“How is Captain Byers?” the Major asked.
“Still in a lot of pain. We took him straight to surgery this morning. The surgeon thinks he may never fully recover the use of his right arm.”
“It’s not that I have no sympathy,” the Major said curtly, “but he’s reaping the results of his own shortsighted stupidity. Well, either way, he is now relieved of his command.”
Nicole looked up quickly. The Major’s impatience with shoddy performance was legendary, but Bruce Byers was one of the original Guardians and second in command to the Major.
“Go on,” the Major commanded, prodding Travis out of his own evident shock at Byers’s dismissal.
“Well, that essentially set the course of events. Eric slipped away and ambushed the convoy a few minutes later with a satchel of dynamite. We lost three men there, with nine others seriously injured, and, of course, one of the trucks. Eric then joined the others at the bridge and told them what was happening. That ended all hopes of a peaceful meeting. They were waiting in ambush for the column, and we lost six more in the first volley. Lieutenant Carter, who had taken over from Byers, returned fire, and the battle was on. We lost four more men in the next two hours, with several others wounded. We also lost another truck when they blew the bridge out from under it.”
The Major slammed his fist against the table. “Thirteen dead, nearly two dozen wounded. And all because of sloppy execution of orders. This is intolerable!”
“How many villagers were killed?” Nicole broke in, watching the weariness etch deeper in Travis’s face.
“Six. Some of the best men in the village.”
“But how?” Nicole asked. “Strict orders were issued to put the weapons on stun capacity only.”
“Both Byers and Carter swear they never rescinded that order. But evidently, some of the men took it upon themselves to open up to full power.” Travis’s eyes were dark. “And who can blame them when they were under fire like that? Remember, they lost six, but we lost thirteen!”
“And for nothing!” the Major snapped. “That’s the tragedy.”
Travis took a deep breath and then looked up. “As you know, I was in radio contact with the group the chopper let off about twenty miles south of the valley. That was two days before Byers was spotted, and I had led them into position in the foothills overlooking the village. Once the others left, we took the village easily. That was when Eric returned and told me what was happening at the river. I took immediate action, but it was too late to do much except end it quickly.”
“You did well, Travis,” the Major said, leaning forward in his chair. “I should have had you take over the column from the first. Byers is obviously getting too old for a field command.” He shrugged off the thought, his irritation slowly fading. “So tell me about the village,” he added gently, sensing Travis’s discouragement. “They seem to have been quite well off compared to others we’ve found.”
“Yes. Eric’s father, Karl Lloyd, was in the Army, in the—”
“Colonel Karl Lloyd?”
“Yes, sir, did you know him?”
“Knew of him. He had a brilliant reputation among all the services. Perhaps the best chemist we had. And he was killed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah,” the Major sighed. “That is a tragedy.”
“He was a fine man, sir. Anyway, he had concluded that the nations had lost their senses. He resigned his commission and gathered a small group of others around him. They started preparing for what was coming. They purchased a large ranch in the upper part of what was then Star Valley, Wyoming. They took classes in wilderness survival, collected books on basic skills, even began looking for equipment that did not depend on petroleum, and so on. Unfortunately, it hit sooner than they expected.”
“Sooner than any of us expected,” the Major added sadly. “But then who could have predicted the total insanity we saw?”
“Well, he called it pretty close, except for the timing. He predicted that once it began, everyone would unleash everything they had in the ensuing chaos. He also guessed correctly that nuclear strikes would not be the only danger, that chemical and biological warheads would be as common as nuclear ones. And so he chose his spot well. Star Valley had no industrial or military sites close by. It was relatively isolated, hidden between two substantial mountain ranges, and the prevailing air currents would carry much of the fallout away from them. Even then the group roughed it out through the winter in the mountains. Lloyd’s wife died of pneumonia, and they lost several others. I guess it was pretty bad. Eric was six at the time. When spring finally came, they decided the valley was finally safe, so they moved down.”
“Then the valley didn’t escape being hit?” Nicole broke in.
“Yes and no. There were no direct strikes, but some biological agents and radioactive fallout drifted in from the west. Not a great amount, but sufficient to decimate the valley’s population. When the Lloyd group finally moved in, they picked up about thirty or forty survivors who were still there.”
“And so they set up their own community?” the Major asked.
“Yes. The men Karl Lloyd had persuaded to join him were all top-notch in every way. Dr. Cameron was a leading neurosurgeon. Monroe Wilson was an electrical engineer. Ralph Maddox owned a major machine and tool business, and so on. But it was more than the skills. Lloyd wouldn’t take anyone who wasn’t outstanding in his personal character as well. Most were deeply religious and active in church. They had to be strong family men, men of integrity—the best kinds of people. Karl Lloyd often said, as he told me about their survival, that if God hadn’t taken a direct hand in their lives, they would never have made it. That commitment to God influenced the whole village. Every Sunday, all work stopped. Everyone went to church, then spent the rest of the day with their families.”
Nicole studied Travis’s face, touched by the obvious feelings he felt for the people he had helped to capture. “You said Eric has two younger sisters?” she asked.
“Yes, half-sisters actually. Karl Lloyd married one of the women from the valley after several years. She had lost all of her family in the sickness. She’s a very fine woman too.”
“And technologically?”
“Oh, they built a small generating plant on the river to provide their basic electrical needs. Once the surrounding areas were decontaminated, they made scavenging trips to nearby towns and villages, such as Idaho Falls and Logan. They brought back commodities that they could not manufacture themselves—light bulbs, medical supplies, tools, and equipment. They also gleaned the best books from several libraries to help in the education of their children. They even raided a video shop. For years they had a video tape recorder, with about two dozen movies on tape, but gradually it wore out and the tapes gave out. They still talk about the old movies.”
“So other than a minimal level of technology,” the Major said, “they were essentially a nineteenth-century farming community.”
“That’s right. All in all, they lived very well off the land, both through farming and hunting.”
The Major stood up. “Great!” he said enthusiastically. “Some excellent farmers are exactly what we need. And won’t it be a thrill for them to have tractors and electric pumps for irrigation!”
“You do plan to send most of them to Serenity, don’t you?” Travis asked.
“All of them. I had originally planned to use three or four men from the village, but I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “We need the men too badly for farming. If we hadn’t lost those six—”
“We also lost thirteen Guardians,” Travis reminded him.
“Yes, I know. But we have the other villages we are working on right now. If all goes well, we’ll obtain sufficient replacements for the Guardians from them. Right now we desperately need help in getting Serenity fully operational, or we’re going to lose the wheat harvest. So all of the villagers will be implanted. Except for the Lloyd boy, of course. He’s exactly what we have been looking for.”
He turned to Nicole and smiled. “Are you ready for a real challenge?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“Good. Travis won’t be much good to us on this one.” He turned to him. “The boy will blame you for his father. You know him best, but you’ll have to work from the background.”
“Yes,” Travis agreed. “I still feel terrible about that.”
“I know. But you aren’t to blame. You did a great job for us.” He clapped Travis on the shoulders. “I want you to take a couple of days off before you take over your new command.”
Travis’s head jerked up. “Command, sir?”
The Major waved his hand impatiently, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, of course. Byers’s command. Who did you think I would give it to?”
Before Travis could respond, he turned to Nicole. “I want you to work on Lloyd directly with me. He’s too important to me to botch up. We’ll begin Friday.”
Chapter 5
With a groan, Eric pulled himself up into a sitting position and grabbed his head to keep it from rolling onto the floor. Then he stared at the blue expanse of sky in front of him. Why was a white washbowl hanging in midair? And a mirror? Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, he recognized the bloodshot eyes and stubble-strewn face staring back at him. But why a mirror in the middle of the sky?
With a sigh he decided it was a problem of infinite complexity and limited interest. He collapsed back onto the bed, noting with fuzzy satisfaction that the sink and mirror rolled out of sight. Now he saw only the sun. He blinked. It was a tiny sun, shaped like a light bulb. The thought wrenched his eyes into focus, and he jerked to a sitting position again. It was a light bulb, protruding from a ceiling of the same sky-blue color as the walls.
He shook his head to clear the fog smothering his mind and began to reexamine his surroundings, this time more slowly. A small bar on the side of the washbowl held a set of dark blue towels. Above the basin on a small wooden shelf sat a shaving mug, a hairbrush, a safety razor, a bar of hand soap, a toothbrush.
He looked down, his mind clearing slowly. He was sitting on a cot built into the wall. A navy blue blanket was tucked neatly under the mattress, and near the top was a gleaming white pillow, slightly rumpled. A simple wooden stool sat near the head of the bed. To his right, a bright blue metal door stood slightly ajar. He leaned over to see through it and noted a small room with a shower stall and toilet. Just beyond the door, a rod below a shelf held several hangers with clothing that looked vaguely familiar to him. Suddenly he realized they were his own clothes. He glanced down and saw that he was still clad in his dark brown shirt and trousers. Somehow that comforted him, yet it puzzled him too.
Shutting his eyes, Eric massaged his temples gently with his fingertips. Then he stood up and moved over to the mirror to stare at himself, noting the gauntness of his face and his bloodshot eyes. He ran his hand quickly through his hair, then scratched at the heavy black stubble on his jaw. He needed a shave badly. His mother would light in on him like a coyote on a wounded rabbit if she saw—Finally the circuits in his brain connected. The village! His family! Cliff! It all came back with stunning clarity—the ambush at the river, Travis Oakes smiling sadly at him just before the hammer blow to the chest took him out. So where in the world…?
He moved instantly toward the far corner of the room. There was a door, but with no knob or latch of any kind. He ran his fingers along the thin crack, but the door was too finely fit. Not even a sheet of paper would slip through.
He sat back down on the cot. Now he understood the thick mud in his head. Somehow he had been drugged and taken away—but where? Obviously far from the village. And what about his family? Were they here too?
Suddenly Eric looked down and stared at his left wrist. Bound snugly around his wrist was a watch with a gold band. His father, Cliff, and a few others in the village had once worn digital watches, though the batteries had given out years before. This watch was slightly larger and thicker than theirs had been, but it was unmistakably a watch. As Eric held it up for a closer look, the numerals 9:18 were sharp and distinct. In the upper corner was a tiny “A.M.” He studied it closely. Two small buttons protruded on the right side. Curious, he pushed the upper one. To his surprise, the numerals disappeared, and bright yellow letters began flowing slowly across the face. TODAY IS TUESDAY, JUNE 5. THE TEMPERATURE IN SHALEV IS 76°, RELATIVE HUMIDITY IS 63%, WINDS ARE OUT OF THE SOUTHWEST AT 4 MPH, BAROMETRIC PRESSURE IS 29.02 AND STEADY. The letters ceased flowing for a moment, then TODAY IS TUESDAY, JUNE 5. THE TEMPERATURE…
Eric released the upper button and pushed the lower. Once again a message moved slowly across the tiny screen. IMPROVEMENTS TO LAKESHORE PARK ARE SCHEDULED TO BE COMPLETED EARLY NEXT WEEK. FURTHER ANNOUNCEMENTS ABOUT THE RIBBON-CUTTING CEREMONIES WILL BE FORTHCOMING…TRAGEDY STRIKES—CARL QUILTON, OF NORTH HEIGHTS, WAS SERIOUSLY MAULED BY A GRIZZLY BEAR WHILE BACKPACKING IN GLACIER PARK. HIS WIFE AND TWO SONS DROVE THE ANIMAL OFF WITH THEIR SCREAMS. QUILTON IS LISTED IN CRITICAL CONDITION AT SHALEV GENERAL HOSPITAL. PARK RANGERS WARNED CAMPERS AND…
Shalev. Eric shook his head. He had heard that name before. Then he remembered. The man who had killed Cliff said they had come from Shalev. Half-baffled, half-fascinated, Eric turned his arm, looking for some kind of clasp, but there was nothing. The watchband was uniformly the same all the way around. He put all four fingers of his right hand under the watch’s face and pulled strongly. A sharp, intermittent buzzing caused him to jump. WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! flashed on and off the face. Then the letters flowed again, only this time they were not yellow, but blood red. THE WRIST COMPUTER CANNOT BE REMOVED. UNDUE PRESSURE ON THE BAND HAS TRIGGERED THIS ALARM. PLEASE RELEASE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY TO AVOID AUTOMATIC PUNISHMENT MODE. The letters winked off, then almost instantly began again. WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!…
Suddenly, as he stared at the flashing thing on his wrist, Eric felt the frustration inside him boil over, and the sharp buzz only infuriated him further. With a yank that dug the band into his flesh, he put his fingers under the band and tried to tear it off his wrist. A sharp gasp exploded from his lips as his left arm suddenly went rigid with pain. His muscles knotted into iron-hard balls of agony, and his arm jerked violently. With a cry of pain he grabbed at his arm. Instantly the agony stopped, and his arm dropped limply into his lap.
Stunned, Eric stared at the innocent-looking little box on his wrist, his chest rising and falling rapidly. THE PUNISHMENT MODE IN YOUR WRIST COMPUTER WAS TRIGGERED BY UNWARRANTED PRESSURE ON THE BAND. TO AVOID FURTHER ELECTRICAL SHOCK, DO NOT PULL THE BAND. The bright red letters repeated the message, then blinked off, and Eric was left staring at the numerals, 9:20, and a tiny “A.M.” in the upper corner.
Madeline Lloyd let out her breath slowly. Judy, their bus driver and guide, a young woman majoring in child development at the University of Shalev, was right. The city was beautiful. No, Madeline amended. It was stunning. Images she had long ago decided would never be seen again in her lifetime were assaulting her senses on every side.
A farm woman all her life, she was still a little dazed by it all. The three-day journey in the trucks had been exhausting, but after they had finally arrived, they were fed a delicious meal, taken to modern quarters, and allowed to shower and then sleep in comfortable beds. As they had on the trip here, the orangeuniformed men continued to closely guard all males fifteen and over and keep them separated from the women and the children, but they promised that the separation would be maintained only one more day, and then the people would be reunited.
At least some will be reunited. Madeline bit her lip and forced her mind away from Karl and the wrenching pain in her heart.
After breakfast, the women and children had been loaded onto buses to begin a tour of the city. At first it had seemed absurdly out of character. On the surface everything was so normal, and yet they were prisoners, ripped from their homes through treachery and death and carted off like so many cattle.
“This is one of
our newest sections of the city,” Judy was saying, cutting into Madeline’s thoughts. “The city council has taken the city, section by section, and replaced all the homes that were here before Termination. It has been an expensive and lengthy project, but now the homes are modern, energy efficient, and attractive places for our people to live. Not only are the houses all heated by electricity, but the cars are electric and virtually all industry is powered by electricity.
“With only about two hundred thousand people in the Alliance of Four Cities—we call it the AFC—we obviously do not have everything as it was before.” She looked up into the rearview mirror and smiled. “My father still talks about coffee and cigarettes, but my mother says it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Other products found in warm climates, such as citrus fruit, bananas, pineapple, and several spices, we just do without. I would like to taste them some day. Rumor has it that an expedition may be sent south to see if any of those plants have survived and could be cultivated in greenhouses up here, but so far nothing has come of that.
“Metal products, especially aluminum and steel, are turned out in small quantities but are very limited and quite expensive. However, production is slowly expanding. We’ve reopened the copper mines around what used to be Butte, Montana, and have a large refinery near there.”
Curious in spite of herself, Madeline called to the cheerful young guide, “You say the cars are electric. Does that mean you don’t have petroleum?”
“No. We do have one fairly good-sized oil field in production east of here, near Browning. And there are several smaller areas. But most of that goes for the chemical and plastics industries. Our engineers have developed a heavy-duty, rechargeable battery, so virtually all vehicles in the AFC are electric.”
As the bus stopped at a traffic signal, Judy half turned in her seat and smiled back at her passengers. “The older people—those who lived before Termination—still complain a lot about what we don’t have, but as one writer put it, we have ice cream, television, and nylon stockings. What more could a person want?”