The New World Order

by Robert Boren

  “I thought you liked the way things were going.”

  Linda sat back, thinking for a moment. “No, that’s not it, really. I just felt it was inevitable. The society has been moving further to the authoritarian side.”

  “It’s accelerating due to outside influences,” John said. “That’s my beef. If the country decides they want to move to a more authoritarian society, they can choose to do it, but they’ll have to change the Constitution. Most of them don’t want to bother with that. They want a new revolution, but it’s not a revolution against a bad government, regardless of what they pretend. It’s a revolution against the liberty of their fellow citizens.”

  “You’re getting on a roll. Maybe you should go write for a while.”

  “Getting on your nerves, huh?”

  Linda laughed. “No, that’s not it. Why do you always go there?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry.”

  “Go write. I’ve got things to do. The grocery list, for instance. I don’t want to be wandering around out there tomorrow. I want to get in and out in a hurry.”

  “And I’m going with you,” John said as he stood.

  “You hate grocery shopping.”

  “True, but I hate worrying about you a lot more.” He kissed her, then went into his writing room, getting back into the zone quickly. His phone dinged with a text. There was no name, just the phone number. He looked at the message.

  We need to talk. You’re in danger.

  John stared at the message for a moment, his heart rate climbing. He set down the phone and started writing. After a few minutes, his phone rang. It was the same number. John picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “You saw my text?” asked a man with a slight Italian accent.

  “Yeah, I saw it, but I don’t know who you are. What do you want?”

  “I have access to government intel. You and your brother-in-law Craig have been targeted as subversives. As things progress, you’ll need protection.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m small time. Nobody is paying attention.”

  “Your writing has caught the attention of search engine bots. You know that the internet oligarchy reports to the leftists in the government. You’ve written about that.”

  “I write fiction,” John said. “I’m not a journalist.”

  “You’re a philosopher, one step shy of a prophet.”

  John shook his head. “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “What I’m talking about is public record by law, but it’s well hidden by the oligarch’s search engine. I’m sending you a link to the documentation. If you still think I’m a nut, ignore me. If you change your mind, you can reach me at this number. Good day, sir. It was an honor to talk to you.”

  The call ended, Linda coming in after a moment. “Was that Craig?”

  “No, it was just some crank. Maybe I need to change my cellphone number.”

  “Was it a threat?”

  John chuckled. “Actually, it was somebody offering me protection.” He went on to describe the call, Linda getting agitated as he went through it.

  “Go to the link,” she said, her face flushed.

  “Seriously?”

  “Do it, dammit.”

  John eyed her for a moment, then saved his work and opened a browser window, picking up his phone. He typed in the URL. “Well, it is a government URL.”

  “Which agency?”

  “Homeland Security,” he said, turning towards her. “This is just nonsense.”

  “Hopefully,” she said. “Open the document.”

  “It’s not a document, it’s a system,” John said, looking at it. “Looks like you can search by state and county.” He clicked on Pennsylvania, which brought up a list of counties.

  “This looks like a real system,” Linda said, pulling the extra chair over, sitting next to John.

  “It’s easy to make fake things look real on the Web.” He clicked on Chester County. He was presented with a search window, and input his name. A message came up, telling him the record he’d requested was in the National section. His brow furrowed. “Dammit, I don’t like the look of this.”

  “Wait, put in Craig’s name. His article was local.”

  John shrugged, typing in Craig’s name and clicking the search button. A record popped up right away, in a spreadsheet format, with columns for name, medium, link to publication, and one other column that had a URL line labeled Official Use Only.

  “What the hell?” Linda asked. “Click the publication link.”

  John did that, the article in the local paper displaying on the screen. “Well, that’s the right link, at least. Not that it would be difficult to create.”

  “You’re questioning everything,” Linda said.

  John laughed. “A writer needs a solid gold bullshit detector.”

  She cracked up. “Yeah, I know your hero said that. You aren’t Hemingway.”

  “Don’t I know it,” John said, hitting the back button, which brought him to Craig’s record. “Wonder what this is?” He clicked the Official Use Only URL. He was presented with a password challenge.

  “Uh oh,” Linda said.

  “Just a sec,” John said, picking up his phone. He input a code from the bottom of the text message. “Not sure if that’s what this is, but we’ll see.” He hit submit, and a new page came up.

  “Holy shit,” Linda said under her breath as they both read.

  Craig Smetana recently wrote a highly inflammatory article which is anti-government and borders on hate speech. Local operative engaged in low-level intimidation to correct the problem. Thirty points were deducted from Mr. Smetana’s Social Scoring rank. Further infractions will result in an increasing social score impact and possible surveillance.

  Local operative?” Linda asked. “The rock with the note?”

  “They’ve been using this system for months,” John said, his anger rising. “The vote we just had was a sham. No way did they cook this up over the last week.”

  Linda said nothing, staring at the screen. “Go to yours.”

  John navigated to the National section and input his name. His name appeared on a similar spreadsheet-formatted page, one line for each of his sixteen books.

  “Some of those books aren’t even political,” Linda said.

  John glanced at her. “Actually, every one of my books has at least some small political component. It’s my world view. Couldn’t keep it out if I tried.”

  “Even the horror and the sci-fi?”

  “The horror is the least, probably. The sci-fi isn’t relatable to current events as easily, but the concepts are there.”

  “This is mind control.”

  “Thank you,” John said. “Let’s see what the consequences are.” He clicked on the first line, for the first book in his first series, bringing up the password challenge again. He input the code, and another page opened, similar to the page about Craig’s article, but much longer.

  “My God, they’re going down through plot points,” Linda said.

  John read silently, his hands balling into fists, scrolling down the page to the bottom, where it showed his Social Scoring impact. 25 points. “Well this ought to be fun. You done with this one?”

  “Who has time to do this?” Linda asked, her eyes welling with tears. “Is somebody assigned to read everything you write?”

  “Several of those instances were taken out of context. They’ve got a bot going through the text, looking for key words and phrases. It’s possible this was completely untouched by human hands.”

  “Click the next one,” she said.

  John did that, getting a similar page, not bothering to read each entry, scrolling down to the bottom. “This one cost me 50 points. I’ll bet it goes up 25 points with every instance.”

  “Wonder how big an impact it is?” Linda asked. “Have they said what the default normal point level is yet?”

  “This isn’t even supposed to be live yet,” John said. “Let’s check the next o
ne.” He left that instance, going to the next on the list, scrolling down the page again. “Oh, crap. It doubles every time. Now it’s 100 points off.”

  “Wonder what happens when you run out of points?”

  “Maybe time’s up.”

  { 13 }

  State Authority

  J ohn and Linda were working their way through the rest of John’s entries, the last taking a whopping 819,200 points.

  “I’m not liking the look of that,” Linda said.

  “I’m calling this guy,” John said, picking up his phone, going to the recent calls and punching the number. It rang twice and clicked.

  “You’ve checked,” said the voice.

  “You’re on speaker. My wife is next to me.”

  “Hello, Linda.”

  “Who are you?” Linda asked.

  “Have you checked your score yet?” the voice asked.

  “My score?”

  John frantically typed her name in the search box and hit enter. There was nothing found. “Says no records found.”

  “Switch to the state level, John.”

  “Oh, crap, all right,” John said, navigating to the state pages and typing her name. There was a hit this time.

  Linda’s eyes got wide. “No. What have I done?”

  “It’s only a minor infraction,” the voice said. “Click on the link.”

  John did that, the usual spreadsheet style page coming up.

  Linda laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I forgot my grocery bags, and had to buy them at the store. At least it’s only minus 5 points.”

  John was staring at the screen. “How long ago was this?”

  Linda froze, looking at him. “I rarely forget my bags. It was at least two months ago, when you used my car to go fishing with Craig. The bags were in there. I went in the convertible.”

  “That’s what I thought, and it was almost three months ago. They’ve had this system up and running for a while now.”

  “Now you understand,” said the voice. “Have you checked the regulations for the scoring system yet?”

  “Didn’t see it.”

  “It’s on the top menu, on the portal page.”

  “Who are you?” Linda asked, watching John navigate to the portal.

  “My friends call me Salvatore.”

  John burst out laughing. “Bullshit.”

  “No, that is my name, and I’d like to meet. You will need my help sooner rather than later.”

  “Salvatore is a New York mobster,” John said.

  “I prefer businessman, but I’m impressed with you. You’re a great thinker. You can call me whatever you want. I’m here to serve.”

  “Why?” John asked.

  “If we embark on the nightmare which the globalists have planned, the light of human liberty will go out all over the world. This country has been the only thing holding the world back from that. That’s why we are under attack.”

  John opened up the page called Social Scoring Regulations.

  “Oh no,” Linda said, looking at a schedule. “There’s a limit of one million points.”

  “Yes, and I’ll be past it when I release the next book… which I am very definitely going to do.”

  “That is correct, you will be at 1.6 million points, which will put you in the hole by 600,000.”

  “What happens then?”

  “You will disappear,” Salvatore said. “You are being monitored as we speak. They see you backing up your next book to the cloud. They see everything.”

  “Who are they?” Linda asked.

  “The globalists who now control our government.”

  “What now?” John asked.

  “When will you release the next book?”

  John thought silently for a moment. “If I push it, editing will start in two or three weeks.”

  “Good, then we have some time,” Salvatore said.

  “What if he never releases another book?” Linda asked.

  “They’ll get him, but not quickly,” Salvatore replied.

  “You said him,” Linda said. “Aren’t I in trouble too, since we’re married?”

  “These scores are individual,” Salvatore said, “at least in this state. Consider yourselves lucky. New York and Massachusetts have worse regulations.”

  “What do they do?” Linda asked.

  “It’s by family, and social media postings of minors are counted. It’ll eventually be that way everywhere, but there still is the illusion of state sovereignty, and there are too many non-woke legislators left. They wouldn’t aim this at minors. They drew a valiant line.”

  “There’s nothing valiant about any of this,” John said, his forehead throbbing. “That’s like the hangman telling the condemned that he’ll make sure it’s a quick snap.”

  Salvatore chuckled. “Genius. Yes, you are right about that. Are you home later tonight? It would be best for me to visit under the cover of darkness.”

  “Why?” Linda asked.

  “So my men can neutralize the agents who are watching your house right now.”

  “Tonight would be fine,” John said, a strange calm coming over him. “You’ve got a lot of fame and influence. You could help me to get these books out to more people.”

  “I have many contacts who could help with that, yes,” Salvatore said. “I like where this is going. Reminds me of the end of Casablanca.”

  John glanced at Linda, half a smile on his face. “What time?”

  “I’ll text you when I’m close,” Salvatore said. “It’s been an honor. See you soon. Don’t tell anybody other than Craig. Watch out for Pat.”

  “That’s my sister. Why do I need to watch out for her?”

  “She has a perfect score. That is rare. Too rare. Talk to you soon.”

  The call ended.

  “We need to disappear,” Linda said.

  “I suspect that’s what Salvatore has in mind,” John said. “This is worse than I expected.”

  The PC dinged, a window opening up on the screen.

  “Son of a bitch,” John said, staring at the window, Linda standing, backing up until her calves hit the couch behind her.

  “No,” she said.

  John clicked the window, bringing up Craig’s page, which had a new entry. “He just published something else.”

  “Call him,” Linda said, John picking up his phone, hitting the contact. Craig picked up on the first ring.

  “I was just gonna call you.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” John said. “You just published another article.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “We need to chat next time you come over here. Is the article already out?”

  “No, man, I just uploaded it to the paper’s queue. The editor said he’d print it.”

  “Interesting. Thanks. Got to go.”

  “Wait a minute, what are you talking about?”

  “I can’t discuss it yet. We’ll talk soon. I promise.”

  “All right. You’ve got me a little worried, John.”

  “Good.”

  ***

  Dan Dannon was at the best hotel in Utica, staring at his phone. He’d left three messages for Tracy McCain. So far no answer, and he was getting worried. It’d been several hours. “Where the hell is she?”

  A smile came over his lips. “Maybe she’s already dead.” Then the thought hit him. If she’s dead, maybe I’m next. He picked up his phone and tried Tracy again, the phone going straight to voicemail this time. He thought about leaving her another message, but decided against it, needing to calm down. “Maybe a drink.”

  The bar downstairs was sparsely populated, with two women and a man sitting there, and two young lovers at a table in the dimly-lit back corner. Dannon walked up to the bar.

  The bartender, a gruff old man, walked over. “What can I get you?”

  “Bourbon. Whatever the house is.”

  “I recognize you, Senator Dannon. Don’t you want better booze? The house stuff ain
’t so hot. I’m a fan, by the way. You’re a breath of fresh air in a sea of farts.”

  The man with the two women burst out laughing. “Geez, Stegman, that was a little crude.”

  “So sue me. Be nice, there’s a Senator here.”

  “Senator?” the man asked, turning to look at Dannon. “Whoa. Senator Dannon, it’s an honor.” He reached out his hand, Dannon taking it.

  “Must be a lot of Republicans in this town,” Dannon said, cracking a smile.

  “This ain’t the city,” the man said. “I’m Monty. These are my bitches.”

  “Shut up, you asshole,” one of the women said, the other one laughing.

  “He’s just showing off,” she said, “and he’s my brother. I’m Jan, nice to make your acquaintance. You’re my first Senator in the flesh, so to speak.”

  Dannon eyed her, liking what he saw. A once beautiful woman, barely past her prime, ready to live. “Hi, Jan. Buy you a drink?”

  “It’ll only take one,” Monty quipped, the other woman elbowing him hard.

  “Ignore him,” she said. “I’m Kay.”

  “Charmed,” Dannon said, looking her over, the long, kinky red hair and low-cut dress giving her the look of a bar-fly. “Would you like a drink too, or are you with Monty here?”

  Kay smiled. “He’s my cousin. We’re back here to bury an Uncle.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dannon said, oozing charm. “Figured you lived around here, since you know the bartender by name.”

  “I live here,” Monty said, “and I’m hosting my cousin and sister during this sad time.”

  “You’re glad the old goat kicked it,” Kay said. “Not that I care. Nasty old man. At least he had some money.”

  “I’m not expecting to get any of that,” Jan said, “but then I didn’t do him no favors.”

  “Here it starts,” Monty said, his eyes going to the door as another woman entered. “Now we’re talking.”

  “Shirl?” Kay asked. “You’re not still messing around with her, are you?”

  “That’s right, he isn’t,” Shirl said, sitting down on the empty stool between Dannon and Jan. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Uncle Casey just bought it,” Jan said. “It’s good to see you, Shirl. How’s things?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Casey died, huh? Didn’t know. Haven’t seen him for a couple years.”