The Liberty Box The Liberty Box Trilogy Book 1 by C.A. Gray Genre: New Adult Dystopian
**Dystopian mind control with metaphysics** Kate Brandeis has it all: a famous reporter at the age of twenty-four, she’s the face of the Republic of the Americas. She has a loving fiancé and all the success she could wish for. But when she learns of the death of a long-forgotten friend, her investigations unravel her perfect memories, forcing her to face the fact that she’s been living a lie. Jackson MacNamera, trained from a young age in the art of mind control, returns to the Republic for his mother’s funeral. Within a few hours of his arrival, authorities collect Jackson and take him by force to a room ironically called The Liberty Box, where he must choose between surrendering his thoughts to the new Republic, or fleeing for his freedom. Kate, bereaved and confused, finds her way to a cave community of refugees, where Jackson seems to offer her an escape from her grief. The two forge an uneasy bond, and in the process Jackson learns that Kate has some insight which may help the hunters in their attempt to free other citizens from the tyranny of the Potentate. Against the expressed wishes of the Council, the hunters plot a series of daring raids, attempting to prove that not only is freedom possible, but that the citizens are not too far gone to desire it. But with the odds so stacked against them, can the refugees succeed in their rescue missions right under the Potentate’s nose? ***Get it FREE!!!***Goodreads * Amazon
The Eden Conspiracy The Liberty Box Trilogy Book 2
The refugee caves have been destroyed, and most of the refugees are dead. The Potentate now knows of their existence and will stop at nothing to wipe them out completely. He suspects that terrorist Jackson MacNamera is among them, as well as reporter Kate Brandeis’s fiancé, hacker Will Anderson—and probably therefore Kate herself. Now that the Potentate is aware of security threats, most of the strategies the rebels used to get back onto the grid before now no longer work. The Potentate knows the rebels are on foot, and he knows they were at the caves not long ago—they can’t get far. The remaining rebels, among them Jackson and Kate, have Kate’s fiancé Will to thank for their survival: he arrived back from the dead and in the nick of time, bearing classified information about the Potentate’s plans to expand his influence internationally. But the remaining rebels and the Council cannot agree on whether their top priority should be spreading truth far and wide and freeing as many citizens from government control as possible, knowing that they will likely die in the process—or escaping to New Estonia, in hopes that they might live out the rest of their days in peace. Kate, meanwhile, finds herself torn: between Jackson and the fiancé she thought she lost, and between the damsel-in-distress she once was, and the rebel she believes she has always been underneath. Whether the other hunters will support her or no, she knows she must use her influence over the people of the Republic to tell them the truth, no matter the cost. But is she strong enough to withstand the government’s lies? Goodreads * Amazon
The Phoenix Project The Liberty Box Trilogy Book 3
The haven city of Beckenshire has been demolished, and most of the rebels lie beneath the rubble. The few that remain scramble to communicate with the the outside world, knowing that if they are to stand a chance in the coming war, they can’t do it alone. In a last ditch effort to grow their ranks, the remaining rebels systematically destroy the repeaters which help to propagate the control center signals. And it’s working: citizens in targeted cities are waking up in droves. But Ben Voltolini will stop at nothing to quell the uprising before it has a chance to get off the ground. And he has one major ace up his sleeve: Kate Brandeis. During Kate’s broadcast to the nation, Voltolini unleashed targeted brainwave signals against her, causing her to allow both Jackson MacNamera’s capture, and her own. Now, despite Voltolini’s exquisite wining and dining, she can’t seem to stop the panic attacks. Whom can she trust? What is truth? Is there even such a thing? Meanwhile, imprisoned and hopeless, Jackson realizes the depths of his feelings for Kate only after he has already lost her. The incredible self-control upon which he prides himself gets put to the ultimate test when he meets an unlikely ally who just may turn the tide in the rebels’ favor—but only if Jackson can put aside his own bitterness. In this gripping conclusion to The Liberty Box Trilogy, new and surprising alliances are formed, passions run high, and our heroes learn what they are really made of. Do they have what it takes to fight for freedom—even if it means paying the ultimate price? Goodreads * Amazon
C.A. Gray is the author of three YA Amazon bestselling trilogies: PIERCING THE VEIL (magic and quantum physics meet Arthurian legends), THE LIBERTY BOX (dystopian metaphysics and mind control technology), and UNCANNY VALLEY (dystopian coming-of-age with neuroscience and super intelligent A.I). She starts with some scientific concept that she’s interested in learning more about herself, and then creates lots of epic chaos and high-stakes action to go along with it. Her stories are free of gratuitous violence, language, and sexual content, and she abhors depressing endings… but they’re not all kittens and rainbows either! She also listens to and reviews audiobooks on her website, here on Goodreads, on Instagram, and on her podcast, Clean Audiobook Reviews, where she also occasionally interviews other authors. By day, C.A. Gray practices naturopathic medicine, podcasts, and writes medical non-fiction under her maiden name (Dr. Lauren Deville). She lives in Tucson, AZ with her husband Frank, and together they maintain an occasionally contentious film review blog (under her real name: Lauren Baden. Three names. Yes.) She’s kind of the queen of multitasking—so in her spare time, she creates whatever meals or crafts she found most recently on Pinterest, drinks lots of coffee (Aeropress btw) and occasional wine (reds—and she saves the corks for craft projects), works out (while listening to audiobooks), and studies the Bible—about half of the podcasts on Christian Natural Health are scripture meditations. She does sleep, too. Promise. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads
Prologue: Twenty Four Years Ago
Smoke billowed up into the sky as far as the eye could see. Benjamin Voltolini took a
step back as a looter dashed in front of him with a torch, lobbing it at the vacant bank not ten feet
away. Within minutes, it went up in flames. The other looters cheered, throwing rocks to shatter
the windows, or lobbing more torches for good measure.
The banks had gotten the worst of it from the start.
Calmly, Ben weaved his way through the crowd, head up, his expression vacant, but with
a hint of amusement that he could not quite erase. He’d intentionally ripped his clothes and caked
them in mud to blend in, so that he could steal a large container of gasoline from one of the few
remaining gas stations. He paused every so often to change his grip or wipe the sweat from his
brow with the back of his hand, keeping as far away from the flames as he could.
He’d left his Mazerati well outside the city limits. He had a long way to go.
By the time Ben drove up to the fortress built into the side of the mountain, the sun
dipped low behind it. Two armed guards stood by a high chain link gate, and they leveled their
machine guns at him as he slowed to approach.
“Whatever happened to a simple greeting?” Ben muttered to himself, but raised his hands
in the air behind the windshield.
One of the guards pulled some sort of device to his mouth and spoke rapidly as he jogged
to Ben’s window.
“Identify yourself and state your business!”
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“Benjamin Voltolini, Venture Capitalist.” Ben’s teeth gleamed in perfect rows. “Here to
present to the former Congress of the United States of America the answer to all of their
problems.”
“Do you know any members of the Tribunal personally? Have they summoned you?”
“I guarantee they all know me by reputation.”
“Get lost,” the guard ordered.
“Oh, I don’t think you want to do that, Sergeant—” Ben read the young man’s lapel,
“—Branson, and I’ll tell you why. Pretty soon I will be the dictator of this country. And I never
forget a favor. Nor a slight.”
“I tell you what, you arrogant bastard,” Sergeant Branson snarled, moving the safety off
of his weapon. “I’ll give you to the count of ten, and by the end of it if your tires aren’t screaming
on this pavement,” he pointed out into the wasteland, raising his gun, “I’ll give you exactly what
you deserve.”
Ben looked Sergeant Branson up and down, as if committing him to memory. “Go on,
then.”
The sergeant’s mouth fell open for a moment, unsure how to respond to this. “One!” he
shouted, “Two!”
Ben watched him as the sergeant’s face turned various shades of red and finally puce by
the time he reached number nine. Then, just as he leveled the weapon with Ben’s face and was
about to pronounce the number ten, Ben punched the accelerator as hard as he could—not in
reverse, toward of the wasteland behind him, but toward the locked gate up ahead. The other
armed guard scarcely had time to leap out of the way before Ben plowed through. The gate itself
snapped open and huge sections of the fence clattered to the ground in its wake.
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He saw the commotion behind him from the rearview mirror, but didn’t slow down until
he reached the courtyard, skidding to a stop just before he crushed a fountain in the shape of an
eagle. The burnt rubber smell assaulted him even before he opened his car door.
He stepped out, opened his arms wide, and held up his hands in a gesture of both
surrender and welcome as most of what remained of the Congress filed out of the meeting hall in
disbelief.
“So this is the secret lair of the last vestiges of Congress!” he declared.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” snapped an old man with a shiny pate.
Ben gave a little bow. “Forgive my rather dramatic entrance, gentlemen. It was the only
way I could get past your guards. Excellent young men. You should give them both a raise.” He
chuckled at his own joke.
“Nobody gets paid anymore,” snapped one of them unnecessarily.
“Oh?” Ben raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Well, that’s a shame. I can help you fix
that.”
“You can help us pay our guards?” cried one, incredulous.
“I can help you get paid again yourselves,” Ben clarified, “you and everyone else in this
country. Well…” he chuckled again, “more or less.”
“That’s Ben Voltolini,” he heard one of them whisper to another, and then the whispers
swept throughout the crowd. “The billionaire?” and “Where did he get gas for that car from,
anyway?”
Ben gestured inside the fortress, adding, “May I?”
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Now the hoary members of the Tribunal stepped aside one by one, exchanging glances
with one another that suggested they knew this was against their better judgment—but really,
what harm could there be in hearing him out?
The entrance led to a long hall lit by torches, the light from the sky growing dimmer and
dimmer as they walked.
Torches, everywhere torches, Ben thought with disgust. It was like the Dark Ages all over
again. But not for long. Everything is about to change.
At last the hall opened up to a wide, irregularly shaped room looking like it had been
hewn out of the side of a mountain—which, in fact, it had. The men filed in behind him to their
seats, and Ben walked to the white boards at the front and grabbed a marker. He wouldn’t need to
draw much, but this established to all that he had the floor, which was his intention.
“Gentlemen,” he grinned. “Indulge me just for a few moments whilst I remind you all
where we are.
“The United States is no more. For one hundred and twelve days now, there has been
rioting in the streets. You, the remnant of the Congress who were not killed in those first few
days after the collapse, now fashioning yourselves the Tribunal, emerged, and have
attempted—badly, I might add—to maintain order as a police state. You haven’t the manpower to
arrest all the rioters, of course, so instead you have resorted to gunning down citizens at will. I
am not judging you.” He held up his hands as the protests began, the mocking smirk never
leaving his face. “I understand that there is a greater good at stake. You are doing all you can to
maintain order. But you and I both know that it is not enough. Creating order, and maintaining it,
requires money.”
“As if we don’t already know that,” someone grumbled from the front row.
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“Ah, yes,” Ben said calmly. “But where does the government get its money from?”
The question was patronizing, and the Tribunal glowered at him collectively, refusing to
play along.
Undaunted, Ben answered his own question. “Taxes,” he said.
“There’s nothing for us to tax, idiot!” shouted one. “There’s nothing left!”
“Of course there is not. The people have to get back to work first so that you can garnish
their wages. But I understand your conundrum—how can you create jobs for them when there is
no industry left, when the few functional businesses left are being razed to the ground as we
speak by angry citizens needing to feed their starving families?
“This is where I come in.” One hand fluttered to his chest, an affected gesture he’d
perfected. “In the last ten years, I’ve funded two projects in particular that have the potential to
turn this nation around, from absolute destitution and anarchy to a thriving Republic.” He paused.
“Yes, that’s right, I said Republic, not Democracy.” He waited to be asked. When nobody did, he
continued, unfazed, “The first of these projects is a genetically engineered version of the Epstein
Barr Virus, distributed by an airborne vaccinia vector.
“Epstein Barr has been around for many generations now. This particular strain is highly
virulent—much more so than the original strain, primarily causing anemia and severe fatigue.”
He uncapped his marker and drew a squiggly line on the white board, and an incomplete
squiggly circle next to it. Then he drew an arrow, where the first squiggly line fit inside the
circle. “This,” he pointed to the circle, “represents the vaccinia vector. It is a version of smallpox,
minus the portion that makes it smallpox. Now it’s just a shell, a perfect delivery system for other
genetic information. It has been engineered to cover hundreds of miles at a time once it is
released. In this case, it is a delivery system for the Epstein Barr virus.”
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Ben read confusion and disgust on their faces. One said, “So you want to make us all
sick?”
“Not sick,” Ben held up one finger, “exhausted. You see, anemia slows people down.
Takes the fire out of them. Takes the fight out of them. But it will not last forever—eventually
people’s immune systems will be strong enough to fight it off. This baby will buy you—oh,
about six months. Oh, and not us, mind you. I have vaccines against the virus for
a—ehem—select few.” He cleared his throat with a contrived little cough.
“Six months to do what?” someone shouted.
“I’m so glad you asked.” Ben said graciously. “This brings me to the second brilliant
invention I’ve funded in the last decade or so: the common carrier brainwave.”
Blank stares met him. Ben turned to the white board again, erased the vaccinia vector and
its contents, and instead drew something he only just remembered from gradeschool: a sine
wave.
“Pretend for a moment, gentlemen, that this is a brainwave. Everyone, every human
being, has a brainwave that corresponds to this carrier wave. Now, yours, or yours, or yours,” he
pointed to a few in the front row, “all have slight variations unique to you, but they all have a
form more or less like this one. Just like we all have an idea what fingerprints look like, but each
person’s fingerprint is slightly different, variations on a theme. Yes?”
“Get to the point,” someone shouted in the back.
“This is the point,” he said. “In broadcasting, all information gets transmitted via a
common carrier wave, right? Brainwaves work the same way. The variations upon the carrier are
what transmit information. Your thoughts are like that. Variations on your specific carrier wave
get interpreted by your brain as information.
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“Now. What if we, the government, the Tribunal, could create a broadcasting center that
would broadcast a version of the common human carrier brainwave that was slightly altered, to
suit our purposes? Once the citizens of this new Republic are fatigued and a bit addled, they’ll be
highly suggestible.”
“You want to brainwash the public?” cried one.
“That is an ugly way to put it,” Ben retorted in an injured manner. “I prefer to think of it
as reprogramming the way they think—for their own good, of course. What we must do in order
to create a productive, healthy society is to alter human nature.” There was a cry of outrage, and
Ben shouted over them, “Come now! Which of you can refute the fact that the U.S. collapsed
because the rich refused to share their wealth for the common good? That they were motivated
by selfishness and greed?”
“This from you, the greediest of them all!” someone snarled.
Ben raised his eyebrows in mock offense. “On the contrary, I am proving right now that
I’ve invested my wealth in the ultimate good of the people! But as I was saying, it was because
of the greed of the rich that eventually all of the government programs to support the needy ran
out of funds, requiring us to borrow from overseas to keep our government afloat. But in that
process, we buried ourselves in such a deep hole that eventually no other nation was willing to
lend to us anymore. And then, as you know all too well, the United States eked out a few last
years by printing more and more money, leading to such massive inflation that a loaf of bread
cost thirty dollars—and then the whole system collapsed on itself. U.S. dollars are worth about as
much as toilet paper. Businesses collapsed, people lost their jobs and subsequently their homes,
and they can’t afford to buy anything—so they started stealing what they needed, causing even
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the few remaining businesses to go under until resources were consumed and nobody has
anything. That’s where we are now.
“But all of this happened because of the greed of the wealthy!” Ben declared. “If they
would simply think of the greater good, as you fine gentlemen have been trying to do all along, if
they would do their part in helping society, then all of us could rebuild a nation much stronger
than the U.S. ever was!”
After a long pause, during which Ben could tell that the Tribunal considered his words,
someone asked skeptically, “And you propose to do this how?”
Ben was waiting for this question. “By fundamentally changing human nature,” he replied
again, his eyes twinkling. “You all recognize, of course, that what I propose is a socialist system.
And of course you all know that socialism does not work, in most cases, because men are too
busy looking out for themselves, and never for the good of their fellow men. They protest. They
rebel against their lot.
“This is why the common carrier brainwave is so important!” he declared. “Don’t you
see? We must change the way men think.”
There was a long pause, and then someone shouted, “And this will work on—everyone?”
“It has worked on about ninety-seven percent of our test subjects,” Ben returned, “but that
extra three percent would require us to collect an imprint of each citizen’s individual brainwaves.
Once the population has been infected, we will set up stations around the nation where citizens
can be scanned, and make the scanning mandatory. That way, we will be able to find and
eliminate the rebels before they can become a problem.”
“What if they don’t come?”
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“Easy enough. We’ll offer rations of food to those who come, and a threat of jail to those
who don’t. Still, not everyone will show—but it’ll be easy enough for us to track down the
remnant, since my technology can detect and locate undocumented brain waves.”
“So you’ll just—kill the dissenters?” cried someone. “Anyone who doesn’t do what you
want them to? That’s murder!”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Is it so much worse than shooting rioters to protect the rest of
the people? What I propose is no different than that, and much more effective. In both cases you
will eliminate the few for the good of the many.”
There was silence, then a slight murmur rippled through the crowd. Someone from the
back shouted, “So you infect them and brainwash them. What then? What exactly do you
envision for the future of this socialist nation, Voltolini?”
Ben’s face took on a bit of a glow. “Picture this,” he declared. “There will be no private
businesses. All of them will be government-run. Everyone will be a government employee, and
will be placed in a position that best suits his abilities. Higher education will exist, but only for
those who score high enough on placement exams; everyone else will be funneled into trades or
physical labor. The education programs will be selected for the individual, based upon aptitude.
And because there will be no market to determine value of a given skill, everyone will make the
same hourly wage—but all of it will go into government coffers. Then the government will dole
out what each person needs for survival, and no more than that: a standard ration of food, health
care, housing, and etcetera.
“The primary difference between this new Republic and other socialist systems is that the
people will have a mindset of true selflessness and altruism. They will adore their government.
They will see the government as a loving parent, meeting their needs with abundance—because
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that is what they will be programmed to believe. Anyone who resists will first receive another
injection of the virus to see if they can be rehabilitated. In the event that the second attempt also
does not work, they must be swiftly eliminated. This is absolutely necessary, or we risk rebels
who might start a revolution.”
The irregular room burst into murmurs at this. They were excited murmurs, as Ben knew
they would have to be—he had thought of everything.
“But!” he cried out, his voice ringing over the chatter of the crowd, and he waited for
their voices to die down enough before he declared, “in order for this vision to become a reality,
you will need a strong leader!”
“You, I suppose?” cried one.
“Of course,” Ben grinned. “I am the one who knows more about both of these measures
than anyone. I will, of course, require your complete allegiance. This will be no easy task. The
time for dissension and such antiquated ideas as checks and balances has come and gone.”
“What will you call yourself? The President?” shouted one, scornfully.
“Oh, no no no,” Ben said, softly. “The title of President implies a democracy, and I do not
wish to be misleading. I will call myself—the Potentate.” Yes, he thought, sighing with pleasure.
What an appropriate title.
The Speaker for the Tribunal put it to a vote. Ben Voltolini was elected Potentate with an
eighty-five percent majority in the last democratic act of the former Congress of the United
States of America.
As his first act as Potentate, Voltolini declared that the nation would henceforth be known
as the Republic of the Americas.
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“Gentlemen of the Tribunal,” he declared, “we are making history. Together, we shall
create the world’s very first utopia.”
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