by Jim Stark
Everyone in the room was taken aback by Victor's ability to assert himself when the occasion called for it.
"I'm ... sorry if I offended you,” said Steve sincerely.
"Forget it,” said Victor. “But I would like to know how that little bugger from Quyon managed to find out."
"It ... was partly my fault,” said Cam. “I was in the helicopter with Randall while he was talking to the RCMP commissioner—and I forgot to warn him that the radio system wasn't scrambled, wasn't secure. It turns out this young punk—uh..."
"Jean Proulx,” said Helen.
"Yeah,” continued O'Connor, “this guy Jean Proulx, he and his friends were fooling with a short-wave radio, listening in on the police band and fishing around to see what else they could find, which unfortunately included Randall talking to RCMP Commissioner Bertrand Joly ... about you and the LieDeck and the attack on the lodge. The funny thing is nobody would ever have believed the little bastard before the LieDeck came onto the scene. You heard about that new show—uh..."
"LieDeck Live, they call it,” said Helen, scornfully.
"Yeah,” said Victor, wondering how it could be that Cam seemed to be forgetting things already mentioned, and depending on Helen to fill him in. “I heard. I went to hand in my keys at Blue Line, and I barely got out of there before the TV crews arrived. My old boss, Ramura, he was suddenly the best friend I had in the world. The other drivers were treating me like a God damned hero. Wait until their own lives get screwed up by the thing."
That was a conversation-stopper, and Randall felt the dull edge of awkwardness grip the group. He let a few seconds pass ... and then decided he'd better tell Victor about the reasons behind his decision to go to the UN with the LieDeck, his reasons for releasing it, but without revealing that it was Prime Minister Louis St. Aubin who had warned him ... about the certainty that the government would classify the thing. As it happened, he only got a few words out before Victor told him that Helen had already explained the situation to him, and as it happened, Victor agreed with Randall's judgment—not particularly for the financial sense it made, but for a whole bathtub of other reasons, most of them much more important than money.
Coffee was served, and the talk turned to the focus group that was meeting regularly at Whiteside Tech. Victor was told that the plan to produce a more stylish wallet-sized device had been scrapped, for now. They were going to sell what they had, and their hope was to have the microminiaturized wristwatch model on the market before Christmas, perhaps as early as September. Steve talked about Annette's recovery, and he mentioned the beautiful, warm friendship that was growing between them. Cam talked—after getting everyone's agreement to keep this under their friggin’ hats for the time being—about the American connection: the WDA, the surprise defection of Colonel Roger Findlay, and the subsequent arrest of General George Brampton. Randall was a bit upset that information concerning the WDA was floating around in wider and wider circles, as he'd sworn to the Prime Minister that there would be no leaks. But he felt strongly that he could trust the people around him, and he figured the whole WDA story would probably break from other sources, and very soon. Helen was about to tell Victor about Buck Ash, Patriot's undercover man in Quyon, who was also in the Ottawa General, with lung cancer, two floors beneath Annette, and how he and Annette would phone each other every day, but the Alpha National News was beginning. They became very quiet.
The issue of RCMP involvement in the attack on the lodge was the lead story, of course. Commissioner Joly had apparently made himself unavailable for comment, and no one else could be found to speak for the RCMP. Alpha played the tape of Jean Proulx blowing the case wide open on the maiden edition of their brand new program, LieDeck Live. Then they interviewed him, but all he did was stare at the ground and say “Yeah” to each question. They asked him what he thought of the so-called LieDeck Revolution, to which he answered, “I dunno."
Marshall: We go now to Winnipeg, where the prime minister has just signed a major wheat deal with the Russian Republic. Prime Minister, can you now tell us if the RCMP was involved in the attack on the Whiteside's lodge?
St. Aubin: Trent, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to comment on that right now, and you'll have to forgive me for whispering. I have instructed my caucus and cabinet colleagues that until we've had time to study this new LieDeck device, we're not going to let it determine how we run the Canadian government. And since the device doesn't work when you whisper, I'm afraid that's what we're going to be doing for a while, whispering. It might even be a good idea for all citizens to take up this habit, or at least try it out, because there is reason to believe that the LieDeck can be abused, which could lead to trouble.
Marshall: You realize that people will naturally think that you have something to hide, Prime Minister.
St. Aubin: Well, they can think what they want. We've got problems that are very serious, and our priority is solving them, not making the media happy ... or even the Canadian people. Our minister of foreign affairs has disappeared, as you know, and we have some reports of ministers from other governments disappearing as well, all over the world. Four countries have declared states of emergency since Monday, since Mr. Whiteside distributed all those LieDecks at the United Nations. There is a great deal of instability in the world because of his ill-advised actions, and I'm afraid it may get a lot worse before it gets better. So until we have a much better idea of the impact of this device, we're saying little, and what we do say is going to be done in a whisper.
There were other words between the anchor of Alpha News and the prime minister, one talking, the other whispering, but nothing more of much consequence. St. Aubin did confirm that a high-ranking RCMP officer had committed suicide, although he would not confirm whether this related in any way to the LieDeck. There was a report about other suicides and disappearances in Canada and abroad, and of several armed clashes that had erupted due to information that was uncovered with the aid of the LieDeck. It was also reported that many journalists who received free LieDecks at Randall Whiteside's press conference had sold them—in some cases for up to $60,000—to corporations, or to the opposition parties in foreign countries, or to simple brokers, who wouldn't say who they represented. One reporter who'd received a free LieDeck hadn't been seen since, and foul play was suspected. Several UN ambassadors who had received LieDecks had either defected or disappeared in the past two days. Sri Lanka, Poland, Turkey, and Bolivia had declared martial law, and other nations had either done that without admitting it, or were very actively considering the switch. The advent of the LieDeck was not turning out the way Randall Whiteside had hoped, the way anyone had hoped.
"Well, as you can see, we've created quite a mess,” said Randall.
"My LieDeck confirms that you believe that,” said Victor, sadly, “but it's not true."
"Not true?” asked Randall.
"No sir. The only thing we've created is a device that identifies lies and thus provides access to the truth,” he explained. “The mess you refer to was there already. If I hadn't invented the LieDeck, that mess would be with us for generations and centuries into the future. The only thing we've created other than the device is a compelling freaking need for humanity to face the mess, and to fix the mess, once and for all."
Yikes, thought Victor. I could say all this stuff and tone it down a bit. However, others seemed to think that this new insight into his character was to be admired. Who would'a thunk it, he mused.
There was another awkward silence in the boardroom while everyone considered Victor's view of things. Their LieDecks confirmed that he believed what he had said, but that was hardly proof that he was right. It was difficult to accept that the LieDeck hadn't actually caused any problems when erstwhile democracies were falling under military rule and the Prime Minister of Canada was reduced to whispering on national television.
"Mr. Helliwell,” said Cam, stiffly, “the mini-cassette that was in your cast mentioned three reel-to-reel tapes that you pre
pared ... about what you felt ought to be done with the LieDeck, how it should be handled, what it has to teach us about ourselves. I regret that I didn't have the foresight to recognize their importance when you told us about them. But that was then and this is now. I think you should let us have those tapes ... before things fall apart any further."
Victor hadn't planned to delve into these matters until at least a year had passed, so that people could find their own accommodation with his device before moving on to the next phase. During the years he had spent working on the LieDeck, he had realized that a certain amount of disorder was inevitable. He had often feared that things could get out of control, but he didn't really expect it to be this bad this soon. Of course he had no way of knowing how deep the rot ran, how messy the world really was. It seemed he had also no choice but to go along with Cam's suggestion.
"I spent twelve long years in isolation building and perfecting the LieDeck,” he said, “but I also spent a lot of that time considering the problem of how people would deal with it, react to it. Tomorrow, I'll get the tapes, and we can begin learning how to live without illusion, how to cope with reality, how to adapt to this technology."
"I think perhaps we should have those tapes today,” said Randall, gently, “before we end up with a country that can only whisper."
THURSDAY, APRIL 24, 2014
Chapter 38
THE GOOFY GOVERNMENT
As Commissioner Joly waddled into Ralph Dellaire's office, sorrow and shame ate at his considerable stomach ... that, and the want of food. He was a man with well-honed skills and vast experience, but this situation was beyond anything he had ever imagined a law officer would have to face.
"Good morning, Bertrand,” said Ralph. “So ... what could be so serious that you can't even talk to me on a secure phone, that you had to drag me out of bed at five a.m.?"
Bertrand gave Ralph's fingers a minor shake and carefully eased his weary body into an armchair. Heavy rain banged on the office window. “I wish I could tell you it was some speck of bullshit,” he began, sounding more melancholy than pissed off, “but I—uh—I'm afraid this is a real fuck-up."
Ralph had been slogging it out in the political trenches for more than thirty years. Nothing surprised him any more, and as far as he knew, there wasn't anything he couldn't handle. However, judging by the serious look on Bertrand's face, he knew this one was going to be a major skirmish, whatever it was. “Let's have it,” he said.
"You're fifty-nine years old, Ralph,” said the commissioner, “and yet you and your pal Louis act like you're still a couple of college frosh.” He let his eyes rest on the right-hand man of the Prime Minister. One day soon, these sorts of things won't happen any more, he thought, not with the LieDeck around there to help us. He had hoped that Ralph would capitulate immediately, but ... that didn't happen. He would have to do the deed. “Darlene Trahan,” he said flatly.
Ralph didn't ask for any further explanation. Bertrand was not fishing. He knew ... presumably everything. “So, your agents are spying on the Prime Minister now,” he said bitterly.
Bertrand pulled a LieDeck from his jacket pocket, turned it on, set it on the beeper mode, and placed it on the coffee table. “No,” he said. “I have never spied on the Prime Minister, nor have any of my agents—with the possible exception of the officers who got caught up in that fucking WDA outfit. I arrested those guys at three o'clock this morning, by the way ... the whole senior staff from Commercial Crime. But it wasn't them who got the goods on Louis—and that's LieDeck-verified."
"So this juicy information just ... fell out of the sky?” asked Ralph sarcastically.
"We got an offer on the table from one of those so-called political brokers,” said Bertrand. “He won't say who he represents, of course—they never do—but it has to be the WDA. This guy says that if General Brampton goes down, the prime minister goes down—and of course you go down. But the deal is that if Brampton gets his freedom, and immunity from prosecution, Louis can carry on, just like nothing was wrong."
Ralph saw a glimmer, a small but significant glimmer, that the situation might yet be salvaged. “So,” he said coldly, “do we make the deal?"
"I'm sorry you asked that,” said Bertrand. “No, we don't make the deal, and if you don't know why we don't make the deal, then you're even more pathetic than I thought. We wouldn't make that deal before the LieDeck, for reasons that you obviously do not understand. Now, with the LieDeck around, it couldn't work even if I wanted it to. You do see that, don't you?"
"What have they got?” asked Ralph.
"Tapes, photos ... enough,” said the commissioner. “Louis should be able to lead a dignified life as our ambassador to some country with a golf course, but he has to resign. Godfrey and I feel it's imperative that—"
"Godfrey and you!” repeated a shaken Ralph Dellaire—ice could have formed on his exhalation. “You and the Goof are behind this ... this treachery. I should have—"
"Shut up, Ralph,” shouted Bertrand as he pried himself into a standing position. “This only looks like treachery to you because you stand to lose your job and your influence, and because Louis is going to blame you—correctly, in my judgment—for his downfall. Ninety percent of Canadians wouldn't want a government led by a man whose idea of a fun Saturday night is to fiddle with his dick behind a two-way mirror while some poor drugged-up Indian madwoman masturbates, and that ninety percent happens to include me, Ralph. It doesn't include you, obviously, and that's one of the reasons why you have to resign—that plus the fact that the Prime Minister was doing his little dance of the one-eyed wiggler in your God damned penthouse ... condo ... whatever ... plus the fact that you had my fucking RCMP guys driving this Darlene Trahan woman around ... like the national police is some sort of high class pimping service."
Ralph felt the sting of these words, not just because Bertrand was relishing the put-down, but because he was right. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost his compass. There were night clubs in big cities that offered booths with two-way mirrors and naked women so that men could get their jollies, but while community standards allowed such weird businesses to operate openly, the world of politics was much different. “Gotcha” meant “game over.” He knew that.
When this conversation had begun, Ralph's great fear was that the Commissioner had found out that he and Louis had bought a block of Whiteside Technologies stock on Monday morning, a few hours before Randall Whiteside's press conference, and sold it at almost twice the price two days later. Their investments were supposed to be locked away in blind trusts, but ... well, that was all academic now. The Darlene Trahan business did the job.
"I asked Godfrey to give Louis Australia,” said Bertrand as he sat down again. He'd been up pretty well all night for several nights now, and he was wilting fast “Maybe we should give him the Philippines, eh? There's a nice civil war going on there, and lots of teenaged hookers for his amusement.” He paused for breath. Here's the bottom line, Mr. Dellaire. If you and Louis cooperate, we'll try to keep this Darlene Trahan stuff quiet. I can't guarantee the WDA will stay quiet, but if you and Louis aren't out of your offices by eleven o'clock this morning, I swear I'll release the tapes and photos myself ... and you notice that my LieDeck didn't beep when I said that!"
The commissioner paused for a few seconds to let his words sink in, and to give himself a rest. He took no pleasure from this, and it was his hope that some day, Louis and Ralph would actually thank him for saving what could be salvaged of their lives and reputations. They weren't evil, but occasionally, their lack of judgment was breathtaking. They had run a competent government, but these absurd sexual antics were unforgivable, and Bertrand Joly wasn't a particularly forgiving man at the best of times.
"It's necessary because the Prime Minister is immoral,” he said, as if a little more explanation might help. “I'm sure you can guess what all the special interest groups are going to be saying if the shit hits the fan on this one. Native organizations will want his
scalp. The feminists will demand other selected parts of his anatomy. The churches will be apoplectic. You can't ride this one out, Ralph. I know it, you know it, now what about it?"
Ralph didn't answer, not that an answer was required.
"So, it's a done deal, understand?” continued Bertrand. “Louis is due to arrive in from Winnipeg at seven a.m., in two hours. We meet him at the airport, give him the straight goods, then we go to Rideau Hall. Louis formally informs the Governor General that he's resigning ... for personal reasons. Nicholas Godfrey gets sworn in as prime minister, and life goes on. And if you want my opinion, I think the man you call ‘Goofy’ is going to be one of Canada's great prime ministers, and I think he's just the man to lead us through the wrenching times that this LieDeck device is going to put us through, this ... this so-called LieDeck Revolution."
Ralph sat in silence for a moment. Bertrand Joly was right. It was all over, and it was his fault ... well, partly his. But whatever the proper apportionment of blame, the die was cast, and the rest was a matter of following the script.
"Just one small favor,” asked Ralph, meekly. “Let him come to us, okay? Let him get past the reporters and brag about signing the wheat deal and all that. Let him get back here. He can resign at the cabinet meeting this morning, at ten o'clock. Can you let it turn out that way, Bertrand?"
