The Hidden Truth: A Science Fiction Techno-Thriller

by Hans G. Schantz

  It was not our day. I presented our affirmative case for RTGs as an alternative energy source. In cross-examination, Sharon blindsided me with a bunch of questions about how unpopular nuclear power was with women. Then, Emma sprung their trap. They conceded the need for RTG, but insisted women would never approve of them because of their strong disapproval of nuclear power. Our approach of approving subsidies for RTGs through the regular democratic system, would never work in the face of this feminine opposition, so they offered a counterplan: they proposed repealing women’s suffrage.

  Emma threw all of Amit’s claims and arguments from the Independence Day party right back at him. She and Sharon had done a remarkable job finding facts and statistics to buttress their case. Women do vote differently than men, they argued, citing a study by John R. Lott, Jr. and Larry Kenny. In her speech, Sharon claimed that women were directly responsible for the growth of the welfare state and its crippling effect on economic growth and progress. Writing in Public Choice, Burton Abrams and Russell F. Settle concluded that the 1971 extension of suffrage to women in Switzerland led to a 28% increase in social welfare spending and increased the overall size of the Swiss government. She had an impressive array of statistics. Overcoming the irrational objections to RTG was only the beginning of the benefits possible from the negative counterplan. By repealing women’s suffrage, we would roll back the oppressive state and launch a new era of growth and prosperity. Sharon almost had me convinced.

  Amit and I made a valiant try in our rebuttals. We both argued for the complete infeasibility of expecting women’s suffrage to be repealed by any significant number of state legislatures, but we were simply unprepared to do much more than argue vaguely for fair play, equality, and justice. They’d caught us absolutely unprepared for any substantive rebuttal. Amit gave an impassioned closing statement, but I was sure we’d lost.

  Mr. Stinson finished scribbling some notes, and finally looked up at the four of us waiting patiently for his pronouncement. “I wish I’d videoed that one,” he said, “because it was one of the most improbable and fascinating debates I’ve ever seen. Where on earth did you get the idea for that counterplan?”

  “A good friend of mine suggested it,” Emma said coyly.

  “You took the Affirmative by complete surprise. They were utterly unprepared for that counterplan and had nothing but cheap rhetorical appeals to equality and justice to offer in opposition. I do agree with the Affirmative’s point that your plan is completely unfeasible because no state legislature is going to act to deny women the vote. Their own plan, however, suffers the same shortcoming given the opposition, irrational or not, to nuclear power. I’m awarding this one to the Negative.”

  We shook hands and congratulated the girls. Despite the loss, I enjoyed spending an entire day thinking about something other than electromagnetic villains and the suppressed Heaviside paper on bouncing waves.

  * * *

  The following Monday was the first day of school. I’d already taken the core math and science classes I needed, so I’d signed up for shop class, drawing, and electronics to fill the gaps in my schedule. Shop class in particular was a fascinating experience. I had shop just before lunch. I showed up a bit early and found a seat.

  “You’re not a shop rat,” said a big guy sitting down right behind me. “What are you doing here?” I had to think to remember his name – Rick. He was on the football team, but I didn’t know much about him, because he wasn’t in my usual classes. And he didn’t seem very friendly.

  “Hi, Rick,” I said. “What do you mean by a ‘shop rat’?”

  “That’s what we all call ourselves,” he explained. “All the guys who take shop every year. What are you doing here?” His question had an edge of hostility to it.

  “Just trying to pick up some useful skills,” I explained, evenly. “I worked as an apprentice electrician last summer for my dad. He’s a contractor, but I never got a chance to learn my way around wood and metal working tools.”

  That seemed to mollify him a bit, and our conversation was interrupted by the bell. Coach Warner, who doubled as the shop teacher, got all our attention very quickly by holding up his hand. He was missing a finger.

  “This is what happens to you if you don’t pay attention in my class,” he said slowly and clearly. “There will be no horsing around, no joking, nothing but absolute attention to what you are doing. A momentary lapse in concentration, and something like this can and will happen to you.”

  The coach had gotten a good way through an introductory safety lecture when there was a loud knock on the classroom door. The shop had Plexiglas panels so folks in the hall could look into the shop and vice versa. As I turned to look, I saw Sheriff Gunn stepping through doorway.

  The room was utterly still and completely silent. The sheriff had everyone’s attention.

  “Please pardon the interruption, coach,” the sheriff said, “but I need to speak with one of your students.” I tried hard to maintain my poker face, but I had a sinking feeling I knew what this was about.

  “Of course, Sheriff,” Coach Warner said. “Which one?”

  “You,” the sheriff said pointing right at me, his eyes boring a hole through mine. “Come. With me.” I left my books and calmly stood up and followed the sheriff out into the hallway. I figured he was going to lead me to the principal’s office, but no. He closed the door and stood looming over me, uncomfortably close.

  “So,” the sheriff asked, “when did you start smoking?”

  Chapter 8: Back to School

  Looking back, I think Sheriff Gunn arranged the surprise interview to try to keep me off balance. In the time it took to walk to the principal’s office I’d have had plenty of opportunity to collect my thoughts, figure out what to say, and calm down. Thanks to my discussion with Mr. Burke, though, I was ready, and I knew what I had to do.

  I returned the sheriff’s gaze and forced myself to remain impassive. “I have no comment.”

  “It can’t have been long ago you started smoking,” the sheriff continued. “Your teeth are pearly white, your fingers clear of nicotine stains, and your clothes don’t reek of stale smoke. We had a little trouble at the truck stop down by the interstate a couple weeks ago. You may have heard?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  “You see, son,” he began in a patronizing manner, “my deputies saw you and Amit drive right on past the truck stop not long after the feds raided the place. So I poked around a bit. The feds grabbed up all the surveillance video for anywhere around that exit. There was Amit’s car arriving just about the time the ‘cyber-terror’ attack started. The feds spoke with the convenience store clerk. They ‘discovered’ your underage smoking, and since a couple of kids aren’t what they’re looking for, they foisted your case off to the locals – that would be me – so they could spend their ever much more valuable time and their ever much more sophisticated professional investigative resources pursuing more credible leads.”

  He hadn’t asked a question, so I continued to exercise my right to remain silent. I looked him in the eye, and did my best to appear completely unconcerned.

  “Now, I know your parents,” the sheriff said, “and I know Amit’s father. Both of you, you and Amit, you were raised right by good folks. You’re both of you too damn smart to start in on smoking. You’re just not the type. I’d sooner believe you were both cyber-terrorists before I’d believe you were smokers. This ‘cyber-terror’ crap Homeland Security and the FBI are shoveling is every bit as much bullshit as you and Amit being secret smokers. Which is why you and I are having this little conversation about your disturbing proclivity for juvenile delinquency, and why I’m here counselling you on the evils of tobacco instead of you and Amit having your asses hauled down to Knoxville for the feds to be grilling you about your ‘cyber-terror.’”

  Sheriff Gunn paused, his eyes boring into mine. I held my poker face, and I willed myself to be calm. I decided now was as good a time to test the waters as any,
so after a long and awkward silence, I finally asked, “Am I free to go?”

  The sheriff gave me a thin grin. “I got my eye on you, boy. You’ll be talking to me, or you’ll be talking to the feds. You think on it, now, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered matter-of-factly. He turned and walked away. I’d bet anything he was heading off to see Amit if that hadn’t been his first stop. I quietly opened the door and returned to my seat. Coach Warner handed me an information sheet, then studiously ignored me and continued smoothly with his safety and orientation.

  When class was over, I collected my things and began heading to the cafeteria to try to find Amit. “Hey,” Rick stopped me. “What was that about with you and the sheriff?” There were a half dozen shop rats all standing around us waiting intently for me to answer.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Let’s get some lunch, and we’ll talk.” They agreed, and we all headed to the cafeteria together and got our lunches. Apparently, they had their own special table in the corner where they all sat, and today, I was the guest of honor.

  “The sheriff thought I might be smoking,” I explained.

  “Were you?” Rick asked.

  “I’ll tell you just what I told the sheriff: I have no comment.” They all seemed to get a kick out of that. Sheriff Gunn intimidated everyone, them and me included. From their point of view though, the sheriff had come to work me over. I stood my ground, and I’d made him back down and walk away. In retrospect, the sheriff couldn’t have done a better job of securing my status with the shop rats and their crowd if he’d tried.

  I relayed the lessons that Mr. Burke had taught me. I covered interrogation techniques, good-cop-bad-cop, all the details I could remember. Don’t answer any questions, I told them. If pressed, ask to have your parents and a lawyer present. Pick the right moment and ask, “Am I free to go?”

  “That’s what I finally did,” I concluded. “It was a bit risky. If he actually had something on me, he could have arrested me and taken me away. Of course, he’d have arrested me eventually anyway if he actually had evidence. Clearly he didn’t, because he let me go.” I had a feeling the sheriff was not going to be pleased when he discovered how well prepared the shop rats were for his next interrogation. He might even figure out who’d tutored them. Tough. I was getting really tired of the sheriff pushing me around and it was time for a little push back in my own way.

  They all started sharing their own stories of run-ins with the sheriff. By the time lunch was over, I was in with the shop rat crowd. I was worried, though, that I hadn’t seen any sign of Amit. I finally caught up with him in electronics class after lunch.

  Amit had a private lunch with Sheriff Gunn in the vice principal’s office. I guess since the bad cop routine hadn’t worked with me he went all good cop on Amit. He was ever so concerned about Amit running with a bad crowd, i.e., me. Amit’s parents would be so extremely disappointed with him if he got in trouble after they’d worked ever so hard to build a life here. If Amit didn’t confide in the sheriff, matters would soon be beyond the sheriff’s control. The sheriff wouldn’t be able to protect him, and he’d be facing years in a federal prison. Hardened criminals and felons would be eager to commit unspeakable acts on his tender young body. “They take terrorism very seriously,” the sheriff had assured him. “They might even extradite you to a secret interrogation camp where you’d never be heard of again.” Amit had listened politely and no commented his way through all the questions. Finally, he said, “If you’d like to interrogate me, I’ll be wanting a lawyer. Otherwise, I’m going to be late to class. Am I free to go?” The sheriff had given him a final admonishment to decide whether he’d like to speak with the sheriff or with the feds and then let him go.

  We’d hardly had a chance to get started in electronics when class was interrupted by an announcement that all students were to proceed to the gym for an unscheduled assembly. That was unprecedented in my experience at Sherman High. Mr. Martin, our electronics teacher, seemed similarly surprised, but advised us to go on to the assembly.

  The principal introduced an FBI agent who addressed the assembly telling us all about the cyber-terror attack. The terrorists had been trying to hack into TVA’s Cove Creek nuclear plant, maybe even try to make it melt down, the agent explained. The whole region could have been covered with fallout and we’d have had to evacuate.

  Why the terrorists felt the need to go to a truck stop nearby the Cove Creek plant instead of, oh, use the Internet from some much safer location further away was not explained.

  Sheriff Gunn was standing behind the FBI agent. He scanned the crowd until he caught sight of Amit and me. Calm, poker face, no reaction, I told myself. His gaze rested on us as the FBI agent explained how the terrorists used a directional antenna to tap into wireless networks. What was it with Pringles can antennas? The picture the agent showed looked just like our set-up. The agent advised us all to be on the lookout for suspicious activity. Maybe the terrorists were just passing through. Maybe they were among us. We were all told, “If you see something, say something,” and then the principal ordered us back to class.

  “Just great,” Amit was muttering. “I can’t wait for more opportunities to explain the difference between Indians and Arabs to more bigots.” Then he looked at me directly. “I think my folks and I better come over to your folks’ place for dinner. We need to talk.”

  I agreed, and I took the liberty of extending the invitation on my family’s behalf.

  * * *

  We held our first council of war that evening. Of course, none of us at the time realized that was what it was, let alone exactly what we were up against. Dad thought Uncle Rob’s place might offer better privacy. I’d called Amit and casually invited him and his folks to dinner at 7pm up at Robber Dell. Mrs. Patel couldn’t make it – someone had to keep an eye on the hotel. In attendance were my folks, Uncle Rob, Amit, Mr. Patel, and of course, me – the six of us. We shared a couple of takeout pizzas in Uncle Rob’s double wide and discussed the situation.

  Amit and I began by relating the day’s events and our run-in with the sheriff. “You boys did good,” Dad said. “Exactly what Mr. Burke advised. The question is, do we arrange a meeting with the sheriff?”

  “Absolutely not,” my mother insisted. “Sheriff Gunn is not to be trusted.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Uncle Rob countered. “He clearly understands that the FBI and Homeland Security are lying about this cyber-terror business. He could be an ally in figuring out what’s actually going on and who these people are.”

  “He could also turn our boys over to the FBI, or whoever these people are,” Amit’s father observed.

  “The only interests Sheriff Gunn has are his own,” Mom insisted. “He will sit on this secret until such time as it is clearly to his advantage to tell someone. He won’t do so until he understands what’s going on. I think it’s unlikely he’ll figure everything out before we do, since we’re already several steps ahead of him. Help him by disclosing what we know, and it only gives him more leverage over us. There’s no rush to confide in the sheriff. Count on it.”

  “There’s something else you all should know,” Amit broke in. “I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone, yet.” He handed us each a sheet of paper:

  Incident Report: Sherman Nexus (Category III),

  Sherman, TN

  Summary: Unknown person or persons investigated online sources relevant to Xueshu Quan technology management project. Incident correlated with detection of a Nexus, potentially as severe as Category III. Incident may be connected with recent unauthorized disclosure of Xueshu Quan technology management project in Houston. Situation now appears under control, however investigation ongoing to identify suspects and potential connection.

  Details: Unknown person or persons investigated online sources relevant to Xueshu Quan. Searches correlated to proscribed publication acquisition list for Heaviside wave interaction paper and unauthorized disclosures thereof in per
iod literature. Security compromised suspect’s computer with exploit package to relay IP address outside secured Tor channel. Security traced IP address to locations near Sherman, TN. Suspect investigated publications describing fundamental electromagnetics outside safe paradigms. Suspect only secured approved, redacted, and sanitized copies through Omnitia and other sources. However, search pattern closely targeted specific works relevant to suppressed Heaviside analysis on wave interaction. Search terms and order of search consistent with suspect having access to proscribed publication acquisition list distributed to trusted used book dealers by Xueshu Quan. Timing of Sherman incident correlates to phone call to suppressed person of interest in Houston incident.

  Notified Homeland Security, FBI, state and local law enforcement, and our Quick Response Team, characterizing suspect activity as ongoing cyber-terror attack. Suspect evaded capture and remains at large. Suspect active twice in vicinity, but unknown whether suspect is resident of area or transient. Investigation focusing on local area.

  Remote Nexus sensing further detected a Category III Nexus. Proximity to TVA’s Cove Creek nuclear facility and Oak Ridge National Lab suggests reading may be a measurement error due to artificially induced neutrino flux. Latest area measurements show negligible levels and no Nexus.

  Recommendations:

  Review security of proscribed publication acquisition list to prevent future leaks.

  Perform a local Nexus sweep of Sherman, TN and surrounding area.

  “So there actually is a secret paper by Heaviside on wave interactions,” I noted. “We were right about that all along.”

  “That’s obviously just the tip of a much larger iceberg,” Dad observed.

  “Mighty peculiar way to write a report,” Uncle Rob commented.

  “What I want to know is how on Earth did you get this?” I asked Amit. “Where is this from?”