Fugitive From Asteron (22 page)

“You had mentioned that Chuck and
Dr. Merrett were carrying the pieces of the dismantled invention to the
compactor when they were together at Project Z on the day before Dr. Merrett’s
memo came out. How do you know that?”

“That’s what my friend Mike, the
security guard at Project Z, said.”

“Did they both go to the compactor,
or did only one handle the matter?”

“I’ll tell you what. I guess
there’s some valuable equipment remaining in that building, because Mike’s
still assigned there. He works weeknights and Sundays.” Frank glanced at his
watch. “It’s after six, so he should be on duty. Let’s go talk to him.”

The lobby of the building that
housed Project Z was stark. Glass entrance doors led us into a hollow space
without adornments of any kind. A guard’s desk and a security passage with a face
scanner were the only objects it contained. Frank introduced me to his friend
Mike, the security guard who sat at the desk.

“You’re the pilot, aren’t you?”
Mike asked me as we shook hands. “Frank told me about the fantastic ride you
gave him.”

“I think we both enjoyed it.”

“Say, Mike,” said Frank, “an
incident happened with one of the Clean Team that I’ll have to report to
Security for investigation. It’s raised some questions we have about the Sunday
Dr. Merrett dismantled Project Z.”

“Oh?” Mike was an older man with a
soft voice and an easy smile; however, an intensity in his eyes told me he took
the matter seriously.

Frank began. “First of all, we were
wondering how Chuck Whitman got inside this building that day.”

“He and Dr. Merrett walked in here
together. The boss asked me to let Chuck in. By the way, only Dr. Merrett could
authorize someone outside the project to come in. So I let Chuck in through the
locked door around the side of the lobby while Dr. Merrett came in the usual
way, through the face-scanner entrance here.”

“And the two of them came out with
two big boxes, right?”

“That’s right. I personally had to
let Chuck out; otherwise, the alarms would have gone off. Anyway, they left
with two big wooden boxes on a motorized dolly. I let Chuck and the boxes out
through the locked door, and Dr. Merrett left the usual way, through the face-scanner
entrance.”

“How’d you know the pieces of
Project Z were what was inside the boxes?” Frank continued.

“Dr. Merrett mentioned it on the
way out. Come to think of it, that was odd, because he never commented on his
business before; he was always tight-lipped about the project. But that day he
said that he and Chuck were headed for the compactor to destroy the material
from Project Z. I guess because his memo about the project’s cancellation came
out the next morning, he figured the whole thing was no longer a secret.”

“Did both men go to the compactor
with the boxes?” I asked.

“As far as I could see. They both
stepped onto the motorized dolly with the boxes and rode around the building
toward the compactor.”

“Are there any records there that
the materials were actually destroyed?” I continued.

“No. We don’t keep records at that
compactor.”

“And was anyone else with them?”
Frank asked.

“No.”

“Have you ever been inside Project
Z, Mike?” I asked.

“Not inside the flexite area, no.”

“Would you say that the security
systems at MAS are good?”

“They’re good, Alex, yes.”

“Impenetrable?”

“There could always be something
we’ve overlooked, of course. When modern advances make possible better
security, they also make possible new ways to breach it. Take fingerprints, for
example. We used to employ them at security entry points and also for computer
passwords. But the crooks found credible ways to duplicate them, so we had to
find new ways. We’ve also used iris recognition, but that can be gotten around
with high-resolution images of the eye. Then there’s the matter of some of
these methods being too intrusive, and we like to avoid having our staff and
visitors grumbling. So, boys, that’s why you’ve got
me
here—a live
security guard is still pretty hard to beat,” Mike said, pleased with the
notion.

“Do the people here worry about
security?” I prodded.

“They do. Maybe not as much as they
should.” He stroked his face thoughtfully. “I’ve read that in the old days,
when Earth was filled with power-hungry rulers and wars, security was a huge
concern. Now it’s something we take care of, sure, but I suppose we’re not as
worried about it.”

“How long have you worked for MAS?”

“Since before you were born,” said
Mike, smiling at me. “About thirty years now.”

I decided to take a chance. I took
out my pad and pencil to sketch Feran’s cargo. “Have you ever seen an object
that looked like this?”

“No, never.”

Mike waited for more questions, but
Frank and I were finally silent.

“Anything else, boys?” he asked. We
shook our heads. “Then let me warn you. If you know something that’s in the
slightest way suspicious, you need to fill out a report, you hear?” We both
nodded. “Don’t go playing amateur detectives. Security has to know what’s going
on.”

“Sure, Mike, of course,” said
Frank.

Another puzzle,
I thought.
First, many people had access to Dustin and could have changed his programming,
leaving me with no clear suspect. Then the evidence showed that the components
of Project Z never left Dr. Merrett’s personal supervision, leaving me again
with no suspect who could be Feran’s spy.

We said good-bye to Mike and started
walking toward the exit door.

“Oh, by the way, there was one odd
thing that happened that day,” he added.

We stopped and turned around to
him.

“You see, Dr. Merrett checked in
twice that day, but he checked out only once.”

“What do you mean?” asked Frank.

“Our computer records the people
who go in and out of this building. Well, Dr. Merrett went through the
checkpoint once earlier that day, about nine in the morning, before I started
my shift at noon. He came through a second time when he asked me to let Chuck
in. Then I saw them leave with the boxes. That’s the strange thing. We don’t
have any record of Dr. Merrett checking out the first time. We had our computer
serviced, but the technicians found nothing wrong with it. Yet that kind of
thing has never happened before or since. Now you’re a computer whiz”—Mike turned
to Frank—“so would you know how that could’ve happened?”

“Was there was an interruption in
the power supply?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did the computer crash for a brief
time?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That’s strange,” Frank concluded.

“We thought so too.”

Something is missing,
I
thought, as I walked with Frank back to Space Travel. First came Project Z,
then shortly after it began, Dustin’s code was changed. This alteration allowed
Dustin to hide a sensor of some kind, a tiny camera camouflaged as a leaf, clump
of soil, stone, or other item, and to remove and replace it regularly to spy on
Dr. Merrett. That was cause and effect. But did Project Z really come first?
The security windows in Dr. Merrett’s office came before Project Z. What
prompted them? There I had an effect without a cause. Dr. Merrett was concerned
about security two months before his secret project started, when he installed
the security windows. And I remembered Kristin saying she hated Asteron for something
that happened before Project Z began. Did I need to reach further back? Was
there a significant event that occurred earlier?

“Frank, did anything happen at MAS
before
Dr. Merrett got his security windows in February of the year that Project Z
started? Something that would have prompted him to tighten security at that
time?”

Frank looked up to the darkening
sky, thinking. “Nothing that I can remember.”

That
evening, I stood with Kristin on her lawn. Although seeing her was reason
enough to draw me there, I also asked to borrow her plane for a task I needed
to perform.

“Sure. I
keep the door to my plane unlocked. You can just go in and start it, Alex.”

Before I
left with the little red craft, I held Kristin in my arms and kissed her. For
one enchanting moment the events on top of the mountain with Kristin were more
real than Feran and his spies.

“I will
bring it back without disturbing you, so you can get a good night’s sleep. Then
I will go home and do the same. Okay, honey?”

She
raised her eyebrows, surprised by the last word, but not as surprised as I was.
Something was happening to me inside. Like a plane worn by combat, I was ready
for a refurbished
engine, one that could lift
me higher than I had ever climbed before.

“Okay,”
she said softly, tilting her head back for one last, lingering kiss.

When I returned Kristin’s plane to
her lawn, the evening sky shimmered with stars, promising fair weather for the
air show tomorrow, I thought, as I walked across the road toward my hidden ship.
There I would perform my final—and most dreaded—chore of the day.

“Good evening, Mr. White,” said the
message in my spacecraft, the mocking edges of Feran’s voice palpable through
the sharp peaks on the screen. “It seems we are closing the distance between
us, and we shall soon meet. That much you know. But there is something else you
do not know, Mr. White.”

The voice paused. The peaks fell. I
waited, too exhausted to guess.

“We know there is a
girl
.”

I slapped my hands against my face
as if to smash the words that stung me. The other voice, the one I thought had
been silenced forever, was now back, stronger and more reproachful than before:
It is your fault— It is your fault that she—

“Stop it! Stop it!” I ordered, but
the voice shouted louder:
It is your fault that she died!

“We know you have a girlfriend,”
said the outer voice. “Inquiries around Rising Tide place you in a shop buying
clothes, with a female on your arm, doting over you.” The voice pattern changed
color on the screen as Feran laughed maliciously. “I should have known a female
would be your demise—again!” The voice sneered. “Tell me—do you think Feran,
the supreme ruler of Asteron, cannot find one little female on Planet Earth and
remove her? What method of erasure would entertain you the most? Could it be . . . 
hanging
?”

Feran paused, his final word
echoing in the still night.

“Get that cargo to me by midnight,
and I will give you the password to navigate my spacecraft. Then you and your
cupcake can blast yourselves out of the galaxy. That is my offer: the cargo for
the girl. If you refuse, prepare to watch another of your little diversions swinging
by her sweet neck.”

My hands covered my ears as two
voices—the haunting one inside and the vile one outside—rattled through my
mind.

Chapter 17

On a runway near the ocean, eight planes left the ground in
quick succession. The powerful engines rumbled like an earthquake through the
spectator stands at the airfield. Reckoning Day had arrived, and the Gold
Streaks’ air show was its main event.

In the midmorning sky, with me in
the lead slot of one group, we formed two graphite diamonds, with a shiny gold
streak across each fuselage. I flew inverted, moving hundreds of miles an hour,
with the wing tips to each side of me and the nose behind almost touching my
plane. Being in the first slot of our four-plane configuration, I felt the
combined disturbance of the three other crafts in my air flow, which meant I constantly
had to maintain just the right pull on the stick to hold me within the tight
bounds of our formation.

We looped and rolled in close
proximity and executed formation changes at high speeds. After performing in
our group of four, we linked with our other teammates to create a series of
geometric patterns in the sky, each one looking like a single speeding figure
painted with eight bold strokes on a blue canvas. For our final maneuver, eight
glossy fuselages, clustered like sticks of dynamite, stretched vertically into
the sky. Then the cluster burst apart as if the dynamite were exploding.

After an intermission, I aligned my
plane with Kristin’s on a wide runway for our two-plane demonstration. “Happy
birthday, Alex,” she whispered over my radio. To the sound of the show’s music
transmitted into our cockpits, Kristin and I lifted off simultaneously, which felt
as if we were rising for a dance. We did a figure-eight in broad loops that
filled the sky. Then we rolled, stopping sharply every ninety degrees. Flying upright
alongside Kristin and low to the ground, past the smear of color that was the
spectators, I flipped my plane upside down in a clean, split-second motion. From
my headset I heard the crowd applauding. Their cheers intensified my own
excitement, and I think Kristin would have said I was smiling.

With our noses to the vertical and
our planes stacked together, we climbed, moving as one shiny needle threading
through a cottony puff of thin white clouds. Maneuvering in such close
proximity required of Kristin and me an almost hypnotic awareness of each other
that was somehow part of our intimacy. We passed the stands in tight mirror
formations—belly to belly, then canopy to canopy. We looped, rolled, and turned
gracefully through the air to music made for dancing. For our finale, we
separated, then flew toward each other in what seemed to be a high-speed
collision course in full view of the gasping spectators, until we broke at the
end, narrowly missing each other.

Was it the dizzying physical motion
or the excitement it produced that made me feel light-headed? I wondered, as I had
for years. Each time my plane brushed against the clouds, the thrill it gave me
intensified. It was like being with an enchanting woman who grew more exciting
with every new encounter. I felt the power of the plane and the control I had
over it, and then the moment became joyful. It was my home run.

I thought of the two things that
thrilled me—power and control. They were the very same things that Feran also
craved. How could the things that made me triumphant be the same things that made
him depraved? I knew that I did not belong with Feran. I belonged with the
Earthlings in their world. My power and control were a personal matter between
me and my plane, but Feran’s power and control involved breaking people’s
spines. Feran and I were opposites. And in some way Asteron and Earth were
opposites too. What was the meaning behind these two different powers in the
universe? I wondered.

When Kristin and I landed, the
wheels of our planes hit the broad runway at the same instant. Through my
headset, I heard her cheer our performance. But my mood suddenly cooled,
because being on the ground was fraught with danger for me. I quickly slipped
away from the other fliers and avoided the crowds that packed the stands,
clustered around the food tents, and walked along the field to view the many
aircraft being exhibited as part of the show. People were everywhere, and
Feran’s spies could be among them. I walked past the procession of planes on
display and over to an empty hangar just beyond the activities where I could
observe the ceremonies unnoticed, concealed in the shade of the structure. I
watched the events taking place on a flower-laden makeshift stage that held a
band. As I stood in the distance, the chief of police stepped up to a podium, greeted
the people, and introduced the mayor, who thanked the Gold Streaks for their
performance and made several other remarks. Then a senator named Robert Goodwin
ascended the steps to the stage with a sprightly gait. As he took the podium, his
white hair and trim, energetic body formed a pleasing blend of wisdom and
youth.

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.
Today we pay tribute to our beloved Planet Earth, which we call the Home of the
Individuals, and we salute the independent life that is our way. People of
every human species from around the galaxy flock here above all other places.
They choose to live on Earth, although our nations give them nothing by way of
food, clothing, shelter, or other provisions. They come here because the one
thing we do offer is that which makes human progress and happiness possible:
freedom
.
I’d like to take a moment to explain the meaning of the celebration we call Reckoning
Day, for those of you who are new to our planet and also for those of us born
here, so we may rekindle our appreciation of our homeland.

For many centuries Earth was beset by
the clash of two irreconcilable forces, two opposite approaches to life. This
conflict was given many names over the ages in the numerous countries of Earth.
Ultimately, it became known as the Great Clash Between the Meddlers and the Individuals.

These two antagonists disagreed over
how a society should function and what role the state should play in a person’s
life. The Meddlers said that the state must direct people’s lives for their own
good, but the Individuals said that people’s lives were theirs to live as they
choose. The Meddlers thought the state should control and redistribute people’s
property to serve what they said was a greater good, but the Individuals
thought that people’s property was as sacred as their lives and must not be
tampered with or taken away by anyone.

For many centuries, in one form or
another, it was almost always the Meddlers who were in charge of Earth’s
various countries. They sought to use their power to manage the lives of their
citizens. “We will provide for everyone’s welfare” was the way they put it.
Although they told the people what they allegedly would give them, the Meddlers
never mentioned what they had to take away. If the people needed jobs, housing,
food, or countless other things, the Meddlers sought to provide them. How did
they do this? By making laws to control the people who produced them, and by
taking away from the citizens the money they had earned and were going to spend
the way each saw fit, so that the Meddlers could spend that money the way
they saw fit. The result was that
people were no longer
captains
of their own lives. The people worked at jobs that were regulated by the
Meddlers, for wages that were approved by them, to earn money that was taxed by
them, to support causes chosen by them. The schools were run by the Meddlers,
medical care was arranged by them, and pensions were given out by them. Even when
people died, they were still not free of the Meddlers, because their property
would again be taxed by them before it ever reached their heirs.

If a person decided to run a
business, the Meddlers would have rules on who to hire, where to build a plant,
what permissions to get from which agencies in order to operate, and, of
course, how much of the profits, if there were any, would be taken in taxes.

As you can imagine, the Meddlers
needed lots of money to feed their many bureaucracies and agencies, so they
helped themselves to repeated dips into citizens’ wallets.

The Individuals were dismayed that
the people could not decide things for themselves and choose their own actions.
The Individuals said that this was all wrong. It was not the state’s job to
provide for the people, which meant to seize the citizens’ wealth, intrude in
their lives, and funnel their money to the rulers’ favored groups and causes. The
Individuals said that the state was their servant—not their master—and that its
only job was to keep the peace, which meant to protect the citizens from
criminals from within and without. But this was a very important job, because
it defended each person’s life, liberty, and property, and made a civilized
society possible.

I looked out at the crowd. The
movement in the field had ceased. The thousands of people there had become
silent, and they seemed solemn as they listened attentively.

If you study history, you’ll be
amazed at the extent of the meddling that occurred. There was no aspect of life
that was untouched by the state. It issued hundreds of thousands of pages of
laws to control all the goods and services the people used. Then, as the
Meddlers got even bolder, they issued laws to control how people could express
their opinions and participate in political activities. You can imagine what
that led to. And this happened in the countries that were considered to be the
freest. I won’t mention the open savagery reached in countries that even more fully
smothered the individual’s life.

Now, I’m a businessman. I serve as a senator
just as a juror serves in a court case: for a limited time and purpose. My job
in the senate is part time. Because the state we have today can’t make any laws
that interfere with commerce, I don’t have a whole lot of committees to meet
with or legislation to pass. No big shots or special groups take me out to
lunch, invite me to parties, give me expensive gifts, or try to slip me money
under the table, because I can wield no power over their lives. Who am I to
tell any of you how to live? It’s not my place to tell you what schools to send
your kids to, what compensation to accept for your work, or how to spend your
money. That’s all your business, just as it’s not your place to tell me what products
to make in my plant, or how much to charge for them. You should not have to bail
me out with your taxpayers’ money if I fail, or be able to rob me of my profits
if I succeed. And if any of us has problems or misfortunes, we seek private
help that’s given to us voluntarily. We don’t think it’s right to pick our
neighbors’ pockets to help us out, or to elect a representative to do that for
us. That’s the way things now run here on Earth.

But back then there were many wars
between the two opposing forces because they could not coexist. Then a hundred
years ago, there was one final struggle, called the Great Clash. This conflict
had the highest stakes of all, because the winner was to claim the Earth and
the loser was to be banished forever. It was the Individuals who prevailed in
the Great Clash and thereby won the Earth. At that fateful time a century ago,
which history calls the Reckoning, they banished the Meddlers. And the people
of Earth took sides.

Many went with the Meddlers. Some
were misguided, but others had different motives. Those with an appetite for
wielding power over people knew where their bread was buttered. And those who
dreamed of obtaining, in one way or another, a guarantee against life’s risks—a
way to avoid the responsibility of governing their own lives, a way to be taken
care of, a way to further their own lives by controlling their fellow
citizens—those people went with the Meddlers. However, those believing that people
are the masters of their own lives stayed with the Individuals. Those believing
it was their right—and glory—to run their own affairs, to deal with one another
as free people not forced or compelled, and to keep what they had earned,
remained with the Individuals.

Today the outcome of this great
battle is obvious for everyone to see. Earth is thriving with the greatest
level of production, advancement, and prosperity ever known. The Meddlers and
their followers had their chance. They took with them the plants, animals,
food, equipment, and supplies they needed to start life over on a newly
discovered planet, a place that was the jewel of the galaxy, a fertile land
with a mild climate and superb conditions for human life. But they purged our
names and customs from their history. They tried to hide from their later
generations any knowledge of the kind of society we offered. And they vilified
us and blamed us for the problems they caused themselves. They did not heed our
advice that in order to survive and thrive, people must be left free. The
Meddlers have turned their jewel of a planet into a wound on the face of the
galaxy, and we denounce them for their evil ways. Perhaps the most startling
difference of all between the two clashing worlds is that the banished achieved
only misery, but the people of the Earth achieved happiness. The great lesson
we learned from the Reckoning is:
If your destination is happiness, freedom
is the fuel to take you there.

So, ladies and gentlemen, that is the
story of Planet Earth. We celebrate the Reckoning because it is the birthday of
Earth as a planet that truly supports human life.

He paused, smiling, as the audience
applauded.

Let us now continue our program with
a song we play each year in tribute to our ancestors, whom we have to thank for
our way of life today. They had the courage to defend our freedom. They had the
daring to fight for our liberty. And they had the prowess to banish the
Meddlers forever to the planet of Asteron!

The senator’s final word
reverberated through my mind, leaving no room in my awareness for anything
else. The band began to play a stirring melody, but I was only dimly conscious
of it. I do not know how long I stood at that spot in the shade of the hangar,
staring vacantly into space.