The Yoga Zapper--A Novel, page 13
Tears formed in her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not Kallin’s fault. I’ve noticed Jini since she joined our group a few months back. The moment I saw her, I saw trouble.” She turned away. “Let’s not talk about her now.”
Jack concurred and changed the subject. “I’m wondering why Kallin has left me here all this time. He made such a fuss at first.”
“Don’t worry. When he figures out what he wants, he’ll get you.”
They sat on the bench for a long while, watching the lights in the mansion glowing softly. He pointed to distant objects and she detailed them. Savoring the closeness of their bodies in the dark night, he used his considerable charm to joke around and make her laugh until he felt her mood lighten. Maya took off her shoes and rubbed her toes on the ground with satisfaction.
When the moon glowed directly overhead, they headed back, entering through the side door, crossing the kitchen and walking down a long corridor and into the guest quarters. Jack tiptoed to his room and quietly opened the door.
“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” he quizzed, winking at Maya.
“Don’t spoil it,” she warned him.
“What do you mean? I like you.”
Maya harrumphed. “I’m sure you like me.” She took her hands and slowly moved them down her curves. “All of me.”
Jack reddened. “Hey, you can’t blame me for trying.”
“Look, for a few hours tonight I relaxed a bit and forgot about my troubles. I opened up, talked to someone for a change. For that, I’m grateful, but that’s all it is. As long as I am with Kallin, nothing will occur between us. Never.”
Jack didn’t take no for an answer; that wasn’t him. He turned Maya around and held her by both arms. She looked up quizzically. He kissed quickly her on her lips. She immediately pulled away.
“Oh God. You don’t give up, do you?” She sighed. “This is my fault. I should have known better. I let my guard down and you just barged in.” She folded her arms. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but keep away from me. This is not a game. You’ll get us both killed.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Jack. “I’m really sorry. I’ll never do that again.” Maya shook her head and walked away.
* * * * *
The next morning Maya knocked on Jack’s door. She beamed. “Good news! The Hand of God just called. He’s asking us to visit Kallington tonight.”
“Really!” exclaimed Jack. “What did I tell you yesterday?”
“You were right! Maybe all is not lost.”
Was it his imagination, or did she not sound all that excited?
* * * * *
Kallington, End of Kali Yuga
By the time Jack and Maya made their way to the city, it was almost midnight. The rooms in Kallin’s apartment reminded Jack of those in the estate luxurious enough but possessing a strange quality of lifelessness. His bed, deep and plush, easily brought sleep and he awoke early to meet the others for breakfast.
“So how the hell are you?” demanded the Hand of God, in his low, gruff voice.
“Real well,” replied Jack.
“This is a big day for you, my boy. Today you’ll see how great and powerful the Hand of God really is.” Jack almost burst into laughter at Kallin’s addressing himself in the third person, but a long stare from Maya instantly stopped him.
“Victory to the Hand of God,” he shouted instead.
“Ha ha,” laughed Kallin. “I like you.” He looked around the table. “This boy has some brains.”
After breakfast, they drove off in a long limousine, led by three vehicles crammed with security, their blue and white lights flashing, while another followed behind. They rolled through innumerable broad avenues lined with large glass and marble government buildings. Money oozed from the very ground here, power floated through windows and influence walked through the innumerable front doors of uncountable offices. Street after street, block after block, mile after mile, gleaming white buildings stood in testimony to the might of this capital city and left no doubt that it reigned as the world government’s seat. Their magnificence made Jack breathless, yet their contrast to the slums in the same city left him speechless.
For the first time, Jack understood the immensity of Kallington. Beside the huge government area with its impressive buildings in its center and the sprawling Central Prison to the north, teeming slums populated the vast metropolis.
The vehicle arrived at the International Legislative Exchange—an immense, charcoal-gray oval structure resembling a giant egg laid in the middle of a great oval plaza many square miles in area, dotted with hundreds of enormous black sculptures of herculean men in exaggerated masculine poses. In keeping with that mood, scores of security stations, little sandbagged mounds with large guns sticking straight up in the air and manned by thousands of soldiers, covered the area. The gigantic plaza possessed no life; no pedestrians, tourists or couples strolled the area. A four-lane, one-way, ring road circled it while occasional exits dove into the ground beneath the building. The limousine halted at one such stop and, after inspection, proceeded to the underground parking.
Inside, elevators took them, escorted by the security detail, onto a balcony overlooking an immense oval arena almost a hundred feet below. Across from them hung a huge electronic board, displaying a map of the world, divided, like a jigsaw puzzle, into about a thousand small pieces. Under the map ran several electronic tickers carrying innumerable signs and numbers. The pit below, from which emanated an incredible bedlam, featured innumerable computers arranged in circles. A mob of expensive-suited men flocked to these stations with tablets in hand or, alternatively, stood studying the great screen above, shouting at the top of their lungs while hundreds of identical black-suited men ran around as if in mindless panic.
They strolled along the terrace until they reached a large oval dais jutting a hundred feet over the pit, covered with lush white carpet, directly opposite the map. An immense marble table, thirty feet long and ten feet wide, dominated this platform and a large ornate chair sat its center. As soon as Kallin entered this area, a camera captured his actions and projected them on the electronic board. For a moment all action ceased and the place hushed before thousands of voices shouted out in unison, “Victory to the Hand of God.”
The thunderous salutation raised the hair Jack’s arms. Kallin walked to the marble railing running along the dais’s edge and waved. The crowd cheered again but, seconds later, when the tickers and map reappeared, the bedlam restarted. Kallin turned around and perched himself on his throne.
Jack sat next to Maya on a chair on one side of the platform, while the security detail lined up behind them. It took him a few minutes to gather his senses. The Exchange differed so wildly from his expectations. The scene reminded him not so much of a stately, grave legislative body as that of a raucous, no holds barred stock or options market. Instead of dignified, august senators, boisterous, common men filled the arena.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“This is the seat of the world government,” replied Maya. “Didn’t I tell you that earlier?” Jack nodded his head but remained baffled.
“What’s the map of the Earth doing on that big board? And why is it divided into all those small pieces?”
“I guess I’ll to have to explain it all,” she sighed. “Those small pieces are called Exclusive Taxation Areas, or ETAs.”
“I don’t get it.”
“ETAs are bought and sold here and nowhere else. That’s why this is the seat of the world government.”
Jack looked at her, puzzled. “This is the world government? It looks more like a stock exchange.”
“Oh, I see what you mean,” exclaimed Maya. “Some time ago, the whole government became privatized.”
“What do you mean, the government ‘became privatized’?”
“The whole world is divided into small units. We can buy and sell those units here at the International Legislative Exchange.”
Jack reflected for a moment. It still made no sense. “Why would anyone buy these pieces, these ETAs anyway?”
Maya’s eyes widened. “To make money, of course!” She regarded him curiously. “What else would you want government for?”
“But how do you make money owning an ETA?” He pointed to the scene below. “And what are they doing down there?”
“When someone buys an ETA, they get the chance to impose taxation on it. Net taxes collected become payable to the owner of that unit. Something like a franchise. That’s why they are called Exclusive Taxation Areas. This Exchange determines the value of ETAs for the purpose of purchasing and selling.”
“And what does Kallin do?”
“Kallin is the world’s largest owner of ETAs. He also possesses the Exchange—he owns the entire government.”
“What does that mean, ‘own the entire government’?”
“As owner of the International Legislative Exchange, he gets a cut, a percentage, on every transaction. In effect, he collects tax on everything and everyone in the whole world!”
The idea flabbergasted Jack. What a set-up! It all made sense. The soldiers. The way the Raks lived. He clenched his fist. He never liked Kallin and now he liked him a lot less.
At that moment, Jini came running in with a tablet. She pulled up a chair and sat next to Kallin.
“I can’t believe she did that,” stammered Maya.
“Did what?”
She glared angrily at Jini. “That she pulled up a chair and sat next to Kallin. And that he allowed her to do so.”
Jini smiled at Maya, batting her eyelids and waving gaily.
“I hate that woman,” hissed Maya, under her breath, cheerily waving back.
“Come here, my boy,” commanded Kallin. Jack shuffled over. “Pull up a chair and I’ll teach you a thing or two. Let me explain each one of these ETAs contains a certain number of ITUs.”
Jack shook his head.
“An ITU is an Individual Taxation Unit.”
“You mean an individual person?”
The question irritated the president. “Whatever the hell they are, they’re here to pay taxes. The point is, we decide, here at the International Legislative Exchange, what taxes they’ll pay.”
Jack thought for a second. “How do you collect tax from these people…I mean these ITUs?”
“That’s the beauty of this whole system,” replied Kallin, enthusiastically. “As you know, each person is embedded with a DNA implant. My scientists tell me that every time an ITU eats, drinks or whatever, he or she produces proteins. The implant measures these proteins and transmits the information to our database. From this, we calculate and collect the tax.”
Jack staggered. “That’s amazing,” he weakly commented.
“Yes, isn’t technology grand?” asked Kallin. Jack mutely nodded his head.
“Our database and networks are also remarkable,” stated Kallin. “They connect all parts of the world and they are safe from attack. In fact, our database is located on the moon!”
“This…this is incredible,” stammered Jack.
“Yes, yes,” laughed Kallin with pride. “The trick is to tax people just enough to keep them alive. Taxing them to death is bad for business. It’s a real art and I’m its master.” Jack’s head reeled. He couldn’t imagine the suffering of the poor people. How long had this gone on and how long could it last? Kallin walked out in front of the table and scanned the scene, like a lion surveying its domain.
“What are we doing here today?” Jack asked Jini.
“President Kallin introduced a new tax a few months back in one of his large ETAs. Today we will get the reports on how it’s working. If it’s successful, he might sell it for a profit. It depends on how much tax revenue is produced.”
“What if the tax doesn’t work out?”
Jini glanced at him in alarm. “You don’t want to be around if that happens.”
“What tax did he introduce?”
“It’s called the two-foot tax,” she replied brightly.
Jack knotted his eyebrows. “What’s that?”
“Basically, it’s a tax on anyone who has two feet.”
“You’re not serious!” he exclaimed.
“Of course, isn’t it clever?”
Jack reflected for a moment. “What about people who are crippled or have lost a foot?”
“We’re giving them a tax credit.” Jini looked at him proudly. “That’s my idea.”
Kallin returned to his chair, sat down and scratched his beard with impatience. He leaned over the table and pressed a button.
“Where the hell are the numbers?” he shouted. “I want those Numbers here immediately.”
A minute later, three round men, looking exactly like each other, all wearing black suits, white shirts, black hats and thin black ties, came running breathlessly. They looked incredibly anonymous, almost caricatures of ideal government servants of medium height, weight, their skin a medium hue, their hair and eyes a nondescript medium brown and pants held up by identical black belts around rotund abdomens. Despite shaved chins, permanent five o’clock shadows adorned their faces. They resembled accountants or lawyers, competent enough, but somehow lacking just a little something to become partners in a professional practice.
“Who are they?” asked Jack.
“Ask them,” retorted Kallin.
He questioned the nearest one “What’s your name?”
The black-suited man gazed back in confusion. It glanced at its two associates. “We’re not Names,” it finally answered. “We’re Numbers.” Jack looked quizzically.
“I’m Number One.” It pointed to its associates. “This is Number Two and that is Number Three.”
“Actually, they’re not individuals, they’re clones,” mentioned Jini. “We have thousands of them. They’re only good for this type of stuff.”
“So where are the reports?” yelled Kallin. The Numbers rushed forward and dropped their tablets on the table. The president swiped one and dozens of pages filled the air, each one filled, from top to bottom, with numbers, financial statements, ratios, and projections.
“That’s the analysis on how tax much is being collected and the projections for the future,” whispered Jini, breathless with expectation.
“Ha, numbers,” shouted Kallin. “I love Numbers.”
Number One smiled broadly. “Numbers are my life,” it said and stared at Kallin as if it really meant it.
“Numbers are my life,” added Number Two, with even more sincerity.
“Numbers are my li..,” started Number Three. Number One glared. Number Three swallowed hard and kept quiet. Kallin thumped Number One on the back in a chummy mood. It smiled back nervously, unsure about the attention.
“The more numbers I have, the more I control things,” declared Kallin. “And the more I control Numbers, the more money I make.” He looked at the three Numbers.
“Sound off,” Kallin ordered.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Kallin laughed, satisfied to have proven his point. He returned to examining the reports when suddenly his mood turned. Looking directly at Number One, he pointed at a report. Number One ran up, shivering.
“What’s this?” he bellowed, directly in Number One’s ear.
Tongue-tied, the Number pointed to another figure on the sheet.
“Yes, I know we exceeded our expectation on the amount of tax collected. But look at this!”
The hapless Number peered intently at the offending number as if its stare would somehow erase it.
Kallin glowered. “What’s happening with the tax credits? Why are your projections so wrong?” He looked around. “Who has an explanation for this?”
Number Two timidly put up its hand.
“Well?” demanded Kallin.
“They…they’re cutting off their feet to take advantage of the tax credit, sir,” reported Number Two.
Jack hid a gasp and shuddered involuntarily, trying to erase the image of desperate people hacking off their own feet.
“Damn them. A man can’t make an honest living anymore,” barked Kallin. He looked up on the board. The value of the ETA fell by twenty percent. “Whose idea is the tax credit?” he demanded. Jini, already pale, straightaway pointed to Number One.
“It’s the one responsible,” she immediately responded.
“Guards!” shouted Kallin. “Take it away.” Two security guards immediately rushed and dragged Number One away.
“Wait.” Kallin paused for a second. “And cut its feet off,” he ordered. Number One perked up. Kallin glared back. “You stupid ass, you think you can fool me? You want that tax credit, don’t you?” He looked at Jini. “Make sure it doesn’t get the tax credit.”
Number One’s face fell, realizing that it had lost it all. It wailed piteously, trying vainly to keep its suit straight, reaching for its briefcase while being dragged away. Kallin had already lost interest in it.
Number Two rushed up to Kallin. “Should it be the only one not to get the tax credit? Or should it be all prisoners?”
Kallin laughed and thumped it on the back. “Yes. I like that. Make it all prisoners. And throw all the people who cut their off feet in jail.”
“Yes sir,” said Number Two. “On what charge should they be arrested?”
“Tax evasion, what else,” snapped Jini. She looked up at Kallin. “It’s my idea.”
Kallin nodded. “Good.” He looked at Number Two. “Run those revisions through and give me the new projections.”
The Number grinned, scurried away and ten minutes later, ran back with the revised figures. Kallin examined them. “Ah. That’s more like it.” He glanced at the board. The free fall stopped. But his ETA had lost a lot of value. He pointed at Number Two. “You are now Number One.” Kallin searched for Number Three, who meekly sat on a chair in the back.
