Chapter Twenty-Four: A Martyr in Vancouver

Late Tuesday Night, August 24, 2100

The North American polls were not good. Toby brooded as he looked them over. About 7-10% in each country were undecided, not nearly enough leeway for him to catch up. Getting undecideds was much easier than trying to sway the decided.

North America	Population (millions)	Electoral Votes	Dubois	Ajala	Platt
USA	624.6	62	41%	33%	19%
Canada	56.7	6	36%	44%	11%
Mexico	196.5	20	40%	42%	8%
TOTAL	877.8	88

Even in the United States, his home country, Dubois had him better than two to one. In all three countries, he looked like a kernel of corn between a pair of potatoes. It was going to be a long trek. Destroying windmills would be far easier.

He’d set up a nationwide political network when he’d run Governor Baxter’s campaign for U.S. governor. He’d hoped to take advantage of it, but Baxter was a Rooster, and they were not too happy with him anymore. The very people he’d put in positions of power back then were now avoiding his calls, including Baxter.

As they flew over the Pacific and approached the west coast of North America, Toby received another text message from Lara. The bright red letters again floated in front of his eyes.

Dad, you did great last week. Without you splitting the vote, we might not have won New Guinea. But we can win on our own. You beat Ajala in Australia, so you can drop out without embarrassment. You’ve seen the North American polls, you are going to get killed. Come back to Dubois campaign?

He decided to ignore it again, but couldn’t seem to put it out of his mind. Why was it so difficult? Why was Lara so difficult?

They landed in Vancouver, Canada, and checked into their hotel. Turk and Crowbar left for the nearest bar. Toby met in his room with Bruce and Gene to review the week’s plans.

“You’re on several news shows tomorrow,” Gene said. “There’s a rally in Vancouver Square in the afternoon, then we spend Thursday in Mexico. First thing tomorrow morning, though, is the meeting with Dr. Heilig at Vancouver Hospital.”

“You can’t get the Canadian vote without her,” Bruce said. “Treat her like a Goddess.”

“I know,” Toby said. “But if we seem too close to her, that could hurt us in the U.S.”

* * *

In the 2050s, Dr. Mary Heilig had pioneered 3-D full-sensory virtual reality, Full VR for short. She’d surrounded herself with many of the best surviving programmers from the destroyed Seattle, moving them 140 miles north to Vancouver, and created an empire with Virtchy Corporation.

Even the TCs of the 2050s had some capacity for virtual reality, but Dr. Heilig took it to another level. Each year Virtchy came out with a new version until, by the end of the 2060s, Full VR was indistinguishable from reality. It revolutionized the world. No longer did you have to deal with reality. Full VR allowed people to step into their dreams, as real as reality itself.

“Live the Dream!” became their rallying cry, and millions, and then billions joined.

Users had their choice of creating their own reality—where anything they could imagine was possible—or enter the rapidly developing Virtchy World. The world of Virtchy, indistinguishable from reality, was “perfect.” It was a beautiful utopia without accidents, disease or hunger, a world where nothing went wrong. Anything one desired appeared as needed; trash and other wastes disappeared as they were created.

Of course, many used it for more tawdry purposes. As Bruce once pointed out, the masses can turn any invention into a sex toy.

At first, most people created their own worlds. However, as advanced as Full VR was, it couldn’t create realistic people. They looked like people, but if you spent enough time alone in a world populated by virtual people, it became obvious they were not real, more like bad actors in a B-movie. More and more people gravitated toward Virtchy World, where they could associate with real people in virtual mode. It was a perfect world.

Too perfect.

As Virtchy Corporation grew in size and power, the Canadian economy piggybacked and grew until Canada became an economic powerhouse, behind only the U.S. and China. Dr. Heilig became the world’s second trillionaire.

To retire to Virtchy World, all one needed were the minimal fees the Virtchy Corporation required for food and a Full VR hookup, which included automatic food intake and waste removal. Food costs were minimal since all the body required was nourishment, no extras, and Virtchy Corporation supplied a simple and inexpensive mix of fats, protein, carbohydrates and vitamins. Two billion living human bodies—with a half million joining every day—soon spent their lives on a bed at a branch of Virtchy Corporation, hooked to machines, while their minds lived out their lives in Virtchy World.

And then came the Lethargia in 2069. The world’s economy collapsed as too many people had left the real world workforce to live in the dreamland of Virtchy World. While Virtchy Corporation’s stockholders prospered, the rest of the world sank into a worldwide recession.

In an emergency meeting late in 2069, in order to stop the Lethargia, the world government outlawed Full VR. Overnight, Canadian fortunes were lost. Two billion users returned to the real world, many of them broke and ill-equipped physically and mentally to operate outside Virtchy World. With huge unemployment and inflation, the world entered a second Great Depression that would last ten years.

Full VR had been the backbone of the Canadian economy. With no other source of income anywhere near that, and with the depression destroying what little was left of their economy, the Canadian government defied the world government and continued to allow the sale of Full VR on the worldwide black market.

Late in 2071, after Canada ignored repeated demands to stop, the United States invaded with overwhelming force. Within months they destroyed the Canadian armed forces, occupied the major cities, and controlled all major government functions. The Canadian underground fought back. Dr. Heilig became a national hero and a spokesperson for the insurgency. And then she was captured by U.S. forces. She spent the next fifteen years in prison, with subsequent returns afterward for her ongoing protests.

The occupation continued to this day. So did the insurgency.

* * *

Turk and Crowbar both complained of headaches the morning following their arrival in Canada. Toby decided he’d have to talk to them later about late-night drinking at bars that illegally served alcohol. However, it didn’t seem to affect their efficiency.

Gene stayed behind at the hotel to work out some last-minute logistics about upcoming appearances. Toby, Bruce, and the two bodyguards took the Rocinante to Vancouver Hospital to meet with the aging Dr. Heilig. She’d been released just a few weeks before from her latest prison stay, for humanitarian reasons. One hundred years old and slowly dying from a multitude of ailments, former trillionaire Dr. Heilig lived in the hospice wing of the hospital.

From the pained looks on their faces, Turk and Crowbar still suffered from their headaches, but they did so quietly. They entered Heilig’s room first, to do the standard security sweep.

“You realize,” Bruce said, as he and Toby stood outside the doorway, “that the best security measure against a possible assassin hiding in a hospital room in the hopes that their target might happen to walk in, is to stay dead last in the presidential race so nobody cares enough to try to kill you?” Bruce took a deep breath after the long sentence.

“Then we’ve done a great job on security so far,” Toby said.

“Now remember, no matter what she says, nod and smile, but do not, absolutely do not touch the issue of Full VR with a ten-foot set of crutches. People still remember the Lethargia, and it’s a touchy issue.”

“Not with a ten-foot set of crutches. Got it.”

Bruce glanced inside the room for a moment. “Don’t see any killers in there, unless Dr. Heilig’s going to jump out of bed and thrash you with a stomach tube.”

The silent bodyguards finished their security sweep and motioned for them to come in. An overpowering scent of rose petals assaulted Toby’s nose as he entered, indicating that Dr. Heilig’s sense of smell must be nearly gone. She smiled as they approached her bed, showing yellowed, crooked teeth that hadn’t seen a dentist in decades. Various tubes and wires connected her to beeping machines surrounding her bed. A mountain of blankets covered her, with only her head sticking out, like an emaciated tortoise. Her face was nearly hidden in a forest of wrinkles; for some reason, she’d never had her skin tightened. She was nearly bald, with only a few strands left of willowy, white hair. A somber musical tune played in the background, though the sound was marred by the clicking from one of the machines hooked up to Heilig. On the wall over her bed was a large, scenic picture of an old-style ship at sea, its crew hanging onto rigging as they fought off a storm.

“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Platt,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Are you here to negotiate U.S. surrender terms?” She stared at him, unblinking, her piercing brown eyes leaving him slightly uncomfortable.

“Not exactly,” he said. He turned, indicating Bruce. “This is—”

“Bruce Sims, political maverick and world-renowned smart aleck,” she finished for him. “Your underling may wait outside.”

Bruce started to say something, but changed his mind. “Call me if you need me.” He stepped outside.

“Call me if you need me?” she said. “Are you one of those politicians who can’t turn on his TC without an aide holding your cranium?” She continued to stare unblinking. He met her dark eyes for a moment, then looked down.

“He’s—”

“We can skip the formalities. You want my endorsement. Why should I give it to you?”

Getting her endorsement would have been huge, but that was not why they were here. Not paying their respects to the Canadian sage would have been political suicide in Canada. Toby was certain she’d endorse Ajala, and then his eight-point lead over Dubois would soar. Dubois probably wouldn’t even show up in Canada to battle for its six electoral votes; Mexico’s 20 and the U.S.’s 62 were far more enticing. It was Dubois’s non-presence that they hoped to exploit, if they could only find a way to defeat Ajala. If they finished second, ahead of Dubois, they might be able to make something of that.

“Dr. Heilig,” Toby said, “if you check my record, you know I’ve been against the occupation as much as you are.”

“And yet you ran the campaign for President Dubois, who is completely for it.” She clicked her tongue three times in disapproval.

“For that, I apologize,” he said. “There needs to be a compromise.” Did the woman ever blink? Was it a medical condition or sheer force of character? He took a breath and met her stare.

“Why would I want to talk with you about compromising,” she said, “when Governor Ajala wants a unilateral withdrawal of U.S. troops, as well as reinstatement of Full VR as a matter of human rights? Do you agree with him?”

Toby decided to try the personal approach. “May I call you Mary?”

“You may not.”

So much for that. “Dr. Heilig, if Ajala were elected president, do you think the U.S. or the world congress would go along with his unilateral withdrawal or his Full VR plans?”

“I’m old, not stupid.”

“So you know Ajala can’t deliver?” Finally she blinked, and it was as if a weight came off his shoulders.

A bright smile crossed her face. “He’ll go to the congress with his plan, and stick to it like a bullcat with a bone. When all others are yelling and screaming at him, he’ll keep his cool because he won’t understand the situation until he and the shredded bill are thrown out of the Twin Towers.”

Toby smiled back. “Then you know a vote for Ajala is pointless. Besides, what are his chances of winning?”

“Better than yours. He was here earlier, and also asked for my endorsement.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“What good would that do?”

Toby wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was trying and failing miserably to ignore the overwhelming rose petal smell, which had given him a headache. It must have done wonders for Turk and Crowbar with their hangovers.

“Let’s review the possibilities,” she said. “Ajala wins, and he fights for us and loses, and everything stays the same. Dubois wins, and everything stays the same. Or, in an infinite number of universes, this just happens to be the one where, incredible as it may seem, you actually win. Then you go to congress, and look out over a sea of hostile faces, because they are all members of the Liberal or Conservative Party, and you are neither, and are, in fact, the one who first abandoned the liberals, and then abandoned the conservatives. What do you do then, bake them cookies and hope that’ll win their vote?”

Toby wished Bruce were here. He’d love this type of political back and forth. On the other hand, he’d probably so anger her that she would try to beat him with a stomach tube. No, this called for logic and diplomacy.

“If I were in that position, I would go straight to the people,” he said. “Congress may not follow me, but they’ll follow the people. They are leaders, and that’s what leaders do.”

“Nicely put,” she said. “And what would your solution be, if not unilateral withdrawal?”

“What do you suggest?”

She was back to her unblinking stare. Dubois would have stared right back, and probably could have matched her, nonblink for nonblink. He was no Dubois.

“I’m glad you asked,” she said. She worked her way through the blankets toward the back of the bed, where she sat up, exposing more tubes coming out of her arms and upper body. “Full VR caused unforeseen problems to the world’s economy, and sapped the life-energy out of many. It was their choice, and their choice alone. But the world didn’t like the consequences, and so outlawed it. There was no thinking about this, it was a knee-jerk reaction to get the problem out of the way. And when we defended the rights of those who relied on Full VR, the U.S. invaded.”

She held up one of her tubes. “For many, Full VR was a savior from a lifetime of this.” She dropped the tube and waved her hands at the surrounding machinery. “The old and infirm, and the disabled. We helped them live out their lives in paradise, but now they cannot. The world has condemned them to suffering.”

She lowered her eyes, to Toby’s relief, and reached under her blankets, as if looking for something. Whatever it was, she seemed to find it, then looked up again. “Since the major candidates will not help, and you have no chance, the best way you can help is as a martyr for our cause.”

“A martyr?”

“To Canadians, I am a martyr twice over, first for my years in prison for their cause, and now as a prisoner of my body. I am a hundred years old and kept alive by tubes and machines. When you look at me, what do you see?”

Where was she going with this? “I see Dr. Heilig, a Canadian hero.”

“Exactly!” she said. “A Canadian hero, but not a world hero. The world does not mourn for old revolutionaries, even when they are sick and dying, and do not care that I could live out my life in Full VR, no longer a prisoner of age and sickness. Another is needed, one who is well known, and yet cut short in the prime of life, with no hope for salvation until the ban on Full VR is withdrawn. Someone like you.”

Where was she going with this? She was starting to sound creepy; a chill ran down Toby’s spine. He glanced back at the door, wondering if he should call for someone, or just leave.

When he looked back, she was aiming a pen stunner at him. “I don’t need to beat you with a stomach tube for this, and I’m afraid your ten-foot crutches aren’t going to help you. I suggest you sit down, Mr. Platt, so you don’t smack your head on the floor.” She motioned at a chair by her bed. He sat. “Your life as you knew it is now over. Millions of people like myself are condemned by our leaders to lives of disability. You will live as we live, and suffer as we suffer. Welcome to our world.”

The stunner flashed, and Toby lost consciousness.