The Four Kings (5 page)

Stunned, Luis made a grimace. Chuckling nervously, he said, “Is this an application for the position of God?”

The four wizards laughed, easing Luis’ anxiety.

“Wow. What a tall order,” he said, rubbing his neck. He rolled his eyes, perplexed. He took a deep breath, and said, “I’d venture the over-arching problem is the collapse of the capitalist system.”

The four wizards leaned in closely. “Wait,” Indie said, holding up her hand. “Go on.”

Emboldened, Luis said, “The tools of productivity are concentrated into the hands of the few who don’t have a vested interest in the health and well-being of the planet. What you have here,” he spread his arms out wide, “is a stinging repudiation of the principles of which a capitalistic society is based. That’s why you have a global ecology crisis. That’s why you have widening income disparity.”

“And your solution is…?” Regi asked.

“Redistribution. The wealth that’s so jealously guarded by our ruling class needs to be returned to our lower classes. With this wealth in their hands, they’ll meet more of their basic needs, thus generating more demand throughout the world. I mean real demand, like food, electricity, shelter.”

“Classic Marxism,” Demus grunted, as if discussing something unpleasant. He quoted Marx, “
‘When commercial capital occupies a position of unquestioned ascendancy, it everywhere constitutes a system of plunder.’
”

Luis’ eyes widened. “Then you do know his theories. But –”

Regi said, “Didn’t Milton Friedman, an esteemed economist, say
‘Freedom in economic arrangements is itself a component of freedom broadly understood, so economic freedom is an end unto itself… Economic freedom is also an indispensable means toward the achievement of political freedom.’
”

“Amen to that,” Indie agreed. “Radu, why don’t you jump in now?”

A shy-looking, startlingly beautiful woman of Indian descent appeared on the screen. “I’m so glad you brought up the prospect of balance. Indeed, the most successful economies have always been those which have mixed economies, in which capitalism and socialism is blended together. Each country has a different degree, of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Indie interrupted, “Since when did we advocate a middle-of-the-road approach?”

Radu appeared taken back, pointing at Regi. “Well, this guy advocated economic freedom.”

“Go on.”

“In order to have true economic freedom, you need a measure of government in order to set the rules for the game.” She brightened, finding her confidence. “Yes, you appeared to be passionate about games. As you know, games need rules in order to ensure everyone a level playing field.”

“I like her analogy,” Justica observed.

Radu nodded euphorically. “Exactly. Governments are there to referee economic development. They cultivate rules of bidding, ensure that the law of contract is followed, and create adequate disclosure to investors.” She glanced around, seeking approval.

Indie leaned in. “And can you give us an example of a successful mixed economy country or economic zone?”

Radu thought it over. “Well, there are the Scandinavian countries, Sweden, Norway, Finland, and Denmark.”

“Whoa,” Indie held out her hand, “Time out.” She waggled her finger at Radu. “Recently, Norway, your example of a utopian, social democratic country, experienced a government deficit of seventy-four percent of gross domestic product and it has thirty-two percent unemployment.”

“I know,” Radu insisted, “but it’s just a cycle, and they’ve been very successful in the past…”

Regi spoke out. “Well, that was then, and this is now.”

Indie glowered at Radu and said, “Next candidate is Amanda Fullerton.”

Amanda, sporting long brown hair and a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles, appeared flushed. She spoke with an excited pitch. “I think I know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking at Indie. “First, you said the middle way is not an option.” She next looked at Regi. “Then you said that economic freedom was paramount, and in fact, leads to political freedom.”

“She’s a good listener,” Justica noted.

Amanda smiled at the compliment. “I’ll start with a quote.” She shifted her eyes upwards and to her right. “I hope I can remember it. By Søren Kierkegaard. He said,
‘The government that governs the least, governs the best.’
”

“Very good,” Demus said, “It’s actually
‘That government is best which governs least.’
But you’re forgiven. Go on.”

“All right. Now Ayn Rand…”

Knowingly, all four wizards straightened tall and listened intently.

Amanda continued. “She argued that government’s authority is based upon only one premise, to protect a man from force. Government can’t initiate its own force.”

“I like her,” Demus said with a smile.

Amanda continued, clearly thrilled with the notes of resonance, “Ayn Rand argued that taxes, in fact, are a form of force against its own citizens.” She looked down at her notes, seemingly embarrassed at her inability to spout off quotes from the top of her head. “She says here,
‘In a fully free society, taxation – or, to be exact, payment for governmental services – would be voluntary. Since the proper services of a government – the police, the armed forces, the law courts – are demonstrably needed by individual citizens and affect their interests directly, the citizens would (and should) be willing to pay for such services.’”

Suddenly, there was a spontaneous round of applause from the four wizards. Amanda looked around, smiling, but uncertain she was actually being showered with praise.

Indie cautioned, “We still have one more applicant to go. We must show restraint.”

Amanda said, “Thank you. So when you abolished the paper currency, you were adopting another of Ayn Rand’s principles. She had this to say,
‘Economic power is exercised by means of a positive, by offering men a reward, an incentive, a payment, a value.’”

Excited, Demus spurted out, “I’ve heard enough. Let’s hear from the last applicant.”

An image of Daniel, with high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, stubble on his lower face, and a thoughtful expression, materialized and spoke in French.

“I’ve heard all about the economic theories. But I offer more. What you need is not discrete models but rather a plane of transcendental thought.”

The four wizards exhibited puzzled expressions; two sat back as if repelled.

“I’m well-suited to offer metaphysical analysis, by probing deep into the mechanisms and structures that give rise to certain social outcomes, and accordingly, develop patterns of inference.”

“Huh?” Demus raised his hands up into the air, “Who’s this guy?”

“He’s obviously very well-educated,” said Justica, “but he needs to work on his communication skills.”

Indie took control of the discussion. “We’ve interviewed our four candidates. I sense we’re close to a decision?” She looked at her colleagues, who all nodded in turn.

“Demus?”

Demus pointed his finger at the screen in front of him, cocking his head. “I vote for Amanda Fullerton.”

“Regi?”

“Same here.”

“Justica?”

Justica nodded. “Affirmed.”

Indie rose, as Amanda’s beaming face filled the screens. “Amanda, congratulations. Since we filled this position so quickly, you are the first Supreme Liaison in the history of the planet. Together, with your expertise and wise counsel, we will advance Earth forward by a hundred years.” She reflected. “I mean, North America. You’ll work closely with the other four Supreme Liaisons who will all have been picked around now. We’ll provide instantaneous translation services, of course.”

Amanda blushed. “I don’t know what to say. My gosh, I can’t believe this.”

Demus held up his hand. “That’s enough. We’ll supply you with dozens of our colleagues, to assist you in every way possible. We’ll give you a headquarters, the best on the continent. We’ll confer all the bitcoins you need to hire top-notch staff. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

Indie stood up again. “The meeting is now adjourned. The first order of business tomorrow morning at ten a.m. Eastern Time for our Supreme Liaison is…” She smiled. “…to oversee our first ever public Games Day.”

Chapter Nine

Twenty-two-year-old Amanda Fullerton was chagrined. Immediately after the Liberators’ selection of her as Supreme Liaison, her smartphone rang incessantly for fifteen minutes, before she finally turned it off. She’d managed to intercept a phone call from her mother, demanding a meeting at her home, but she refused to take any more calls after that. The call readout indicated several news organizations trying to reach her. How did they get a hold of her number?

At least one reporter had somehow managed to find her as she walked to her car. It was a meager second-hand sedan she’d only been able to afford by taking out yet another student loan. As the reporter identified himself and held a microphone to her chin, a startled Amanda slammed the car door shut and drove off.

Eventually, she pulled up outside her parents’ house in the Outer Sunset district of San Francisco. Astounded, she spotted ten reporters congregated on her parents’ front lawn. Feeling guilty, she saw her father, Trevor, shout at the reporters, admonishing them to get off his property. While a few of the media looked sheepish at their invasion of the family’s privacy, most held firm and refused to budge. When they saw Amanda get out of her car, they all ran up to her, shoving microphones into her personal space.

“No comment,” Amanda muttered, unable to be heard in the din, as she persisted in walking through the scrum.

“You all leave my daughter alone!” yelled Trevor, “Or I’ll call the police and report an assault!”

Several of the reporters shrank back in order to allow Amanda an open path to her parents’ home.

Closing and then locking the door behind him, Trevor took his daughter’s hand and grumbled, “Might as well talk in the living room. We’ll be out of sight.” Inside, Amanda saw her mother shutting the Venetian blinds and spreading out the drapes to provide double protection for a family whose privacy zone had just been invaded.

Adam, her twenty-four year old brother, tall and lanky, was dressed in an off-shade red cotton shirt and jeans. He was an attorney, but had ditched his formal attire for this impromptu family meeting.

Amanda’s mother, Maggie Fullerton, walked up to her with an expression of concern. She clasped her hands with Amanda’s. “Are you okay?”

Now Amanda was starting to feel the reality of becoming an instant celebrity. Her family was worried about her. The family was closing in upon itself, to protect its own.

“Have you lost your mind, Amanda?” Adam yelled out, obviously peeved. Despite hearing the anger in his voice, Amanda detected compassion on his face.

“Shush, don’t say that,” Trevor cautioned him, holding out his arm as he seated himself at the family table.

“Let Amanda talk,” her mother said as her eyes flashed impatience.

Amanda seated herself at the side of the table, facing opposite Adam, allowing her parents their customary positions of authority at the far edges of the table.

“Look,” Amanda used her hands expressively, “I know you think I’m crazy. But I do think they want to help us.”

“Amanda,” her father began, “these four people basically staged a coup d’état.”

“Right,” Adam said, “they’ve absolutely no basis for this act of war. And they propose to govern all three countries. The United States, Canada, and Mexico.”

“And Central America, too,” her mother pointed out.

“Right. Poof! All these democratically-elected governments gone, just like that!” Adam snapped his fingers.

Maggie held out her arms to assert her point. “What I’m concerned about is Amanda. Who’s going to protect her? Where’s she going to work? There may be millions…” Her voice trailed off. “…who’d like to harm her. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Adam protested. “Amanda, it’s very clear, you’ve got to resign. Tell them to go to hell.”

“Well?” Trevor asked.

Amanda stood up, glaring at each family member. No one was letting her talk. “Stop it, all of you!”

The doorbell rang out repeatedly.

“Ignore it,” Trevor said. “I already turned the phones off.”

Amanda exhaled. “Right after the Liberators concluded their meeting, one of them, Justica, just appeared right beside me.”

“Is this magic real? Are you sure?” Adam asked, speaking in awe.

“Let Amanda talk,” Maggie said exasperatedly.

“Thank
you
.” Amanda gave her brother a dirty look. “Justica…”

“The girl in blue?” Adam interjected. “The Spanish one?”

“Yes. Justica came over to see me, just as I was leaving my new office. Mum, you’re right about my safety. Justica said she’s put a spell over me so that no one can hurt me now.”

Adam’s deep blue eyes sparkled with amazement. “Let me try.” He stood up, and tentatively landed a soft punch on Amanda’s shoulder. To his surprise, his fist glanced off an invisible force field around his sister. He looked at his fist in wonder. “Let me try again,” he said. He brought in his fist faster, still careful not to harm Amanda. His fist bounced back slightly, as if he was hitting a sheath of rubber. “Holy shit,” he said.

“She feels nothing?” Trevor asked, glancing at the both of them.

“No,” said Amanda, shaking her head. She was awestruck too, since it’d been the first time she tested out her newfound invulnerability. Pushing her emotions aside, Amanda continued, “So, anyway, Justica told me everything will be like before. I can use my office at Berkeley to interact with them for now. They said eventually, they’ll construct a new place for me, since I’ll need about a hundred staff members.”

“
Construct
…?” said Maggie, her eyes wide open. “A
hundred
staff?”

“Okay, okay,” Amanda said testily, “Zap up. Whatever you call it. They may have it over the bay, since there’s very little available land in San Francisco. It’ll be right by the harbor.”

“What are you going to do?” Maggie said, propping herself up on the table with her elbow.