Martin had spent most of the day waiting at different offices, but finally he entered the high foyer and walked up the granite steps to an upper level in the Security Center. In his idle time, he focused on his mission and its importance. He thought of Alleghenia’s elder statesman and leader, Vincent Hawkins, whose portrait was on the wall. He had repeatedly stated, “We can’t lose the momentum or we’ll become slaves to new masters all over again.” This seventy-five year old black leader of the Alleghenia Council was a true hero to the locals and since Martin had arrived had become one of his heroes. This was part of his dilemma, his allegiance to the federal government in Nuevo York and his growing attachment to Alleghenia. He had another more critical thought. If Sloan escaped to Columbia with the valuable Aquifer information, it might cause great harm to both Alleghenia and Atlantica. If he was wrong, the man still was a defector. But if he was right, it could help save this country and state that had given him his life’s opportunity. By the time he spotted the entrance marked, “Office of the Provost Marshal”, he was convinced he was right..
He walked through the Security gate up to a window counter. He was told by a black woman in a light blue uniform that he would need an appointment. Martin referred to Commander Sludge and wanted to know if
Sludge, had wired the Provost about an appointment for him. The woman looked down to her monitor, shook her head, got up from her chair, and walked back into the inner offices. Over her shoulder, she said she would check. Ten minutes later, she returned.
“Yes, Commander Sludge transmitted a request or at least a clearance that he had talked with you.” She went on to say that it was up to PM to determine if she would see Martin. She sat down and began transcribing information into her system. After a minute with Martin still standing in front of her, she looked up, “Oh, sorry, take a seat, Mr. McDonald. It may be a while.”
Martin looked down at her and went back to a low sofa and sat down. He waited for almost two hours and finally was summoned by a voice, not the woman at the counter. The voice told him to go through the door right in front of him. The door slid open into a long hallway. Martin walked down the curving hallway following arrows to the Provost Marshals office. A door with a plaque on the wall stating Marshal Clay, Provost Marshal opened. “This will be the test. I really need this one,” he said to himself as he walked into a sparsely furnished office.
Martin and the Provost Marshal Clay met for almost an hour. At first she said she had a only afew minutes, but the time extended as Martin explained the situation. PM Clay was a tall, willowy, and extremely beautiful black woman. Martin at times had difficulty concentrating on her face as she talked. She sat behind an open counter type desk. Her long legs extended and crossed, were a distraction. Fortunately, women, who were equal in all regards in this new society, were also allowed to advertise their sex, if they cared to. This one cared to.
However, she was all business. Martin liked her no nonsense approach. She could’ve been a model like the kind that he’d seen on Eurovision broadcasts coming from France. She had wide, sensuous lips that pouted when she listened intently. Her hair was dark and swept up to the back of her head. Martin was captivated by her deep, almost hazel eyes. Marshall Clas was a beautiful woman, however she gave the impression of being very tough.
No wasted smiles. She seemed immediately interested in his story and his reasoning. She said little at first, but after his final explanation of why it was necessary to find Kurt Sloan, she turned in her swivel chair and talked out loud into a speaker.
“You heard all that, Watkins. Screen through to Sludge. I want him to find this young man a Skimmer
somewhere, now. We ourselves a patriot here. We can’t ignore his request. It’s important to all of us. When he leaves I want you to immediately arrange for pickup, preferably first thing in the morning.” She turned and looked deep into Martin’s eyes. “Our cause must always be concerned with the wisdom of its people. If not, then our whole reason for existence is destroyed. Thank you, McDonald. I could use your dedication and perseverance in this department. When you find the Anglo, come see me. I would like to meet this person,” she said. Marshal Clay then got up and walked over to the inner window, which looked down on the courtyard of the old Courthouse. “I think I’ve lost touch over the past few years as to where we’ve come from. What those Anglos did to us. They controlled our lives for so long. When I was growing up it was better than my parents and their lives were much better than their parents, but Anglo folks stilled controlled us. When a young man comes in here volunteering to find someone who might cause our country harm, I realize that we must protect what we have achieved. She turned from the window and looked at Martin. “I will never live under another’s rule again. So get on with it McDonald. Catch the Anglo.” “I want to know when you bring him back,” she said with a broad smile across her black face.
“I will Marshal Clay and thank you for your help,” Martin said as he turned clumsily, bumping into the oak table in her office. He recovered and walked out into the office area. Her associate, Watkins, a stocky, black Africano, told him that Commander Sludge had already been informed and would be coming back to her within the next two hours. The Commander told her he had located a Skimmer, but needed a pilot. With that Martin asked if she could relay something to Commander Sludge. If it was possible, it would be best to find a pilot who knew the mountain terrain of the Laurels. Watkins took note of his request, saying she would contact him immediately.
He left the Security offices and decided he needed to do more research about the walking trail before he began the search. He needed to know the terrain before flying over it. The maps were old and he needed anything that updated their condition or changes that might have been made over the years. The most important thing he realized was that he had to create a search plan and maybe a map for the pilot. Suddenly he was in a bit of a panic as he scurried down the stairwell to the street and into a Tramway station. Although it was late, he had to go back to the Castro Library.
As he waited in the station, Martin thought back to the times he talked with Sloan at the house. He realized that Sloan had brought to the surface the times in his youth when the white men were always right, always in charge, always looking at him in that superior way. Now he was looking for Sloan because he was trying to bring harm to Martin’s world.
His mental drift ended with a loud roar and swoosh of a coming tram. It was the “20” to Oakland, Martin walked aboard and found a seat by the window. His transmitter beeped. He listened to the message. The call was from the Provost’s Office. He would be getting a call from Security later tonight concerning a Skimmer that would be made available for him no later than tomorrow morning. It was highly probable it may be available at daybreak, so he needed to be ready to go at first light. The delay was in locating a specific pilot who had experience in the mountains. Watkins said that Security would be back in touch with him later tonight.
In a few minutes the tramway stopped at the Cathedral station in University Center. Martin walked by the monolithic monument that stood empty except for a few lights at its base. He had changed his mind about this leftover university structure. He wanted the Administration to find a way to save it from demolition. What had changed his mind was his talk with several of his fellow Africano students, whose parents had been educated in the “Cathedral of Learning”. They would tell him how their parents held rallies and meetings during the days of the volatile thirties. These were the times when the minority realized they were the majority for the first time and that control was within their grasp. According to his fellow students it was a glorious time and it all happened within the halls of this great cathedral. Martin saw an announcement this past summer that the Administration had decided to use it as a storage facility, however there had been a groundswell of citizen opposition to this plan. Last week the Administration agreed and it would reopen as a free university for students from around the world. He walked past its steps and across the park to the Castro Library.
Ten minutes later Martin was at a desk in the planning records at the Library. He briefly thought about going back over the earlier material he reviewed which gave him his first clue as to Sloan’s intent. He decided against that because he needed to familiarize himself with the trail maps and anything that updated their current condition. He became engrossed in the plethora of data that concerned both the terrain, primarily the area of the Laurel Mountains, and the Great Allegheny Passage. He read of its history and development from the late 20th Century. It gave him new insight to the people who had occupied this land. On the one hand he realized the passion of people who cherished their personal independence and their dependence on nature. His take on the history was one he had read before. How the Anglo railroad barons raped the land of its natural resources for personal profits. Railroads were built right through the mountains over trails that the original natives had used for centuries. Of course, those peoples were overwhelmed, killed and scattered elsewhere by the whites, but the tracks and rail beds remained. As new transportation developed the railroads lost their importance and went back to nature’s domination. The tracks were taken up and sold as scrap, while the rail beds gradually were covered by development in the cities or by the overgrowth of nature. Then progressive Anglos realized that the trails in place could be used to explore once again the natural beauty and the terrain of this part of the earth.
Thus the old railroad beds that had been forgotten became the recreational trails of the early century. This gave him a better understanding of why this trail was there in the first place and that it went from Pittsburgh to Washington, now the capital of Columbia.
Security beeped him and the message was that a pilot had been located. Martin was told to be at the Skimmer pad at 6AM in the morning. He sat for a minute, thinking of what he had to do tonight. He still had a few hours before the Library closed, so he decided to finish the work in front of him and go back to the house and pack for his trip.
Martin worked another hour at the Library and then headed out to get a Tram to his apartment. He packed his only set of outdoor clothes and a pair of walking shoes he had only worn once along with a rain jacket given to him by Miss McDonald. By the time he got everything organized, it was close to 11:00PM. He could feel the excitement building as he undressed and got into the shower stall. He lay down, dressed in the underwear he would be wearing in the morning and fell asleep almost immediately.
Morning came fast when the alarm in his watch buzzed. He had an hour to get to the Bluff. It took him several minutes to dress and hook up his backpack. It was five thirty when he left his apartment building in the dark and caught a tram right away. In fifteen minutes he was downtown, looking up at the lights on top of the Bluff where he was to meet the pilot. Martin went into a coffee bar and ordered a café con leche and a scone. As he sat by the foggy window finishing his coffee, he picked up the weather scan for the next two days. Rain and a cold snap would be moving through which Martin thought might slow Sloan down. He took the last sip of the coffee, finished his scone, and headed for the incline that would take him to the Bluff to meet the pilot. His mission was about to begin.