Empire

by Brandt Legg

  “I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had with the other NorthBridge leaders about your lack of understanding—”

  “My lack of understanding? Are you kidding?”

  “With your knowledge of history, how can you believe that the REMies could be removed, their empire broken, without a war?”

  “I can list half a dozen peaceful revolutions—”

  “The REMies weren’t some aging dictator in charge of a bloated bureaucracy left behind by progress and prosperity,” the vice president said. “They controlled everything across the globe—the money supply, the governments, the militaries, the media. You can’t fight that with legislation, speeches, and press releases.”

  “Not with NorthBridge out there blowing things up and killing people.”

  “Dammit, Hudson, NorthBridge was the best chance against the REMies. Hasn’t that been proven now? That’s why I signed on. Booker originally recruited me to run for president. He wanted an antiwar president. A group of REMies planned a war with China, and he knew he could get their backing to put me in the White House.”

  “If they wanted war, why would they support one of the best known antiwar candidates there was?”

  “His pitch to them was simple; the American people would never accept another war, especially with China. But if it was championed by me, a person who’d been against every war, all war, then the public could be easily convinced that it must be vital to our national security, like World War II.”

  “And you would sell out for that?” Hudson looked toward the steps leading off the porch, as if he might leave.

  “I was never going to actually support the war,” she said, her voice angry. “It was just to get me into office.”

  “So what happened?”

  “You happened,” the vice president said with a non-humorous laugh. “Vonner had a better candidate, and a better plan than Booker.”

  Hudson sat down in one of the big wooden chairs on the porch of the Vice President’s Residence. He looked out at the Secret Service agents and thought of 007, a man who had, in the end, made the ultimate sacrifice to save the president.

  “It wasn’t just the candidate,” Hudson said. “It was NorthBridge. Your friends caused chaos in the race, not to mention taking out quite a few candidates directly. Was that for you? Were those assassinations meant to get you into the White House?”

  “I don’t know,” Vice President Brown said, looking off into the distance regretfully. “As you no doubt have learned by now, there’s no single person calling the shots at NorthBridge.”

  “Surely you know who ordered those killings?”

  She shook her head. “It’s designed that way intentionally. I tried to find out, but even after the fact, it’s kept secret.”

  “But you have your suspicions? You couldn’t work with these people without knowing them, knowing which one of them would order an assassination. You may operate autonomously, but NorthBridge has a grand strategy. Whose grand strategy is that? Whose agenda does it advance?”

  “You want me to say Booker Lipton.” She glared at him as if insulted. “You think that because he’s a REMie, this is a part of the CapWars?”

  “I need to be sure.”

  “Because the FBI DIRT units are arresting all the REMies, and you have to decide if Booker goes down too?”

  “All the REMies are going to prison.” He paused and allowed a bitter smile. “As you know, there are countless wealthy individuals who are not REMies whom we can’t arrest and don’t want to arrest. But I do believe we’ll get the new billion-dollar cap on personal wealth enacted into law across the globe within months, and it’ll be retroactive, so they’ll be forced to divest.” Part of the radical reforms called for international legislation capping the amount of personal wealth at $1 billion. Any excess would have to be distributed to non-profits. “Charities are going to be able to change the world with that flood of money. The start of the great realignment.” Hudson looked into the sky for a moment. “But Booker is a REMie and he led NorthBridge. Those are both reasons to lock him up.”

  “He’s not one of them.”

  “I know, but people died in those attacks.”

  “It’s not very different from the American Revolution which created this nation,” she said. “Or that people—good people—died in saving you! Who got you out?”

  “It is very different,” Hudson protested.

  “Please, let me finish. You cannot deny, after all that’s happened, that there was any hope of bringing down the empire without what NorthBridge did. We would have had another corrupt president in the White House, and the CapWars would have finally been won. Either Bastendorff or Coyne would have the CapStone, and the world would be in for another century, or more, of greed, consumption, waste, poverty—”

  “I do know.”

  “Then?”

  “If I let Booker off the hook, there’s a chance that this was all just an elaborate and brilliant play for the CapStone. Don’t you see? If he remains free, Booker has won the CapWar.”

  “But the billion-dollar cap on personal wealth will take care of that,” the vice president said. “No more REMies, no more CapWars. The CapStone doesn’t matter if the empire is over.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Hudson said. “The only thing is Booker’s smarter than the rest of us put together.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Granger and the president stood on the still-damaged White House roof. Lately, it had become one of Hudson’s favorite places. It was as if he could escape his marble dungeon filled with antiques, history, and stress, to get out and see the sunshine or the stars. He loved the view of the city as it expanded out into the country. Washington was filled with a vibrancy common in international cities, steeped in secrets, mystery, power, beauty—both lost and won, and some yet waiting to be discovered.

  “I think it’s going to work,” Granger said. “So far over eighty-three percent of all funds held by the lower ninety percent of the population have been exchanged for digiGOLD.”

  Hudson smiled and let out a sigh. “I cannot thank you enough, Granger, for lending your immaculate mind to this greatest of challenges.”

  Granger bowed his head slightly.

  “And what of the top ten percent?” Hudson asked after a pause. “You had a lot of chips in this game.” The two men stared at each other knowingly. “There were times when I didn’t know for sure whose side you were on, the REMies, NorthBridge, or the people’s. But in the end, it was the very fact that you had feet in all three of those worlds that made you the perfect architect of the new system.”

  “None of this would have happened without you, Mr. President. I don’t think I’ve ever known a braver man. And if it’s time for confessions, I must admit there were times when I thought you a coward, maybe even a fool, and certainly not up to this monumental task. But now that it’s done, I see it was you who made it happen. You brought together just the right mix of innocence, courage, knowledge of history, an ability to handle people—the good and the bad.” Granger nodded his head, held out his hand, and shook the president’s firmly. “It’s been an honor to play a part.”

  “Thank you. Still a lot of work to do, makes me tired thinking about how much, so I hope you’re not going anywhere. I still need you. The world needs you.”

  “I’ll be here until we get it just perfect.”

  “Perfect?” The president looked out over the city’s monuments. “Isn’t that impossible?”

  “Perfection is all I live for.”

  “You and Rex and the Wizard . . . bunch of freaks,” the president said with great affection.

  “And the freaks shall inherit the earth,” Granger replied, smiling broadly.

  The president nodded. “I certainly hope so. And what of the other ten percent?” he asked again.

  “I think after the review boards get done with them, the ones that don’t go to jail will be in one hundred perc
ent compliance.”

  Impartial review boards had been appointed to analyze the holdings of the wealthiest ten percent of the world’s population to determine if any of it was obtained by means that would be possible under the new system. It was doubtful much of it would fall into the new guidelines. Some would be prosecuted, a few might be allowed to keep a little. The rest would be given a stipend in an amount of digiGOLD held by the average citizen—a rude awakening for the elites.

  Granger paced to the edge of the roof, looking down to the South Lawn. The two men stood there silently for a few minutes, both locked in their own reflections. Finally, Granger walked back to Hudson. “Can I ask you something, Mr. President?”

  “Of course,” the president replied, already guessing what Granger might ask. He’d made a wager with himself on how long it would take for the brilliant technologist to ask, knowing that curiosity was a genius’s greatest fault, and his most important asset.

  “How long have you known?” Granger asked.

  “About Franklin?”

  “Yes.”

  “A couple of months.”

  Granger’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. “Really?”

  “Yep,” the president said, enjoying the moment.

  “Then why didn’t you bust me? Why did you continue to let me work on Fair and Free?”

  “Because you may have been the only person in the world who could’ve pulled this off. I needed you,” the president said. “And I counted on your mind; not just to create the new system, but I believed that your great intellect would surely detect that I was doing the right thing, that my path was viable.”

  Granger stared, speechless.

  “You had already passed up the opportunity for REMie-like riches,” the president added. “You knew that this had to be done. We needed to be fair and free for the first time in human history to break the shackles of greed and corruption. A mind such as yours would see even better than the rest of us which way was the right way, so I had to believe you were on our side.”

  Granger stared at him quietly for several moments. “Even as impressed as I’ve been by you, I’ve still underestimated you, Mr. President.”

  “Well, I’ll take that as a great compliment, AKA Franklin. And who else could have justified taking the alias of Benjamin Franklin?”

  “I aspire to his greatness,” Granger said. “I still can’t get over that you risked NorthBridge infiltration into the very plan to save society. That was a real tough-guy move.”

  “Not really,” Hudson said. “Booker and Fonda were right all along. NorthBridge and I wanted the same thing, we just went about it in different ways. Looking back on it now, it’s easy to see neither one of us could have gotten here without the other.”

  “Now that we’ve fixed it,” Granger said, “made everything Fair and Free, I have one worry, one terror that keeps me up nights.”

  “What?” Hudson asked, concerned.

  “That it will all start over again,” Granger said, looking off to the setting sun. “Someone once warned, ’Slaves dream not of freedom, but of becoming masters.’”

  Epilogue

  A year after the coup, the world was a very different place. The Federal Reserve and all other central banks across the globe were gone. The new cryptocurrency, digiGOLD, was the international standard, and the Automated Payment Transaction tax had also been adopted in every country. Much stricter laws were introduced concerning corporate governance. All corporations with a market cap exceeding $100 million were required to have regard to the public good in all major corporate decision-making. The fiduciary responsibility of their boards now went beyond shareholders. Standards were established for pollution, recycling, consumption, human rights, employee relations, community involvement, and philanthropy.

  Coyne had been arrested in South Africa. Bastendorff had been tracked down in Monaco. Both were serving life sentences without the possibility of parole. Thirty-one other surviving REMies had also been tried and imprisoned. Booker, the last REMie, had been pardoned, and agreed to give up all but $1 billion of his wealth, although there were grumblings inside the administration that Booker had hidden billions that people would never find. He had, after all, been one of the creators of digiGOLD. Still, he agreed with the principle, saying, “Why would anyone need more than a billion dollars while there is still one person in the world living in poverty?”

  Schueller had also retained $1 billion of his inheritance and turned over the rest to his various charities and foundations. ZAP had become a world leader in alternative energy. MEDs had expanded around the planet as universal healthcare was provided to everyone. The Free Food Foundation, now run by Melissa full-time, was making tremendous headway in its goal of one hundred million gardens planted in three years. With the sudden influx of REMie cash, it had also gone beyond its original mission and in addition to providing free seeds, garden tools, and supplies, it was working to restore soil and groundwater to organic and pristine states. Other non-profits had tackled mandatory recycling and pollution. It looked like millions of new jobs and explosive economic growth were going to be part of a very bright future, since the reins had finally been lifted.

  The B-4 members who lived through the coup, as well as seventy-three other military leaders, were court-martialed and enduring life sentences in military prisons, including the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Hudson had offered Colonel Enapay Dranick a pardon, but his friend had refused to accept it. His sentence ensured he would die in prison. Hudson was torn; the emotional displacement of a great friend would always haunt him.

  Thorne declared his candidacy for the US Senate—there were plenty of vacancies. Fonda still ran the Raton Report, which was more popular than ever. Hudson had not spoken to her since before the coup, but on the one year anniversary of the military takeover, he granted her an interview in the Oval Office.

  Hudson, more popular than any US leader in history, with one year left in his term, riding approval ratings in the nineties, shocked the country, and the world, by announcing his resignation. He’d taken a teaching position at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. He’d also accepted an offer to sit on the board of the Inner Movement. The Wizard would be leaving Washington at the same time to join Linh’s staff.

  In the statement released by the White House, Hudson had expressed his full confidence in Vice President Brown assuming the presidency, and offered his complete endorsement and hope that she would run for reelection at the end of the term.

  During his interview with Fonda, they discussed his thoughts on the coup, its part in bringing about the fall of the REMie empire, the dissolution of NorthBridge, and the many radical reforms which were now law.

  Fonda handed Hudson a gold CapStone she’d kept concealed in a large canvas bag. The gleaming, pyramid-shaped metal object was about ten inches wide, mounted on a polished-wood base. “It’s from Booker,” she said. “It’s not real gold, just gold leaf. He’s not as rich as he used to be, you know?” She winked.

  Hudson smiled and read the engraved plaque on the base:

  HUDSON POUND

  WINNER OF THE FINAL CAPWAR

  “I didn’t win it.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “There’s still a REMie out there,” he said, looking down at Booker’s gift.

  “Don’t regret your decision to pardon him,” Fonda said. “It was the right thing. Booker never really was a REMie, he just had so much money they had to let him in the club. None of them could ever stand him.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  “If Booker had been a real REMie, you never would have lived past the election.”

  Their eyes locked for a long, knowing moment.

  “In any event,” Hudson said, “I never really thanked you.”

  “Thank me?” Fonda said in mock surprise. “Whatever for?”

  He thought for a moment. “For all your words, deployed at just the right time, to just the right people. You understan
d, better than anyone I’ve ever known, how powerful words really are.”

  She smiled. “I’m just glad I was right about you . . . or maybe ‘almost right’ is a better way to put it. In truth, you actually exceeded my expectations. And now, like your hero, George Washington, they would have made you king, but instead you’re riding off into the sunset.”

  “My work here is done.” Hudson looked around the restored Oval Office, absorbing his own history in the room. “Now Booker can finally have the first African American woman as president.”

  “Booker didn’t want her to be president because she’s African American,” Fonda said. “Being African American himself, I’m sure he didn’t mind that.” Fonda smiled. “But contrary to what happened, Celia has a vision of the world without war that is so powerful, Booker always believed she was—is—strong enough to make it happen.”

  “I do, too.”

  “The three of us agree again,” Fonda said, clapping her hands once. “So, Oregon, huh? What are you going to teach?”

  “History, what else?” Hudson said, looking reflective. “But true history, about what the REMies did to the world for the last hundred and twenty years or so. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “‘Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it,’” Fonda said.

  “Exactly. I never really wanted to be anything other than a history teacher,” Hudson said, looking at the Frederic Remington sculpture, The Bronco Buster. “It’s my job to make sure people learn the truth.”