THE MANIFEST DESTINY OF U.S. II

By Kenneth Oren Elliott


(C) Copyright 1995 by Kenneth Oren Elliott
First Edition Published by Cedar Bay Press L.L.C. ISBN: 1-
57555-046-6                    SAN: 298-6361

SAMPLE e-EDITION

This is a work of fiction.  The events described here are
imaginary:  the settings and characters are fictitious and
not intended to represent specific incidents or persons,
living or deceased.

This is a reproduction of an unedited manuscript. The work
herein reflects that of the author and not the Publisher.


THE MANIFEST DESTINY OF USII



Saturday, August 25, 1973, 10:06 a.m.

     Martin Bender leaped the last few feet onto the postage
stamp size porch but found its roof pitifully inadequate
protection from the downpour. He was already soaked to the
skin and the force of the windswept rain convinced him he
was going to get even more wet. He looked for a doorbell,
but there wasn't one. Rapping on the door did no good, and
he noticed there was no doorknob either. "It's just not my
day," he shrugged, and thrust his hands into his pockets. He
hunched his shoulders and backed into the recess of the
doorway to extract whatever shelter there was. He shouldn't
have done that because when he did a remarkable thing
happened--he backed through the doorway into the house!

     He expected the door to stop his body; a reasonable
expectation, but it didn't even slow him. He kept going as
if no door were there, ending in a damp pile on the floor
inside the house. He rolled over and jumped to his feet,
scanning the room to see if he had startled someone. There
was no one in sight.

     Common sense said he had no right to be in someone's
house without permission, raining or not, and he turned to
the door to leave. But there was no doorknob on the inside
either. Even more puzzling, the door jamb appeared to be
constructed so that the door could only swing out.

     "How could I fall in, when it doesn't even swing this
way?" he laughed and looked around hurriedly, anticipating
an answer.

     He pushed the door. It didn't budge. He shoved it with
his shoulder, with no success. It might be a sliding door,
he thought, but no pushing, shoving, tugging, or verbal
persuasion made it move. He took another look around the
room to make sure there was no one to see what he was about
to do. He backed a short distance into the room and, setting
his jaw, hurtled his 175 pounds at the door. It was wasted
effort and he came away with an aching shoulder.

     "Solid as a rock," he groaned.

     The door reminded him of the "security" doors he had
seen so often. They were necessary items, since the Cape
Canaveral area harbored activities not only dangerous but
often vital to the nation's defense. A fleeting thought that
he might have blundered into a government building, typical
of the region--small, missile tracking outposts, bothered
him. The suspicion became more real, when he saw a computer
console against the west wall of the room north of the
doorway. Might be classified, he reasoned, though he hadn't
seen anything that said the property was posted.

     "Good afternoon to you," said a pleasant male voice.

     Martin whirled completely around but saw no one. He
couldn't tell from what direction the voice had come. Its
owner could have been standing directly in front of him,
close enough, it seemed, to reach out and touch.

     "There's no one in the room with you," the voice
continued, "will you state your name please?"

     "Uh--my name is Martin Bender," he answered, turning,
still looking for something he could talk to.

     "Thank you, Mr. Bender. Please don't be alarmed--I
don't seem to find you in our files; we'll need some
information from you."

     "No problem. I live near here. This is all a mistake on
my part. You can check me out at TriState--had a top secret
clearance there. They all know me. I'm sure--"

     "Excuse me, Mr. Bender. Did anyone come in with you?"

     "No, I'm alone."

     "OK Don't worry about a clearance--and there's no need
for an apology from you. We'll do the apologizing ... Please
make yourself comfortable. There's food and drink in the
lighted cupboard. Whatever you want is yours. In about an
hour you'll be joined by--let's see now--yes, Doctor
Mansfield. It's his turn. I'm sure you'll find him a
congenial host. Thank you."

     The "thank you" was almost sung.

     "Hey, wait!" Martin called, "I can't stay here--"

     There was no answer.

     What is this place? he wondered. "Don't worry about a
clearance," the voice said. "No need to apologize." We will
apologize--now what did that mean? This Doctor Mansfield
must be a Ph.D. from NASA or a contractor security type,
coming to check me out. "Food and drink--congenial host"--
they act like they want me to stick around. Well, they know
my name. They know I live near here, and they know the
company I used to work for. If they want me, I won't be hard
to find--but, I'm getting out of here!

     Two open doors on the east wall near the center of the
room gave him new hope for an exit. They were better
described as "openings," since no doors were actually there.
Through the opening on the right, he saw the "lighted
cupboard." He rushed past it to inspect a door he spied at
the back wall. It resembled the front entry door and was
just as solid. He emerged from the room, turned right and
looked into the adjacent room, a pleasantly furnished
bedroom. A door like the others was just inside on the
right, quite certainly not an exit to the outside either. He
wondered what it was for. Unless it opened on a very tiny
closet space, it could have no use. If it went anywhere it
would be into the adjoining room where the cabinet was, but
a quick check there proved that to be a wrong notion. Just a
door and frame on a wall?

     The southern end of the room was taken up with living
room furniture arranged before a fireplace. On either side
of the hearth were two more white door frames like the one
inside the bedroom, though the centers were wallpapered.

     There might be a window I could break through, he
reasoned, scanning the walls. "Aha! There's one, I bet," he
muttered. Near the computer, along the north wall, was a
large drape and he triumphantly pulled its drawstring. He
recoiled, surprised, when he realized the drawstring
triggered a motorized traverse rod. It parted the drapery
all the way, completely out of sight--into the wall--
revealing not an ordinary window but something resembling a
large opaque picture window. It looked for all the world
like a frosted light bulb in color and texture and, vaguely,
a television screen. A ridiculous thought since it reached
from floor to ceiling and was at least twenty feet wide.
There were no latches or handles, no indication the window,
if it was one, could be opened. He tested the glass with his
knuckles. It didn't have the feel of glass at all. No give.
No "plink" you would expect from a pane of glass. More like
heavy plastic, and as solid as the door. Well, if worse
comes to worse, he figured, "I can shatter it with a piece
of furniture."

     Finally, glancing once more around the room and seeing
no other windows or exits, he laughed aloud, "Well maybe I
can stay for a little while."

     He concluded there was no immediate danger. All things
considered, it seemed sensible to await the arrival of the
"congenial" Dr. Mansfield, find out just how much trouble he
was in and get it over with. After all, I am an American
citizen. Not a foreign spy!

     Now there was an unwelcome thought. Damn! What if I've
blundered into an espionage setup monitoring Cape
activities, he thought, giving the computer console a closer
look. Expecting to see Russian or Chinese characters on it,
he was relieved that all were in English.

     It didn't look like tracking equipment he had seen on
the range. Of course, mechanical engineers don't pay much
attention to electronic gear, but he had seen a lot of it.
On the other hand, he hadn't seen it all, not by a long
shot. "And they come up with new stuff every day," he
mumbled. Even to his unpracticed eye, the computer console
didn't look normal--no metal! It struck him that he had seen
no metal of any sort so far; wood either, for that matter.
Every item seemed composed of plastic. Good, solid, smooth
plastic--might be vinyl over metal, he conceded.

     He recognized some of the switches and dials on the
console: ON, OFF, READ FORWARD, RETURN, and so on. But, what
the devil were DISPLAY, GRASP, INDEX, POINT, HOLD, and
BRAILLE used for? One panel had the letters of the alphabet,
upper and lower case, each with an accompanying switch.
Another had numerals and every special character one could
think of, plus some he never saw anywhere before. Others
simply floored him: INTERNAL, EXTERNAL, BLAMMER ADJUST,
TEMPERATURE ADJUST, LIFE CYCLE, NUTRIMENT, GROWTH,
PERSONALITY ADJUST, PRIVATE! The switch marked "SEX" was
extremely thought-provoking. A side panel had 10 rows of 15
switches, each with a meter dial. Some switches were labeled
with atomic table identifiers he recognized, while others
had odd symbols with no meaning to him. The dials were
marked off in units called "gnys," 100 divisions to the
scale, with 10 divisions in red labeled "Ionic." Dead center
on the flat desk top a one-foot square of plastic, he
guessed, floated on the surface. If you had to look straight
down at that thing all day, he laughed, you'd go home with a
stiff neck and a pretty good headache.

     Above the console, another square about 3 feet high and
wide, maybe an eighth of an inch thick, was set flat against
the wall. It would be at eye level, to a person seated at
the desk. It appeared to be a smaller version of the
"picture window" on the north wall. Nothing he could see
connected the screen to the console. Maybe it wasn't part of
the console at all, or possibly the equipment wasn't fully
installed yet. That could be it, he thought, or it's not
even a computer, just stored pieces. Range computers use
large "boxes" for power equipment, memory cores, and
processing units. He knew that much. Some were the size of
restaurant refrigerators. There wasn't space in this room
for such large gear. And yet, it all seemed too new to be
obsolete.

     Martin turned, leaned on the console, and surveyed the
room. About 40 feet long and 25 feet deep, he estimated,
carpeted in a medium shade of bright blue; a "quality"
material. To his right was the door he had fallen through.

     At the south end a "patriotic" conversational grouping:
a pure white sofa, winged chairs, one deep blue, the other a
blazing red, faced the fireplace. "You don't see those every
day in Florida," he thought, approaching to inspect the
hearth. Above it hung a large print--George Washington
Crossing the Delaware.

     On either side of the mantel the door-like white
frameworks adorned the wall. All walls were wainscoted;
white at the lower half and, above the chair rail,
wallpaper, white mostly, with reddish-purplish vertical
striping. A closer view showed the stripe was actually tiny,
repeated "Old Glory's," each crossed with another flag that
befuddled him--No stars! Just a vacant blue field! He
smiled, "Must be a booboo, but," again observing the total
effect, "they sure went overboard on the patriotic bit."

     The winged chairs were turned in and, with the sofa,
sort of enclosed a gorgeous coffee table. It appeared to be
crystal or carved out of a massive block of diamond, but
Martin would have bet good money it was plastic. Way down in
the center, seeming to float in an ethereal sea, was an
exquisite model of the Mayflower or a similar ship, under
full sail, heeled over to an imagined wind. It glowed, as if
in full sunlight. Beautiful, he marveled, and probably
expensive. He knew Beth would fall in love with it. She has
a knack for picking out the most expensive stuff.

     He returned to the cupboard room and stepped onto a
checkerboard floor of yellow and black tile squares,
glistening as if just scrubbed and waxed.

     The cupboard was the only furniture there and it was
indeed lighted, and inviting. He suddenly realized that
although there were no windows, each room in the cottage was
as bright as a "Florida room" in the sunshine. It was
baffling, since no lamps or fixtures were to be seen. The
only obvious illumination came from the cupboard--not enough
to light the entire house, though. Furthermore, he saw no
shadows anywhere, not even under the chairs or the sofa.
"Wow!" he thought. "Lighting like this must cost a fortune."

     The cupboard stretched across the south wall: a simple
unit of eyelevel cabinets of maple (plastic) and glass
(plastic) with suggestions of a hutch in its design. Beneath
the cabinets a counter of the same bright yellow material as
the floor, with a unique geometric design of thin black
lines, seemed to be part of the wall than of the cabinet.

     Like the door he had fallen through, no handles or
knobs or hinges were visible on the cabinet. He reached for
the leftmost door. When he touched it it slid to the left
and, startled, he jerked his hand away quickly. The door
hesitated, then closed gently. Marvelous! he smiled.
Touching the door again and keeping his hand positioned, the
door glided away, melting into the end of the compartment.
He guessed it to be a well concealed electric eye gadget.

     Now he was so famished his knees began to quiver. Two
of the exposed shelves contained a stock of plastic
tumblers. He reached for one in case he found something to
drink and was surprised it already contained a fluid. From
its purple color he assumed it held a grape drink--a
favorite. While it was similar to an ordinary soft drink
container, there was no pull tab and no instructions for
opening it. He placed the tumbler on the counter and
searched the compartments for an opener. There were plastic
boxes of all sizes, shapes and colors, but nothing was
labeled and no utensils were in sight.

     He picked up the tumbler, turned it over, and purple
droplets splashed onto the counter. Yet, he found no
opening. He pulled his handkerchief to swab up the spill,
but the drops were already gone! "Blast it," he exclaimed
out loud. "Isn't anything normal here?"

     He ran his fingers over the counter. No moisture, no
stickiness. Only gleaming, smooth plastic. Tilting the
tumbler again, he was amazed to see liquid emerge through
the plastic. He righted the cup and carefully tasted the
grape colored droplet glistening on his finger tip. It was
grape. He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped a cool
liquid having the taste of a delicate, sweet wine, but he
knew it wasn't alcoholic.

     He extracted another purple tumbler from the cabinet
and poured juice from the first onto its top. It formed into
small beads on the plastic but didn't penetrate it. How
about that? he marveled, it's a one way deal. Then he
dribbled juice onto the counter and watched it disappear. He
recalled the "no spill" cup Jackie used when he first begun
to feed himself. This was quite an improvement. He wondered
why he hadn't seen one before. But then, Jackie was 12 now
and "a lot has come and gone since he learned to drink from
a glass," he mumbled.

     His hunger shouted to him, and he looked for something
more solid. He retrieved a lightweight box the size of a
brick. It was plastic of course, the color of bread crust.
The package, at first appearing to present the same access
problem as the tumbler, had a small tab at one corner and
when given a tug the entire top peeled off easily.
Immediately, while he watched wide-eyed, the contents
swelled into a loaf of warm bread, the aroma making him all
the hungrier. He began to enjoy the sport and selected a
yellow-orange box hoping it was cheese. It was.

     "Fantastic!" he smiled.

     He pondered how to slice the bread and cheese, since he
could find no utensils. A glance at the counter top answered
him. The lids he had peeled from the containers and laid on
the counter were gone, leaving behind two plastic knives.

     "I can't take much more of this," he groaned. "Well,
I'll vent my spleen later; right now I'm hungry."

     He moved the food items to the coffee table, having
elected to settle on the sofa. As he prepared to slice the
bread a movement at the center of the coffee table caught
his eye, and he cried, "Oh, no! What now?"

     The tiny Mayflower was in motion! Very clearly the bow
was breaking through "water" and a glittering wake churned
at the stern. A small pendant atop the mainmast fluttered in
a phantom breeze and two more flags, one at the bow and one
at the stern, were definitely waving. To top it all, the
sails billowed as if in a following wind; the ship gently
rolled from side to side, and the tiny tiller turned ever so
slightly. It was a pleasant, restful show. A magnificent old
sailing ship plying a sea with no end, sailing from a port
that didn't exist.

     "But," he promised, "I'll go right through that wall if
I see a little man walk out on that deck."

     What a perfect anniversary gift it would make, he
thought, settling back in satisfaction, tasting the
delicious bread and cheese he built into a sort of sandwich;
sipping the nectar from the amazing tumbler; spellbound by
the animated ship making way on its endless voyage.

     What the devil is this place? he wondered. "Oh well, me
and Omar," he said aloud. "A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a
hunk of cheese, and thou art in Miami--"

     "I'm pleased you made yourself at home, Mr. Bender."

     This voice had a direction to it and Martin, startled,
twisted violently toward the door.

     "I'm Doctor Mansfield," smiled the man inside the door.

! If I could tell you one of those things were true I'd be
the happiest man alive. You can't know the joy it would
bring to everyone in USII."

     Again Martin threw his hands into the air, convinced it
was hopeless to expect a sensible reply to any question.

     "Speaking of occupations, just what is your calling?"

     "I'm a real estate broker."

     "Oh?--Oh, yes! I've heard of that profession. I don't
believe we have transposited one before. I should like to
hear more about it. In your schooling did you have much in
the way of mathematics?"

     "Until two years ago I was a mechanical engineer."

     "Splendid! I suppose then you have been well grounded
in the use of algebra and the calculus?"

     "Yes, pretty well grounded."

     "Wonderful. Then you will understand the concept better
than most others--the concept of negative volume."

     "Oh yeah," Martin snickered at the thought. "Negative
volume. Why, heck, everybody knows about that. We sit around
talking about it all the time."

     Mansfield laughed.

     "Ridiculous," Martin hissed at the floor. "Negative
volume." He snickered again, this time to the ceiling,
"Volume means a capacity to contain a quantity of something.
A negative volume would be capable of holding less than
nothing? It's ridiculous!"

     "Is it? Have you ever encountered an equation problem
where a volume calculation yielded negative roots?"

     Martin thought a moment, and answered, "Well, yeah,
sure--Oh, I see where you're headed," he smiled. "You're
tricky, but--"

     "And?" Mansfield coaxed. "Come on now--what disposition
do you assign such roots?"

     "What should be assigned; they're thrown away, trashed!
They're meaningless. Absurdities!" he answered smugly.

     "Aha!" Mansfield exclaimed, just as triumphantly, "But
wasn't zero once regarded as meaningless?" Receiving no
answer, he went on, "And what about negative integers;
imaginary numbers--even such eventual everyday things as
fractions? All were tossed out at one time--meaningless!
Yes? Or no?"

     Martin shrugged. What the doctor argued was indeed
true. I wish I'd paid more attention in school. There's got
to be a solid, logical explanation for this garbage.

     "So, mathematically, a negative volume is not merely
possible, it's imminent. Unavoidable! Wasn't it Descartes
who said all things can be expressed mathematically?"

     Martin nodded and shrugged again.

     "Then it follows that any mathematical result is real.
While the truth in mathematics is often difficult to
justify, it is truth nevertheless, once the mystifying
aspects are resolved. All that's usually required is
understanding and acceptance of a concept. But, is there
more satisfactory proof than an actual demonstration?"

     "Oh, sure. A demonstration will do it every time,"
Martin replied, unabashedly humoring his tormentor. "So you
want me to believe I'm experiencing the proof right now? Is
that it? Is that the best you can do?"

     "We're not sure it's the ultimate answer. We think it's
the most likely explanation," the doctor said, then
continued, bristling, "and you might as well know it now: no
matter what we think, and unfortunately, what you may think
or feel, there's not a thing we can do about it."

     The tone in the doctor's voice has taken on a hint of
exasperation, Martin noted. I've finally gotten his goat.
Once he sees he can't get anywhere with me he'll give up and
try his scam on someone else. The more he thought about it
the more he was convinced the time to strike had come.

     "All right, Mansfield, I've listened! This has been
humorous at times, and sometimes not a bit funny; downright
stupid, in my opinion. I'm tired of it and I'm ready to
leave. So if you--"

     "But, you've only heard a small part of it. There's
simply no way you can leave!"

     "Yeah, that's what you keep telling me. I've been
listening to this hogwash, but you're pretty shy about
letting me go outside. I guess it's because it would tear
your little fantasy into a zillion pieces."

     "No, it's not that at all. It's because some
preliminary preparation is necessary."

     "Brainwashing, you mean! Are you people--?"

     "No! Oh, my God, you are obstinate--you need to
understand the mechanics of the--the reasons--you must be in
a proper frame of mind to endure it."

     "Yeah, I get it," Martin said, "the shock of seeing
Melbourne or the whole state of Florida is a desert or
something might finish me off. Well, I'm a big boy now, so I
don't think there's anything out there I can't handle."

     "You might use your very active imagination along more
productive lines, you know?"

     "I'm doing the best I can. Look, I've been in real
estate for a few years and I thought I'd seen every
shenanigan there is. I don't have any idea of what you're
trying to pull, but you haven't convinced me anything is
different now than an hour ago. Sure, I've been visiting in
this--" Martin scanned the room, gesturing with a wave of
his arm, "unusual house, and I admit I've seen some things
I've never seen before. But, believe it or not, I don't feel
negative. I don't even understand negative. I don't want any
more malarkey, so why not let me out of here?"

     Mansfield was attentive to Martin's tirade. After a
time in which he appeared to be deep in thought, he placed
his hand, palm down, on the small plastic square at the
Library. At once an intense yellow light filled the square.

     "Doctor Mansfield here," he said, beckoning Martin to
approach. "I have Orientation Report WM-1, re Case 947G8."

     "Report noted. What ho, Doctor? How are you?"

     It was the same cheerful voice that earlier informed
Martin of Dr. Mansfield's pending arrival.

     "Oh, hi Bennie. You rascal, I've told you a hundred
times, you don't ask a doctor how he feels, we ask you!"

     "You got that wrong, Doc. You're supposed to tell me
how I feel."

     They chuckled at the small joke, and Martin rolled his
eyes toward the ceiling asking for deliverance.

     "Bennie, we're going outside so Mr. Bender can look
around a bit."

     "OK by me. How's he taking it? You going to need help?"

     "Well--he's upset, but--No, no, I don't think so. Mr.
Bender is a gentleman. No difficulty expected."

     "Will you go visual for a moment, Doc?"

     Mansfield pushed a switch and a face appeared on the
square above the console.

     Martin was speechless. Must be a two way telephone, or
television! He had heard such things were being developed.
Even so, he suspected trickery because the face was in three
dimensions. It was as if he were looking through a window at
a person in the next room. He hadn't heard anything about
that development. The clean shaven, smiling face of the
young man looked first at the doctor, nodded, and then
shifted his gaze to Martin. The face studied him for an
embarrassingly long time, he thought. Finally seeming to
make a judgment he smiled at Martin and gave a "thumbs up"
to Mansfield.

     "Righto, Doctor. Just checking. Looks OK to me."

     "Thanks, Bennie. Please say hello to Molly for me."

     "Yessir, I'll do that. So long for now."

     Mansfield reset a switch and the screen went dark. He
motioned to Martin, "Care to have a look? The door's open."

     Martin jumped to his feet and looked at the door. But,
it wasn't open. He watched as the doctor walked through the
door, and it sent a chill up his spine.

     "Well, come on out, Mr. Bender. It's what you wanted."

     "Hey--" Martin hesitated.

     "It's stopped raining, you know. It's very pleasant
out," the doctor continued.

     "Hey, I'm not a ghost," Martin called to the outside.
"How am I supposed to get out there?"

     "Oh, yes--sorry. You're not familiar with--just use
your feet. The door is open. Just come through like I did. I
assure you, it's perfectly safe."

     "Oh, what do I have to lose?" he said under his breath.

     He positioned his arm in front of his face to ward off
the expected collision and closing his eyes, walked through
the door. Unseeing, he collided with Mansfield on the small
porch. He started to turn back to examine the unusual door
more closely but did a double take, freezing at the sight of
the panorama over the doctor's shoulder.

     "Great God Almighty!" he exclaimed softly.

     "It must be quite a shock," Mansfield said.

     Shock? Martin thought it the understatement of all
time. It's more terrible than the worst of nightmares. What
has happened? Why did it happen? Why me? How did I get into
this mess?


n. He helped in the beginning; they overcame mistakes and
perfected a new technology, a new "art." He was pleased that
each time one lifted off now, a little bit of him went along
for the ride. So, sometimes, wistful melancholia turned into
anxious moments during countdowns. Such feelings disappeared
quickly enough though, once the yellow-white ball of flame
appeared over one of his "reference points." Everyone in the
Cape area has reference points. Every "birdwatcher," that
is. You know from experience that an Atlas rocket will
appear over your neighbor's tool shed a minute or two after
liftoff. If it's a Saturn, you see it soonest if you line up
the left edge of your dining room window with the rightmost
clothesline pole in the back yard. But rockets don't fly
every day, Martin thought sadly, scanning the empty sky over
the Cape, and they're becoming less and less frequent.

     "Maybe they won't cut back any further, Kerry," he had
consoled his friend, only half believing it himself. "It's
possible things will pick up again, you know."

     "Yeah, sure it is. But, I'd just have to start worrying
all over again next year. No, I've got to leave now. I don't
know why I ever came here in the first place."

     "People like you never know why you do things," Martin
commented quietly.

     "Now what the devil do you mean by that crack?" Kerry
asked, eyebrows lifted in surprise.

     "Hey, I'm not insulting you, old buddy," Martin
laughed. "I just believe if you'd been around in 1849 you'd
have jumped on a covered wagon and headed out west to pan
for gold with the rest of those guys."

     "You think so?" Kerry asked, seeming to ponder the
notion. Then he laughed and said, "Yeah, that would've been
fun, I'll bet. But I didn't come here for gold--hell! I
could've gone back home when we got out of the U and be
making a lot more than I'm making here."

     "I know that. I didn't mean anything like that. You
came here because you had to be here. Like you could read
the future and see things were going to happen here. You had
to be part of it. There're a lot more like you. They came
for the same reason--doers, dreamers--"

     "Naw, it was because I needed a job just like you,"
Kerry said, showing some embarrassment.

     "We left good jobs in Miami, Kerry--besides, you just
this minute said you could have done better back home,"
Martin smiled, mischievously.

     "Well, the truth is--Ellen can't stand cold weather."

     "You're lying in your teeth," Martin needled, enjoying
himself. "You told me a thousand times that Ellen almost
made the Olympic ski team while she was still in high
school. That doesn't sound like--"

     "Well, it's nobody's business why I came here," Kerry
snapped, as if ending the matter. Then quietly, "But, I did-
-and I don't know why. And I'm sorry I came. Now I'm
leaving, and I'm sorry about that too."

     The two sat in silence for a few moments, each with his
own thoughts, until Kerry broke it.

     "No, I'm not sorry. I wouldn't have missed it for all
the damn gold in the world!"

     The project is the thing! Martin mentally paraphrased
Shakespeare. Dedicated people, ones with ideals and honest
dreams don't necessarily look for gold in anything they do.
They seek the stars, and if they find them it's reward
enough. How apt, he thought, that "Cape People" could be
described as having stars rather than gold in their eyes.

     "Well, anyway, there's no use brooding about it, Marty.
It's been fun. I wish it could go on forever but--looks like
it's over."

     "Oh, there'll be other space flights," Martin objected.

     "Unmanned!" Kerry grumbled. "De-emphasized!"

     "Well, sure. But at least exploration won't be
completely halted."

     "The best things come out of total commitment though. A
real hard, planned, all out push!" Kerry said, pounding his
fist into the palm of his hand. "When you have an exciting
goal to work for, everybody works as a team. You get things
done you couldn't do before--like wartime."

     "Many people think it's a waste of money," Martin said.

     "Yeah, what a joke! 'Why do we send all that money to
the moon?'" Kerry mimicked the critics. "What rot! Like
there are banks there, and greedy hands grabbing bushels of
dollars and locking it up in moon vaults. The money is spent
here! They don't stop to think that a program like the Moon
Project provides jobs and keeps the economy going as well as
a war does. Sometimes I think they prefer wars to beautiful,
peaceful, productive activities."

     "Well, that's probably not true," Martin offered,
though it wasn't his deep down conviction. He had a fleeting
recall of his often held assessment of the United States'
involvement in World War II. A war of convenience, he long
ago decided--a shot in the arm to bring us out of the Great
Depression--quickly! "My God, I hope it isn't true anyway.
It's true a lot of people don't grasp what's been
accomplished. But, you know, you have to admit, flying off
into space to explore other planets sounds pretty frivolous
to some folks."

     "But, how can they forget the benefits? How can they
just ignore all the spin-offs?"

     It was a question not requiring an answer, Martin
recognized, having often been the subject of discussions
with friends, in the past. He simply shrugged in reply.

     And now, as he recalled Kerry's question he shrugged
again, this time toward the Cape. Then he turned quickly,
scooped up the loose papers on the desk, placed them in a
side drawer and prepared to leave for home. But again he
looked toward Cape Canaveral and this time he glared, as if
that vast acreage of steel gantries, concrete blockhouses
and electronic tracking gear was somehow responsible for all
mankind's troubles.

     What can be so wrong about an undertaking that results
in a life prolonging device like the heart pacemaker? Isn't
each precious life it helps continue worth more than the
entire cost of the space program? Especially if it's the
life of a loved one? This miracle-working device was an
indirect result of technological advances in space
miniaturization and electronics, but it found direct
application monitoring metabolic activity of astronauts.
What about fire resistant paints? These, too, have saved
civilian lives and property, and more will be saved.
Computers reached the present state of the art because they
were sorely needed in the space industry. Weather
satellites, improved tools, new tools not even imagined in
one's wildest dreams only a few years ago, resources seeking
satellites and communications satellites. Such items were
not always brought into being merely to make travel to the
planets easier; many were simply offshoots of the program,
products that came about because an evolving technology,
things learned, made them possible. Surely, some may have
come along anyway, even without the space effort, sometime.
But, necessity demanded some of them now. Admit it: when you
need a pacemaker, you need it now. And it's here now,
because of the space effort.

     But, those are obvious benefits. What about intangible
ones? How can people arbitrarily turn off a fountain that
spews out such marvelous fruits as incentive and opportunity
to satisfy personal, yet universal, dreams? Age old dreams.
Why withdraw support of an enterprise providing peaceful,
useful and productive livelihood for millions of people? One
that promises giant leaps in uncovering the mysteries of our
awesome home, Earth, and the even more awesome universe?

     Those things are the real harvest of any technology.
Not merely those found in the result, but products and
offshoots of the priceless new knowledge gained along the
way. Getting there is often not nearly so important as
getting there. Reaching the moon is not the end, it's only
the beginning.

     But, Martin sighed, like Kerry said, it is the end for
now. Kerry and the others, the ones with the stars in their
eyes, must patiently await better times.

of the sky. Eventually they attain velocities in the
hundreds of miles per hour and reach the frigid heights that
turn them into slush. In successive journeys they help cool
the lower levels but in exchange gain relative warmth and so
rise again. Each passage in that hurricane tunnel causes the
ball of slush to retain a bit more of the freezing cold.
Finally, the time comes when it is slush no more but
instead, a particle of layered ice called hail. Now the
entire system is colder and heavier and the forces in the
wind corridors suck in the warmer air from surrounding areas
to feed the monster. But, it can't build forever; upper
levels inevitably reach elevations in the rarefied
atmosphere that prevent further rise. When it does, the
crown of the gigantic system levels off and folds over into
the characteristic thunderhead shape, the anvil.

     Ultimately, the extraordinary electromagnetic machine
resulting from that grandiose generative process cannot be
compelled to move by ordinary forces. It has become a force
itself and will move under its own power, on its own
volition. Born as fleecy white cotton balls of clouds, it
has become a dark and foreboding dragon spitting angry
flames in all directions. Soon it will take its rightful
place as a formidable weather factor.

     Now, here he was again, at the Grove Road intersection,
heading for Kerry's. Impulsively, he turned left, crossing
the west lanes of the boulevard, and parked the wagon in a
space at a small shopping plaza. Since he was in the
neighborhood, he decided he might as well give the Lazurus
grove a quick visit.

     "It'll be raining cats and dogs when I come back this
way," he said to himself, grabbing a legal pad and a pencil.
"Might as well get it over with."

     It was a typical old grove, he noted, as he pounded
through the thick growth of weed. Probably abandoned to the
elements when the income from it didn't cover expenses of
maintenance and property taxes. Untended, its weeds were
waist high in spots. They made the way difficult but were
not the only cause for concern. Scattered throughout were
sandspurs, the scourge of the Floridian. The pesky little
seed-bearing burrs, with maybe a score of needle points
jutting from its surface, attach themselves to any passing
thing. And one must be mindful of snakes in these places.
Martin had yet to see a snake in similar sojourns into the
wilds but it didn't mean they weren't there.

     It occurred to him that this was not the brainiest
enterprise. He should be on the way to Kerry's, a good
downpour might be on the way, and he should be more suitably
dressed for hiking through the bushes. But, isn't that the
nature of the human being? To overlook piddling details when
there's an illusion to be pursued? He had seen a house back
there, but there's no house there! It was enough to inspire
a bit of curiosity in almost anyone. To Martin it was a
command: seek an explanation of some kind for the illusion,
and do it now!

     A little over halfway into the grove, maybe a hundred
yards from the boulevard, he began to feel the cool breeze
picking up from the east. This, he knew, meant the storm was
feeding itself and would soon be moving. From the same sign
he knew it would move eastward, toward him. He quickened his
pace through the underbrush, being less careful of his
footing. The extra speed cost him. He stepped into a large
cluster of sandspurs and had to stop and stand on one foot
and then the other, plucking the stabbing burrs off his
pants legs and his socks. While he was so engaged he saw the
first bolt of lightning out of the corner of his eye. Then
an almost simultaneous clap of thunder made him ignore the
pricking spurs.

     Uh, oh, that wasn't very far away! He cringed and
ducked involuntarily.

     Then the first raindrop splashed on his legal pad, and
another, a large cold one, hit his forearm. He decided he
should make a dash back to the wagon. Turning quickly to
retrace his steps, his feet became entangled in the matted
weed and he fell sprawling to the ground. Cursing, he
struggled to his feet, commenting on his lack of
gracefulness. But he never completed the self-imposed tongue
lashing, for as he rose he was facing the river, and his jaw
dropped. There it was. Standing not 20 yards from the
river's edge, was a small, gleaming white cottage!

     The rain was now coming down in buckets, and he turned
to judge the distance to his nice dry station wagon, but the
downpour was so dense he couldn't even see it. He turned
again, looked at the house, and decided--there is the place
to go. Lifting his knees high he scrambled through the
remaining weed and orange trees into the clearing where the
house stood. Spurred on by another crackling bolt of
lightning, he headed for the doorway.

     He looked for some sign of life as he neared the small
porch, hoping he would be offered shelter, but he saw no
one. And then it didn't matter. He leaped for whatever
shelter he could find, not knowing it would be the longest
leap of his life--from his world into another.



Saturday, 12:38 p.m.

     So that's how Martin Bender got to be where he is:
standing on the doorstep of a cottage that didn't belong
there; talking to a man who, according to his own testimony,
didn't belong anywhere!

     He would say it was simply business that brought him.
Others might say he was nosey. It is certain that if he had
the chance to do it over--well, no! The sight unfolding over
Doctor Mansfield's shoulder was just was too much--he would
never want to go through it again for anything or anybody.

     There were no orange trees anywhere! There were no
water towers or buildings that should have been visible from
here. Past the clearing where the house stood, there was
nothing but palmettos, scrub oak, and pine trees. No sign of
civilization in any direction.

     He whirled around and looked toward the river. It was
there, but was it the Indian River? He walked rapidly to the
river's edge, straining to find something he could
recognize. There were no tree lined causeways, no
automobiles, no sailboats, no water-skiers, no houses, no
sign of life at all. Across the river, past Merritt Island,
he should have sighted the olive drab buildings at Patrick,
or at the very least, the red and white checkered water
tower there. There was nothing!

     "Would you look at that? Over there!" he pointed to the
now subdued rainstorm far out over the Atlantic, "--those
rain clouds--that's the storm that hit us a while ago--one
storm hit us both! It's unbelievable!"

     "Yes, it is unbelievable," Mansfield said. "Even after
two hundred years, it's still unbelievable and as much a
mystery now as it ever was."

     It occurred to Martin that this is how the area must
have looked centuries ago, before the concrete and the
asphalt and the hordes of sun worshipers and space people
moved in. "But, where did it all go?" he asked himself. How
can you make a city of sixty thousand people disappear? A
United States Air Force base? A dozen communities of nearly
100,000 persons? Aloud, he asked, "Where did it go?"

     "It's still there," the doctor answered softly. "We
just can't see the--it's--"

     "Rubbish!" Martin shouted. "No, it's impossible! Right
now I should be standing in an orange grove. How can two
things occupy the same space at the same time?"

     "The same space isn't being occupied. One's positive
and one's negative. They're as separate as two planets."

     "Rubbish. That has got to be rubbish!" he said,
outraged at the illogical statement.

     "Well, all I can say is--look around you. I don't want
to be flippant, but if you can come up with a better
solution we'd be happy to hear it."

     Martin did look around. It didn't help. Filled with
horror at the unexpected change in the countryside he knew
so well, he pleaded for assurances, "Is this all true? Are
you positive of what you say? Is--is everything still all
right--," he winced as he forced out, "over there?"

     "A difficult thing to know, for a certainty. If we
could see past the barrier, it's most likely that all is
just as you left it. It's our deeply felt wish that it is,
of course. But, an anxiety we've faced over the years is the
uncertainty of what might occur in a given situation. We
can't rely on stability or that some unexpected or unlikely
event might disturb it."

     "Oh, God! You mean--something might shake loose?"

     "Yes, we think it's very possible--and since there's no
real communication with your side, our only assurance is
when there is a transposition. But, of course that only
means all was satisfactory up until the instant of the
transposit--you really shouldn't worry about it though.
Stability has held for two hundred years now. I would
suggest, for your peace of mind, you assume nothing has
changed over there."

     "You really are something else! How can I have any
peace of mind? What about my wife's peace of mind? And my
son's and my daughter's? What about their feelings? They'll
think I've run out on them, or I'm hurt or killed or maybe
wandering around somewhere with amnesia."

     "Yes, that's true. It's another regrettable aspect.
But, suppose one of those things did happen to you? You'd
have no more control over it than you do now, would you?"

     Martin shrugged, "I don't know--yeah I guess not. But I
think I'd rather have it that way. I just can't imagine
peace of mind on either side of your stupid barrier."

     "We all try to place ourselves in the shoes of a
transpo at sometime. Most feel we should take the attitude
we've died and gone to a kind of heaven. You still have your
consciousness and your physical capabilities; you can still
lead a useful life."

     "If you think that's going to fix everything, you're
crazy. My family needs me."

     "Undoubtedly you're a good family man. You should feel
satisfied that you were a good influence on your family.
They'll survive without you. You have confidence in them,
don't you?"

     "That's not the point. It's not a material thing, it's
an emotional one. It's so--so unnecessary! I want to be with
my family, and they want me with them. I know they can take
care of themselves, but why should they have to?"

     The two men were slowly walking back to the house when
Martin stopped and faced the doctor. "All right," he said,
"I could look at it like I've gone to your crazy heaven, but
I'll never get used to it. This place--your stupid United
States, Number Two--it's more like hell to me."

     They resumed their stroll toward the house.

     The doctor reached out and placed his hand on Martin's
shoulder. He smiled as he said, "Of course you're best
qualified to know where you'll likely wind up, but I
personally recommend heaven."

     He burst into laughter then, and Martin regarded him as
he would a poised cobra, as they walked through the "open"
door into the little white house.

     After a moment Martin reappeared on the doorstep,
looked searchingly past the cleared grassy space in which
the cottage stood, threw his hands into the air and returned
dejectedly to the inside.


tainly discover the reason for it, won't we?"

     Having business to attend to, Franklin donned his coat
and returned to the table where his assistants stood
discussing the recent experiment.

     "I seem to have misplaced my spectacles, gentlemen.
Have you seen them?"

     The two disclaimed knowledge of the whereabouts of
Franklin's glasses.

     "I recall laying them on a sheet of tinfoil there, on
the table."

     The three searched the room but did not locate them.

     "Well, I'm positive I laid them there between the
bottles, but they are certainly not there now--well, never
mind. If you should find them please have them delivered to
me in the shop. I have urgent business to be looked after."

     So saying, Franklin left, only to return moments later.

     "Ebenezer," he said, "hand me a sheet of that tinfoil."

     Upon receiving the item Franklin crumpled it into a
ball and placed it on the table at the center of the
triangle formed by the jars.

     "Now, charge your phials, Philip."

     Syng cranked the electrical machine and in a few
moments all three were astonished to observe the ball of
tinfoil waver as though seen through disturbed water, and
instantly disappear from view!

     The trio stood, mouths agape, as if frozen to the
floor, unable to speak. Each was aghast at what they had
witnessed, unable to voice their feelings. Ebenezer
Kinnersley sank to his knees and silently mouthed a prayer.
When he arose, Franklin broke the silence.

     "I must agree you've addressed the correct party, Eb."

     "What happened, Ben?" asked Syng. "What have we done?"

     "I don't know, Philip," Franklin answered, leaning on
the table, studying the apparatus closely. "I do know we
have apparently surpassed our poor abilities."

     "I doubt this monstrous calling is meant to be within
the capabilities of a mere mortal at all, Ben," Ebenezer
offered gloomily.

     "I agree, Eb. It's a potentially evil thing, and yet
there might be a use for it if precautions are taken.
However, I feel a responsibility rests upon us to assure an
honorable use, or none at all. It would seem a wise course
that we prevent this discovery from falling into untutored
or less honorable hands. We must see to it that others don't
come to the same finding by lack of our discretion."

     Ebenezer nodded his agreement, but Philip seemed
troubled.

     "Wouldn't it be best to let others know of it, so they
might avoid the terrible consequences of a like experiment?"

     "I've found you can't warn people of impending danger
effectively, Philip. The mere mention of our experience
today would prompt each person having even the least bit of
electrical knowledge to seek to observe the effect. No. This
secret must remain with us for now, if only for the safety
of those with doubtful talents."

     "Do you mean we must forget about this?" Philip asked.

     "Forget it? Oh, I doubt we shall forget it soon. No, we
shall simply keep it to ourselves for the time being."

     Franklin's Autobiography reads:

     Toward the end of August 1747 we three in concert
stumbled upon that frightening discovery which was to
eventually change all of our lives. We conspired among
ourselves to take two steps in the attempt to preserve the
safety of those who might feel compelled to satisfy their
curiosity in a like endeavor. First, we veiled our
enthusiasm in our experiments, and second, we made an effort
to diminish the integrity of what we had accomplished up
until our very disconcerting observation so as to delay
others from arriving at an identical finding.

     Previously it had been my habit to forward accounts of
our labors and our conclusions to Mr. Collinson in London.
He, being a member of the Royal Society, a privilege denied
to me as a colonial, would read the accounts before that
august body. In order to fulfill the second requirement of
our conspiracy I sent a letter to him in which I requested
he not communicate my most recent letters to the Society. I
stressed, as strongly as I felt I might without raising
undesired suspicion, that discrepancies had been discovered
in some of the reported experiments and therefore it would
be wise to withhold the results. I went a bit further and
asked him not to reveal my name in their connection if he
were to communicate the findings in spite of my plea, or in
the event he had already done so. It was of some
satisfaction to me that my name had earned a measure of
respect in such matters and the absence of it might lessen
the chance of acceptance.

     Since I did not dwell, in the letter, upon what the
experimental shortcomings were, or upon which of the
observations were suspect, I hoped as a consequence all of
them would be suspect thus confusing the issue beyond
repair. How effective the instruction to Mr. Collinson has
been I of course have no knowledge.



     While Kinnersley and Syng continued the research,
Franklin, to all appearances, detached himself from
concentration on it. It was to be his demeanor for the
following 30 years. In order to free himself for what he
felt was a duty to the world, Franklin made David Hall his
partner in the printing business on January 1, 1748. His
financial requirements now secured, he outwardly became a
gentleman of leisure. He correctly guessed he would be
pressed into the public service.

The Autobiography states:

     While my broadcast purpose was public service to the
colony I in reality was practicing the opportunity to "kill
two birds with one stone." Over the years I found it
advantageous to be placed in the useful echelons of
government service. The post as clerk in the Pennsylvania
Congress and my position as postmaster had been very
productive for my printing business both for having first
grasp at newsworthy items and for preference in delivery of
my publications. Now it became urgent we be enabled to keep
an eye out for novel progress in scientific matters as it
occurred: First, to be privy to discoveries useful in our
own experimentation and second, to place our group in a
position to redirect the endeavors of those who might be
proceeding on an undesirable course.

     In 1757 when the great honors were bestowed upon me to
be awarded a doctorate by Oxford and to be accepted into the
Royal Society, our purpose was afforded a greater mobility.



     During his stay in England Franklin was subsequently
elected chairman of the Society, a position he relished as
it gave him the opportunity to monitor all of the world's
latest research. He was especially interested in keeping
tabs on the work of Joseph Priestly and Doctor William
Watson. And he maintained a detailed correspondence with
Beccaria in Italy to determine the extent of his progress.

     In 1762 Franklin returned to America but was obliged to
voyage once more to England in October, 1764 as agent for
Pennsylvania and the Massachusetts colony in the effort to
thwart the impending Stamp Act.

     In order for his Junto scientists to maintain suitable
communications an elaborate code was devised by Thomas
Hopkinson. Franklin had learned early in his visits to
England that his mail was regularly intercepted by the
British government before being forwarded to him. After the
code came into use, letters which reached him, ostensibly
from his many friends with innocuous bits of news and
gossip, were actually coded transmissions from his cohorts
describing research projects. His own correspondence was
coded and relayed approvals or critical analyses, and
suggestions for further experimentation. Wherever Franklin
traveled his scientific apparatus went with him. He
conscientiously duplicated all experiments relayed to him
and verified them.

     The Autobiography:

     The success of our code was one beyond our highest
optimistic expectation. The most competent cipher is one in
which no cipher is suspected and it affords a great amount
of satisfaction that only upon reading this 'confession'
will it become known a code existed, so cunningly was it
devised by Mr. Hopkinson.



     Franklin returned mail to America not only with his own
findings in scientific matters but also with those bits of
information he was able to collect from other investigators.
However, other interesting items began to appear in the
correspondence as well. He finally determined, in the fight
to repeal the Stamp Act, that it was in the stars for
America and England to sever connections at sometime in the
future. When the Hopkinson code was broken in 1874, a wealth
of data was found in Franklin's letters concerning troop
movements, shipping, and sources of money, arms and supplies
which would be available for a rebel colony's use. Franklin
was certainly America's first espionage agent.

     In 1771 Franklin and his colleagues concluded if there
was to be a war they were in position to apply their
technical talents. Ebenezer Kinnersley had continued his
experiments with the induced electrical beams and found that
proper distancing of the jars avoided the terrible effect
they had observed originally. What they failed to recognize
was that the separation only weakened the magnetic beams,
while any increase of power would tend to overcome the
greater distances. But, it is easy to criticize at this late
date. At the time, the concept was faultless. Except for the
intervention of fate it would have proved a tremendous
advantage for the revolutionaries.


r associates. I urge you to favor the effort to develop the
long range communication system you discussed with me
earlier today. Communication, or the lack thereof, has often
determined victory or defeat.

     "As for suggestions, I'll contribute but one for the
moment. We know 30,000 British regulars arrived in New York
this month, reporting to Lord Howe. I believe we can contain
that army. The next strongest concentration of British is at
Boston and it would be to our advantage to anticipate their
movements. Therefore, my only suggestion at present is that
the means be provided to specifically detect movements south
from Massachusetts."

     Franklin turned to Ebenezer Kinnersley, "Eb? Can we
adjust the fence to conform to the General's wishes?"

     Kinnersley had begun to study his maps even as
Washington spoke, making a number of measurements and
calculations; conferring with Philip Syng and Thomas
Hopkinson in hushed tones. At length he turned to Franklin,
"Ben, Thomas and Philip agree with me that we could move the
northeast locker across the bay to the southwest shore of
Cape Cod. The northern leg would then pass through
Providence, Springfield and to the south of Albany."

     "A satisfactory arrangement," said George Washington.

     "Will it cause you difficulty in power requirements,
Eb?" Franklin asked.

     "No sir. It will save some power, in fact, since the
north leg will be shortened slightly. Our most burdensome
task will be reaiming the lockers, and all but the southern
leg will have to be recalibrated."

     "Oh, yes," Franklin pondered the problem. "That's a
vital point, General. Without precise calibration we will
lose full capabilities in those legs."

     "I do not pretend to understand what you say," said
Washington, smiling. "I'll abide by your judgment in these
matters. I only request you grant me the same consideration
for my strategic responsibility."

     "You certainly have that consideration, sir. We shall
do what we must to make the system the most useful to you
and your men. It will take a bit of time though. How much
time will we be allowed?"

     "You can best answer your own question, Doctor. The
Declaration will not have its full effect until it is
endorsed and dispatched to King George and Parliament."

     Franklin turned to Kinnersley, "Ebenezer, how much time
will you require to adjust the system?"

     "About eight weeks, as a fair estimate."

     "I must insist on more haste, Eb. I can delay the
endorsement of the Declaration for a bit, but in no event
longer than five weeks. By then we must be prepared to
proceed."

     True to his word, Benjamin Franklin cunningly paced the
endorsements to the Declaration of Independence over the
next five weeks. Thus, it is not to be considered a
coincidence that the final ratifying signature was penned on
the document a mere three hours after the special thirteen
deflection signal was received from Niagara Falls. The
symbolic transmission let it be known the fence was now
erected in its new configuration and was "on the air" for
the duration of the fight for independence.


significance, the resulting summary reports were forwarded
to General George Washington's staff headquarters in New
York by special couriers.

     "Captain Howell should have arrived in Buffalo day
before yesterday, Philip," Kinnersley whispered to Philip
Syng, finally showing just a bit of anxiety. "Is there a
chance he was ambushed?"

     Such a possibility prompted them to send Howell to
Buffalo and to send a backup message on the following day.
This second messenger was accompanied by a contingent of
additional troops General Washington insisted was needed to
bolster the Niagara camp's scanty defenses.

     "I hope not!" Philip said. "But, someone should be
there by this time."

     They became aware of a rising murmur in the room.

     "Yahoo!" an excited voice exploded.

     Ebenezer turned quickly and looked at his kinner,
"Philip! There it is now," he laughed. "We're on!"

     "One!" a voice counted.

     Then, at the next deflection, more voices joined in.

     "Two!"

     Soon, in unison, all in the room were counting off the
signals, which were to guarantee a huge bulge in advantage
in the upcoming war.

     When the count reached thirteen a wild celebration
broke loose in the room and the smiling faces manning the
kinners chattered away in exultation. Ebenezer Kinnersley
dispatched a messenger posthaste to inform Ben Franklin of
the happy news.

     But the handclasping and laughter, the general
atmosphere of glee and self satisfied good humor and
triumph, was not to last. It was brought to a sudden
standstill by a worried voice exclaiming, "Mr. Kinnersley--
something is wrong!"

     Seeing the operator indicating his kinner, the others
returned to theirs and saw they had returned to zero
deflection. Now more sober murmurs permeated the room.

     "What is it?" asked Syng. "Have we lost power, Eb?"

     "It looks that way. Jim must have a problem. I suppose
we'll just have to be patient. We'll wait."

     Wait they did. For two full days they kept the vigil,
but the kinners didn't move from the zero stop. It became
evident to Franklin that Winfield needed help, and he sent
Kinnersley and Syng to Niagara Falls with all speed. No one
guessed, of course, the trek would be to no avail. Indeed,
it was to be two years before an adequate explanation would
be found, by Kinnersley, for the failure of the system, and
another six years before the full impact of the "failure"
would strike them.

r 12 miles!"

     "It's eerie, isn't it? Knowing you have twenty five
miles of no man's land surrounding your entire country?"

     "Eerie? Yes, it's surely one word for it, I suppose,"
Franklin said. "Did you calculate the power involved?"

     "Yes, we think so. With Philip's help I devised a
kinner which would leave a mark on a sheet of foolscap upon
each revolution of the needle; that is, each time zero is
passed. This was tedious business, you may be assured. When
we completed the chore there were 1,255 marks to be totted.
On the assumption that each mark represents one hundred
gnys, we are obliged to assign a power of 125,500 gnys to
the tap beams, and an unbelievable 12,550,000 gnys on the
fence legs!"

     "That's only 12 and a half millions more than we needed
to generate for power for the fence," Franklin laughed.

     "Only!" Kinnersley said, laughing along with him.

     They enjoyed the laughter for a while, then each became
lost in his own thoughts.

     "And it is a negative quality, eh?" Franklin mused.

     "Name it what you will, it's the opposite of what we
set out to use. And that reminds me of something I have
recently learned--Tom Hopkinson's been aware of the reversal
since last spring."

     "Oh? Why did he delay in confiding in us?"

     "He says he assumed we already knew. He's still at work
on the communication task, and you know him, it's all he's
interested in. He and Philip have contrived a different type
of kinner, a sandwich of glass that gives off a glow when an
interruption occurs. He was making good headway until the
system failed."

     "I think I'll look in on Thomas and see what he's up
to," Franklin laughed. "In the meantime, Ebenezer, continue
your excellent industry. We'll control the fence yet."

     "Yes, I'm certain we will, Ben," Kinnersley answered.

     From his tone, one would not feel he really meant it.
of the lumor with its all pervading light made windows
unnecessary. Therefore, the lumor was welcomed with great
glee by the public. It was feared that someday the British
would break through the fence, and the taxation would
commence where it left off. That is how it began, and even
though the apprehension dissolved when the true state of
affairs was learned, it remains a fact that today there is
not one window in all USII!

     Early in the fall of 1782 Hopkinson and Kinnersley
brought their version of the lumor, the imager, to
perfection, and it was added to the Library of Congress
system immediately. It is a monument to their genius that
only the most minor improvements have been found necessary
over the span of nearly two hundred years. Although many
additional features have been incorporated into the Library
since that momentous occasion, none have had a value even
approaching that of the imager. It fostered enlightenment.
Educational facilities never before witnessed on earth
became available in the most lowly backwoods areas as well
as in the busy Offsets. Education begot a literate gentry
and the literate gentry responded by contributing
increasingly sophisticated ideas and workable concepts to
the Library. Out of those ideas and practical suggestions
came more and more improvements, and more uses for the
system. Thus is the value of the imager demonstrated: It
summons the fuel to feed it, and returns creative fuel.

     By the early 1800's, homes, and any other type of
building or structure, for that matter, were constructed
using fence power. The building materials were at first
fabricated from simple grains of sand, held together by
"fence induced attraction." Later (beginning May, 1827),
molecules of air were manipulated to form a smooth, hard
substance called gasite, the material of all modern USII
structures. The consistency of gasite is maintained by the
power of the fence, distributed through the Library.

     The 1830's, effectively reflecting a generation of
progress under "Library culture," abounded with advances in
technology. By the end of the decade every item of
convenience, of utility, of clothing, of transportation and
communications, was supplied by the "fence that failed."
Today, some foods are also supplied, by methods of
synthesis, employing the same indestructible power.

     Benjamin Franklin did not live to see all the "spin-
offs" of his brainchild, but he would not have been
surprised at any of them. He would have been perfectly at
home in any age in any technological environment and he
would have lent himself to it.

     He would certainly recognize that the true failure of
his fence, now, would bring the United States of America,
Number Two, figuratively crashing to earth like the walls of
Jericho.

     And he would wholeheartedly approve!

w Bedford, those people seemed to go mad! They tied me up
like I was a criminal, and I was taken to New London. Now,
here I am, sitting here talking to a dead man, and a man who
is supposed to be in France these nine years, and God only
knows what else. I have certainly lost my senses!"

     All in the room were captivated by Manning's story,
observing him intently, often exchanging unbelieving,
mystified glances with the others. When he shrugged his
indication the tale was at an end, they sat in silence, each
engrossed in private thought--no doubt formulating questions
they would ask of Thomas Manning.

     Franklin would contain himself no longer.

     "Thomas? Who won the war?" he asked, causing the others
to turn to Manning to receive the answer.

     "Why, we did, of course!" he cried, jumping to his feet
and clenching his fists. "Are you trying to drive me mad?
You're doing it. You are certainly doing it!"

     The men hastened to console him, assuring him he was
not insane and that it was not their intention to destroy
his mind. When he recovered from his anger and tasted the
drink which was brought to him, he was the more congenial,
and he listened carefully as Franklin recounted the events
that transpired in USII over the previous nine years.

     Upon reaching the present time in the saga Franklin
said, "So you see, Thomas, if you're insane, you're not
alone. Sometimes I feel we all abide in a world gone mad."

     Manning suffered through the story in stunned silence,
smiling when he heard Jim Winfield had not died, and Captain
Howell was not even injured; gasping at the news the fence
was operating somehow but uncontrolled, and flabbergasted
when he was told there had been no war.

     "I'll not own I understand all that's happened, Mr.
Franklin. I wish I had the talent to make it right. I don't
know what is right though. I'd give all I possess to have
lived here, where there wasn't a war. I lost three brothers
in it ... now I've lost the last. I'm the only one left."

     "I'm deeply sorry about your brothers and about a great
many other things. We hope to restore everything to what, by
right, it ought to be, but we haven't fully understood until
seeing you how mixed up everything is. I'd like for you to
remain here with me for a time. We have much to discuss
about these unfortunate events."

     "But, sir," he pleaded, "I'm the only one left to care
for my mother and father and my sister. I've got to get back
home. I have to leave right away."

     Helplessly, Franklin looked at the others and then back
to Manning, "Thomas, we haven't seen anyone from
Massachusetts or any parts of New England in nine years now
until you arrived. It's impossible to cross the fence, we
believe, in any direction."

     "I can't believe that, Mr. Franklin."

     "Why not?" Franklin asked, puzzled.

     "Because I'm here!"

     "Oh, my God, yes!" Franklin admitted sheepishly. "It
slipped my mind."


ough' there's no urgent need to act. However, we must never
forget it was lack of knowledge that caused our circumstance-
-together with an accidental coincidence of a natural
phenomenon, to be sure, but we mustn't simply ignore what
we've created on the hope it will correct itself. Nor can we
depend on it's stability for all time."

     "It's an excellent point, Tom," Franklin smiled at
Hopkinson. "In my view, the alternatives we've heard
outlined each carry the possibility of being accomplished
either deliberately, through ignorance, or by natural means.
It should be our avowed purpose to arrive at a method by
which our desires shall be achieved by the deliberate
execution of that method. A blunder occasioned by continued
ignorance might cause an even more reprehensible condition
to come about--if such is possible. Our solution must be
academically correct, morally correct, and we must work
toward the solution." Franklin emphasized the key words by
pounding his fist into the palm of his hand.

     "I'm only a simple guildsman," Philip apologized. "You
fellows are the thinkers. This whole thing scares me out of
my wits, and I suppose I'd prefer to take my chances nothing
dire will happen if we leave it alone. But, I agree. It
would be more desirable to have some control over it, than
none at all. I'm ready to do what I'm able to do, to help."

     "Thank you, Philip," Franklin said. "However, you must
not degrade your thinking abilities. The suggestion we might
solve the problem by doing nothing, is as valid a course as
any other."

     "It might be at that," Hopkinson joined in. "And it
will surely be our course until we determine precisely what
we must do."

     "Precisely is the word," Philip mused. "My God! Think
about Eb's speculation the two spaces might join. It sickens
me to guess what it would be like. Imagine two Philadelphias
suddenly crammed into the space of one." He turned to
Kinnersley, "Eb, you're right! It would certainly be hell on
earth."

     "Yes, it would be," Franklin said, "and we must assure
it never comes to pass. Gentlemen, we need to inform the
Congress of our dilemma and seek the guidance and assistance
of the very best of our people. My first recommendation to
the Congress will be that Ebenezer's alternative be given
the utmost consideration. I will propose we level our cities
to the ground and relocate them to those areas we might
determine to be uninhabited by the citizens of the United
States--The Number One United States!"

     "How are we to make those judgments? With no contact
with the other side, how will we know?" Kinnersley asked.

     "The first known communicator arrived today, Eb. Tom
Manning! We shall be obliged to gather every trifling bit of
information from such 'visitors,' and make the best use of
it. Not only for knowledge useful in solving the problem of
the fence but to learn all we can of the living habits of
the people in USI. Thomas," he addressed Hopkinson, "this
fits in well with the Library scheme. We must gather all
possible information for the use of all. The most minute
piece of knowledge will be important, for it might save a
life on the other side."

     "What about our lives?" Thomas Manning pleaded. "Are we
not to be considered?"

     "We must all agree this is where our highest moral
considerations must be at the forefront. We shall each have
individual thoughts on the matter, of course, but, as for
me, I cannot conceive of a more unsatisfactory result than
the true United States suffering destruction, save one: that
we were to survive at her expense."

     Philip Syng looked up suddenly and interrupted, "Are
you proposing we should deliberately set out to destroy
ourselves?" his eyes sweeping the others as he spoke,
frantically seeking support.

     "Well I, for one, agree with Ben," Kinnersley said
resolutely.

     Philip persisted, "But, we deserve to survive! Didn't
we save the country? Didn't we accomplish our purpose
without a war? Without loss of life, and without the misery
of families and friends torn from each other?"

     "You can't have a war, Philip, unless you have an
enemy," Hopkinson said, "and we shut our enemy out. At the
same time we shut the remainder of the world out. As a
result, we're no longer part of the world, and I hold little
hope we shall be, ever again. We've caused a condition to
exist that's not meant to exist."

     "We did not do it!" Ebenezer Kinnersley's powerful
voice boomed throughout the study, and he rose from his
chair as if in a dream.

     The others stared at thim in amazement.

     "From the very first moment," Ebenezer continued, in a
posture the others recognized to promise a sermon, "this
satanic child we begot has been controlled by a force
greater than we shall ever know. Providence has assumed
control, and it shall be through Providence that control
shall be relinquished.  Whatever we might foolishly feel to
be our just deserts, to survive or to perish, its
fulfillment will be ordained by Providence."

     A faraway look spread over the aged preacher's
countenance as he warmed to his subject, and he gave the
impression he would soon be into a full-blown service.
Franklin grasped the opportunity afforded by Ebenezer's
strength gathering pause to head him off.

     "We shall certainly not neglect Providence in seeking
an apt solution, Eb. We can only beg for guidance in a
direction that's the true one, and apply our knowledge to
such an end. However, it's my firm conviction we are the
intruders, and that we must discover the means to erase our
fence, and ourselves, from the face of this earth. We must
not rest until we return United States Number Two to nothing-
-to zero!"
would have found its way into public knowledge."

     Martin nodded that he understood.

     "Now, as to Franklin's progress in electrical matters,
that too is recorded in a number of places in your
histories, biographies, encyclopedias, and so on. The letter
Franklin wrote to Peter Collinson in 1747, renouncing
certain experiments, was indeed written and appears in most
of his biographies. However, its meaning won't be clear in
Poz until it's read with our existence and our history in
mind. Only then does it have sensible significance other
than as an interesting piece of correspondence."

     Mansfield again opened the Library, saying, "Let me
show you a singular event that took place sometime in the
fall of 1747."

     A "picture" appeared on the large Imager and Mansfield
stood to one side gesturing with his finger as if conducting
a class lecture.

     "Now, these are scenes showing a bank on the Schuykill
River in Philadelphia. Ben Franklin arranged a picnic for
his friends and their families, which gave him occasion to
show off some developments in electrical equipment. Here is
displayed a turkey roasting on an electric spit; and there
is a gold foil portrait of the King of England, dancing
about ridiculously in its frame due to an application of
electricity; and there, an electrified net bringing in
stunned fish from the depths of the stream. The piece de
resistance, seen over here, is the use of Leyden jars to
produce fire for the detonation of fireworks, which provided
an impressive display over the river. The colorful, noisy,
and sometimes frightening show brought shrieks of delight
from the children, oohs and ahs from the grownups, and also
brought curious onlookers to the location from all over. See
them lined up on both banks of the river?"

     "Well, it may have happened in your history," Martin
laughed, "but not in ours."

     "It's in your literature also, you must simply have
missed it. But, the point is, Franklin did indeed bring the
science to a very high level, and remember, this picnic was
held thirty years before the Revolution began."

     "Well, please explain why the progress stopped."

     "It didn't stop, but the public display of such things
did. The picnic took place, you will recall, not long after
the discovery of the effect of the jars, and shortly before
Franklin 'retired' from his business." Mansfield continued,
"Now, there is a passage in the Autobiography--Ah, here it
is. Franklin says:"



     While the outing was designed for the pleasure of my
colleagues and their families it drew the attention of
passersby as well, which we should have foreseen. The
phenomena and wondrous entertainments of electricity are
difficult to conceal and excites those observing it to a
more knowledgeable observance.

     The practical applications of electrical fire which we
displayed, we decided, could not soon be available to the
public use for a number of reasons: there abided a lack of
adequate sources of power; the British would never support
our endeavors as an American enterprise; we did not desire
to contribute to the science as a British enterprise, and so
on. When these and other factors were added to the awareness
of the fearful traits of the substance that we had
discovered earlier, we held the wisest course to be
withdrawal into our experimental shell, emerging only on
those occasions when something of an innocent nature was
uncovered, or one which might prove a true and immediate
benefit for our citizens.



     "One of those 'innocent benefits' was the discovery of
the lighning rod in 1752," Mansfield added.

     "OK. It might explain why it stopped in USII, but how
about in USI?"

     "Oh, come now. Until 1776, the countries were one and
the same."

     "But after that?"

     "Yes, after that--well, surely you can understand what
happened. The Revolution got in the way, for one thing.
Franklin was later tied up with ambassadorial duties and
matters of state; the early United States and its people
were involved with survival and adjustments to a new world
role. Many factors are there to explain a lack of pure
research--and don't forget, you had an influx of new people
who had to be absorbed and provided for. You also lost
people in the war, and--well, you might say it took a lot of
years to get back into the swing of things. We, of course,
were not hampered by the same factors."

     "Alright, I appreciate what you say, but there is
another point--Franklin's use of Niagara Falls for power.
It's a little farfetched, too dramatic to be believable,
don't you think?"

     "Don't you pay any attention to things that have
happened in your own world? Your own Thomas Edison produced
power at Niagara Falls for his first long distance
transmission of electricity; hydroelectric power is
generated there at this very moment--"

     "OK," Martin laughed, "I know those things. I wanted to
change the subject, and that did it. How is it you know so
much about us, and we know nothing about you?"

     "Our most valuable information is gained from persons
like yourself, a transpositee."

     "But, you have mentioned literature, biographies,
encyclopedias--"

     "Yes, it's our next most valuable source. We have
actually transposited a library or two, over the years. One,
I recall, was from a yacht in the Atlantic off North
Carolina, another--a 'mobile library' in Texas. We just
acquire bits and pieces, here and there."

     "Do you mean to say a whole yacht, and a truck, were
transposited?"

     "Why, yes! We get more boats than motor vehicles, but
we do get them occasionally. We have even captured two enemy
submarines."

     "How the devil can USII have an enemy?"

     "Not ours; one was German, captured off Long Island in
1914. The other was a peculiar type of craft, only two
occupants--surfaced near New Orleans in 1944. Japanese."

     "New Orleans? A Jap sub in the Gulf!"

     "It might be we captured the only one to venture that
far. At any rate, you can see we did our part in those
wars," he laughed.

     "What happened to the crews? Did you imprison them?"

     "Of course not. They were quite harmless to both our
countries, being here. So, why imprison them?"

     "But they were hostile people, especially the Japs.
They had a very suicidal attitude."

     "As a matter of fact, one of the Japanese crew did
commit suicide before he could be brought ashore. The other
became a good citizen--our only Japanese, by the way."

     "I didn't mean 'suicidal' in that way. Didn't the
Germans try to take over? Or cause trouble?"

     "They were a bit of a problem at first, but when their
predicament was made clear to them, they gradually accepted
it and were quite happy to be done with war."

     "If you have transposited entire crews of boats and
submarines--just how many transpos have there been?"

     "Let's get the most recent news from the Library, shall
we?" Mansfield said, and he beckoned for Martin to observe.
"Now, first of all, I'll request that you be identified."

     "Me? The Library can't know anything about me, can it?"

     "Only what you see here," said the doctor, directing
Martin's attention to the small screen over the console.

     Case 947

     Saturday, 25 August 1973, 18:38:38 P.M. EST

     Martin Bender, possibly incomplete, spelling
unconfirmed

     Transposited, Gate Number 8, Florida

     Date, Saturday, 25 August 1973

     Time, 10:22:34 AM, EST

     Transposit identification, 947

     Preliminary historical data available, not displayed

     Awaiting introduction

     "There, you see, you are the 947th to be translated.
Now, let's find out the total number to this instant,"
Mansfield said, again keying the board.

     Saturday, 25 August, 18:39:26 PM, EST

     Transpositee aggregate status, 947



     "Well, so far, you're the last to be translated. You
are No. 947!"

     "I'm tickled to death to hear that. What did 'awaiting
introduction' mean on the first display?"

     "You'll get into that procedure a bit later. You'll be
invited to contribute to our knowledge of Poz and USI, from
your personal life experiences, and--"

     "Suppose I don't want to contribute?"

     "Then you won't. It's as simple as that. You're not
required to do anything you don't desire to do here."

     "I'll believe that when I see it," Martin said. "It's
impractical for one thing, and it's not true. I don't desire
to stay here, but I can't leave."

     "You are not required to stay," Mansfield said quietly,
"it's simply impossible to leave."

     "What happened to my 946 buddies? They still here?"

     "Some are. They live and die like everyone else, and
the list goes all the way back to Nathaniel Gibbons in 1778.
He was assigned Number One."

     "And Thomas Manning was No. 2?"

     "No, as it turned out a few others were found. I
believe he was fifth or sixth. I could find it for you--"

     "Never mind, it's not important. What I want to know is
- have any of those people gone back?"

     "No evidence exists of a successful re-transposit."

     "What if a duplicate remained here or whatever--
couldn't that happen?--and you would go on thinking no one
had gotten out?"

     "Don't you think it would probably be known in Poz?"
the doctor asked, again keying the board. "Now, here is a
table showing:"

     Transpositee mortality status - Gross
     Saturday, 25 August 1973, 18:41:42 PM, EST

Lciously chose my mother's name for my mentor."

     "Oh, yeah. I like that. It's kind of poetic."

     "I suppose it is. Your Librarian will be your mentor,
too. You've been introduced to the Library, so now it's time
for the Library to be introduced to you."

     "But, I thought that's what just took place."

     "Not quite. Your Librarian knows a lot about you by
this time, yes, but you, Martin Bender, number nine-forty-
whatever, haven't been linked to that information."

     "How soon we forget--that's number nine-forty-seven,
Doctor," he said, with mock pride.

     "Oh. Yes. Excuse me," Mansfield laughed and squinted at
the ceiling, as if making a mental note. "Now, you can
communicate with your Librarian any time you wish. If you
want to learn about something, be entertained, read a novel,
or just have someone to talk to, your Librarian is there.
All you do is place your hand there on the console, and your
Librarian will recognize you and be ready and willing to
help you. Like to try it?"

     "Recognize me? I thought you just said--"

     "Look, the simple way to see what I'm telling you is to
just do it. If you feel up to it, go ahead and hold hands
with the Librarian."

     "Just put my hand on that glass square, right?" Martin
said, pointing.

     "Right, and, again, it's not going to hurt a bit."

     "Well, here goes," Martin said, and touched his hand
lightly to the designated spot.

     Martin was astonished to see a figure appear on the
screen that was the last image he would expect--a shape clad
in a suit of medieval armor! He saw the figure only from the
waist up, but he guessed that even if he saw it full length,
it would be totally armored. The helmet was a handsome one,
with a feather plume, a bright red, exquisitely shaped
feather flaring out from its apex. The visor was closed and
he did not have a clue as to what hid behind it, although he
did see eyes in there.

     "Hello," said a voice that issued from the helmet. "I
am your Librarian. You have given me the name - Thor."

     Martin looked at Mansfield and shrugged, "You get a
nice looking lady named Maggie, and I get a tin suit named
Thor?"

     "I'm sure you'll discover the reason for it soon
enough," Mansfield said, smiling reassuringly. "Remember,
you didn't consciously choose the name."

     "Excuse me if I interrupt," said Thor. "I have met you
as a stranger. Now I am pleased to inquire your name, so I
may know you as a friend."

     "My God, I know that voice! It's my old high school
football coach," Martin exclaimed to the screen, trying to
see through the visored helmet. Then turning to Mansfield,
he said excitedly, "That's old Boots Saddell!" as if the
doctor knew him, too. Mansfield laughed and slapped Martin
on the back, as if he had in fact known Coach Saddell.

     "Boots!" Martin laughed to the screen. "I can't believe
it. This is Marty. Marty Bender--remember me? Class of '47."

     "Mr. Bender," Thor said, bowing slightly, "I'm
privileged to be your Librarian. It's pleasing to know that
you enjoy my voice. If it reminds you of a person you
obviously admire, it is even more satisfying. Of course, I
have no objection to being called Boots, if you wish it."

     "Thor, I don't have the slightest idea why I named you
that, but it's a--a good name." Martin said half
apologetically, thinking he may have offended the image.
"Yes, I did admire Coach Saddell. He was a big influence on
me at a time when I needed a lot of guidance. Coach died
while I was in college, and I miss him, and I'll always
admire him," he explained quietly, looking straight into the
visored eyes. "I'll tell you what: I named you Thor, and you
will stay Thor, but if I call you Coach, or Boots, once in
awhile, don't feel I'm slighting you."

     "Knowing that," said Thor, "I'll consider it an honor
to be referred to as Coach, or Boots, as well as Thor."

     "Yuck! You both are making me nauseous," Mansfield
said, grabbing his stomach mockingly..

     "And so, I am esquire to Mr. Martin Bender?" Thor
asked. "There is recent information on a Martin Bender. Is
this you?"

     The screen flashed its yellow and red scheme, and the
information Martin had seen earlier appeared on the screen.



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