by Brandt Legg
With things ready to explode in the Amazon, Miner was unwilling to leave the region, and had moved to a recently acquired building in the city of Manaus in the former country of Brazil. It was the largest metropolis in the Amazon basin, essentially accessible only by plane or boat. Even with the super speed of modern jets, it took almost three hours to travel to Buenos Aires, and with sparks igniting in the revolution, Miner wanted literally to be completely on top of things.
Built just outside of town, the solar-powered tower of green glass and nano-tech-composite metal mirrored the massive surrounding Amazon jungle. Its thirty-one floors, most of them occupied by his P-Force as they prepared for war in the Amazon to breakout at any moment, currently contained the most advanced technology in the entire continent.
Miner had sent Sarlo to Denver on a recruiting mission. He wanted five Imps to come to Manaus to join him and several top P-Force commanders to run his war council. Imps didn’t like to travel, definitely didn’t want to work for others, and they couldn’t be bribed with huge paychecks, so Miner was counting on their interest in the revolution. Imps had addictions to information, tension, and transitions, and many of them seemed to enjoy the added thrill of danger. He’d been right. Sarlo reported that more than thirty had been willing to come. She chose Miner’s two favorites, plus three new ones that those two had recommended.
The Imps entered the room, looking like a well-dressed army of vampires awoken from the dead. Each appeared thinner than the other. Miner recalled saying, at their first visit to an Imp enclave, that they looked like stick figures, but studying them now he thought that description would be accurate only if they ate a few good meals. But their impeccable clothes, obviously custom fit and of the most advanced fabrics, gave them the respectable look of scientists visiting from another planet, one inhabited by a species of higher intelligence.
His favorite, an Imp called Charlemagne, greeted him in typical Imp fashion, with an uncomfortably long eye-to-eye stare and a cold, weak handshake, then introduced the others. Miner had previously worked with the one named Descartes, who looked like the rest, painfully skinny with thin, prematurely gray hair. The one called Sidis seemed to be their de facto leader, perhaps the smartest or the boldest. He reminded Miner of Blaise Cortez, so he disliked him quickly, but would soon learn to respect the arrogant Imp.
“Arrogant Imp is a redundant term,” Sarlo said later when they were alone.
“Arrogance isn’t necessarily a bad thing if it’s earned. The Imps might be the secret weapon that allows us to win this thing,” Miner replied.
“But PAWN has Munna, and maybe the prophecies.”
“For now. I’m hoping the first order of business for the Imps will be to find her.”
“I thought they were here for war strategy?”
“Munna is a military target. If we can get her, we will have taken the heart from the rebels.”
“But I still don’t understand how the Imps can help. There is no record of Munna even existing. How can the Imps, whose special talents rely on computers, find her?”
“You’re still not convinced that their knowledge goes beyond any Field interface,” Miner said, unsure of his own beliefs. “Based on Charlemagne’s finding Cope Lipton, something Blaise didn’t even know, and the fact that we’re fighting for control of some mysterious legendary prophecies said to be coded inside antique books, I think we need to give the Imps the benefit of the doubt.” He suddenly had a flash of one of his war nightmares, but he suppressed it. Even so, Sarlo hadn’t missed his expression. She spotted the grimace and knew he’d been hit by his curse, but said nothing.
“We’ve been looking for Grandyn, Munna, the books, and the prophecies for three years,” Sarlo said. “If the Imps can find even one of them, I’ll be a believer.”
Miner’s INU lit up. “The Imps are ready for us,” he said.
Miner and Sarlo walked off the elevator onto the twenty-ninth floor and thought they’d been transported to a futuristic space ship. The entire ten-thousand-square-meter area was filled with VMs far too numerous to count, and there were five banks of INUs that may have contained a thousand each. The stacked INUs resembled piles of whirling marbles, basked in dripping kaleidoscopes of abstract images, projecting rainbows of colors beyond what was visible in nature. The VMs, like a carnival, multiplying and inventing dreams, took their senses to teetering heights from which fear and excitement merged in a moment of nauseated desperation. Instantly, they both shielded their eyes.
Descartes rescued them. “It is a bit to take in all at once,” he said. “Please follow me. We have a section prepared over here.”
He led them to an area cordoned off with black Tekfabrik curtains. Charlemagne, Sidis, and the other two were waiting. Miner and Sarlo joined them before they all sat in Tru-chairs scattered around a manageable series of VMs.
“The probabilities show war beginning in nine days,” Sidis began.
“Where?” Miner asked, hiding his shock that it would be so soon. Nine days remaining to avoid a war, his hope for peace fading faster with each passing minute.
“Seventy-three percent it’s the Amazon. We’re working on exactly where. There is a thirteen percent chance it will begin in Oregon. However, Mexico and eastern Europe, or somewhere in southern California and Spain are also registering.”
“Can we avoid it?”
The five Imps shared rapid looks with each other. “Why would you want to?” Sidis asked.
“Why would I want to?” Miner jumped up. “We’ve been at peace for seventy-five years. Peace is prosperity. We’re exploring and colonizing space, our medical advances are unmatched in human history, people are happy‒‒”
“And you are wealthy,” Sidis finished.
“Hell yes, I’m wealthy! There’s nothing wrong with wealth. Anyone can achieve it in our great economy.”
“Really?” Sidis asked.
Miner glared at him. “Really.”
“Choose your delusions wisely Mr. Miner. The waves tangle in lies,” Sidis said.
Miner looked at Charlemagne. “Who is this torg?”
“Does the truth offend you?” Sidis asked.
“Yes, Mr. Miner is offended by the truth,” Charlemagne said as if Miner weren’t there. “He is also bothered by things which do not fit his world view and can be irreverently upset by anything that goes against what he desires.”
“Clearly,” Sidis replied indignantly. “There are flights back to Denver in the morning.”
“What’s your problem?” Miner asked Sidis with a hopeful glance to Sarlo, a signal he’d like some help.
“Charlemagne, you know Lance is reasonable,” Sarlo said, smiling. “We’ve worked together before. You know us.”
Charlemagne nodded. “You must forgive the abrupt nature in which we operate. The fragile human ego and insecurities of personality issues are time wasters we don’t indulge.”
“Oh, a little civility is beneath you?” Miner shot back.
“No,” Sidis said. “Frankly, it’s your mental capacity that is beneath us.”
“Is this necessary?” Descartes asked. “Let’s get to work.”
“Fine with me,” Sidis said, “but we don’t have much time, so let’s not squander it.”
Everyone else was suddenly agreeable, and Miner was left to swallow his anger. He needed the Imps, but if everything didn’t go well, if they didn’t help in impressive ways, he silently vowed that Sidis would receive a visit from P-Force.
“Fine,” Miner said, forcing a smile. “My question stands. Is there still a chance to avoid war?” He looked at Sidis and decided that even if the Imps were a big help, he might send P-Force to have a “chat” with him anyway.
“War, while not inevitable,” Charlemagne said, “is so likely that our time and resources are best spent in search of the things you need to win.”
“Then we can win?” Sarlo asked.
“I speak in general terms,” Charlemagne said. “No one wins a revol
ution exactly, yet there are ways Mr. Miner may keep his wealth, effectively destroy PAWN, and keep the Aylantik in power, but even that will not be pretty.”
“And it is far from assured,” Sidis added. “In fact, it is less than probable at the moment.”
Sarlo reached out and touched Miner’s hand. She hadn’t done it many times over the years, but the message was clear. Take a deep breath.
“There were some books stolen from the Portland library three years ago. We need to locate them,” Sarlo said. “We also would like to know the whereabouts of Grandyn Happerman, who is the son of the late librarian who helped remove the books.”
Charlemagne nodded.
“And Munna,” Miner added. “We need to find the woman they call Munna.”
“Munna is a witch,” Descartes said.
“We can be of no help with Munna,” Charlemagne quickly added.
“What are you talking about?” Miner asked, trying again to control his blood pressure, glad his health alerts were on silent mode.
“She lives forever, she controls energy, and we have no way to reach her waves. She is a witch,” Descartes repeated.
“What do ‘a witch’ and ‘reach her waves’ mean?” Sarlo asked.
“Munna is like an Imp, except she has no implant. Where the average person’s brain capacity is utilized by the biological functions necessary to live and navigate its environment, most people have no idea about something infinitely more powerful than our brains . . . consciousness. Humans generally run that aspect of themselves on autopilot, unaware of their potential. Munna, on the other hand, has discovered a way to access universal consciousness.”
“And what exactly does that mean?” Miner asked.
“She can do almost anything,” Sidis said. “She can actually control her own cells down to a molecular level. It is one of the reasons she has lived for so long.”
“And how do you know so much about Munna if there are no records on her?” Sarlo asked.
“We wander in the same realms,” Descartes answered.
“You’ve tapped into universal consciousness too?” Miner asked.
Sidis smiled at Miner and then looked at the other four Imps.
One of the Imps that had remained silent up until then simply whispered, “Yes.”
Suddenly, a dark VM came to life in an explosion of stars, nebula, quasars, galaxies, and conjured blends of streaming light. The demonstration lasted less than a minute and ended with a burst, and then the face of an old lady appeared.
“Hell, is that Munna?” Miner asked, shocked.
“Yes, Lance. I am Munna,” she said, smiling.
Chapter 35 - Book 2
Chelle was stunned by Blaise’s “guess,” and assumed he must somehow have faked the message from Drast. There was still the underlying hope that Drast was really alive, but she didn’t know what to think. The only thing she absolutely knew for sure was that Blaise Cortez could not be trusted.
“Is Drast alive or not?”
“Didn’t you just receive word from him?” Blaise asked. “Do dead men contact you often? If not, then I think Drast himself has answered your silly question.”
“If you didn’t send it, how do you know about this secret message?”
“Do you know so little of me lover?” He stared into her eyes seductively. “We’re the same, you and I. Made mostly of secrets . . . our desires are things we want nobody to know. Our methods, though often harsh and made from broken things that fill the saddest parts of us, are, in the end, something beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice, the disarmingly haunted expression he wore, and the accuracy of the words captured her momentarily. And he saw it. His holographic image reached for her hand, she allowed hers to linger in the digital-colored air. Then, telling herself that Blaise was nothing more than a character like those in Nelson’s books, she pulled away. He’s invented this illusion of himself, knowing me, knowing he might reach me, knowing I might trust someone like that.
“Don’t go,” he said. “This is real Chelle.”
“Using my name rather than ‘lover’ was a nice touch, but I’m not quite as easily manipulated as you might have guessed.” She stared at his hurt expression, eyes filled with sadness and loss so deep that she thought that part of the façade must be genuine. “If Drast is alive, you must prove it to me.”
“Why should I do that? It makes little difference if you believe it or not.”
“That’s not true. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t know about it. You must realize that if Drast is alive and able to communicate from an AOI prison, then the rebel alliance is strengthened, and regardless of which way you want the war to go, this is a matter of great consequence to either side.”
“Suppose I want the Aylantik to win?”
“I was under the impression you didn’t care who won, so long as you profited.”
“That could change if you and I were on the same side lover.”
“Damn it, we’re talking about the fate of the world, millions of lives in the balance, and you’re flirting like a college kid, like a jerk.”
“Yes, you’re right. Why enjoy life when we can take it sickeningly serious?” Blaise shook his head. “But have it your way. Instead of showing you the bridges to the stars and creating light from the aching darkness, we can discuss prisoners, death, and war. Where would you like to begin?”
She looked at him regrettably for a moment, then repeated her question. “Is Drast alive?”
“He is. If you want proof, think of a test only he could pass and give it back to the courier, what’s his name? Terik.”
“But if they are using a Said-scan on him then they would be able to answer anything I ask.”
“If that’s all you’re worried about I have a contact inside Hilton Prison. I’ll arrange for a zoom.”
“A zoom! With Polis?”
“Sure, something as simple as a zoom is not a problem.”
“From inside an AOI prison?”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m a wizard!”
“Seeing him only works if they haven’t made some kind of look-alike android out of him.”
Blaise laughed. “You’re a challenge, aren’t you? Impossible to ever satisfy. Do you know what wizards do? We do the impossible all the time.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Answer your old friend Polis Drast. Please don’t mention my name. He never cared for me. I’ll arrange a zoom, and then you decide if you think it’s really him.”
Chelle realized there wasn’t much to lose at that point. Whoever sent the message already knew how to get into her computer. There were infinite encryption codes with the reply instructions, and she could respond without talking about the revolution or any other sensitive material.
“Okay. But I want to know how you profit from this?”
“Oh, lover, sometimes a man does things for a beautiful woman only because she is so beautiful.” He smiled. “There are rewards more valuable than money, even more important than power. The thing that I speak of . . . is pleasure. It gives me pleasure to assist so lovely a woman, so brave a warrior. You do not have to trust me, but I’ll give no reason to do otherwise.”
In spite of her best efforts not to fall for his lines, she smiled.
And so did he. “I’ll contact you when it’s arranged. Farewell until then.”
Chelle composed her reply to Drast and read it over twice before she followed the instructions to get it to Terik.
Polis, I never dared imagine you had survived your unfortunate arrest. This is incredible news. I’m sure you understand that I must be certain it is actually you I am communicating with, so I have a question that will need to be answered before we continue. There was a piece of information I gave to Bull the night before his death. I meant to provide the same data to Runit. Now, in light of all that has happened, with time running out, if you’re in a position to take the necessary action, the secret should be given to you. It is critical, if
it is actually you who receives this message, that you respond. And please tell me if you already know that to which I refer.
Chelle felt confident that the message would get past any AOI screening, and only hoped that Drast would be able to decipher her meaning. That is, if it really was Drast receiving it.
Chapter 36 - Book 2
Inside the bunker, Zaverly stomped into the weapons room and found Grandyn. She couldn’t believe the orders. “Grandyn, we’re going back out there.”
He shook his head. The disappointment in her face upset him, and the feeling was a surprise. “This has to stop. I’m going to the supervisor.”
“I’ve just left him. We have no choice.” Ten knuckles cracked at once like firecrackers.
“I’ll tell him I’m sick, that my ribs aren’t healed, something.”
“We have to go.”
“Why? The AOI is all over the place. We should just evacuate and relocate to somewhere safer.”
“They want us to engage them,” Zaverly said.
He read her eyes, saw devastation mixed with determination that tore at emotions he didn’t know he had. They both understood that intentionally engaging the AOI, in the open jungle where they were vastly outnumbered, was suicide.
“Why?” he repeated.
“I thought you were so important that we had to do anything to protect you,” Zaverly said with a shaky voice. “But suddenly it looks as if they’re sacrificing you.”
“Maybe they have a higher opinion of my abilities than you do.” He smiled, trying to make light of their desperate situation.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, not amused. “They haven’t been out there with you.”
“Maybe it’s you. Everyone knows you’re superhuman. Maybe they finally realized you’re our secret weapon. Maybe you’re invincible.”
“Shut up Grandyn!” She stopped just short of shoving him again. “Don’t you get it? We’re going out there, and we’re probably not coming back. The AOI knows you’re down here. They’ve put three years into this, into tracking the lost TreeRunner, and now they have you cornered in a patch of the Amazon.” Zaverly stopped as if something had clicked in her mind. “That’s what they’re doing… They’re sending us out there because if you don’t get caught soon, the AOI will probably just obliterate five square kilometers of the rainforest. The Aylantik has plenty of weapons that can do that, you know.”