The Justar Journal: An AOI Thriller

by Brandt Legg

  The other two visions had to do with the end of the war. Neither was good. One showed a burnt, post-apocalyptic wasteland. There were only a few thousand survivors, wandering in search of food, or hiding, not sure what to do, where to go, or whom to trust. They wouldn’t last long. The planet had been heavily damaged, and the new plague still lingered. Human extinction was only a few brutally unimaginable years away.

  In the third vision, there had been hope. The planet, while in exceedingly desperate condition, was still habitable for human life. More than a billion had survived, which meant that more than a billion had not, but there was a sense of the third, and final chance for the species. The post-Banoff world had been the second opportunity to get it right, but the corruption built into that society made it a false premise. In his vision, he saw the start of the third attempt, a new direction, a very different approach. People shared and built a society on ideas instead of materialism.

  He didn’t know which vision would come true, and didn’t know if he could do anything to influence the outcome. Still, it gave him insight into what Munna could do. He was only beginning to explore the things UC had taught him. Cope had said, “Anyone can do this. With enough patience and practice, everyone can find the way to the power.”

  He’d called this ability to tap into a universal energy, which connected everything, “the sway.” It could allow them to slow the aging of our physical bodies as Munna had done, and through it, they could tap into the “ornament of time,” as he called it. Twain had heard “time’s a funny thing” his whole life, and now, through his experiences with UC, watching Munna, seeing the Justar Journal, and recently through his own meditations, he finally understood what it meant.

  He wrote it down so he wouldn’t lose the realization.

  The ornament of time is a way of looking at life, the world, and the entire universe. It makes it easier for our minds to comprehend our connection to the other people and events that surround us. Speaking and thinking in terms of “one hundred years ago” is something we can understand; a linear look into the past, or our own age, or picturing the future as a date so many “years” ahead. But it is not much different from seeing the ocean as three meters deep because below that it is dark, or assuming that the stars visible in the night sky are all there is. Time is a funny thing because it is a pool we swim in rather than a path we walk.

  In that understanding, he realized the “future” could be wonderful. All that had to be done to make their third and “final” chance work was to draw from the entire “pool.” They could bring the best of every age, past-present-future, and use the wisdom and understanding to make it right this time.

  He thought of Munna and the List Keepers. They were here for a reason. If we made it to the third vision, they could show us where to go next. Lead the way, he thought.

  Two thousand kilometers away, on the deck of the Moon Shadow, Munna smiled. She could feel Twain. She felt many people, but some were stronger. UC, Twain’s great-uncle, had been one of the strongest. With his passing, that connection had changed. It wasn’t weaker, just different. But Twain, especially when in the redwoods, had a potent force within him.

  Whenever someone first discovered the power, they projected a bright and vigorous energy. Munna knew that vital energy was needed now. Soon, she hoped, Grandyn would make it to the City and be another in the new generation of leaders and teachers.

  In all history, this would be the most important test. If the war could be stopped soon enough, they still had a chance. Yet, in order to survive and change, it would take the complete focus of all who knew the secrets, understood the power, and could see into time.

  Deuce looked over and, hoping for good news, asked, “What are you smiling about?”

  “Twain.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s alive and awake.”

  Deuce, happy to hear this, had spent enough time with the old woman to know she wasn’t just saying what she was saying. “Meaning?”

  “He’ll be there at the end.”

  “Are they going to burn the redwoods?”

  She nodded. “They are going to try. They may succeed.”

  The way she looked at him, he had the feeling she was silently saying what she had verbalized several times since this had all started. “It depends on me?” Deuce asked.

  Munna smiled. “Of course it does.”

  “Show me the Justar Journal.”

  She frowned.

  “You knew my grandfather.”

  She nodded. “Quite well.”

  “I know he saw things in the future,” Deuce said. “How did he do it? Did he have the Justar Journal, or was it Clastier’s Papers? Or was it the same method that you use?”

  “Clastier helped him the most, but he had many interesting friends who were into the mystical side of life.” She smiled. “You don’t need the Justar Journal to know what to do, Deuce. All you need is the quiet.”

  “We are in a war,” he said, looking out to the horizon. The sun, low in the sky, had turned the ocean all shades of yellow and orange. “I don’t know how to end it without joining it. I don’t have the same kind of faith that you do.”

  She looked at him deeply, as a loving grandmother watches a young child write his first letters.

  “I’m afraid if I don’t fight back, I’ll miss the chance to save us.”

  “Fear is a terrible place.”

  Deuce nodded. “I believe the world has to change, and is going to change. That you’ve shown the way to where we have to go. But the Chief is fighting for the old ways, and she’s dictating the terms . . . it’s all or nothing.”

  “Munna, I think I understand what Deuce is saying,” Nelson interjected, “is that you know so much. I can see the wisdom in your eyes. And we just don’t know what to do. Can’t you give us a little help? Can’t you tell us what we need to do?”

  “We are not meant for war. We are not here to buy and accumulate things, not to fight or compete. Why is that so hard to see? Where has that ever gotten us? The truth is stronger than weapons, than things . . . than evil.”

  She looked at him. He saw sadness in her eyes.

  “You’ve asked for my advice, here it is. This is the time, Deuce. You have to get it right.”

  “Get what right?”

  She touched his hand. Her skin felt warm, although the evening was cool.

  “We’ve lost before. It always seems to come back around, but it will be much harder to find another time. Getting it right may prove beyond us, if we let this chance slip away.” She looked far away as if studying the movements of the sea. “You are afraid of your own fear. That fear will pull you down, and it’ll take the rest of us with you.” She paused for a moment and looked back at him. “Your fear is based on something that doesn’t really exist. You are locked in the Aylantik reality . . . Maybe you need to consider that reality isn’t the rigid thing you believe it to be . . . Reality can bend.”

  Chapter 52 - Book 3

  Alone again in his private cabin, Deuce switched two VMs to satellite view. He brought the high-powered space cameras in close, so that the screen was filled with the fires. It seemed the flames covered most of the western portion of what used to be the United States. Smoke cut visibility, and flying had already become more difficult across the west. The massive cloud, like a dark storm, moved with the winds, and promised more blindness and mayhem as it spread east. But there were pockets, along the coast and south of the fires, where the skies remained clear, yet pierced with another kind of light.

  The air battles had erupted over the Pacyfik and Aylantik regions.

  PAWN fighters were unexpectedly superior to AOI planes, although that came as no surprise to Deuce, who had made sure it would be that way. For more than a decade, he’d held back technology and secretly controlled the companies that manufactured nearly every aspect of the electronic brains of the military planes. In addition, he had a monopoly on space navigation systems.

  It
wasn’t as if the AOI was flying junk, but PAWN had better than a four percent advantage. Even that, however, might prove inadequate, because their planes were outnumbered by ninety-to-one.

  It would have been worse, but for decades the AOI had not had a real enemy in the conventional sense of the word. With a single government ruling the entire planet, the AOI had not needed a massive air force. They’d had no trouble putting down any small flare-ups because compared to any small problem, the AOI always represented the overwhelming force. The AOI’s miscalculation had been in assuming that PAWN, and their ragtag group of affiliated revolutionaries, didn’t have any planes. The Chief had been trying to play catch-up, and in the three years since the Doneharvest had begun, they had almost doubled the size of the Aylantik Air Force.

  PAWN had been adding planes as well, and because all military planes were autonomous drones, no pilots were needed. Base controllers were fairly simple to train. They’d been successful in recruiting a handful of civilian pilots. Passenger aircraft were capable of flying unmanned, but the law still required a pilot be onboard to oversee flight operations in case of a malfunction. Similarly, Flo-wings could be flown from ground control, but the crafts’ flexible flying patterns made it complicated, so they were almost always piloted.

  PAWN had focused on the air, especially under Chelle’s leadership. Drast had told her years earlier that it would be the AOI’s great weakness, especially if Deuce could be pulled into the war.

  The sky battles exploded as stealth PAWN fighter jets ambushed entire AOI squadrons. AOI planes were also invisible to radar, but they could be seen by normal line of sight, and that proved a fatal flaw. In the first four hours, sixty-four planes had been shot down, and not a single one belonged to PAWN. The greatest victory came as Deuce was watching.

  PAWN took out an AOI bomber that was about to drop a Sonic-bomb on Berkeley, a large city in the California Area. Deuce cheered, but it was a muffled celebration, knowing the Chief would be going crazy, knowing her anger would lead to him. She wouldn’t know where the attacks were coming from because the technology PAWN fighters were equipped with was so advanced. He used similar methods to keep the Moon Shadow untraceable.

  It wouldn’t take the Chief long to suspect one of Deuce’s companies as the source of the elaborate cloaking defenses and sophisticated planes. She would be looking for blood, and would no longer give him the benefit of the doubt. In a matter of hours, he would be required to make the final decision.

  If he entered the war on the side of PAWN, the world would never be the same again. Deuce Lipton had long since been suspected to be a rebel sympathizer, but actually putting the BLAXERs and all his wealth and power behind them, would prompt a total war. It would extend to every aspect of life, as the Council would use every method she could to destroy him. The fragile threads of whatever fabric held together this civilization would be lost forever.

  Beyond that, no one could know what would happen. Even if Munna allowed full access to the prophecies, he wouldn’t be able to find the answer in them because the Justar Journal would not write that chapter until he turned that “page,” and by then it would be too late to go back.

  “The point of no return,” he whispered into the darkness, looking out to the dim light of the sea.

  Deuce stood there a while, waiting for answers. Then, in what seemed the most natural thing to do, he asked his son, “Twain, what do you know? Can you help me? Can you hear me?” For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he was surprised not to receive an answer from his son, even though a great distance separated them.

  Other regions across what used to be Europe and Asia were seeing air action as well. Mostly, PAWN was trying to intercept the bombers. The Chief had rallied late in the day, and was now sending Sonic-bombs down on seemingly random targets. PAWN, for the first time since the around-the-clock war had started days earlier, was finally able to fight back.

  Even with their invisible technology, PAWN’s planes weren’t infallible. As soon as they fired a weapon, a heat signature would be traceable by any aircraft in the area. If they didn’t get them all, there would be retaliation. The AOI had finally figured that out after taking poundings for hours.

  Deuce watched as they took advantage of their superior numbers and increased the size of their squadrons to thirty-six planes. Anytime a PAWN drone took a shot, it would be quickly obliterated.

  Deuce assumed PAWN Command would quickly change their tactics, and watched as they did just that. They went to an expensive alternative. Instead of using their best planes, they used older-generation fighters that were not equipped with any cloaking devices. Instead, an older plane would fly, concealed by several “invisible” planes, until the last second, when it shot out into an offensive dive and destroyed a bomber. The AOI retaliation caught only the “dispensable” aircraft. PAWN couldn’t afford too many of these attacks, and reserved them only for bombers. A plane was worth the tens of thousands of lives it would save.

  Deuce had to decide. Munna might talk in riddles, but one thing she said was clear. “The time is now.” As he watched the war continue to explode across the world, he knew that by dawn that he’d have to commit his BLAXERs fully or there might not be a later time to jump in.

  It weighed heavily, however, as he knew Munna didn’t want him to fight. He wished UC were still alive. He’d know what to do, but Deuce knew what he’d say. “Violence and hatred will never defeat violence and hatred.” His grandfather had sent him a letter fifty years earlier that Cope gave Deuce before he died. Even then old Booker Lipton had warned against going to war.

  But there is no other way, Deuce thought as he watched the world burning. I’m already in it. We’re only talking about degrees. Even with the wisest people I know advising against it, I can think of no other way to stop this nightmare. Munna’s right, I am afraid. A couple more days of this and it will be beyond hope. I can’t imagine how she thinks this will end otherwise.

  The Imps were also working, and although it was still light in the Arizona Area, the skies of Aylantik Region and all of old Europe were in darkness, except for the flying laser battles. They would work all night on patches to get around Blaise’s backdoor. It was proving to be more difficult than they initially expected, partially because their greatest asset was the problem.

  Without their super intelligence, in addition to the pain the Imps were experiencing, everything was a greater challenge. Still, they were making progress, and expected to be back online sometime the following day.

  “When we get back to normal,” Sidis said, “we are going to accelerate this damn war.”

  “That could be dangerous,” Charlemagne cautioned.

  “I certainly hope so,” Sidis said, finally free from the explosive headaches. “But the longer it takes, the more likely Blaise or someone else will find another way to take us down.”

  Prior to the backdoor attack, Sidis and all the Imps had felt superior, invincible, but now they understood their great weakness. Imps, CHRUDEs, cyborgs, and androids could be brought down en masse. The machines were susceptible to viruses just like the humans.

  “We must win before they can hurt us again.”

  Chapter 53 - Book 3

  Twenty minutes before their scheduled rendezvous with Zaverly, Grandyn heard the unmistakable sound of high-powered laser fire, a kind of “ffttt, ffttt” noise that he imagined a dagger would make stabbing in and out of his gut. He wrenched around as two of their escorts plummeted to the ground while their AirSliders crashed into the trees.

  “Grunges!” he yelled to the others, pulling up on his own AirSlider.

  Two of the surviving PAWN soldiers were already shooting back, but none of them could see the AOI anywhere.

  Grandyn flew up next to Fye. “Stay close!” he yelled. “Let’s get down that ridge!”

  More lasers erupted out of the canopy. In the confusion, Fye had gone too high, and her AirSlider stalled. It dropped twenty meters before she managed to restart it. B
y then, Grandyn had dived in a dangerous maneuver, which could easily have ended up in a crash. As it was, the two of them suddenly found themselves down in a large stand of fir trees, brushing by the needles.

  “Let’s land,” Fye shouted.

  Grandyn found a spot surrounded by bigger trees, on the edge of a steep drop-off. He came down harder than expected and his knee grazed a tree. There was a gash, but nothing that would slow him. He helped Fye off her AirSlider and they quickly found a hiding place in some underbrush, near the edge where there was still a good view. She looked awful.

  “How are you?”

  “Better than I look judging by your face,” she replied.

  “Good,” he said. Then they heard a crash nearby, another PAWN casualty judging by the sound. “Wait here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He pulled out his lasershod. “Whoever that was may need help.”

  Fye looked at him. Her eyes said, Don’t go, but she stayed quiet.

  “Keep your weapon ready.” And then he was gone. He’d left his AirSlider behind, preferring to move on foot. It always amazed her how silent he could be in the woods. TreeRunners had a reputation for sneaking noiselessly through the forests, but Grandyn’s ability was more like magic.

  Before Grandyn reached the fallen PAWN soldier, he spotted four grunges moving toward the injured man. He got as close as he dared and then sprang into a tree. After a few moments of observation, he leaped to another tree and fired two shots. Two grunges dropped. The two survivors returned fire, but by that time Grandyn was in the next tree, and seconds later he was beyond that. Grandyn came down behind them and shot as they turned. One of them fired as he fell to the ground, but the laser went wide, and took off a nearby tree limb.

  With all four dead, he stripped them of their INUs and weapons. Three of them had shockers, hand-held laser-powered pulse bombs about the size of a hand grenade. Then he reached the PAWN soldier; he, too, was dead. Grandyn grabbed his INU, and also noted his name. He checked the area and found nothing else. He was about to head back to Fye when high-powered lasers shot up from trees about one hundred meters away.