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Joan Goldstein answered the summons from the Oval Office. The door closed behind her. The President sat at her desk. They were alone. At first glance, when you saw their white hair, lined faces, and warm sweaters, you might expect the two stately grandmothers to exchange apple pie recipes. But if you noticed their eyes, like those of two ancient and battle-scarred lionesses facing off over a plump baby wildebeest, you might run from the room screaming.
“Madame President, I have a writ of habeas corpus.” Joan briefly raised the manila envelope she was carrying, but as a formality, with no expectation of results.
“You know that won’t work this time, Joan. Your clients signed an agreement that will motivate every other country and major corporation in the world to try to kill them. I guarantee you that every court in the US will uphold that only the US government can protect them. They are worth trillions to the US. They’re in my custody and they’ll stay there. For twenty years anyway, until the patent runs out. Don’t worry, we’ll make them very comfortable. Their prisons will be luxurious while they earn trillions more in license fees. In twenty years, they’ll be released and able to start spending it.”
“This is wrong,” said Joan.
“They’re being well paid, exactly per the contract. And they’ll be well protected, also per the contract,” said the President.
“What do you want?” asked Joan.
“I have what I want. What do your clients want? Their freedom perhaps? Would they be willing to sell their patent rights for their freedom? I’ll even throw in a few billion more dollars. I’m fair. I’ll even be generous.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s all about control, Joan, just like the Secretary of Defense said. I don’t control their patent rights. And I can’t seize those rights without making them public domain, nullifying them. But I can still buy them, and transfer them to a contractor the government controls. I just needed the right leverage. And they’ve just given me that leverage.
“What I do control now is the air they breathe, the ground they walk on, the food and water they eat and drink, and whether or not they will ever see the sky again. All perfectly legal, and maybe even ethical. I’m still willing to be fair, Joan. I’ll pay billions more for those patent rights, in addition to their freedom.”
“We’ve been through this before. They won’t sell. They won’t allow another Microsoft monopoly fiasco.”
“They won’t sell ... today. Fine. Then we don’t have anything further to talk about. There’s the door.”
Joan didn’t move. The two battlegrannies targeted each other across the desk. “You’re sure about this?” asked Joan.
“What’s not to be sure about?” said the President. “I hold all the cards that matter right now. Well, not Mr. Francis, but we’ll have him within a few minutes.”
Joan stood silent.
The President examined Joan’s face like any expert poker player, puzzled. She thought Joan should have been outraged or, at least, faking a good outrage. Instead Joan stared back at her with bemusement, like she had just lost a bet she was absolutely positive she’d win, and she was adjusting her worldview accordingly.
“I’ll be damned,” said Joan, with just a hint of a wryly appreciative smile. “He was right.”
“Who was right about what?”
“Mr. Dalton Francis. Him and his damned strategy games. He called it.” Joan shook her head slowly in wonderment. “He said you’d do this. I honestly didn’t believe him.” She paused a moment, then lifted the envelope she was carrying and looked at it like it had magically appeared: A deus ex manila envelope. “Here,” she said, “In the event that you might do what you just did, my clients wanted me to give you this.” She tossed the envelope onto the President’s desk.
“I told you, habeas corpus won’t work.”
“It isn’t just habeas corpus. It’s a copy of the documents that release the patent under a GNU public license. As of this moment, it’s open source.”
“No. Impossible!” The President stood up behind her desk. “That’s malpractice! Dereliction of fiduciary duty on your part! Your clients would be giving up trillions! And costing the United States trillions more.”
“My clients talked it over. They decided that five billion each was enough. Under the circumstances, you’ve forced me to agree with them.” Joan turned and walked toward the door, then stopped and turned back. “Since the patent is now free to anyone who wants to use it, there is no longer any international threat to their lives. Habeas corpus is therefore effective. A copy is in that envelope. So please release my clients immediately.
“And that brilliant rat bastard Dalton Francis gave me a message for you, if it came to this. He asked me to tell you, and I quote, ’Sorry about your national debt.’ ” Joan turned to walk out.
“Oh no you don’t, Joan Goldstein. You don’t get to exit stage left on that glib, simple-minded punchline. In this office only one person gets the last word: the President of the United States.
“Do you understand how little I care about your clients’ whims? Do you understand how many Americans your clients have just killed? How many millions of lives would have been improved with a trillion dollars in tax revenue? Maybe even three trillion? How many new industries we would have owned. How many social programs will have to stay underfunded and scraping by? How many new research and social support projects cannot be started? How many people living on the edge will fall off the edge?” She pounded her fist on the table. “How many more veterans will commit suicide!?” She paused, and then looked Joan square in the eyes while she spat her next words. “You and your clients could have nuked five major cities and done less damage!
“You are responsible for four clients. I am responsible for four hundred million. Your clients have just taken a great America that could have been, a great America that we had within our grasp, and they have destroyed it to satisfy their own personal minuscule whims and egos. If the general public ever understood how you just let your four clients obliterate a future great America, they would lynch you, and them, and then they would piss on your bodies. And I would applaud. You and your microscopic vision disgust me. You enrage me. I don’t ever want to see or hear from you or them again. Now get out and stay out!”
Joan left in silence and never came back.