Wilbur Noat Agent of the BCD

By D L Stephens

Wilbur Noat Agent of the BCD (Bureau of Community Disturbances) is written by D L Stephens. This is the first EBook edition, published in May 2024.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781304340863

Book preview

Wilbur Noat and the Choclavac

Chapter 1

Wilbur Noat, uneasy and not a little puzzled, stood before the council of the Bureau of Community Disturbances (BCD). The BCD had arranged their desks in a semi-circle, and these rose above him as would the benches of judges. It was an imposing arrangement and one that always intimidated the hapless agents who were required to unburden their failures before them. Wilbur relieved his own anxiety by picturing all of them with white wigs and silver robes with high collars and big yellow spots. The image fitted well with Clyde Fudge because he was an ex-clown from the circus, and he was the most corpulent council member and blabbermouth. Others of the council included an eccentric landowner, a soccer coach, an owner of a chocolate emporium and an exotic dancer—ex of course. Less did the image fit the other two whose claim to such community authority lay in their garrulous visits to the barbershop, or their frequent visits to the municipal golf course. This council of seven had, among their other important accountabilities, the authority to ensure the purity of chocolate in all the land of Brominia. It was on this latter account that they had summoned Agent Wilbur Noat.

The committee’s summons to appear before them bothered Wilbur, but it irked him more that they would not allow him to have a chair. Such were the perquisites of free-lance agents. Accordingly, his legs pestered him with pains of fatigue and he shifted his weight from one to the other to alleviate the discomfort. Fortunately, he had a thin bodily frame and his weight was modest.

Chairman Dimlite, spokesman only because his voice was sonorous and deep, declared the grim and terrible issue with the solemn cadence of an undertaker, Seven tractor trailer loads of pure cacao beans—the finest chocolate beans known—left the warehouse on a clear, quiet and peaceful night, and none of the beans reached the processing  plant.

There was a trenchant pause as other attendees sucked in their collective breaths or stared with disbelief and astonishment.

The trucks did, but the beans didn’t, the owner of a chocolate factory added. That worthy occupied a chair at the side of the room where two others of his ilk sat nodding their heads in agreement.

The drivers claimed they made no stops where the beans might have been removed, and travel logs confirmed their claims, a lawyer for the drivers said. He occupied a chair beside a mahogany table, and held up a sheaf of papers in confirmation of his statement.

Wilbur painfully remembered the incident. It had happened only three days before the present meeting.  He had been there when the empty trucks arrived. With deep sympathy he witnessed receiving clerks staring at the empty trailers, mouths open and eyes wide, managers marching about wringing their hands and loudly threatening suppliers. Chocolate technicians stood with hands on hips, staring at the empty bins with malice written on their angry faces.

A voice of protest brought Wilbur’s thoughts back to the council chamber.

I want answers! the vocal owner of the chocolate factory fumed.

But not one member of the Bureau of Community Disturbances had an explanation for the disappearance. Significantly, during this meeting of the council, the officials drank lattes instead of mocha cappuccinos because chocolate syrups had also mysteriously disappeared from their canisters throughout the city.

The delectable brown stuff was vanishing in huge quantities from every source and from every means of storage and no one knew why. Because of the ignorance as to the cause, panic engulfed the ranks of the chocoholics and they demanded a resolution to the grim and serious problem. Authorities and victims alike demanded that someone undertake a thorough search for the cause of the worrisome condition.

To throw light upon this frenzied and disordered state of affairs the council had summoned Agent Wilbur Noat and he had answered the call, but thus far he had failed to find the cause of the disappearances.

Agent Noat, said the chairman of the BCD, I am urging you on behalf of this council to discover where all these chocolate beans have gone, along with the inventories of processed chocolate. Moreover, you must find the culprit who is responsible for the disappearances and bring him to justice.

But I… Wilbur answered, futility threatening to overwhelm his civic duty. This to Wilbur was a task outside his job description.

The chairman frowned in return. Wilbur, he said. We have one more chance to prevent widespread hysteria and social collapse. Producers have gathered enough cacao beans and dark chocolate for one more shipment. I cannot emphasize enough how important this delivery is. Therefore, it is my duty to place this burden on your shoulders in order that we may ensure its successful accomplishment forthwith.

We? Wilbur mumbled.

You, Chairman Dimlite said with the emphasis of a drill sergeant.

Against his better judgment Wilbur bowed in acquiescence to the council’s demand. I will do my best, he replied in a subdued voice. Wilbur turned and departed from the committee room, taking with him the burden of his renewed assignment and his unspoken protest.

Wilbur, with his mind resting on a giant question mark, followed by his AI assistant, an android whose name was Fred, pushed resolutely through an ugly crowd of chocolate loving protesters outside the offices of the BCD. This additional burden tempted Agent Noat to flee to Nevrbrominia a land whose citizens had little regard for chocolate and probably rejoiced in the knowledge of its disappearance. He had only one clue, and that was a computer simulation showing the regular progression of the disappearances. By its estimation the sudden shortages flowed in a regular pattern across the land, all of which were marked out by trails of candy wrappers leading up to bulging dumpsters and trash cans.

Wilbur figured the simulation was more fanciful than it was accurate. Fred agreed. So they didn't believe it.

In the days before the council meeting he had desperately and informally searched all the nearby markets and grocery stores for chocolate in any form. He found none; worse, perhaps, he could find no chocolate in wafer, powder form, nor in any candy bars. He was greatly puzzled.

The only thing that matched his befuddlement was his anxiety because the object of his affections, a lovely girl named Axanne, had demanded that he find chocolate éclairs immediately or their relationship was over. He was, therefore, justifiably perturbed.

Chapter 2

At that same hour, on a lofty mountain top in Nevrbrominia, miles from the offices of the BCD, stood the alabaster castle of Count Facao. The Count, shorn of his provincial holographic public disguise, stood on a high balcony that overlooked the spreading park like estate. He wore a silver waistcoat, trimmed in blue, high silver boots, silver tights, a vest and on his head a white wig that covered his bald pate. He exulted in his recent success, while he sipped his delightfully brewed espresso.

The choclavac has performed admirably, he said to his butler. Gordon was the Count's chief servant and an AI driven automaton whose moral circuitry he had altered to a more accommodative form. In short, Gordon was as big a crook as he was.

Nevertheless, the praise directed at the choclavac indirectly praised himself, and this the Count accepted gratefully, for was he not the inventor and maker? Yes, the choclavac performed well, but inwardly, he rejoiced that he could now deprive the chocoholics of their despicable craving and garner a tidy sum for himself in the process. Perhaps he could even eliminate chocolate from all of Brominia; it was a condition he sought in his wildest flights of imagination. His own province of Nevrbrominia was devoid of chocolate and so his greedy eye had sought the delectable substance in the neighboring province, not to eat, but to eliminate—after he had selected the best for his new lotion. Thus maliciously motivated he had developed his wicked choclavac, a machine that could extract chocolate, or cacao beans, from any source and transfer them to his secret underground facility where they could be processed into oblivion or held for ransom. Through this device he could satisfy both his lust for power, and his desire to punish the chocolate lovers. Count Facao was the consummate nevrbromin, a hater of chocolate.

Count Facao reveled in the performance of the initial test of his choclavac, remote operational controls for which he had installed in his invisible air car. The device worked to perfection as it extracted chocolate from everything the beam passed over. Then the built-in transporter transferred it to the secret underground storage chamber known only to Count Facao. His twisted pleasure increased with the knowledge that the accessory which provided the false trail of wrappers had sent his opponents on the wrong investigative path. He chuckled as he considered his plan. His design was to seize all the chocolate in the province of Brominia and to use it to satisfy his greatest desire—destroy all chocolate. Even so, the Count had been forced by necessity to refine his strategy. He had other plans for the choicest cacao beans.

What about the other aspect of you plan, my lord Facao? the butler asked.

I have not forgotten, Gordon, the Count replied with just a note of asperity.

Gordon continued, I’m sure you realize that even though we obtain the finest beans, that your process will accept only a hundredth part, or less. Yours is a very picky process, if I might use a colloquialism.

Excellent results require excellent inputs, the Count replied.

If I may say, Gordon continued, At the rate your plan is progressing you will require all the cacao beans in Brominia and those in all the neighboring lands as well. I’m not sure they can deliver that much to you.

The Count fixed his gaze upon the butler with a suddenness that revealed his displeasure. I want them, he said. And you and your circuit driven associates will provide them for me. I must have them for my latest beauty cream. It is a bath, and it requires large quantities of select beans to prepare it in the perfection it requires.

Isn’t this the cream that you said must be tested first?

It is, and I have located a test subject. She is quite—attractive. Inwardly, he reflected on the angelic beauty and exquisite figure of the object of his desire. If she passed through the test satisfactorily he might have other uses for her.

And what is her name, my lord?

Her name is Axanne.

How shall I attract her? the butler asked.

Use your ingenuity. You are clever. Haven’t you told me as much yourself?

Meanwhile, back in Brominia, Wilbur Noat conferred with his AI assistant, Fred, as he considered the painful dilemma posed by the requirements of the object of his affections and the absence of chocolate throughout the land.

I have to buy some éclairs for Axanne, Wilbur said as if he were confessing a character fault. She said if I don’t find some then don’t bother to call her. This is a bad situation, Fred.

Fred turned his expressionless android face to Wilbur. Shall I delete her call-id from the PDA, sir?

Not so fast, Wilbur blurted. Fred’s reaction was insensitive, even for an android. Inwardly, Wilbur considered adjusting Fred’s sympathy module, but he insinuated nothing about that, instead he said, She just needs a little TLC.

What is that?

Just tell me where I can get some éclairs.

There is an emporium in Kandaville, Fred said after he had paused to search a merchant database. Records show that they have a wide selection of confections to be sold at retail prices.

About fifteen miles away, Wilbur commented as he considered the journey.

Actually, seventeen point four miles, Fred replied.

Don’t be a smart aleck, Fred, Wilbur remonstrated. Just get the car and drive us over there.

Fred dutifully brought the car around. A moment later the two investigators were hurtling along the street toward Kandaville at a rate much too reckless for Wilbur’s comfort.

Do you have to drive so fast? Wilbur demanded.

It is my optimum rate, sir, Fred replied.

A short time later the vehicle with the nervous human occupant and his digital assistant approached the emporium and skidded to a stop. Wilbur, now alert to a surprising situation at the emporium and not a little disappointed at what he saw, operated the door release and stepped out.

A gaggle of azucarans, despicable sugar lovers, surrounded the largest confectionery emporium in the city. Regrettably, it turned out to be a retail establishment whose counters and display cases were devoid of any chocolate product. Chocolate aficionados and purists searched the store anxiously, desperately looking for chocolate, and occasionally throwing empty boxes at the azucarans, or managers, or anyone else who furnished a likely target. Frustrations rose and tempers flared because there was no chocolate anywhere on the premises, and certainly none to be bought.

No éclairs here, Wilbur muttered. The condition immediately aroused his investigative curiosity.

I’m sorry, sir, Fred replied. My inquiry showed a large inventory on the premises.

Wilbur, adding irritation to his professional unease, confronted the manager of the emporium, What happened to all the chocolate?

It was all here, the manager answered nervously, And then it was all gone.

A likely excuse, Fred murmured.

I have a small quantity of milk-chocolate in the back, he said. I had planned to put that out for the clientele, but I have hesitated to do it.

Why?

It was made from inferior beans, and, uh, substitutes.

Then it is not true chocolate? Wilbur declared.

I’m afraid not. Some aficionados call it fake chocolate. It could make matters worse. You know how they feel about fake chocolate.

Azucarans, who were indiscriminate sugar lovers, pushed and jostled to enter the emporium so that they might salvage, at bargain prices, the confections that remained from the extraction of the chocolate. But the chocolate lovers held their ground.

Upon this scene came a group of nevrbromins and then the situation rapidly deteriorated. The nevrbromins jeered and taunted the chocoholics while waving their signs as they teased and insulted the azucarans.

Chocolate doesn't matter! Sugar is toxic! they cried. Their signs said the same.

Wilbur, seeing the futility of remaining, texted a note to his agency's crowd control department and left.

Chapter 3

While Wilbur’s frustration at the emporium continued another drama took place back in Eatinburg. An employment consultant sat across from Axanne, carefully reviewing with the latter the job openings in the city. Axanne was a lovely girl, shapely and with long dark hair that hung in curls to her shoulders. The consultant held her tablet on her lap and scrolled through job openings while she frequently looked up to see if Axanne remained interested. Occasionally, she paused to mention a particular opening that looked appropriate.

Axanne, hearing the consultant but not really listening, allowed her thoughts to wander to Wilbur Noat. She liked his looks, and thought he was a good conversationalist, but felt that he didn’t respect her desire for independence. She complained to him about his disregard of her feelings, but he laughed. Since then she began to reconsider their relationship.

How about this one? the consultant said in a cheery voice.

Wrenched away from her reverie, Axanne replied, I’m listening.

Employer seeks a test model for a new line of cosmetics. Candidate must be young, female, and attractive. Flexible hours and competitive salary. Perquisites include: new fashion apparel and all the chocolate she can eat.

Now focused and attentive, Axanne said, Can you repeat that? Her feminine attributes suddenly gained value as she compared them to her clerical skills.

The consultant repeated the reading.

I’ll take it, Axanne said, her spirits rising.

Two hours later Axanne called at an office with the unlikely title of Cacaua Atl.

Undeterred by the sign above the door, Axanne entered the store and presented her copy of the employment notice to a clerk whose eyes were altogether too narrow and dark. Nor did his oily manner offer her any assurances, especially when he paused to survey her figure. Yet his scrutiny did not reveal a lustful appraisal; rather, it was clinical, much like that of recognition devices or a doctor. Then it occurred to her. Was this clerk an android?

Just a moment, please, said the leering clerk. I will call my lor…, uh, manager.

Axanne, now feeling uneasy because of the probing look and grotesque smile of the store clerk, gripped her purse a little tighter and focused hard on the door through which he exited the lobby, presumably, to speak with the manager.

A few minutes later the clerk returned. He will see you now, he said.

The clerk led the now cautious applicant to a plush office in the rear of the building where he presented her to a tall, slender man with gray hair, and a neatly trimmed beard that came to a point below his chin. He wore a gray business suit, including a red tie that gave him an altogether professional appearance. He held a small cup of brew which, from the odor, Axanne concluded must be cappuccino. His manner caused her to feel more relaxed, but she quailed inwardly when she looked into his dark penetrating eyes.

Axanne? he said, inquiringly.

Yes.

Would you like some coffee? he asked in a cultured baritone.

No, sir, she answered. She didn’t like strong coffee and preferred not to confess the disinclination.

Thank you for your interest in the employment I am offering.

The position is attractive to me, she answered. I have a desire to do modeling work, and…

Of course! her host interrupted. All in good time.

The hours also appealed to me, she added.

Excellent! the man said enthusiastically. May I offer you a sample chocolate éclair from my exclusive collection?

Well, I…

Of course you will, he said. He opened a cabinet, looked inside and then said in a feigned complaint. I must have left them in my car. Won’t you come out to the car with me? I’m sure they are there.

Not wanting to offend her host and prospective employer, and not a little interested in the offer of what was undoubtedly a delectable treat, Axanne followed her host out the rear door to the parking lot where she entered quite a luxuriously appointed car.

Her host showed her to a seat and after unsealing a wall compartment presented her with a box of chocolate éclairs.

Ohhh, she sighed. I shouldn’t, but, nevertheless, selected two from the proffered box.

As she dined on the delectable chocolates the doors of the vehicle closed and sealed the compartment from outside noises. A moment later Axanne felt a gentle vibration followed by a sensation of rising in the air.

Where are we going? she asked her host. By the way, she added. I don’t think we have been introduced.

I am Count Facao, he answered, and as he spoke his image quivered and changed into that of a man wearing a silver waistcoat, trimmed in blue, with high silver boots, silver tights, a vest and on his head a white wig that covered his bald pate. At which announcement a broad grin overspread his thinly bearded face.

Count Facao! she cried.

Indeed, my dear, the Count answered.

Where are you taking me? Axanne demanded.

"You might as well know, now that we are airborne. I am taking you to my castle where you will become a test subject in the production of my latest cosmetic therapy.

You mean a guinea pig? Axanne protested in her firmest tones. I have heard about your castle and the dangers in Nevrbrominia.

Regardless of your ideas to the contrary, the Count said, You are going.

Wait till I tell my boyfriend, Axanne threatened, suddenly seeing the benefits of an improved relationship with Wilbur. Wilbur will arrest you. He's an agent for the BCD.

Don’t be silly, my dear. You will be perfectly contented where we are going.

The Count laughed, and his sinister cackle continued unnervingly as the air car rose and faded into invisibility.

Chapter 4

Wilbur stared at the tiny screen in his hand. This is Clyde Fudge of the BCD, the image on his PDA said. As the image delivered the message, Wilbur wondered why the caller was using the icon of a chocolate wafer. Wafers don’t talk.

Is there a problem? Wilbur replied.

"The problem is the three tractor trailer loads of chocolate beans on the way to the province. The growers provided this emergency shipment supposedly to placate the chocoholics. But there was a slight delay and those chocoholics are giving me no rest. So I changed the plans. Now I want that shipment stored in a