The Last Librarian (The Justar Journal #1)

by Brandt Legg

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 three kilograms. He generally kept between five and nine above ideal weight. Ten kilograms 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.

Shortly after the Banoff, a new global language, created by computers, had been introduced. The language, dubbed “Com,” contained many English words, but its simple design and logical structure made it entirely different and easy to learn. Com, now universally spoken, had replaced all others as the world’s only language.

The prior, now-useless languages weren’t taught in cyber-schools. However, in spite of laws prohibiting it, both Nelson and Runit had learned English from their respective grandparents. Many in that former generation had clung to the old ways, but they were all gone now, as no one born before the Banoff was left, the oldest having lived only to age seventy-four.

To call an INU a computer would be like referring to a spaceship as a paper airplane. When first introduced, INUs were the diameter of a basketball, but a miniaturization race during the intervening decades resulted in ever-smaller forms. Seven companies now made them, but the original firm, Eysen Inc., still dominated because of an uncanny ability to innovate and develop advancements years ahead of their competitors. Nelson allowed the INU to float between them. The solar-powered, levitating INUs projected holographic controls and images, both two and three dimensional, in any size and up to fifteen meters away.

After a quick series of hand gestures, pages from one of Nelson’s own novels were projected in the air. “See there?” Nelson asked, pointing to a guilty sentence as if it might attack them.

Runit found it in his INU. “The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins. Here it is. What page?” “It doesn’t matter. Open anywhere.” He motioned and a random page opened up. Runit stared disbelievingly, and then checked other pages. Finally, he looked back at his friend. “The Hunger Games is a book on nutrition!”

Missing Harper occupied less time than it used to, but her absence left an unending echo in his heart.

The same thing was done at the other libraries. A laser-controlled interior burn is conducted, and then the building is leveled. This one is almost two hundred years old. It’ll be replaced by a fifty-two story glass tower.”

In 2098, there is no privacy, and secrets are only good for a trip to prison or a death sentence.

In reality, the closing had nothing to do with budget cuts or progress. Rather, shutting down the last library would bring to fruition a scheme to consolidate power that had been decades in the making. “We must fight for peace,” Miner said to himself. “Stability has to be maintained at any cost.”

For some time, the Pacyfik had been a source of concern for the government. While there hadn’t been any recent trouble, the area held a large population of readers, writers, artists, and other creative occupations, long known to contain a higher percentage of non-conformists. Miner referred to them as “Creatives,” and always pronounced it as if he was using profanity.

Miner waved his arm through the air and a series of virtual monitors, or “VMs,” lit. The holographic VMs, like just about every other digital component, were touch-controlled and linked to the “Field,” the name given to what the Internet had evolved into ‒ an all-encompassing grid that connected each aspect of daily life across the planet.

PharmaForce had offices around the world, and when people commented on them, Sarlo liked to say, “Lance collects panoramic views.”

And although her good-looking boss often said, “Money comes cheap,” she disagreed, believing the cost of wealth to be high. It’s just paid for by body and mind.

His features appeared so perfect that rumors abounded about his billionaire parents selecting each gene. He’d heard the talk, and it amused him because he knew it wasn’t true. “I’m just naturally handsome,” he’d say, whenever there was an opportunity.

The AOI camera network, known as “KEL,” recorded them leaving the library. Facial recognition matched, and KEL’s algorithms quickly assigned a risk level to the group. Only Nelson had any idea that such a thing was happening. Runit and Grandyn had a vague knowledge of cameras, but were oblivious to the profiling. Their meeting that day achieved a level four risk. A number low enough not to be tagged, but uncomfortably close to a five, which would have garnered extra attention. Normally a father-son lunch would have been a zero. The elevation to a four came because books were involved, and mostly because Nelson was, by himself, a level three. If Nelson’s sister had joined them, which she never did, the meeting would have actually prompted a live agent response. She was a four by herself, making the group an unacceptable eight.

“Wow.” Grandyn shook his head. “What are you going to do?” “I don’t know. They haven’t sent me my option list yet, but for the first time since I got out of school I’m grateful for the zero unemployment policy. There was a time in the world when jobs weren’t guaranteed.” “I know. We studied it in school. But getting a job from the option list isn’t great either.” “At least I’ll earn a living.

why is the AOI even doing this?” “We aren’t entirely sure,” Nelson said. “To stop dissention, to protect secrets, to control information, to lower the collective intelligence, all of the above?”

“I promised your mom I’d protect you.” “Don’t use me as an excuse.” Grandyn held his father’s gaze. “And Dad, is that really what Mom would want?” “She’d want you safe.” “In a world without books?” “Nothing is more important than your safety.” “Don’t hide in that. I’m not a kid anymore. Your job is done.” His look softened for a brief second. “But if the world isn’t what it appears, if something is wrong and we can fix it, I’d rather be brave and true than safe.”

The Constitution held eighty-eight items, and most were restrictive in nature. But because that document had produced a near-utopian society, few were ever challenged. Even 41 had spawned a mini-industry of brokers willing to find buyers for your bearing-rights. If you didn’t want a child – ever – you could sell your right to have one for as much as twenty thousand digis.

leading technology companies across multiple industries. For decades there had been challenges to the Council’s power, but not from the masses, to which the A-Council was only a rumor among the conspiracy theorists and Creatives on the fringes.

The Aylantik system favored the rich, but that didn’t mean they always agreed. The government was more window dressing than a representative democracy. Corporations had long replaced nation states as the power centers.

For the first time since the Banoff, the government would begin to analyze and curb corporate activity, specifically when acquisitions of other companies or assets would give a corporation an unfair advantage. The A-Council members and their friends would not face much scrutiny, but their competitors would endure much higher taxes and oversight.

Tens of thousands of people, known as “Imps,” had nano-computers, INUs, or other processors implanted into their brains. The transformation often left eerie effects, such as making them secretive, cold, and distant, resulting in Imps being shunned, and even feared, by respectable society.

Lipton was the wealthiest man in the world, but no one knew for sure how much money he had. The old ways of measuring wealth had vanished with paper currency and exchange rates.

When more than half the species dies in the space of two years, an indelible mark is left on all who come after.

Deuce Lipton may have been insanely wealthy and wildly powerful, but he was still just a living, breathing collection of neurosis, baggage, bad habits, and unresolved issues like the rest of them.

It was the last thing Nelson expected to hear, and it both emboldened and devastated him. If Deuce Lipton had sought to save the books, it proved the critical importance of Nelson’s objective. Yet

Nelson. “I wish I could help you more, but you have no idea of the complexities that exist within this simple peace.” He said the last word as if growling out the word “piss” in disgust.

The two men each knew things that the other didn’t, but they shared a common knowledge that the wonder of their time wouldn’t last forever, and it might not even be true.

Privacy, an antiquated idea, didn’t hold the same romantic notion it once had. Still, most people were completely unaware of how sophisticated the system had become, and how devastatingly heavy-handed the AOI could be if you were thought to be a threat to the peace.

“Chief, is there anything more to this than a library closing?” he asked, eyeing her carefully. She paused, perhaps for a fraction too long, “Only that it is the last library, and located within a Creatives-heavy section of the Pacyfik.”

The Council had learned, from the centuries that led up to the Banoff, that fear did not represent a long-term strategy to manage a population. They wanted everyone happy.

“A peace maintained by that much death is a false peace,” Deuce had said. “You want to change the world, stick to writing books. Taking the ones that have already been written will just get you killed, and the peace will go on and on and on.”

That, combined with the complete elimination of fossil fuels and making non-recyclable products illegal, reversed global warming.

“You’re pretty good at this criminal activity. Maybe you missed your calling.” “Hey, I write fiction. I’m just working my way through the plot that is my life.”

“It’s a lot harder to put the genie back in the bottle than to just bury the damn bottle in the first place.”

“An ebook is like having a photo of a dead loved one. It’s convenient to look at and it will stir the mind, but it doesn’t breathe.”

Studies had shown that the Banoff pandemic had been catastrophic, partially because the correct drugs were not available due to bureaucratic red tape.

Every policy decision had the underlying tenet: preserve the species; another pandemic must never occur.