Authors: Scott Spotson
“How do you know if they’re using magic or not?” Amanda asked.
“It’s obvious to us. Think about it –” Justica frowned, “it’s like playing a piano. If you see someone playing a piano, if they’re playing a recording somewhere in the room, you’d know if they’re faking it or not, wouldn’t you?”
“I guess.” Amanda was still gazing at the steel balls, all continuing their hypnotic revolutions. Regi had materialized beside Indie. It was now Demus’ turn. He grinned like a maniac as he assessed the corner ball next to him. He had decided to start at a different corner of the maze.
As if in a daze, Amanda watched as he successfully navigated the one hundred gleaming revolving balls. He was agile and quick, but not as good as Regi. And that wasn’t the end of it. Other wizards would join in, one at a time. This would go on all day. The enthralled expressions on the wizards’ faces were priceless.
“So,” murmured Amanda to herself, “This is how the wizards do things. They work hard, and they sure play hard.”
Chapter Eleven
It was now Petition Day.
Amanda inhaled deeply. She had a long list of Mortals, carefully screened from the thousands of applicants who had all demanded the right to be heard by the Liberators. She was thankful for the sparkling new office buildings the wizards had zapped up for her on the waterfront marking South Basin in San Francisco, just down from Candlestick Point. Plus, she’d appointed over one hundred staff. She’d carefully reviewed hundreds of applications, and found the candidates she thought would be best. She guiltily felt some were even better qualified than her to be the Supreme Liaison.
Petition Day also would be her first exposure to the world in her new role. She’d coordinate the meeting, call upon Petitioners, and ensure those selected would all have a turn. She also decided to impose strict time limits, in hopes she could get through the first list in one day. The rest would have to be scheduled in over the next several weeks.
She frowned, despite knowing the cameras would pick up her every facial expression. She’d have to do a good job, as she was serving two different sets of bosses. One set, of course, consisted of the four Liberators themselves, plus their wizard colleagues all over North America. The second set was just as critically important – the millions of residents of North America, to whom she was accountable.
Amanda felt as if her hands would start shaking. Moving her papers around to calm herself down, she kept waiting for Indie to convene the session.
Indie started off her speech. “Petition Day is now upon us. Now, it’s your turn. This is your day – Mortals of North America. No question is pre-screened by any Liberator. It was up to our Supreme Liaison, Amanda, to gather all the questions that are relevant. We’re here to serve you. This is direct democracy at its best.”
Justica blurted out, “Imagine your President of the United States. When did he ever take questions from the public? Or your President of Mexico, for that matter?”
“Correct,” Indie said. “Amanda, please start with our first Petitioner.”
Amanda’s voice rang out, clear but nervous. “The first Petitioner is Albert Nyenhuis, former Secretary of Defense of the United States.” The screen cut away to an image of a visibly upset, slightly flushed older man wearing military uniform.
“This is an outrage!” he shouted, carefully attempting to control his delivery.
“Do you have a question?” Demus calmly asked.
Nyenhuis forcefully spoke out. “The Government of the United States remains in control…”
“That’s your opinion,” Indie pointed out, still smiling gracefully.
“I repeat, the Government of the United States asserts its constitutional right to administer all decisions of our great nation. That has never been forfeited. We urge Americans to reject this flagrant abuse of power by outsiders.”
“I want to point out that both Demus and I are lawful citizens of the United States. We are by no means ‘outsiders,’” Indie retorted.
Amanda stepped in, intensely curious. “Indie, what about Justica and Regi?”
Indie turned toward Amanda. “Regi is a citizen of Canada and Justica is a citizen of the United Mexican States.”
“United Mexican States?” Amanda was confused. “You mean Mexico?”
“Yes,” Justica replied, “Officially, we’re the United Mexican States. But you may call us Mexico.”
Nyenhuis was fuming. His visage appeared once again on the screen. “This is a most unacceptable, most immoral invasion of the United States. We will continue to operate the Senate, Congress, and the President’s powers. No one else speaks for Americans except for us.”
Amanda did her best to hide her shock. This familiar face was, for years, her commanding officer.
Will I be convicted for treason?
The vehemence was so unexpected, so raw, that she momentarily didn’t know what to do.
Regi solved her problem for her. “Sir, this is about a petition. Do you have a question or a petition to present?”
“You cannot dictate to me what to do. For the record, we request that the four of you, and any wizard, immediately forsake any claim you have to the powers of the United States.”
“Denied,” said Indie.
“Denied,” said all the other wizards, one at a time.
Nyenhuis pressed on, peering through his bifocals at the paper he was holding. “We have demands that must be met. One, release your hold on the Pentagon and the Capitol.”
“Amanda, next Petitioner please,” Indie said.
“Two, release your hold on the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.”
Amanda appeared startled. “I can cut him off?”
“Three, withdraw…”
Indie and the other three wizards nodded.
Amanda appeared uncertain. “But he’s the Secretary of Defense!”
“Four, restore all weapon facilities back to…”
“Not anymore,” Indie held out her hand. “Please, Amanda, there are other Petitioners waiting.”
Amanda reluctantly pressed the button, cutting off the still-speaking Secretary of Defense, and shakily announced, “Our next petitioner is Eva Halliwell, a dog breeder from Tucson, Arizona.” An image of a smiling older woman, with salt-and-pepper hair and oval-shaped glasses, filled the screen.
“Welcome, Mrs. Halliwell,” Regi said.
“I think I’ll stick with
Ms.
,” Halliwell laughed while Regi blushed.
“Ms. Halliwell,” Amanda started off, “What would you like to say?”
“Call me Eva,” Halliwell said, looking too confident for her moment in front of millions of viewers. “I’ve a simple question. You all seem like nice people.”
“Thank you,” Demus said.
She spoke up louder. “Why do you think have the right to just walk in here, and tell us what to do?”
Amanda glanced around at all four wizards. While all seem startled by the question, they quickly recovered.
“That’s an excellent question, Eva,” Indie said.
“So I hear,” she said, shaking her head pleasantly.
Indie gestured warmly. “The world’s in turmoil. Unemployment is at record rates. Nuclear war was imminent.”
“Excuse me,” Halliwell interrupted, “I’m aware of that. By the way, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for getting rid of all these horrible nuclear weapons.”
Regi and Justica enthusiastically clapped. Demus joined in.
“But…” Halliwell held a finger up into the air, “why can’t you trust us to deal with our own problems? We didn’t
ask for you
.”
“I understand that, Ms. Halliwell, I really do.”
“Call me Eva.”
“Yes, Eva,” Indie said, bringing her arms down slightly in perfect parallel form, “It’s absolutely necessary.”
“We didn’t ask for you, did we?”
Halliwell appeared gentle, but aimed her words like daggers at Indie.
Indie attempted to keep her cool. “Eva, if you’d just let me explain.”
Halliwell knew she had made her point. She waved her hand. “Oh, never mind. I just thought I’d put that in there. Good luck with being our new kings and queens. You’re going to need it.”
Amanda swiftly covered for Indie. “Thank you so much, Eva, it meant a lot to us to have you here. Next Petitioner is Rosa Garcia, a policy analyst in Mexico City, with the National Human Rights Commission of Mexico.”
A slender, short woman with short-cropped black hair appeared on the screen. She was speaking Spanish, but Amanda only heard the English transcription.
“Good morning, Liberators,” Garcia began, “I wish to identify myself.”
“Amanda already—” Indie held her hand up.
Looking directly at her notes, Garcia ignored the reminder. “I am the senior policy analyst for headquarters, National Human Rights Commission of Mexico. Our mandate is to investigate all human rights violations in Mexico that fall under our jurisdiction. We’re not recognizing your legitimacy over Mexico. However, I do have a question about a condition of hiring your Supreme Liaison, who apparently is supposed to answer to us.”
Amanda turned her head, startled. Was she being challenged?
“Yes, Rosa?” Justica asked in Spanish.
The stranger finally gazed ahead at the screen. “You said that the competition was open only to those aged twenty-seven years or under.”
Indie looked uncomfortable. “Yes, that’s correct. Amanda is twenty-two years old.”
Garcia glared through the screen. “I’m fully aware of Ms. Fullerton’s age and that she meets your criteria. I personally don’t have a problem with her. The question is why did you set that age limit? Such an age limit violates our constitution based upon human rights.”
Justica shot a quick glance at Indie. Indie drew in her lips, and then crisply said, “It’s based upon a personal preference.”
“And what personal preference is that?”
Indie shot an angry glance. “Don’t trust anyone over the age of thirty. The Supreme Liaison wouldn’t yet turn thirty by the time she finished her three year term.”
Garcia opened her eyes wide in a show of incredulity. “Did I hear right? Don’t trust anyone over thirty?”
Demus interjected, “You heard the lady. It’s the policy of all the four Liberators, standing united as a group.” He turned to Amanda. “Her question’s done. Turn to the next Petitioner.”
Amanda gulped, then pushed the button as Garcia said, “Now, really…”
She found her voice. “Next Petitioner is Professor Adam Scully, of the Economics Department of the University of Toronto in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.”
An image of a clean-shaven man, with a receding hairline and gentle-looking eyes, appeared on the screen. He was wearing a suit jacket and tie. “Good morning, Liberators.”
“Good morning,” Indie answered back.
“Very interesting. Very interesting,” the professor thoughtfully murmured. “I never thought in this day and age I’d ever see magic.” He held up a finger. “Someday, I’d love to ask you tons of questions about how your magic works. But let me congratulate you. Anyone who’s been able to develop magical powers must be exceptional. And as long as you have moral values as well, I’d call all of you extraordinary.”
“You’re too kind, sir,” Regi said modestly.
“Now, this is interesting. You’re the Canadian, just like me. And you said the other day that you handle economic policy.”
“Yes,” Regi said, “More generally, I handle money. That’s anything to do with finances.”
“Right,” the professor said, nodding, “Using plain language. What a concept. Perhaps we should re-name our office the Department of Money.” He chuckled to himself. Realizing silence around him, he continued, “Mr… do you have a last name?”
“No, sir,” Regi said, a little embarrassed. “Wizards don’t have last names. Just call me Regi.”
“Interesting. Regi, do you have a degree in economics?”
“No.”
“Do you have any formal economics training?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then how can you possibly be qualified to handle economic planning?”
Regi defended himself. “Sir, I understand you have a formal hierarchy of evaluating credentials, where one must train under supervision and must pass the required exams. We wizards don’t do it that way. We’re highly organic and dynamic, and we debate each other all the time in terms of philosophy, mathematics, economics, theology, scientific theory, and logic.”
“Impressive. Many of our students have never had one decent debate.” The professor chuckled again. He said, “Very well. Let me ask you a question about economics.”
Regi grinned. “Am I being tested?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Shoot.”
The professor perked up his ears. “Did you say ‘shoot’ or did you say –?”
All the four wizards were laughing, as well as Amanda.
“I said shoot,” said Regi.
“Whew,” said the professor. “All right, the other day you were quoting Milton Friedman. Describe his contribution to the field of economics.”
“Milton Friedman,” Regi said, as if in a dream, “My favorite economist. He was a giant. Born July 31, 1912, died November 16, 2006, at the age of ninety-four years. Won the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics in 1976. Most famous for his monetarism policy. He postulated that there is a natural rate of unemployment, and that the role of government was to stay out of the economy and maintain its primary role as the arbitrator of the money supply.”
Professor Scully’s mouth hung open. “Incredible.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Indie smiled warmly. “Professor, you’ll all see that we wizards are knowledgeable about all fields of academia. We don’t believe in specializing. We all contribute ideas to each other, and we synergize.”
The professor remarked, “And now, I guess we Earthlings are a test tube for all these ideas?”
Indie said, “We’re Earthlings too. We prefer to call you Mortals because you don’t have magical powers. It’s meant as a term of honor. You may call us Wizards. In this role, for the next three years, we’ll call ourselves Liberators, as well. We aim to liberate society from old-fashioned thinking, remove the economic doldrums, and forever erase the wasteful and immoral spectre of war.”
Professor Scully tilted his head. “Intriguing. Although I’m not sure about your moral right to govern. I definitely applaud your wish to rid the world for once and all of war. But that’s not why I’m here. I’ve some specific questions – as an economics professor – for Regi about his new bitcoin theory.”