The Book (41 page)

It has been nearly three decades since that day, when the torch burned round the world. I know that Holden’s story has spread and that the truth has been delivered to so many of you, but your insistent request has reached our ears. We realize your need to understand how we are suddenly living in the happily ever after. The most important thing I want to say is –
wake up
. The war is not over. You are living in the generation of the privileged. We, the people, thrive off of your support, but we need you to stop asking for updates from the front lines and join us there.

Including the sentences above, there are a total of 6,820 words in this addendum. Keep track of the word count. Do not allow yourself to forget that a single word can
still
change the world. If the word count is incorrect, the following pages have been compromised. If that is the case, then you won’t be reading this sentence. Those who you thought you trusted, those who introduced you to Holden’s story, have already condemned you to a certain end. As we have learned, those who carry the misfortune of trust are those who the government will eventually recycle. Do not become one of these. Mind who you put your faith in and stay vigilante. For the end is near.

I know my words are harsh and unforgiving. But you must be fully aware that this is the most important battle our world has ever faced. Stand proud, knowing that you are holding the most powerful weapon society has fashioned. Printed truth. Unedited. Ex Libris.

You, dear reader, must continue on with the surety that you have broken the shackles Uncle Sam had on your thoughts. But this cannot be a celebration. Too many of you have believed the lies printed through The Book by the government controlled publishing house,
Gallantly Streaming
. Propaganda from the desk of Martin Trust. Too many have decided long ago that the war was based on confusion and misguided minds. But that was misinformation. You know that now. And the events of recent months are proof of our success. This is the reason you are still reading. You need to know what events led to our sudden presence upon the world stage.

First, let me remind you of the necessity to be patient. Others could have written this for me. Others with the narrative skill to weave reality through romantic words and creative metaphor. But I began this story and I feel that it is my duty to finish it. Holden gave me his heart and he would have wanted it this way. So, mold your mind to be like that of an Editor and allow patience to wash over you.

Second, realize that I cannot disclose everything. No matter how hard we try, this story will reach the eyes of those we are attempting to defeat. Not all your questions will be answered.

Lastly, keep reading after you have passed the final page. Keep researching our texts for the truth of science and history. And keep writing. Please, keep writing. As long as we stay strong, they can never delete our minds.

What follows is only a vague description of how our success began. Savor it, because I cannot give more. I will introduce you to him. To the young, average-looking, well-placed chess piece who arrived at our doorstep with the gift of hope.

His name was Moses.

* * * * *

THE ARRIVAL OF THE QUEEN

The multilevel shopping system that, like many others, had overtaken the downtown of the Chicago Suburb, was the most feasible way to enjoy any shopping experience. There were many names for this place. At one time it had been called a market, another time a mall, another time the circuit. Now, it was simply known as the system. Everyone used it. It was much better than shopping at one store that carried everything. At the system, you could find a diversification of style, taste and budget.

When you arrived at the oversized complex, you usually came prepared to carry many reusable bags as you walked miles from store to store. To get your groceries. Your clothing. Your shoes. Your musical instruments. Many seventeen-year-old boys came to the system with friends and used it as a place to meet young women and spend their inheritance on so many useless items.
This
boy didn’t speak to anyone. In fact, he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses that shielded his eyes, his head hung low, as he seemed to walk the innocuous balconies of aisles and ride the moving staircases in search of a single store that it could take an hour to find. Shockingly enough, it found him.

A garish voice erupted from the frosted green glass of an enormous shop that rivaled the movie theater. The boy lowered his sunglasses to look at the two triangular windows that broke through the frost to reveal the store beyond. Upon these interactive windows appeared the recycling symbol. It animated slowly and the voice erupted again.

“Hey, there! Why don’t you come on in?”

A digitized head of a man with his hair parted down the center poked from the side of the moving triangular icon. He was wearing a goofy grin that looked more devious the longer the boy stared at it.

“I see you there,” the voice warned with a chuckle, over the noise of the incoming monorail train. “You’ve got to come in. Trust me. The glasses are finally in and the sale begins TODAY!” His voice echoed throughout the system and the boy looked around nervously before opening the door and entering the space. This was the shop he’d been looking for. And before he could truly get comfortable, he heard the voice erupt in a greeting once more and turned to see a small square of glass hanging near the front door. Through the smooth, digital surface he could see people walking around the shop. They were too busy admiring items on triple-tiered display counters and shelves of colorful merchandise to notice him. So he felt comfortable enough to take off the glasses.

“There you are. Couldn’t see you behind those,” the voice blurted as the man’s head moved across the square of glass. “Welcome to the Book store. Where all we sell is THE BOOK!” He announced the title with such forcefulness and compact excitement that the boy was eerily uncomfortable. A few girls crept into the store behind him, but the man on the glass seemed uninterested. Instead a woman’s voice erupted from behind him welcoming them in.

“Ladies, how are you this fine afternoon? How about trying
The Romantic Reader
? Last year’s runaway hit.” The boy watched in the reflection how the girls ignored the woman’s voice and continued on. “With a casing of clear resin and a built-in nano-technological grid of L.E.D. lights that will glow in one of two colors based on the compatibility of the person nearest you with the same book, it’s a way to meet your match and yet still have the experience of randomness that we girls don’t get from dating sites.” The persistence in the advertisement’s tactic was working on them. “Green if they’re compatible with your book. Red if they aren’t. Find your husband TODAY!”

As the boy moved toward the center of the store, the male voice rattled again from a separate square of glass. “Is there something I can help you with today?”

“No thanks,” the boy replied, before turning away. He knew what he was there to do and he walked directly to a shelf that was lined with dark green boxes. He reached for one and felt the 100% post-consumer recyclable content texture below his thumb. Its abnormally polished surface was smooth as he pulled it down. And through the cellophane skin, he saw the screen of the newest edition of The Book. On a tiny square of glass that rested like a miniscule photo frame on the shelf came the triangle of the recycling icon and the man who was way too thrilled to be the puppet of the publishing world.

“Looks like you got what you came for! Is there anything else I can interest you in? What about our
Optic-eyes
? Buy one TO-DAAAY,” he sang, far too loudly, “See The Book the way it was always meant to be seen. Through an enhanced three-dimensional experience.”

The boy turned away and searched the store that was lined with graphic images and superior displays with advertisements that pulsed life and energy, and walked directly to the line of people that were checking out. Behind the counter was a screen that stretched to the size of the wall. It showed an average adult with a smile on his face reading on his couch at home from an older edition of The Book. The scene was normal until the man reached for his reading glasses and instead, found himself placing a different pair over his eyes.

Suddenly he was in the middle of a battle where men were racing past him with guns, shooting off into the air as Native Americans with beautiful headdresses and costumes ran toward them with crazed, irregular faces. They were brutally torn down in front of the man on his couch through a hail of bullets and blood. The man with the glasses wore an outrageously wide grin as he removed them, only to find himself back in his living room. He looked down at the glasses in amazement as the goofy man, the voice of the Publishing House, came up to the screen. He began describing the enhancements of the new
Optic-eyes
. How it was an integrated entertainment system that would boost any version of The Book by digitizing a synthetic movie that would stream as you read, by recording your eye movements along the page and assessing where you were at in the story. And as you read each word, multiple images would play out on the glasses between your eyes and the page. A whole new dimensional experience would be awakened.

As the boy brought his package to the front and waited for the sales person to scan the item, he watched the screen illustrate a life-like representation of reading the Book through the new, interactive glasses. What he saw was as a series of images flashing at an amazing rate. They played out as a movie that seemed to flicker with the underlaid text. Words were highlighted on the digital page below the images, as if they were secondary to the experience. He had to turn away from it, but not because he had been overwhelmed. Like most of civilization, his digital mind was developed enough to process the data. No. The boy turned away because he felt that if he stared at it much longer he would suddenly buy the
Optic-eyes
instead. That he would turn away from what he was about to do and allow the glasses to absorb him from the comfort of his parent’s couch. Unlike most of the people in line purchasing those glasses, the boy was frightened by them. What he had just finished reading that week, and hearing the rumors floating around, had made him realize that everything in that store was evil. From the colors to the synthetic, automated images and animated friendliness of the androgynous gate keeper. They were all minor notes in a great composition of wrong.

After purchasing The Book, the boy walked directly to the inventory counter where a young man with spiked blonde hair was waiting with a smile. “Ready to fill up your Book?”

The man opened the box with quick, practiced movements and pulled the plastic wrapping from the inside before gently lifting the metal edition of The Book from its resting place. He plugged it into the main computer and began clicking away at a series of keys from below the counter. “So, let me give you the usual spiel. With every purchase of The Book you get fifty stories provided to you by the United States government. These stories come at no charge and are basically provided as a gift. It encourages your reading while expanding your knowledge on subject matter they deem relevant. So, let’s talk stories. On the screen to your right, there are collections by category, by author or by random selection. While you take a look at those, I’ll work on expanding your capacity. How many stories would you like to fit into your Book?”

“Ninety-seven thousand, five hundred and forty-four.”

The man with the spiked blonde hair stopped punching the keys. He pulled his lips together and tilted a curious eye up at the boy, only to swallow in a double take and blink rapidly in surprise before turning away. It was a look the boy had seen often. The man seemed to catch himself off guard and looked back down at the computer before rubbing his left ear and scratching his neck.

“That is an…irregular number. Are you sure ninety-eight thousand wouldn’t just be easier?”

“No. That’s the number I want.”

The tone of the man’s voice was now lower and more direct, after he took a deep breath and continued. “It’s important that I tell you, going forth with such a decision may cause your system to crash and for you to…lose everything. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s also important that I let you know,” the man stammered in his usual speech. It seemed that he was unprepared to deal with this moment, as common as it would have appeared to everyone else in the room. “That I
inform
you of the number of people who have decided against such an operation and that you would go forward with such change at your own risk. Is that understood?”

The boy looked directly into the man’s eyes, certain of his decision. “Yes. It is.”

The man’s demeanor shifted. He nodded and said, “This may take me quite a while. If you’re willing to come in the back with me, there are a few things I would like to go over with you.”

“I’ll be a step behind you the whole way.”

The man continued to nod his blonde porcupine head profusely as he led the boy toward the swinging rear door of the shop. The digital screen along the face of the door continued its regurgitation of the reading man and the Indian battle as the door swung into the work room beyond. The people standing and talking and working in the separate spaces were silenced as they watched the boy walk toward the rear of the shop. Their eyes never left him.

Eventually they came to a long, three foot wide hallway that seemed, from all appearances, to be a dead end. Still they continued on. As the boy neared the back, a sliver of darkness became visible in the right corner. There was a gap between the walls, two feet wide. The man sidesteeped his way into it and the boy followed without question. After thirty feet, they came to an opening that seemed only wide enough to accommodate the swing space for the massive metal door that stood ominous in the dim light.