The Justar Journal: An AOI Thriller

by Brandt Legg

  The wealthy sought him out not just for his connections, but also for his ability to both find money and identify the right places for it to go. But perhaps the thing to which he owed most of his success was charisma. Everyone had adored the charming man, which was the reason his ending came as such a shock.

  Along the way, Bull himself had become rich. He counted among his friends the likes of Lance Miner, Blaise Cortez, and most of the world’s elite, including Deuce. That combination of relationships proved to be the key to his success, and also his undoing. Bull learned many secrets in his dealings, and eventually he heard the wrong one. When he was killed, Chelle had surprisingly been spared, although stripped of wealth with the tiniest gesture into an INU glow. The fact that she’d been allowed to live appeared to rule out the AOI as the responsible party, but Deuce understood the vast complexities. He also knew the secret that had gotten the banker murdered.

  Deuce hadn’t been surprised to see her show up at the library. Even if she had not been Nelson’s sister, since her husband’s death she’d grown increasingly important in the underground movement. And Chelle Andreas seemed to be at nearly every hot spot in the past thirty-six months. Somehow, she had avoided detection by the AOI, which made Deuce wonder if she had a protector. That, along with her blonde athletic beauty, the battles waging in her eyes, and the secrets she must know, all left him uneasy.

  He’d learned from his grandfather, during a long ago walk in the woods, that there was no such thing as coincidence. It had been no accident that Blaise Cortez had met Nelson at a party any more than Deuce’s showing up at Nelson’s reading had been random. The current upheaval had been building for a long time, but more than that, it had been predicted, and the participants in the know had been preparing.

  He looked back at the library and zoomed in on the woman that connected so many of the players, admonishing himself for not knowing the answer to his nagging question. “Who is Chelle Andreas, really?”

  But he couldn’t watch the KEL anymore. There was a more pressing concern. Lance Miner’s latest trick could become a problem if not dealt with soon. The Corporate Assets Acquisition Parity Board would be introduced in two days by the World Premier, and then the public would expect results.

  “CAAP must be stopped before it is announced,” Deuce told one of his trusted vice presidents, in charge of a division of his mighty BLAXER security company. They provided defense, safety, and protection to clients worldwide, but essentially BLAXER was really a private army, and a very large one, second in size only to AOI’s.

  “I understand,” the VP replied. “It’s a lot harder to put the genie back in the bottle than to just bury the damn bottle in the first place.”

  CAAP would be a major distraction at a time when Deuce needed complete focus, but more than that, it would act to polarize him from the public, and even from his few allies within the government. The timing was awful, but that, of course, was exactly how Lance Miner had designed it.

  “Does this warrant assassination?” the VP asked.

  “Possibly, but those are so damn messy. Better left to the AOI,” Deuce said. “But certainly there needs to be a removal. I can think of no other way to derail this thing now that it’s gotten Council approval.”

  His thoughts returned to Chelle. What secret is keeping her alive? he wondered. It wasn’t the same secret that had gotten her husband killed. She knew something else. Now that she’d involved herself with the Portland Library, he would need to have a talk with the beautiful widow, and he’d have to be extremely careful.

  “Sir, my orders?” the VP asked, bringing him back.

  “Sometimes secrets get you killed, sometimes they can save your life, but secrets can also make extremely powerful weapons,” Deuce said, and then laid out his plan for the VP.

  Chapter 22

  Thursday, February 1

  They had made some progress last night, but this would be the first real test, as only seven days remained. The DesTIn had identified 112,804 books. So far about 4,300 had been removed.

  “We’ve got to pull and bundle at least sixteen thousand books every day,” Runit said to Nelson during a bac break outside. “It’s a tough deadline.”

  “We have a better chance of making it now because of the TreeRunners, but still, even if we do get them all pulled, the books will need to go out Monday and Tuesday night,” Nelson said.

  “That’s cutting it too close.”

  “I studied the DesTIn program a little more and discovered that we can prioritize the list based on an endless number of factors.”

  “In case we don’t get them all?” Runit asked, his eyes closing. He’d already been having nightmares about the books – more than a million – that would be left behind . . . and burned. He saw it as a barbaric atrocity. Sure, those lost volumes would “always” be available digitally, but as he’d told Nelson early on, “An ebook is like having a photo of a dead loved one. It’s convenient to look at and it will stir the mind, but it doesn’t breathe.”

  “We’ll get them all,” Nelson said.

  “I’ve got to put the full staff on this today. They’ve been buying the story that we’re moving books to a university,” Runit said, “but by tomorrow there’ll be so many books off the shelves that they’ll start to notice.”

  “Can they all be trusted?”

  “Do we have a choice? What if the book we don’t get a chance to save turns out to have been the one that could have changed everything?”

  “The DesTIn should help us avoid that.”

  “What if the DesTIn gets it wrong?”

  They decided to bring the others in, not because there wasn’t risk, but because they would probably find out anyway. “Better to control the message,” Nelson said. Runit called a staff meeting and informed them of the library closing. The news surprised no one. They’d been expecting it since Australia closed and knew it was only a matter of time once Belgium went. Still, the mood in the room turned solemn and many shed tears. Confusion took over after Runit explained the need to keep the news absolutely confidential and that no one outside the staff could know.

  “Why does it need to be secret?” someone asked among the questioning faces.

  “We’re afraid of protests,” Runit answered. “Ours is now the world’s only library, after all. Hopefully these last remaining physical books can be preserved. We’ve made arrangements to have a large part of the collection housed at Portland University. The rest will be put into storage.”

  “Oh good,” one of the older ladies said.

  “But the government isn’t excited about the university deal,” Runit explained, “so the books need to be moved before word gets out. If this becomes a political issue, who knows what they’ll do with the books?”

  That seemed to satisfy everyone, mostly because they’d known and respected Runit for so long. Also, no one had reason to believe anything nefarious was happening.

  “We have work left to do, and I’m counting on your help.”

  Each staff member and volunteer received an assignment, and work began. For the first time since he and Nelson had decided to take the books, he believed they might pull it off.

  Then his INU lit up red. The color, at least that shade of it, had long been reserved for urgent government directives. He looked around and saw several other people getting code reds as well. His stomach tightened. He should have known the AOI would find out.

  Nelson rushed toward him. “Damn this timing,” he said, but Runit ignored him, still trying to look over the flash. He read it twice before sighing in relief. The Health-Circle, which administered all health matters for the Aylantik government, had issued an urgent directive that all citizens needed a booster shot.

  Ever since the Banoff, disease had been essentially kept in check by the diligent efforts of the pharmaceutical industry, their inoculations, and booster shots. The return of the plague to finish its deadly work of eliminating the human race was a fear that still gripped the popul
ace. The giant pharmaceutical companies had obtained savior-like status, and many of their corporate leaders were seen as folk heroes in the eyes of the public. War and poverty were minor compared to the Banoff plague.

  Although the private sector had taken on all research and testing, the government’s Health-Circle still had final approval on all new drugs. The process had been streamlined, and usually took less than a week. Studies had shown that the Banoff pandemic had been catastrophic, partially because the correct drugs were not available due to bureaucratic red tape. Ever since then the government, pharmaceutical companies, and medical professions had operated as a triad partnership concerning the world’s health. Every policy decision had the underlying tenet: preserve the species; another pandemic must never occur. The strict health regulations in place allowed no exemptions.

  The Health-Circle emergency directives were rare, usually once every couple of years, but citizens were expected to drop everything and comply within eight hours or arrests would follow quickly. Even though the system was startlingly efficient, this would take the whole team out for three or four valuable hours. The volunteers, TreeRunners, staff, everyone would need to report to the nearest health station to wait, get their shot, and then rest for ninety minutes. But there was nothing Runit could do about it. Not only was it illegal to refuse, resulting in immediate imprisonment where you’d receive the shot anyway, but the Health-Circle had obviously identified an imminent risk. That was their task. They’d kept the world healthy for decades, and people rarely questioned the Health-Circle. They were revered and praised, but Runit cursed the timing. At least they could go in shifts.

  Runit worried about missing future boosters, in case the AOI found out about the books and they had to go into hiding, but then Nelson assured him that a small black market existed for boosters. Thinking about it later, Runit wondered how many people could possibly need boosters outside the system. How many “outlaws” were running around in the shadows with so little crime in the world? And how did Nelson know these people? When he asked, Nelson brushed him off.

  “I discovered some things while researching a book. It’s an interesting story. I’ll tell you later.”

  Runit began thinking about which book Nelson had been researching when he discovered the black market, but he couldn’t remember any plot that would have resulted from that. His thoughts were interrupted when he wound up in the same group with Chelle, heading to the health station. She sat close. He liked it.

  They talked quietly as the LEV navigated the streets. One of the library volunteers, an older lady with nearly blue hair, smiled at them. He nodded back politely, enjoying Chelle’s warmth. He was glad Grandyn would be going later.

  “Shots make me nervous,” Chelle said. Her hair brushed his face, smelling of snow and tangerines. “Sorry.” She smiled.

  “It only hurts for a second,” he said lightly.

  She started to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Will you just hold me? I’m so embarrassed.”

  Runit took her in his arms. The blue-haired lady blushed and turned away for a second before retuning her gaze with a shy smile.

  Chelle held onto Runit so tightly that the back of his neck and left wrist where her hand pushed into his flesh were suddenly hot and sweaty. She cried. He didn’t know what to do, so he just held her and let her sob softly into his shoulder.

  Chapter 23

  Forty-eight hours before the World Premier was scheduled to give his speech announcing the CAAP initiative, Lance Miner left the meeting with him, satisfied that all would go well. CAAP had the potential to take a big piece out of Deuce Lipton’s fortune, and Lance smiled at the thought of Deuce’s reaction, knowing the money would be the least of his pain. CAAP would cost Deuce something much more valuable than wealth: time. Deuce would become so mired in regulatory fights and popular protests that he’d be unable to get in Lance’s way for a very long time.

  On the other side of the continent, Deuce, although not quite smiling, could certainly have been described as happy. Everything had been put into place. In an hour, a top BLAXERs representative would be meeting with the World Premier. He wasn’t aware that Miner had just left the same office, but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. Things were not going to go Miner’s way.

  Deuce’s son, Twain, a lanky, twenty-six-year-old, tech-geek, stopped by to see his father. He was another reason Deuce favored the San Francisco office. His twenty-one-year-old daughter, Tycen, was in college there, and his son worked in nearby Cupertino. Deuce had tried to entice him to join the family business, but Twain was determined to make his own way, and Deuce loved him for it. They mostly talked about the three overlapping subjects that fused their passions: space, Eysens, and other technology. Twain may not have wanted to live off the family fortune, but that did not mean he didn’t want to change the world, and he believed Earth could only be changed from space. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for one of their lively discussions today. Deuce had requested Twain’s help.

  “You and your sister may be in danger.”

  “Aren’t we always?” he asked, motioning to his security detail outside the door. It wasn’t something he liked, but it couldn’t be avoided.

  “I saw Uncle Cope yesterday.”

  Twain’s face brightened. “I wish I’d known, I’d love to see him. How is he?”

  “He’s fading, I’m afraid. Maybe we’ll arrange a get-together this weekend.”

  “Fading?”

  “He says he doesn’t have much time left.”

  “Damn.” Twain chewed on the inside of his lip as he did whenever something upset him. Uncle Cope had been almost a mythical figure in his childhood. He and his sister called the old man “UC” as in “you-see” because of his philosophical ways and seemingly magic ability to know their thoughts. “Please, let’s go see him today.”

  “Not today, but this weekend for sure. In the meantime, he has insights about trouble coming. I’m currently involved in helping some people defy the government, and at the same time my old nemesis, Lance Miner, is escalating his crusade.”

  “Dad, you’ve got all the money in the world. Why can’t you just be content to enjoy it?”

  “With great wealth . . .”

  “I know, ‘comes great responsibility’,” Twain said, using his fingers to put quotation marks in the air.

  “Right.” Deuce smiled, knowing his son had heard that line a hundred times. “So, will you consider taking a leave of absence?”

  “No.”

  Deuce looked at him pleadingly.

  “Is it really that dangerous right now?” Twain asked, softening.

  Deuce held out an Eysen, which projected a large image of his wife, Twain’s mother. “Please, Twain,” she said from a secluded island.

  “No fair getting Mom involved,” Twain said, smiling. “Okay. I guess I can work from one of the islands for a while.”

  “Thanks,” Deuce said.

  “But you knew I’d be a pushover. You really asked me here to get me to convince Tycen, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, please,” his mother said. “You know how Tycen is. But she’ll listen to you.”

  Their daughter shared Deuce’s love of the wilderness, including the oceans. She’d been to every island the family owned, a considerable accomplishment, and was taking a double major, marine biology and business. Deuce had been grooming her since her tenth birthday to take over the vast Lipton Empire, and although she loved spending time at one of their islands, especially during winter, she loved college too, and did not like being told what to do.

  “She’s not going to go for it unless you can show her a real life threat,” Twain said.

  “Just try,” Deuce said.

  “She’ll listen to you,” his mother repeated. “She always does.”

  Sarlo ignored the sweeping nightscape of Manhattan, no longer even one of the world’s fifty biggest cities, but still breathtaking.

  “C
are to dance?” Miner asked.

  “I think I might enjoy a spin,” Sarlo said, smiling. She had worked almost as hard as he had on the CAAP scheme, and finally it was about to happen.

  She’d been Miner’s first zoom after the successful meeting with the World Premier, and the normally reserved Sarlo had actually squealed. The pressure and stress would finally ease. After all these years, they now had the upper hand on Deuce Lipton. That triumph, coupled with Miner’s impending rise to President of the A-Council, meant good days ahead. A lot of them.

  “Let’s drink a toast,” he said as the song ended and he swooned her in a dramatic dip.

  She stood, catching her breath. “Maybe we should wait on the toast until after the announcement.”

  “Damn it, Sarlo, you’re always too cautious. Let your hair down,” he said, laughing. “The only thing that could stop CAAP now is if the World Premier dies in his sleep tonight.”

  She made a scared face. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “True,” Miner said, pouring two glasses. “But I have access to his health records. He’s in top shape. And hell, even if he kicks in the night, we’ll have the Vice Premier announce it after a few days of mourning. It would make him immediately popular. We’re there. We did it. Drink up.”

  They clinked glasses.

  “But we do have some unpleasant business to address, don’t we?” he said after gulping his drink.

  “Unfortunately, yes. The woman in Pacyfik.”

  “Yes, the real reason we’re in New York in February,” he said as if it were a prison sentence. “What did you find today?”

  Sarlo looked out the fifteen-meter wide window. Aside from Paris, Manhattan had, more than any other city, retained its pre-Banoff appearance. Many of the new towers caught her attention with their shiny finishes and daring architecture. Some resembled silver lollypops or flameless torches, tubular shapes that left one amazed, even an inverted pyramid the color of a blue autumn sky. Sarlo adored the stunning “sky-bridges” which connected multiple buildings across city-block distances, and used them whenever possible. But below all that, the old New York City remained like an anchor sunk in the sea of time.