The LieDeck Revolution: Book 1

by Jim Stark

  More outrage from the NDP.

  "Order,” shouted the Speaker. "Order!"

  "Listen,” said Godfrey, “I already told you I don't have all the answers yet, and I'm depending on the Honorable Members of the Opposition to work with us on these new and vital questions. My guess, at this time, is that this policy restructuring would cost no more than the so-called safety net approach, probably even less—all the while producing citizens who pay their taxes, contribute productively, and do not experience the fear and poverty that are often said to lead to crime and despair. So I say let's study the thing. Can we do that?"

  Godfrey's speech had been going well to this point, but he seemed to be losing it, pleading rather than leading. Liberal MPs applauded his call for cooperation, and the MPs opposite settled down, remembering that many of their constituents would be watching this historic speech on TV. The Prime Minister regrouped emotionally, and restarted his address, checking his notes and clearing his throat.

  "Also for your consideration, I think that soon, jails could be a thing of the past for all crimes except violent crimes. All the other offences could be punishable by periods of time spent working for the public good, and I mean additional work, after the offender's regular workday, weekends if necessary. I mean long periods of time, and real work, like cleaning up waste dumps—whatever we can think of. Nobody could complain that this program would take work away from others because these would be the jobs that nobody else wants to do. And besides, if we proceed with the right-to-work/duty-to-work policy, there won't be a single unemployed person in the country—among those who are willing and able to work."

  There was defensive, contrived applause from the Liberal benches and only subdued applause from the Opposition.

  "I think the time may have come to control nonviolent criminals electronically, with radio anklets, so the police always know where they are. Those convicted of nonviolent crimes could be subjected to daily checkups, likely by phone, full reality checks, using a LieDeck. Nobody would have to accept these conditions. They could always go to jail, if that's what they prefer. But I would guess that ninety-nine percent of all convicts would choose this new option instead of prison.

  "A person who steals a car, for instance, could decide between a year in jail or, as an alternative, full restitution plus ten years of LieDeck-verification. If this idea finds wide acceptance, recidivism could become a thing of the past. Correctionalism could finally come to mean what it's supposed to mean: actually correcting what's wrong, getting rid of the bad behavior even if the person hasn't changed his inner wants or needs, correcting the situation as much as the person, perhaps more than the person. And if we are to use this method to control crime, convicts would have the chance to reintegrate into society and not become embittered by the degrading experience of prison. Plus, we would save on capital costs for new prisons and create a new labor-intensive industry—keeping tabs on the ba—I mean LieDeck-verifying offenders."

  Godfrey paused to recalibrate the internal emergency measures department, the little judge-voice that lived in his head and was supposed to make sure he didn't say words like “bastards” in public ... especially when referring to voters ... of any stripe. Oh well, he thought, they probably thought I was going to say “bad boys” when I just caught myself back there.

  "Yes, it will cost money to pay those who do this work,” he carried on. “As much as five thousand dollars per year per offender. But please, let's remember that it costs us over a hundred thousand dollars a year to keep an offender in prison, and let's remember that with the LieDeck in the picture, crime rates will fall dramatically, and the costs of policing ourselves and the costs of running the courts will also fall ... some of our early estimates say by as much as seventy-five percent."

  Things were making more sense again, and the applause was again sounding like it came from the heart, and from all sides of the House.

  "The people of Canada are going to love these new ideas and participate actively in their development and implementation,” said a re-invigorated Nick Godfrey. “This is a brand new world we have here, my friends. Canadians should stop worrying about how the LieDeck might mess up their lives and start thinking of how it could make life better for them, and for everyone in the world."

  That's an odd sound, he thought ... people clapping their hands with ... with awe, or with ... something akin to reverence. He put his notes away and bucked himself up for the finale.

  "Now I know there will be some practical and ethical problems to consider, but if we're going to do an end-run around the LieDeck, it's going to have to be one heck of a wide end-run. If we don't start doing backflips immediately, the LieDeck will overtake us, and eventually it will compel us to do what we should have done willingly and quite happily in the first damn place. If I have my way, the people of Canada are going to be so busy creating a brilliant new way of life that they may even forget about how bad it used to be, with all the lies and crimes and scandals.

  Godfrey was aware that he had said the word “damn” in a speech, and swearing was always bound to annoy some elements of the society more than any substantive element of what was being said or discussed. Still, he wanted to appear as one of the people, and he wanted no one to doubt that he was serious, and determined. A little “damn” here and there never killed anyone, he said to himself.

  "Canada is not going to sit back and become the victim of a bloody microchip,” he announced resolutely. “We are going to launch this LieDeck Revolution our own damn way. We are going to bring in the political and economic adjustments that the LieDeck is going to force on the entire world sooner or later. Canada is going to lead the world. A new day is coming—in fact it's already here—not because we wanted it, but because an inventor by the name of Victor Helliwell forced it on us. That isn't the best of all possible reasons to dare greatly, but it's the reason we've got, so let's make the best of it."

  Godfrey paused briefly, long enough for MPs to realize that their new, unelected prime minister was indeed a man to be reckoned with, a genuine leader, far more of a statesman than any of them had heretofore imagined. And that statesman was standing, and speaking in tongues, and almost daring anyone to object.

  "I will need one hundred percent cooperation from all MPs over the next few weeks,” he said soothingly. “We're going to flesh out these proposals together. Cancel everything on your agendas for the next while, no matter what's there. We have an extremely serious problem, my friends, and we're not quitting until we lick it.

  "Over the next couple of months, there may be as many as one million LieDecks on the world market. And later this fall, Whiteside Technologies plans to microminiaturize the LieDeck, build it into digital watches. It will be beeping the world's liars and cheats into a state of panic, and into oblivion. These tiny devices may end up priced at less than two hundred dollars eventually, possibly as early as next December, so virtually anyone who wants one will be able to afford one. In a year or so, there might be more LieDecks in the world than there are computers. I have been told they may even be as prevalent as cell phones within a few years. We can forget about turning back the clock—that cannot happen—and here in Canada, at least, we can also forget about merely reacting to events as they sweep over us."

  Again, Godfrey paused to let his words register.

  "There is a dark cloud of anarchy threatening to engulf Canada and the entire world,” he said ominously, leaning forward for effect. “Under the provisions of Standing Order forty-three, I move that we suspend this session of the House immediately, to concentrate on committee work for as long as it takes to come up with an integrated program of action, so that we may dissolve that black cloud with the light of reason, with good old Canadian ingenuity."

  MPs from all parties stood and saluted the Prime Minister with a rare outburst of affection and gratitude. If Godfrey had made this speech under any other circumstances, he would have earned silence, laughter, and outright hostility—perhaps even a kin
dly phone call to his wife, to let her know that her esteemed husband had lost his mind.

  These were times to try intellects, among other things, and the new prime minister of Canada, the man that people used to call “Goofy,” had apparently risen to the challenge and come up with a plan that would either blast humanity into the future or blow the Liberal Party off the political map. Time would tell which fate awaited the nervous men and women who made up the Liberal caucus, but they could at least feel that they had a chance of surviving, even of thriving, not in spite of the LieDeck Revolution, but in part because of it.

  The Speaker of the House was obliged by regulation to call a voice vote immediately on the S.O. 43 motion. “Standing Order 43” was a provision of parliamentary procedure under which any motion had to achieve unanimity in order to pass, and as such, motions of this type were rarely approved ... unless they involved wishing young King William a happy birthday. Like the Liberals, the NDP and the Conservatives had an assigned “Dr. No,” an MP whose job it was to always holler “nay,” to scotch all S.O. 43 motions unless specifically instructed not to by his or her Party Leader.

  The Conservative Leader signaled the NDP Leader to leave his seat and come to the curtain for a brief chat. He also signaled the Prime Minister to hold off for a few minutes.

  Godfrey had the Commons floor, and the only way he could give the Opposition time to negotiate their response to his S.O. 43 was to keep the floor, so he rose again quickly, and unleashed a torrent of well-worn words on issues ranging from bilingualism to the condition of the nation's infrastructure. He dearly hoped it wouldn't take those Honorable Members too long to strike a deal.

  The Opposition Leaders met each other cordially, and it was clear that if they voted against the motion to suspend the House, the PM would probably declare martial law and get what he wanted anyway, and they would be blamed for the declaration of martial law because they hadn't given the Government the chance to move on its agenda. The Tory and NDP leaders agreed that the Prime Minister had used his powers of decree, meaning the Order-in-Council for the general amnesty, in a way that was light years beyond what was intended by the framers of the Constitution, without so much as a “by your leave,” so he surely wouldn't hesitate to use martial law to get his way, if that's what it took. And besides, they realized, if this Gorbachevian gambit failed, it would be his fault. But if it succeeded, and set a post-LieDeck example of how-to-run-a-country for the international community, all parties would share in the credit and the glory.

  The two men re-entered the House, and nodded to the PM. Godfrey stopped talking and sat down.

  "All in favor?” called the Speaker, and the House erupted with “yeas."

  "Opposed?” she called, and there was silence ... and then song.

  "For he's a jolly good fellow,” they sang with unrestrained gusto. “For he's a jolly good fellowwwwww, which nobody can deny. Which nobody can deny..."

  God, thought Godfrey, even that old song deals with the possibility that somebody could be lying ... about whether or not I really am a jolly good fellow.

  He made no effort to silence the love and admiration that was being directed his way. These elected representatives didn't really know what they were getting into, but they had a clear notion of what they were avoiding, or trying to avoid, and that was what mattered for the moment. There was life after the LieDeck after all, political life, and it seemed that Nicholas Godfrey, heretofore perceived as a stodgy plodder, was turning into a full-blown political wizard, right before their eyes.

  SATURDAY, APRIL 26, 2014

  Chapter 49

  IN HORA MORTUS NOSTRUM

  The L.A.P. members had gathered in the Whiteside Tech cafeteria last evening to share a meal and then watch the telecast of the Prime Minister's address to the Commons. Like everyone in Canada, they had been astonished by the dynamics of the proceedings and the substance of the plan. And of course they were thrilled that their reports had been used so extensively by the government in forging a policy for the nation—perhaps for the world. Their primary recommendation had been the general amnesty for pre-LieDeck crimes of a nonviolent nature, and that seemed to have become the centerpiece of “the Godfrey Plan,” as the media pundits were dubbing it. Before they left for home—and some of them hadn't been home in days—Randall Whiteside had congratulated them on a job well done, and advised them to take the weekend off to rest, and to get themselves in shape for next week.

  Michael Whiteside and Becky Donovan had thought up the idea of giving all primary and secondary schools in Canada a LieDeck, free, courtesy of the federal government, and they were elated that Godfrey had included their suggestion. The two teenagers had spent the night at the small cabin on Wilson Lake, celebrating, repeatedly. They woke up for the last time at about 7:00 a.m., and spent the next three hours snuggling, debating whether they would get out of bed at all, ever.

  At 10:00 a.m., Michael used his new phone—new since the attack one week ago—to call Noel Lambert and ask him to make brunch, over at the lodge. Victor was there, and Michael wanted to see him, not just as a formality, but because he liked him, admired him. Dozens of reporters were camped out at the entrance to the manor, begging to speak with the reclusive inventor, but Victor would have none of it. Michael got a kick out of his disdain for the media.

  "We'll be over in about ten minutes ... could you tell Victor and Winnie?” he asked Noel.

  "D'accord," said Noel.

  "Merci,” said Michael.

  "Can I drive?” asked Becky.

  "You'll have to,” said Michael, too nonchalantly by half.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I won't be in the boat."

  "You're not going?"

  "I'll be right behind you,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

  "What the hell are you...? No ... no way, Michael,” protested Becky. “I won't do ... your dad will ... it's frigging freezing, you jerk!"

  There was no wind, and the April sun was valiantly trying to toast the crisp morning air, with little success so far. The idea was just too tempting, and Michael knew he'd have a grand time bragging about it at school next Monday.

  He sat on the end of the dock, shivering, feeding out the line as his girlfriend edged slowly away. She had her head turned around as much as possible, and when she saw the rope break the surface, she turned forward and slammed the throttle down. Michael's takeoff was so smooth he didn't get splashed any higher than his thighs. But Becky had it right; the water was liquid ice. Big deal, he said to himself.

  The slalom ski had no sooner hit the surface than he was prying it left, speeding out almost parallel to the boat, slowing down, raising the line above his head, then cutting back to the right, jumping up off both edges of the wake and slashing through the still, chilled air with his body. Halfway across the lake, Rebecca slowed the engine down by about fifty percent and turned her head to laugh at Michael.

  "I'll kill you,” he hollered. “You dunk me and I'll kill you."

  The ski sank further into the water because of the slow speed, and the spray stung him from the chest down. Becky couldn't hear his words, of course, but she could guess his meaning. She'd had her fun, and she thrust the craft back up to full speed so quickly that Michael almost leapt forward off the ski. But ... he regained his balance just in time, and zigzagged merrily over to the lodge.

  As they were coming in, Becky turned her head to get Michael's instructions. He was making a looping motion with one arm, so she knew what he wanted. She aimed to the right of the dock and then, a hundred yards out, cut to the left. Michael swung wide and released. Too early, and he'd end up a human Popsicle. Too late, and he'd do a header with Mother Earth.

  As usual, he had it about right. He had taken his leading left foot out of the rubber stirrup, and after a few staggering steps up the beach, he was flexing spindly muscles in a display of his manhood, for Becky's benefit. She completed the loop and eased in to the dock, shaking her head in the appropriate combinati
on of ridicule and awe.

  Michael made his way out onto the dock to greet her, trying to hide his blue shivers. “You're nuts,” said Becky as she threw him the tie-up line and handed him his clothes and a towel.

  "Ooga booga,” he grunted.

  Victor reached the dock as Becky was pulling in the towrope. Michael had put his shirt on and was pulling his pants over his bathing suit as quickly as he could. “D-d-don't tell D-d-dad, okay?” he said to Victor, his chin quivering. “We're not supposed to do this without two p-people in the b-boat."

  "I'm not sure he would believe me if I did tell,” said Victor, momentarily forgetting that the age of believing or not believing was over. “Was that supposed to be ... fun?"

  "It was great,” said Michael. “B-better than sex."

  Becky flashed one of her “you're dead meat” glances at Michael.

  "What I meant was—” he started.

  "How are you, Becky?” inquired Victor before Michael dug himself an even deeper hole. “You guys are in the history books now that the Prime Minister took your idea of putting LieDecks in the schools. Congratulations. I think it's a splendid idea."

  "Thanks,” said Becky as she accepted his offer of a hand to climb out of the boat. “Where's Winnie?"

  "Still asleep,” he said. “We had rather a ... late night."

  "Pretty neat the way they rebuilt the lodge, eh?” said Becky, “I mean, exactly the way it was before?"

  "Remarkable,” said Victor. “Noel told me there were something like a hundred guys working two shifts a day for five days. It's amazing how they—"

  "People,” corrected Rebecca.

  "I beg your pardon?” said Victor.

  "People,” repeated Becky, “or persons—not guys. There were over a dozen women in the crew we saw a few days ago, and even one of the foremen was a woman."

  "Does that make her a forewoman?” asked Michael. “Or a forechick, or a—"

  "Boy, you're really asking for it,” shouted Becky as she took off after Michael. He tore for the front door of the lodge as fast as he could, with Becky in fiery pursuit. Victor laughed heartily and followed them at a more civilized pace. He stopped along the way to let Snowball and Kodiak out of their kennels. The footrace had put the dogs in a mood to play, and Victor had decided to let them inside the lodge more often than he had before the bombing. “Life's too short not to spoil your mutts a little,” he'd said to Noel.