The Justar Journal: An AOI Thriller

by Brandt Legg

  “How do the Imps know all this?”

  “They have access to two things we do not.” He paused, as if she should already know this, and he believed she should. They’d been together so long that he felt as if their minds were connected. His wife trusted him, but others might have been jealous of an attractive woman spending so much time with their husband. Miner did want her, but had long given up on the conquest in favor of maintaining their perfect business chemistry. Still, on the days when he was tired, he wondered if he could juggle the two.

  “Which two things?” she pressed, moving her toned body closer. “Or is that secret also contained in the prophecies?”

  He smiled. Not so much at her sarcastic line, but at how she managed to defuse him. “Imps have access to every data base on the planet. It doesn’t matter how secure, they get in. There is stuff about these prophecies in there. It’s buried deep, and I don’t know where, but the prophecies weren’t a total secret. People wrote about them, they were investigated, but somehow they got suppressed. There have even been several large scale discrediting propaganda campaigns about them over the centuries.”

  “And the Imps sift through all of that?”

  “Yes, but their biggest advantage is the same reason they can be trusted with access to all the data. Remember what the Imp told us in Denver?”

  “That Imps are perceived as being less than human and it’s made them social outcasts?”

  “The part after that,” Miner said, pointing a finger at her knowingly. “That their accelerated intelligence has created vast amounts of mental capacity and mind expansion which in turn has led to something far deeper than someone without an implant could achieve . . . awareness.”

  “Of course, I do remember that,” Sarlo said, backing into a tru-chair and crossing her legs. “It was that monologue . . . here, I’ll play it.” She tapped her INU and manipulated a mini VM. A second later the Denver Imp’s voice filled the room.

  “There are so many things that you have no idea about, dreams which remain on your tongue when you speak, unappreciated in crossing the sea of imagination. Places to travel to when there is no one left to blame, hidden realms where invitations were long engraved but now gather dust, unopened.”

  “You’ve been obsessed with Imps and prophesies ever since,” Sarlo said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that freak put a spell on you.”

  “Maybe he did, but you were there. You saw how he controlled all those VMs simultaneously with only his eyes and how colored sparks and pops flowed around us like some kind of lightning storm ballet.” Miner waved his arms and swirled them around as if trying to recreate it. “Go on, play the rest.”

  “You want to know about Lipton.” The recording of the Imp’s whispered voice still gave Sarlo chills. “Lipton,” it echoed.

  “How do you know?” Miner asked on the recording.

  “It was amazing,” Miner said as they listened to the recording while the Imp sang a song.

  “He’s weird,” Sarlo said, not for the first time. “They all are. I prefer my humans without a computer crunched into their head. I like people real.”

  “Then you were born in the wrong century. Shh, listen to this part,” Miner said, pointing to her INU.

  The Imp’s voice rolled out again, sounding more alive on the recording than it had when they were standing next to him. “That greater capacity of mind allows us not just to access all the knowledge of humankind, my dear. It provides us the ability to find the channel and frequency to touch the source.”

  “The source?” Sarlo’s recorded voice asked.

  “The human mind, free of distractions, practiced and open, is capable of reaching higher planes. I’m connected to the infinite knowledge of the universe.”

  “You’re half-machine,” Miner had said.

  “The machine simply frees my mind,” the Imp said. “Why do you think we get the implants? To get rich?”

  Sarlo recalled the shabby little cabin where the Imp resided. No, it certainly wasn’t getting rich, although that would have been easy enough for all of its access. She suddenly thought of the Imp as some kind of futuristic monk.

  “Tell him,” Sarlo said on the recording.

  “I am a better man,” the Imp said. “Accept that. If I can help, then I must already know.”

  “Prove it,” Miner’s recorded voice said. “Tell me where my question begins?”

  “Booker Lipton. What happened while he was gone?”

  As they listened, they heard Sarlo gasp, and both recalled the moment when the Imp confirmed that Booker Lipton, Deuce’s grandfather, had a secret second son who had grown up hidden from the world, free of the burden of his father’s wealth, and had instead pursued a different path to power. Indeed a different type of power. Cope Lipton knew of the prophecies, and was also part of them. So were Deuce and Munna, and so was Miner. The final stages of a centuries-long battle for the direction of the human race was being played out.

  “It doesn’t matter how crazy it all seems,” Miner whispered to Sarlo while standing just inches from her. “This is destiny. No matter what we believe. Big things are happening. If we don’t find Grandyn and those damned books, we will be run over and forgotten, but if we get to them first . . .”

  He stared deeply into her eyes. Their working relationship was substantiated by a unique bond, forged across years of experience in watching and manipulating world affairs.

  “Then destiny will be shaped by our hands.”

  Chapter 15 - Book 2

  Terik had a few chances to get to Chelle. It was a trade-off of sorts. She was more valuable to the AOI than Grandyn, but he didn’t have all of her files at his disposal. There were other agents pursuing her, more experienced ones with greater resources, but Grandyn was within his scope. If he could end the AOI search for Grandyn, then the priority would shift to Chelle and PAWN, and he’d be assigned to lead it.

  Terik thought for a moment, staring out at the nearby mountains and the millions of acres of trees. If I can get Drast to cooperate, I can change the outcome of the coming war.

  Osc met him again. “I was able to get yesterday’s recordings overwritten, but I’m not sure how many times I can do this.”

  “I appreciate it, brother. You know what’s at stake.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then find a way.”

  Osc nodded. A couple of minutes later, Terik stood facing Drast, who seemed to look five years younger.

  “Agent Terik, so lovely to see you today.”

  “I don’t have much time.”

  “None of us do.” Drast’s smile turned serious. “Here is my message,” he said, handing Terik a single page covered with small print written in all caps. He barely glanced at it, knowing he would read it later.

  “And my data?”

  “You will find what you need in area eighty-five.”

  “On the AOI system?” Terik asked, alarmed.

  “Yeah, don’t worry. Here’s the key. No one else has it.” He handed him a tiny slip of paper that appeared to be from a candy wrapper. Drast had carefully written dozens of letters and numbers on it. They seemed random, but Terik was sure they weren’t.

  “I wasn’t counting on this still being in the AOI system. How do I know this isn’t some sort of trap?”

  Drast laughed hard. “Do you forget who I am? I ran one of the largest AOI regions in the world for longer than you’ve been alive. I know everything about you Agent Terik. Now, deliver my message, and try to find some courage before you come back next time.” Drast stood and pounded the door. The escorting guard opened it and immediately took Drast back into the bowels of the prison.

  “What happened?” Osc asked. “You had more time.”

  “I insulted him,” Terik said. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Osc looked down the steel corridor where Drast had just disappeared and then back to Terik. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? You could end up joining him in here. It’s not a n
ice place. You have some image of it as a hellish lockdown of hate and punishment? You have no idea how lovely that image is compared to the brutal reality of what this is.” He grabbed the scruff of Terik’s shirt.

  Terik, stunned, pushed back. “What’s your problem, man?”

  “I want to be sure I have your attention. We’ve known each other a long time. If you wind up in here, this place where misery and despair go to relax, where men lose their minds in the madness of torture, isolation, and abuse, you’ll regret everything, and you’ll know that nothing was worth it . . . Hilton Prison is proof that hell exists.”

  “I won’t ever wind up in here.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because they’ll never let me live that long.”

  “All I’m saying Ander, is this place is worse than death. Don’t insult Drast. He’s doing the hardest time you could believe. Use him to achieve your objectives, cheat him, rob him, call him a traitor, whatever, but give him the respect he deserves for even surviving this torgon island.”

  Terik looked back down the hall. “You’re right. Thanks.” He paused and looked at his old friend. “These are tense times. I’m feeling the pressure and I appreciate your warning. Not many people would bother the way you just did.” He hugged Osc, patting him on the back.

  “It’s cool. One day we’ll look back on all this and cry.”

  Terik laughed. “I hope that’s true. See you in a few days.”

  Chapter 16 - Book 2

  For years, there had been tensions between Grandyn and Parker, the woman who led the TreeRunners. Grandyn didn’t blame her for the animosity. Because of him, the TreeRunners entire organization had been outlawed, thousands of its members hunted and killed. Then there were the recent losses, dozens of TreeRunners who had died in the campaign to protect him. Grandyn’s refusal to tell Parker his exact whereabouts complicated their relationship further, but she knew of his vital importance to the revolution, a cause she had only reluctantly joined when the AOI tactics in killing so many of her friends made it clear that the perfection of Aylantik’s system was not everything it appeared. It was through no fault of his own that the AOI wanted him dead, and the TreeRunner oath meant he must be protected, so Parker did everything she could to thwart his pursuers.

  Deuce Lipton was frustrated with Parker because, as a TreeRunner himself, and the main backer of the revolution, he felt he had a right to see Grandyn. He needed Grandyn’s help with the books, and he felt his BLAXERs could do a better job of keeping Grandyn safe. Deuce had asked many times for access to Grandyn. Had Parker known Grandyn’s exact whereabouts, the oath still would have prevented her from sharing, even with another TreeRunner.

  It was as if the founders of the TreeRunners had known the trouble they would one day face and anticipated this eventuality. Interestingly, unlike most institutions, the founders of the TreeRunners had not enshrined themselves into the group to be celebrated and memorialized. In fact, no one knew for sure who had begun the secretive organization. Its history was something like the mist which rose above the morning river through the redwoods.

  Long before Grandyn had contacted Nelson, the fugitive-writer had also pressed Parker to help him find Grandyn. It was about eight or nine months after the Doneharvest crackdown had begun, and at the height of AOI brutality toward TreeRunners. Parker, of course, knew about the book theft from the Portland Library since it had been the origin of the trouble between the AOI and the TreeRunners, so she wasn’t surprised to learn that the books were important to the revolution.

  “We need Grandyn to help us interpret things contained in the books,” Nelson had told her.

  She’d already heard the same thing from Deuce. “It seems there are many people after Grandyn and these books. Not just the Aylantik. Several different factions of the rebels want them too.”

  “I was with Grandyn and his father when the course of these books began. Grandyn is like a son to me, the books belong‒‒”

  “Do you even have the books? And does Grandyn know what he is to do?” she’d asked.

  “We have the books that we need,” Nelson lied. Only some were accounted for. Nelson was practical enough to not care too much if PAWN, Deuce, the Creatives, the Rejectionists, or even the List Keepers got the books, as long as it wasn’t Miner or the AOI. But he believed he knew best, that the books were still part of his destiny, and Nelson truly loved Grandyn. “Grandyn will know what he needs to when it’s necessary.”

  “But you must tell him everything. It’s his life at stake,” she’d said, knowing she would never forget Nelson’s answer.

  “We’ve kept him isolated from the core information, just as we do everyone. Secrets can only be pried from people who know them.”

  It was the last part that changed how she operated the TreeRunners, and she issued it on all future official directives. “Secrets can only be pried from people who know them.”

  Three years earlier, at the start of the Doneharvest crackdown, the AOI had intercepted as many as a third of the books. PAWN had been attempting to move the books not already claimed by Deuce Lipton. In the days after the librarian’s death, PAWN began moving shipments from the old barn where they’d first been hidden. Only a portion arrived at the PAWN bunkers in the northern California mountains where shelves were waiting.

  It may have been a lucky break for the AOI, or they might have been tipped, that answer remained unclear. But government agents confiscated enough books to fill a small storage facility on the outskirts of Sacramento. The AOI scheduled a burn for the ill-fated books, and less than thirty-six hours after the last seizure, the tiny warehouse was burned.

  Apparently though, unbeknownst to even the agents on the scene, the place had been emptied, and the one-of-a-kind literary treasures were saved yet again. Drast had had them covertly moved in the night to a secret location.

  It was only after Drast’s arrest that the AOI began searching for more books, but in reality no proof of books existed, since it was impossible to know how many were originally taken from the library. They weren’t even sure whether Drast, who had greatly exaggerated the number he recovered and “burned,” had really destroyed them or not. But they wanted Grandyn, because in the rebel movement there were two symbols, two rallying points: Grandyn and Munna. Both represented a type of truth the Aylantik could not tolerate.

  Grandyn stood for information and history, while Munna embodied health and spirituality. Both needed to be extinguished in order to defeat the rebels, and for peace to prevail, always.

  Now the AOI thought they had a break. Grandyn was hemmed in on Mount Shasta. They’d been close to catching him before, even believed they’d killed him several times, but the TreeRunners used look-alikes and decoys. Even while they pursued a “rock solid” lead on Shasta, other AOI units were involved in trapping a positively ID’d Grandyn in the Amazon. Each team had to assume its Grandyn was the real one. The commander on Shasta was sure of two things. Grandyn couldn’t be in two places at once, and this time they really had him . . . on Shasta.

  The agent projected several photos of the fugitive TreeRunner from an INU. The campers, three men and three women, all agreed. “No question. That’s him,” one of them said. “Is he some kind of serial killer or something?”

  “No, sir,” the agent responded, delighted to have a positive ID. “We’re not at liberty to disclose his crime, but he is considered armed and dangerous.”

  The campers looked at one another. “Break camp,” one of the guys said. “We don’t need to stay another night until they catch this guy.”

  The AOI agent nodded as if this were a wise choice, one that might have been made for them if they hadn’t come to the decision on their own. A few minutes later, two more agents ran up.

  “Check this out,” one of them said after getting a good distance away from the campers. “It’s an INU we just confiscated from a hiker.”

  Seven AOI agents stood looking at an image that promised to get them al
l promoted. It was a clear shot of Grandyn Happerman.

  “When was this taken?” the agent in charge asked.

  The junior agent brought up the metadata on a separate VM. “It’s less than an hour ago!” They looked at one another gleefully.

  “Zoom it, now!” barked the one in charge. “Pull everyone in. Let’s go.” The metadata also showed the GPS coordinates. “Grandyn was less than a kilometer from here forty-eight minutes ago. He is not going to get away.”

  There were now two confirmed sightings of Grandyn thousands of miles apart. The AOI Chief received the update as she walked offstage and immediately ordered an investigation.

  “This is ridiculous! How can we not find one lost TreeRunner? A twenty-one year old boy is making fools of the most efficient intelligence organization the world has ever known,” she snapped at a subordinate. “Let’s hope one of these Grandyns turns out to be him. Either way, I want full details of how they are foiling us.”

  Mount Shasta became infested with AOI. Flo-wings, swarm-drones, and hundreds of personnel descended on the wilderness in the biggest manhunt since the Banoff. Roadblocks and satellite tracking assured he didn’t get away by road. Air traffic had been shut down to all non-AOI flights. Twelve hours later, there hadn’t been a single new sighting. More platoons were brought in, along with an AOI General. Half an hour after he was onsite, the Chief zoomed.

  “Our Amazon sighting went bad. That Grandyn escaped,” she said, looking as if someone had just slapped her. “What’s your news?”

  “Not much better I’m afraid,” the General said. “It’s as if he just disappeared.”

  “The Amazon could have been anything, but we got multiple positive IDs on Shasta and a photo. He’s there somewhere, probably been there for three years. It’s only one hundred thirty kilometers from his last known location in Southern Oregon.”

  “We’ve just started doing imaging sweeps to see if we can uncover underground bunkers. But it’s a big area, and because of the trees and other unknown interference, we can’t get much from the air.”