The Fall of the Digital Gavel

2050, Monday November 28th, LC Station 17

Programmer 17 eased back from her work-station and stretched, then rubbed her eyes. The role of Legislative Computist was highly respected and highly paid, but it came with intense demands to operate at the very highest levels in both law and computing. She stretched again, called the amin assistant to get her another coffee, then bent back to her work.

2050, Monday November 28th, Whitemount High School

“So class, what event happened 25 years ago on this very day?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes at Jean; history was so boring, like they hadn’t been taught this a thousand times.

“Malcolm, I take it from your expression you know the answer.”

“Yes Mister Cleary,” he said, his voice slightly sing-song, “it was the Black Friday Riots.”

“Excellent. Jean, since you’re obviously amused by this, what caused the riots?”

2025, Friday November 28th

Dark smoke roiled over the shopping centre doors. Flames licked up from the burning semi-trailer. It had smashed its way over security bollards with a payload of explosive. From inside the mall came the sound of explosions and screaming. Distant sirens howled their pain at the sky, as they raced to the scene.

Felicity held her toddler close to her chest, but Pedro wailed and screamed, overcome with fear, even as he clutched at her.

“Forget the car,” Felicity said to her husband, “you can see they’re jammed at the exit already. It’ll be faster to walk home.”

Alejandro nodded, “I’ll grab the water bottle and the stroller. Head for the top end of the car park, I’ll catch up.” He jogged off in the opposite direction. Pedro kept screaming.

Felicity walked up the row of cars, squeezing between the bumpers rather than risking the road, where panicked drivers sped for the exit. Other people had reached Felicity’s conclusion and were walking, or running, to escape the devastation behind them.

By the time she reached the edge of the carpark, Pedro’s screams had dropped to a steady wail. Looking back, she could see the traffic hadn’t moved at all, and the emergency vehicles’ lights flashed just the other side of the access, unable to enter the carpark. Was that a pick-up there, jammed sideways across the exit? Who would do that?

There was a dull explosion, much smaller than the semi-trailer earlier, but Felicity still flinched, and Pedro screamed again. The pick-up was enveloped in flame and smoke. Distant, tiny figures scrambled from the traffic jam. Tinny screaming ricocheted across the parking lot.

Felicity pushed herself into the hedging that bordered the lot and jerkily scanned across the carpark for Alejandro. She glimpsed him, pushing the blue stroller, just as she heard the faint sound of helicopters approaching.

2050, Whitemount High School

“It was the gunships that caused the riot,” said Jean.

“What about the gunships? Was it their paint job, did they park in a handicap zone… make excessive noise after 10pm, what?”

“They opened fire on the citizens trapped in the Congomart car-park.”

“And who died, specifically, who is remembered… Malcolm, help her out.”

“Pedro and Alejandro Reyes.”

“Right. Pedro and Alejandro Reyes, the son and husband of Felicity Reyes.” Mister Cleary paused, sat on the corner of his desk and cleaned his glasses. He didn’t often tell students this, but he sensed this particular class needed something to make it real.

“Guys, I know these are all just names to you; it all happened a decade before you were born. But I was your age at the time, I was watching this unfold. My house was two blocks away.” The room fell to sudden silence.

“I could smell the smoke, I watched the gunships fly overhead, I saw Felicity Reyes, not just on tv. In person. Sure, I watched the riots on tv, hell, I was scared; I wasn’t staying out there, I got inside, real quick. But I actually saw her, just after she lost her loved ones. And she was terrifying.” The students jerked in surprise.

“And I heard the President make that announcement”.

2025, Sunday November 30th

“My fellow citizens. Today is a dreadful day, an evil day. The terrible criminals who have caused so much damage – I saw a young man, he was black, knock down an old lady, just because she was in his way, just because she was there. Terrible people. And this is happening all over. Everywhere you look, these terrible, terrible people are attacking our great nation, and if something isn’t done, right now, then they’re all gonna take the whole country away. So I’m declaring a state of emergency. The National Guard has been called in.

Felicity stared numbly at the prison television. The rage wasn’t gone exactly. Rather it was packed into a neat box and forced down into a tiny corner of her soul, dormant, but certainly not gone. She glanced around the room; most of the other prisoners were also watching, their faces as carefully blank as hers. Because most of them were charged with the same offences she was; rioting and disturbing the peace.

It was hardly surprising, after all, half the country had rioted. Prisons were currently overflowing with alleged rioters. Supposedly all these people would be tried. Supposedly they’d all have to serve time in detention. But with so many people, how could it possibly work. As it was, there simply wasn’t enough room for the current detainees, let alone anyone else coming in under the state of emergency. It just didn’t add up…

2050, Whitemount High School

“Malcolm… yes, I’m picking on you today… tell me; what does, ‘The Descent into Brutality’ refer to in this context?”

Malcolm hesitated, but not through lack of knowledge.

“The actions of the Dictator. He ordered the army to open fire.”

“That’s the short version, yes," said Mister Cleary, "but there was a lot more to it than that. And remember, he wasn’t the Dictator then, he was still the President. In the lead up to the Congomart Massacre there’d been multiple violent incidents, one resulting in the death of an entire company board – who were part of what historians call…?”

He pointed to one of the students’ raised hands.

“Er, is it the Neo-aristocracy?”

“Correct, the Neo-aristocracy. And like every aristocratic institution that preceded them, they reacted the same way to threats from the lower classes. They resorted to force and massive self-protection. Some of them had as many as twenty bodyguards for a single individual. At the same time, there were so many arrests that the prisons had to prioritise the prisoners they retained and those they released. Who can tell me about the effect of this response when Felicity Reyes was released?”

2025, Wednesday, 10th December

Felicity nodded warily in greeting. The man in front of her, the self-styled, La Avispa Negra, sat, relaxed, in a leather armchair, that creaked under his muscular bulk.

“I’d ask what you want it for, but maybe I’m better off not knowing.”

“We’d both be better off.”

“Does Alejandro know you’re here? If it’s for him, he could come himself.”

“Alejandro’s dead.”

La Avispa nodded. “That is sad. We like Alejandro. So who is looking after little Pedro?”

Felicity’s face froze and her eyes bored into La Avispa’s face.

“Ah,” he said, and nodded sadly, “now I see why you come for this. I wondered how you would pay… but you no longer need a house.”

“How much?”

“The normal price is three hundred thousand, and I know you would pay it. More even. But as they do say, ‘payback is a bitch’, and you, I think… you are that payback.” His eyes glittered darkly as he watched her.

“Three hundred I can manage.”

“I will only accept fifty. But on one condition. No more children; you have lost yours, but that does not mean you can take theirs. It’s not their fault.”

Felicity glanced away, a flush creeping down her neck.

“Say it, Felicity, no more children. Or else there is no deal at all.”

“No more children,” she muttered.

“Louder.”

“No more children!”

“Very well. The instructions are taped inside the lid. Nathan here will take your money. Good luck, Madam Reyes.”

2050, Whitemount High School

“So what did Felicity Reyes do?” asked Mister Cleary.

“She tried to blow up the President,” said Jean quietly.

“Specifically, how did she do it? This is important.”

“She fired a rocket launcher at his car. But she only got his decoy.”

“Right. And what’s more, it was done with a rocket launcher stolen from a defence force base.” Mister Cleary paced the front of the room, animated and gesturing.

“So, after everything that’s happened, the riots, the threats to the Neo-aristocracy, the massacre, the violence; someone directly attacks the President using weapons of his own forces. I can’t stress enough how important that last part is... because it erodes trust in the ability of the law enforcement agencies. Finally, the President has an excuse to enact martial law.”

He paused as if in thought. “Question. Does this now make him a dictator.”

“Of course it does,” said Malcolm, “he’s using the army to control the country.”

“Yes, he is, but there’s still one more step, one crucial piece of the puzzle. For comparison, in 1804 Napoleon was crowned emperor in the presence of Pope Pius. Before that, he had control of France, undoubtedly, but he wasn’t yet secure. We aren’t so worried about the pope here, but there is still an over-riding authority. And the President needed their blessing, at least nominally, to lend validity to his claim. Who is that over-riding authority?”

2025, Thursday, 18th December

The eleven judges of the Constitutional Court stood together, the Principal Justice foremost at the lectern. He directed his address both to the small crowd of gathered dignitaries and journalists, and the cameras above them.

“The Constitutional Court has voted overwhelmingly in favour, by nine votes to two, of granting the incumbent president with the necessary powers to ensure peace. This includes the suspension of the two-term limit to power, as the unpredictable nature of the current climate could well undermine the democratic process, were an election to be held during the crisis.

Felicity watched the announcement on the prison television. Her cell was very different from that of her previous internment. She was alone, the cell completely shut in and silent except for the tv, locked onto the news channel. She scratched at the bandages that covered her shoulder, arm and leg, and wondered when they’d come for her and how they’d kill her.

2050, Whitemount High School

“Once the President had the emergency powers granted by the Constitutional Court, this is the point historians define as his ascension to Dictator. His first act, on the same day as his anointment, was to order the death of Felicity Reyes. From there, he went on to conduct a campaign of political violence, eliminating any opposition to his regime, under the pretense of restoring peace. Even going so far as to have their children kidnapped or executed.”

Mister Cleary paused, his hands splayed on his desk and leant towards the class. “However, there were four specific deaths of particular note. What four critical deaths demonstrated the flaw in our existing constitutional checks and balances?” He pointed to a student near the back.

“Was it the four Constitutional Justices?”

“Correct. Four Constitutional Justices were murdered; the two justices who had voted against granting him emergency powers, and another two who publicly advocated rescinding those powers, after they saw his actions. This demonstrated that the Constitutional Justices were subject to simple fear and intimidation. And that eventually led to… Malcolm, bring it home for me.”

“The AI Judges.”

“Right again, the Artificial Intelligence Judges. By definition, incapable of human emotion, the AI Judges have become a key influence in our society. There is not a single day goes by, that our actions are not influenced by the cool logical application of law, brought to us by the AI Judges. Without human emotion clouding their judgment, every legal decision they make is to the optimum benefit of our society, as a whole. They can’t be bribed, they can’t be threatened, and they can’t be cajoled. The AI Judges are arguably the greatest constitutional safeguard for our democracy, ever developed.”

He paused thoughtfully, “Only thing is, the Dictator wasn’t going to let that happen. There’s a man historians refer to only as The Wasp, who can tell me what he did?”

Every single hand in the room shot up.

2028, Tuesday, 7th November

He couldn’t ask anyone else to do this, those he trusted most hadn’t the ability, and those with the ability weren’t to be trusted. It had taken months to prepare, and over a million dollars in bribes, to get this one, clear shot. And there might never be another chance.

The massive sniper rifle cradled snugly to his shoulder, perfectly calibrated and registered on the target zone. He steadied his breathing, mentally scanning his body for tension. The Dictator stepped into view. He breathed out, and squeezed the trigger, and the rifle roared and kicked, trying to wrench itself away. He checked through the scope. Target down.

“No more children,” he whispered.

2050, Monday November 28th, LC Station 17

Programmer 17 stretched and yawned, then stood up twisted one way then another to unkink her back. She was looking forward to drinks with some friends this evening. Legislative Computing was lonely work, with nobody to talk to all day. Still, it was a necessary precaution. Discussions with other programmers could result in group think, and that had the potential to affect how each person programmed their AI Judge.

Weary but satisfied, Programmer 17 left the work booth, collected her phone and personal items from her locker, and started out through the three sets of security doors. She smiled slightly to herself, it was rewarding, knowing she was one of just 66 people who were tasked with this critical work, tasked with ensuring the Judges always made the right decision.