The Justar Journal: An AOI Thriller Read online

  THE

  JUSTAR JOURNAL

  Brandt Legg

  The Justar Journal

  Published in the United States of America by Laughing Rain

  Copyright © 2016 by Brandt Legg

  All rights reserved.

  Cataloging-in-Publication data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-935070-24-5

  ISBN-10: 1-935070-24-X

  Cover designed by: Jarowe

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. Published in the United States of America.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  BrandtLegg.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  JUSTAR JOURNAL BOOK ONE - THE LAST LIBRARIAN

  TABLE OF CONTENTS BOOK ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  GLOSSARY

  TABLE OF CONTENTS BOOK TWO

  Chapter 1 - book 2

  Chapter 2 - Book 2

  Chapter 3 - Book 2

  Chapter 4 - Book 2

  Chapter 5 - Book 2

  Chapter 6 - Book 2

  Chapter 7 - Book 2

  Chapter 8 - Book 2

  Chapter 9 - Book 2

  Chapter 10 - Book 2

  Chapter 11 - Book 2

  Chapter 12 - Book 2

  Chapter 13 - Book 2

  Chapter 14 - Book 2

  Chapter 15 - Book 2

  Chapter 16 - Book 2

  Chapter 17 - Book 2

  Chapter 18 - Book 2

  Chapter 19 - Book 2

  Chapter 20 - Book 2

  Chapter 21 - Book 2

  Chapter 22 - Book 2

  Chapter 23 - Book 2

  Chapter 24 - Book 2

  Chapter 25 - Book 2

  Chapter 26 - Book 2

  Chapter 27 - Book 2

  Chapter 28 - Book 2

  Chapter 29 - Book 2

  Chapter 30 - Book 2

  Chapter 31 - Book 2

  Chapter 32 - Book 2

  Chapter 33 - Book 2

  Chapter 34 - Book 2

  Chapter 35 - Book 2

  Chapter 36 - Book 2

  Chapter 37 - Book 2

  Chapter 38 - Book 2

  Chapter 39 - Book 2

  Chapter 40 - Book 2

  Chapter 41 - Book 2

  Chapter 42 - Book 2

  Chapter 43 - Book 2

  Chapter 44 - Book 2

  Chapter 45 - Book 2

  Chapter 46 - Book 2

  Chapter 47 - Book 2

  Chapter 48 - Book 2

  Chapter 49 - Book 2

  Chapter 50 - Book 2

  Chapter 51 - Book 2

  Chapter 52 - Book 2

  Chapter 53 - Book 2

  Chapter 54 - Book 2

  Chapter 55 - Book 2

  Chapter 56 - Book 2

  Chapter 57 - Book 2

  Chapter 58 - Book 2

  Chapter 59 - Book 2

  Chapter 60 - Book 2

  Chapter 61 - Book 2

  Chapter 62 - Book 2

  Chapter 63 - Book 2

  Chapter 64 - Book 2

  Chapter 65 - Book 2

  Chapter 66 - Book 2

  GLOSSARY

  TABLE OF CONTENTS – BOOK THREE

  Chapter 1 - Book 3

  Chapter 2 - Book 3

  Chapter 3 - Book 3

  Chapter 4 - Book 3

  Chapter 5 - Book 3

  Chapter 6 - Book 3

  Chapter 7 - Book 3

  Chapter 8 - Book 3

  Chapter 9 - Book 3

  Chapter 10 - Book 3

  Chapter 11 - Book 3

  Chapter 12 - Book 3

  Chapter 13 - Book 3

  Chapter 14 - Book 3

  Chapter 15 - Book 3

  Chapter 16 - Book 3

  Chapter 17 - Book 3

  Chapter 18 - Book 3

  Chapter 19 - Book 3

  Chapter 20 - Book 3

  Chapter 21 - Book 3

  Chapter 22 - Book 3

  Chapter 23 - Book 3

  Chapter 24 - Book 3

  Chapter 25 - Book 3

  Chapter 26 - Book 3

  Chapter 27 - Book 3

  Chapter 28 - Book 3

  Chapter 29 - Book 3

  Chapter 30 - Book 3

  Chapter 31 - Book 3

  Chapter 32 - Book 3

  Chapter 33 - Book 3

  Chapter 34 - Book 3

  Chapter 35 - Book 3

  Chapter 36 - Book 3

  Chapter 37 - Book 3

  Chapter 38 - Book 3

  Chapter 39 - Book 3

  Chapter 40 - Book 3

  Chapter 41 - Book 3

  Chapter 42 - Book 3

  Chapter 43 - Book 3

  Chapter 44 - Book 3

  Chapter 45 - Book 3

  Chapter 46 - Book 3

  Chapter 47 - Book 3

  Chapter 48 - Book 3

  Chapter 49 - Book 3

  Chapter 50 - Book 3

  Chapter 51 - Book 3

  Chapter 52 - Book 3

  Chapter 53 - Book 3

  Chapter 54 - Book 3

  Chapter 55 - Book 3

  Chapter 56 - Book 3

  Chapter 57 - Book 3

  Chapter 58 - Book 3

  Chapter 59 - Book 3

  Chapter 60 - Book 3

  Chapter 61 - Book 3

  Chapter 62 - Book 3

  Chapter 63 - Book 3

  Chapter 64 - Book 3

  Chapter 65 - Book 3

  Chapter 66 - Book 3

  Chapter 67 - Book 3

  Chapter 68 - Book 3

 
; Chapter 69 - Book 3

  Chapter 70 - Book 3

  Chapter 71 - Book 3

  Chapter 72 - Book 3

  Chapter 73 - Book 3

  Chapter 74 - Book 3

  Chapter 75 - Book 3

  Chapter 76 - Book 3

  Chapter 77 - Book 3

  Chapter 78 - Book 3

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Books by Brandt Legg

  Acknowledgements

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Monday, January 29

  After all the remarkable changes which had occurred during the decades since the Banoff, it seemed strange that 2098 would long be remembered as “the year of change.” For on a cold January morning of that year . . . the revolution began. No one knew it then because it started, as revolutions often do, as something quiet and almost routine.

  There was no way Runit Happerman, a bookish, cautious, single dad two weeks past his forty-third birthday, could have had the faintest idea he would be at the center of the storm.

  As he commuted to work on that frosty morning, through the gleaming city of Portland in what they now called the Oregon Area, his thoughts were on the book he’d always wanted to write, about the days before that terrible five-year period when everyone died. “The Banoff,” as it had come to be known in the new-language, brought the human race as close to extinction as it had ever come.

  The Banoff plague had struck with the suddenness and fury of a fatal car crash. Hundreds of millions died in the first months, the only bright spot ‒ if you could call it that ‒ was that the virus went from incubation to death in less than a week. As the relentless and efficient killer swept the globe, universal terror, grief, and mayhem followed. It became impossible to keep up with burning the bodies and dealing with contamination, and in the end, billions were lost. Chaos ensued, and war broke out.

  But instead of the zombie-apocalypse many expected, those in charge actually managed a miracle. With the population more than halved, it was as if humanity had been given a fresh start. A reset. From the pandemic death and nightmare, a near utopian world emerged.

  Nearly seventy years had passed since the Banoff war ended. The present society, in which Runit lived, was as near to perfect as anyone could imagine.

  Even Runit, who would soon be unemployed, couldn’t complain. A new job would be found for him, maybe in education, and the news hadn’t been unexpected. For many years he’d been the head librarian at what recently had become the last library in the world. There were digital-drapes, as they were called, where people could download books, movies, music, whatever data they desired. But a true library, in the traditional sense of what they once had been, and what his still was, with physical books, would be extinct as soon as he closed the doors, in ten days, for the last time. There had been two other libraries still operating in the countries formerly known as Australia and Belgium, but in the prior couple of years the government had closed them, just as they were going to close his.

  He split the white shells of pumpkin seeds in his mouth as he wondered why the Aylantik government couldn’t have left just his library open as a kind of museum. It had been his secret hope, ever since they shut Belgium down. As he sat at his antique desk, he recalled what a famous author from the previous century had said.

  “Without libraries what have we? We have no past and no future.”

  Runit shelled another seed and whispered to the stacks of books that filled his office. “Where are you when we need you, Ray Bradbury?”

  The librarian’s office was cluttered and often disorganized, but each time he entered it, he was home. His soul came to life amongst the familiar friends, both read and unread. He moved a finger and the flash repeated.

  “To: Runit Happerman, Head Librarian, Portland Public Library. From: Multnomah County Board. The Board has been notified by the Aylantik Government that the Portland Library will be permanently closed ten days from the above date. A meeting will be held on the Field today at zero-ten-hundred to resolve pending issues. Closing will be facilitated by the AOI.”

  He swept empty pumpkin seed shells into a recycling bin and shut off the flash. He didn’t want to hear anymore. The AOI seemed overkill for a simple job of shutting down the world’s last library.

  The AOI, an acronym for Aylantik Office of Intelligence, cast a shadow over the otherwise sunny post-Banoff world, but someone had to enforce the peace. They were headquartered in the former US capital of Washington, D.C., but there were no longer any separate nations, and the AOI had facilities worldwide. A few of the old country names remained to identify zones, but otherwise, since the initial, chaotic, half-decade that followed the Banoff, Earth had been run by a unified government known as Aylantik.

  Runit looked at the photo of himself and his late wife Harper, kept propped on his cluttered desk. She still looked young and beautiful, and although he was by no means old, the ten years since her death had been stressful, as attested to by the lines on his face and the early gray in his otherwise thick, sandy brown hair.

  Harper had loved him as a librarian, but she’d be pushing him to finish his book now. He mused to himself that before the Banoff he would have probably been hired by a bookstore. But they didn’t exist anymore either.

  The last one had, coincidentally, also been located in Portland, a mere five blocks from where his library stood. It had been called Powell’s City of Books, and was once the largest in the world. For almost fifty years before the Banoff, Powell’s had been a haven for book-lovers, and had even lasted a few more years afterwards. The old bookshop’s cavernous home, twice renovated, like most of the city’s older buildings, was now powered by solar, wind, or one of the many other non-fossil-fuel sources. Sometimes, when he walked past it, he tried to imagine what it would have been like. All those physical books for sale. People actually used to have shelves full of them in their homes. Even children had apparently been allowed to have many books all their own.

  The Banoff had changed more than just the way books were read. From its ashes arose the greatest ever civilization. The Earth united as one nation, known as Nusun. Runit’s parents, born post-Banoff in 2034 and 2037, had him in 2056. He’d grown up hearing his grandparents’ stories about life before. Many were hard to believe, but as he studied the old volumes housed inside his historic library, he discovered that the world which existed prior to the Banoff was far worse than they had described.

  For thousands of years wars had been almost constant. And for some reason during the last century, humans had ripped coal, oil, and natural gas from the earth to power their industry, electrical grid, and transportation instead of using the free, abundant, and renewable solar and wind, which the planet now used exclusively. Runit marveled at how relatively recently things had been so awful. But at least back then, people had valued libraries.

  Why can’t they just leave this last one alone?

  A dusty old plaque hung on the far side of his cramped office. He hadn’t read it for years, but suddenly it had new meaning.

  “Libraries should be open to all—except the censor. We must know all the facts and hear all the alternatives and listen to all the criticisms. Let us welcome controversial books and controversial authors.” – John F. Kennedy, October 29, 1960.

  He reflected on the former President of the United States, a nation that no longer existed. The famous leader had also been an author, and the only President to win a Pulitzer Prize. Just over three years after he made that statement, an assassin’s bullet found him.

  Runit shook his head and thought, What a strange past that we have twisted into this curious present.

  Nelson Wright, a contentious novelist, came into the library as he did most mornings. He’d written six bestsellers at his favorite table on the second floor, near one of the giant high arched windows and always said, “I do my best writing surrounded by books, feeling the danger, hope, and potential in them.”

&
nbsp; Nelson, a throwback to Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Capote, attracted admirers and high-end social invitations as much for his intellect as for his fascinating conversation as for the cloud of controversy that followed his work.

  Runit had been trying to write a novel for years, but he didn’t get the same inspiration from the walls of books, perhaps because he was responsible for them. Telling the typically cranky Nelson the tragic news would be an ugly affair.

  “Morning, Runit,” Nelson said, inhaling deeply that flawless blend of paper, ink, and age. The scent of a million books.

  Although just eight years the librarian’s senior, Nelson looked much older, with his perpetually messy hair and a face full of blond and grey stubble. Nelson ate the wrong foods, drank a bit too much, and even smoked “bacs.” Cigarettes hadn’t been manufactured since the Banoff, but private farms produced a similar tobacco product, without the filter, that was longer and thinner than the old-fashioned kind. Nelson’s sister said bacs were the reason he’d never married.

  He regularly got in trouble with the medical monitors, who routinely fined him for exceeding weight limits. The fees were part of the new world, and Nelson cursed them every time they sucked the funds from his bank account, often enough, since assessments hit anytime someone went over by five pounds. He generally kept between ten and nineteen above ideal weight. Twenty pounds meant detainment at a state-run health and fitness facility, known as “Hops.” Hops were no fun, a cross between boot camp, high school, and a bankrupt resort, where some of his favorite things ‒ such as doughnuts, pizza, liquor, and bacs ‒ were forbidden.

  In contrast, Runit appeared lean and muscular and wore the same size clothes as his eighteen year-old son. The librarian’s dreams of one day publishing and emulating his friend’s writing success would likely never happen. Even if he could get a book done, he only wanted to write about life before the Banoff and, for various reasons, those books never sold.

  “Before you disappear back there, I’ve got some news,” Runit said as they stood in the antique lobby of paneled wood. The base of the grand double-staircase of white and gray marble next to them lead to the upper floors.

  “No,” Nelson moaned as he raised an eyebrow. “They’re closing you down?”

  “Yeah,” Runit answered, not surprised at Nelson’s guess. The surprise was how long they’d let the library remain. No one knew why Portland’s had been left open so long.