Blind.Faith 2.0.50. Tomasz Tatum

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СКАЧАТЬ to be quite frank: they’re actually doing something entirely different. There’s a bit of creative synergy involved here. We just utilize the opportunity to interface the two ... hmm, let me see how to ...”

      Valbånger turned his eyes away from Ch.ase for a second before he continued. “How can I phrase this gracefully? We can interface the two programs to make the proceedings both fun and effective. We take advantage of some overlap–we like to call them synergies–that way.”

      “Did you just say fun and effective?”

      Valbånger leaned forward and looked Ch.ase directly in the eyes.

      “Listen. Maybe we need to take a short moment to clarify a few things right here and now. There should be no need for me to explain to you that this is a penal institution and not an amusement park, right? And on the day that you assumed your position, you did swear that you would serve faithfully in the job of administering justice in the best interests of the society that maintains this very institution, or I am wrong?” Valbånger’s thus far cheery voice had now taken on the sharpness of a steely knife. His eyebrows rose expectantly as he mustered Ch.ase and waited for his reply.

      “Of course I did. No doubt about that. But not virtual justice,” Ch.ase countered. His voice was flustered, a note of doubt clearly discernible.

      Valbånger relaxed again and smiled upon hearing Ch.ase’ reply.

      “Oh. Hey, don’t worry! I understand where you’re coming from now! Hey, it’s cool, man. I know where you’re coming from now! It’s not that we’re talking about virtual justice here. It’s only the audience that’s virtual in this case,” Valbånger answered and leaned back somewhat in his chair. He began searching his pockets for a cigarette. After a considerable amount effort, he succeeded in producing a single crooked and yellowing cigarette from the front pocket of his striped shirt. He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and resumed his search, this time looking for a light.

      “Let me take this opportunity to reassure you about how a couple of things are managed here. First and foremost: how did our candidate make it up to that chair?” Valbånger raised his left hand and pointed to the chair upon the stage. He rose partially out of his seat, arching his back like a frightened cat as he wrestled with his right hand, which he had plunged deep into his pants pocket.

      “Through criminal behavior, of course,” answered Ch.ase. No ring of uncertainty was detectable in his voice as he answered.

      “In that case, since this has already been established in advance, we no longer have to wrest our hands in doubt on any issue of fundamental importance, do we?” Valbånger’s unlit cigarette dangled in the corner of his grin as he continued to speak.

      “The punishment fits the crime. A court of law has established the facts and passed a carefully considered verdict. The attorney general,” Valbånger pointed to one of the seats in row one, “has the option of assenting by signing the order or referring it back to the legal system for review. In those cases, in which she does sign, we all meet for prime time and justice takes over.”

      Ch.ase looked over to the seat that Valbånger had indicated. He could see that attorney general was scrupulously etched on the shiny brass plate. He had to concede that Valbånger’s argument on this point was indeed compelling. He sensed relief as his uneasiness shifted away from doubts about whether the fate of the person at the center of the proceedings he would be witnessing has been sufficiently legitimized. Instead, he silently pondered the ethics of deceiving the public about their level of involvement in the process.

      Valbånger surveyed Ch.ase as he sat in his seat, reading his thoughts with nearly clairvoyant certainty.

      “I suspect that this now leaves you worried about the audience,” noted Valbånger. “If so, please bear in mind that their primary role in this production is to assist in bearing the collective social cost of administering justice. Their involvement, whether in an adjoining studio or at home in front of their telly.tube, relieves us as law-abiding individuals of having to shoulder that responsibility exclusively. Keeping a society within boundaries is not always easy and occasionally it even gets downright unpleasant. Like taking out the garbage now and then. So it makes great sense when justice is served and, at the same time, everyone is content and happy with the course of events.”

      “I see. And what happens if the candidate manages to hold his own on the dread.commachine?” inquired Ch.ase, who was now genuinely interested in the working technicalities of the system.

      “Interesting question but that’s not likely to be the case for long,” Valbånger answered and pointed to a small panel discretely mounted on the right armrest of the governor’s seat.

      “The governor, of course, always has the option of pushing the default.off button at his fingertips. If and when he does this, that portion of the show irreversibly ends during the next commercial break. After the break, we simply continue with a new candidate from yet another studio. Lots of things to win there, too. Furniture, SpeedScooters, paid holidays and the like. And the viewers just eat it up. At least to my recollection, no one has ever complained.”

      “It’s really that simple?” asked Ch.ase. “One simple push of a button and it’s TILT! for the candidate?”

      Valbånger shrugged his shoulders and arched his eyebrows.

      “It’s GAME OVER! then. It’s finito for him then, man.”

      The steady, monotonous hum of the studio lighting transformers seemed to underscore Valbånger’s curt explanation.

      It was immediately clear to Valbånger that Ch.ase was really impressed with what he had seen and learned today. The institution had made a good choice in promoting him to his position.

      “And what actually happens to the candidate?” inquired Ch.ase haltingly.

      “Oh, that’s the beauty of the entire system. And that’s what makes it so wonderfully guilt-free. We don’t have to decide, the machine does it all for us. In the end, it’s all determined by a sort of random generator that spits out a question or an assignment that the candidate is guaranteed to fail at. Forget about the technicalities of it all, they’re way too complex to spell out here. These machines are much smarter than we are these days. Anyhow, all we need to know is that the machine ultimately wins hands down–and it does so very quickly, mind you!–and, as the game ends, the candidate’s seat retracts to the rear of the stage. The rear portion of the stage divider then rotates to shield him from the view of the audience.”

      Valbånger waved his arms up and down nonchalantly, indicating the two rows of seats.

      “I think they decided to make it work that way because it’s good for the suspense level. And also because it lends the proceedings a more dignified appearance. Back behind the scenes, though, a lot happens once the dread.commachine is engaged in termination mode. I’ve got to admit that I’m not all that knowledgeable about how it exactly works in the technical-biological sense but I’m told that it does something similar to fast-forwarding the candidate’s VitaMeter. Just like the meat producers do with their cattle, except unbelievably fast. In fact,” Valbånger smiled almost sheepishly, “the fellows running the machine backstage call their data transfer module a cattle.Prod for that very reason. And you see that cable connecting the seat to the data module? That’s the bovine.Bungee to them. Lots of esprit in that group, let me assure you.”

      Ch.ase leaned back in his seat and listened attentively as Valbånger finished his explanation.

      “Ultimately, СКАЧАТЬ