The Fantastic Lives of Johnny Wonderful

By JF Leduc

The Fantastic Lives of Johnny Wonderful is a dramatic (if somewhat tongue-in-cheek) science fiction tale about "Johnny", a young man of poor character who lives, with his robotic mother, in the ruins of the Old York megapolis.

The people of his strange time survive as best they can under the omniscient rule of the EVERY-COM orbiting
Skyscraper. From there, Holy Director Henry Wonderful
rules over Earth, Mars and every other interplanetary
colonies.
The holy corporation’s edicts are enforced throughout the galaxy by war/peace; an inter-stellar military and police force.

Over the span of 1,000 years, Johnny's multiple existences will take many surprising twists and turns as he will die and relive through a succession of uncanny personalities. From space war hero to intergalactic ruler; from interplanetary super-being to machine-man, whose fate is to ultimately survive humanity...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482635553

Book preview

Book

The Fantastic Lives of Johnny Wonderful

by

JF Leduc

Copyright © 2013 JF Leduc

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To the fantastic wife of JF Wonderful.

CONTENTS

Prologue Pg 1

Chapter 1 Pg 2

Chapter 2 Pg 24

Chapter 3 Pg 45

Chapter 4 Pg 81

Chapter 5 Pg 106

Chapter 6 Pg 127

Chapter 7 Pg 157

Chapter 8 Pg 182

Chapter 9 Pg 195

Chapter 10 Pg 227

Chapter 11 Pg 263

Chapter 12 Pg 275

Chapter 13 Pg 290

Chapter 14 Pg 303

Chapter 15 Pg 321

Chapter 16 Pg 360

Chapter 17 Pg 381

Chapter 18 Pg 396

Chapter 19 Pg 453

Epilogue Pg 472

PROLOGUE

The exact date, or indeed the exact year in which the subject of this narrative was born is now and has been for some time a subject of opinionated dispute amongst historians of all the united worlds of EVERY-COM. The only points in consensus regarding his origins are that he was born in poverty a long, long time ago and from thence rose to great riches and fame. A homeless boy named Johnny became Johnny Wonderful.

This is a reconstituted biography built upon a multitude of sources. They include the Johnny Hero broadcast series, contemporary eye-witness accounts, official state and or corporate records as well as Johnny Wonderful's official biography to which many parts are now missing and for which this narrative will suffer evident gaps. These blanks have been filled-in as best we could, using conjectures and historical correlations.

With all of its imperfections, this document still adequately tells the tale of a fantastic and wonderful man who changed a galaxy.

/publikata EVERY-COM

Act 1 - Johnny

CHAPTER 1

Johnny, whose last name is long forgotten, was born in the ghettos of Old York, one of North America's poorest megapolis. Like all internet-era democracies, it had gone bankrupt long, long before the time at which begins this narrative. The societal upheavals and environmental disasters that had ensued changed the world faster than any previous event in human history. Governments, banks and other old-world institutions collapsed. Food, water and clean air were privatized. Corporations enforced Law and order. All previously known public services or governing bodies had sooner or later, willingly or through coercion, merged into but a handful of all powerful, world-wide corporations which controlled every aspects of human life.

First, there was gov-com, which ensured law and local governance,

eat-com, responsible for food, water, farming and the fisheries,

tech-com, responsible for technologies, medical services and the power management of the Dyson spheres (solar power satellite rings orbiting each inhabited world's sun and which captured the necessary energy to power entire planets).

Finally, there was fun-com. fun-com was responsible for entertainment of every sort. It provided free, continuous televised broadcasts through screen installed into every single apartment complex, workplaces or any other place of public gatherings on the planets. Those broadcasts were part education, part advertising, part religion, and were simply referred to as /publikata broadcasts.

On a standard day schedule of /publikata broadcasts, one would learn of how FANTASTIC it is for young men to join the corporate police/army force called war/peace; then, one might watch a dramamentary on the exciting life led by the underwater miners of Titan; which might be then followed by a religious mass, conducted through EVERY-COM's electronic prophecy branch; and of course, of the fantastic benefits of drinking many cans of Billy John, the latest eat-com soda pop.

Run faster, think faster, be happier… Claimed the slogan.

All these subordinate companies' board of office-sirs answered to a larger omnipotent entity called EVERY-COM.

EVERY-COM was the mother corporation of all other corporations. It supervised galaxy-wide commerce, colonial development, law and order; life itself.

EVERY-COM's offices were located inside a 1,000 stories-high satellite skyscraper that hovered in stationary orbit above the city of Old York in which, long, long ago, it once stood and towered over all other constructions. After becoming space-borne, it had remained attached to its city of origin by a simple space elevator (the likes of which were still in use at the time by most space garages). For the few centuries prior to Johnny's birth, however, the EVERY-COM orbiting skyscraper became off limits to any but those high office-sirs and war/peace personnel that worked and resided permanently in its premises.

They controlled the food, the water and the air and one day they ran out of food of water and of air to sell. And so the people became hungry, thirsty and sick and without the business associated with selling them nature's necessities there came also a shortage of employment.

As is usually the case in times of need the largest sacrifices were imposed on those of meager means.

With a skyrocketing unemployment ad mortality rate, corporations turned to privatized outer space development. After the ancient space stations and lunar bases sprung the terraforming Martian colonies who, over the course of a century and a half, would prepare the red planet for hundreds, then thousands, then millions of space immigrants who would start a harsh new life on the first frontier world.

Later, the next generation of tech-com plasma rockets opened the door to mining ventures on the asteroid belt as well as the eat-com & tech-com joint venture below the icy surface of the Saturn moon Titan. 50,000 workers and specialists were employed full time on 5 years-rotation tours. They spent those years in the kilometers-deep stygian abyss of the Titan ocean mines; forever shielded from the deadly Saturnian radiation by the thick coat of ice that covered the entire surface. The miners harvested alien plankton, dug for highly valuable color-changing quartz and other minerals and sea life that, though banal on Titan were in high demand by the wealthy corporate office-sirs and their entourage. High-end restaurants and jewelers were regular clients of the titan's imports as wholesaled from eat-com and tech-com through EVERY-COM. The amount of workers and families now living off world created the usual problems of criminality, drug addiction, mental anguish & violence. Moreover, the millions who now inhabited Mars and who would only refer to themselves as Martians (though gov-com insisted on having all official /publikata broadcasts refer to them still as earth colonists) began to demand more independence from the mother world, as well as the right to handle their own business through the creation of a new, subordinate corporation called mars-com which would in return share certain powers that up to then had only been wielded by EVERY-COM.

That did not sit well with the latter's board of directors and while the peace had so far been maintained by corporate security or off world personnel hired from the local work forces, EVERY-COM realized the pressing need for a more effective force of protection and of suppression.

Created by a unanimous vote of its board of directors, war/peace became the military spearhead of EVERY-COM's outer space development. Answering directly to gov-com for its law enforcement duties, and to EVERY-COM for its militaristic ones, war/peace maintained order and loyalty on the colonies and escort mining shipments from Titan and the asteroid belt to Earth and Mars spaceports.

A constant protection had been deemed necessary after two of the cargo ships had been attacked by what the /publikata news report had described as armed colonists deviants from Mars.

The event went generally unnoticed amongst the general populace. Yet history would record it as a defining moment were EVERY-COM's third Holy Director, Rex Wonderful, fearing an organized uprising of Martian nationalists, would sign the order to triple the amount of war/peace soldiers present on the first colony. Tension would gradually rise, skirmishes between aggressive soldiers and rebellious elements would escalates for three years, eventually leading to a month-long civil war during which most of the Martian gov-com office-sirs would be executed (or fired as the /publikata broadcasts declared). It would also mark the end of the Martian claim to independence (at least in that millennia). EVERY-COM established a permanent war/peace military base on mars, its third largest military concentration after its headquarters inside the terrestrial gov-com building and its supply and training station in orbit around Saturn. EVERY-COM had prevailed and once again, its rule was reestablished as though it had never passed.

Thousands had died. The Martian colonies were in ruins; decades would pass before the scars of this strange and useless war would heal though never fade.

The hardships of re-construction and the humiliation of a painful end to a legitimate quest for identity had left a strong feeling of resentment in the Martian population that would marinate for centuries and lead to some of the most fascinating moments in our subject's lives.

****

At the end of the following century, mankind ventured for the first time out of its own solar system. The discovery of faster than light travel, or lightslip provided a formidable economic boom to the corporations. Long-range war/peace transports carried tech-com specialists and assisted in the construction of the first permanent outposts in other star systems. A deep space research station in Alpha Centauri was first, followed decades later by the Earth-like Keppler 22b, HD 85512b & Gliese 667Cc. To space travellers and workers, these worlds became simply known as Keppler, HD & Gliese. Within a few hundred years these outposts evolved into full-fledged colonies with large indigenous populations and specialized economies. First and foremost there was Keppler. A chance discovery of a microscopic particle dubbed sub-dirt had led to the birth of plasti-fab, a cheap, easily moldable and highly resistant material that could be either opaque or translucent and which became the de facto basic matter used in the fabrication of most of the items for sale in the galaxy. Second only to it was Gliese. Being in synchronous orbit with its red dwarf star, one side of the planet was perpetually bathed by the reddish light. A particular atmospheric compound however acted as a dichroic filter and rendered the light the purest of any visited planet. The two, combined with frequent and abundant rainfall, rendered the Gliese soil stunningly fertile and allowed for the fast growth of vegetables, fruits, crops, flowers, spices, teas and medicinal plants which grew much larger, juicer or crunchier, tastier or more potent, than any such terrestrial cultivations. As Keppler was the manufacture, Gliese became the garden of EVERY-COM.

As for HD, the early tech-com colonies of specialists that had established the first colony maintained its technological and scientific research vocation for 150 years. Mostly originating from the ancient deserts of ARABIKA and the ASIATIKA continent-nation, they created a society that was devoted to the advancement of technologies of all sort, and of power-sources in particular (which would make them play a crucial role in the propulsion and armament future of the galaxy).

It is in this context, upon entering the fourth century of EVERY-COM that our narrative will start, on the day of Henry Wonderful's appointment as Holy Director. A 62 years old successor to the much respected, though much feared Richard Wonderful (who had recently died at the venerable age of 121 years) Henry had served for over 37 years under his predecessor as assistant director of EVERY-COM and had been in direct charge of tech-com, over which he had ruled as head office-sir for the 10 previous years.

Every man, woman and child on had been riveted to their /publikata screens since the break of dawn so as not to miss a second of the rare and wonderful event. Those who were employed enjoyed a day off with full salary, a privilege that only happened when a new EVERY-COM Holy Director signed his contract, and those without employment simply turned on their screens as usual.

Johnny lived alone with his sick mother in the decrepit remains of what was once the great super-city of Old York. He had just recently turned 20 and, like most young men of his age, was unemployed. His mother had taught him to read, to write and to do simple calculations that, she had hoped, would have granted him a better life than most men of his time (the majority of whom did not possess those simple abilities).

Johnny did little to that effect. He would spend most of his days running errands for her or himself through the electronic neon-shops on the lower street levels of Old York - levels at which the gov-com laws of commerce were poorly upheld. As for his spare time, he spent it in the shady company of his techno-junkie croonies, all dressed in the proper wham-glam street style.

They would hunt through long-abandoned sub-train stations, finding valuable hardware antiques to sell and software codes to snuff. Old software codes were written in the ancient way where they would use some gibberish words in strings to make their machines do the things they were meant to do. But when fed to a modern tech-com built pocketech or holotech, those codes would be read wrong and produce a virtual rush that they called the fizzle. It was like getting seizures from a strobing light on a screen; only it was great, full of hallucinogenic sounds and holo-sights.

Getting a fizzle was fantastic, the blast: the post-atom age bomb. But it was short-lived and it would burn out the code so that the software was gone after the rush subsided. No one could tell in advance how good or mediocre the fizzle would be. Old mathematical softwares might produce a fizzle akin to sexual ecstasy while a hardcore game might give you the swelling. But that was part of the fun, finding the good bits from the bad, hunting the most precarious of ancient ruins to get to the codes.

The thing about the fizzle is that it wasn't addictive in the sense that one couldn't live without it. Many tech-junkies, Johnny included, sold the vast majority of their finds against the currency of the time called value. They did so to survive but also to pay for diverse other pleasures.

The young fellow was a dreamer, though his mother usually referred to him as lazy. This seemed to be the only occupation he could take on without quitting midway through.

And he was quite good at it too!

One day, inside one of the old sub-train tunnel, he had found a collapsed staircase that led directly to an old underground control center of sort. Johnny had been able to remove the best-looking hardware piece and he had sold it to a private collector who worked as an executive for gov-com. He spent half of those values on food and medications, half on his favorite drink: cans of Billy John soda pops.

Run faster, Think faster, be happier…

He drank so much of it in fact that, while his mother had originally named him Julius, after EVERY-COM's original Holy Director, other teens began nicknaming him Johnny, for he could hardly ever be seen without a can of Billy John in his hand. Since Johnny didn't care much for Julius and since his mother was too ill and weak of character to make much fuss about it, the named stayed.

Johnny's mother greatly disapproved of his drinking, which she saw as a pointless money pit. Why don't you watch more /publikata broadcasts? she'd often asked. Learn about the world! Then use your money to buy a proper suit and go to EVERY-COM for an aptitude test to find out what job the corporation could offer you! You are so brilliant, so quick, with such a nice smile!

THAT'S what Billy John does, mother. I'm faster, smarter and happier than most!

There was nothing his mother could say; Johnny's life was carefree & devoid of any values. He would sum it up with one word: Fantastic!

On this particular day, Johnny arrived home after spending most of the rainy afternoon in the 7th sector of lower Old York. It was one of the few places in the lower city that had not been submerged by the great floods of the 2nd environmental collapse. People often referred to the 7th sector as ASIATIKA2 for the large portion of citizens of Asian descent that lived there. That zone offered more underground pleasure-dream clubs, noodle bars and lascivious value-companions than any other in Old York. There, were the best spots to bargain the sales of his finds, Johnny would argue; but It was also the fastest place to spend his income.

He slowly made his way up the crumbling stairs of the condemned office building in which he and his mother lived. About a 100 other families shared the structure's 57 levels with them. Johnny's mother had settled on the 36th floor in what had once been a rather large office suite with bathroom and reception area. She had once told him she had moved there soon after giving birth to him because his father had him a no-good fillywog who drank his values and abandoned them to their fate.

Those ancient buildings had been closed once commerce and government had been centralized through EVERY-COM and its subordinate corporations. Their shell now provided rent-free spaces for the 88% of the population that lived in poverty. Of course, one had to find ways to maintain the running water, wireless power and the general safety of the structure on his own; a fair bargain founded by Julius Wonderful himself almost 300 years ago as often celebrated in the /publikata broadcasts.

Johnny reached his floor and unlocked the door that led to the office-apartment. Today was a special day, which explains why he'd met almost no one on the streets! Everyone, yes, EVERYONE was sitting home in front of his or her /publikata screen to witness the event of a lifetime, the contract signature of a new Holy Director!

Johnny's mother did not avert her eyes from the screen as he walked in.

Hurry! Hurry! she said with weak emphasis, They are now talking about Richard Wonderful's life as Holy director. Your grandfather must have been your age when he signed his lifetime contract. Maybe even younger!

The excitement in her voice did not betray her general weakness. Johnny always had a sore heart when he came home. He would see the contorted and frail body of his mother lying on the hover-bed he'd gotten for her from a junk collector on a 52nd level. He had traded a whole case of Billy John soda cans for it; he loved her that much.

Johnny took off his walk boots and hurried to his mother's side where he sat on a simple metal chair, facing the /publikata screen.

A documentary on Richard Wonderful's many achievements as Holy Director was ending on a dissolve to the man's coffin. Row's of war/peace soldiers and EVERY-COM office-sirs gave him a final salute and the coffin was rocket-launched straight towards the earth's sun, to the sound of a thousand starplanes' canons. Applauses roared, most in attendance could not hold back their tears and neither could Johnny's mother.

After the /publikata's optical watchers followed Richard Wonderful's coffin to its infernal solar cremation, the broadcast cut back to the roof of EVERY-COM's orbiting skyscraper, where the last part of the special event was taking place. The floating building had entered Earth's atmosphere for the duration of the ceremony. It's gargantuan, 1000 floor structure hovered above Old York, casting an enormous shadow the plunged the entire city in darkness. It was smooth and silvery, sporting neither windows nor doors. Nothing but a single feature stood out from the rectangular colossus; a giant red eye. Through this eye could ships enter and exit the building. It was a luminous gate that none but the very few who were tasked with the operation or security of EVERY-COM would ever be allowed to pass.

An off screen /publikata news reporter directed the audience's attention towards the arrival of Henry. He, accompanied by about a dozen men, stepped out a pneumatic lift and onto the EVERY-COM roof with a most dignified air,

And here he is, ladies and sirs, said the off screen reporter, Assistant Director Henry, escorted by his suite of personal lawyers who, no doubt, will have many last minute advices for our future Holy Director.

A lawyer Johnny, maybe you could join the church and become a lawyer too! said Johnny's mother. The latter didn't really pay attention. To become a lawyer, one had to study the Holy Corporate charter at the EVERY-COM Law Church. Johnny didn't see at the moment how that could be possible, nor why he should be interested in such a job. Every night from the broken window in his former database-room turned bedroom, Johnny could see the EVERY-COM orbiting skyscraper shinning in the night sky. But unlike most, his dream wasn't to one day ascend to it as a corporate employee. Most of the impoverished (which was most of the people) would pray to it before going to sleep to thence dream of power and of currency.

They would sometimes pray to the subordinate corporations too, usually when their prayer was aimed at some specific domain over which they exerted direct control, but most of the time they would pray directly to the EVERY-COM silhouette that casted a shadow by day and that shone a reassuring light at night. A fun-com dedicated holo.net prayer channel had even been opened decades ago. It allowed one to pray directly to the Holy Director himself for the cost of a few values. One would not get a personalized response, nor even an acknowledgement that your prayer had been heard, but many were those who swore that their prayers had been answered and more were those that found simple comfort at the thought that they dreams and aspirations were being heard by someone high above.

Johnny had prayed too, once. His mother or tech-junkie croonies would never know. He had prayed not for values, not for power, but for love. A silly thing for a boy to pray for, but he just didn't seem to get the hang of approaching girls (those you didn't have to pay for).

There weren't that many of them in the places he usually hung out either.

On the /publikata screen, he saw Assistant Director Henry sitting down behind large ceremonial desk which was covered by non-functional controls and screens, meant as an allegory to the great responsibilities that would soon befall him. The seven members of EVERY-COM's board of directors approached him with a beautifully ornate parchment; a copy of his contract as new Holy Director. As soon as they dropped the contract on the desk, Henry's lawyers leaped on it like starving beasts and began the analytical process that, they hope, might lead to litigation. The lawyers, one by one, pulled out palm-sized mini-comps harboring the tech-com logo and began to cross-reference certain paragraph with other similar contracts in their historical archives. After a brief concentration, one of them whispered something into Henry's right ear.

The latter nodded, took the contract and ripped it in two!

The crowds assembled in the streets below, who followed the ceremony on giant public /publikata screens, gasped in unison.

Oh my! yelped Johnny's mother, they can't agree on the terms! Litigation!

The EVERY-COM board of director retreated and exchanged worried glances. The chairman, whom one recognized from the golden stripe around his jacket's collar, pulled out a pocket-com from his jacket and pressed some controls on it. Almost immediately, their own squad lawyers hurried onto the roof and pulled out their own pocketechs.

As everyone but Henry stepped to the edges of the roof, the two groups of corporate lawyers moved to the front of the ceremonial desk in order to challenge each others with examples of precedents, law points and company rules.

What an exciting moment, ladies and sirs! Clamored the off screen /publikata reporter, Litigation between Assistant Director Henry's lawyers and those of EVERY-COM's board of directors!

The two groups of lawyers launched into a frenetic and violent bout of negotiations. After many points had been agreed upon by both parties, a print out of the contract's new draft was made using the same ornate parchment as the first version and this time, the new Holy Director signed it.

All over the worlds, people began to cheer in front of their /publikata screens. war/peace starplanes fired salvos in a traditional salute to their new corporate commander (of few of which, it would later be known, hit a commercial cargo ship killing everyone on board).

The fifth Holy Director rose; EVERY-COM's new pope of currency, it's monarch of profit. All present cheered Hail Henry! Hail Henry Wonderful!

*****

The coming of Henry Wonderful didn't change anything in Johnny's daily routine. His mother's condition had recently gotten worse and, ideally, Johnny would have needed to bring a tech-com specialist to analyze her condition. Those men could, he knew, administer some of their technological miracle-cures which healed pretty much anything, provided one had enough value to afford it.

Johnny understood that his usual archeological adventures in the lost undergrounds of the sub-train system wouldn't bring him enough values to afford any such specialists. Not from the techno-recycle bins, not from private collectors (who sometimes paid a good price for antique hardware), and not even from selling a good software fizzle, if he could find one. He needed to make a whole lot more and fast.

Johnny remembered hearing one of his techno-junkie croony, who always hung around the 7th sector's Asian noodle bars, that he had once sold an old software called Encyclopedia to a man who paid a high price or it but didn't use it for a fizzle. He had just wanted it for its code, a loony, they had thought. That man had said he was working for tech-com and had given him enough values to supply him and his girl a full year's worth of Billy John soda pops as well as a slew of hot meal-paks and new wham-glams.

Johnny's options were few. That man had the currencies to fix his mother up, or as a tech-com employee, he himself might be able to cure her, no hassle! Johnny didn't know what the man might want to get in return but if any tech-junkie could fetch it for him it was he, who could run faster and be smarter than all others combined!

Would the man even be there, his croony had met him last winter… And if he was, how could he find him? Ah yes, he had been described to him as having a very old and very peculiar hand-sized cardboard box on him with tons of ancient-style tree paper in the middle of it. He held to it dearly for the whole time of the transaction.

*****

Johnny walked all the way from his 9th sector habitation to the Holo-Dragon, which was a good hour and a half. It was an Asian noodle-bar in the 7th sector that was semi-hidden in a dilapidated alley. People who ate or drank there usually did so upon recommendations from croonies or value-companions and with illegal motives in mind. He didn't know where the man could be found, if he was to be found in the 7th sector at all, but that seemed to be the best place to start.

Johnny loved walking and he knew the city well. He cut through the market sector, avoiding the old industrial sector in which most of the other techno-junkie croonies established their territories. He and his croonies called themselves the WORLDWAR 3's and it is thanks to the WORLDWAR 3's that Johnny had discovered the old underground Sub-train systems and all the valuable hardware antiques and bits of fizzle codes that one could find in there. Other gangs, such as the sub-MARINES and the bUNK3RS, also used those tunnels.

Fights and even all-out gang wars would often be waged in the undergrounds, unbeknownst to the people above.

Johnny arrived at the Holo-Dragon noodle bar and entered the dimly, phosphorescent-lit interior. Tired from the long walk, he immediately sat at the bar and ordered a Billy John soda pop from the automated bar by inserting the correct amount a value chips on the counter's bank and pressing on the proper button. The place was quiet and smoky. About 30 people crowded the bar, some eating simple noodle dishes, some drinking, and many were carrying discreet conversations in a low tone of voice. About half a dozen girls were present, all of whom could be rented at a relatively low price.

A can of Billy John rolled out of the wall dispenser and onto the counter. Johnny grabbed its cold plasti-fab shell, snapped it open and rejoiced at the sound it emitted. A sweet, relaxing swooshy sound, it was; and bubbles which would continue to pop even hours after opening the can.

Around the bar, every single plasti-fab table, and about every 2 feet of the main counter space, offered both rental holotechs (for the techno-deprived in need) and holo-ports into which one could connect his own pocketech to receive /publikata broadcasts, personal communications or access the official tech-com holo.net network. The truth however, was that many, many years ago, the Free Radicals (a Martian revolutionary movement) had broken down most of the holo.net's defenses and a second, shadow network now co-existed on the same bandwidth. Without control or supervision, this wild network had been dubbed The Mirror.

One needed a specially modified holotech to access The Mirror. One also needed to have memorized the correct access codes and entry ports that were necessary in to obtain a connection. No hard copies were ever made of them and, as a legend or folklore, they had been passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth only.

The Mirror was the primary playground of criminals, bootleggers, revolutionaries and anarchists of all sorts. They used it to conduct illegal trade, distribute subversive newsletters and any such activities that went in violation of EVERY-COM's corporate charter but to which the latter had been unable to put a stop despite the many raids of war/peace foot soldiers on clandestine Martian server-taps.

Johnny looked around at the bar's clients as discreetly as he could. There was an Asian man with a thin moustache and long fingernails, rotating various holo-objects in what appeared to be a sort of game; there was a burly man with a tobacco burnstick in his mouth and 2 value-companions at each of his sides. He was giving orders to a younger man who, Johnny could see, was scarred on the left cheek. The burly man spoke to him in a post-English street slang that was the preferred language of organized crime. Johnny kept looking around. Weirdos and derelicts; wild and fascinating, all.

You're a tech-junkie, aren't you? Sub-MARINES? bUNK3RS?

Johnny jumped around in surprise. A tall man with a stern expression looked down on him from his standing position, he had long silver hair and a matching beard. His presence was commanding, he looked like he could be a Holy Director or gov-com office-sir. His clothes were plain, old style one-piece business jumpsuit. Johnny had a good high for hardware and he immediately noted the man's upgraded pocketech that boosted extra bracelet modules around his wrists, connected to the interior of his left sleeve through black rubber wires. He had spoken to Johnny in a low enough voice as to not attract any undue attention and no one else than Johnny paid any attention to his presence.

The WORLDWAR 3's. answered a semi-mesmerized Johnny. Why?

The man smiled and sat down.

I've seen you here before, selling some of those hardware antiques that you dig up in the old sub-train tunnels. Not selling anything today, are you? I'm a good buyer, for certain merchandise.

Unfortunately, no Johnny replied simply I'm, I'm looking for a job, or a gig of any kind.

Johnny would never have been so brazen usually. He didn't know this man and had no reason to trust him other than his desperate want for values.

The man smiled and nodded. His face was full of compassion and understanding. Johnny had never seen his father, not even in recording, but this was how he would envision a father would look and be like.

The man's jumpsuit had folded around the waist area after he had sat down. An object protruded from out of his pocket. A very old cardboard box with yellow paper sheets sticking out, as if sandwiched. This was the man he was looking for, Johnny was certain.

The former noticed the young man glancing at his pocket.

You've never seen one of those, have you?

Johnny shook his head.

It is called a book. A treasure, what it does to your mind is better than the fizzle and it lasts until you die.

A book, what a silly word, Johnny thought.

"They were once aplenty. They gradually disappeared until we all completely forgot. The /publikata broadcasts and holo.net has replaced them I guess. The mind is a muscle, young man, without exercise it softens and becomes weak, unable to fend off the trivial and fruitless

My name's Johnny, sir, I'm from the 9th sector.

The man smiled Johnny, like the drink, huh?

Johnny smiled proudly. I'm the best techno-junkie there is because of that drink! I'm faster, smarter and happier than any other tech-junkie!

The man nodded. You certainly have to be quick and clever to get these out from under the other gang's turfs.

I'm not afraid of anyone or anything, sir. If you need anything for your collection, hardware software, anything at all, I'm the best tech-junkie there is, sir. I'm not afraid of anything or anyone, not even war/peace foot soldiers!

The man eyed him with curiosity. What do you really want, Johnny?

I need currency, sir, values, lots of them.

The man appeared somewhat disappointed. Is that all really?

It's for my sick mother sir. I need to get her a tech-com specialist. You work for tech-com, don't you?

The man's face changed, his eyes narrowed, his nose curled somewhat, contributing to a general facial display of suspiciousness. I worked for tech-com, yes, but no longer. How would you know that?

My croony, sir, he sold you the software called encyclopedia.

The man smiled thinly at him. And neither he, nor you, I am sure, know what treasure an encyclopedia truly is.

Sir, I'm not a collector, I just want to help my mother get better. I'm desperate, really I am. If there's anything you want, anything at all, I'll get it for you at the price of a good specialist."

I'm afraid that a good specialist, the kind your mother probably needs, cost more than I could afford. I haven't worked in a while, I'm living off my savings.

Johnny sighed, looking down at his now empty cans of Billy John. So it's hopeless then.

The man eyed him some more, hesitating.

Johnny, have you ever dealt on The Mirror?

Never simply answered Johnny with simple honesty "To be honest I don't know anything about it or even own a pocketech myself.

Even if he had, Johnny would have been smarter than to tell a perfect stranger about it. You never knew who could be a war/peace agent looking to bust a The Mirror jumper.

Perhaps sensing the latter's mistrust, the man decided to get to the point.

On The Mirror, my user name is Pilgrim. Do you know the meaning of that word, Johnny? the latter shook his head. It is the name of one who seeks, forever a traveler, reaching for the light.

What light? asked Johnny.

Whatever light is at the end of his journey. Truth, freedom, the meaning of one's existence perhaps.

Is that what you're seeking, sir? Oh, I don't think I can help you find that! said Johnny sheepishly.

Pilgrim chuckled. You're very young, Johnny. My words will come to gain meaning and profundity as you grow older and ponder back on them.

The man pulled out a value chip from one of his jumpsuit's pocket and inserted it in the counter.

Have another Billy John, my friend. Johnny pushed the appropriate button and soon, a new can of his favorite drink rolled out on the counter for him.

Just before I left tech-com, I learned of a technological treasure that is being held up at tech-com's research center right here in Old York. It is a kind of key, a key to ultimate truth.

How big is it? What kind of key is it? inquired Johnny.

That's just the thing Johnny, no one but those who have worked on it know what it may be. Rumors have spread over The Mirror about the key. But very few believe in it, to most it's a server legend, a network fairy tale. But I know it exists.

What does it open again? asked a confused Johnny.

I cannot tell you more than this, what it opens is not unlike a door, from that take you from night into day, one that brings you out of a nightmare into an even scarier one.

That doesn't sound very nice, sir, maybe you ought to leave that key alone! Johnny was troubled by Pilgrim's ominous tone and unfocused eyes.

Johnny, if you get me that key, I will go to your mother myself and help here. I will use the key to get her to a better place.

That's what my mother said when she killed my pet mouse, that she'd gone to a better place.

Johnny, only the best of the tech-junkies could do this. The research headquarter is at the farthest edges of Old York on a small artificial island called Brooks-inn. There used to be a sub-train power station under tech-com's current location. The key is kept into a secured stasis vault that shares powernaps with this old architecture. They are physically connected. It is the only security failure of their system. If followed, the power conduits will take you from the old tunnel into the sub-basement levels and eventually up to the key. I did not venture further down than the old condemned maintenance corridors under the vault, but I discovered the antique power lines that were still active and through which power is still fed. They led down through a porthole access that I couldn't open on account of the millennium corrosion. Only two people know of this path. Myself, who designed the vault with a backdoor in mind, and you.

Johnny began to fear this man. He was obviously giving him information he shouldn't have. His facial expressions