one at a time.
Regi’s irritated voice boomed through, clearly heard by Demus and Indie, who were enjoying the spectacle from their aerial perch. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay above the fray and not get involved.” They knew Regi was monitoring the counter-revolutionary movement in Toronto, Canada.
Indie grinned as she shouted out, “I can’t help it. This is too much fun!”
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks post-Liberation
Things seemed to be stabilizing somewhat, although riots still raged on throughout the world. However, the protests seemed to be dying off gradually since the first day, where hundreds of bystanders had been injured. There were no charges laid, because police forces and courthouses, now subsiding on bitcoins contributed by their respective communities, were now focussed on survival. Only the most severe crimes, such as murder and arson, were still being investigated and prosecuted.
All governments—federal, state, or municipal—had all run out of paper money, and now were painfully adjusting to the new “bitcoin economy” where they had to continually justify every expense, even a light bulb in a dingy hallway of a courthouse. Millions and millions of government workers around the world were laid off, and only the “visible” jobs such as service counter clerks, police officers, swimming pool administrators, firefighters, garbage collectors, and utility operators managed to prosper in the brave new economy. Every day, for many taxpayer-funded jobs that the public never heard of, but sorely missed once eliminated, millions of consumers frantically rushed to their tabs to “save” their old entitlements. It wasn’t uncommon for a city worker to receive a layoff notice, and then two days later, receive a call back to work, only because the city had suddenly received a fresh dedicated stream of bitcoin revenue for his old job.
Amanda was still working at her headquarters on South Basin. It was now past seven p.m., yet dozens of staffers were still in their shared offices—no cubicles as the Liberators frowned upon them—diligently processing thousands of petitions, news releases, requests, phone calls, electronic mail messages, economic and international reports, and blueprints that came their way. Her staff had doubled to two hundred, as the demand soared through the roof. She had a huge, spacious private office that overlooked San Francisco Bay, and she loved her surroundings. The office complex, zapped up only two weeks ago, still had that brand-new feel to it.
The Liberators were certainly ingenious. There were nine “hopping elevators” on each floor which looked like regular elevators, but sped along rapidly “sideways” from one corner of the huge complex to the other. There were nine, because the complex was shaped like a perfect hexagon, with six sides. Three were for transporting from one corner directly to the opposite corner. Then there were six for going along the perimeter of the hexagon, along all six sides, one hopping elevator each . Very efficient , Amanda thought.
The recruits to the Supreme Liaison’s headquarters were astounding in terms of their qualifications. The Liberators had insisted upon only three hiring rules: all must have university degrees and experience in philosophy, metaphysics, economics, international relations, politics, science, medicine, or commerce; there must be a perfectly balanced gender ratio, that is, for every woman hired, there must be one man; and all must be under the age of twenty-seven, and thus couldn’t turn thirty within three years’ time from the day that the Liberators took power.
Amanda frowned as she peered over the list of sixty-five approved blueprints for new courthouses in Belize, Guatemala, Mexico, Canada, and the United States. She verified that the blueprints had all the vital information, and then carefully placed them into a pile in a slot in the wall with a nameplate labeled “Justica.” The slot
Regi’s irritated voice boomed through, clearly heard by Demus and Indie, who were enjoying the spectacle from their aerial perch. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay above the fray and not get involved.” They knew Regi was monitoring the counter-revolutionary movement in Toronto, Canada.
Indie grinned as she shouted out, “I can’t help it. This is too much fun!”
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks post-Liberation
Things seemed to be stabilizing somewhat, although riots still raged on throughout the world. However, the protests seemed to be dying off gradually since the first day, where hundreds of bystanders had been injured. There were no charges laid, because police forces and courthouses, now subsiding on bitcoins contributed by their respective communities, were now focussed on survival. Only the most severe crimes, such as murder and arson, were still being investigated and prosecuted.
All governments—federal, state, or municipal—had all run out of paper money, and now were painfully adjusting to the new “bitcoin economy” where they had to continually justify every expense, even a light bulb in a dingy hallway of a courthouse. Millions and millions of government workers around the world were laid off, and only the “visible” jobs such as service counter clerks, police officers, swimming pool administrators, firefighters, garbage collectors, and utility operators managed to prosper in the brave new economy. Every day, for many taxpayer-funded jobs that the public never heard of, but sorely missed once eliminated, millions of consumers frantically rushed to their tabs to “save” their old entitlements. It wasn’t uncommon for a city worker to receive a layoff notice, and then two days later, receive a call back to work, only because the city had suddenly received a fresh dedicated stream of bitcoin revenue for his old job.
Amanda was still working at her headquarters on South Basin. It was now past seven p.m., yet dozens of staffers were still in their shared offices—no cubicles as the Liberators frowned upon them—diligently processing thousands of petitions, news releases, requests, phone calls, electronic mail messages, economic and international reports, and blueprints that came their way. Her staff had doubled to two hundred, as the demand soared through the roof. She had a huge, spacious private office that overlooked San Francisco Bay, and she loved her surroundings. The office complex, zapped up only two weeks ago, still had that brand-new feel to it.
The Liberators were certainly ingenious. There were nine “hopping elevators” on each floor which looked like regular elevators, but sped along rapidly “sideways” from one corner of the huge complex to the other. There were nine, because the complex was shaped like a perfect hexagon, with six sides. Three were for transporting from one corner directly to the opposite corner. Then there were six for going along the perimeter of the hexagon, along all six sides, one hopping elevator each . Very efficient , Amanda thought.
The recruits to the Supreme Liaison’s headquarters were astounding in terms of their qualifications. The Liberators had insisted upon only three hiring rules: all must have university degrees and experience in philosophy, metaphysics, economics, international relations, politics, science, medicine, or commerce; there must be a perfectly balanced gender ratio, that is, for every woman hired, there must be one man; and all must be under the age of twenty-seven, and thus couldn’t turn thirty within three years’ time from the day that the Liberators took power.
Amanda frowned as she peered over the list of sixty-five approved blueprints for new courthouses in Belize, Guatemala, Mexico, Canada, and the United States. She verified that the blueprints had all the vital information, and then carefully placed them into a pile in a slot in the wall with a nameplate labeled “Justica.” The slot
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