V-Box ============= "Mommy, I want to watch Rescue Squad!" "You can't, dear. That show is for 7-year-olds." "Sarah says it's the best show ever! I want to watch it!" "Sarah turned 7 last week, so she can watch it. The TV knows how old you are." "Fine. I want to watch Power Dogs." "Honey, that one's for five-year-olds. You're not five anymore. You're six and a half!" "I don't care. If I can't watch Rescue Squad, I want to watch Power Dogs." Hillary sighed. Her mother told her she'd have moments like this, but she never figured it would be a battle over the television show. It was not shaping up to be a terribly good day. She steeled herself for the wailing that was sure to ensue. Just as her daughter's lip started to quiver, she remembered something. "Honey, hold on. I just thought of something." The basement was full of cobwebs and smelled of cardboard and mold. "I'm sure it's here somewhere..." She shuffled boxes side to side. "Found it!" The pink and white boxes all in a neat row in the cardboard, right where she'd left them twenty years ago, packed in will all the things she'd taken from her mother's house when she got her own. "Honey. Want to watch this? I used to watch it when I was a little girl like you." "Okay." Hillary sighed in relief. She wasn't up for another tantrum, and since TV was usually the fix for them, tantrums over TV were especially tough. She plugged cables into the TV, trying to find which bits went into which. She un-tangled cables and plugged them in. "No signal" the TV blared in big white letters on a red screen. "Okay, not that way." She re-plugged cables. "Unauthorized content" Okay, not that way either. A different cable. "Unauthorized content" Argh! Another cable, untangled from the mass in the box. The video sprang to life, and cartoon ponies danced on the screen. Hillary made popcorn. The show wasn't as fun as she remembered, but it pushed all the right nostalgia buttons, so she settled in next to her daughter. "Mommy! There's more!" Her daughter had discovered the neat row of labels on the side of the boxes, numbered neatly in friendly letters from 1 to 37. "How do I change it?" Hillary showed her the eject button, and how to rewind a tape. Her daugher neatly put the tape back in the cardboard box, and pulled out tape number 2. Into the slot it went. "More popcorn!" Hillary almost didn't hear the bang on the door over the sound of popping corn and the whirr of the microwave. She opened it and two police officers and a man in a grey suit were standing there. "Ms. Somers?" The man in the grey suit spoke. "Yes." "I am an attorney for Bono/WBC Universe Corporation. We were alerted by our partner company, VideoGuardian, that they had detected unauthorized content viewing from the television at this address." He thrust an envelope at her. "Have a nice day." She slid the thick stack of paper out of the envelope. She read it over, seeing something about video signature, licenses, ownership and transfer of rights. "Honey. I think we have to turn that off. The man who just came here says we can't watch that." "Why not, Mommy?! It's the best show ever!" "I don't know. He gave me all kinds of paper that says why." Hillary pulled the casette out of the machine and tucked it back into the sleeve. "You didn't rewind, mommy!" "It's okay, since we're just stopping here." Hillary ran a bath. Anything to relax. She heard another knock, and startled awake in the tub. She put on her bathrobe and stepped out of the bathroom, to be greeted by her daugher, delighted at watching ponies dance across the screen. "I was going to rewind it, but I hit the play button by accident, Mommy." Hillary sighed and went to answer the door. "Ms. Somers. You are willfully violating my client's intellectual property rights. I am here to deliver a summons to federal court. Please be at the courtroom in our jurisdiction at nine tomorrow. Please sign here." She tried not to panic, and took the papers offered her, signed the page where he requested. "Have a nice day." She ignored the man and closed the door. She read the paper slowly. "Time to make some phone calls" she thought. Nine tomorrow. The swift hand of justice. She wondered who was calling the shots on that one. "Hey, Tom . . . Do you know any lawyers? ... Yeah. Something about intellectual property. I was just trying to watch old videos with my daughter. ... Okay. Thanks." She dialed the number her brother had given her. She read over the summons again as she waited for the phone to connect. "Wilmington, Delaware" ... across the country. Be somewhere tomorrow at nine, across the country. This day was turning out better than great. The lawyer was surprisingly helpful. He needed the documents, so she emailed them. Lots of questions. They decided that the lawyer would fly out and represent her, and they'd just stay in touch by telephone. She wired the fee out of her account and sighed. There goes vacation, any time in the future. She woke at six the next morning, unable to sleep more than fitfully. She realized that the court appearance was scheduled for just then. She bit her lip and hoped the lawyer could make things better. He'd better, for the fee he'd charged. The phone rang a few moments later. "My flight was diverted. I'm in Virginia, driving to the court. Hopefully the court has a few things on its docket." A knock on the door. "You or your representative have failed to appear in court. The court has issued summary judgement against you. Sign here please." She signed for the papers. "$210,000 for each violation. Four violations, two suspended due to technical enforcement." Technical enforcement. Is THAT what "Unauthorized content" appearing on the screen of her television meant. She shook her head in disbelief. "Elections 2021!" blared the television "Nielsen corporation shows Senator McCloud has pushed ahead in the ratings, beating out incumbent President John Jacobs nearly three to one." McCloud's face flashed up on the screen, talking to the personality of the week. She changed the channel. Ever since viewership determined elections, she decided, things had been bad. The sound of the television seemed to reverberate in the one-room apartment. The house was embargoed, waiting for the appeal in the courts to decide whether to allow the judgement to stand. "This material is not suitable for viewers under the age of nine." flashed across the screen. Another channel flip. "This material is not suitable for viewers under the age of seventeen. Flip. Flip. Flip. Her daugher stepped into the bathroom and the television's red glare faded into a news report. President Jacobs looked tired, she thought. She heard a flush and the television resumed its red warning. "This content is not suitable for viewers under the age of seventeen." Flip. "Please add your race and gender to your viewing profile to unlock this show", this time the screen was blue with white letters. Flip.