The day after Martin’s violent encounter with Sloan at the 3D Bar, he decided he needed to do some checking on him. Security had been right all along. They had approached Martin two months ago when a routine data check revealed that Kurt Sloan was working odd weekend hours at the Library. Some of his data downloads apparently had intruded on to some old, but critical information that had alerted Security. They knew Martin lived in the same house and asked him to look into Sloan, even suggested socializing with him. So Martin had done just that. Over the ensuing months he didn’t have much to report, but since he began his surveillance, something bothered him about the Anglo and last night’s encounter was the last straw.
Martin hadn’t slept much after his volatile meeting with Sloan. Finally some time in the middle of the night he drifted off, only to be awakened by bright sunlight beaming into his room. He had one class scheduled for the morning but he could skip that. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was that he was going to spend the next day doing a background check on him and he would begin first thing in the morning. Martin awoke and was quickly out the door headed for the Tram stop. Classes were winding down and he would be preparing for his Paris departure over the next month, but something about Sloan was gnawing away at him.
Citizens were asked to be alert for people who were involved in suspicious activities that might be harmful to the country. His talks with him and his secretive life, and his sudden outburst last night, had made Martin want to know more about him, so that was exactly what he was going to do.
Martin grabbed a café con leche at the station coffee kiosk at the station and jumped on the Tram headed to the terminal in Center City, Pittsburgh. In a few minutes he was walking toward the main administration building on Grant Street. Martin went over in his mind a plan to find out more about Sloan. His first stop would be to a friend from Jamaica who worked in the Personnel Data office. He realized that he needed help in his research.
Martin knew his suspicions were driven by his dislike for Sloan, but more than that, for the future of his beloved Atlantica and its revolution. During the day, the pressure built inside him and he vowed to find out once and for all, about Kurt Sloan. He checked the data system and found out Sloan did work at the Library in the Historical Commission and had for ten years. He was the only Anglo except for the old director, Dr. Alexander. It was late by the time he left the University.
Martin had to finish a lecture scheduled for next week, which delayed his getting back to his room. He couldn’t wait to get out of that dismal old house on the hill, especially sharing it with Sloan. The trip went quickly and he was soon climbing up the sagging steps of the wooden house which was completely dark. “Looks like my friend is asleep, already,” he said.
Martin tried the light switch inside the house. For some reason the power must have been off or there had been an outage in the area. He went into the kitchen area and fumbled around in a closet. He pulled out a flashlight and pressed the switch. The area around him was cast in stark light. He walked into the hallway and opened the switch box. The power had either shorted out or there was a problem somewhere in the system. He pulled the reset switch and nothing happened. “System must be down,” he said and turned the flashlight to the steps.
He climbed up the wide, creaking steps to the second floor. What he found was upsetting. As he was passing by Kurt Sloan’s room, he saw that the door was opened slightly. Normally Sloan was in his room at night, usually at his computer. Martin had always been curious about what Sloan was doing late at night on his system. After last night, he was more than curious, he was suspicious. He pushed open the door and turned the light into the room which appeared empty.The bright flashlight exposed the interior of the spare room. He ran the light across the walls with their faded, flowered wallpaper speaking of an era long gone. He looked around the room and immediately sensed that Sloan had left, for good. His quick spreading of the light around the room, verified that the room was totally empty. Why would he just leave? Granted, he had told Sloan that the building was designated to be demolished, but that would take weeks to put into affect. Sloan worked for the Administration.
He’d had a great job for ten years. ‘Why would he go now, but more important, where would he go?’ He would check in the morning to see if he scanned in for work. Martin believed that there was more to Sloan’s empty room than their argument the night before.
He searched the empty room for clues as to where Sloan had gone. He even crawled around on the floor, looking for anything that Sloan might have dropped in his haste to leave. Martin remembered that he really didn’t have many personal belongings. He was getting frustrated as he tore the bedding apart, “Where did that son of a bitch take off for? I didn’t trust him for a second. He had that superior attitude of his people,” he barked out to himself as he opened up the one closet that was also bone dry. “Got to find him,” he said, as he sat down on the mattress.
Martin sat there thinking about Sloan and why he would suddenly leave. A lot would depend on whether he showed up for work in the morning. He thought about Sloan’s job as a historian at the Library Complex. Martin remembered Sloan had mentioned in a smart ass way that his research included work on the historical
accomplishments of the United States, including the history of the underground water system. Martin
remembered the media coverage of the Aquifer system that was to be opened in a few months and the pressure being applied by the UN. He sat there puzzled, then he said out loud,” Could there be a connection?” For some time he remained sitting on the bed in Sloan’s empty room, his feelings of suspicion slowly leading to anger.
“I’m sure the Anglo son of a bitch took off. He said as much the other night.” Now Martin was stewing and he thought about something Sloan had said several times last night that if he left, he would go to Scotland, where his people came from.
“Where would he go and how would he get there?” Martin said. He knew it was very difficult getting space to Europe these days, especially for one who worked for the Administration. Closest place for a flight for an Anglo without a visa would be Columbia, unless he could get to Toronto, which was very difficult for anyone. Either way he’d need something of extraordinary value to get space. There was no free flow of people into Columbia and he had heard that a passenger needed either UN funds, Columbian dollars, or gold credits. “That’s it,” he said as he rose and went to the door. “He worked in the Historical Records and he probably took something from there. Why else would he just leave in the night?” He quickly left the room, walked the stairwell and hurried down the steps. He was mad at himself for letting the Anglo get away. He had been right and he should have followed his suspicions, but Martin was now determined to make up for his error.
Martin knew his feelings for Sloan bordered on hatred, but he realized it was probably more what he
represented than Sloan himself. He was a secretive person and had a sense of superiority, which Martin despised. Hating a person because of his leftover Anglo superiority was one thing, but realizing that he may have just left his position, without some type of security check, really upset him. ‘What if his job was classified?’ Martin thought. He thought more about the recent media coverage of the Aquifer System that was to soon be completed and the fact that border countries were trying to obtain access to the water. Martin thought of various scenarios, one being that Sloan’s position would have allowed him entry to data concerning the workings of the Aquifer. As unlikely as that was, he knew that he would have to sort this all out. If Sloan or anyone took valuable information about that system, it could be disastrous for his new country. He knew that taking unauthorized materials from a government facility was a federal offense because it was drilled into all new employees upon their indoctrination. Theft of government property, especially critical information, was punishable by long term imprisonment, even life, depending on the materials. From Martin’s perspective, it was mandatory by law to report defectors or anyone a citizen thought might be taking critical information. All reports were seriously evaluated by the Commission of Human Resources. In fact, if a citizen alerted the Administration about someone taking government materials and they were found guilty, rewards were given to the informant. The more he thought of Sloan’s sudden disappearance, the thought of rewards became an
intriguing incentive to Martin.
“Hell. Where would Sloan go?” Martin muttered. He looked out into the pitch-blackness of the late autumn night, and then slowly sat down on the top step of the silent house. He realized that he was in the center of this new order, just like the hurricane that had left him an orphan twenty two years ago. Martin had studied vociferously how this new world had been created from the chaos earlier in the century. He studied the ways of the old world and he smiled thinking of how the absolutism of the white race, was gone. They’d set the stage for hundreds, thousands of years, but now it was the turn of the great human and colored majority to run at least a part of the world, their world. Let those white people, who had ruled, seclude and segregate themselves. The irony of ironies, one of his professors would say.
Martin recalled how the world had changed and how it had affected the white powers of the past. How the powerful Asian Society had combined with the African Union, creating the most powerful economic
combination on earth. The production skills of China, Japan and United Korea, combined with the vast natural resources of Africa, joined these two races, the Oriental and the Africano, for the first time in the history of man. The white race had been forced to give up their stranglehold on the world economy for their very existence. Martin had concentrated in twenty-first century economics in his last years at college because he wanted to know where the future was for the world. His conclusion was that Alleghenia, the most western state of Atlantica, could be the epicenter of future power. He was young, bright, and ready to assume his place in this historical struggle. He took a deep breath and became quiet.
Martin sat on the front porch of the house for a few minutes, playing with the flashlight, letting it swing from his hand and play darting tricks on the empty naked trees. He would pack his bedding, data equipment, books, and clothes in the morning and them delivered to the apartment the Administration was providing him. ‘This house may be gone by this time next week,’ he thought.
Martin sat there for a few minutes and his thoughts went to Sloan again and how he would actually leave Pittsburgh. Because of Security he couldn’t fly, drive, or take the overland monorail. He suddenly straightened up, remembering Raoul Sanchez, Kurt’s Puerto Rican friend, who lived in Shadyside. Sloan had mentioned him several times, as a good friend. He may know where he had gone and how he planned to get there. He punched out Raoul’s name into his DataFile and located his address. “I can be there in twenty minutes if I catch a tram,”
he said getting up and looking back at the dark house.
Martin ran up to the almost silent tram as it pulled away from the stop. He looked at the screen. The next one would be there in a half hour, so he saw a coffee shop opened and went over to it. ‘I need some caffeine anyway’, he thought.