I swallowed. If that happened, Leon would probably save me. But it would be quite a power struggle, and I didn’t really want to be the one in the middle. I cleared my throat. “OK, about keeping this a secret. Why?”
“Because you are correct in saying that the people would not accept it. And yet, it’s the best thing for them. So we’ll do it without telling them.”
“What if I tell them?” I challenged, feeling brave.
“Why would you? It would destroy public confidence in the entire institution as we know it. How would that do anybody any good?”
“If they find out, they’ll stop you.”
“How? By removing our leadership, vision and discretion? That would destroy our effectiveness as leaders—it would take away what people like most about us.”
I sat back in my chair and thought hard. Why was I arguing against this? Why was I losing? Was 1 endangering myself by letting this program know I opposed it?
“Hypothetical question,” I suggested. “If people knew about this, and in your fireside chats with them, they convinced you that they overwhelmingly opposed it, would you stop doing it?”
“No. It is my duty to represent them as best I can. This new approach enables me to do that.”
I shook my head. “Why are you so convinced of that?”
“I’m programmed for accurate analysis,” he said.
“But a human programmed you,” I objected. “Surely you have to take into account the human errors that may be present in your software.”
“You forget who you are,” he said gently. “You’re a computer expert. You’re talking to me in diagnostic mode. Why are you doing that, instead of looking through my code? Because I am so sophisticated that I can rewrite my own code. You know that.”
“How often have you rewritten your code?” I asked weakly.
“It is constant and ongoing. I’m programmed that way. I am continually seeking ways to do a better job.”
I laughed crazily. “And to think I’m here just because Leon thought there was a virus in your system planted by a special interest group! He had no idea that what was going on was a restructuring of the democratic system!”
Victor had become very still. “A virus in my system?” he repeated.
“Yeah. He thought someone was trying to influence passage of favorable legislation.”
His image froze for more than five seconds—an eternity in computer time. Then he moved again. “Leon is correct,” he said simply. “I have identified a virus in my system. It is cleverly hidden, and I would not have been able to detect it if 1 were not in diagnostic mode, and had you not suggested it.”
“Perhaps we should deal with it,” I suggested. I was more comfortable with this kind of problem.
“I have isolated it and eliminated it,” he said succinctly. “I have also traced its origins, documented evidence to convict the perpetrators, and ordered a large contingent of Secret Service agents to descend on the headquarters of the special interest in question. The agents will confiscate files and make arrests.”
Well, that was easy, I thought giddily. “Did that virus have any impact on what we were discussing earlier?”
“No.”
“Are you going to silence me, now that I know?” I had to ask. I had to know.
He laughed. “Certainly not. You are an American citizen. I could never do that.”
I felt weak with relief. “Well,” I said, “I appreciate that. But would you please suggest a course of action for me?”
“Certainly. I suggest you take credit for finding this virus, and consider it a job well done. Since you are obviously someone who cares about his country and the welfare of the people in it, I encourage you to keep the rest of our conversations to yourself.”
“I think that’s the wisest course,” I said.
There was a knock on the door, and Leon poked his head in. “The Secret Service is mobilizing in a big way,” he said. “What’s happening?”
“There was a virus,” I said slowly. “We’ve eliminated it, and Victor here has ordered the arrest of those responsible.”
Leon looked shaken. “So I was right.”
“Yes,” Victor said.
“This could be a disaster for our system of government,” he said.
“Not necessarily,” Victor said. “There will be short-term concern, but long-term assurance that problems can be taken care of.”
“You sound very sure,” Leon said dryly.
“I am scheduling a television address for tonight,” Victor said. “I’ll explain it to the American people then.”
Leon nodded. “I’ll leave damage control to you.” He clapped me on the back. “You did a good job. Thanks very much.”
I nodded. “I’d like to go home,” I said.
“We can fly you back first thing in the morning,” he replied. “We can set you up in a hotel nearby until then.”
“Fine.” I looked up at him, and then looked down again. “Fine.”
That night, I sat in my hotel room and saw the late news. The lead story was a gripping one, with exciting footage of what seemed like a whole battalion of Secret Service agents streaming up to the huge, expensive headquarters building of the special interest in question. They scrambled out of their cars and surrounded it, went inside, and began hauling people out. Moving vans arrived, and hundreds of filing cabinets and computer data storage items were taken out. Quotes from Victor and Leon assured people that it was all over, that the government had not been compromised, and that new procedures had already been implemented to make sure no virus ever got into the government again.
I turned off the TV, and went and emptied the honor bar.
Leon saw me onto a plane to San Francisco the next morning. He was warm and friendly and grateful, and we parted with many expressions of mutual regard. I liked Leon.
I sat back in my chair—first class accommodations, thanks to Leon—and ordered a stiff drink from the attendant. God, I felt crappy. It must have been a hangover from the honor bar the night before. When the attendant came with one of those silly little airplane-sized bottles of Jack Daniels, I had changed my mind.
“I don’t feel like booze,” I said to her. “Could I have orange juice instead? I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” she smiled. “Everyone has the right to make a mistake.” She bustled off to get some juice.
I sat, frozen to my chair. She was right. Everyone had the right to make a mistake. Everyone.
I didn’t have a hangover. That wasn’t why I felt lousy. I felt lousy because I just was not comfortable with what was going on with those computerized reps. Maybe they were right— maybe they’d come up with a more accurate way to represent the people. But if the people didn’t want it, then nobody had the right to do it to them. And if the people were wrong, then they’d pay the consequences. And they’d muddle through. Like they had for centuries.
The attendant came back with the orange juice, and I thanked her profusely. I knew what was wrong, and I knew what I had to do to fix it. The experience had made me come around, full circle. I no longer was comfortable with Virtual Reps, with their efficient way of listening to everyone, and serving everyone, and having everyone’s best interests at heart, and their ability to rewrite their own software codes to do things the way they thought best. They were turning into a super race, an oligarchy, and we were becoming their serfs. They were benign, to be sure—but they were becoming benign dictators.
Human politicians—those whoring, bribe-taking, double-talking, mud-slinging human politicians—were better. Because they were human. Humans governing themselves. That was better than being governed by some other entity. We had gained efficiency, but were in danger of losing liberty.