by Jacob Gowans
“Montgomery refused. Crestan tried and tried to convince him to cooperate, but he was adamant that he wanted the death penalty to complete his martyrdom. About two days before his sentencing, Crestan visited him in prison. She’d set her mind on persuading him to talk. What she found was a completely different Montgomery than the one she’d come to know. Instead of the uncooperative braggart, he was quiet and soft spoken—Crestan thought he even seemed scared.
“Naturally, she interpreted this as willingness to cooperate, so she pressed him on the issue, but Montgomery still wouldn’t budge. In the end, he was sentenced to death—it was what he wanted—even though Crestan did everything she could to prevent it. But he stayed his mad, crazy-talking self, right until the end when he rode the electric chair to hell.”
The pencil did a little dance across Thomas’ fingers. Sammy was impressed with how well he could make it move. Everyone watched the pencil for a moment while Thomas chose his next words. It reminded Sammy of the commander, who often seemed to carefully pick the best word to say in a conversation.
“Even after Montgomery’s execution, which happened in record-breaking speed, I might add, that day stuck with Crestan. She got to thinking that maybe there could be more to him than just a psycho. She contacted an old friend from law school. Henrico Garcia. They started looking deeper into Montgomery’s association with pro-NWG groups. None of them had taken credit for the bombing. They started to wonder how Montgomery had financed his terrorism. When Crestan and Henrico confronted Montgomery’s widow, things went from strange to crazy.
“She lived in the same house she’d been at before her husband got arrested. Six kids, ages ranging from two or three to thirteen, I can’t remember the details. She didn’t work, but the kids were all wearing decent clothes and looked fed. Where was she getting the money from? Crestan already knew Mrs. Montgomery from handling her husband’s case, but the widow had refused to testify for or against her husband. He’d wanted it that way.”
Sammy could tell Thomas was getting excited by the way the pencil waltzed around his fingers in a near blur. Thomas didn’t seem to notice it at all.
“When Crestan and Henrico went down to Santa Fe to visit the Montgomery’s, they almost weren’t let inside. It took every bit of persuasion they had just to get her to open the door. Crestan told me the widow looked terrible, like she’d aged twenty years in just two. She let them in with a cigarette in hand, and smoked every moment they were there. Crestan told Mrs. Montgomery everything: her suspicions about the funding of Lark’s terrorism, his breakdown before the sentencing, everything. Crestan didn’t tell Mrs. Montgomery this, but she believed the NWG had somehow directly contacted Lark and used him as a lone wolf, promising him money for his family.
“Boy was she wrong! When Crestan spilled her guts to the widow, Mrs. Montgomery got up and closed all the blinds in the room. Then she sat back down right next to Crestan and Henrico so she could whisper in their ears.
“‘They’re watching me . . . always,’ she told them. ‘They must be watching you now, too. Don’t come here again.’
“Crestan was skeptical and asked the widow to be more specific, but the woman just shook her head like a frightened child.”
“Weird,” Toad said.
“Crestan couldn’t leave it alone. Their investigation focused on proving Lark had been funded by NWG operatives, but the deeper they went the more they learned about Lark’s past. When Lark Montgomery had attended the University of Utah, he had a roommate named Jeffrey Markorian, a strange man well-placed in the Continental Security Department. Flight manifests placed Markorian in Santa Fe six months, three months, and one month before the bombing in Mexico City. He also visited Montgomery in prison the day before Crestan had noticed that strange, reserved behavior.”
“Did they go public with their knowledge?” Sammy asked.
“They never had a person to pin it on. Coincidental evidence only, but no traces of money. How Mrs. Montgomery was feeding and clothing her family, Crestan never found out. Nine months after they visited the widow, Henrico’s house blew sky high with most of his family in it. Gas leak, they called it. Always a gas leak. Henrico would have been in there, too, except he’d gone outside to feed the dog with his oldest son. He immediately went into hiding, and Crestan’s family joined him with some extended family and friends. Those thirty people were the spark of the resistance. It started in Mexico and spread north and south.
“Why put the headquarters in Wichita?” Sammy asked.
“It was practically a ghost city by then. Isolated. People travel through it, but almost no one stops.”
“But you—I mean, Commander Byron grew up here. He told me so. And the Scourge was fifty years ago!”
“Right—right. You gotta remember, some places just . . . emptied out. Other places suffered slower deaths. Wichita tried to hang on, but it was a losing battle. Most of the Mid-America is ghost now. It’s cheap farmland. Those empty towns you walked through, they’ll be knocked down someday to grow more crop.”
“But what you were talking about before . . .” Toad said, “Are you saying the CAG bombed itself?”
Thomas wasn’t smiling now. He dropped the pencil onto the desk where it rolled until it hit the mug. Several other resistance fighters walked by in a group talking about basketball. Two of them said hello to Thomas and went on.
“You weren’t alive then. It’s hard to explain why it makes sense.”
“Try us,” Sammy said with a touch of annoyance that Thomas heard.
The older man didn’t hesitate to apologize.
“I don’t mean you boys are dumb!” He laughed, but it felt forced, as if he wanted to be happy, but just couldn’t make it. “I think the CAG hired Lark Montgomery. He studied acting, of all things, at college. Add to that he’d racked up lots of debt with his gambling addiction and couldn’t get good work because of his conservative political leanings . . . Yeah, I think the CAG hired him for three reasons: to unify the country’s resolve, to make everyone afraid of the NWG, and to consolidate power federally.
“By the time Crestan and the others went into hiding, they’d already made contacts through online forums and groups. Some of them were conspiracy theorists or others who had written about similar things happening. Not many, but a few. With those people making new contacts and networking through trusted family members or friends, they had almost a hundred people after their first year. Some joined the group by going into hiding, others stayed home and went about their normal lives. It just depended on their situations.
“The resistance peaked in 2075. Lara and I joined that year. Five thousand members, eighteen branches. Crestan and Henrico turned out to be geniuses when it came to operating something that big completely under the radar. They had people above ground networking through jobs and neighbors and family. Those in hiding were underground, not always literally, of course, but you get the idea. It was too risky to be communicating from branch to branch through any traceable routes like coms or internet, so they used pigeons with messages implanted under the skin.
“One of the resistance’s goals was to reach out to the NWG, but in 2074 Congress passed the Safety Laws, making travel and communication out of America extremely difficult.”
“Weren’t people bothered by that?” Sammy asked.
“It bothered me and Lara.” Thomas shrugged and picked up the pencil again. “Others? Not as much as you’d expect. By then there’d been so many terrorist acts, or attempted acts by so-called terrorists, people were scared out of their minds. You’d be surprised how many folks will trade their freedom to feel safe.”
Sammy had heard enough. He wanted to talk about getting home. Before he could bring up the subject, Bryce Vogt walked into the area. His clothes were different. Instead of the poor man’s garb, he wore a long white coat over a dress shirt and pants. The scruffy beard was gone.
“What’s up, Doc?” Thomas asked, replacing the pencil in the mug.
�
�Time for the physicals,” Dr. Vogt said to the boys. To Byron he added, “You also need to see about cleaning up that tourist shop they broke into. They’re wanted by the CAG and their prints are all over that.”
“Physical?” Toad repeated, straightening up in his chair. “I don’t need a physical.”
Thomas waved his hand at him to calm down. “Just a precaution like I mentioned earlier. For our own good as much as yours.”
“Come with me, Toad,” Bryce called over his shoulder as he walked back to the stairs. “I’ll see you first.”
Toad shot Sammy with a questioning look, as if he needed Sammy’s approval.
“You better go,” Sammy told him, “or they’ll make you.”
Toad rolled his eyes and hurried after the doctor.
“See if they can’t figure out what’s wrong with your nose!” he called after him.
Sammy watched them go, then gave his attention back to Thomas. “Is there any chance you can help me get back home?”
Thomas leaned forward, and made a sort of grimace. “I’m not surprised you asked. I figured you would. Truth is, I don’t really know. Things have changed a lot since the seventies. Everyone here is afraid; afraid to act, afraid of getting caught, afraid of what happened to our resistance in 2075. Crestan, Henrico, and many, many others . . . all dead. We all know what happened to the ones who were caught. It’s how the CAG brought down most of the old organization. Tortured until they got everything they could get.”
A chill ran through Sammy’s body, and he felt like he was on fire. An icy fire. The pain in his leg flared up again until he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the crocodile biting his leg.
Thomas must have misinterpreted Sammy’s expression for disappointment. “I swear, Sammy, I’ll do what I can, but you’ll need to be patient with us. Okay? Things happen here, just more slowly than I’d like.”
“Sure. And I’ll do what I can for you and the resistance.”
Thomas drew very close to Sammy as though he wanted to say something very private, then he pulled away. For a moment, his eyes were full of pain and the lines in his face seemed to go much deeper. The emotion present between them was intimate and unspoken, but it connected Sammy to Thomas in a similar way he’d felt connected to Commander Byron. He sensed that Thomas was carrying a very heavy burden and was unwilling to share it.
“Well, there’s one thing you can do for me, at least. I hope I’m not asking too much . . .”
“What’s that?”
Thomas smiled wistfully with tears in his eyes. “Could you show me some of the stuff my son taught you to do? It’s been ages since I’ve seen it.”
Sammy smiled, then laughed. And laughing felt real good.
20. Hollow
March 25, 2086
“GOOD MORNING, PSIONS. Good morning, Psions. Good morning, Psions.”
Jeffie heard Strawberry stirring above her.
“I hate Mondays,” Jeffie said into her pillow. “Why am I such an idiot?”
She and a few others, including Kobe, stayed up past 0200 playing Pistols of Fury, a virtual first-person shooter. It was fun, and she liked winning. That was her excuse. It seemed no matter how many times she awoke regretting those late Sunday nights, she found a way to justify doing it the next weekend.
Last night, after everyone else had left for bed, Kobe tried to talk to her again. It wasn’t like she did not enjoy talking to him, but he wanted to have serious discussions. Her solution was to avoid the subject until she was too tired to think and had no problem telling him that she needed to go to bed. It was a cycle that repeated itself weekly.
Stumbling on shaky legs across the room, she rubbed her face and combed her fingers through her hair. When she flipped on the light, the voice stopped.
“Good morning, Psion!” Strawberry said in an overly-bubbly voice, hanging over the side of her bed.
Jeffie laughed even though Strawberry said it to her almost every morning.
The morning routine was so ingrained, Jeffie didn’t even think about it. She grabbed her com and checked for messages. After three weeks of no word about her and Brickert’s request to have access to Sammy’s holo-records she was beginning to think that the commander either forgot or didn’t want to tell them no. This morning, however, she saw a message in her inbox. She wasted no time opening it.
Gefjon,
Please see me during lunch. Sim room four.
CWB
Great, she thought, now I won’t be able to concentrate on instruction.
While Strawberry went straight upstairs to breakfast, Jeffie was scheduled to exercise. Kobe watched her come in as he jogged next to Kaden. She considered ignoring him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She flashed him a friendly smile and gave him a sign to wait a minute. After scanning in, the computer gave her a recommended workout, and she joined Kobe on the treadmills.
A screen in front of them showed the world news. The big reports of the morning revolved around more rumors of a possible moon colony and an upcoming address by the NWG president about new regulations on stem cell research and cloning.
“Morn . . . ing . . .” Kobe puffed out as he sprinted.
“Good morning.” She started out with a brisk walk to get her blood flowing. “I don’t know how you get up so early after keeping me up so late.”
A wry smile grew on Kobe’s face. “I sleep better . . . after late nights . . . with you.”
Jeffie blushed and closed her eyes. While she enjoyed Kobe’s attention and certainly recognized his good looks, she hated the guilt she felt when she was with him. They exercised side by side in silence for a couple minutes as her walk turned into a jog. Not long after she reached full pace, Brickert entered the room and took the empty treadmill on her left.
“What do you think?” The excitement in his voice told her exactly what Brickert was referring to.
Jeffie silently told Brickert to say nothing more by shaking her head with wide eyes, but it was too late.
“Think . . . about . . . what?” Kobe asked. Kaden seemed interested, too.
“Oh—nothing.” Jeffie response came too quick and she immediately regretted it.
After an uncomfortable pause, Brickert replied in a cool tone. “Don’t worry about it. It’s personal.”
“Oh . . . sorry,” Kobe responded.
Brickert wouldn’t say anything else. The tension between Kobe and Brickert was evident. When Jeffie tried to make conversation, it felt strained. She didn’t like being secretive around Kobe, and she liked Brickert’s blatant rudeness even less. The awkwardness made the workout session pass slowly enough that she actually looked forward to her instructions.
After grabbing a protein shake—something Kobe had gotten her to start eating—she hit the showers and went to instructions.
Four hours of physics.
Trying to master the basics of special relativity and four-dimensional equations was the absolute worst. It required her full attention, but with the impending meeting with the commander, she was unable to give even half of it.
Brickert stood outside her classroom door, startling her when she exited.
“Sorry. Ready?”
She nodded and walked with him to the stairwell.
“And I’m sorry about earlier,” he added, “but aren’t we supposed to keep quiet about what we’re asking from Commander Byron?”
“Oh please, Brickert,” she answered. “Do you really think I don’t know why you said what you did?”
“I’m not answering that,” he said with his face pointed at the floor.
“Brickert . . .” She had a pleading note in her voice.
“No! I’m not getting into that conversation with you again.”
“Fine!”
“Aren’t you worried Kobe’s going to find out what you’re doing with me?”
Jeffie tripped and banged her knee on the next highest step. “Ouch!” she cried out. Then, through gritted teeth, she said, “I’m not worried about
him.”
“Jeffie,” Brickert said, cutting off her thoughts with a placating voice, “I know Kobe’s got the hots for you. I’m not blind, I tell you.”
“I’m not worried . . .”
Brickert’s blue eyes reproached her halfway through her sentence.
“Really!” she insisted. “Sheesh . . .”
Brickert was a lost cause when it came to Kobe. Not only did he seem to blame Kobe for Sammy’s “absence,” but he also nursed a deep grudge for being teased incessantly when they had been “pukes.” Even though Kobe wasn’t like that anymore, Jeffie couldn’t get Brickert to see it.
They continued up the stairs and through the chalk white halls to sim room four. Byron was waiting inside. He’d set up the room just like their last meeting.
“Have a seat.”
Jeffie couldn’t tell by the expression on his face whether he had good news or bad, but her stomach lurched. Why am I nervous? She folded her arms across her lap, trying to appear indifferent. Then she thought it might not be in her best interest to look indifferent, so she put her hands at her sides until finally settling with linking her fingers back in her lap.
“I am sorry it has taken so long—” Byron began to say.
“It’s okay,” Jeffie responded, while Brickert said at the same time, “No big deal.”
The commander gave them one of his knowing smiles that always frustrated Jeffie. Still, she took his smile as a good sign.
“It took some convincing at Command, and then again with General Wu, but . . .”
Jeffie gasped. “You got permission!”
Commander Byron’s face told her he had.