by Brandt Legg
“It goes onto the Field and finds the book, matched to title by the ISBN, and then searches for text which fits a complex criteria that may be objectionable,” Nelson said, reading from a projected manual.
“But if the book has already been changed?” Runit said.
“That’s the beauty. Blaise has designed a system that can detect revisions, which adds to the criteria. It won’t show specific deletions or additions, but any book that has been revised that fits into other categories will also be tagged.”
“Blaise got this done pretty fast,” Runit said.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Yeah, that he probably designed the system that the AOI used to find the books they changed in the first place.”
“He might have.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know. The government has thousands of engineers on staff that could create something like this. But we have the best.”
“Anyway, we have the books. The real, non-tampered ones with ink printed on actual paper.”
“Look, it’s giving live updates. It’s already found more than eight hundred ‘revised’ books. And another three hundred that are ‘at risk.’ Let’s start pulling.”
They printed the first list and divided it among the four of them. After an hour, two things were evident: Grandyn and Vida were faster than Runit and Nelson, and they needed more people. Runit put two of his favorite – and trusted – volunteers onto the task of pulling books. Nelson, the slowest, moved to strapping and called his sister to help. Runit and Nelson were in the book storage area when she arrived.
Chelle Andreas entered the dark, dingy room in the bowels of the 180-year-old library building and it was as if the ceiling had opened, allowing a sunny spring afternoon to burst through. Her movie-star looks were at once disarming and intimidating. Wispy, long, blonde hair floated, and a bubbly smile, dimpled cheeks, and inviting eyes said “air-head cheerleader.” But with a closer look, Runit saw something he’d never noticed during the few brief occasions when they’d met years earlier. Those sparkling eyes held a steaming fire, an intense something that took him a moment to shake and longer to place.
Anger. The beautiful and alluring woman was furious.
Other than their fair complexions and the fact that they both favored natural fibers over the popular transformable Tekfabriks everyone else wore these days, Nelson didn’t seem to have much in common with his sister. She still carried the name of her dead husband, a man Runit knew almost nothing about. They’d married eight or nine years ago after meeting somewhere in old-Asia, now mostly part of the Chiantik region. She’d been working in banking since finishing graduate school. Runit figured that would have been six years earlier. The couple had lived in Hong Kong for several years before her husband died. Nelson had reminded him it had been three years since it happened, and Chelle had been living in Europe during the intervening time. This was her first trip back to the Pacyfik.
Runit took Chelle’s hands between his and stared thoughtfully into her eyes. ”I’m sorry about your husband.”
She kept her hands in his and held his gaze for longer than appropriate. Chelle gauged men easily, the way pretty women get used to doing, to weed out the takers. She recognized her pain within him, a mirror of the loss. His wife had just died the last time they’d seen each other, but Chelle had been younger then and didn’t grasp the extent of what that kind of thing could do to a person. They had only met a few times, and she didn’t realize he’d only been half alive at the time. Even now, his recovery nearly a decade on, she saw what she’d missed then – heroic courage.
“Thank you, Runit.” Her bright smile faded to a softer one before it retreated altogether. “And I . . . never properly acknowledged your wife’s passing. I didn’t understand, you see.” Her eyes teared.
He shook his head. “No one really does, do they?”
“Not until they row that boat alone.”
“It’s better that they don’t.”
Chelle nodded. Their eyes fought parting a second longer.
She took his breath, and he had no idea that his impact on her was equally vibrant. She had met an honorable man who seemed to possess a bottomless depth of knowledge – not the scientific or even scholarly type, but rather the emotional. She had been around the world, a whirlwind of intrigue and adventure, and while Runit Happerman had rarely ventured more than five hundred kilometers from home, he had traveled through books. Chelle could feel his experience, although he had done most of it through his mind.
Runit remembered Truman Capote’s words. “She had only one flaw. She was perfect, otherwise she was perfect.”
That is a dangerous thing, he thought.
Nelson cleared his throat. The two people he knew and loved best in the world had just shared a moment. He’d been an observer of human nature all his life, known for his uncanny ability to capture characters so vividly in his writing that they became real to his readers. He could see that a storm had just brewed.
Chapter 18
Miner ended the awful call with Blaise with more concern about the possibility of war than he’d ever had. Blaise had delivered the news of a “potentially cataclysmic problem in the Pacyfik,” and it all originated with one single woman. He believed she could bring the end to the unprecedented period of peace which made their world such a glorious place.
“The woman must be found and destroyed,” he said to himself.
Miner told Sarlo to make arrangements for them to fly immediately to New York. His supersonic jet would have them there in less than ninety minutes. They quickly boarded the Flo-wing that was always on standby. Nineteen minutes after finishing with Blaise, he sat across from Sarlo on the taxiing jet. He stared out the completely transparent sidewall across the wide-angled wing, woven of a combination metal-polymer-Tekfabrik. It was the latest model in a long line of corporate jets, which now resembled something sleek like the old stealth fighters from the pre-Banoff days, except new materials made the walls and ceilings transparent so that, during the day, the fuselage was basked in natural light, and at night the stars felt touchable.
He turned back inside. His INU had already linked with the plane’s system, so the interior had been personalized to his current mood. All the colors had been softened, the VMs faded, and the audio reports muted. Vitamin-and-antioxidant enriched air was pumped through the cabin, but the automated efforts to soothe him were having little effect.
Sarlo could see her boss was terribly agitated, and wished she’d been on the call. Once they were in the air, she finally asked for an explanation.
“We have a major problem in the Pacyfik,” he said, more calmly than she expected.
“Major?”
“It could lead to revolution.”
What Blaise had told him gnawed at his stomach, but the things he’d only alluded to were making him nauseous. His health sensors silently alerted his INU and moments later a bot appeared with a tray of PharmaForce pills.
He brushed them aside. Sarlo smiled to herself. The irony always amused her. Lance Miner, CEO of the world’s largest drug maker, never took medication. Still, she could tell by what pills had been offered just how he felt and she measured her words, deciding not to bring up the A-Council. Sarlo knew the Council feared revolution more than anything else. They controlled the economy, and therefore the world, but the one thing that could cause it all to come crashing down was an open revolution. Pacyfik always seemed to be seething under the surface, and revolution would surely lead to global chaos because the world was so small.
“Is it PAWN?” she asked, referring to the league known as People Against World Nation.
The group had long been rumored to exist, but nobody knew for sure, not even the Council. Yet, even without evidence, they had treated PAWN as a real threat since the Aylantik and Pacyfik war ended seventy years earlier. She doubted a revolutionary organization could stay in stealth mode for the better part of a century, and personally d
idn’t believe it was real, but she respected the Council, which had dedicated great resources to defeating the invisible enemy.
“Yes, it’s PAWN,” he said, staring out the clear wall distractedly, hands working a mini-VM.
“Is there proof?” she asked skeptically.
“Blaise says that‒‒”
“Blaise Cortez?” she interrupted. “If PAWN exists, then he’s probably one of them.”
“I don’t disagree with you, but I can’t risk it. And, I might add, if PAWN exists, they likely think Blaise is part of the AOI.”
“My point exactly. He can’t be trusted,” Sarlo said. “So you informed the Council of the threat?”
“No. I want to investigate it myself first.”
The strategy didn’t surprise her. If there were, in fact, finally proof of PAWN’s existence, it could be a powerful discovery. Peace threatened would be a galvanizing force. “Knowledge is power” was one of Miner’s favorite axioms.
“Investigate what?” she asked.
“The woman.”
Sarlo, slightly frustrated, sighed and did not inquire further. Miner, clearly distracted by whatever information Blaise had conveyed, did not yet seem ready to share it, his mind still processing. It wasn’t her style or place to try to pull it out of him one word at a time. Curiosity was something Sarlo could easily control, especially when she’d been swept away on this flight, again at the last minute.
Her boyfriend had been planning to cook a nice dinner, then dancing, and a romantic evening afterwards. She loved to dance, especially with him, but that would all have to wait. Sarlo closed her eyes, but couldn’t resist wondering what woman had so bothered the great Lance Miner.
Could PAWN be more than legend? Did a woman lead the secret and dangerous organization? Were they ready to finally strike back at the Aylantik government? Why now? Part of her disbelief in PAWN stemmed from doubts that any group could muster enough support for a real revolution when the world appeared so happy and content. In the years before the Banoff, when most of the global population lived in subpar conditions, hunger, poverty, and debt, not more than a small percentage ever seemed to complain, much less try to stage a real revolt.
As Sarlo drifted off, Miner was working his INU like a magician, whirling VMs, holographic projections of 3D multicolored satellite maps, and people’s faces sliding in and out of data streams. The INU did lightning-fast computations and probability tests leading to DesTIn-builds that portrayed arrests, battles, losses, and gains. Miner could push his every theory, answer even the most outlandish questions, and the response filled the air all around him, smothering him in a reality that he had feared since childhood.
The odds of peace lasting as long as it had were already astronomical. The chances that it would continue were not much different from the Earth getting struck by an asteroid. But that would be easier to defend against. Deuce Lipton’s StarFly Corporation had seen to that more than a decade earlier. After all, space defense was part of the world’s fourth largest industry. Ironically, AOI and internal security actually ranked nearer to tenth. Miner had argued against that complacency for years. Once he became A-Council President and could anoint Polis Drast as World Premier, he could finally get the priorities straightened out, but would it be in time? His INU cast doubt.
And it wasn’t just the woman. Miner had known Blaise a long time, and something between the lines bothered him. The woman wasn’t the only problem in the Pacyfik, but she might well be the key. As he thought more about it he became increasingly worried, but decided that the woman would know. She wouldn’t just be able to tell him about the underbelly of the Pacyfik. She could tell him so much more.
Miner spoke toward his INU as it opened communication with his head of security. “I need a crew to the Oregon Area.”
“Damn Pacyfik. What is it this time?” his head of security asked. The man had been with him nearly twenty years. Before that he’d been in AOI, served most of it in the Pacyfik. Lance Miner, like Deuce Lipton, had a private security force that functioned as part intelligence agency and part special ops commandos. Both men employed more than ten thousand in their units. Miner suspected Deuce might have closer to twenty thousand, and often worried that the break of peace might not come from Pacyfik rebels, PAWN, or even the deep Chiantik region, but rather as a war between corporations. If that were the case, it would most likely be Miner and Deuce as the generals, and it might wreak far more destruction than a PAWN uprising ever could.
Miner explained briefly what he needed as the security head asked all the right questions. Miner had a secure link into his INU, and would monitor the progress in real time. It would require AOI-KEL data, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Polis Drast would be Miner’s next call.
“We’ll find her,” the security head said at the end of the call.
“I know you will,” Miner said. “And, I’ll say again, she must be unharmed.”
“I am clear on that sir.”
“Good. You bring her to me, day or night, the moment she is found. I must talk to her in person.”
“Understood. But sir, do you really believe this woman is still alive? It seems rather incredible, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“She’s alive all right. She’s been keeping me up nights for years.”
He brushed his hand and closed the connection. He looked out of the transparent fuselage, noting how much the planet had changed since the Banoff. There were massive tracts of land returned to their virgin state and gleaming solar-powered cities, clean, precise, and efficient, where everything ran through and by the Field and the people were healthy. All of it brought about by the Aylantik, the A-Council, and PharmaForce. He saw Karst, the third largest city in the world below. It didn’t even exist sixty years ago, and now it gleamed as a model to everything humanity had always strived for.
“Who has been keeping you up?” Sarlo asked groggily as she woke from a nap.
“I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what she looks like. Can you imagine that? In this day and age, when everyone’s every move is recorded and analyzed, not knowing what someone looks like?”
“How is that possible?”
“I hardly know a thing about her, but I can feel her.”
“Does your wife know?” Sarlo regretted her attempted levity the moment the words escaped her mouth.
“Damn it, I’m serious! This woman is the devil.”
“The devil?” She knew Miner well enough to know he wasn’t religious, and the irony almost made her smile, as Lance Miner had been called the devil on many occasions himself, but his last outburst sobered her.
“Who is she?” Sarlo asked quietly.
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“What has she done?” Sarlo tried one last time.
“She leads PAWN.”
“So, it is real?”
“As real as earthquakes, volcanoes, and floods.”
Chapter 19
Deuce and the old man strolled through the ancient, majestic trees.
“Please make me understand.”
The old man stopped and looked carefully at Deuce. “You sound like your father. He always surprised people by asking questions. A man in his position, the wealth and power, people like that are often afraid to admit they don’t understand. Your father wasn’t one of those. He always questioned.”
“You have also spent your life questioning.”
“True,” the old man said, the lines in his face a mix of happiness and something else, maybe regret, “but differently.”
Deuce nodded respectfully. He loved the old man more than anyone, other than his children, and their time together was rare and always too short. They walked in silence, unbothered by the rain as the trees took most of it.
Finally, just when Deuce was going to bring up the books again, the old man spoke.
“The books were a detail no one really thought about, but those types usually are trying so hard to catch everything that they miss s
omething. And in this case, the something turned out to be everything.”
Deuce smiled to himself. He was no closer to understanding, but he’d had many conversations like this with the old man, and out of the confusion and vague references clarity would eventually come. The old man simply had a different way of seeing things. That was one of the reasons that Deuce so valued his counsel.
“Does the Aylantik government know the book doesn’t exist?”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Then why are they looking for something that isn’t real?”
“Oh, I never said it isn’t real.” He wagged his finger, lecturing an overconfident student. “It is very real indeed. But it’s not real in the way you imagine, manufactured with paper and ink.”
“Then what?”
“This book was created from breath and memories, from air and time, dreams and vision. It is of truth and stars. They’re, unknowingly, actually seeking a belief.”
“A book about belief?” Deuce asked, trying not to sound stupid.
The old man nodded. “But not about belief, it is of belief.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I’ve read this book, or rather, part of it.” The old man stopped and stared at Deuce. “I read it with your father, and he read it to you.”
“To me?”
“When you were very young.”
“I don’t remember,” Deuce said, thinking of his father.
“But it’s still with you. Your mind has it.” He turned and started walking again. “Some books are so alive that they never leave you. They only change you.”
The two men walked on in silence until they came to a tree known as Lost Monarch, by mass, the largest tree on Earth. They sat on a nearby fallen trunk and gazed in awe. Although both had seen it many times before, it always stunned them anew. Like seeing the Grand Canyon, it didn’t matter how often it was seen, the majesty would still take your breath.
“You see, the root of their problem may be a single title,” the old man began, “but it has been referenced in many works, before and after its publication. The basic principles of that which they seek have been woven into the texts of thousands of other books, but they don’t know which ones. The only way to stop the ideas of that one book from disrupting their regime is to destroy them all.”