Prologue

An electronic billboard flashed to a new slide. ‘Jansen Reinstated Again’ was the headline of The Daily Pinnacle. Tatiana made eye contact with the board and brought up the article on her Animachip.

Displayed over her retinas were the first two paragraphs of the story. Beneath them lay a message, ‘subscribe for daily content, six-hundred-twenty-five dollars per month.’

“Jesus what a racket,” Tatiana mumbled to herself as she began reading the first two paragraphs, unable to afford the requested fee.

‘Viratech CEO Roy Jansen was once again reinstated from temporary suspension. This reinstatement comes after the tech billionaire’s ninth suspension over the last five years, the first coming in August 2151. Once again though, the Viratech board voted to keep Jansen as the company’s CEO.

‘Our sources inside Viratech tell us that the board’s patience with Jansen is “wearing thin”. One board member, who chose to remain anonymous during a phone conversation with The Daily Pinnacle, said about Jansen, “He needs to recall that he is not only a CEO, but also a public figure, and his presence as seen by the rest of the world does not reflect particularly well on us. If Jansen has any sense, he’ll begin apologizing immediately for his statements regarding other well-known Captown leaders.” This recent controversy, of course, is just another in a long line involving the world’s richest man.’

Grumbling audibly as she entered the lobby of her apartment building, a rather large structure in all fairness – more of an apartment complex really – three buildings with an unkempt courtyard between them. Meeting eyes with the secretary behind the desk, Tatiana found him rather unresponsive and unfriendly. His face was downcast, as was his attitude when he shifted his eyes back to the computer monitor on the desk.

There were not many happy faces these days. New York City had fallen a long way from its former glory, and everybody knew it, yet they continued on as if nothing were at all wrong. It was delusion on a mass scale. Bright lights framed the buildings, neon signs surrounded the streets, but all the brightness could not hide the cracks in the walls and asphalt. When Tatiana considered New York City, she considered a husk, emblematic of the era as a whole, soulless and sad.

She took the elevator up, its ding announcing her arrival to the desired floor. Even the halls leading to her little room in particular were drained of life. The paint peeled off the walls. The floor smelled of spilled alcohol.

Though, as she opened the door to her apartment, that emptiness was filled as a small object pelted forward, crashing into her with surprising force for its size. Tatiana grunted in surprise, knocked back slightly by the smiling face and head full of dark hair.

“Mom!” He cried out happily, his arms only wrapping tighter around her waist. “You’re Home!”

“How’s my Diego?” She questioned as she ruffled the mess of black curls. “I hope you’ve been working hard while I’ve been gone.”

“Dad’s been helping me with my math homework. He says I’m learning really fast! The teachers in school take everything so slowly. I just want to move on from adding fractions. It’s too easy!”

“That’s good Diego,” Kelly spoke from the kitchen table, leaning back casually with a slight smirk across his face. “Just remember that the other kids don’t learn as quickly. You and your classmates are supposed to work through the material together. It’s all about teamwork, just like Dad told you right?”

Diego seemed to shrug, unresponsive to Kelly’s words. He was eleven after all. How was he supposed to understand what it was to navigate the complex social relationships he would face later in life. It required a sort of balance between pushing for greater achievement yourself and ensuring others could do the same.

“Did you get the job Mom?” Diego then asked, turning back to Tatiana, hope in his eyes.

Tatiana hid her darkening features as best she could, knowing still that Diego likely witnessed the change in her face. Even for a child, it wouldn’t be so difficult to spot.

“It’s late,” she answered. “Why don’t you get ready for bed, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes to say goodnight.”

Diego’s face adopted the darkened features of Tatiana’s. He certainly recognized her evasion of his question, and he certainly knew that she had not gotten the job. Yet, Diego said nothing in response. He simply turned and walked away, knowing that something was wrong with the world, but not exactly what.

Tatiana sighed, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration while Kelly merely sat calm and still, awaiting her words. He was a smart man, the source of most of Diego’s talent. That was not to say that Tatiana herself held no intellectual capability, but her talents laid elsewhere.

“Well?” He prompted, knowing that she would not speak without his assistance.

Tatiana leaned against the countertop, glancing about at the peeling paint and stucco ceiling, dissatisfied with her circumstances, just as so many others were. She stared at Kelly for a long moment, his eyes seeming to egg her on into response. He was a good-looking man, almost too good looking, but here he was, in the muck with her.

“Chalk it up as another loss,” Tatiana said.

“Again?” Kelly asked incredulously.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. My options are exhausted at this point. There’s just so many people desperate to find a job, and the employers can barely afford to pay them. Everybody’s hurting.”

“We’ll be okay for a while longer. I’m still making enough to keep us going.”

“For now? But what about next year? By then, we probably won’t even have enough money to afford the electricity bill. I don’t want our son to be shivering in the cold while we all starve to death. That’s just not fair.”

Kelly sighed deeply, “I’ll see what I can figure out. There might be a way to increase our income.”

“You’re not talking about gangs, are you?”

Kelly did not answer, only the slight twitch of his lips indicating his meaning.

“Fuck’s sake Kelly! You can’t do that. Is that really the life you want for Diego? Do you want him to be like all the other little boys who watch their dad’s get involved in crime, then either see them get killed or follow suit and join in? No way in hell Kelly. You won’t.”

“You said it yourself Tati. Our options are wearing thin. What else is there?”

“Don’t you dare Kelly.”

“What if I already did?”

Now was Tatiana’s turn to go silent. Her heart twisted in her chest, her stomach churning as the feeling of betrayal spread through her veins. It tore at her like a vicious hungry tiger, ripping her insides to pieces. Outside however, Tatiana’s face bore all the expression of a stone.

“You went behind my back, did this without telling me anything?”

“It’s the only way.”

“Fuck you Kelly,” Tatiana swore, her words soft but heartfelt.

“Just a minute ago, you were talking about how badly we needed to make more money. Now you get all pissed because I’m trying to do just that.”

Tatiana shook her head and stalked toward Diego’s room, her shoulders bearing down as her anger came forth in her steps.

“Tatiana I-”

“No! Fuck you Kelly!”

“I’m doing the best I can!”

“By joining a fucking gang?! I don’t think so.”

She turned and slammed the door to Diego’s little room, again her hands going to her hair, pulling violently. His decisions were just the same ones that had doomed the mainland to a world of hate and darkness, casting aside all moral judgement for the sake of completing the task at hand, no matter the cost.

“Mom?” Diego asked frightenedly from under the covers of his bed. “Are you okay?”

Tatiana climbed onto the bed with him, Diego curling up, laying his head on her shoulder in quiet longing. She was always surprised at the intuition of children, their ability to determine the feelings of their parents especially. Diego was so inexperienced in the ways of the world, yet he somehow knew that his mother needed to hold him in that moment, to take comfort in the presence of the one person in the world who was closer to her than anyone else.

“I’m fine Diego,” Tatiana lied, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine.”

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“Rolling in thirty seconds,” The cameraman called to them.

“Just give me an answer please,” Mikaela Li begged.

“I don’t have an answer for your question,” Roy Jansen returned flatly.

He sat in an uncomfortable, yet fancy leather chair on the studio set of Hot Topic, a popular podcast run by IVN, the biggest media company in the world. IVN stood for International Visual Network and was by far Roy’s top critic, a polite way of saying they hated him.

“Twenty seconds,” The cameraman said.

Roy found it fascinating that in the vibrant competitive environment created in the Captowns, all for one and one for all ideas coming from the rest of the world found a foothold. History had proven time and time again that there was really only one way to become successful. That was to outwork and outthink everyone else.

The Captowns were the most successful societies in human history because they were built on the back of innovation and ideas. No one gave you anything in a Captown. You had to work for everything.

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“The people need to know something,” Mikaela said.

“I don’t have anything to tell them,” Roy replied. “Why would I know any more than they do?”

“Maybe because it’s your company,” Mikaela shot back.

“In case you haven’t noticed, the board doesn’t really want me around,” Roy said. “I’ve been suspended nine times over the last five years.”

“You must have some idea why,” Mikaela said.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Roy returned.

“Five seconds,” The cameraman said holding up five fingers, then four.

“I need an answer damnit, or this interview is a failure,” Mikaela hissed.

Roy shrugged, “Too bad.”

The cameraman counted down to one and swung his hand in a chopping motion, signaling them to begin.

“Good evening and welcome to Hot Topic, this is Mikaela Li,” Mikaela seemingly flipped a switch, going into full newscaster mode. “Tonight’s guest is a businessman and an innovator. Many would call him controversial. Let’s see what he has to say about that.”

Mikaela turned her head to face Roy. The camera followed, panning over to face Roy.

He thought she should be using the Animachip’s recently developed connectivity feature. The user could connect to, and control electronic devices given access to the Animachip. It was quite handy in Roy’s opinion, certainly superior to the old-fashioned method of manually manipulating devices.

“Roy Jansen, welcome to Hot Topic,” Mikaela greeted with a faux smile.

“Thank you,” Roy sent a polite nod to Mikaela, his face betraying nothing.

Without speaking or moving, Roy activated his augmented vision matrix. Suddenly, an array of information in translucent light blue text was displayed across his vision. The text told him everything he would need to or want to know about Mikaela Li.

First was her full name, ‘Mikaela Anna Li.’ Then, date of birth, ‘the nineteenth of March 2119,’ thirty-five years old, only three more than Roy. Her job title, ‘writer and host of Hot Topic podcast,’ IVN. Total annual income, ‘eleven point five million dollars.’

Next were a list of percentages, including threat potential, heartrate, blood oxygen level, frontal cortex efficiency, and other such useful information.

“Let’s start with the reinstatement,” Mikaela said.

That wasn’t exactly surprising. It was the predictable point to begin with, considering that it was the biggest news of the week.

“This is the ninth time you’ve been taken before the board for removal over the last five years,” Mikaela continued. “What was that like?”

“No different from the last eight times,” Roy said with a small shrug. “The fact is, they need me.”

Mikaela leaned back in her own uncomfortable chair, looking at Roy with mock interest. Roy could tell she wasn’t really interested in his answer based upon the response levels from her brain.

“I built Viratech from nothing,” Roy said. “I know the technology, and there isn’t anyone else to run the company.”

“You don’t think there’s someone else out there who could fill your shoes?” Mikaela questioned.

“Well statistically, there is,” Roy answered. “But finding that person would be pretty difficult I imagine.”

“How so?” Mikaela asked. “Lots of very capable people work for Viratech, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Roy nodded. “But there’s a reason they work for me.”

“You don’t think the board could run Viratech?” Mikaela asked.

Roy chuckled and shook his head slightly. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, smirking.

“It’s an honest question,” Mikaela said, slightly perturbed by Roy’s outburst. “Many people think they would do a better job than you.”

“At what?” Roy asked. “The board’s nothing but a bunch of incompetent fools who think they know better than everyone else.”

“They understand their societal duty,” Mikaela commented. “You could argue that would produce better press for Viratech.”

“It would,” Roy replied. “But they’d be lying.”

“What do you mean?” Mikaela asked.

Roy took a quick sip from the cup of water next to him. He paused for a moment to think over his words.

“Consider it this way. You run a company. You founded said company because you created some brilliant product, and then all of a sudden, your company grows. The process continues, you find success after success, as you make more and more money. Then, everyone around starts telling you that you need to hire some HR workers. Those HR workers begin to consolidate more and more power within the company. Eventually, the company gets so large that more people have to come on board to take care of shareholder interests.

“Similar to the HR employees, the board begins to consolidate its own power. All your success is spectacular, but now you barely run your own company. The more power you cede away to representatives of ‘the people,’ the less and less control you have over your own work.”

“So, disregard the opinions of everyone else, just because it’s your company?” Mikaela wondered.

“Yes.”

Roy said nothing further, merely meeting Mikaela’s eyes with a serene air hanging over him. Her own gaze drove into him like an icy spike, attempting to subjugate his will, but Roy would not be deterred. His face did not so much as twitch beneath the applied pressure. He remained resolutely silent and stoic, demanding without speaking that Mikaela either challenge him or move beyond the example.

“Okay sure,” Mikaela said with a heavy sigh. “Let’s get back to Viratech. Do you think there’s something going on inside the company?”

Roy’s matrix displayed Mikaela’s discomfort with the topic, thus explaining her sudden change in interest. His intensity frightened her, and Roy enjoyed that.

“It seems pretty obvious that the board doesn’t want me,” Roy answered. “I don’t know why. My employees fully support me, and the business keeps growing.”

“You don’t think it’s because of the recent controversy involving your comments about other prominent Captowners?” Mikaela asked.

Roy rolled his eyes exasperatedly, adjusting his position in the chair, propping his foot on his knee. The comments which Mikaela referred to were only controversial insofar as they angered the individuals Roy spoke of, as it seemed rather odd that any sane person would care about a petty squabble.

“I’ve always been outspoken, and people have been getting angry at me for years. It’s not as if I would suddenly receive their love and affection if I made nice. As I explained in the example previously, they want more power, and I’m in their way.”

“Yes, but you are certainly responsible for your own comments. You have accused prominent companies of making capitulations to the mainland, and you claimed that most CEOs here on Rothbard have little to no control over their own companies.”

“It’s true,” Roy returned.

“What are your feelings on those comments? Do you believe them to be becoming of a CEO?” Mikaela questioned.

“I don’t need to be nice to everyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You called Randy Phillips, CEO of Sowell First Oil for our viewers, a quote, ‘careless spineless coward, and he’s stupid,’” Mikaela cut in brusquely. “You said of Ray Transportation CEO, Doug Ray, ‘he’s a fat jackass,’ and of Miranda Keeler – Master Films CEO – ‘a raging bitch with more beard hair than brains.’”

“So?”

“Randy Phillips and Miranda Keeler both demanded apologies, and both business took big hits to their profits as a result of your comments,” Mikaela said. “How do you feel about that?”

“Proud, I’d say,” Roy smirked, a twinkle shining in his dark eyes.

“Isn’t that a problem though?” Mikaela asked. “At the very least, aren’t you worried how your comments might blow back on you?”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s all part of my charm. These people aren’t my friends. They hate me and disparage me regularly, and I’m not allowed to punch back, not even a little?”

“There’s a difference between calling out real hypocrisy and hate, and childish insults.”

“And there’s the rub. Your perception of the problem and mine are different, irreconcilable. No matter what I say, you’ll claim it to be destructive, harmful, and whatever else-”

“That’s not-” Mikaela attempted to reroute the conversation, but Roy overruled her.

“I’m not finished,” Roy said sternly. “You have no interest in listening to me, nor do you care what I say. So why should I care what you say about me? It makes no difference whether you call me a sinner or a saint, because I’ll still be the same man I was before. And, if I can’t get a single word through, why should I continue to try? If we’re doomed to fail, guaranteed to collapse, my reasoning is that I might as well go down having a good time. Let them try to destroy me, all my enemies. I dare them to do it. Until they grow some balls and try to take me down, I’ll point and laugh, and I will feel no shame in doing so.”

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Finally, the last of the men entered the small meeting room. It was a hidden location, cleverly disguised from the outside world to prevent any knowledge of this discussion from escaping into the public eye. There were eyes and ears everywhere these days.

The group consisted of ten men, ten great men who knew the importance of what was at stake. Manuel Duplantier, the last to enter, took the only remaining seat at the circular table. He was fashionably late as always, though, in these circumstances, fashionably late became more of a problem than a usable gag to gain attention.

“Good, we’re all here,” David Petrucci addressed the group at large. “Let’s begin quickly. We don’t have much time.”

Seats squeaked as men leaned forward. Papers were ruffled and pens withdrawn. The men meeting knew the importance of keeping hard copy documents and not relying on the Animachip to perform every basic task for them.

“We’ve reached stage four, rapidly approaching is the hour of completion. Soon everything will be in place and our vision will be realized. Keep no documents showing the occurrence of this meeting. Disable your Animachips and put away the paper. For all intents and purposes, this meeting must seem not to have existed at all.”

Men glanced back and forth, uncomfortable expressions on their faces. No one was willing to disagree with the order of David Petrucci, watching as each man disabled his chip and gradually pushed papers to the side.

“I trust that your actions will be carried out swiftly Sam?” Petrucci questioned.

“They will be,” Samuel Bender, Democratic Nominee for President of the United States, answered. “There will be opposition from the more traditional minded members of Congress, but that shouldn’t be a problem, so long as you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain.”

“I have.”

“David,” Manuel Duplantier spoke. “You are sure we’re prepared to begin stage four? Is everything properly in place yet?”

A tone of nervousness spoke clearly through the Frenchman’s speech that was not nearly as present in Bender’s voice, and was absent from Petrucci’s. A small smirk slowly spread across the face of David Petrucci.

“Are things prepared in Europe, Manuel?” Petrucci questioned easily.

“They are but-”

“Then you need not worry about anyone else. Fulfill your end of the deal. That is all that need be done.”

Duplantier gulped slightly, then nodded in submissive acquiescence. With a hint of triumphant pleasure, Petrucci slightly smiled as the Frenchman went quiet, his authority asserted over his subordinates with minimal effort.

“Gentlemen,” Petrucci addressed the group again. “We are all aware of the gravitas of this moment in history. Soon, we will look back on this day in celebration of what we have achieved.”

The men nodded along as he spoke, silently finding themselves in agreeance, yet not gathering the confidence to proudly proclaim their allegiance. Fear was an excellent motivator, but it did not generate a great deal of loyalty. The others at the table would follow him unquestioningly, driven by their combined lust for power and inner weakness. They would not take initiative of their own volition.

“We have defeated our enemies. Nothing yet stands in our way that could prevent us from reaching our dream. If any man stands against us, we will crush him, like one crushes an ant.”

“What of Roy Jansen?” Baariq Al-Ghumari, President of the Republic of Saharan Africa – a unified region of states in the eastern Saharan Desert – questioned. “We do not have operatives in Viratech as of yet. He will not go quietly.”

Al-Ghumari made an excellent point. Roy Jansen would not go quietly. It would take a great deal of force to subdue the Norwegian tech mastermind, but Petrucci’s plan to remove Jansen from the board formulated in his mind even as the meeting continued.

“Leave Jansen to me. Rest assured, he will not be a problem for us.”

“How?” Al-Ghurami continued. “We cannot remove him from his position. Even if we did, Jansen would never stop hunting us.”

“Relax Baariq. He has no knowledge of our existence, nor will he until it is too late for him. Jansen is well in hand.”

Al-Ghurami gave a look that suggested Petrucci’s words did not sit well with him. His eyes were narrowed, and the lines on his face scrunched together.

“So what’s next?” Asked Samuel Bender, by far the most eager and curious of all of them, though that was only to be expected from their youngest member.

“Next, we consolidate power. It is the responsibility of each of you to unite the people. Like Alexander the Great and Romulus, you are the men history will call heroes. They will remember you as the unifiers in our time of greatest division. The time has come for the people to realize they are citizens of Earth.”

“Indeed!” Feng Huang, President of China, proclaimed his agreement loudly. “A toast to the heroes of the new world!”

From a small crystal bottle, Feng poured a trickle of whiskey into eleven glasses. The process itself was lengthier than any of them would have liked, drawing the momentum from the room as the purposeful speech ground to a halt. At last, the final glass was filled, and the stopper was replaced with a clink.

“To the heroes,” Petrucci raised his glass in solidarity with the other men.

“To the heroes,” They agreed proudly.

The world was only what they made of it. Without the minds of men, all of the mountains, rivers, and canyons meant nothing at all. But it was those same men who believed themselves to be above their own human identity – men who considered themselves to be from a certain place or of a certain culture, men who found their own purpose to be worthier than that of their neighbors – who were the traitors to the human race. This had to be understood, for if that concept remained unknown, the world was certainly doomed.

Petrucci drank, reveling in the warm comfort of accomplishment.