from the journal of Dale Settler,
The Day After the Signing of the HERO Act
If this gets out I’m dead. I was the Secretary’s stenographer at the meetings, and I assured him that I’d destroyed my notes, but he has no clue the number of ways that information can be hidden. He always made a big fuss over my “cartoon drawings.” A successful bureaucrat may be a genius in his own right, but can remain an utter idiot by most other measures. Intelligence is complex. And not evenly distributed.
It’s too silly, really. Interlac™, the 30th Century lingua franca of the “United Planets™,” isn’t actually a language. It isn’t even a very good code. It’s just English, couched in your basic symbol substitution cipher. But even if an educated fanboy were to translate it, he’d still get gibberish. I used a total of four levels of distortion. Another cipher, and the other two even simpler, but taken altogether, they would test even such minds as the alleged Algorithm. Still, it’s quite simple to unwind, IF you’ve got the keys, AND you use them in the right order.
My fanboy persona makes for a convenient cover. I always have my sketchpad, and often comicbooks to lend out for idling in the corridors. As a consequence, the Secretary and I were regular favorites of Congressional Pages.
I recall one Page, I forget his name. He became quite enamored of Negan™ and used him frequently as a metaphor for Uncle Sam. He asked me once whether I thought that Robert Kirkman might have been channeling Ron Paul when he created The Saviors™ to “rescue” the Walking Dead™ in 2010.
It hadn’t occurred to me, but I thanked him for the interesting question. Later I downloaded a copy of the good doctor’s “End the Fed” from 2009 and found this on page 117. “[Those who]… seek power over others believe for humanitarian reasons that the strong and wise have an obligation to subject the weak and ignorant to… control… [T]hey are the saviors of mankind, and… believe that brute force must be used to impose their ‘goodwill.’” (emphasis added)
It’s a pity I can’t remember his name. I’d leave that Page my bound set. I ought to; I’m surely dead, even if the Secretary does believe I destroyed my notes. Although… Considering the rest of our cabal, I’m probably the least of his worries. It may be only mutually assured destruction that saves any of us.
The following reconstructions are from the meetings of the year before the ratification of the 29th Amendment, also known as the Homeland Economic Recovery Optimization and Tax Base Enrichment Amendment. It modified the 5th, 14th, and 16th Amendments to streamline Due Process and to codify Eminent Domain. This is a fair representation of what went down, but because of the exigencies of subterfuge I cannot guarantee that it is either verbatim or precisely in order. In attendance were the Congressional Joint Select Committee, the Secretaries of the Treasury, Homeland Security, and Health and Human Services, and the Speaker of the House, and the Vice President, and their noted guests.
Sec Trez: Everything goes up except revenue. Three years with these majorities on the Hill, and in spite of the latest Equity Adjustment Acts, revenue remains flat.
Sen PS: Would that it were flat, Mr Secretary, but in buying-power, revenue remains weak, while collection costs and human suffering continue to rise.
VP: I do not get it! What’s hard about kicking in for public goods? Get, like, some enthusiastic go-getters out there. This is, like, our Great Depression!
Sec Hom Sec: She’s right. Mostly. Labor’s cheap anymore. Homeland’s been getting a buttload of returning GIs for the last decade or so.
Sen FR: Shouldn’t we be hearing from Defense or the DVA on this? Returning veterans are more up their alley, no?
VP: I believe DOD is golfing with POTUS as we speak and uh…
Sec Hom Sec: Veterans’ Affairs is being kept out of the loop. There are some… sensitive issues. Anyway, a lot of our returning vets not going into local law enforcement are coming into Homeland.
Sec HHS: Contacts inside DVA tell me a lot of them are damaged goods.
Sec Hom Sec: Many of them do have problems. We’ve flagged them as best we can. It’s not always obvious what’s a problem and what’s an asset. Mostly we’ve been burying them in make work crap farms like the TSA.
Rep NA: We’re drifting off course. Cheap labor is one thing, but compliance requires an army of skilled accountants to examine millions of returns.
Rep DK: Why not one real army for impound estate?
Sen PS: It’s as easy as kicking in doors and busting heads.
Speaker: I hope, Senator, that my service was more than jus’ “kickin’ in doors and bus’in’ heads.
Rep DK: We all hope, Mistah Speakah, when sign. But truth come wikiwiki aftah. Senatah wen nail it. “Kickin’ door ’n’ bustin’ head” was daily bread in country.
Bobb’s Woods, the Back Roads of Bayne County
Friday afternoon, Memorial Day Weekend
Ed Floyd stepped out of his vehicle as they approached his car, pulled himself up straight, and pounded his fist against his chest. “Wakanda forever!” Cheap liquor befouled Kandi’s nose and she wrinkled her brow. She stepped in and grabbed his shoulder and his wrist and spun him face first into the side of his car.
Gil spat on the dirt road and pinched another tiny fragment of wintergreen snuff from its tin. “I told you, Ed, she doesn’t like that, and you go and piss her off on top of everything else.”
Kandi finished cuffing Floyd, then turned him around so he faced them. She patted him down and he grinned. Then she peered into the driver’s side window. “Where are your keys?”
Floyd snickered. “Hah! I tossed ’em out the window as I coast to a stop.” He nodded toward the opened passenger side window.
“As you coast… Isn’t this an automatic?”
“Hah! I modified it! ’Sa stick! You like to feel it?”
“Gil!” Kandi grabbed Floyd’s grimy T-shirt, pulled, pivoted, and thrust him at Deputy Sheriff Huerta. “Take Otis back to Mayberry and don’t be so sweet about it. I’ll run the shoulder a little and see if I can turn up his keys.”
Huerta grabbed Floyd’s arm and marched him back to their cruiser. “You alright out here, Kand? It’s past four. We’d have clocked out already if Stale Burnfart Junior here hadn’t led us on his merry chase. Sheriff doesn’t like OT, you know.”
“Yeah.” Deputy Sheriff Smitherman removed her cap and scratched her scalp, her nails gliding through her thin mat of tight curls. “He doesn’t. I’ll give it an hour, that’s a fair gamble. He doesn’t like Uke’s holiday towing rates, either.”
Gil keyed the mic on his shoulder. He keyed it again. “Nothing. We’re radio dead down here.”
“Down here, sure.” She pointed up and into the woods. “Top of that ridge is the county line, and I’m up there in ten minutes, if that. Then I’m looking down across the Interstate at the airport. This side of Kupper County is thick with cell towers. I’ve got this, deputy. If I can’t catch Highway Patrol, Uber will find me!”
Huerta spat. “You sure, Kand? That’s some pretty dense…”
“Nothing to it! There’s a deer trail right there. See? Don’t worry. I grew up in these woods. Every summer at Gran’s from the fourth grade through high school. Just take Goober into booking and have a great weekend. And Mr Floyd, Judge and I’ll see you on Tuesday. You sure picked the right weekend to get locked up. We’re serving fried baloney all four nights!”
Portland International Airport, two months after the HERO Act
“Feet in the footprints, sir! Feet in the footprints and arms straight out!” The traveler glanced at the pattern on the floor and adjusted his stance. Reed snapped latex gloves onto his hands and knelt before his subject. “I’m gonna run the backs of my hands up the insides of your thighs sir. Let me know it you feel any pinching or pressure or – ”
“Potts!”
“Excuse me sir.” Reed rose and turned to the sound.
The shift supervisor sneered. “Big guy wants you upstairs, you and Whiteman both, right away! And he even seems pleased about it this time. You screw-ups actually get yourselves fired? From a government job?” He turned to the traveler whom Potts had detained. “Thank you, sir, you can go ahead and catch your flight now. Sorry about the delay.” He turned back to Potts. “Where’s your shadow? If you’re – nevermind – Yo! Jaleel! Boss wants you upstairs, pronto!”
When Hakim Whiteman and Reed Potts entered the director’s office, he smiled at them and stood. “Have a seat, gentlemen.” Two strangers were already seated. “Mr Winter and Mr Fabok here are recruiters from our new Recovery Office.” He lingered at the exit.
“Thank you, Director. That’ll do.” The director blushed, nodded, and left, as the visiters introduced themselves.
“We’ve read your files, men,” said Mr Fabok. “We like very much what we see. We still do have a few questions, though. You’re both combat vets, multiple tours, is that right?”
They nodded.
“And you were both part of Lieutenant Fesenden’s party at Kodai, is that right?”
Both men bristled. Hakim said nothing, but pursed his lips all the tighter. Reed said, “We were never convicted, sir. The court martial – ”
“Oh, I know.” Fabok took the folder from Winter and waved it at them. “It’s all here. Like I said, we read it. We studied it. We could probably act it out by now. You all pacified the village, and team USA eventually secures the province. But at a price. Such a price. Harsh words, nasty accusations, sad ending. LT never lives to wear his medal and witnesses never show up to testify. Case dismissed.”
Fabok handed the folder back to Winter, who said, “Let’s move on.” He opened the folder and flipped through it as he talked. “You’ve both had a lot of the same issues with following orders, fighting with your mates, and counseling for unnecessary use of force.” He looked up. “Do the rules of engagement mean anything to you?”
“You mean wait to get shot?” Hakim snorted. “IED blew the leg off LT. And killed a couple other of our guys.”
“Raghea – uh… Insurgents ambushed us,” added Reed. “We settled it.”
“With considerable collateral damage to the locals, too.”
Fabok grimaced. “Tough break, that.”
“Mofos ambushed us,” said Hakim. “We did what we had to.”
Winter lay his folder down and smiled at them.
“How’d you men like to be heroes again?”
Settler’s notes
Sen FR: Hiroshima, Dresden, My Lai, Kodai, Sand Creek, Wounded Knee. All terrible things, but all things that people came back from.
Rep DK: Yeah, troop come back. Shell shock. Alienate. Disaffec’ and disorient. Civilian casualty should have ’em so good.
VP: Civilian casualties? Well yes! It’s very sad! Every life is precious. But we are SAVING and serving so many more. Besides, it’s not always about who’s technically accurate. Basically, read economics! Economics teaches us to look at the marginal effects and marginal costs, and when the proportions of grief to loss are the lowest, you know, like in a terrorist bombing or a natural disaster movie, the marginal human cost is the lowest and [ceteris parabus?] the accumulation costs have the most efficiency. [The VP’s Latin pronunciation is as challenging as her reasoning. I am obliged to infer meaning.]
Sen PS: I… uh… I guess you have kind of a point when it comes to marginal utility and concentrated destruction. If the government MUST get its loot —
Speaker: The government MUST serve the people and protect the state, and it needs resources to meet its obligations. I don’t care for that term, “loot”, sir. In order to carry out our responsibilities we MUST recover our return on our infrastructure and legal framework. A stable social order demands that —
Sen PS: So, given that the government WILL “recover its return,” you posit that we fix the body count, then focus on killing the most local of survivors to reduce overall trauma. It’s only sad when strangers die. It can be almost crippling when it’s your friends or family. The grief alone can put one’s productivity off for days!
VP: I don’t think we need to fix the body count. We want to reduce that. To do the most good for the most people with the least suffering we have to be willing to make the difficult decisions and hard choices that desperate times demand.
Sen FR: Look… Look at Germany. Look at Japan. Look at our own South. After devastating war was waged against them, they recovered. Sure, at times things got hungry, and reconstruction ran into complications, but people bounce back.
Rep NA: War was not waged “against” the South, Senator. Father Abraham waged Civil War for the sake of the North AND the South, that Our Democracy be preserved. You are right to make Reconstruction your model. It was through Reconstruction that our Union was remade and recommitted.
Queen City Parking and Security (HERO Field Office), Reginapolis, Memorial Day Weekend, Friday, 15:58:15 hours Eastern Daylight Time
“…okay Sheridan, pick ’em up about five klicks if you can, you should be coming up on Toth Pass in seventy.”
“Copy that, Queen City. Doin’ the best we can, but we got a convention of the Drag Ass Alliance upfront. You want we should shake out the fifty cal?”
“Do what you can, Sheridan! Pope, ease back a bit, you’re coming up on Barry in sixty.” Karen McCoy flipped her screen to show a close-up of team Sheridan approaching the Toth Pass exit from the east. “Okay Burnside, pull out, you’re on in forty.”
“Whoa howdy, Queen City! We got a fresh wreck tumbling up front at Sachs outta DuQuois, it’s already getting messy – ”
“I see it, Scott, go ahead and lock up there, may as well plant our flags where we land. If you’ve already got trauma go ahead and soak it up.”
“We’re not going to make it.” David Ironwood was riding shotgun in the lead cab of the four rigs constituting Team Sheridan. They were running abreast across the entirety of the Interstate as they approached Toth Pass, the county line, and the perimeter of the zone.
“We’ll make it.” The driver, Richard Browne, increased the pressure on the accelerator and touched the team channel key on his vest. “Eyes left, mother truckers. Pace me. If these clovers don’t get a little giddyup out of a gentle ass kissin’ then we’ll step on ’em!” Dick released the team band and said, “I’m fucked if I’m buying any beer for Kenney’s Kommandos tonight. We’ll seal our side.”
The semis surged forward, closing the gaps in front of them until some were but inches from their obstructions. Finally, sensible terror took charge of the fortunate innocents, and they surged forward.
As Officer McCoy flipped through her screens and talked her mobile teams into position, District Supervisor Leslie Tatum leaned in the doorway. He watched the digital display over McCoy as it approached sixteen hundred hours. The bud in his ear squealed and the Secretary of Homeland Security spoke to him. “Is everything in place Mr Tatum, Mr Kenney?”
“Yes sir,” answered Tatum. He waved for Karen’s attention and when he caught her eye, he held up his index finger. He could hear Barron Kenney answering from the field office across the river.
“Very good, gentlemen. Then in four… three…” The Secretary counted and Tatum gave McCoy the thumbs up and the clock display on the monitor gave way to the Presidential seal which gave way to Himself.
Throughout the designated Reconstruction Zone, snaking along the center of the tri-counties area, straddling rivers and ridges and roads, and covering most of Inner Reginastan, brakes groaned, tires squealed, bodies pitched forward, drinks were spilled, heads were bumped, fates were cursed, gods were entreated, and frazzled nerves were stretched taut.
Just before reaching the exit at Toth Pass, without warning, the trucks of Team Sheridan hit their brakes. Programmed gimbals in the trailer chassis deployed so that, as the semis slowed, the trailers turned uniformly counterclockwise, forming a barricade across the roadway.
Checkpoint at Bobb’s Woods, Bayne County
Coming off the dirt track and out of Bobb’s Woods, Guillermo eased his cruiser to a stop at the new checkpoint.
“What the fuck, over?” Floyd fidgeted in the back seat.
“Take it easy, Ed.” The barricade hadn’t been there when they had first chased Floyd into the woods. Across the road he could see a half dozen or so large trucks. Beyond them a backhoe swung its bucket between the ground and the top of the lead truck. The truck swayed and settled as the load was dropped into its bed.
Gil rolled down his window as a strange officer approached his car. The uniform he wore resembled the steady supply of illustrated memoranda that the Sheriff’s office received from their friends in Washington City. Even though the recruiting campaign had been all over the media for months, this was still the first “HERO” he’d seen in person. “What’s the story…” He studied the brass on the man’s collar. “…Sergeant Major?”
“Heh. Corporal Davies, sir. You Deputy Warthog? Where’s your partner?”
“Deputy Sheriff Huerta, that’s right. Sheriff tell you to call me that?”
Davies grinned. “Heh-eh… yeah. You’re out of your jurisdiction, Deputy. As of about an hour ago.” He stiffened and recited. “Pursuant to the provisions of the Homeland Economic Recovery Optimization and Tax Base Enrichment Act, this area has been declared to be an Emergency Revenue Recovery and Liability Abatement Zone. On behalf of the President and People of the United States, and of the Secretaries of the Treasury and Homeland Security, we thank you for your cooperation.” He relaxed and continued. “Sheriff says half this county is radio dead half the time, and the other half all the time. I guess you didn’t get word.”
Gil said nothing.
“So what about your partner, then?”
Gil continued to sit, letting it sink in. “So, the lottery…”
“Yeah. The Algorithm. Picked your neighborhood. Sorry, bro. Anyway, we’ve got wide discretion inside the zone, but we’re all about Team LEO. ‘swhy we put the word out just before go time. So… your partner…”
“Uh…” Gil pointed to the back seat and his passenger. “She’s looking for Mario Andretti’s keys. He thought it would be hilarious to toss them during the chase.”
“Heckuva walk back if they don’t turn up.”
“Naah. Uh… she’s just over the ridge from KIA. Ten minutes from cell contact and half an hour for a pick up along the Interstate.”
The man frowned. “Ten minutes from the heart of our hot zone, is more like it. You’d better spin this thing around and go get her, Deputy. That situation is going to get plenty tense before this day is done.”
Gil nodded. “Sure. Thanks. What about…?”
“Yeah.” Davies looked into the back seat. “What’s your name, sir?”
“He’s Edmond Floyd,” said Gil, “but don’t ask him. Depending on his mood he could be Daniel Boone or Thomas Edison or Napoleon Dynamite.”
“Linoleum Blown-Apart!” interjected Floyd. “Hah!”
“Heh-eh. Yeah.” Davies muttered and tapped his pad. “We’ll take him from here, Deputy.” He turned his head and hollered. “Front!”
Another officer trotted up. “Corporal?”
Gil got out of his cruiser and let Floyd out of the back seat. As Corporal Davies and his man took him, Gil reached for his keys, but Davies stopped him. “Just like this is fine, Deputy. You best get back to your partner before she steps into something nasty. We’ll have your cuffs waiting for you when you get back.”
Papp’s Pachinko Palace, Middlebury Mall, three months after the HERO Act
“Videot gamesters don’t know from the classics. Pinball, Skeeball, Bally? They couldn’t even tell ya what our name means.”
“That’s you, Papp, ain’t it?”
“Pachinko, Pinhead! It’s a mechanical game, takes finesse and steel balls! It’s not all just point and shoot and splat go brains! Elegance and style, my lad, elegance and style. Still, truth to tell… it’s the franchised games what saved my ass. X-box you can get in your living room, but for DeathGrip3K™ or CyborgBlaster™ with quadraphonic subwoofers you gotta see Papp. Half of ’em’re the gentrification crowd, the rest are dexed up or oped out or what not, but they all line up for quarters and brass bucks!”
“Whoa! Check out Special Agent Ray-bans!” Rashid Fabok stepped into the darkened interior, removed his sunglasses, and smiled at the men behind the counter.
“Shut up, Jamie! Can I help you, sir?”
“Lowell Papp?”
“The same.”
“I’m looking for one of your regular players.” Rashid lifted his pad so the men could see the image. It was an adolescent male with a long blond lock running across half his face and the other half of his head closely shorn. The lad was shown glowering at the camera. “Andrew Seeger, presently playing Surv – ”
“Over there.” Papp pointed across the lobby. “Show him Jamie.”
Jamie led him to Seeger.
Drew was finally getting the hang of NoSurvivorsIV™.
As his avatar advanced through the hapless crowd, larger and heavier weapons dropped into his arms from his cache in nether space. He fired off several rounds into the school bus in front of him, then tossed the bazookas as he strolled through the wreckage. He continued moving forward, firing projectiles, energy blasts, and fireballs into the crowd, relishing the blossoming gouts of gore, and the hissing crackle of burning flesh. Keeping his eyes on both his power supply and his body count, he lobbed explosives into the denser sections of the crowd and watched the string of digits floating in the sky scroll past his previous best. When he reached the center of the city, he planted his nukes, set the timers, and activated his jet belt.
He rocketed away from the mushroom cloud and a floating chorus of topless hula dancers serenaded his glory and bedecked him with leis. As the music swelled and the girls moved in closer everything went black and Drew’s headset went dead.
“Hey!” He ripped off his rig and confronted Fabok. “What’s the deal, you trip over the cable? You just cost me a free game! This is a six quarter machine!”
Fabok held out a deuce.
“You can play again later, if you want. Keep the change for your trouble.”
Drew looked at him, then at the two-dollar note, then he took the note.
“What’s the big deal, anyway?”
“Andrew Seeger? Drew?”
“Yeah?”
“Let me buy you lunch. You can get back to playtime later.
Your country has a bright future for you, if you want it.”
The Investigators’ Offices, District of Columbia,
Six weeks before passage of the HERO Act
“Yes Peter, what is it?”
Peter stepped in from the hallway and closed the door. “You need to see these, Jim. They were sent over by her people.” He dropped a large envelope onto Jim’s desk and settled into the guest seat.
Jim went through the contents. They were mostly photographs of his friends and family, in their commonest haunts – schools, parks, coming out of bars – each framed neatly in a circle with crosshairs centered on their respective foreheads. The final page was a list of Congress members, annotated with potentially embarrassing investigation proposals. The men sat for a bit, then Jim spoke, “So we lean on these Reps, then? Look into these matters? Anything else?”
“From them? No. No, that speaks for itself. But, uh… Clearly, they know how to deal with embarrassing problems like Exner and Epstein. Just watch your step, Jimmy, that’s all. They got you covered six ways from Sunday.”
Da Kine Kailua™, Middlebury Mall, three months after the HERO Act
“Wasn’t your score on Survivor flagged us,” Fabok mumbled around his pulled pork sandwich while Seeger sucked the syrup out of his shave ice.
“It’s ‘No Survivors.’” The boy sneered at him. “Not ‘Survivor.’” It was always embarrassing when oldsters tried to relate. Drew continued to stare at Rashid, then realized, “I thought Muslims didn’t eat pork.”
Fabok took another bite. “They don’t. Or Jews for that matter. S’what? My family’s been Christian for generations. Used to live in Iraq. Then Dumb’n’Dubya toppled Saddam. When ISIS moved in, we had to split,” he drew his hand across his throat, “or we’d BE split.”
“That’s harsh, man. You’re a different spin than I expected. I thought all you Feds were all gung ho for the war machine and shit.”
“We don’t bring out politics to work, usually, so we look like a united front. We’re anything but that, but we are professionals.”
“Yeah. Okay.” The boy went back to his icy drink for a bit and thought.
Then he scoffed. “It’s ‘No Survivors Four’ in fact.”
“What?”
“You called it ‘Survivor.’ It’s ‘NoSurvivorsIV.’ The first three were a snap.”
“I’m sure they were.” Rashid smiled at the lad. “the Survivor – the NoSurvivors series gives us plenty on demeanor and basic suitability. Corrections and ICEUS have been mining that one for years. No, not for our needs. We want more than just tactical. We need deftness and subtlety as well. Frankly, kid, you left NoSurvivors behind long ago. It’s the puzzles and challenges on ColdMaze, that’s where we like to see you shine! You’re able to take out legions of players and leave the materiel intact. That’s the kind of focus we’re looking for!”
“Yeah, NoSurvivors is alright, but ColdMaze… ColdMaze is Sue. Preem. But at two and a half bucks a play…”
“It’s a much steeper curve. I know. But for those who can face it…”
“It’s a rush!”
Settler’s notes
Speaker: The god damned deficit has been at war with us for decades and it’s about time we took it seriously! In just a few short years the interest alone will eclipse the rest of the budget, and our creditors will be calling the shots!
VP: We can always pay our debts. The Federal Reserve and modern –
Sen PS: Paper only goes so far, Ma’am. Sooner or later someone’s going to want the wheat or the whiskey or the brass buttons backing it all up.
Speaker: Our dollar is and has always been backed up by the full faith and credit of the United States Government and we’ve never defaulted –
Sen PS: Sir, we are defaulting every day. Our dollar is only backed up by political integrity and you can see how far that goes just in this room.
Speaker: Or that god damned new gold bug government in Russia, the Proby…
Rep NA: What kind of stupid handcuffs is that? America needs an elastic currency to deal with the money manipulators in Zurich and Beijing.
Speaker: Whatever the fuck. If they think we’re cleaning out Fort Knox they can suck ass! Fuck China! Fuck Russia! Fuck Promenadya, and fuck gold! Our buck has always been backed by bullets. You want payment? You’ll get payment!
Sec Trez: Mr Speaker, I’m sure State is on top of these International challenges. Our focus today is domestic. We need to maximize revenue while minimizing the fear and misery — the uh, Social Trauma Index –that accompanies collection.
Speaker: The government must be paid what it is due.
Sen PS: Its “due” might be problematic. We seem to have passed the point of diminishing returns. Maybe government really should be smaller. The reports leave little doubt; our tax policy has been killing people since it was instituted.
VP: Is it really the amount of pain, or the way it’s handed out? People should be made to see that it’s fair. Our President says to look after the shape of our democracy. You know, from each to each. Let me ask this. Is it worse to kill twenty people or twelve? For government to serve us, some people die. Whether it’s suicide, or alcoholism, or domestic violence, or a thousand other ways that hate and fear gets the better of them, people die. I wish I could save every one of them, but I can’t. But if we take away the infrastructure, industrial policy, defense, a sound central bank — then there’s no economy and no government!
Sec Trez: Now multiply all that by ten years. A population of four hundred millions is going to express an awful lot of statistical stress behavior. How many small-town bakers or plumbers went under over the last decade? How many desperate businessmen ate their guns because they couldn’t see any other way out?
Sen PS: How many took out their whole families first?
Rep DK: Shoots! Aftah ten year quite one body count, yeah?
VP: Next to those bodies stand millions of the bereaved. Widows, orphans, friends, neighbors, and other loved ones left to pick up the pieces. Have a heart, gentlemen! If we could somehow reduce all that pain, recuse, you know, all that grief. Concentrate it somehow. Streamline the process. Once you know that you can’t have the pure good then we have to choose the lesser evil, right?
Later that year, prior to the Amendment’s passage out of the Congress, “Senator PS” and the rest of his immediate family were killed when a gas explosion destroyed their Connecticut home. Because they left no heirs, their estate was declared federal salvage. That same week, “Representative DK” was presumed killed along with the rest of SoCal Flight 1913 when it disappeared over the ocean