The LieDeck Revolution: Book 1

by Jim Stark

  Godfrey apologized for assuming there might be a problem. He had always faulted his predecessor for doubting the loyalty of his cabinet colleagues and senior civil servants, and he was surprised to find that character flaw creeping into his own behavior. He stood up, walked over to the window, and glanced at the Centennial Flame in the front lawn of Parliament Hill. The crocuses would be up in a week.

  "Sometimes I think a prime minister has to go with his heart,” he explained as he returned once more to his chair. “That's not easy for me. All the evidence points to the wisdom of clamping down, but I'm going to try something else first. I'm not terribly optimistic about my chances, but I can always go back to Plan A if it doesn't work. Am I right, Bertrand?"

  "True enough,” said Joly. “And I'm sure you know that I'll be in the camp that's trying to change your mind on the question. In my view, we'll still end up with martial law by early May, not because anyone likes it, but because we can't avoid it. But for as long as you say it's business as usual, that's the way I'll play it. I'm one of your biggest fans, Nick. I hope that in future you'll remember that before you fly off at me like you did."

  Godfrey apologized again. “It must be the long hours, the lack of sleep,” he said. “I don't feel intimidated by the power of my position, but I know what they mean now by ‘lonely at the top.’ Maybe we should get Victor Helliwell to invent a gizmo that sees into the future and tells us how things work out if we do this or that."

  "Go get ‘em, chief,” said Bertrand as he winched himself into a standing position. He moved around the desk, yanked Godfrey's lapel, and pinned on the rose. “I'll back you up, and so will the whole damned cabinet."

  "You're dreaming,” laughed Godfrey. “The whole cabinet?"

  "Well, if it isn't true...” said Bertrand as he adjusted the angle of the rose, “...you make it true."

  "Excuse me?” queried the PM.

  "Fire everybody who disagrees, Nick,” said Bertrand. “We're in a crisis. It's not the time for a cabinet split. Go out there and do your thing. Take their loyalty for granted, and if you're mistaken, sack the fuckers. This isn't a power trip I'm recommending. This is what it will take to get us through the LieDeck Revolution, and you know it. Martial law! Now that would be a power trip if it were entered into lightly! Personally, I don't think it's premature to go with martial law today, but you do, and you're the boss. So go be the boss, Nick! It's almost noon. You'll be late if you don't shake your tail."

  "Thanks, Bertrand,” said Godfrey, looking down momentarily at his red badge of courage. “And again, I'm sorry I doubted you."

  "Get out of here,” joked Bertrand. “Do your thing. Your public awaits."

  As Nick Godfrey walked towards the people's chamber, Commissioner Joly ran a dry tongue around the outside of his teeth, upper and lower, lips closed, then swallowed hard. “Good luck,” he said, inaudibly.

  * * *

  Bertha McNeil was waiting for the prime minister by the curtains that separated the House of Commons from the leather chesterfields and window ledges where the real deals were made. She wasn't at all comfortable being a heartbeat away from the hot seat. “This could be worse than war,” she had told her husband over a hurried supper just the night before. “For the first time, every man and woman on the planet will be on the front lines, absorbing incoming fire. There's no defense against the LieDeck. Every idea we tossed around in cabinet came up looking about as useful as chain armor in a nuclear holocaust. “Godfrey's a competent man,” she had allowed, “with occasional flashes of eloquence. But this is too much for any man. This smells like the end of civilization as we know it. That damnable invention promises to bring about an unmanageable period of human history. If we can't figure a way through, as a nation and as individuals, heads will roll ... our heads. I know it, you know it, cabinet knows it.” At which point her husband had retreated to the only safe room in the house ... for a dump.

  Godfrey smiled calmly at his deputy prime minister as he passed through the curtains and walked directly into the Commons. He knew she wanted a word with him, but that would have to come later, after he'd “done his thing,” as Bertrand had put it. He settled himself into the captain's chair at the center of the Government benches and surveyed the parliamentary disarray. Bertha McNeil followed him into the House. “Turn that frown upside down,” he whispered as she took her seat beside him.

  Government MPs—the majority—broke into a standing ovation as Godfrey rose to speak, the usual signal that the boss was in big trouble. The new prime minister made no immediate attempt to quell the clatter, but when he finally looked towards the Speaker, silence descended.

  "Madame Speaker,” he began, “I can tell all Honorable Members of this House that last night, after struggling with the troubling issues that have been raised by the invention of the LieDeck, the cabinet was unanimous in its view that we should impose a temporary state of emergency—martial law, in other words—on the nation."

  Again, the Government side stood and clapped and hooted approval, almost as loudly as the opposition benches roared their disapproval.

  "Fascist,” yelled a New Democratic MP.

  "Dictator,” yelled a Tory.

  "However...” shouted the Prime Minister, holding up his hands in a bid for silence.

  "Order,” demanded the Speaker. "Order!" she bellowed.

  "However, I'm not going to do that,” boomed Godfrey with an “I-dare-you-to-knock-this-chip-off-my-shoulder” look on his face. Now it was the Opposition's turn to raise the crescendo, to bleat out their approval. The Government members were caught completely off guard and had no idea how to react. Nick Godfrey stood impassively, waiting for the chance to continue.

  "Order!” demanded the Speaker again. “Order, or I'll have to—"

  "Instead...” tried Godfrey.

  "Order!” shouted the Speaker.

  "Instead, we are going to do to our political system what Mikhail Gorbachev did to his way back in the nineteen eighties. We are going to create an era of glasnost like nobody ever dreamed of, a new openness in government that will make the twentieth century look like the Dark Ages.

  "In effect, we are going to make virtue of necessity. We are going to play political judo. We are going to use the opponent's weight and momentum to our own advantage. We are going to run with ... with this LieDeck machine. The LieDeck is ours, ladies and gentlemen. It was invented by a Canadian, and we should be proud of that. Canada is going to be the first government in the world to embrace the LieDeck. We are going to face up to its implications and get ahead of the curve. My fellow Canadians, we are going to co-opt the LieDeck."

  It was a stroke of genius ... or at least it seemed to be, or might be, depending on how the fine print read. There was no thunderous round of applause, but there was no heckling either. Everyone began looking around to see what other MPs were thinking and feeling. Godfrey stood his ground as the whispered conversations grew.

  What are the particulars? they'd want to know. How would a grand design like this translate into the kinds of practical policies that would be needed to keep things glued together and rescue Canada, and perhaps planet Earth, from disaster?

  "There's lots of room for input,” said Godfrey, “and we need your input. All I can give you at this time are the broad strokes, as I see them, and I see them as follows.

  "Maximum disclosure of the truth is essential to true freedom and democracy, and we will guarantee access to virtually all government information. We'll even put it into the Constitution, if that's what it takes. The only exceptions would be information that the courts specifically allow the government to conceal, for reasons of national security, corporate necessity, or private privilege. In other words, from now on, if we want to keep something secret, the onus will be on us, the Government, to satisfy an independent judicial panel that such secrecy is warranted. I needn't mention that, with the aid of the LieDeck, any idiot can find out whether we believe our own rationale for wanting to keep something sec
ret."

  The House of Commons rarely twigged to new ideas the first time around, but this one sounded reasonable, even inspired—unavoidable, in any event. Parliamentary heads nodded tentative approval on both sides of the aisle.

  "We've got a ... a unique situation here,” continued the prime minister, “where the LieDeck, for the first time in human history, can get to the truth about virtually anything. Therefore, I am recommending a total amnesty for all pre-LieDeck crimes except those involving violence. This general amnesty will apply to citizens who confess anything except murder, kidnapping, assault, rape, child abuse, and so on. We'll give non-violent offenders one month to get up the courage to confess, and after that, if they get caught, well that's just tough, the amnesty no longer applies."

  "Sounds okay,” was the reaction of the House, judging by the head bobbing and the light applause.

  "The general amnesty will be accompanied by a new system of fair restitution and genuine offender rehab,” said Godfrey, “and I do not mean that squishy nonsense that passes for rehabilitation now. Real McCoy rehab is what I have in mind. Losers, perverts and misfits will be literally forced to make something of themselves, to really iron out the unacceptable elements of their characters, if they want to avoid jail time. In other words, nobody gets off the hook. Law-breakers will either be punished as usual, or allowed to escape incarceration if they make amends and straighten up and fly right. And of course we'll use the LieDeck to verify whether these people really have straightened up."

  That got a resounding “yes” from the Government benches and from the Opposition. Godfrey would get public support for that one, perhaps for the wrong reasons, but no one cared about that. The proposal seemed to be practical, or might be practical. And besides, it was obvious that if every LieDeck-verified crime translated into somebody in custody, they'd have to build dozens of new prisons, at a cost of billions ... and staff them.

  "This amnesty will apply to all people,” continued Godfrey, “including politicians and bureaucrats who admit to making an error or committing a wrong, and heaven help those who don't come clean. With regard to our own sins, this amnesty will require that we apologize to the public—which is our employer—explain how the error was made, repair any damage quickly and completely, and compensate the people who were done wrong or suffered any injustice as a result of the mistake."

  There would be some red faces and a few scathing editorials over that one, but Nick Godfrey knew there was no choice. Besides, there would be as many embarrassments for Opposition Members as there were for MPs on the Government side of the House, and there would be scandals galore for politicians at other levels of government as well, at the provincial and municipal levels. The only alternative would be to try to cover up all those mistakes, and that simply couldn't be done any more.

  "This amnesty, I must emphasize, applies only to pre-LieDeck offences,” he said. “More precisely, it won't apply to offences committed after the legislation comes into effect. This is a one-time deal, and I see no reason why it should ever be repeated."

  That made sense to everybody, and Godfrey was roundly rewarded with a standing ovation. It seemed that getting to the point worked, and was appreciated.

  "And since we don't want to trigger a crime spree while we dither over the wording of this new law, this amnesty will go into effect by decree, by Order in Council, as of one p.m. today, in less than an hour."

  Again, there was a nonpartisan ovation. This was going far better than Godfrey had expected. For the first time, he felt the full power of his position, emotionally. What an incredible sensation! he said to himself. No wonder this job went to Louis’ head.

  "My Government will also decree, as of one p.m. today, that all police forces are to be equipped with LieDecks as a regular tool of their trade,” he continued. That got a huge and thunderous response as MPs realized that the LieDeck was destined to be “Enemy #1” for the criminal element.

  "And my Government will also bring in legislation allowing LieDecks to be used in all courts, to assist the search for truth and justice. In fact, when you think this through, there's no reason why most cases would have to go to trial at all any more, now that the truth is universally accessible, and witness credibility is no longer an issue."

  Again, there was near-unanimous approval, except from a few MPs who were still practicing law on the side and saw perhaps ninety percent of their business going down the tubes.

  "And finally, my Government will see to it that every primary and high school in the country has a LieDeck, at our expense, so that Canada's young people can be taught how to use the device properly, and diplomatically."

  That got a tepid reaction from the House—positive, but weak. No matter.

  "Now, I know this sounds like a campaign speech or a Speech from the Throne, but it is neither. We are in a crisis because of the LieDeck, and it is incumbent upon us to show the world that instead of falling apart, this device can serve as a rallying point, a basis for renewal, an inspiration to redesign our institutions for life in the twenty-first century, the twenty-second century, and beyond.

  "I'll be putting these recommendations to all-party committees, and for the first time in our history, Government MPs will not have an automatic majority. I will be asking committee members to conduct themselves as if we had a government of national unity, a government where partisan interests are subordinated to the greater national interest."

  All sides of the House applauded that announcement, with slightly more enthusiasm coming from the Opposition than from Godfrey's own MPs.

  The Prime Minister had never felt so much like a public servant as he did at this pivotal moment in Canadian history. He wondered what Louis St. Aubin would be saying if he were still the boss, but not for long. Louis would be up on his high horse, trying to sound like Winston Churchill, declaring martial law with all the bluster that his huge ego demanded. It's a good thing for the country that he's gone off to Australia, thought the new Head of Government as he scanned the political sea. They bought the glasnost bit; now let's see how they take to perestroika.

  "My thinking does not end there,” Godfrey continued. “I have other ideas that I will ask the committees to consider, to see if they are useful and feasible in the LieDeck age.

  "For example, perhaps we could extend the existing ‘right to life,’ which is already enshrined in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, to mean more than it does now, to mean the right to a life, a certain quality of life: the right to a decent home, for instance, a right to good food, medical coverage, and retirement with dignity. Maybe this could be balanced by a solid right to work, the right to have a job that pays enough to get through life proudly from the cradle to the grave, or ‘womb to tomb,’ as our British cousins like to say. And with that right to work we could imply a right to make a mess of your life, to die in the gutter if you want to. In other words, while we could give all people of ages sixteen to sixty-five the right to make a decent living by contributing to society, we could replace the social safety net with a system that doesn't require taxpayers to feed, clothe and house all those who could contribute to society but won't do it. In my ideal Canada, citizens can choose to give what they can and get what they need, or they can choose to not give what they can and not get what they need."

  MPs from all sides were too stunned to clap, but the adrenaline levels in the people's chamber were going ballistic. Surely this was too radical! It just couldn't be as logical or reasonable as it sounded. There had to be a “catch 22” in there somewhere.

  "If these ideas are found to be practical and popular,” Godfrey went on, “there could be no more food banks ... and no more welfare ... and no more employment insurance or worker's compensation ... just a system of jobs for those who are able to work, plus a guaranteed annual income for those people who are legitimately not able to contribute. In other words, a right to work could translate into a duty to work, if you're able and of age ... unless you're in college or rich enough to
not work, of course. In this social situation, there would be no pity for those who refuse to do their part in society, no need for anyone to feel guilty if lazy people suffer, and, I might add, no chance that deadbeats and cheats would turn to crime to get what they want, since they would assuredly get caught by the LieDeck."

  Another “standing O,” except from the NDP, the little-bit-socialist New Democratic Party, who managed only a “sitting O.” This set of ideas would get overwhelming public support, and all MPs realized it. There was a question of costs, of course, but the costs of not getting ahead of the curve were not only unaffordable, they were unimaginable!

  "Now I know you're all wondering if such a program will bankrupt the nation. It's an honest concern, and I don't have that answer ... yet. That's what we are going to have to look into. My hunch—and it's not much more than a hunch—is that all this is doable.

  "If the LieDeck puts a crimp on terrorism the way it's beginning to stop crime, and if it has the effect of solving international conflicts before they can trigger wars, then maybe all nations can cut their military budgets in half. That would save Canada twelve billion per year, and—"

  Hoots of derision from the Conservative caucus.

  "Typical Liberal wimp,” hollered the Tory Leader.

  "Order,” called the Speaker as Godfrey tried to raise his voice over the din.

  "...and besides saving all the money we now spend on employment insurance, which is approximately eighty-four billion a year, we would save about seventy percent of what we spend on welfare, which comes to—"

  Howls of horror from the social democrats.

  "Order,” said the Speaker. "Order!" she demanded.

  "...which comes to—"

  "Hit the damned corporate welfare bums instead,” yelled the Leader of the NDP, “not the poor guy who—"

  "Order!” called the Speaker.

  "Well, at least with the LieDeck at our service, we'll never get conned by citizens who say they're unable to work when actually they're just not willing to work,” countered the Prime Minister.