Warren's Law

 
    At first, Warren thought he was being arrested. The two uniformed men who took him away were polite enough, addressing him as "sir" as they ushered him gently but firmly into the waiting limousine, but their jackets fit loosely enough to accommodate sidearms. The fact that he not recognize their uniforms did nothing to reassure him. The Ministry of Law Enforcement had so many branches these days. Some were well publicized, like the Income Regulation branch and the Citizen Protection Branch; others were only whispered about. Nobody was capable of keeping track of all the laws, not even the lawyers whose livelihood depended on it.
    Once in the back of the limousine, Warren took out his phone to call his lawyer. One of the men bracketing him expertly snatched it from his hand. "No outside contact for ten days, sir -- that's the law."
    "Ten days? What have I done now?" Warren asked irritably. He would surely have to start another job search. His boss was a reasonable sort of person, but ten days of unscheduled absence would be too much even for him, especially with major deadlines looming.
    The official seemed to read his mind. "Everything will be taken care of," he said soothingly.
    "What have I done?" Warren asked again, his curiosity battling with his anxiety. If this was an arrest, it was a very unusual one.
    The limousine stopped. The man on his right got out and held the door open for him. Warren slid over apprehensively, then let out a whoop of joy.
    "Great Jehosophat! I finally won something!"
    He was in front of the Lottery Building -- the Temple of Luck, as people liked to call it. It provided ordinary citizens with opportunities to partake of some of the luxuries that were no longer attainable since incomes had been capped. By way of motivation, those who earned more money than they could legally keep were given the difference in gambling credits. The government lotteries supported everything from cultural enrichment for the masses to salaries and uniforms for the hordes of Public Betterment officials. Gambling was a privilege for those whose income was over the limit: the surplus was redistributed to those who needed it most. Anyone who was unable to find a job was given a niche in Public Betterment: socially significant chores like picking up garbage, taking surveys, or writing loitering tickets for individuals who were wont to linger overly long in public washrooms.
    It seemed as if all the people in Warren's social circle had won prizes: personal vehicles, high-fashion wardrobes, exotic vacations, dates (albeit chaperoned ones) with celebrities, and even that ultimate luxury, detached housing. Affluent citizens had taken these privileges for granted before the Social Revitalization of the Conglomerated Nations. Now, no one was allowed to earn more than twenty thousand credits annually, or possess more than a year's salary at any time. There simply wasn't enough leeway in that income to make payments on anything more extravagant than a bicycle or a simple engagement ring. The opulent trappings of pre-revitalized society could only be bestowed by the legendary powers that presided over the Temple of Luck.
    Warren was breathing raggedly when he was ushered into the elevator and whisked to the penthouse. He would be granted an audience with the CEO of Lotteries himself! Only the creme de la creme was allowed into his inner sanctum. Warren had struck it rich. Very rich.
    The CEOL rose graciously from his chair, smiling expansively and holding out his hand. "Congratulations! You are the jackpot winner of the Change Your Planet lottery!" He pumped Warren's hand, striking his classic congratulatory pose for the wall-mounted cameras. "Mr. Hanley -- as of this moment, you are a celebrity!"
    The functionary off to one side began to read rapidly from the sheaf of papers he held in his hand. "The prize consists of the right to create one general law for the Conglomerated Nations, or for the country in which you normally reside. The prize is subject to limitations, exceptions and restrictions listed on schedule 411(a), paragraph 6, subsection 9. Prize includes ten days' accommodation at the Lottery Centre, technical support, and a maximum of thirty-five guests at the celebratory luncheon after the press conference announcing the aforementioned law. The winner agrees to attempt no outgoing communication during the ten-day period. Winner's financial account will be reset at the maximum, and winner will be fully compensated for work days lost, and protected from employer reprisals concerning said days lost. Do you accept the prize as described? Sign here."
    Warren signed. "This should only take a few minutes," he protested. "Can I go home afterwards?"
    The CEOL smiled compassionately. "We are required by law to inform you of all the consequences of your potential choices."
    The man who had snatched his phone gently pulled his arm. "This way, please, sir."
    "Can't I call my girl friend?" he pleaded as he was being ushered to his suite. "She'll be so thrilled."
    "Chances are that someone is interviewing her this very moment. This kind of news travels fast."
    Warren sighed. Hard-core civil servants like this one knew their duty and were absolutely committed to performing it. "Not even one tiny message?"
    His guide recognized the question as rhetorical. "Your work room is this way," he said, opening a door.
    The office was as luxurious as anything he had ever seen, with shag carpeting, a leather couch, and fine original art. A nook at one end was dominated by a bewildering computer system on a glass-topped desk. The chair in front of it was the latest in self-adjusting technology: not only would it mould itself to his form and maintain his body temperature, but it would also insist on rest and exercise breaks. A less luxurious chair sat off to one side with a brown-suited man seated on it.
    "This is George, your assistant."
    Warren stuck out his hand, but George shook his head. "Sorry. My arms don't move. I'm just a talking head. The rest is cosmetic."
    "You're a robot?"
    "Not really. I'm your computer interface."
    "This seems like an awful lot of fuss for one little law," Warren protested as he was dragged off for orientation.

* * *

    "Where would you like to begin, Mr. Hanley?" George asked.
    "Call me Warren. I want to eliminate the cap on income." Almost all of Warren's fantasies involved spending all the money he had earned.
    "Well, Warren, you have chosen the number one request. I have accessed all the information." Graphs and information began to flash on the computer screen. "As you can see, eliminating the cap would cause social chaos. The government would be forced to introduce taxation to make up the deficit. As a matter of fact, you would have less income at your disposal than you do now."
    After forty-five minutes of clarification, Warren was convinced. "I guess it's too disruptive to make such a major change. How about an exception just for me?"
    "That would set a dangerous precedent," George said sternly. "A precedent that might obliterate all the benefits of Social Revitalization."
    "We'll get back to that," Warren said hastily. "Let's explore some other alternatives. How about designating the area around Lake Wannasabe as a Heritage Wilderness?" That had been his favourite fishing place until the developers moved in.
    George showed him the socio-economic costs of creating a Heritage Wilderness in a partially-developed location, and pointed out that he would no longer be permitted to visit it. Warren had to agree that would defeat his purpose.
    "Have there been any suggestions from the public so far?" he asked.
    "Yes sir. There have been twelve million messages."
    "Twelve million?"
    "That's a little slow, actually. But it is sure to pick up tomorrow."
    "What is the most frequent suggestion?"
    George accessed for a moment. "Approximately seven million correspondents would like to abolish the sexual activity tax."
    "Hm." Warren pondered for a moment. "Maybe we should do that."
    "The loss of revenue would mean massive cuts in social programs. There would also be a loss of 23,416 jobs in the Enforcement branch. The fines that the Department collects in this area are also substantial."
    Warren leaned back in his chair and turned on the massage unit. "I guess this is going to take ten days after all,"
    As he relaxed, he asked George to read him some of his personal messages. His girl friend promised him wonderful sex if he would improve her working conditions; his boss wanted a government contract for his company; and his mother insisted that tobacco be taken off the controlled substances list. None of them would take disappointment well.
    The second and third days were worse than the first. A number of very emotional messages came from Warren’s family and friends. He decided to stop looking at messages. 
    On the seventh day, he did not come to the work room, and paced around his living quarters instead. On the eighth day, he sat mesmerized by the computer screen, while George droned his endless lists of consequences. On the ninth day, in a last-ditch effort to come up with the perfect law, he reviewed the choices of previous winners.
    The press conference was set for eleven o'clock. Reporters had been arriving since seven-thirty, vying for the best spots in the banquet hall. Warren's guests arrived a few at a time, each one grasping at dreams, certain that his or her special wish would be fulfilled. The Citizen Protection officials were also in attendance with tear gas and attack dogs.
    Warren arrived at four minutes before eleven. His splendid new tux and designer hairdo could not hide the fact that his eyes were bloodshot and new wrinkles had appeared on his forehead. There was a spatter of applause as he climbed the podium. One of the lottery officials turned on the microphone. Forty-two television cameras zoomed in on his face, and seventy tape recorders sprang to life.
    "Ladies and gentlemen," Warren said, "I have not slept for three days. Law-making is much more complicated than I ever imagined. Our society is like an ecosystem -- change one thing, however trivial, and the rest of the system has to be adjusted.
    "I spent yesterday reviewing the performances of the previous jackpot winners." Warren looked down at his notes. "There were six of them. Tamami Yokusaki liberalized the use of personal transportation vehicles and caused a traffic jam that required fifty-three days to clean up. Monica Capaletti changed child custody laws, which spawned thousands of legal actions, some of which are not yet resolved. James Edward Creighton allowed free travel between the Conglomerated Nations, causing extreme stress on the facilities in certain desirable areas."
    Warren looked up at his eager audience. "All three of these were given new identities and relocated under the Jackpot Winners' Protection Act. Sufina Darioles was less lucky. She was attacked and killed at the press conference, and her proposed law was never passed." He looked down again. "Pierre Lachance committed suicide. And Gisela Wundergeist decided to forfeit her prize."
    Warren paused. Everyone leaned forward. "In view of everything that I have learned, there seems to be only one truly viable possibility."
    Warren took a deep breath. Cameras whirred and flashed. The reporters took a fresh grip on their microphones and laptop computers. One or two traditionalists chewed on their pencils.
    "In the best interests of everyone, I am abolishing the Change Your Planet Lottery in the Amalgamated Nations."