely.”

  She leaned over and hugged him. He inhaled her scent, imagined what could have been. Waking up beside her, touching her skin.

  They continued their friendly embrace longer than planned. With her finger, she quickly traced eight letters on his back: I-W-A-N-T-E-D-U

  He broke off and asked, “So will the two of you be tying the knot soon?”

  “Ay naku,” she said. “We broke up more than a month ago. Found him on top of a stripper while I was away in Hong Kong. Don’t you love Ogle?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Does he know?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re not going to tell him?”

  Again she shook her head. “It’s better this way, right? Less complicated.”

  He could only nod. What else could he do? “Have you told Alexis?”

  “I’ve texted her. She’s very supportive.”

  “And your father?”

  “Not yet. He’s getting promoted, and I want him to enjoy his moment in the sun first. The President has named him the new Secretary of the Department of Science and Technology.”

  “Yes, I heard,” said Jon. “I no longer work for the government though.”

  “I heard.”

  They sat quietly for a while, listening to the wind, waiting for a sign. The narra trees had begun to flower. Before he could speak, she got up, and so did he.

  “Well,” she said, “I have a long day tomorrow. Adultery case. The husband says he’s got the video to prove it.” She winked. “Sometimes, Jon, it’s the wife who cheats. What time are you heading home?”

  “I’ll get a taxi at the corner. Color coding.”

  “Need a lift?”

  “You’re heading south, I’m heading north. It’s okay, I can manage.”

  “I see.” She reached into her handbag for her car keys, and instead pulled out a mirror to check her mascara. “Oh, and please tell Alexis she can keep my laptop for as long as she needs. I’m getting an upgrade. It was great seeing you, Jon.”

  They touched cheeks, beso-beso. Her cheeks felt warm. He watched her walk to the parking lot, and he waved goodbye as her silver Mazda drove out.

  The sky was turning orange. He could never tell the difference between the colors of dusk and dawn. When he got to the taxi stand, he found Father Samson also waiting for a ride. He was nearly eighty years old yet normally took solitary walks around the campus with nothing more to guide him than a cane and a Bible.

  “Good evening, Father.”

  Father Samson looked at him closely, squinting behind a thick pair of spectacles. “Oh, Jon! Yes, it is a good evening indeed!”

  “Have you been waiting long?” Jon asked, indicating the taxi sign.

  “Quite,” said Father Samson, “quite a bit. Half-an-hour, I’d guess. There aren’t many people and cars in the street these days.”

  “Not since Ogle.”

  “What’s that again?”

  “Ogle,” Jon repeated. “The website that sees everything.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Father Samson. “I’m afraid my hearing isn’t as reliable as it used to be. You should speak louder next time.”

  “I will, Father.”

  “Heh?”

  “I will, Father!”

  “No need to shout, Jon. We don’t want to scare the taxi away.” Father Samson grinned, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I was just pulling your leg. I can hear you fine.”

  Father Samson was a favorite among the students and faculty. Jon chuckled. “You know, since we’re going in the same direction, I suggest we share a taxi.”

  The priest rapped his cane on the pavement. “Too lazy and impatient to wait for your own, eh? I’ve been waiting here awhile.”

  Jon’s ears reddened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest...”

  “Jon?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “I’m pulling your leg again.”

  Both men snickered. For a moment, Jon forgot about Laura’s pregnancy until Father mentioned seeing them.

  “You and that lady looked good together,” he said.

  Jon wished Father Samson was joking. He felt a thousand eyes watching. He downplayed the incident. “You mean Laura? She just found out she’s pregnant and wanted to share the good news.”

  “Congratulations then! Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  He and Alexis had promised never to use Ogle to keep tabs on each other, but why take chances? Jon did his best to sound humorously shocked. “Haha! She’s not having my child, Father Samson! I’m already happily married.” He held up his hand, proudly displayed his wedding ring. “Laura is a friend of my wife, Alexis. We’re trying to have children of our own.”

  “Bless you then,” said Father Samson. “I take it this ‘Laura’ is also married?”

  “No,” said Jon. “She’s fiercely independent.”

  “I think she likes you.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m not blind. Not yet. If there’s anything you want to confess, I’m right here. We have time.”

  Jon scratched his nape. “I’m no longer a practicing Catholic. But thanks for the offer.”

  If Father Samson was offended by that remark, he did a fine job of concealing it.

  “Talking about it might lighten your burden.”

  Jon would rather keep his thoughts private. He graciously declined a second time.

  “You’re a decent man, Jon,” said Father Samson. “That’s human nature.”

  Sensing the opportunity to change the subject, Jon asked, “Is decency part of human nature? Ogle has turned us into voyeurs.”

  “Are you a voyeur? Am I a voyeur?” Cocking his head toward the direction of a security guard near the campus gate, he added, “Is he a voyeur?”

  “Wait till you give him a computer.”

  “Even then, I can’t imagine him having the time
to watch everyone in the world,” said Father Samson. “I’d imagine that he’d rather do his job, thankless it may often seem, to earn an honest wage, instead of living life as a couch potato. Maybe I’m just an old man with old fashioned ideas, but I believe the majority have better things to do.”

  “And the minority?”

  “I’d be flattered! Think about it, Jon! Of the billions of people in the world, some might actually be interested in watching my daily routine. Perhaps they’d listen to my homilies for a change.”

  Jon shrugged. “And I thought I was important...”

  “But you are important! In the eyes of your wife, in the eyes of your lady friend, and in the eyes of God.”

  Jon loved his wife, lusted after Laura, but was strictly a man of science. He found it easier to believe in the extraterrestrial than the supernatural. He secretly suspected that Ogle was a prelude to an alien invasion, and found it comforting to theorize about sentient nanoscale cybernetic parasites tapping into the optic nerve and uploading zetabytes of video footage to their cloaked spaceship for long-term storage. It was just a crazy hypothesis, but preferable to assuming Ogle was the work of an Abrahamic God. Distracted with this train of thought, he failed to exercise his usual tact, and, as a taxi finally arrived, curtly replied, “I wouldn’t want a God who likes to watch me all day, every day.”

  This time, Father Samson looked genuinely hurt. “Adam and Eve were created without shame,” he said, climbing into the taxi. “However, after tasting the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, they became ashamed of their nakedness and tried to hide from their Creator. The world has not been the same since the Fall. Until now.” He closed the door, signaled to the driver. “Take care of yourself, Jon. You might want to take a jeepney instead of waiting for another taxi. It’s getting dark.” And with that, the taxi drove off.

  Jon stood with his mouth agape.

  The taxi stopped about twenty-feet from him and the rear window slid down. “I was just pulling your leg, Jon,” said Father Samson. “Hop in!”

  * * *

  “Man is born free,” Rousseau once wrote, “but everywhere he is in chains.”

  Alexis Lorenzo couldn’t agree more. She had been reading a recent case of two American teenagers, a sixteen-year-old girl and a seventeen-year-old boy, who had e-mailed sexually explicit pictures of themselves to each other. The law convicted them of child pornography, with the judge asserting that the images could still be distributed without their consent, which was what had happened when their parents sent the pictures to the police.