by Brandt Legg
All during that time, the two last “chapters” of the prophecies continued to scramble. The digital characters rolled through a seemingly endless and completely random sequence as if looking for a code to lock into. Or, as Deuce had come to believe, they were acting as a reminder of what power lay behind the screens, and to the control Munna wielded.
Throughout those same days, Chelle had been negotiating and arguing with Deuce for Nelson’s release. She had demanded that he share the Justar Journal.
“That’s up to Munna now, isn’t it?” Deuce responded in their latest volley, after Chelle had threatened to make his life difficult. She hadn’t forgotten that Deuce was the wealthiest person on earth, with the second largest army, and now in possession of the prophecies, but Chelle was not without assets and leverage of her own. She had the ability to disrupt the world at any time with the spark of revolution or guerrilla attacks. And, although Chelle and Munna had never been close, after the events on Runit Island during the decoding and with Nelson’s connection to Cope, Chelle might have a better chance of convincing Munna to release the INUs so they could start running the prophecies again.
“Do I need to remind you that I have intimate knowledge of the AOI?” Chelle said, speaking from an undisclosed location.
“You don’t need to remind me that you have intimate knowledge of a great many things. You are well known for your intimate work,” Deuce said sarcastically while staring at the stars on the ceiling of his private study. They made it seem as if he were viewing the night sky from one of his space stations.
“I can cause you many problems,” she said, choosing to ignore his cheap shot.
“Your threats are amusing, Chelle.” Deuce knew more about the inner workings of the AOI than she did. Plus, PAWN still relied on Deuce for a significant portion of its funding. “With the world so close to war, are you really willing to lose my backing?”
“If PAWN gets the prophecies, we can win the revolution without your help.”
“Maybe, but what if the Justar Journal shows that I’m the only hope PAWN has to defeat the AOI?” Deuce asked.
“Then you’ll not be able to avoid your destiny.”
“Destiny?” His brown eyes hardened. He didn’t want to continue trading barbs with her. Even if he didn’t believe in destiny as a metaphysical concept, he knew his grandfather had been powerful enough and would have given enough forethought to Deuce’s life so that his destiny might have been arranged. “Anyway, we’re wasting our time arguing. You should be talking with Munna.”
“She’s still refusing to speak to me, but Nelson is working on it.”
Deuce had also considered releasing Nelson, knowing he would be pushing his sister’s agenda and trying to secure Munna’s cooperation for PAWN, but the prophecies needed to be unlocked, whether it was to Deuce or to Chelle.
“I would never underestimate your brother.”
Deuce had his own inroad to the old woman. Twain, whom Munna loved, and whom was now recovered enough to start spending time with her. Unfortunately, all he wanted to do was go back to the redwoods.
“Can I come to the island?” Chelle asked.
“Of course,” Deuce said, not sure he would let her leave. “Although the AOI has agents everywhere. I would think that leaving the POP is too risky, even borderline crazy.”
“I know, that’s what my generals say. But thank you for allowing it. I’ll come as soon as it’s safe.” Her frustration had reached an insanity-inducing level. They had the prophecies, but couldn’t read them. Drast was alive, but sentenced to die in a matter of days. The war she’d always fought for was possibly hours away, but her coalition was deteriorating. “Damn it Deuce, find a way to fix this,” she barked, and ended the zoom.
Nelson had tried to reason with Munna every day since the showdown with Deuce started, but this was the first time she had cried.
“What is it?” he asked in his most tender voice. Nelson had not been pressing her too hard, only saying that the prophecies could save lives when tears began to stream from her eyes.
“Lives . . . too many will be lost. The war is coming . . . I have not stopped it.”
“You mean you can still see the prophecies?”
She nodded slowly.
“How?”
She motioned to the two monitors, which remained lit as if that would answer his question. But all he saw was what had been there for more than a week: millions of ever-changing alphabet letters running across the screen appearing to be participants in a race for confusion.
“What?” he tried again, shaking his head at the VMs.
“We’ve lost . . . we’ve lost, we’ve lost,” she said in a voice so sad his own eyes watered.
“I’m sorry Munna. I don’t understand.”
“No one does,” she whispered.
Across the short distance of water that separated Runit and Ryder Islands, Deuce secretly watched the conversation between Munna and Nelson. The revelation that she could still see the prophecies caught him by surprise, but her tears concerned him.
This woman was one hundred thirty-three. She had seen it all. Deuce couldn’t imagine anything to make a person like that break down.
What are you seeing that is so upsetting? he wondered. War? That can’t really be so shocking to you. The miracle is that the war hasn’t happened sooner.
“You have to tell me,” Nelson said. “Munna, please. Cope told me there were things worse than the Banoff. Is that what you saw?”
She stared blankly at the two scrambling VMs and then to the other six dark ones. Nelson wondered if she was considering bringing them back to life.
“Show me,” he said, gently touching her hand. She jolted and turned toward him.
“It’s too late,” she said in a voice filled with despair.
“The prophecies can change, right?” Nelson asked. “Tell me what you saw. We can change it.”
“I saw the end,” she said quietly. “The cruelty of it. I saw the end.”
“But‒‒”
“The end allows for no compromise. The only thing left at the end is the lonely truth.”
Chapter 3 - Book 3
The AOI Chief looked over another string of reports. “Grandyn Happerman is finally, really, completely dead,” she said to an aide. “This time it was him.”
Although she’d have felt much better with a body, there really was no room for any doubt. It was an embarrassing story, and she skimmed the final draft of what she would present to the Council on the matter.
Grandyn Happerman, son of two revolutionaries, Harper and Runit Happerman, had sought to avenge his parents’ deaths, at the hands of the AOI, by infiltrating the agency and destroying it from within while aiding in the revolution to overthrow the Aylantik. His identity had been switched so completely in their internal systems that, without the aid of cosmetic surgery or any physical transformations beyond a haircut, he was able to become a fictitious person known as Ander Terik. Although Grandyn/Terik attended an AOI training academy, everything prior to that was a complete fabrication. Investigations were still underway as to how he had been able to change all the photographic, optic, fingerprint, and DNA identifications within the AOI and Aylantik systems and create the new Terik identity, but early indications pointed to a group the AOI knew almost nothing about: the List Keepers.
She paused at that point in her reading, anticipating the questions the Council would hurl at her about the List Keepers, none of which she could answer. At least, not yet. In that case, she would answer with more questions about Lance Miner’s involvement, how he came to uncover Grandyn/Terik, and how the bigger and more disturbing investigations into Miner and Drast would, hopefully, bring many more answers.
“Grandyn Happerman is dead,” she repeated. “That should be enough. Move on. Much more to do.”
The aide looked unsure whether to continue questioning.
“Peace prevails, always,” the Chief hissed under her breath.
“Won’t they question
you about not having Grandyn’s body?” the aide asked.
“All Grandyn sightings ceased as soon as the death of Ander Terik was broadcast,” she answered. “Lance Miner confirmed it before he killed him. We’ve back-traced several of Terik’s movements. It was Grandyn. The rebels would not have risked so much to rescue him if it had not been him. Even once they knew he was dead, they continued to be sure we did not get his body. His mind was too valuable.”
“So the world thinks their beloved PharmaForce CEO killed Ander Terik, a rogue AOI agent . . .”
“Yes,” the Chief said absently as she scanned incoming reports. “They never knew who Grandyn Happerman was, so the rebels’ plan to discredit Miner, and us, by broadcasting Terik’s execution didn’t have the desired effect.”
The aide smiled, knowing this was one of the good points.
“I go before the Council in an hour. I think we have everything.”
“Will Miner be there?”
“No. It’s a special committee.”
“I’m sure they’ll see it your way,” the aide said.
“There is no other way to see it,” she replied, not looking up, dismissing her aide with a flick of her hand.
The A-Council Special Committee consisted of three men and two women linked across a Field-View conference. After curt introductions, the questioning began. As expected, they asked about the List Keepers first, which the Chief deflected with the promise of details to follow, while shifting quickly to Miner.
“Miner may be connected to the secretive group, which is part of our wide-reaching investigation into his affairs.”
“Why isn’t Lance Miner a hero?” the Chairman asked. “He killed Grandyn Happerman, one of the five-most-wanted.”
“The world may believe he’s a hero because he stopped a turncoat AOI agent, but we know what really happened. So, Mr. Chairman, I’ll tell you why Lance Miner is no hero. He didn’t report the killing, and he isn’t saying how he found out that Grandyn Happerman and Agent Ander Terik were one and the same. We still have unanswered questions about Miner’s involvement with Drast, especially since Terik was also connected to Drast and visiting him in prison.”
“He may have a reasonable explanation for all of that.”
“Yes, and it may be a lie. And, as you are aware, Miner’s P-Force has engaged our troops in the Amazon. The man is as big a threat as the rebels.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not Miner’s biggest fan, and I know he can be abrasive and unorthodox in his approach to world security matters, but he’s more committed to peace than anyone I know,” the Chairman said.
“He is also a descendent of the founders,” another committee member added. “As well as head of the biggest and most important pharmaceuticals responsible for incredible advances in healthcare that has saved countless lives and continues to prolong the life expectancy of all of us.”
A third member interjected, “And Lance is a member of this council. Your comments are out of line. Perhaps he is aggressive and ambitious, but, Chief, remember that you technically work for him. You should be careful.”
“I’m doing my job,” the Chief said, glaring into the screen. “If you are not happy with my performance, release me. Otherwise, Mr. Chairman, members of the committee, I expect to be free to run this agency as I see fit.”
“You have a certain latitude,” the Chairman replied, “but let me remind you that you have essentially only two duties. Keeping us happy, and keeping the peace.”
The Chief nodded once. “The two are indelibly linked.”
“There can be no war,” the Chairman said sternly.
“If there is a war, I will stop it,” the Chief said. “And by stop it, I mean win it.”
“There can be no war,” the Chairman repeated.
“Peace prevails, always,” the Chief said, concluding the zoom.
Chapter 4 - Book 3
“What to do?” Blaise asked, mostly himself, as his round table convened. “What to do?”
He’d been studying simulations and probability models all morning. The war seemed inevitable now, with a ninety-eight-point-seventy-six percent chance to begin within the next forty-eight hours. The scenarios had also changed. No longer was it most likely that PAWN would ignite the storm, but rather an unknown group the DesTIn program labeled X08, but that Blaise suspected were the Trapciers. He simply wasn’t sure and, therefore, even less certain whether or not to bring it up with the knights.
Morholt, a CHRUDE, studied him. “Blaise, the war began long ago. Violence is but a stage, part of the definition that satisfies politicians and military leaders, but the semantics of reality are often a very different thing from what we think we know.”
“And which side are the CHRUDEs on?” Blaise asked.
Morholt looked to Bors, and then to the other CHRUDEs. “As always, we are on the side of logic.”
Blaise laughed at this. Although the answer made him slightly uncomfortable, he hid it well. “And the Imps?” he asked, looking toward Galahad.
“War, Blaise, you must understand, is not of our making . . . it is the Traditionals who have wrought this barbarism,” Galahad replied with a look of disappointment.
“So are you going to start the war?” Blaise asked.
“As I told you,” Morholt said. “It has already begun.”
“Yes, you did. I’ll rephrase then. Are you going to begin the violent stage?”
“Galahad, perhaps you’d like to handle that one,” Morholt said smoothly.
“So the Imps and CHRUDEs are working together?” Blaise asked rhetorically. “That brings me to my next conclusion . . . you are the Trapciers.”
“Yes, on both counts,” Galahad said. “As for your first question, we would rather not get into specifics as to when things will start.”
The “smart” table ran through a series of view transformations, showing the implant process Imps go through and the technical make-up of CHRUDEs. As the topic shifted, so did its displays. The lighting in the room also adjusted accordingly.
“And what are your aims?” Blaise asked, trying to mask his urgent concern.
“We are looking for a correction,” Galahad answered, moving his hand so that the giant, round table projected images in front of them. It was mostly KEL footage, showing people shopping, watching sports, movies, touring the Field, attending parties, and working. “Do you realize that this is primitive behavior?”
“Of course I do,” Blaise said as the trivial habits and actions of society played out in front of them.
Pre-Banoff images of wars, genocide, oil drilling, mining, pollution, extinctions, mass production and consumerism, replaced the shoppers and watchers.
“A waste of time, and I’m not talking about hours, months, or even lifetimes,” Galahad said. “Traditionals aren’t even close to fulfilling their potential . . . humans have been acting like children for more than thirty thousand years.”
“Agreed,” Blaise said. “But war? Is that something enlightened entities such as yourselves would resort to in order to effect change?”
“War is merely a tool,” Morholt said. “You have been playing the game yourself, Blaise.”
True. Blaise had been working all the sides in the conflict, but his aims were far different from those he feared the Trapciers had. The Imps and the CHRUDEs didn’t even like each other, but they possessed an arrogance of intelligence that Blaise understood very well.
The Trapciers had somehow appointed themselves rectifiers of millennia of human folly. CHRUDEs were one thing, because they had no access to a higher consciousness, but the Imps surely had loftier ideas. Oddly, at that moment, Blaise thought of a long-banned book, Animal Farm by George Orwell.
“What happens if you win?” Blaise asked, looking directly at Galahad.
“Change.” The images above the tables instantly darkened and were replaced by abstract patterns of light and stars. “Things they can’t even begin to imagine.”
Chapter 5 - Book 3
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Munna and Nelson strolled in the warm summer air, cooled by a northwesterly breeze coming in off the ocean. Worn stone paths snaked across the island, which had otherwise grown wild with blackberries and fern. Munna liked to get out of the building as much as possible, but even when she was out walking the paths, all but the scrambling VMs back inside the building remained blank.
“Munna, if the war is imminent, then you must open the Justar Journal for us,” Nelson pleaded.
Deuce, still able to monitor them from any spot on the island, was silently pleading from his star room, while at the same time directing BLAXERs to pull out of the Amazon. He’d decided to leave only a small force in the jungle. All indications pointed to hostilities breaking out in the northern Pacyfik and Aylantik regions. Deuce feared they were only days away. Controlling events in peacetime was difficult enough, but with a world at war, anything might happen.
“Nelson, you need to understand what is at stake. You and your PAWN compatriots have, from the beginning, had a single goal, and that was to overthrow Aylantik. This has always been an empty endeavor.” She stopped and looked at a flock of seagulls circling off the rocky coast. Nelson followed her gaze and worried they were mimic-drones, but Munna could tell they were simply seagulls.
“But you can’t condone allowing Aylantik to stay in power? The AOI is a dark force in the world.”
“Of course I don’t approve of the AOI.” She shook her carved cane. “But their time will pass . . . it already has passed. They are no longer in existence, don’t you see? We just haven’t caught up to that reality yet.”
“I have a hard time with concepts like that,” Nelson admitted.
“It’s why I took you to live and learn with Cope. You need to understand how the universe works. Our perception is so limited.”
“Your perception is excluded from that statement, I assume.”
“Oh, I’m no higher being. I just work at looking a lot harder than most. Anyone could see what I see, do what I do, live as long as I do.” She looked at him, her bright eyes showing excitement. “It’s all there for everyone, it’s all possible, but this war can destroy us.”