The Justar Journal: An AOI Thriller

by Brandt Legg

  By the time forty-seven hours had passed since her arrest, she’d become convinced of her fate. When a guard finally appeared, she asked for pen and paper to write a letter to a man she wasn’t sure was even still alive. Instead, they took her from the cell and headed for the roof. She knew something must have gone terribly wrong in the second or third wave of the AOI crackdown. So much was at stake, how could it not have? The layers and complications had been building for decades, the path out was too intricate, too much a maze, and no one could safely navigate the silent war anymore.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

  The AOI agents ignored her.

  “Why are we on the roof?” she said, trying not to panic, her arms cuffed behind her back. Twenty-six floors up, the winds blew as on a stormy mountaintop. They were going to throw her off. “Who ordered this?” she yelled.

  One of the men strapped a Tekfabrik around her mouth, rendering her mute. Now she knew it was over. Chelle didn’t mind dying, but regretted not completing her mission. Her life had long ago been given for the cause. It had been so absolute that the idea of failing now gutted her.

  What’s happened? she wondered, but couldn’t voice. There had always been risks, especially when working within both sides of the long silent war. She should have requested a meeting before they gagged her, but what good would it have done? Nelson must be dead too.

  They pushed her toward the west side of the building. That area contained the solar collectors on the otherwise flat roof. Only a few meters from the edge, she could look down and see her fate. The hard ground below would come fast. Suddenly, she caught sight of a Flo-wing banking in. It landed quickly, and the men shoved her over to it. They weren’t going to throw her over! But then she realized it might be too messy, even for the AOI, so they’d fly her out over the ocean and dump her for the sharks, a fitting end for such a prominent revolutionary.

  The door to the Flo-wing opened and she saw the face of Polis Drast. The two AOI men lifted her inside, and an agent already on board dismissed them with a salute and a nod. Once airborne, the agent released her from her cuffs and she moved to a seat next to the AOI Pacyfik Region Head.

  “Are you okay?” Drast asked her.

  “I am now,” she answered, leaning over to kiss him.

  Chapter 60

  Polis Drast held Chelle. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I could not risk getting you out any sooner.”

  Chelle pulled away from him, trembling. She almost gasped several times as if coming up for air after a violent shipwreck, but her drowning had occurred in terror and time instead of storm-churned water. She looked at Drast, half wanting to slap him, and half wanting to be held and rocked like a baby. “I understand. These are dangerous times. You don’t control everything, not even in the Pacyfik,” she said with more than a touch of bitterness.

  “Lance Miner suddenly wanted the librarian. It’s hard to say why Runit Happerman became his priority. Miner has so many agendas, so many soldiers and spies. But I pushed to own any investigation in my region, and his people assured me that Miner wanted the librarian alive, for questioning.” He noticed her tears and tenderly wiped them from her cheek. “It should have been a routine arrest. We still don’t know why it went wrong.”

  “I loved him!” Chelle burst out, still shaking. She thought of Runit, how bravely he’d ventured into the unknown, shadowy world of the revolution and did what had to be done. He had save the books and kept his only son safe. The ache of his absence stole at her stability, as if the ground would never seem solid again.

  “I didn’t know,” he said in sadness.

  Chelle looked at him, knowing his feelings, saying nothing. She believed he could not have prevented it, but twice his employer had caused the death of the men she loved.

  “Do you remember when I recruited you, and then we recruited Bull? Both times I told you we would lose people we loved.”

  “The fight is so large, the cause so great, of course I remember. But I have only loved three people outside of my family, and two of them are dead.”

  “I’m sorry you have lost them, and I hope they will be the last, but I fear they will not.”

  “Are they onto you?” she asked, a deep breath causing an involuntary shudder.

  “I don’t think so, but Miner has been in Denver talking to Imps, and he now has an unnatural fascination with the library closing. I fear he’s learned something.”

  “We are so close to war,” she said, not yet convinced she was really safe.

  Chelle tried to calm herself. Drast had saved her. He would protect her. It’s over . . . at least for now, she told herself. I’ve escaped.

  “I thought the revolution was finally beginning back when the Doneharvest crackdown started.”

  “I tried with all my skill and capacity to push us over the brink into a conflict which could continue under its own momentum and eventually bring down Aylantik.” He stared into his INU and swirled VMs into the air showing her AOI troops moving into the Pacyfik. “Miner used influence, and the Chief sent resources from other regions.”

  “Damn her, ‘Peace prevails, always.’ But if they’re using out-of-region agents, they must suspect you,” she said as the Flo-wing reached top speed, blowing though low clouds.

  “Maybe not. I am still here, which might not prove Miner doesn’t have suspicions, but I’m good with the Chief.” He looked into Chelle’s bloodshot eyes, wanting to kiss her, but he didn’t think the timing was right. “Miner could be using me in some other way. But assuming he hasn’t yet learned of my true allegiances, then the move by the Chief can be seen simply as a preemptive step to avoid an escalation, something we all know she doesn’t want to risk. So we don’t get our war yet. I’d also thought we were there, but Miner is so desperate to continue the peace, and I’m not yet free of his power.”

  “But in mere months . . .”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Once I am World Premier.

  “If we live that long,” Chelle said, wiping tears and sweat from her face. “I’ve almost been killed twice in three days.”

  “Dangerous times . . . I’m doing all I can, but I am under the same warning I gave you. Any time, I can lose someone I love . . . but our cause, to undo the great injustices done, horrendous things that have distorted our world, is worth any sacrifice. It must be, or we will not win.”

  “You sound like a candidate from the banned history books, back when statesmen pontificated on matters of consequence, human rights, the cruelty of poverty, and war.”

  “Things we dare not speak of while in the presence of voters in these modern times,” he said, looking out the window as Portland came into view. “Were you able to speak to Munna?”

  “You know that in my time working with PAWN, I really never believed she was real. I mean, one hundred and thirty years old? Some on. And no one ever let me see her, not even Harper. I assumed she was just made up to keep everyone unified.” Chelle paused and stared off, then lowered her voice. “But, Polis. . . Munna is real. She is greater than even her legend. She makes me believe.”

  “In what?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

  “In everything.”

  He didn’t respond, and they remained lost in their own thoughts for several minutes.

  “Where was it left?” he finally asked.

  “PAWN has grown large and powerful. They’re close to forming a coalition between the Creatives, the Rejectionists, and the List Keepers.”

  “The List Keepers will never join with PAWN. They have different objectives.”

  “But similar enough: the end of Aylantik rule,” Chelle said. “And now, with the TreeRunners, there is another opportunity.”

  “Which is?”

  “They’re of the perfect age and skill level to infiltrate the AOI in a fairly large way. And they’re fiercely loyal to one another.” She knew his three words – logic, loyalty, love – and understood the effect they had on him.

  “Can they be
convinced?” he asked, clearly sparked by a loyal army of young people, for he knew the TreeRunners’ reputation.

  “Many have already signed on. The AOI killed some of them. I think their participation will be big. And I believe that a coalition of the other powers will also happen, under Munna.”

  “Even if Munna can pull that off, will she live much longer? It can’t be held together without her, or someone like her. Even if she has another year or two, the Doneharvest has made things desperately difficult for all the dissenters,” Drast said.

  “They have weapons.”

  “Primitive things from another century. They shoot ammunition, for torg’s sake.

  “Deuce Lipton will provide modern weapons.”

  “Has he promised this?”

  “Not yet, but he will.” She touched his hand. “Don’t worry so much, Polis. We will have this war. One way or another, our day will come.”

  Chapter 61

  Munna walked slowly through the trees. Her deliberate steps, with the steadiness of her carved cane, a constant companion, might lead someone to guess she was in her eighties, but never that she was fifty years beyond that milestone.

  “There are many sides to this conundrum,” she said to Nelson as they made their way down the narrow path. “Polis Drast, head of the AOI in the Pacyfik and possibly the next World Premier, wants war, unbeknownst to his benefactor Lance Miner, who needs peace at any price. And then there’s your pal, Deuce Lipton. He would like fantastic change, wouldn’t he? Beginning with how that change is to come about, a complete realignment of how we live without violence.”

  “That seems obvious. Lipton is an idealist,” Nelson said.

  “Ah, yes, but do you know why? Has your fast writer’s mind worked out that plot detail yet?”

  “He also wants peace.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But he might be willing to accept a brief war, if it quickens the purpose to which he was born.”

  “Which is?”

  “To continue the work of Booker Lipton.”

  “With Eysen and StarFly and all the money in the world?” Nelson asked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

  “Oh, there was so much more to Booker than just making a fortune and creating the Eysens. I knew him quite well once, a long time ago, for too brief a moment,” she said. Her face clouded, making her look closer to her age of one hundred thirty, but it quickly recovered. “Booker wanted to bring the true age of enlightenment to the world. Instead he, and all of us, got tangled in the brutality of the Banoff and our subsequent utopian dark ages, called Aylantik.” She stopped to poke her cane at some mushrooms. “But Booker never lost his vision for a world on a higher and more beautiful level instead of one run by fear.”

  “And Deuce is meant to carry that to fruition?” he asked, momentarily distracted by the elaborate carvings on her cane.

  “Yes, and he may just succeed if the stars align with him. Never discount the alignment of stars when you’re seeking to make the world a better place.”

  “And PAWN, are they trying to make the world a better place?”

  “PAWN, well, like a good game of chess, one cannot expect to win without the judicious use of pawns.” She laughed at her well-used line. “But our PAWN, or at least its leadership, desires a full revolution, and cares very little about what form it is to take, so long as they win.”

  “And is that what you want?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. PAWN latched onto me long ago because of my notoriety.”

  “Because of your power?”

  “Yes, I suppose that too,” she said, breathing heavily at the exertion of their walk.

  “But now, with so much of PAWN ravaged through the Doneharvest, it looks like Lance Miner and his giant PharmaForce has won.”

  “It would appear that way, but with his victory comes even more power. His man, Polis Drast, will become the next World Premier, and so war, averted for now, may yet occur in my lifetime.”

  Nelson looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, yes,” Munna said, smiling. “I may live a bit longer yet.”

  “I expect you’ll outlive us all,” Nelson said.

  Munna stabbed at another mushroom. “Oh, good,” she said. “Those are my darlings. Be a chum and pick those for me.” She handed Nelson a small fabric bag from a pocket. “People wonder how I live so long. The secret is due in no small part to my life-long habit of eating sprouts and medicinal wild mushrooms.”

  “I survive on a slightly different diet,” Nelson said, carefully filling her bag and handing it back.

  “Yes, I know,” she said sadly.

  “Where are we going now? How can we be expected to rebuild PAWN from this forest where there isn’t even access to the Field?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” she asked sternly. “PAWN uses me, I don’t use them. We have a chance to win only as long as there is no war.”

  “So you’re allied with Lance Miner’s interests?”

  Munna took and exhaled a deep breath. “This isn’t one of your novels Nelson. We’re not in the pages of a thriller where it’s the good guys against the bad guys. This is real life, or something like that.” She chuckled. “There is more than one protagonist, and certainly more than one villain. Even more than two sides.”

  “If that’s true, I might be out of a job.”

  “Oh, you’re definitely not out of a job. You’re just changing your medium and your target audience. But you’ll still be writing. I have a new assignment for you, and this is more important than the bestseller lists. I’m going to introduce you to the real power in this conflict, the way to take the dream and make the change. Think you can handle that? You should probably quit smoking if you want to live long enough to see it happen.” She winked.

  “So, if we’re not out here in the middle of nowhere to help PAWN, then what is this all about? Where are we going?” he asked again.

  “Not where we’re going,” Munna corrected. “But whom we are going to. And aren’t these trees the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen?”

  Before Nelson could answer, an old black man, wrapped in a thick, mud-colored linen cape, stepped onto the path.

  “Nelson,” Munna said, holding out her hand, “meet Cope Lipton.”

  Chapter 62

  Grandyn didn’t know his location or who was holding him, but he figured, based on the length of the trip and the mountains he could see out of the small window, that he was still somewhere in the southern Oregon Area.

  The young woman looked at Grandyn. “So you’re a TreeRunner?”

  Grandyn didn’t answer.

  “That might just keep you alive.”

  Grandyn didn’t care about being alive. He wasn’t sure what that even meant anymore. All he wanted to do was to kill every last AOI agent.

  “You’re full of hate, aren’t you Grandyn Happerman?” the List Keeper asked, studying him carefully.

  “Who are you?” he sneered.

  “I’m your only friend at the moment. I’m the best chance you have to avoid being executed today . . . or tomorrow, for that matter. In fact, I may be the person who keeps you alive for the next few years. After that, you’ll be on your own.”

  “What happens after that?”

  “We will have won . . . or we’ll all be dead.”

  Grandyn was intrigued, but still unsure. “Who are you?” he repeated.

  “I’m a List Keeper. You don’t know what that is yet, but we’re a special organization not unlike the TreeRunners. Except that instead of physical survival skills, we practice virtual survival techniques, and we’re so secret that not even the AOI knows we exist.”

  “And how’s that going to save me?”

  “I have the ability to give you an entirely new identity.”

  “Why do I need that?”

  “Hmm, I thought you were supposed to be smart.” The List Keeper shook her head, eyeing him coldly. “Maybe you’re not worth the effort. Because, let me tell you, it is a
lot of trouble.”

  “It’s because I helped get the books?”

  “It’s because your father was the last librarian, because your mother was Harper Happerman, and because you’re practically related to Nelson Wright and Chelle Andreas.”

  “Where are they now?” Grandyn asked, looking out the round window in the tiny cell, avoiding eye contact, trying to see something beyond out there. His father, Nelson, the truth?

  “Nelson and Chelle are probably dead. The AOI arrested Chelle yesterday, and Nelson is also missing, presumed in custody,” she said like a hardened soldier, with no visible emotion.

  “How did I get away?” he asked, refusing to consider the possibility of having lost another loved one. Nelson was all he had left, if he was even still alive.

  “Your father is a hero to the revolution . . . he had two missions, and both were completed.”

  “Missions?”

  “He saved the books, and he saved you. Your family has a few powerful fans. I’m not at liberty to say which one arranged for your rescue and paid for the chance you’re being offered.”

  “Offered? You mean I have a choice?”

  “Well, if you can call it that. Your parents, your girlfriend, and at least two of your fellow TreeRunners are dead. You can walk out of here today and you’ll join them before the sun sets, or you can decide to let us work our magic and simply wait for your real life to begin.”

  “What about other TreeRunners?”

  “Four of them were compromised. We have them as well. They’re being briefed.”

  “And they’ll be offered new identities?”

  She nodded. “We’re working on it. TreeRunners are a special case.”

  “Which four?” Grandyn asked.

  She slid her fingers around her INU and photos of four familiar faces beamed out. He nodded, hopeful that they would be joining him. In that moment, he decided to accept a new identity. Something about the young woman made him trust her. Maybe it was the way she talked. She had the same determination as he did, the same fire.