Ms. Maxwell sat at her terminal, preparing her lesson for the next day. She did so with pride, as her class was well into the first unit while other teachers were still dawdling somewhere among introductory grounds. Often, she wondered if she was being pretentious simply by harboring such pride; but, nevertheless, she enjoyed being the furthest ahead, educating the brightest students, inspiring the deepest thoughts.
So she enjoyed planning her lessons. She considered her pride the guilty pleasure of the job, not spawned out a natural love of history, which she no doubt also had, but out of a sort of progressive conceit. Did she consider herself above the other teachers? Not admittedly, for outward arrogance of that kind would be bitterly received by both her colleagues and herself, especially seeing as she was significantly younger than most at the fresh age of twenty-six as well as significantly newer to the profession. Nevertheless, her natural tendency was to act as such, and often such behavior led her to misfortune.
But as her mind narrowed to fit her task, in that solitary moment, she soon forgot all arrogance and became thoroughly engaged with the subject matter itself, settling against her will, yet much to her benefit, into a state of mental flow.
Unfortunately, that flow was soon interrupted by another presence, that of an unwelcome application taking dominance over her terminal. The screen went blank, a solid wall of black, permeated only by faint green text portraying a single word: Salutations.
"Oh, I hope to God I don't have a virus," she mused to herself, trying to find a way to close it. But nothing she did had any effect on her computer. She danced her fingers over the keyboard, but the single word remained.
Soon, however, Ms. Maxwell's face went white as she realized that something did have an effect on her computer's state, that being her voice. By all definitions of the word, this is a virus, I'm sorry to say. If it's any comfort, I do promise you that your computer will be returned to its natural state when we are finished.
"Finished with what?" she questioned, her eyes darting about in apprehension. She crossed her arms and leaned inward a little bit, as if trying to hide something.
Link was right, you know.
"Link who?"
Link, who is in your class. The boy had a heated debate with you on the first day of school, if you remember, Holly Beatrice Maxwell.
She nearly screamed. How did this person, or program, or whatever form of monstrosity this may be, have possession of her full name, as well as knowledge of her conversation with Link on that day?
Do not be alarmed. Our eyes and ears are your computer's. You, having such extensive knowledge of the Privacy Crises of 2013, 2327, and 2489, should know full well that anyone near active technology is not alone.
"Then I should be more cautious," she said, sitting up straight with an air of hostility; and not the heated kind of hostility, but the cold kind, the persuasive sort which is the mark of a seasoned diplomat; though well-read might have been a more suitable word for Maxwell than seasoned. "Perhaps I should switch my computer off now, and not turn it on until this problem is dealt with."
Are you trying to blackmail me into explaining myself? I would advise against that on the grounds that I have nothing to lose in my current position. Your cooperation, though desirable, is not necessary to the well being of our organization. You, on the other hand, have much to lose, and by blackmailing me you give me the rights to do the very same to you. Now, let's see how you like a taste of your own medicine. That hard drive of yours is vulnerable, and if that isn't enough incentive, so is every other hard drive on which you've saved a file. Civilian firewalls mean nothing to us. The end of the age of pencil and paper is the dawning of a new sort of power.
Holly gasped, immediately regretting her attempt to take advantage of such feeble leverage. She realized she was like a small child threatening to beat up the playground bully, who was a foot taller than and twice the weight of everyone else in the yard. She knew diplomacy, but only textbook diplomacy, and her first attempt at such an endeavor in real life had left her weak, helpless, and lacking any of the arrogance that had so dominated her psyche just a few minutes ago. "Then tell me what you want and I'll cooperate. I can't say that I'll give you what you want, but I'll negotiate without...aggressive forms of persuasion."
Thank you, though that will indubitably benefit yourself more than it will benefit us.
"You mentioned Link. Does this have anything to do with Link?"
This does not involve him in any practical regard. However, I mentioned him for the principles which he brought to your awareness. Tell me, what did you learn that day?
"Well, I realized that the U.I.R. Constitution might not be so supportive of liberties as I had previously imagined."
And what might you infer about us from our support of that hypothesis?
Holly, though biased by an emotional state in which any assertions might be dubious, saw a harsh satire of her methods as a teacher in that archetypal question. Pride seeping back into her veins, she made a deliberate effort to answer in the most casual way possible without blowing her persona: "You don't like the government."
No, we don't. In fact, we don't like it so much that we conspire against it and hope to someday reveal ourselves in open rebellion.
"Don't you think that open rebellion is a bit extreme? Surely you can find a way to petition them, directly or indirectly."
That was our goal, in the earliest stages of our existence. We used to constantly draft new constitutions and propose them under the names of different individual members. All of them were rejected in full, without any explanation as to why. Our goal was to clarify the ambiguous language and close the loopholes that granted unnecessary executive power to the Hylian Matriarchy, and we were rewarded with military occupation of all the planets on which resided those members under whose names the documents were submitted. The government would never admit that such was the reason, though. It was always something within the private constitution of that planet that was legally recorded as the reason for occupation, deemed as fitting within the vague category of 'inhumane or unjust.' Inhumane or unjust my ass, Hylian Matriarchy.
Holly was taken aback by the sudden change in tone. "The article in the constitution about inhumane or unjust regulations in subordinate constitutions is merely a safeguard. A contingency plan for when the letter of the law fails."
That's what you want to believe because you don't think anybody can successfully overthrow the Matriarchy. You believe they are too powerful and therefore we must comply with their will.
"Why, that's not what I think at all! The Matriarchy wants maximum freedom and maximum justice, without superfluous sacrifice of either."
Do not lie to yourself. You consciously know that the Matriarchy has only used democracy as a veil, meanwhile skewing the Constitution to give itself absolute power. You've seen it yourself. It was brought to your awareness both by your students and by your own reasoning. Now I have a question to ask you: will you help us fight this unequal distribution of power? Will you help promote democracy?
Holly was nervous. She was afraid that if she refused, she would see her world fall apart, and that if she accepted, she would see her world change in ways so unexpected she could not make an educated decision at the present moment. She knew, in the depths of her soul, that the enigma speaking to her was correct in principle, and she had known for some time, though she would not confess it. However, she had no way of knowing that their cause would do what it claimed to. She could be talking to Patrick Henry or Joseph Lenin. From what she had heard, how could she tell which? Taking the safer option, out of the fear that Lenin was sitting at the other terminal, trying to coerce her into something terrible, she declined. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I cannot accept with so little information."
There was no response for some time. Holly gripped her seat, every muscle in her body tense with fear. She felt as if she were under the gaze of a wrathful God, who could choose to exercise his mercy or to smite her on a whim. Finally, words appeared.
Very well, then. I'm sorry I even tried to convince you. If I had known you were so obstinate about your faith in the Hylian Matriarchy, this never would have happened. But, alas, you know too much.
Holly barely felt the sting of the tranquilizer dart before she fell into a state of unconsciousness.