by Brandt Legg
“But we can win.”
“I have told you, wars are never won. It is impossible!” She walked off to the ocean and stared out to the horizon. The sky was gray, and it met a calm gray sea at a place where it became impossible to tell the two apart. Only a tiny sailboat, far in the distance, gave any definition or perspective to the view.
“Please, Munna,” he said joining her. “Tell me what you’ve seen.”
“The Aylantik is nothing. The AOI doesn’t matter. Your revolutionaries are pursuing the wrong cause. Your every premise is wrong. This war isn’t about who will rule the world, or who wronged whom. It is about the survival of the species. The planet will go on without humans.”
He stared at her, speechless, because he believed her. In the years he’d known Munna, he’d developed an absolute awe toward her. She conveyed a presence of knowing beyond all doubt and wasted no words. Munna had an aura of wisdom so vast, one felt a connection to all knowledge when in her presence.
“How does it happen?”
“While we fight among ourselves, distracted by our greed and selfishness, confused by our fear and lust, the machines we created to make our lazy lives simpler will destroy us.”
“What machines?”
“Do you recall a person who called you ‘Baker-Boy’?”
He looked at her, momentarily surprised.
“Don’t say the person’s name,” Munna warned quickly. “You must leave this island immediately and contact that person. Do it from a place where you cannot be monitored.”
Nelson looked around as if to ask if they were being listened to right now.
She nodded. “Now go!”
“But I don’t want to leave you here under house arrest,” he said, then added, while still looking around, “under surveillance.”
“Don’t worry about me. Deuce only thinks he knows the right thing to do, but he is a Lipton, and I believe that, in the end, he will do the right thing. He will learn soon enough.” She stopped to watch a seagull land nearby.
“How?”
“There are generally three ways to learn: from experience, from the elders, and from the children. Deuce is about to get a full dose of all three.” She looked directly into an impossible-to-see nano-camera, recording them from twenty meters away, and smiled.
Deuce pushed back against his chair as if someone had thrown something at him. “How do you do it?” he whispered, almost expecting Munna to answer.
“Is it really possible that humans will be wiped out?” Nelson asked. “I mean, how can it all just end? We’re too advanced to allow that to happen.”
“Advanced? Don’t you understand Nelson? We are lost. Our people, the human race, we are wandering aimlessly through the cosmos without a clue as to who we are, where we came from, or what we’re supposed to be doing. We know nothing.”
Chapter 6 - Book 3
Zaverly, the olive-skinned beauty, had personally pleaded with Parker Randolph to be reassigned to the Oregon area. The tough and athletic TreeRunner had been a decorated and heroic fighter in one of the most active areas of the near-war era, the name the rebels had given the section of the Amazon which had seen the most action.
Parker was actually happy to move her into an area where most believed the war would start. Zaverly was considered one of the group’s best candidates to lead the TreeRunners combat contribution to the PAWN army. Parker reviewed the file and noted that Zaverly had seen several people close to her killed, including a Grandyn stand-in, but she had recommendations from every superior she’d served under, and more commendations than any other living TreeRunner. It was an easy decision as Parker entered her approval into her INU, completely unaware that Zaverly blamed two people for the death of the man she loved and sought revenge with every breath she took.
She’d been a TreeRunner since the age of five, having grown up in the lush forests of the old Virginia Area of the Aylantik region. She’d landed in the Amazon because it was the most important front of the unfought war. For Zaverly, it hadn’t just been the chance to work with Grandyn and build a force and strategy against the AOI, but to also defend the greatest forest on Earth, that drew her to volunteer for the assignment. The Amazon, and its outposts, had become a collection of Creatives, Rejectionists, PAWN rebels, and TreeRunners, and now the entire Amazon-zone had been infiltrated with AOI and private mercenaries working for Deuce Lipton and Lance Miner. She could have led her side to victory, if the higher-ups would let her make the decisions instead of forcing her to follow orders.
“It’s a torgon chess match down here,” she had told Beckett, the real name of the man she loved who had been killed posing as, and protecting, Grandyn. “They’re all afraid to start the real fight so we’re left to these skirmishes in the trees that just make us bleed slowly.”
But now he was gone, and she’d left the Amazon behind, a place she knew she would always miss.
The Amazon felt more like home to her than the Virginia Area forests where she had grown up. Something about the way the South American jungle was a world unto itself, the impenetrable nature of the thick lush foliage, made her feel safe.
As a young TreeRunner, at age fourteen, she’d been on a clan week-out – a TreeRunner survival trip where groups of five TreeRunners spent a week deep in the forest alone. They wound up not far from a major AOI base and training center. On their fourth night, they ran into a unit of twelve rookie AOI agents who were doing their own wilderness training.
The AOI agents had been drinking, which unleashed a violent rampage. They raped Zaverly and the two other girls, aged sixteen and eighteen, and beat one of the boys until he was barely conscious. Then, finally, they raped the second boy, aged thirteen. It took an extra day for the battered TreeRunners to make it back. The crimes were immediately reported, but nothing was ever done. The only person she hated more than the grunge who raped her, was Grandyn.
Zaverly landed in Willamette Mandated Forest with two things on her mind: how to kill Parker Randolph slowly, and how to kill Grandyn, the real Grandyn Happerman, painfully. But she knew it would take time, so she began to blend in with her new units and learn the forest.
These were Grandyn’s forests. He’d grown up in them, but they were strangely similar to the Virginia forests, and it wouldn’t take her long to know them by heart. Zaverly had a way of memorizing trees, noticing the subtlest parts of undergrowth, the contours of the land, and even the color and patterns of bark.
Based on her record in the Amazon, Parker made Zaverly a commander with twenty TreeRunners reporting to her. Once she learned the area, that number would triple. War was coming, and the rebels owned the forests. The AOI had proven they could make things as difficult as they had in the Amazon, but with a full uprising, they didn’t have the resources to take all the forests in the world. If war broke out, it could last a very long time.
As a commander in Grandyn’s home region, she believed the chances were high that she would get to meet him. It was a well-known secret among the TreeRunners that the real Grandyn was still alive. The AOI, P-Force, BLAXERs, and PAWN had been looking for Grandyn for three years and he had so far escaped. But she would get him.
She looked into the darkest part of the forest, where the trees grew so close the sun hadn’t found the ground there in decades. Then she whispered to the tree gods, “Grandyn may seem invincible to the rest of the world. No one else has been able to find him. He may have eluded the others . . . but Grandyn Happerman hasn’t ever had me hunting him. Never before has he had to escape another TreeRunner.”
Chapter 7 - Book 3
Tuesday July 12
The Aylantik World Premier, a slim man who looked more like an accountant than a politician, addressed the world from the Aylantik capital about the Terik affair for a second time since the worldwide broadcast across the Field regarding the AOI agent’s killing. He announced that a complete investigation into the matter had shown that terrorists had targeted PharmaForce, and the plot’s mastermind had be
en the mentally unstable agent killed by Lance Miner. The company was one of a few entrusted with the health of the 2.9 million inhabitants of Nusun, and the Premier hailed Miner, the firm’s CEO, as a hero.
“I continue to have complete faith in Lance Miner and PharmaForce.” Footage was shown of the damage to the PharmaForce building and the rebels who had been captured by KEL cameras. “The AOI has the situation under control and expects more arrests in the coming days.”
The head of the Aylantik Health-Circle also announced that they had ordered precautionary reviews for millions of citizens in the Pacyfik region immediately following the terror attacks on PharmaForce.
“For the past week, and for the next two weeks, our offices will be working twenty-four hours a day in order to see each patient to make sure their boosters are up to date.” The Health-Circle head, a middle-aged woman in a black Tekfarik suit, stared directly into the camera. “As of now, there is no evidence that these terrorists were successful in introducing any biological weapons into the water supplies, and no airborne viruses have been detected, but until the AOI apprehends all the perpetrators, we must remain diligent.”
Following that, the AOI Pacyfik Region head, who looked too young for the job and with a physique better suited for construction work than heading a large military/police force, made a similar announcement. However, with the current difficulties and given the fact that the Pacyfik was notorious for trouble, his tough-guy, iron-fist persona could not have been a better choice to calm the worried population. He reported that there had been massive arrests made in large sweeps and raids in the Amazon Jungle, as well as in the Portland and Washington State Areas.
“Even before the brave intervention of Mr. Miner and his corporate security force, we had made countless arrests and have weakened the vicious group considerably.” He made no mention of the fact that P-Force was more than just corporate security and that they, in fact, were the third largest army on Earth after the AOI and BLAXERS, and he didn’t say anything about the secret on-going real investigations by the AOI into Miner’s affairs.
Miner watched with Sarlo in his Denver office. “Damn them, they’re beating the drums of war,” he said as an android handed him a drink. It was a stressful day, so he allowed himself a Blue Hawaii, an odd cocktail he’d taken a liking to on a trip in the Hawaii Area a decade earlier. The drink consisted of rum, pineapple juice, Curaçao, sweet and sour mix, and vodka. Not much penetrated his agitated body, but this instantly warmed his tense voice.
“It appears they are readying the population for more violence. I suspect they will build up the ‘terrorists,’ and name the group with some scary sounding tag like ‘bio-dags’ or some such thing in the coming days.” Sarlo took a glass of plain apple-juice from the android server. “They’ll never call them something soft like ‘PAWN.’ It sounds too weak to be a threat worthy of the massive response we can expect the AOI to launch.”
“Notice the Chief didn’t come out and say anything nice about me,” Miner said, sipping his drink. He smiled dryly, raised his glass, and winked at her. “She thinks I’m the damned enemy, Sarlo. We’re going to have to get rid of her soon. She has too much power, and she’ll use it against me and P-Force instead of PAWN. I told the Chairman this morning that the Chief is obsessed with bringing me down to the point of distraction. I said I’ll cooperate with the ridiculous AOI investigations, but we need a new Chief.” He drained his drink and pointed for another.
“What did he say?”
“Not much, but I think he got my point. The world is on the brink of the first war since the Banoff, and she’s worried about the Aylantik’s leading citizen.”
Sarlo looked at a small VM projecting from her INU. “Charlemagne is here,” she said. “Are you ready to behave?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said, accepting another Blue Hawaii. He stared into the swirling liquid for a moment, got up, and tossed it into the sink.
The Imp entered a few seconds later and appeared to glide across the room as his pencil-thin legs seemed to drift, never allowing his feet to touch the floor. His weak handshake was welcome because Miner wasn’t sure Charlemagne would be friendly after what happened with the other Imps in the Amazon city of Manaus.
“Charlemagne, so good to see you again,” Miner said, ushering him to a seat. “Care for a drink?”
The Imp shook his head.
“Fine, good. Listen Charlemagne, thank you for coming. I need your help. I’m sure you know what I want.” Miner produced his best-buddy-look. “Hell, man. Can’t we put this thing back together again? I was out of line with Sidis. Tell me what you advise.”
“I advise that you prepare for war,” Charlemagne said, squinting as if in pain. “A war you will lose.”
“Come on, this is what I’m talking about. I want the Imps to help me avoid this damned war. You know I don’t want a war.”
“Yes, I am aware of your position. But you do not understand our position.”
“Our?”
“The Imps. I am speaking on behalf of the Imps.” He had a slightly condescending tone. “You may not want war, but the Imps do.”
“The Imps?” Miner roared. “The Imps want war?”
“Charlemagne,” Sarlo said calmly, “why do the Imps want war?”
Miner was pacing, trying desperately to keep from saying all the things he’d like to say to this person he considered a freak at best and a creature at worst, but in either case, didn’t care how smart an implant had made Charlemagne. There was no doubt in his mind that this vampire was inferior to the great Lance Miner.
“When I say we want war, what I mean is we, the Imps . . .” he looked over toward Miner, still silently fuming, before continuing. “We believe war is necessary, the only way to correct the mess Traditionals have made of . . . well, everything.”
Sarlo failed to suppress a small laugh. “Yes, that’s a valid point.” She laughed more, and then, after receiving a stern look from Miner, regained her composure. “But isn’t there another way? War is such an awful thing. I’m sure you’d agree. You once told me that your high level of intelligence allows you to see things that we Traditionals cannot.” She paused long enough for both to look at her. She softened her eyes and delivered smoothly, “Beautiful, spiritual things. If that’s so, then how can you reconcile those truths with this call to violence?”
Sarlo glanced out the panoramic window as clouds billowed into magnificent ships and moved slowly across an azure sky.
“That’s just the point. Precisely because we can see beyond this mundane, materialistic world you have created, we find war to be the only way, similar to how an illness can cleanse the system. A one-hundred-and-eighty-degree change is required, and it cannot occur by legislation, hope, or even consensus.” Charlemagne gazed from Sarlo to Miner. “The needed change, an upheaval really, can happen only with force.”
Chapter 8 - Book 3
Polis Drast, or better known at Hilton Prison as inmate Evren, sat in the prison yard with his fellow inmate, Mite. He still wasn’t used to his altered appearance, and although he looked like a tough cowboy from the Wyoming Area and his barracuda eyes remained blue, no one would have recognized him from his days as the AOI Pacyfik Head. Drast was also as cunning and fiendishly creative as ever.
It was the first day he’d been allowed to mix with other inmates since the day Terik had been killed, more than a week earlier. The isolation of the lockdown had been difficult, but a few guards he’d long ago “bought off” were helpful in keeping him informed of events on the outside. Of course, he’d officially been notified of his execution date, now only two days away.
“So, Thursday you die?” Mite said.
Drast looked at the small Asian man who had been his closest confidant inside the AOI supermax. “I don’t think so.”
“Really?” Mite asked, intrigued. The micro-whistler-FA in his mouth automatically translated his words into something far less controversial; the prison food and latest sports
scores. Every word they uttered was being monitored. “Is the Chief or the World Premier going to issue a stay?” Mite continued. “Because otherwise you’d have to break out of here tomorrow, and all of our plans were obliterated when you decided to listen to Terik.”
Mite, obviously still upset about aborting their long-planned prison uprising scheme in the final minutes based on some sketchy information from the dead AOI agent, made every word an accusation in his tone.
His eyes narrowed and cut into Mite. “Those plans didn’t just fade away, they lie dormant . . . waiting.”
“For what?” Mite momentarily lost his critical tone.
“My word.”
“Okay, now you’re talking,” Mite said, smiling. “But even if you can get the word out, how has our network held up within the other institutions?”
“I’m not certain,” Drast admitted, staring into the yard and watching a skirmish between two inmates. Fights were somewhat rare in AOI prisons because most violent offenders were simply put to death. They only detained smart criminals with possible information that might benefit the AOI.
“Is that your work?” Mite asked, motioning to the fight.
“Yes,” Drast said, impressed that Mite figured it out. “Just a precursor to the riot which will occur tomorrow.”
“And the other prisons?”
“I’m hopeful our people will find out in time. But even some success will lead to complete disarray within the institutions.”
“Then it will happen tomorrow?”
“Yes. We’re back on schedule,” Drast said, wondering if Chelle would receive his thread.
His normal routes for getting information to her, Terik and a key guard, were both unavailable, so he had to resort to a less reliable guard and a far more convoluted route. In either case, the uprising would occur, and he might make an escape without her help. But those odds were less than fifty-fifty. Most of the prison personnel would have to be killed or captured, and then he’d have to get out of the prison and off the island. The actual odds were probably far worse than he believed, but Drast didn’t care. He wasn’t kidding himself. He’d be dead either way, so there was nothing to lose.