Hope this works.

This is a very long story, that might not make a lot of sense.  Have fun scrolling.

The Shadow Race

Foreword:

The industrial nation of Mechstadt was a mere twenty miles across at its widest point, yet it had a population of over one hundred million citizens.  The evidence of this enormous populace hung around the island nation like a plague.  Huge clouds of black smoke filled the sky and curled around the towering silver skyscrapers, blocking out the warm sun.  All the water around the country within a five-mile radius was dark gray and heavily polluted with toxic chemicals.  The waves around the country were also fairly powerful.  To combat annual tsunamis, hundred-foot walls had been built all around the perimeter, with a guard tower or gun turret every mile or so.  The only way in or out of the city was an enormous gate at the edge of the eastern side of the island, which led out to a land bridge that was visible above the water only a couple of weeks every year.

            The treacherous land bridge, only half a mile wide and thirty miles long, stretched through the black waters and led to the continent of Tropicana.  There, the skies brightened, and nature could be witnessed again.  Animals lived peacefully in the wet jungles, the warm beaches, the windy prairies, and the misty mountain cliffs.  The natives were also scattered throughout the area, not nearly as densely packed as the people in Mechstadt.  Though Tropicana was over three hundred times as large as its neighbor, it had less than half the population.  The people lived in simple grass and mud huts, constantly traveling and making their lives in the wild with very few if any modern appliances.

            This is the story of the interactions between the technology-based realm of Mechstadt and the wonderful, primitive land of Tropicana.

AN ORDINARY DAY AT SCHOOL

            Dr. Richard Nichols reached Western Mechstadt High School at six o’clock and prepared for his lesson.  The students started arriving thirty minutes later, and by seven o’clock, the class was filled.  Nichols walked to the front of the class, waited for a moment as the students pulled out laptops and miniature computers, and then started his lesson.

            “Professors of mathematics all over the world have always been puzzled by the mysterious theorem known as ‘the X factor’,” Dr. Nichols started.  “Under normal conditions, two plus two equals four.  Everybody knows this.  However, in some equations, the X factor becomes involved.  When this happens, only the top government computers can solve the equation.  The supercomputers take into account movement of the earth, speed and kinetic energy of surrounding subatomic particles, air pressure, and many other factors, and are able to figure out the best answer for the equation.  The answer constantly changes, since the world is also always changing.  I have documentation here of one of the legendary X factor equations, done about two years ago.  On this particular day, the problem three times two was plugged into the equation.  The answer was found several hours later… seven point five three.  So, as you can see, the X factor is beyond comprehending for the mere human brain.  Only computers can find the answers.”

            One student raised his hand.  “How come we haven’t heard about this X factor thing before?”

            “The government finally decided to release it,” said Nichols.  “In fact, it was our very own leader, the great President Geoff, who decided to tell the public the truth about their world.”  The students nodded and smiled.  President Geoff was a well-respected figure.  He had fought crime, reduced pollution, and lowered taxes for the people of Mechstadt.

            Nichols smiled.  “Because this X factor can only be solved by the government, only they know what is best for us.  By harnessing this technology, they can make the best decisions for us and positively influence our lives.  This is why you should always listen to and obey the government.”

            When the lesson was over, the students filed out of the classroom.  Dr. Nichols breathed a sigh of relief, and then waited at his desk.  Several minutes later, a man dressed in black entered the room.  His face was covered by a black mask with built-in goggle lenses, and he was carrying a black bag.

            Dr. Nichols swallowed nervously and said, “The students bought it.  They don’t suspect anything.”

            “Yes, I heard,” the man in black hissed.  The evil voice sent shivers running down Nichols’ spine.  “I know.  Very good.  You did well, Doctor.  And now, you shall be rewarded.”  The man in black hefted the bag up onto Dr. Nichols’ desk.  The mathematics teacher waited for a moment, and then stepped forward and unzipped the bag.  Inside, he estimated about half a million dollars.

            The man in black noted the amazed expression on Dr. Nichols’ face.  “Ha.  Guess you’re lucky you chose a profession in mathematics instead of art history, huh?”

            Dr. Nichols looked up.  “I don’t understand why you wanted me to teach that to the kids.  Won’t other schools have to start teaching the X factor, too?”

            “Yes.”

            Nichols waited, and then said, “Well, if you’ve got to pay every teacher in the country to do this, that’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

            “That’s right.”

            Nichols paused again, thinking.  Finally, he asked, “Who do you work for?”

            The man in black laughed uneasily, and then pulled back his overcoat, revealing a handgun.  “Don’t get too nosy, Dr. Nichols.  It doesn’t pay to be a poke around.  You just keep your money, and be happy.”

            Dr. Nichols trembled, nodded, and then put the bag of money under his desk.  The man in black turned and left the school.  Dr. Nichols took a deep breath, unable to comprehend the immensity of the situation at hand.  He decided that it was better if he didn’t know what was going on, and got ready for his next class.

            In the other classrooms, hidden microphones listened as the students spoke highly of their leader, President Travis Geoff.  Amy chewed a carbon/potassium bar and said, “President Geoff is cool.  Both my parents got raises after they voted for him!  Now we live on the top floor of our apartment!”

            Charlie said, “President Geoff’s college policy has really helped me straighten out my future!  I’m going to get a full scholarship if I join the Mechstadt army!”

            Johnny shook his head and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Something seems a little false about President Geoff.  I don’t like him that much.  You guys know what I mean?”

            There was a long silence, in which the students glanced nervously at each other, unable to comprehend what Johnny had said.  Then a student said, “Three cheers for President Geoff!”  Everyone cheered and laughed and kept complimenting their president.

            The next day, Johnny was absent.  It was announced that his entire family had gotten a rare disease from staying outdoors too long on vacation.  The news reported Geoff’s scientists were working day and night to find a cure for the strange strands of bacteria that had invaded their bodies, but it was too late.  After their deaths a week later, President Travis Geoff came on television and advised against vacations so that nobody else caught the rare disease.  “Avoid vacations,” Travis Geoff said, flashing his smile at the end of his program.  “Try to stay indoors.  Remember, a hardworking citizen is also a safe citizen!”    

A VICTIM OF TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE

            While all the citizens of Mechstadt glorified their magnificent leader, President Geoff was getting ready to have an innocent man murdered.  He was sitting in an interrogation room in the Justice Center, the department where all the government officials worked.  President Geoff, wearing a gray suit with a black tie, pretended to listen while an old man explained himself.

            “I’m very sorry,” the old man said, shaking his head, sadly.  He was sitting across from President Geoff, scratching his baldhead.  His name was Theodore Carson, and he was one hundred and six years old, the oldest civilian in the country.  He had once asked why he held only the title of ‘oldest civilian’, since he had also learned that he was the oldest person of any occupation in Mechstadt.  The government officials had given him a long, complicated explanation that he hadn’t understood, and which really didn’t explain anything at all.  “I really don’t mean to cause trouble.  I didn’t mean to go against any government decrees or anything…”

            “I understand,” President Geoff said, nodding his head and laying a hand on the old man’s shoulder.  “I truly understand, Mr. Carson.  You’re growing older.  Your mind is not what it once was.  I understand that perhaps you have been a little confused about the past lately.”

            “Yes,” Carson said, nodding his head.  “That’s it.  I suppose I have just been confused.  I didn’t mean to lie to anybody.  I did not mean to pass on false information.”

            The leader of Mechstadt nodded.  “I forgive you, Mr. Carson.  The entire nation forgives you.  You see, I try my very best to create a country in this troubled world where somebody can live peacefully and gain knowledge.  That is difficult when someone, such as yourself, unknowingly passes on false information about the past.  But do not worry.  I don’t hold you responsible in the least, Mr. Carson.”  President Geoff smiled.  Perhaps they wouldn’t have to destroy the old man.

            “Yes,” Carson said, nodded, smiling.  “Thank you, Mr. President.  I am still very sorry.  Please, accept my apologies.”  His smile faded, and he narrowed his eyes, as if struggling to remember something.  “Still… I am so confused… you see, I seem to remember things so differently.”      

            President Geoff nodded his head, keeping the smile on his face.  Beneath the table, he clenched his fists in anger.  “Really, Mr. Carson?” he asked, sweetly.  “What do you remember?”

            “Well, I seem to remember the very beginning of the nation of Mechstadt,” said Carson.  “I… I remember things that nobody else appears to remember.  You see, I was taught in school that the people of Mechstadt came here from another place.  The very first colonists came walking across Tropicana, and the others came in airships from a faraway place in the north… a place called Zelkom.”

            “Zelkom?” asked President Geoff, raising an eyebrow in mock bewilderment.  “Did I hear you correctly?  Zelkom?  But there is no such place as Zelkom.  Here, look at this map.”  A servant delivered a map into the president’s hands, and he unrolled it.  “Here.  Show me Zelkom, Mr. Carson.”

            Carson surveyed the map.  He ran his finger over the gray dot that represented Mechstadt, and then traced around the border of the large green glob that symbolized Tropicana.  “I know, I know, it’s not on this map,” said Carson, after a moment.  “But I swear I remember a country called Zelkom.  People from Zelkom came here and became people of Mechstadt.  And then there were two separate countries.  But… I don’t know what has become of Zelkom.”

            “It is a figment of your imagination,” President Geoff said, shrugging his shoulders.  “Zelkom?  Colonists on airships?  It sounds absurd to me.  Have you forgotten that our very own collection of biblical manuscripts, the Record, provides accounts of the very first human beings.  The Creator placed human beings on the land bridge just as the tide was rising.  Half of them went west to Mechstadt, and the other half went east to Tropicana.  Those were the very first humans in Mechstadt, those people from thousands of years ago.  Not people from some made-up place called Zelkom.”

            “Yes, I have read the Record,” said Carson, nodding his head.  “I… I just don’t know if what the biblical texts say are true…”

            “What?” asked President Geoff, astounded.  “You don’t think they’re true?  Of course they’re true.  I believe every word of the Record.  Without the Record, Mechstadt would not have any laws to live by or any history with which to identify itself.”

            “Yes, yes, I suppose that’s true,” Carson said, putting one hand on the side of his face.  “I’m very sorry.  You must be correct, Mr. President.  My memory is failing me.  Zelkom must be false.  The Record is definitely true.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”

            “That’s better,” President Geoff said, nodding his head.  “That’s good.  I’m glad we here at the Justice Center could bring you to your senses, Mr. Carson.  You are, of course, free to go.  Enjoy yourself in Mechstadt.”

            “Yes,” Carson said, standing up.  “Thank you.  Good-bye, President Geoff.  It was a wonderful experience talking to you.”  Theodore Carson left the interrogation room, slowly shaking his head, as if trying to dislodge the imaginary memories that still plagued him.

            Two men entered the interrogation room after Carson left.  They both wore heavy black clothing and had masks with oval black glass lenses.  They were President Geoff’s secret police, an elite breed of enforcer in the technological nation.  President Geoff didn’t even glance up at them.  “Go and call Ivan.  He’s the best with car bombs.  Mr. Carson will need to be killed.  It needs to be a public accident.  And everyone he has passed information to must be informed of his unfortunate brain cancer.”

            The two men nodded their heads and left the room without a word.  President Geoff’s advisors entered the room next, trying not to gaze at the secret police members that sent shivers down their spines.  They hurried up to the president, their heads bobbing.  “Excellent decision, Mr. President.”

            “Yes, yes, President Geoff.  You are doing an extraordinary job running this country.”

            President Geoff shook his head.  “I thought everyone had been rehabilitated.  Weren’t the old history books destroyed?”

            “Yes, they were,” said one advisor.  “All the old texts were destroyed.  The old man must have heard the Zelkom thing from his parents or something.”

            “One hundred and six years old?” asked President Geoff, thinking.  “When did the rehabilitation start?  Ninety years ago?  Ninety-five?  I guess it makes sense that this old timer remembers something.”

            An advisor nodded, and then shrugged.  “It doesn’t matter.  Mr. Carson is no longer a problem.  Your great intelligence has led you to the source of these lies, and now he will be silenced.”

            President Geoff shook his head.  “Show me the map.”  A servant delivered the same map into his hands.  “No,” President Geoff said, pushing it away.  “Show me the other map.”  Another map was placed on the table.  The president unrolled it and studied it.

            This new map had the same picture of Mechstadt and Tropicana.  It also had the uninhabited southern ice fields of Chill.  The different thing about this map was the blob up in the northern seas, above Tropicana, about twice the size of Mechstadt.  The blob was labeled “Zelkom”.  Surrounding the small continent was a green circle that stretched out about three miles from the shore.  The line was labeled only “Green Zone.”

            President Geoff took a deep breath.  “I don’t know how Carson found out about Zelkom.  But let’s hope that he doesn’t tell anybody else.  Our entire political system is based on the fact that the citizens of Mechstadt are the Creator’s chosen race.”

            Theodore Carson ambled slowly into the parking lot, glad that he was being released.  He was very confused.  He trusted President Geoff, and obeyed everything that he told him.  Yet, Carson felt as if the others were missing something.  He was sure his information about the past was correct.  Yet, everyone was now telling him it was false.

            Carson saw his car and walked toward it.  As he got closer, he saw that there was a man in black leaning over the hood of the car.  “Excuse me,” Carson called out.

            The man stood up, recovering quickly.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  Is this your car?”  Carson saw that the man had a black mask that covered his face.  He supposed it wasn’t all that odd, what with all the hazardous chemicals running rampant in the atmosphere.

            “Yes,” Carson said, stepping up beside the car.  The man held up his hands and stepped back.

            “Very sorry.  I did not recognize it.  I suppose I should have been convinced when I saw the visitor’s badge.  I was just hoping there wasn’t some kind of breach of security.”

            “Nothing of the sort,” Carson said, opening the door and climbing into the car.  “Thanks for being so understanding.  Good-bye, now.  Have a nice day.”  He shut the door and backed up.

            The man in black grinned and waved, watching as the car drove away.  “I will.  I wish I could say the same for you.”

UNCOVERING THE FACTS

            The black clouds of pollution hung ominously in the sky.  Most citizens were indoors, sitting behind computers and supervising the machines that kept the industrial nation running.  Computer engineer was the most popular job in Mechstadt.  Huge bundles of wires ran around skyscrapers and through the sky, linking the entire nation in a nervous system of organized computers and factories.  People devoted to their religion, a belief in the greatness of technology, focused more on their computers than on their bodies.  Scrawny and overweight technicians sat at their consoles, drinking soda and ignoring the cold outdoors.

            However, one man had revolted against the system.  Joe was out jogging, just as he had done every other day for the past fifteen years.  Techno music pounded in his ears from the new super-miniaturized MP-3 player he had bought.  His old MP-3 player had gotten caught under his fingernail.  Joe was dressed in strange, unbending clothing, which was a must for anyone who intended to go outside for longer than an hour.  Some factories spit out toxic chemicals that were carried on the winds and could kill a human being if they were not correctly protected.  Joe hated the material because it made it hard to run, but he hated the chemicals worst.

            Another thing that Joe hated was the breathalyzer tube stapled to his front teeth.  The tube caught all the chemicals that would have otherwise entered Joe’s lungs and caused him internal bleeding.  Black goggles covered his eyes.  Joe could hardly stand all the equipment he had to carry around with him just to go outside.  Still, he really couldn’t stand sitting home in front of the computer twenty-four hours a day and growing lazy, so he plugged in all the safety gear that was needed and went outside.

            Joe could remember a time when he would run beneath a sky that was only partially blocked by gray clouds of pollution.  The sun was visible several days a year, and Joe had taken it for granted to feel the sun’s warmth on his face.  Joe hadn’t seen the sun for at least ten years.  He could take a tourist ride in one of the airships that went up past the smoke, but he refused to pay the absurd price to see something that should be his own right to see.  Not to mention, he couldn’t bear giving more money to the engineers who drove the tour ride airships, who actually contributed to the smoke and had blocked out the sun in the first place!

            Joe jogged down an alley and heard something scrounging around in a dumpster.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw a black rat as big as a pit bull eating trash.  The rat stared at him with evil eyes.  Joe had heard accounts of the radioactive waste-enhanced rats attacking sometimes, but Joe was fairly big, six foot-four, and he had never been attacked.  He still went jogging, even when hearing about the four hundred pound rat that had come out of the sewers in east Mechstadt and killed three people.  The rat problem was another reason most citizens opted to stay home.  Unfortunately, their solution staying home resulted in the creation of more factories and pollution, and also let the rats run rampant in the streets.

            Joe ran out of the alley and into the street, his muscles burning.  Even though lots of people kept inside, the street was still busy as the enormous population crossed back and forth across the nation in all sorts of vehicles.  There were some old automobiles, but hover cars riding two feet off the ground were also becoming popular.  Joe dodged through the legs of an enormous spider-walker that was hurrying down the sidewalk in a steady trot, risking being clobbered by the ten-foot long legs, and hurried on.  Citizens stuck in traffic jams glared daggers at him through one-way windshields and turned up the volume on their dashboard computer movies after honking their horns.

            He ran down another street and saw a big, green, departed citizens truck.  These trucks ran their rounds every morning, taking the people who had died to the crematories.  There were always bodies to be picked up, since the acid fog that rolled in every morning killed all the unlucky homeless people who could not find shelter for the night.  Joe hurried past the workers as they picked up a dead man lying on some flattened cardboard boxes and threw him into the back of the truck.

            Joe checked his watch supercomputer.  He had been running for two hours and twenty-five minutes, and had run nearly twenty miles.  He decided he had had enough.  He ran another mile down the street, found his apartment building, and rode the elevator up one hundred and six floors to his room.

            The apartment had been fixed with air filters to keep the apartment smelling natural.  Joe had even cashed in his savings to buy something nearly unheard of that would brighten up the room- a plant.  It was a green cactus, and it sat on the ground near the window, even though no sunlight came through the pane of glass.  Seeing the plant every day kept Joe from going crazy in the horrible empire of computers and steel he lived in.  Joe doubted that anybody else in his apartment building of one thousand people had even seen a real plant, and thought himself lucky.

            Joe booted up his computer and searched for images of nature, which he always loved to look at after a long jaunt through Mechstadt.  He found the newest video feeds taken from the trading posts just over the land bridge, in the world of Tropicana.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief, staring at the trees blowing in the wind and the yellow beach sand, glittering in the sun.  He turned up the volume and listened to the narrator’s description of the natural world.

            “Mechstadt traders put their life on the line every day here at the trading posts,” said the narrator.  “Just as the Record says, the people of Tropicana are horribly savage and are possessed by the very devil himself.  Traders must fight for survival here.  Although they are a mere thirty miles from Mechstadt, they report that it is a completely different world.  They do all they can to help the natives to free themselves from their horrible, backward culture.  They generously trade valuable bits of gold and jewelry and spare computer parts for meager offerings of fruits, vegetables, and lumber.  The natives sometimes become vicious, and refuse to trade, especially in the posts the farthest south from the land bridge.  That is why this particular trading post, known as B-13, has been converted to an army camp.  These brave soldiers are now doing their duty to fight the natives and bring back supplies for the chosen citizens of Mechstadt.”

            Joe was shown video of the trading post.  It was a large structure on the beach, made unbreakable with iron.  A huge gun turret sat on the roof of the building, swiveling every few moments to turn and shoot at an oncoming danger.  The camera then showed several armed soldiers, guarding men in overalls who worked heavy machinery that dug into the luscious Tropicana jungle.

            “Observe this savage Tropicana local, who attacks the soldiers to selfishly guard the lumber that should belong to everyone,” said the narrator.  The camera showed a tanned teenage native boy, yelling angrily and rushing toward the Mechstadt workers with a spear.  The gun turret on top of the trading post boomed, and the teenager vanished in an explosion, leaving only a large crater and a diffusing mist of blood.  “What a cruel creature,” the narrator said.  “Mechstadt traders found the wood first.  If the native wanted it, he should have cut down the tree on his own.”

            Joe felt a tear fall from his eye, and he turned away from the computer.  The native had probably just been appalled over the horrible destruction in his homeland.  There was no reason to kill him like that.  Joe was about to turn off the computer when he an important news bulletin flashed over the screen.

            “Reports have just come in from a horrible car accident in northern Mechstadt.  Three cars have been badly damaged.  It appears that the accident was caused by the engine of one car malfunctioning and exploding, immediately knocking the driver unconscious.  That car, in flames, then smashed into two other cars, injuring those drivers.  The only driver in critical condition is Theodore K. Carson, who holds the record of the oldest civilian in Mechstadt at one hundred and six years old.”

            Joe’s jaw dropped.  He hurriedly got up and rushed to the door, pulling on his black overcoat and goggles as he did.  He abandoned the breathalyzer tube, not caring about a few chemicals, especially when he had just learned that his great-uncle, Theodore Carson, was badly injured.  Joe Carson rushed out of the apartment even as the reporter continued speaking on the computer screen.

            “Already, our great leader, President Travis Geoff, has demanded the production of safer cars to be made in the automobile factories so that the important lives of great Mechstadt citizens can be saved…”

            Joe sprinted six blocks in the direction of north Mechstadt, and finally hopped in a rickety tram that would take him to his destination.  The tram consisted of a train of cars, which streamed through the city clinging to taut steel cables that curled through the air.

            Joe hopped out of the tram before it had even stopped and easily found the scene of the accident.  Mechstadt soldiers had blocked off the intersection, in the middle of which sat several twisted hunks of metal that had once been cars.  The Mechstadt soldiers, in their bright green uniforms, usually sat atop the roofs of buildings and kept watch for crime with long-range stun rifles.  These had come down to help victims of the accident and conduct traffic.

            Joe rushed up to one of the soldiers.  “Hey!  Where’s Theodore Carson?”

            The soldier leveled his weapon at Joe, obviously thinking he was crazy.  “What?  What do you want, man?  Get back, there’s been an accident.”

            “I know,” said Joe, angrily.  “I’m Carson’s grandnephew.  I need to know where they took him.”  The soldier fixed Joe with an angry glare, and Joe was on the verge of giving the ill-mannered soldier a severe beating when another stepped in. 

“All the guys in the accident were taken to North Mechstadt Emergency Room,” said the new soldier, and he pointed down the street.

“Thanks,” Joe said, and took off down the street.  He found the emergency room and hurried inside.  He pushed his way through two men dressed in black and fought his way to the front desk.  “I’m looking for a relative.  Theodore K. Carson.  I need to see him.”

Joe was directed upstairs, and he finally found his last remaining relative lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and attached to a large breathing apparatus that kept his lungs working.  “Uncle Ted!” Joe said, rushing up to the bed.  The old man’s eyes fluttered open, and Joe saw fear and anger in his great-uncle’s eyes.  Theodore reached out and grabbed Joe’s hand.  His lips moved, as if he was speaking, but Joe did not hear any sound.

“Uncle Ted, you’re going to be okay,” said Joe.  “You’re going to live.  You had a car accident, but everything’s going to be fine.”

Theodore shook his head, weakly, and Joe saw the same anger building in his eyes.  “What’s wrong?” Joe asked.  “What is it?”  Ted’s eyes suddenly opened wider, and he let out a yell, which was muffled by the breathing machine.  Joe saw that Ted’s terrified eyes were glancing over Joe’s shoulder.

Joe whirled around, fists at the ready.  He found himself staring at two men in black who had appeared at the doorway.  “I’m sorry,” one of them said.  Black masks and dark goggle lenses hid both of the men’s faces.  “We’re detectives from the Justice Center, just looking for a little more information on the accident.  We’re looking for Theodore Carson.  Is this a bad time?”

Ted squeezed Joe’s arm, showing his loathing of the men, and Joe instinctively did not trust the masked visitors from the government.  “Yes, this is a bad time,” he said, angrily.  “My uncle is in terrible pain, and does not want to discuss the accident.  Go find somebody else to talk to.  Leave Uncle Ted alone!”

The two men glanced at each other, and then looked back at Joe.  “Terribly sorry,” one said, in a voice filled with forced sympathy.  “We apologize for the intrusion.  Please excuse us.”  The two men left the room.  Joe shook his head and turned to Theodore.

“I don’t like those guys,” Joe growled.  He saw the fear in Uncle Ted’s eyes, and his eyes widened.  “You don’t either.  Who were those guys?  What… what did they really want?”

Theodore reached up and plucked off the breathing mask.  His breathing became raspy, but at least he could talk now.  “Those men,” he gasped.  “They did this… they messed… messed with the engine… caused the accident…”

Joe’s eyes widened.  “Messed with the engine?  Those men?”

“The Justice Center,” Ted groaned.  “I was called… the men in black… they were there… it’s a conspiracy…”

An alarm began to go off in the life-support machinery next to the bed.  Theodore let out a moan and clutched at his chest.  “Joe,” he moaned.  “I… I am dying…”

“You are not dying,” Joe said, shaking his head.  “Don’t say that.  You need to rest.  Here, take the breathing mask…”

“No,” Theodore gasped, pushing the mask away.  “Joe… my apartment… the bookshelf… top shelf… Zelkom… exists…”

The alarm beeped louder and faster, and Joe stared in horror as Theodore’s eyes rolled back in his head.  He collapsed back on his bed.  “Uncle Ted!” shouted Joe.

The doctors sprang into the room.  “Get that breathing mask back on him!” shouted one doctor, after checking the computer equipment.  “We’re losing him.  We’re losing him!”

Attempts to revive him were futile.  Theodore K. Carson died in the hospital bed before his grandnephew’s eyes.  Angry and saddened, Joe hung his head and leaned against the wall.  He lifted his head after a moment and saw the men in black waiting in the doorway.  The men stood still for a moment, staring at the motionless body of Theodore Carson.  Then they turned and walked down the hall.

Joe stood up, remembering what his Uncle Ted had said.  “Wait,” he ordered, and hurried to the door of the hospital room.  He stepped into the hall and saw the two men in the elevator.  They disappeared as the doors closed.

Joe rushed down into the street and saw the cars involved in the accident being loaded up into larger trucks.  Joe remembered some of his great-uncle’s last words.  “They did this… they messed… messed with the engine… caused the accident…” Something had been wrong with Uncle Ted’s car.  Joe sprinted down the street and caught up with the truck.

“I need to see my uncle’s car!” he said, tearing open the side door.  The driver stared in astonishment as he was yanked out of the car.  Joe held him by the collar.  “I need to see my uncle’s car right now!  Open up the truck and take it down!”

“Jeez, calm down, buddy!  No need to get physical!  What is it you want?”

“My uncle’s car,” Joe said.  “Get it out of the truck.”

“Uncle’s car?  You mean, Mr. Theodore Carson’s car?  That car isn’t in there.  Some government truck came and took his car away.  I’m really sorry.  Was there something in the car you needed?”

Joe stared at the truck driver in astonishment.  Why had the government taken his uncle’s car away?  What was going on?  What was it they had not wanted him to find?

“I was called… the men in black… they were there… it’s a conspiracy…”

The men in black had done something horrible to his great-uncle.  Now the government was trying to cover it up.  Joe had to find out exactly what was going on.

Once again, Joe heard his uncle’s voice in his head.  “Joe… my apartment… the bookshelf… top shelf…” Joe left the surprised truck driver in the middle of the street, hopped back on the tram, and headed for his uncle’s apartment building.

He arrived thirty minutes later.  A cluster of neighbors was waiting in the hall, talking quietly about Theodore’s death, but none of them recognized Joe.  Uncle Ted had a voice-activated lock on the door to his apartment, and Joe’s voice was one of the few that could open the door.  As he approached, he saw that the door was unlocked.  Somebody was inside.

“Those men… they did this… messed with the engine,” Uncle Ted’s voice said in Joe’s head.  Joe gritted his teeth and pushed open the door.  He stepped silently into the room and listened.  Somewhere in the darkness, somebody was moving, rustling papers.

“Lights,” Joe ordered, raising his fists.  The rustling stopped, and the lights turned on automatically.  Joe found himself staring at a man in black.  The man was standing at the Uncle Ted’s bookshelf, and was in the act of looking through the old texts.  Seeing Joe, he froze, and then reached for a weapon in his black coat.

Joe was already crossing the room, and he saw that he was a good deal larger than his opponent.  He struck the man hard in the forehead, following up the punch with another blow to the chest.  The man snarled and struck out at Joe, but Joe was too much in a rage to feel any pain.  He lashed out a final time with a vicious left hook, and the intruder hit the ground hard.

“Who are you guys?” growled Joe, reaching for the man’s mask.  Before he could reach it, something struck him hard in the back of the head.  Another man had been hiding in Uncle Ted’s kitchen.  Joe fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

He awoke only minutes later, but the intruders had gone.  Joe rushed out of the room to the neighbors outside, and asked them if they had seen anything.  They reported seeing the men enter a few minutes before Joe, but had not seen them leave.  Walking back into the apartment, Joe found that the window was halfway open.  He hurried to the window and opened it up, releasing pollutants into the room.  Joe looked around outside, and saw the faraway silhouette of an airship in the glow from the city lights, quickly escaping into the distance.

“Who are those guys?” Joe growled.  If they had the money to pay for an airship to come and help them escape, they must have been important people.  He closed the window and walked around Uncle Ted’s apartment, trying to see if anything was missing.  He noticed that a lot of drawers had been opened up, and their contents jumbled.  But nothing appeared to be missing.

Joe walked to the bookshelf and used a chair to reach the top shelf.  He reached up and searched the shelf with his hand.  His hand sifted through a thick layer of dust, and became covered in gray specks.  Then Joe’s hand found something, the only object on the top shelf.  He took it down and saw that it was a book.

Joe used a rag to wipe away the dust and examined the front of the book, which was titled: History of the World, The Modern Era.

It was only a history textbook.  That’s what Uncle Ted had wanted Joe to find.  Joe, confused, sat back on a couch and opened the textbook, checking through the pages, looking for a note or a photograph trapped inside.  He didn’t find anything.

“Zelkom… exists,” Uncle Ted’s voice said.  Joe had no idea what Zelkom was, and he turned to the index.  He expected to find maybe only a couple of pages holding the selected term.  He had not expected that Zelkom would be referred to in almost every page of the book.  He stared in shock as he scanned Zelkom’s column in the index.

Zelkom: 13; ancient civilization in, 18; under later dynasties, 23; oceans of, 25; peasant population, 35; civil war in, 43; colonists from, 45; imperialism in, 50; Nationalist Movement in, 55; Tropicana trading with, 76; ventures to Chill from, 82; colonialism in, 87; working conditions in, 91; leaders of, 96; civil rights movement in…

The list went on and on of the history of Zelkom, spanning the entire “Z” page.  From what Joe could see, Zelkom was a country.  He had never heard of any other country besides Mechstadt and Tropicana.  In fact, it was a proven fact that there had ever only been two countries in the entire world.  He wondered where Uncle Ted had gotten this book.  It must have been ancient if it told of such an ancient kingdom that nobody even remembered its name.

Then Joe opened the book, and found himself reading about the food shortages in Zelkom in the year 1823.  The current year was 2016.  If the history book was correct, Zelkom wasn’t as ancient as it sounded.  Zelkom apparently had been around almost two hundred years ago.  So where had it gone, and why hadn’t Joe ever heard of it?  Why hadn’t anybody ever heard of it?

Even more strangely, how could it have existed if the Record to this day maintained the fact that the only countries that had ever existed in the world were Mechstadt and Tropicana?  If this Zelkom place had actually existed, the biblical texts that every Mechstadt citizen read and knew would be false.  Mechstadt and Tropicana would not have been the only continents with human life; the continent of Zelkom would have been growing up right beside them.

Joe tucked the book under his arm and hurried out of the apartment.  Day had turned to night, and Joe found himself traveling along a dark sidewalk.  The traffic was not as bad as it once had been, but Joe could not find a tram or a taxi.

He continued to walk, trying to ignore the taste of chemicals in his mouth and also the snarling of overgrown rats feeding off toxic waste in the sewers.  Joe was nearing his apartment when a street gang rolled up.

There were four of them, all of them riding motorcycles and dressed in black leather.  They were all shorter than Joe, but their muscles bulged abnormally.  Joe knew their type.  Biotechnology labs had just completed work on a new type of steroid called muscle boosters.  The average overweight Mechstadt citizen would rather buy the muscle boosters and inject them into his body rather than go to a gym.  These gangs saved up their money to buy the muscle boosters, and then went around Mechstadt late at night, beating up enemy gangs.

“You’re out kind of late, bookworm,” one of the gang members said, stopping his motorcycle on the sidewalk.  Joe continued walking towards them, setting the history book down on a trashcan as he did.  The gang members weren’t expecting this, and they hurriedly began to climb off their motorcycles.  They were too late, though.

At any other time, Joe would have taken out the first gangster as a warning for the others to stay away.  But the gangsters had picked the wrong guy at the wrong time.  Joe was mad, and looking for a fight.

He hit the first guy so hard his jaw broke, and moved on to the next gangster, who hurriedly stumbled off his motorcycle and drew a knife with an electric blue blade.  Before he had time to swing the knife, Joe’s fists had drummed out a painful concussion on the man’s skull, and he fell to the sidewalk.

The third gangster leaped at Joe in a rage, drawing a handgun.  Joe karate-kicked his hand, sending the gun flying into the air, and then grabbed the man by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall of a nearby building, holding him there with both hands.  The last gangster ran up and swung a punch at Joe.  Joe ducked his head, and the man broke his friend’s nose instead.  Joe twisted around and struck the man hard in the gut.

He retrieved the history book and continued toward his apartment.  He hurried up to his room and sat down at his computer console to check out the rest of the book.  Joe opened the book up to the first page and began to read.

At the Justice Center, President Geoff listened in disbelief to his secret police.  “Carson’s nephew was at the apartment?  You idiots!  If his nephew was there, then the book is definitely there!  Why else would he go there if it wasn’t there?”

“We checked everywhere,” the head of the secret police said, keeping his head high.  “Even though the nephew interrupted our search, we are positive that it isn’t there.”

President Geoff shook his head.  “Oh, well.  At least Theodore Carson is dead.  Though you even managed to screw up.  He’s a one hundred and six year old guy, and you can’t even kill him with a rigged explosion.  Carson should have died in the crash.  He should not have been allowed to speak with his nephew.  Have you any idea what was said?”

“No,” said the head of the secret police.  “Though I do not believe the Carson nephew knows anything of what is going on.  He probably was just at his great-uncle’s apartment to steal some of his old things.”

President Geoff shook his head.  “I have a bad feeling about this.  You guys call yourself secret police?  You’re supposed to be enforcing my rule.  How will people bow down to me if some contradictory textbook is floating around the nation?”

President Geoff dismissed the secret police, and headed off to hold a conference.  Mechstadt was going through troubling times, and the nation needed its fearless leader to lead them through the fog.

President Geoff stepped in front of the microphone and cameras and smiled, imagining his face on the computer screen of millions of citizens.  “Hello, everyone,” he said.  “This is your president speaking.  I understand that it is difficult to cope with today’s world.  On both sides of the protective wall of our nation, there are dangers that somebody must deal with.  I want everyone to know that there is no reason to panic.  Mechstadt continues to fight for freedom and harmony.  With me at the helm, we, the chosen citizens of Mechstadt, will prevail in this corrupt world.”

The questions started.  President Geoff answered them with the smooth, deceitful confidence of a trained politician.

“President Geoff, what do you plan to do about the nation’s rat problem?”

“Rats?  Do I like the kind of leader who would be scared of rodents?  As we speak, an army of exterminators is being fitted with the newest gear in pest-control.  They will flush out the sewers and destroy the rats!”

“President Geoff, what do you have to say about the demon-worshipping savages in Tropicana?”

“I think about them every day.  Every day.  I wish Mechstadt had the power to save their poor souls from their cannibalistic customs and from their doomed afterlife in the inferno.  I pray for the poor people of Tropicana every night.  Perhaps one day we shall bring justice and freedom to that country and be able to convert them to the one true religion, the veneration of technology.”

“President Geoff, what will Mechstadt do about its pollution problem?”

“Pollution problem?  What problem?  All X factor equations show no signs of a pollution problem.  Besides, you can’t expect to become the world’s leading manufacturer of industrial goods without a little smoke.  Don’t worry.  Burning gasoline is only one type of energy.  There are many more that will soon be harnessed with the knowledge of our superior Mechstadt physicists.”

President Geoff smiled as he left the conference.  His advisors caught up with him as he walked through the winding halls of the Justice Room to his private chambers.  “Excellent work dealing with the press, Mr. President,” one advisor said.

“Yes, yes, very good.  The citizens of Mechstadt panic too easily, but their great leader does not even flinch at the sign of danger.”

President Geoff didn’t even look at the advisors as he walked.  “Find out where Theodore Carson’s nephew lives.  And put some extra soldiers on his building.  The secret police have never been challenged, and I’m not going to let this guy get away with this.”

“That’s a good idea, Mr. President.  I’ll get right on it.  Anything else?”

“Yeah.  Bring the satellite out of hibernation and position it over Tropicana.  I have a feeling a couple of these revolts and trade disputes might have to be put down with severe force.”

The advisor gulped, remembering the deadly satellite that was positioned in the atmosphere.  He had heard myths of what had happened the last time it was used, and knew that the weapon was very dangerous.  “Yes, sir,” the advisor said.  “Very good.  It shall be done.”

Joe was staring at the history book in astonishment.  He had read through three quarters of the book, and was surprised to see that although Zelkom’s people had dealings with the natives of Tropicana, they had never so much as mentioned Mechstadt.  This troubled Joe.  The Record said that Mechstadt had been the very first country ever established.  Zelkom must have had some sort of interaction with it.

Then Joe read another passage, and felt himself reeling in horror.  The history book offered an explanation for why Mechstadt was never mentioned in Zelkom’s ancient history, but the explanation was far too amazing.  Joe read the passage a second time.

…When trade began to flourish once again with the natives of Tropicana, Zelkom traders moved farther along the coast, building harbors for their boats and walled forts for protection.  A trader named Ezekiel Mechstadt discovered a land bridge on Tropicana’s west coast, and walked across it with a small group of followers.  He discovered a small deserted island, rich in coal, oil, and iron.  Mechstadt claimed the island and named it after himself.  Within ten years, one million people had moved from the snows of Zelkom and were living in the warm climate of Mechstadt, growing rich off trading coal, oil, and iron.  Mechstadt was recognized as a country in the year 1873…

Joe stared in horror, and then retrieved his copy of the Record to make sure there wasn’t some mistake.  He opened the cover, seeing the subtitle of “The Divine History of Mechstadt, the Nation Modeled After Paradise.”  Joe began to read about the beginning of the world.

… The Creator assembled the galaxy and set aside one planet to be endowed with life.  He formed two continents, connected by a land bridge.  On Mechstadt, he placed large reserves of coal, oil, and iron for a world that would one day be at the head of technology.  On Tropicana, he assembled plants, beasts, forests, lakes, and deserts.

Then the Creator formed life in his own image, and placed the creatures known as human beings at the middle of the land bridge.

Most of the human beings saw the trees and beasts on Tropicana and saw a chance at easy living, hunting the many animals and living filthily in the shady jungles.  Screaming in joy, they rushed east to Tropicana.

The remaining human beings were about to follow, when the Creator intervened and spoke to them, telling them of the greatness that could be achieved by hard work on the little island of Mechstadt.  Then He said, “Go forth and invent!”   The people listened to their Creator, and then walked to Mechstadt.  They began their hard lives on the island, mining coal and building oilrigs out of iron.  All the while, they were taunted by the natives of Tropicana, who did no work and lived as pigs in the wild.

Though the Creator had at first made all the human beings the same, a change began to take place.  Those in Tropicana grew evil, and were possessed by the devil as they idled about in their world.  But the people of Mechstadt were not affected by the same demoniacal thoughts.  The Creature surrounded their island with a cloud of hope, which kept the hardhearted citizens at work.  The people of Mechstadt built a grand industrial empire, just as they built a sure path to a blissful afterlife…

Joe closed the Record and lifted his head.  Uncle Ted’s history book and Mechstadt’s epic tales of the past contradicted each other.  Which was true?

Joe had grown up believing everything in the Record.  His belief in the small idea that maybe the Creator had wanted Mechstadt to be an industrial nation was all that kept him living in the constant pollution and crowded quarters.  Yet, if the history book was true, then somewhere along the lines, somebody had lied, and Mechstadt was not supposed to be based solely on technology.

Joe’s viewpoint of the world was changing radically.  He remembered Uncle Ted telling him something about the Justice Center, the building where all the government officials worked.  He remembered the men in black showing up at Theodore Carson’s hospital room and his apartment.  He continued thinking, and realized that the government was the only power that could be behind the lies.  Uncle Ted had been correct; there was a conspiracy.

Right on cue, Joe’s cell phone rang, and he answered it.  “Hello?” he asked.

“Joseph Carson?” an electronic voice asked.

“Yeah…”

“Please hold.”

The other person picked up almost immediately.  “Hello, Mr. Carson.  This is President Travis Geoff speaking.”

Something twitched inside Joe, and he gritted his teeth.  The “great” President Geoff, who he had respected and obeyed all his life, was probably behind Uncle Ted’s murder.  “Yes?” he asked.

“I am calling to say that I am so sorry to hear of your great-uncle’s death,” the president said.  “I was very saddened to hear that Mechstadt’s oldest and most beloved civilian was killed in a car accident.”

“Yes,” Joe said.  “I was with my great-uncle when he died.  He said that it wasn’t a car accident-…”

“So sorry,” President Geoff said, cutting him off.  “I am sorry you had to witness that.  A nice man such as himself never deserved such a tragic end.”  Joe said nothing.  He just listened to the falseness in the president’s voice.  “Well, anyway,” President Geoff said, sensing the tension.  “I am also calling to clarify that Theodore Carson was leaving the Justice Center at the time of the accident.  I had called him to present him with an award for excellence in government respect and following regulations.  The award included a money bonus.  I suppose I shall have that sent to you instead, since you are Theodore’s last living relative.”

“Yes,” Joe said.  “Thanks.”  He saw what President Geoff was trying to do.  He was trying to buy his support, in case Joe had learned anything about the conspiracy from his uncle.

“Anyway,” President Geoff said.  “Your great-uncle was very polite and respectful in the Justice Center.  I am just sorry to hear of his memory problem.”

“Memory problem?” asked Joe, raising an eyebrow.  Once again, he realized what the Mechstadt leader was doing.  He was trying to erase any reliability Joe might have had in his great-uncle’s words.

“Yes, a memory problem.  You had no knowledge of it?  It seems that your great-uncle believed in the existence of some absurd, make-believe continent.  This, of course, goes against the stated facts of the Record.  I am at a loss to find out where the tale of this strange place originated.”

“You mean Zelkom?” asked Joe, looking down at the history book.

“Yes, that was the name,” President Geoff said, pretending to sound confused.  “Zelkom.  Strange name.  I don’t know where your great-uncle got the idea for it.  There is absolutely no proof in Mechstadt that such a place ever existed.  It would be going against the Record.  And, of course, the Record is never wrong.”

“No proof,” Joe echoed, and flipped through the pages of the history book.  “I understand.  The Record is never wrong.”

“Well, anyway, I am very sorry about your great-uncle,” said President Geoff.  “It was very nice talking to you, Joseph.  Stay strong, and remember, your great-uncle Theodore is in a better place now.  I mean, he’s from Mechstadt, after all!”

“Right,” Joe said.  In his head, he was screaming that being from Mechstadt in no way guaranteed entrance to heaven.  The Record had been proven wrong.  Joe was no longer even sure about the existence of the great Creator, which scared him.

“Good-bye,” Joe said, and closed his cell phone.  He looked from the Record to the history book, and then pushed the Record away and began to read the textbook.

President Geoff was involved with whatever was going on.  Joe saw the start of more lies to try and cover up the truth.  The president had tried to tell him that Uncle Ted had a memory problem to counteract anything that had ever been said about Zelkom.  And the money from the award was just assurance to make sure that Joe’s loyalty stayed with President Geoff.

At the Justice Center, President Geoff hung up the phone and turned to his advisors, all of whom were gathered around the teleprompter that still read: I had called him to present him with an award for excellence in government respect and following regulations.

“Very good,” said one advisor, nodding his head.  “You did wonderful.  This grandnephew doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Are you brainless?” asked President Geoff, angrily.  “Did you hear that guy’s voice?  He’s angry.  You’d think he’d lose the anger talking to his beloved president, but he was still mad about something.  What’s the bet Carson passed information on to Joseph in the hospital room?”

The advisors exchanged glances, and the nodded.  “Once again, you’re a step ahead of us, Mr. President.  Obviously the grandnephew knows something.”

“Perhaps he should disappear,” said President Geoff, thinking.  “But how to do that?  He might suspect us.  He might even uncover the truth.  What if he has the book?”

“That’s a possibility,” said the advisors.  “I think you should do whatever your heart tells you, Mr. President.”

President Geoff shook his head.  He had hired these people as his advisors only because they agreed with everything he said, but now they were getting on his nerves.  “Joseph needs to vanish.  You guys go think of a way we can get rid of him.  It has to be under believable circumstances.”

“Could we arrest him for treason?” asked an advisor.  “Put him in prison for selling government secrets over the land bridge.”

“Maybe,” President Geoff said, waving the advisors away.  “Go think about it in your offices.  Hold a meeting or something.  I’ve got work to do.”  The advisors scuttled out of the president’s office.

President Geoff opened up his desk drawer and pulled out a small bag of bright blue powder.  Before he could open it, an official walked into the room, reading from a handheld computer.  The president hastily put the bag of powder back in his desk.  “Yes?  What is it?”

“Sir, a Dr. Dawkins is asking to speak to you on line five.  He’s an archaeologist, and he’s working down in Chill.  He says he’s got something important that you need to see,” the official said.

President Geoff growled and picked up the phone.  “President Geoff speaking,” he said, noticing that his hands were beginning to twitch.  He was beginning to feel very anxious.  It was almost time for his daily medication.  His pharmacist, a drug dealer named Snake, who had a gangrene, pierced tongue, sold his prescriptions from a dark alley in east Mechstadt and had told President Geoff that he wouldn’t feel very well at all if he didn’t take his drugs regularly.

“Ah, hello, Mr. President,” said a voice.  The person cleared his throat nervously.  “My name is Kyle Dawkins.  I’m an archaeologist, and I’ve been doing some digging on Chill.  My team has discovered something very extraordinary.”

“Is that so?” asked President Geoff, feeling as if ants were crawling all over his body.  He gritted his teeth, hoping the official standing before him didn’t notice his odd behavior.  “How interesting.”

“Yes, it is very interesting,” the archaeologist said.  “I’d like you to see what we’ve discovered.  If you give me the proper emailing address, I’ll send photos and reports up to you.”

Emailing address? President Geoff asked himself, starting to sweat.  That would take a while.  He scanned his desk, but didn’t see anything of significance among the papers scattered there.  “Uh… just a second.  Let me check some stuff here…”

Dawkins waited patiently.  President Geoff began breathing faster.  He really needed his medicine.  Dawkins said, “If there is something wrong with the email, I could brief you over the phone.  It couldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? President Geoff thought, desperately.  He couldn’t wait ten minutes.  In ten minutes, he would probably start going into convulsions.

“Uh… no thanks, Doctor, don’t mind briefing me!” President Geoff said quickly, feeling as if he were talking louder than he should.  “I… uh… I got a better idea.  Why don’t I just come down to Chill?   I’ll be there as soon as I can.  Okay?  Okay?”

Dr. Dawkins was amazed.  “Wow.  How generous of you, Mr. President!  I can’t believe you would give up your time to come down and see this discovery-…”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very good.  I will arrange an airship, and I’ll be down there by tonight.  Good?  Okay, bye.”  He hung up and looked over at the official.  “Prep the presidential airship for a flight down to Chill.  Hurry.”  The official nodded and left the room.

President Geoff tore the bag of blue powder out of the drawer and ripped it open.   He dipped a small toothpick into the powder, picking up a few pinches on the end of the wood.  Moving carefully so not to waste any of the powder, the president quickly inserted the toothpick into his ear.

The illegal drug known as mulfikar worked very fast. Immediately, a tingling sensation rippled through President Geoff’s body, and his head cleared.  The president sat back at his desk, staring at the same spot on the far wall as it spun around and around his head.

The short-term effect of mulfikar, also known as dust or pop, was an open mind and a relaxing feeling.  The long-term effects were heart deterioration, brain damage, and certain death within a couple of years.  But President Geoff enjoyed the short-term effect, and also knew that lots of other cool people in the city used the same drug.

One advisor peeked back into the office to ask President Geoff a question, and saw him sitting in his chair, staring at the wall.  The advisor closed the door quietly and turned to the others.  “We’d better not bother the president.  He’s concentrating again.”

High up in space, Mechstadt’s satellite whirred to life and moved through the atmosphere.  The satellite was Mechstadt’s secret weapon.  It had the power to completely erase all life from the planet below.

Even so, the satellite was not armed with missiles, bullets, or any type of projectile.  All it had was a small flashlight object that fired nothing more than beam of carefully developed photons.  They may not have been more than a ray of light, but they had the power to produce massive explosions.

The satellite turned and pointed down through the atmosphere at the continent of Tropicana, which was mostly green jungles surrounded by a lining of yellow beaches.  The photons were ready to fire.  The satellite was armed.

LIFE IN THE SUPPOSED DEMONIACAL FRONTIER

The danger was unknown to the creatures of Tropicana, who continued with their daily lives.  Light, little gazelle and huge, hairy buffalo grazed in the yellow prairies, enjoying the pleasant sun and the warm air.  Ostriches followed the larger herbivores, knowing that they were fleeter of foot than the buffalo and wouldn’t be the ones caught by predators if they stayed with beasts slower than they were.  Tigers and jaguars crouched in the undergrowth, waiting for the right moment to pounce on their prey.  In the more dense jungles, gorillas moved slowly and silently, stopping every few moments to pluck up food from the ground.  Noisy, chattering spider monkeys leaped in the trees, growing quiet and hiding themselves when the shadows of large hawks flew overhead.  In the crystal clear waters of rivers that flowed to the sea, enormous hippos patrolled the muddy depths while dolphins played at the surface.  Turtles and frogs fled from the slithering approach of a huge anaconda in the reeds.

Tropicana was indeed a land for animals.  The human natives were scattered through the land, and sometimes did not see another member of their own species for months.  In fact, for every native human on Tropicana, there was also one large carnivore, either an anaconda, tiger, jaguar, or wolf, five hundred buffalo, two thousand gazelle, and thirty spider monkeys.

Zamia crawled quietly through the trees.  He moved skillfully on the thick branches, holding with one arm as he reached out and grabbed the juiciest mangoes that lay on the very edge of the tree’s branches.  He knew that one wrong move would spell death.  Not only because the fall would probably break his back, but also because of the large jaguar sleeping in the shade at the foot of the tree.

Zamia ate two mangoes, and stuck another in his fur pouch hanging at his side.  He crawled back along the branches, grabbed a thick vine, and then swung out into the jungle.

Zamia swung through the forest, being slapped at by the branches of other trees.  He released the vine at the end of his swing and went launching through the air.  Zamia landed with an enormous splash in the shallows of a lake.  Almost immediately, small fish surrounded him, nipping at his toes.  Zamia ducked under the water, grabbed a fish, and then swam back to land.  He ate the fish raw and began to jog through the jungle.

He moved quickly just for the exercise, and stopped frequently to listen for dangers.  The native was in no hurry; he didn’t even have any destination in mind.  He continued jogging, running two miles in less than twelve minutes.  By then, he had left the jungle, and was running barefoot through a dry prairie.  The gazelle moved quickly out of his way, but the buffalo did not even glance at him.  Zamia passed confidently through the buffalo herd, knowing that they would not attack him because he posed no threat to them.

An ostrich did decide to chase him for fun.  Zamia put on a burst of speed and reached the next section of jungle before the big bird.  He hurried between the tall trees and ducked under the hanging foliage.  The ostrich did not follow him further.

Zamia’s stomach growled, and he stopped and plucked several plants out of the ground.  He snapped off the stringy white roots and popped them into his mouth.  Then he continued jogging again, moving slower now.

Zamia reached a fast-flowing river, and he leaped into it.  The water was warm and clear, and the current carried Zamia swiftly through the jungle.  Zamia knew where the river went, and he curled himself into a ball to absorb the impact of his fall as he shot over a waterfall.

Zamia fell with a shocking splash and swam up onto a boulder jutting out of the water, just ten feet from where he had fallen.  He sat sunning himself on the warm boulder, drinking in the mist from the pounding waterfall behind him.

After twenty minutes, Zamia left the waterfall and began to walk along the river.  He passed several hippos sitting on the shore, and moved quickly to escape the easily angered hippopotamus bulls.

Then he was running speedily through the jungle again, moving as swiftly as a cheetah, despite the fact that he never ran the same path twice.  It was just something that no native ever did.  When Tropicana was so huge and diverse, why would any native travel the same length of forest twice?

Zamia knew about the waterfall because he had grown up in these parts.  His family, which consisted of his father, mother, and two older sisters, had hung around the waterfall for the best fish until about the time that Zamia was five years old and strong enough to travel.

The natives of Tropicana were in constant random motion, all as if with the objective to see as much of the world as possible.  Zamia had traveled with his family from the waterfall up to the jungles near the beaches in the north.  Then Zamia had traveled alone down through the mountains and desert, in a crazy zigzag pattern.  Now that he had reached the waterfall again, he decided he would travel along the coast for a while and see if he could reach the land bridge to the Shadow City.

Zamia knew that the Shadow City was dangerous, but he couldn’t help wanting to see the isolated place.  He had only heard tales of the people who lived in the shadow of an enormous cloud, but they intrigued him, and he wanted to see one.  Zamia’s father, who had been a fisherman and sea traveler, told him tales of coming into contact with the ships with traders from the Shadow City.  They were said to be very pale, and to wear strange clothing.  They held strange worthless objects in high demand, and sometimes traded them for food, furs, and timber.  Zamia remembered being shown a device his father had gotten in exchange for a cloak of tiger fur.  The thing had been harder than stone, but extremely light for its size.  For some time after, it would create light when there was no sun.

Zamia climbed a tall tree and lay down on a branch to sleep as night came.  The branch would have been slightly uncomfortable, but Zamia had chosen one that had a lot of green moss.  He lay his head down on the moss, feeling tiny beetles scurry up and down his arms and legs.  Zamia did not move to dislodge the beetles.  He knew they didn’t taste good, anyway.

Zamia had traveled hundreds of thousands of miles on foot.  He was only fourteen years old.

Late in the morning, Zamia awoke and scurried down the tree.  He ate the mango for breakfast and began to travel again, crossing the river in a shallow place and picking up speed as he crossed another prairie.  He moved slowly and carefully, for his instincts told him that there was a predator nearby.  Some combination of the restlessness of the gazelles, the snorting of the buffalo, and the quiet chattering of the spider monkeys told him that danger was close.

Right after Zamia left the prairie, he heard a roar and a squeal behind him, and glanced back to see a bright orange and black jaguar pounce on an injured gazelle.  The rest of the gazelle bounded away, and the buffalo moved slightly away from the feasting jaguar.

Zamia found a termite mound at the edge of the clearing, and used a narrow twig to fish for the tasty little insects.  He was eating the little critters for over an hour, just lying in the dirt.  When he grew too hot, Zamia headed back into the jungle and started walking again.

He climbed another tree to get at some oranges, and sat in the high branches, peeling the fruit.  A squad of spider monkeys watched him warily, and Zamia tossed some bits of orange to the creatures.  They fought fiercely for the small bits of fruit, and Zamia ended up peeling five oranges just for the satisfaction of seeing the monkeys fed.

Zamia tried swinging on another vine, but it broke, and he fell heavily in a puddle of mud.  The mud was soothing, though, so he lay there for several minutes.  Just as he stood up, another native walked into view.

She was wearing a dress of brown gazelle fur, and was only an inch shorter than Zamia, even though she looked several years older than he was.  He noticed gouges on her lower leg, probably from an angry ostrich.  The two natives stared at each other, silently.  Then Zamia presented her with an unpeeled orange.  She took it and gave him a dried piece of fish meat from her pouch.  The two inspected their trades, and then acknowledged their agreement with a smile and went their separate ways.

Zamia ran in the shady jungle so that the mud would not dry as fast, eating the dried meat as he ran.  The jungle became more and more dense, and he was forced to slow his pace.  Zamia saw the looming shapes of gorillas to one side, and made sure to travel around them.  He found himself eating the same leaves and shoots that the gorillas ate, and eventually found himself at a small stream, where he washed off the mud.

Zamia swam down the stream until it met up with a larger, fiercer river, and then walked along the riverbank.  He stopped once for a lunch of three freshly caught raw fish and some more roots, and then continued onwards.  After two hours, he saw that he had arrived at the ocean.

Zamia walked over some hot dunes and ran down to the seashore.  He splashed in the waves for a moment, enjoying the sun again, and then began to sprint along the shore.  Whenever he become tired, he sat down in the warm sand to rest.  When he overheated, he leaped into the cool ocean waters.  When he was hungry, he jogged back to the forest and dug up some roots.

When night fell, he had traveled almost fifty miles.  Zamia slept soundly on the seashore, picking the perfect spot so that the morning high tide would act as an alarm clock.  Before falling asleep, he thought he heard some strange sound far out in the distance, a noise he had never ever heard before.  He opened one sleepy eye and saw bright lights high in the sky over the ocean.  Then Zamia fell asleep.

CHILLING CONSEQUENCES

            The lights came from the immense, presidential airship as it flew south, along the coast of Tropicana, and the sound was that of the engine.  The enormous ship, built exclusively for the president of Mechstadt, had a hot tub, an arcade, a poker room, a gigantic refrigerator of ice cold beverages, and a huge fireplace stacked with chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows.  Every room had at least three television sets.  President Geoff had also wanted every room supplied with a toilet, but the architects were at a loss at how to do this.

            President Geoff sat in his hot tub by the window and stared at Tropicana.  He hated the place.  There were no lights, no noises, and no signs of life.  Just lots of trees and shrubs.  Not a living thing in sight.  He definitely favored the vibrant life of Mechstadt, the factory noises, the light smell of smoke, and the flashing streetlights.  Compared to Mechstadt, Tropicana was completely dead.

            When President Geoff got tired of looking at Tropicana, he turned off the TV.

            The pilot came on the loudspeakers and said, “President Geoff, we are nearing our destination.  Chill is only about two hours away.”

            Geoff shook his head in disbelief.  He was used to anything he wanted at a moment’s notice.  He wasn’t prepared for the ten-hour trip down to the icy lands of Chill.  Sighing, he climbed out of the hot tub and walked to the arcade.  He played a few games on one of the machines, in which he shot at advancing natives with a rocket launcher and saved Mechstadt.

            He wondered why he had ever agreed to travel to Chill.  He had been desperate to get his mulfikar, and so had agreed to meet with Dawkins, just to get him off the line.  Now President Geoff wondered why he had not slammed the phone down, ordered the official out of the room, and took care of it all later.

            President Geoff noticed the climate beginning to change.  The air was slightly colder, which made sense.  Chill was at the south pole of the planet, where no life survived, other than some little penguins, and even those were probably contemplating a move to someplace warmer.

            The president turned up the fireplace, even though he could have just as easily turned down the air conditioning.  Sighing, he sat down next to the refrigerator and began to sip a beer.

            A door opened, and the other passenger of the presidential airship emerged.  Captain Ivan Federico of the secret police had been practicing his jujitsu in the cargo hold, where it was nice and dark.  He nodded to his leader.  “Hello, Mr. President.  I hope you have enjoyed your flight.”

            President Geoff shook his head, feeling bored out of his mind.  “I hate it.  I can’t stand these things.”

            Federico nodded knowingly.  “I know what you mean.  I would much rather be back home, defending Mechstadt.”

            President Geoff smiled and pretended that was what he had meant.  He didn’t mind an excursion away from the work at the Justice Center, but he didn’t like sitting around doing nothing.  It didn’t help that he had used up all his mulfikar and was beginning to feel anxious.  President Geoff shook his head to clear his thoughts and said, “Ivan, you understand what we might have to do?”

            Federico nodded once.  It was the job of the secret police to make sure Mechstadt ran more smoothly.  Sometimes the job involved killing, but it was something that Federico was prepared to do.  He took a handgun out of his belt and loaded it, and then made sure a throwing knife was carefully concealed on his ankle.

            “I’m not sure if killing is really necessary,” President Geoff said.  “I really don’t know.  That’s why I shall leave the airship when it lands and speak with our contacts on Chill.  I’ll find out what needs to be done, and if it involves your help, I’ll come get you.  Okay?”

            Federico nodded.  “I understand.”  He thought that these people on Chill must be dangerous if President Geoff might need them killed, and considered his leader very brave and quite daring to go out among them without Federico as a bodyguard.  Federico almost smiled, understanding that President Geoff was willing to do anything for his country!

            Meanwhile, on Chill, archaeologist Kyle Dawkins looked up into the sky and spotted the lights of the approaching airship.  He grinned.  After months of work, President Geoff was actually coming in person to see what they had found!  It would surely be deemed a grand accomplishment!  Dawkins’ discovery was hard to believe and incredibly groundbreaking.  Not only did it deserve the entire attention of Mechstadt, it also would create revolutionary changes in the lives of every person back home.

            Dawkins turned around to the other workers on the ice.  “Hey, everybody!  The president is arriving!  Get ready!”

            The other workers all beamed, despite the fact that during their many weeks of working in the ice, they had combated frostbite, pneumonia, blizzards, and other disasters.  Now, though, they were about to be recognized for all their hard work.  Dressed heavily in hides of penguins and seals, the workers, numbering twelve in all, rushed around the ice, throwing a large tarp over a big hole in the ice and gathering beside an igloo that housed their computer and radio equipment.

            The airship landed lightly, so there was no reason to cover up the hole lest ice be knocked into it.  Kyle Dawkins stood waiting in front of the airship, watching the two pilots make the necessary landing adjustments, and then a staircase fell from the bottom of the airship and struck against the ice.

            President Geoff, dressed in a huge, puffy black jacket and enormous boots, moved clumsily down the staircase and stood on the ice for a moment, staring in disbelief at his new surroundings.  He cleared his throat, and then stepped forward, putting a smile on his face.

            Dawkins grinned and hurried over to his leader.  “President Geoff, it is an honor to finally meet you!  I am a big supporter of all your policies!  In fact, you’re my role model!”

            President Geoff smiled.  “Dr. Kyle Dawkins, I presume?  I’m glad we could meet.  I understand you have something that requires my attention, as well as the attention of Mechstadt.”

            “Yes, yes, that’s right,” Dawkins said.  He took a deep breath, preparing himself to explain his discovery to President Geoff.  He did not want to look like a fool.  “As you probably know, I am an archaeologist and philosopher.  I did my studies in West Mechstadt.  I became interested in studying the past, searching for remains of Mechstadt’s successful movements over the globe.”

            President Geoff nodded his head.  “I see.  Go on.”

            “Well, Mr. President, I did some digging in Tropicana, near trading posts.  I didn’t find much.  Seemed the animals and plants there pretty much ate up any evidence of the past there.  So, I decided to come here, to Chill, where the ice preserves everything, and nature cannot hide any facts.”

            Once again, President Geoff nodded his head.  “I understand perfectly, Dr. Dawkins.  Please continue.”

            “Thank you.  Anyway, my team scouted out the ice from our mini-airship, using radar to search for anomalies under the ice.  We noticed large disturbances all over Chill, and decided to investigate.  We picked a disturbance at random, in this area, and began our digging.  What we found was incredible!  Please, Mr. President, follow me!”  He gave a signal as he and President Geoff walked toward the tarp, and five of the men stepped forward and dragged the tarp away.  President Geoff found himself peering into a hole in the ice.  Something dark lay at the bottom of the hole.  Ropes and chains twisted into the hole, attached to whatever was down there.

            “All right, boys,” Dawkins said, grinning.  “Let’s let our president see what we’ve found.  Heave ho!”

            The men pulled on the chains and ropes, digging their boots into the slippery ice.  It was hard work, but they finally managed to drag a body wrapped in furs out of the ice.

            President Geoff found his eyes widening in terror.  “What… what is it?”

            “A body,” said Dawkins, beaming.  “A native.  A native of Chill.”

            President Geoff gulped.  “Native of Chill?  Chill has always been uninhabited.”

            “Yes, according to the Record,” said Dawkins.  “But look what we have found!  Proof that there are some sections of the Record that are not correct!  Here you see a native of Chill, proof that this continent has not always been a dead world.  At some time, people adapted to this climate and lived here, just as they live in Mechstadt and Tropicana.”  Dawkins mistook the horror on President Geoff’s face for joyous amazement, and smiled.

            President Geoff finally recovered.  He took several deep breaths, and then said, “And these… these natives, their bodies are all over Chill?”

            “Yes, they are,” said Dawkins.  “This is just the first, but my team shall dig up all the bodies, and take them to the museum in Mechstadt for analysis and exhibition, with your permission, of course.  I’m sure the citizens back home would be pleased to learn about a whole new culture!  Exciting, isn’t it?”

            “Yes,” President Geoff said, but he did not share the same enthusiasm.  “Very exciting.”

            “But that’s not all,” said Dawkins, a sly smile appearing on his face.  “There’s more, Mr. President, something even more astonishing and mind-blowing!”

            “Really?” asked the president.  “I can’t wait.  Please tell me what it is.”

            The workers brought over the body of the Chill native to them.  Dawkins knelt down and removed a fur covering from the head, revealing a wrinkled face.  “The native was old, very old indeed, but I think you will still see the resemblances here.”

            “Resemblances?” asked President Geoff, not fully understanding.

            “Yes,” said Dawkins.  “Look here, at the face.  The shape of the eyes, the nose, the lips… this man shares much of the same features of you and me.  He might pass for a citizen of Mechstadt.”  President Geoff nodded, noting that things were looking very bad for Mechstadt.  “Still, this man doesn’t look completely like a citizen of Mechstadt.  For one thing, his hair is jet black, not a common hair color in Mechstadt.  However, black is quite common among the Tropicana natives.  There is also the darkness of the skin.  Very similar to a native of Tropicana.”

            “What are you saying?” asked President Geoff.

            “What I’m saying, is that this man completely denies the Record,” said Dawkins, smiling.  “He is half Mechstadt, and half Tropicana.  And we judge him to have lived about six hundred years ago.  At that time, according to the Record, the people of Mechstadt and the people of Tropicana had developed their differences, and were not living in the same areas.  However, this man is proof that the race of people you see everyday in the streets and race of the people you see in the Tropicana jungles on the TV had still been closely related six hundred years ago.  It is proof that there are some flaws with the Record, and it proposes a whole new history for the people of Mechstadt to contemplate.  We didn’t part from our Tropicana cousins as early as we thought we did.  The natives are closer to us than we believed.”

            President Geoff smiled his renowned false smile.  “Wow, Dr. Dawkins, this is quite a discovery you and your team have made.  It is very astounding.  Of course, we shall announce your finding to Mechstadt as soon as possible.  The people deserve to know the truth, don’t they?”

            Dr. Dawkins nodded his head, even though he detected something false in the president’s voice.  He smiled.  “That would be excellent.  My team and I could have our names published in all the magazines.  We could set up the Chill exhibit in all of the famous museums.  This will be great!”

At last, Dawkins’ dreams had come true.  When he had been in school, archaeology and philosophy hadn’t been popular subjects.  In fact, it had almost appeared like the government disdained philosophers and theorists.  Dawkins had suffered many financial problems when his philosophy theories did not attain the attention he had hoped for.  He’d always been on a tight budget, especially when spending all his extra money on airships out to Tropicana for digs.

However, now he had hit the jackpot.  He had followed up on one of his theories and it had paid off.  The Chill native lay before him, held in perfect condition by the ice, and would soon make him rich.  The entire history of the world would be rewritten.  The profession of philosophy, which had been in a slump for a very long time, would become very popular, as more and more people began to seek out evidence to support their own assumptions about the world.

Dawkins laughed out loud.  All his hard work had paid off.  A revolution was about to begin, and he had started it.

President Geoff smiled at him.  “Wait here, guys, and I’ll go get some champagne to celebrate.”  The president waddled away in his bulky snow clothes and climbed back up the staircase to the airship.

Outside in the snow, Dawkins and the other workers laughed and cheered, dancing around on the ice.

Inside the airship, President Geoff removed his coat and flopped down on a couch.  He flipped on the TV.  “Those guys are real dangerous.  Ivan, you’d better take care of them.”

Federico nodded solemnly and drew his handgun.  He climbed down out of the airship and walked forward, firing shots.  Dawkins was one of the first men hit, struck right between the eyes, just as he was telling his companions what a pleasure it had been to work with them.  The other men tried to run, hardly able to believe what was happening, but there was nowhere to go.  Federico stood and fired as the workers tried to escape out into the ice.  None of them made it.  Bodies lay hundreds of feet from the hole in the ground, while others had actually fallen into the hole.

President Geoff came down out of the airship, a wine glass in his hand.  He sipped the champagne and looked out at the dead bodies.  “Good shooting, Ivan.  Now we can celebrate.”

Federico reloaded his gun and placed it in his belt.  “Who were these guys?  How dangerous were they?”

“Very dangerous,” said President Geoff, nodding his head.  “They were clear threats to the well-being of Mechstadt, I just didn’t see it at first.  It appeared they had some crazy theory that they wanted to press on me, which would make the Record obsolete.”

Federico growled and spat on the ice.  “Heretics!  They say they are for Mechstadt’s cause, but they know nothing of the matters of government and religion.  There is one religion, and there is one government.  All this has been proven.”

“Yes, it has,” said President Geoff, grinning.  He looked over at the bodies, seeing the one that wasn’t as freshly dead as the others.  The dead bodies of the natives all over Chill might be a problem if they proved that the Record was incorrect.  They would all have to be disposed of.

“Ivan, these bodies need to disappear.  There can be no evidence of this.  Religious factions are not tolerated in Mechstadt, and something here might be found and maybe turn a loyal citizen against his government.  I want you to wire some explosives and take care of all the bodies.”

Federico nodded.  “No problem, Mr. President.  Consider it done.”  President Geoff smiled and walked back into the airship.  While he watched blasterball reruns, the captain of the secret police placed dynamite all around the area.  Twenty minutes later, the airship lifted off and started back toward Mechstadt in the dead of night.

Ten minutes after that, an enormous explosion vaporized much of the ice of Chill, along with many archaeologist bodies.  President Geoff didn’t normally like killing Mechstadt citizens, but these guys had been philosophers, guys whose job was to go against what the government said.  Killing them hadn’t been any big loss.

A VIOLENT SPORT FINALLY BECOMES USEFUL

            Joe hardly slept that night.  He was continually opening up the history book and rereading passages, trying to determine the exact history of the world.  The last chapter in the history book told of rising distrust and anger between Mechstadt and Zelkom as they fought over trading arrangements with the Tropicana natives.  Apparently, in the year 1898, both Zelkom and Mechstadt wanted control of the dense timber in southeastern Tropicana. 

…There were also mounting disputes over the sinking of a Mechstadt supply ship.  The government of Zelkom blamed Tropicana, but most of the people of Mechstadt blamed Tropicana, even when a Mechstadt sailor came forward and said that he had seen a native swimming alongside the ship.  The native had been holding a stone, and had banged a hole in the hull of the ship.  The sailor had swung at the native with an axe and cut off the last digit on his pointer finger.  The Mechstadt government, however, refused to listen to the sailor, and demanded that Zelkom pay for the damage.  Angry arguments grew to fierce fighting between traders and soldiers on both sides on the high seas and along the coasts of Tropicana…

             Joe could just imagine what had happened.  Zelkom would have been vanquished, and then the government of Mechstadt would have slowly erased all evidence of the place in order to establish the highly polluting industrial nation.  Mechstadt was glorified as the perfect world, and Tropicana, a witness of the fighting and destruction of the country of Zelkom, was now regarded as a continent of cruel, killer savages.

            In the morning, Joe was getting ready to go on a long jog to clear his head when there was a heavy banging on the door.  “Police!  Open up!  Now!”

Joe glanced down at the history book and swallowed nervously.  He couldn’t lose the book.  He whirled in a circle, looking for a hiding place, and then saw the window.  Joe raced to the window and peered out.  He had a bad view of the wall of the next-door building.  Now however, he was thankful for his view of the alley.  He leaned out the window and dropped the history.  The book tumbled down quickly.  The cover opened in midair, and the sudden increase in surface area sent the book spinning sideways, where it landed silently on the stacks of garbage bags far below.

“Open up!  Now!” shouted the police.  Joe opened the door and found three soldiers waiting in the hall, weapons at the ready.

            “Problem?” Joe asked, innocently.

            “Joseph Carson,” a soldier growled, leveling his stun rifle at Joe’s head.  “You have the right to remain silent.  You are charged with the murder of Theodore Carson.”

            Joe stared in disbelief as handcuffs were placed over his wrists.  “Murder?  He was my great-uncle!  How can I be charged with his death?  He was in a car accident?  I was there when he died, and all the doctors saw me… I did nothing.”

            “You’ll have to come with us,” a second soldier growled, shoving the rifle against Joe’s back and pushing him out of his apartment.  “We’re taking you down to the Justice Center.”

            A hover car delivered Joe to the Justice Center.  Along the way, Joe glanced out at the city.  He was seeing everything in a new light now.  The enormous rats, the billowing black smoke, the dense traffic, the polluted air… this wasn’t the world the Creator had had in mind.  This was the world created by the lies of the government.

            The car stopped, and Joe was roughly led into the building.  An elevator carried him to an interrogation room, where he sat for thirty minutes before anyone came to talk to him.  Joe guessed that they were trying to buy as much time as possible to search his apartment.  Fortunately, they would find nothing incriminating.  Two Justice Center detectives finally entered the room, one flipping through papers in a folder, checking Joe’s record.

            “Mr. Carson,” the detective said.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Agent Walker, and this is Agent Smith.”

            “What do you want?” growled Joe.  “I don’t know how I could even be considered the killer.  I did not kill my uncle!”

            Agent Smith examined the folder.  “Hmm.  Interesting record you’ve got here.  You’ve been in multiple street fights.  Apparently haven’t killed anyone before now, but you’ve come close.  Also, it says here you were put on trial for failing to follow government precautions meant to ensure your own safety.”

            Joe stared blankly for a moment before remembering.  He had once tried to climb a ladder to run along the top of the barrier wall, thinking if he couldn’t see the sun, then he should try to see the ocean.  Soldiers had stopped him, and he had argued his point for several minutes before being arrested.  “Oh, that.  I was out jogging.  I just thought it would be a better view if I jogged along the top of the ocean barrier wall.”

            “You disobeyed the rules clearly posted on the signs and even argued with several soldiers,” said Agent Walker.  “You paid a hefty fine, and that was all.  You were lucky you managed to convince officials you were a devoted and loyal citizen.”

            “That is a stupid law,” growled Joe.  “All I wanted to do was see the ocean.”

            “See the ocean?  You should be very content seeing the beauty of Mechstadt, the perfect nation,” said Agent Walker, beaming and getting a sudden patriotic light in his eyes.

            Joe shook his head, angrily.  “What am I here for?  What do you want from me?”

            “We are conducting an investigation on the death of your great-uncle,” Agent Smith said.  “And we want your story.”

            “My great-uncle Theodore was severely injured in a car accident,” said Joe.  “He died in the hospital.  I did not kill him.”

            “Theodore Carson’s lungs were crushed in the accident,” said Agent Walker.  “A breathing apparatus was essential for his survival.  He died because the mouthpiece was removed, and he wasn’t able to inflate his lungs on his own.  We believe you removed the mouthpiece on purpose.”

            Joe stared at them in horror.  “What?  What proof do you have of that?  Ted removed the mouthpiece on his own.  He was trying to tell me something.”

            Both detectives exchanged glances.  “What was it that was so important that your great-uncle killed himself to tell you?”

            Joe glared back at them.  They were in on the conspiracy.  They wanted to figure out how much Uncle Ted had told him before he died.  Joe shook his head, trying to think up the correct words that would confirm his story, and also not give out his knowledge of the history book.

            “I’m not sure what my uncle was trying to tell me,” said Joe, slowly and methodically.  “But he mentioned his apartment, and after he died, that’s where I went.  I was surprised to find people searching his apartment- men in black who I had seen at the emergency room and who told me they were with the government.”

            “Men in black?” asked Agent Walker.  “What were there names?”

            “I didn’t get their names,” Joe said.

            “They were in your great-uncle’s apartment?” asked Agent Smith.  “Were they robbers?  Why didn’t you notify the police?”

            “They were not robbers,” said Joe.  “They had been in the emergency room.  They were with the government.  They wanted to talk to Uncle Ted.  I don’t know what they wanted, but my great-uncle didn’t appear to want to talk to them.”

            Agent Smith shook his head and smiled.  “This is quite a tale you are spinning, Mr. Carson.  Heaping the blame upon imaginary men in black?  Men from the government, even!  What are you advocating, some kind of conspiracy?”  Although the detective said this with joking tones, he and his partner quieted down immediately and waited for a response, waiting to hear how Joe would reply.

            “Conspiracy?” Joe laughed back, playing their game.  He pretended as if a conspiracy had been the farthest thing from his mind.  He shook his head in astonishment.  “I think you know the answer to that,” he said, with a chuckle.  The detectives nodded and laughed, even though they were slightly angry that they had not gotten a crystal clear response. 

One of the men’s cell phones rang, and he answered it.  “Agent Walker here.”

            “The apartment was clean,” President Geoff’s voice said, angrily.  “No history book.  Carson doesn’t know anything.  Let him go.  Don’t keep him in jail, but post more soldiers around his apartment.”

            Agent Walker closed the cell phone.  “Thanks for your information, Mr. Carson.  We shall be reviewing our evidence.  In the meantime, you are free to go.  But be prepared in case we need to call you back.”

            Joe was escorted out of the Justice Center.  He felt eyes watching him as he climbed onto the tram to head back to his apartment.  The eyes never ceased, and Joe decided not to try and pick up the history book until the eyes were gone.

            On first glance, his apartment did not seem to have been searched.  But then he noticed a black thread stuck on a cactus spike.  The men in black from the government had searched his apartment while he had been away.  They must have been looking for the history book, but, luckily, had not found it.

            Joe remembered he had work to do.  In between lifting weights and long jogs, Joe designed graphics for companies and wrote some software for hologram commercials.  He was a pretty good designer, probably because he worked some sort of image of nature into most of his designs.  For example, the video game company known as DeathBlast had only achieved fame when Joe created a subliminal message in their icon.  He had drawn the jet of blood spurting from a monster’s head in the shape of an upside-down evergreen tree, and, almost immediately, DeathBlast sales had gone up.  This told Joe that even the technological society of Mechstadt still longed for the form and simplicity of the natural world.

He booted up his computer, still thinking.  His great-uncle had figured out the conspiracy, and had been killed by the government in order for them to keep it a secret.  Now Joe had the secret, and he was thinking of revealing it.  He had to avenge his great-uncle.

Joe halfheartedly drew a flower-shaped microcircuit icon for a factory that made computer parts, still thinking.  He finished work and watched the news.  When the news program ended, after reporting a series of production increases and advances in technology, Joe turned the channel to sports.

Before Joe’s time, there had been many nice, peaceful sports.  However, interest in the sports like racquetball, sprinting, and swimming had dwindled.  Now there was only one sport in Mechstadt, the only one vicious, bloody, and exciting enough to keep the people’s attention.

The sport was called blasterball.  It was played on a huge concrete court, with teams of ten.  The players were usually tall, heavily muscled men, who wore thick armor and even thicker skulls.  They were also supplied with a steel bat.  The object of the game was to use teamwork, fighting techniques, and brute force to drag a heavy steel ball across the court and over a yellow line on the ground marking the goal zone.

A game had started between the professional teams from South and North Mechstadt.  Both teams, all of them definite users of muscle boosters, ran from their separate goal zones to the steel ball placed in the middle of the field.  The two teams crashed together at about the same time.  A referee blew a whistle, but he was ignored.  The teams fought savagely, punching at each other and swinging the steel bats.  On the sidelines, medics applied IVs, bandages, and blood transfusions in order to keep sending rejuvenated players back into game.  Joe had never supported blasterball because he believed these medical supplies should be sent to the poor and innocent who really deserved them.  A player rose out of the center of the melee, doing his best to carry the heavy ball.  Two members of the opposite team raced up and hit his left leg from different directions.  The man screamed as his leg was broken, and the crowd cheered. 

In retaliation, the other team ignored the ball and threw themselves on the two players who had broken the first man’s leg.  Both teams were soon rolling on the ground, roaring and biting and punching at each other, the ball forgotten.

The sport was so hard to keep track of from a distance that enormous screens were put up behind the different sections of audience.  Joe saw the huge screens only for a second, showing a slowed-down close-up of a man getting hit in the jaw with a steel bat.  As the blood and teeth sprayed through the air, Joe saw a solution to his problem.

Everybody in the blasterball stadium was looking at the screens.  If Joe somehow replaced the blasterball plays with the truthful text from the history book, the conspiracy would be known, and President Geoff would have quite a time trying to fix things.

Joe smiled, and tried to think of how to carry out his plan.  First, he would have to get the history textbook back.  He would have to make sure the people spying on him did not see what he was doing.

Joe turned off the computer and began to think.  He went and looked out the window, but was not able to see the book from so far up.  The piles of trash were still there, and would not be picked up for the next three days.

At that point, Joe decided he had to call in his friend for help, although calling this particular person his friend was like calling President Geoff’s speeches the absolute truth.

Ulrich Simpson picked up his cell phone on the second ring.  “Hello?” he growled, in a harsh voice.  The gravelly tones were created from a scar across his throat, which he had obtained when several hooligans had tried to rob him one night.  Although Ulrich was slightly over five-five, he was still very tough, and the robbers had learned this the hard way.

“Hey.  Its Joe,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Ah, Joe,” Ulrich said, with a smile.  “How are you?”

There was a pause, and then the speaker said, “Joe Carson.”

“Carson?” growled Ulrich, his smile fading.  “What do you want?  What are you calling me for?”

“I need a favor.”

“Favor?  I don’t do favors.  Especially not for you!”

“You owe me.”

“No.  The way I see it, we’re even.  Now leave me alone.”

“Ulrich, you owe me and you know it,” Joe said.  “If you don’t help me out, I can make sure the government picks you up for dealing pop.”

Ulrich was silent for a moment, shaking his head.  Finally, he said, “All right, fine.  What do you want?”  He listened as Joe gave him directions, and then shook his head.  “A book?  Just a book?  What, is there pop in it or something?”

“You know how it is,” Joe said.  “No questions.  Just do it.  Oh, and when you bring the book up to my apartment, you have to cover it up in your jacket, or in a bag or something.  All right?”

“Fine, fine,” Ulrich growled, and closed his phone and left the apartment.  By day, he was an electrician.  However, by night, he was a dealer of illegal substances.  Once upon a time, he had made a very good living as a computer programmer for a well-known computer firm.  Then the company had been put of business by the sudden popularity of another, not-as-well-known company.  Ulrich and many others suspected the rise of fame came from the subliminal images in the new company’s graphics, which had been created by Joe Carson.

Ulrich had lost his job and his money, and wandered the streets of Mechstadt one night, looking for meaning to his life.  Instead of meaning, he found five thugs who tried to rob him.  They underestimated the small man, and Ulrich, in a rage, had fought back.  He dispatched three hooligans, but then one of them slashed a knife that skinned his throat.  Ulrich had gone down, waiting for the last two hooligans to beat, kill, and rob him.

Instead, he heard screams and roars from his spot on the ground, and realized that somebody had come to his rescue and was severely beating the two hooligans.  Next, a hand covered the wound on Ulrich’s throat, keeping him from bleeding to death until the paramedics arrived.

Ulrich’s rescuer had been Joe Carson, who had been out on a jog with a pair of weights in his arms.  Joe had phoned for the ambulance, and later, had found Ulrich a new job as an electrician.

Ulrich still hated Joe for costing him his job, but couldn’t deny that he probably owed him a favor.  Now he cut across Mechstadt in his tiny car and stopped in front of the address Joe had given him.  Sighing, he walked into the alley and began to search for the book.

With every garbage bag he threw out of the way, another hissing rat was unearthed.  Some of the rats leaped at Ulrich, snarling.  Ulrich only growled and kicked the rats away with astonishing speed and skill.

Joe called him on his cell phone, saying that he could see him from his apartment, and that the book must have been farther down the alley.  Ulrich kept walking, and finally found a large history textbook, its pages ruffled and torn, between two trash bags.  He hid it under his jacket and stepped into the apartment building.

Joe was waiting for him in the hall, glancing around nervously.  “Nice to see you again, Ulrich,” Joe said, nodding his head.

“Don’t give me that,” Ulrich snarled, thrusting the book into his hands.  “All right.  Am I done?  Can I go?”

“Yeah, great.  Thanks,” Joe said, nodding his head.  Ulrich turned and shuffled away down the hall.

In his apartment, Joe made sure the shades were drawn, certain that President Geoff probably still had guys watching him.  He took out the textbook and began to copy the pages into his computer.  This took him about an hour.  After that, he went through the history arranged on his computer, removing and shortening bits, and lengthening others.  He finally found himself with half a page of information that could be easily transferred up onto the blasterball stadium view screens.

President Geoff was hyped up on mulfikar again.  He sat in his office, daydreaming of times very far in the past.

The year was 1883.  The Justice Center of the time was a stone castle surrounded by soldiers with swords and muskets.  Outside, the skyscrapers of Mechstadt were only very closely built brick buildings.  The last tsunami had wiped out a good deal of the population on the western coast, and the ocean barrier wall was just being put up in some parts of the country.

President Geoff sat in his office in the Justice Center.  Only it wasn’t President Geoff at the time, but Lord Ezekiel Mechstadt, the leader of the continent of Mechstadt.  Lord Mechstadt had fought his way through the beasts of Tropicana, braved the harsh northern oceans near Zelkom, and fought against the savage natives across the land bridge.  Now, he was facing death again, not at the hands of any monstrous enemy, but at the hands of his own citizens.

The door to his office opened, and three government officials entered.  “Hello, Lord Mechstadt,” said one official, nodding his head.

Ezekiel Mechstadt shook his head.  “No, no.  You can drop the title now.  I am no longer the lord of Mechstadt.  I’m nobody.  I guess the people out there are getting pretty riled up.  Guess I made a few bad mistakes.”

“Yes,” said another official, sighing.  “I’m afraid we are at the mercy of the people.  If it were up to us, we would not have you murdered.  Unfortunately, a good deal of the people want you dead.  Your tax policy and focus on industrialization over agriculture caused many of the people to wind up starving to death.”  The official paused before continuing.  “However, your plan did benefit many government officials, such as ourselves.  Your plan did help us greatly, and we and the rest of the government staff have nothing but admiration for you.”

“That’s great,” Ezekiel Mechstadt said, shrugging his shoulders.  “But it doesn’t mean anything.  It’s not like I’ll be able to live.  There are revolts all over the country, and the people won’t stop until I’m dead.  There can be no peace in the country until I’m dead.”

“Yes,” said an official.  “Lord Mechstadt has to die.  But that does not necessarily mean that you have to stop ruling.”

“What?” asked Ezekiel, staring at him.  “What are you talking about?  Didn’t you just contradict yourself there?”

“We want to keep you as the leader of Mechstadt,” the officials said together.  “You have very good ideas for this country, and your speaking skills are amazing.  Before this mistake, you could convince the people of anything- convince them to go to war, that they had plenty of food, that there was hope for their futures… you were a great leader.”

“But they won’t listen to me now,” Ezekiel said.  “How can I continue as the leader of Mechstadt?”

“Well, we have a plan for you to assume a new identity,” said the officials.  “This has never been tested before, and it is very risky surgery, but if it works, you will be able to remain leader of this country, and boldly lead it for another generation.  Think about it.  Mechstadt would be the first nation to have the same exact leader ruling them for two generations.  Think what you could complete within two terms as leader- you would have time to finish all of your plans, all your policies, all your rules.”

Ezekiel Mechstadt stared at the officials.  “Is this possible?” he asked, his face brightening.  “Could you really do that?  Could… could I stay the leader of Mechstadt?”

“Yes, of course,” said the official.  “You have the full support of the government, Lord Mechstadt.”

Lord Mechstadt smiled.  “Wow.  This is going to be excellent.”

President Geoff awoke with a start, his head still spinning.  He walked to the window in his office and peered out at the nation of Mechstadt.  He smiled.  The country had sure come a long way since he had first stepped off the land bridge and onto the iron, oil, and coal-rich continent.

Joe placed the files on a mini-CD and went to scout out the blasterball stadium.  There was a game that night between East and West Mechstadt, and the huge parking garages were filled.  Spider walkers clung to the sides of the walls in park-mode, and lines of hover cars could be found winding down the curbs of streets half a mile away.  Around eighty thousand people had turned out to cheer on their teams by painting their faces, buying abnormally large hats or mittens with their team’s logo, and by gorging themselves on electrically reconstituted hot dogs and beer.

Joe bought a ticket and headed into the stadium.  He didn’t sense anyone watching him, and hoped that President Geoff’s men had decided to leave him alone.

Joe sat down in his seat and watched the game.  The players began to race across the field, screaming and beating each other.  It was actually a good game.  The West Mechstadt team scored two goals, which was almost unheard of.  Usually, no goals were scored, and the game went into a super-bloody tiebreaker, where the players fought without the ball and the last player still on his feet won for his team.

Joe was watching a referee accidentally get sucked into one of the clashes and come out with a couple broken ribs when something on his left caught his eye.  He glanced up and saw a man in black, his face hidden by a mask, standing in the aisle, facing him.  The man seemed to have been watching Joe, but now he was looking down at the field.  When the man in black turned his head, Joe also looked back at the game.

It was one of the men from the government.  Joe felt a surge of rage.  He wanted to brutally crush the man for what had happened to his great-uncle, and almost got up and ran over to him.

Joe realized that the man in black might ruin his plans to broadcast the truth on the game’s jumbo screens.  Joe thought for a moment, his mind racing.  Then, he slowly got up and began walking down the aisle, away from the man.  He headed for the bathrooms.  On his last glance back, he saw the man in black coming after him.

Joe guessed that the man in black had been sent by President Geoff to trail him.  He also knew that most bathrooms at the stadium had two entrance doors.  The man in black would have to follow him inside if he wanted to make sure he didn’t get away by sneaking out the opposite door.

The bathrooms were disgusting, but also empty, which was what Joe needed.  He headed into a stall and closed the door.  Then he ducked his head under and looked under the door.

A few seconds passed, but the time seemed like an eternity to Joe.  Then, the door opened, and the man in black walked in.  His footsteps were hesitant, as if he was listening for the stall Joe was in.  Joe waited until the man in black was just in front of the stall door, and then kicked it open.

The door smashed open and hit the man in black in the shoulder.  The man roared in anger, and Joe launched forward, swinging a massive fist.  Joe was forced to dodge out of the way as the man in black lashed out at him with a small, sharp knife.  The man in black roared and charged at Joe.  Joe moved backward through the bathroom until he was against the wall.

He leaped to the side at the last minute, and the knife jabbed into the wall.  Joe punched the man in black hard in the chest, but the man did not show any pain.  He punched Joe hard in the chin, and Joe staggered sideways, dazed but still dodging the knife.  Joe ducked under the blade again and hit the man twice in the gut, but the man ignored the pain, and continued after Joe.  The knife gouged into his shoulder, making a shallow cut.

Joe shouted in pain, and lashed out with a karate kick.  The knife went spinning through the air.  The man in black growled and lurched after Joe.  Joe met the onslaught, took two punches in the chest, and hit the man in black with a vicious left hook.  The man went to the ground, and started to get up.  Joe kicked him hard in the face, and the man spit blood and teeth across the ground.

Joe heard a grunt, and looked up to see a man standing at the door to the bathroom, staring at the man on the ground.  He looked up at Joe, horrified.  The man had a huge hat that read: EAST MECHSTADT RULES!

“What’s going on here?” the man asked.

Joe pointed down at the man on the floor.  “West Mechstadt fan.  He was bragging about his team.”

“Oh,” the man said, nodding understandably as he headed for a stall.  He even gave the man in black a kick for good measure.  Joe smiled and left the bathroom.

He went through a door marked “Employees Only” and found himself walking down a winding hall.  Through some doors, he heard reporters talking about the game, and others shouting questions to coaches and officials about the outcome of the game.

Joe walked for a very long time, and at last, reached an open door that led to a room filled with computer equipment.  A man sat in a swivel chair, asleep, facing a couple of security monitors.  On the monitors, a couple of crazed fans were tilting the candy machines in the stadium lobby.

Joe surveyed the equipment, and found the computers that were attached to the stadium screens.  At the moment, different cameras were focused at different ends of the fields, and were randomly being projected onto different screens and switching at ten-second intervals.  Joe stepped forward, and stopped the screens.  Looking through the window, he saw the screens go blank.  Some of the fans showed concern, but the others didn’t even notice.

Joe put his mini-CD into the computer and loaded it.  Then, he projected the text onto the screens.  Looking through the window, he saw the first lines of the truth crossing sideways over all of the screens.

The fans did not look up at first, for none of them felt much like reading.  Joe had factored this into his plan, and so had added designs of fish, insects, leaves, and flowers into the message.  The years of experience designing company logos had proven useful.  Soon, even the blasterball players had looked up to see why the fans were not cheering, and were mesmerized by the words running across the screen.

Citizens of Mechstadt- you have been lied to your entire life.  The Creator did not make the blessed land of Mechstadt and the sinful land of Tropicana.  The Record is a lie- created by President Geoff and our government to keep us working in this awful, polluted world that we have been tricked into creating.  The truth is that Mechstadt is not the only country in the world.  It was not even the first country.  A forgotten history book gives evidence that Mechstadt people originated from a place called Zelkom.  There used to be another country in the world.  That is why there are such strict laws on travel, and why nobody is ever allowed to journey to the north seas.  The government does not want anybody to realize that there is another continent out there!  Mechstadt was not around before mankind was placed on earth.  In fact, the first explorers only reached it in the late 1800s.  The government has erased this truth so that it can fill us with a false history that will keep us working unquestioningly on this city, apparently winning us a spot with the Creator in the afterlife.  The Record is a lie.  Everything the government tells you is a lie.  Everything President Geoff has ever said is a lie.  Do not listen to the government.  Let yourselves be overcome by the truth!

In the stadium, people were beginning to look around at each other in horror.  They were confused and scared.  Most were skeptical about the government sending them false information.  Then a huge airship came zooming into the stadium, and thirty armed soldiers leaped out.  Their long-range rifles made short work of the screens around the stadium, and the words were erased from the shattered screens.

Still, Joe could not have hoped for a better way to prove to the people that President Geoff was evil.  Government soldiers racing in to control what the people read and saw was the perfect conclusion to the outburst Joe had placed on the screens.  The airship lifted off, and another one took its place.  More soldiers filed into the stadium.  People were screaming and trying to escape the stadium.  The soldiers were bulling there way through the bleachers, heading in the direction of the control room.  Joe watched them for a moment, and then rushed out of the room.  The man in the swivel chair woke up and glanced around.  “Hey, what’s going on?  Who turned the screens off?”

The soldiers burst into the room and trained their guns on the man.  “Hands up!” one roared.

“What?” asked the man.  “What’s going on?  What are you doing here?”

“Hands up, Carson!” the soldier shouted, and then all the troops threw themselves on the man and pinned him against the ground, where they handcuffed him.  Moments later, the lead soldier picked up his radio and said, “All right.  Call off the troops.  We got the rebel.”

Meanwhile, Joe escaped from the stadium and made his way through the streets.  Horrified fans were hurrying into their cars and trying to escape from the stadium, which had been taken over by the soldiers.  Cars smashed together, and spider-walkers went stomping over buildings at high-speeds.  Joe dodged through the traffic, moving as fast as he could.

He took a tram to his apartment and hurried inside.  No soldiers had arrived.  He didn’t know it, but the soldiers were convinced they had caught Joe Carson, and the poor man who ran the control room was being taken to the Justice Center, bound and gagged.  Joe decided he would go to his apartment to get some supplies, and then escape into the city and find a new place to live.

He opened a backpack and placed in some clothes.  Joe threw in his MP-3 player and laptop computer, and also the history book.  He glanced over his shoulder to see if he was forgetting anything.

Joe’s eyes passed over everything left in his apartment, which he saw as replaceable.  Then he saw the cactus, and it made him think.  The cactus reminded him of nature, of Tropicana, and also that Mechstadt was not the Creator’s chosen country.  He could live just as good a life in any other place.  Tropicana was the obvious choice to head to live a peaceful, natural life.  Joe stuffed the little cactus in his backpack and left his apartment, a new destination in mind.  He wanted to get to Tropicana.

SEE JOE RUN

Ivan Federico was the captain of the secret police.  He was cruising the streets in a black hover car when he heard that Joe Carson had pulled some stunt in a blasterball stadium, trying to start a rebellion in Mechstadt, and had been caught.  He called and told President Geoff that he was on his way to the Justice Center to help out in any way he could.

Federico had been born in Mechstadt at a troubling time.  The last leader, Prime Minister Ronald Bergstrom, was discovered to have been using secret police to kill off members of other political parties so that there was no threat to the prime minister’s rule.  Federico grew up when the people of Mechstadt were suspicious and angry.  Riots were daily spectacles, and people suspected as Bergstrom’s assassins were lynched.

A new, shaky rule was taken up by President Thomas Reason, the fifth ruler of Mechstadt.  His plans helped to reunite the people, and bring them back into good opinion of their government.  Reason proved to be a good leader, but he was very old, and some of his plans did not seem as if they were too be finished.  In 2006, he was murdered by a nature fanatic who screamed that Reason was destroying the environment before shooting him.  Federico was only twenty years old, and it appeared that Mechstadt would be plunged back into the same awful state that it had been after Bergstrom had been impeached and killed.

Then, Federico heard a politician speak in north Mechstadt, and he knew that hope was not lost.  The politician was President Geoff, and he quickly assumed leadership of Mechstadt.  He was a very good official, and continued with the same plans that President Reason had started.  Several weeks later, Federico applied for a job underneath President Geoff.  In his interview, he was able to speak with President Geoff.  The president was very kind, and seemed to understand everything that Federico feared.

“Ivan, I shall do all in my power to keep this wonderful country running smoothly,” President Geoff said, smiling down at the loyal citizen before him.  “You have read the Record, I’m sure.  You know that the Creator chose us to be the dominant people upon this earth.  You are devoted to your religion, are you not?”

“I am,” Federico said, nodding his head.  “I am very religious.”

“That’s good,” President Geoff said.  “Then you should have no trouble in performing the jobs I have for you.  For they are not only of the highest importance to the government, but also to the sacred religion of Mechstadt.”

One month later, Ivan Federico was in with President Geoff’s secret police.  The training was hard, mentally as well as physically.  Apparently, the government only wanted the sturdiest warriors.  Federico was forced to lie in the dark for three days without food or water to determine how tough he was.  Another time, he had been dangled over the ocean barrier wall, holding on for his life for an astonishing six hours while the other candidates perished in the thrashing waves.  His undivided loyalty to President Mechstadt and his daily injections of muscle boosters helped him to quickly attain the highest ranks of the secret police, and three months after arriving, he was captain of the force.

The job included much fighting and killing, but Federico knew that the tasks given to him were vital for the survival of Mechstadt, and he completed them without complaints.  He did not enjoy placing the bomb in Theodore Carson’s vehicle at the Justice Center, but he knew that if the order came from President Geoff, it was vital for the good of Mechstadt.

Federico turned his hover car toward the Justice Center and suddenly skidded to a stop when he saw Joe Carson hurrying into a tram.  He watched in horror as the tram took off across town, and did his best to follow it from down in the streets.  The tram rumbled west for forty minutes, and finally stopped in the center of the country.  Federico saw Joe Carson climb out of the car and head into an apartment building.  He sat, staring and thinking, and then turned back in the direction of the Justice Center to hear from President Geoff.

Joe could not spend the night outside in Mechstadt.  The chemicals would definitely kill him.  Plus, every day at dawn, poison fog swept through the streets and left many dead rodents, insects, and homeless people in its wake.  He entered an apartment building and knocked on a door near the ground floor.

The door opened on a chain, and a familiar face peered outside.  “Joe Carson!” snarled Ulrich Simpson, glaring.  “What do you want from me?”

Joe slammed his foot in the door before Ulrich could slam it shut.  “Ulrich, I just need a place to stay for the night!  Just one night!  Please!  I’ll even pay you!  Come on!”

“I just don’t understand it,” growled Ulrich, opening the door.  “I thought we were even.  I thought you wouldn’t have anything more to do with me.”

Joe stepped into the apartment.  Papers littered the floor, along with dismantled computer drives.  Instead of a bed, there was a hammock hanging from the ceiling.  “Why do you need a place to stay?” growled Ulrich.  “You have a nice apartment.”  He thought for a moment, and then asked, “Is it the police?  Does this have something to do with that book I got for you?”

“Yes, it does,” Joe explained.  “You see, I have this document that really disrupts Mechstadt’s government and religion.  I announced it to the fans at a blasterball stadium to gain some support, and now President Geoff’s troops are after me, trying to kill me.  I need a place to stay for the night so that they don’t find me.  Don’t worry, though.  Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving for good.”

“Really?” asked Ulrich, disbelieving.  “Where will you go?  They’ll find you for sure in Mechstadt, eventually.”

“Yes,” said Joe.  “That’s right.  That’s why I’m heading to Tropicana.”

Ulrich stared in horror.  “Tropicana?  The land of demons?  Are you crazy?”

“Ulrich, the Record is a lie,” said Joe.  “Tropicana is not a terrible place at all.  In fact, I think it’s much better than here in Mechstadt.”

Ulrich was shocked.  “The Record is a lie?  What?  How could it be false?  Everybody believes in the Record!  No wonder President Geoff is after you!  Wow.  The next thing you’ll be telling me is that the X factor is just a way for the government to keep control over society!”  He forced a chuckle, and then saw the look on Joe’s face.  “What?  You think it is?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me without proof,” said Joe.  He handed Ulrich the history book.  “Check this out.  Just, please, let me stay here for the night.”

Ulrich took the book and flipped through the pages.  He glanced over his shoulder at the messy apartment, and then said, “The hammock is mine.  You’re on the floor in the kitchen.”  Then he walked over to the couch, still analyzing the history book.

At the Justice Center, President Geoff was enraged.  “The wrong guy?  You idiots grabbed the wrong guy?”

“We’re sorry.  He was in the control room.  We just assumed…”

“Never assume anything.  And what was with all that shooting in the stadium?  What the heck were you thinking?”

“But, Mr. President, shooting out the blasterball screens was your idea!  We did that on your orders to stop the people in the stadium from seeing what Carson was putting on the screens…”

“Shut up!  You’re lucky I was watching my favorite sport on my laptop computer during that legislative meeting.  Otherwise, we might not have figured out what Carson was doing until it was too late,” President Geoff growled.  “Now, take that guy from the stadium back home, and give him some money to keep him quiet.”

“Sir, I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep this quiet.  Thousands of people are talking about what was said in the stadium.  They believe what Carson said.  They know the truth!”

“They know nothing!” President Geoff growled.  “Now, find me Joe Carson!”

The door to his office opened, and Ivan Federico stepped in.  “I found him,” he said.

“What?  Seriously, Ivan?” President Geoff asked, hurrying around his desk to the captain of the soldiers.  “That’s great!  Where is he?”

“An apartment building in the middle of the city,” said Federico.  “He must have been looking for a place for the night.  We can surround the building and get him, or just sneak in and kill him quietly.”

“Yes, kill him quietly,” said the president, nodding his head.  “That would be better than making a big scene.”

“Of course,” Federico said, loading his handgun.  “Joe Carson must die.  The lies about Mechstadt’s past must be stopped.  The one true religion must be restored.”

“That’s the spirit, Ivan!” President Geoff said, clapping the head of the secret police on the shoulder.  “You ready for your next crusade?”

Joe lay on the kitchen floor in Ulrich’s apartment under a thin blanket, hearing his friend in the next room, typing on the computer.  He couldn’t sleep.  He was too busy thinking about how he would get to Tropicana the following day.

He knew from news reports that the tide was down, and supply trucks heading for the trading posts would be able to get over the land bridge for the next several days.  If he could somehow sneak into one of the trucks, and survive the rough journey, he’d probably be able to escape into Tropicana.  There, he would lead a natural life, living in the jungle, eating plants and small animals, far from the pollution and the technology of Mechstadt.

The lights flickered on, and Ulrich stepped into the kitchen.  “All right,” Ulrich growled, tossing the history book onto Joe’s chest to wake him up.  “What’s going on?  I want the truth.”

“What?” asked Joe.  “What’s up?”

“Well, there’s stuff on the news about riots and protests,” said Ulrich.  “Apparently, there was some kind of fight or raid or something at a stadium, the one you were telling me about.  Now everybody’s running around, shouting about how the government has been lying to them.  What’s going on?”

“I told you, my great-uncle Ted found a document that was proof that the Record was a lie, and that Mechstadt wasn’t the first and only country in the world,” Joe said.  “I gave you the history book.  Didn’t you read it?”

“Well, no,” Ulrich admitted.  “I’m not big on reading.  I didn’t think it could be that important.  But now I just heard about this million dollar reward for anybody who catches you.”  Joe was suddenly aware of a handgun in Ulrich’s hand.

“Oh, no,” Joe said, staring at the gun.  “Ulrich, please.  I came to you for help!  I never thought you would sell me out like this!”

Ulrich shook his head.  “A million dollars is a lot of money.  More than I could ever make as an electrician.  Now, tell me… is that book over there worth more or less than a million dollars?  Because I’m looking for whatever will give me the biggest profit.  Either we sell that book, or I hand you over to the police.”

“Please,” Joe pleaded.  “If you call in the police, they’ll kill me-…”

The apartment door exploded open, and a dark figure came racing inside.  Ulrich turned and fired a single shot.  The figure went to the ground, but another one was there to take his place, firing a machine gun.

“Police!” Joe gasped, rolling to his feet.

“Police!” shouted a voice out in the hall.  “Put the gun down and come out with your hands up!”

“Over my dead body!” shouted Ulrich, firing at the door.  Joe grabbed his pack and the book off the kitchen counter and hurried to the window.  Ulrich saw him leaving and pointed the handgun at him.  “Hey, Joe!  Get back here!”

A stream of bullets cut through Ulrich’s chest, and he fell to the ground, blood spurting from his many wounds.  Joe smashed open the window and looked out.  Ulrich lived… or had lived… on the third floor.  Joe hesitated for a moment, and then heard the soldiers racing through the apartment behind him, and leaped out of the building.

The soldiers burst into the apartment and found Ulrich on the ground, dead.  “’Over my dead body’,” one of the soldiers quoted.  “Well, we kind of gave in to Carson’s demands.”

“Yeah.  But this isn’t Carson!” snarled a soldier, turning the dead body around and staring at the face on his mini-computer’s screen.  The faces did not match, and the body was much too short.  “This isn’t him!  He’s gotten away!”

Joe landed hard in a pile of garbage and limped to his feet as fast as he could.  He rushed down the sidewalk, cut across the busy street, and all the while heard gunshots back at the apartment building.  Apparently, Ulrich’s neighbors were no friends of the police either, and believed that they were the ones that the law was looking for.

Joe felt as if he had a twisted ankle, but he rushed on anyway, finally boarding a tram.  He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but whenever he looked back there was nobody there.  The tram shot him further west.  Joe sat down in a seat and breathed deeply to calm himself down.

The tram was very bumpy, and Joe was suddenly aware that whenever the tram was jostled particularly hard, the people in front of Joe were moved to the side, giving him a brief glance at a man across the tram.  Joe grew increasingly nervous.  The man was dressed all in black.

Federico was amazed at Joe’s speed.  He had seen him leap out of a window and almost break his leg.  Then the injured man had sprinted down the street to the tram.  Federico had barely been able to get into the tram behind him.  Now Federico sat, waiting.  He couldn’t use a gun on the tram without hurting innocent people.  Still, he was under orders to destroy Carson, just as he had Carson’s uncle.  Both had been threats to the chosen people of Mechstadt.

The tram stopped, and people filed off.  Federico waited, keeping his eyes on Carson.  The man appeared to be falling asleep.  Federico glanced away for a moment, and when he looked back, Carson was gone!

Federico leaped to his feet and ran down the length of the tram, upsetting the several people who had gotten on.  The doors closed in front of him before he could get out, but Federico did not see Carson out on the tram’s unloading platform.  The tram began to pull away.

Federico turned and gasped in horror as he found Joe launching through the air toward him.  Federico tried to dodge around the man, but Joe tackled the head of the secret police and drove him to the floor.  People screamed as Joe punched Federico twice in the face.

The muscle boosters kicked in, and Federico shoved Joe away.  Both climbed to their feet, and Federico hit Joe hard in the gut, and then in the chin.  Joe staggered backwards, groaning and clutching his stomach.  Federico followed after him and smashed him against the window.  Joe’s head smashed against the glass, breaking the window.

Federico began to choke Joe, and Joe pushed feebly at his attacker.  He felt the life beginning to drain out of him.  He couldn’t breathe, and everything was beginning to go black.  Joe struggled, and then began to slide down the wall of the tram.  The hands locked down harder on his throat.

Then, all of a sudden, Joe remembered his Uncle Ted, and how the government had killed him to keep their secret.  The strength returned to him, and he broke Federico’s hold on his throat.  Federico punched Joe in the stomach, but Joe didn’t feel anything.  He pulled back his fist and hit Federico hard in the face, knocking him backwards.

Federico stumbled back and fell on his back on the ground.  Joe began walking toward him, and then Federico drew a handgun from the folds of his jacket and aimed it at Joe.

Joe whirled around and sprinted down the tram.  He raced for the broken window and climbed out while the gunshots sounded behind him.  More people screamed, and Joe thrust his head out into the chemical air.  The tram was moving quickly, and the wind tore at his face.  Joe pulled himself out the window and dragged himself onto the roof of the tram.

Now he was lying flat on the top of the tram, the tram’s engines blaring in his ears.  He looked around at the skyscrapers flashing by, barely visible in the dark night.

A bullet screamed through the roof of the tram in front of him, and then another punched through the rusty metal on his right.  Joe rolled sideways as another bullet narrowly missed him.

Federico put the gun back in its holster and climbed out the window of the tram, pulling himself onto the roof.  He spotted Joe and rushed over to him.  Joe didn’t see him until it was too late.  He was struck twice in the face and driven to the ground.  When he looked up, Federico was standing at the other end of the tram, aiming the gun at Joe.

Joe slowly climbed to his feet, gritting his teeth.  “Why are you doing this?” he cried.  “President Geoff is a liar!  He has lied to all of Mechstadt!”

“That’s not true,” Federico said, calmly, taking aim.  “You’re the one who’s lying, you and your great-uncle.  Spreading revolution through the people, turning them against their Creator!”

“You really have no idea, do you?” asked Joe, amazed and afraid.  “President Geoff even keeps secrets from you!  Even you don’t know the true history!”

Federico ignored him.  He flicked open a cell phone and typed in a number.  He listened for a moment, and then said, “Sir, this is Ivan.  I have Carson.”  He listened for another second, and then said, “Yes, sir.  I’ll do it.”  He closed the cell phone and aimed the gun at Joe.  “Good-bye, rebel!”

Joe lifted his head and stared up at the black skies, looking for a sign that he would survive the night and live to fight another day.  But there was no sign from the Creator.  There was nothing but the black clouds of smoke.

Then Joe saw the tram’s cable, the thick steel wire on which the tram was speeding along, rushing over his head.  An idea formed in Joe’s head, and he leaped into the air.

The skin was sheared from his palms as he grabbed the cable.  The tram continued to move, rocketing away, bringing Federico closer and closer to him.  Federico stared in horror, somehow unable to pull the trigger on his weapon.  Joe kicked out with one leg, slamming it into Federico’s chest.  The chief of the secret police was lifted off the roof of the tram and sent spiraling into the darkness, his screams echoing around for a full minute before he splattered against the ground far below.

Joe groaned and curled his legs around the steel cable.  He was suspended in the dark night sky, with no idea how to get down or where to go.  He looked around and saw the lights of an unloading platform not far in front of him.  As fast as he could, lest there be more trams coming along the cable, Joe crawled along the cable to the tram station and leaped off onto solid ground once again.

He was crossing out of the station when he heard a shout behind him.  “Hey!  You!  Stop!”  Joe turned and saw two soldiers rushing toward him with guns.  The soldiers moved in front of him.

Joe held his hands in the air, the blood still dripping down his hands.  “All right,” he breathed.  “I give up.”

“What’s that?” asked one soldier, coming to a stop.  He held up a black backpack.  “Is this yours?  Somebody left it on the last tram?”  Joe took the backpack and saw that it was, indeed, his.

“Oh, yes,” Joe said, putting his hands down.  He took the pack.  “Thanks,” he said.  “Thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” the soldiers said, and turned and headed back to their posts.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief and left the tram station.  His ankle was killing him, and his pack felt heavy.  Getting an idea, he stopped and stuffed the cumbersome history book in a random mailbox.  Somebody would find it, and the absolute truth would be learned, even if Joe were to be killed.  Smiling to himself, Joe hurried on down the sidewalk.

President Geoff was losing faith in his law enforcement.  They had failed to capture Carson in the apartment of the Simpson man, and some of them had even been killed.  Then, Federico had called to say that he had Carson and was about to kill him.  Federico’s body had landed on a hover car and caused a pile-up in west Mechstadt.  The president had no idea what was going on.

Now, all soldiers were being moved to west Mechstadt to search for Carson.  President Geoff talked for hours on the phone, setting up the hunt for the mutineer.  He ignored his advisors.  “Sir, there are riots in east Mechstadt.  People from the stadium are angry and demanding answers.  Perhaps we should send the soldiers there to stop them.”

“No,” growled President Geoff.  “I won’t rest until Carson is dead.  He must be found!  He must be destroyed!”

President Geoff could not remember the last time he was so angry and scared.  Being the leader of Mechstadt was usually easy and fun, but now it was causing him a lot of grief.  He had never felt so scared about his rule.

It was like the time in 1883 when his industrialization policy caused mass peasant starvation, and he lost power.  It was like in 1921 when his powerful control over Mechstadt with the secret police had caused the peasants to rebel.  It was like in 1946, when the people chanted for his death because of incredibly poor wages for factory workers.  It was like in 1954, when he was impeached because the people found out that he was killing off the enemy political parties.

Except it was worse.  Even though there had been hard times in the past, nobody had ever learned the real truth about the world.  President Geoff had carefully erased Zelkom and Mechstadt’s origins from their mind over his long ruling period, and fed them his own carefully prepared biblical texts to keep them happy.  Now he was in a lot of trouble.  Geoff would probably have to disappear, and a new president would have to take over.  The president groaned.  He hated the surgical procedure, but it was imperative for his hold over Mechstadt.

An official jogged into the room, beaming.  “Mr. President!  I’ve got good news!  Joe Carson has just been caught!”

“Forgive me if I don’t burst with enthusiasm,” snarled President Geoff.  “But Federico said he had him not thirty minutes ago, and now he’s dead.  How sure are you that you’ve got him?”

“Positive,” the official said.  “Stun guns brought him down at a busy intersection as he was trying to get into a taxi.  He’s being escorted here as we speak.”

President Geoff brightened.  “Is the history book with him?”

“No, sir.”

The president thought for another few minutes.  Justice Center interrogators hadn’t been able to get much important information out of Carson.  If it were possible, he would like for another party to interrogate Carson and find out the location of the book.  These interrogators, whose methods were more violent than those used in the Justice Center, would definitely bring out a confession.

President Geoff smiled.  “Tell the escort to make a detour.  Take Carson to the Department of the Investigation of Truth.”

From the outside, the Department of the Investigation of Truth looked like just another one of the minor branches of the Justice Center, like the Ministry of Freedom or the Computerization Agency.  It was a tall office building, several blocks from the Justice Center, and looked very ordinary.  A secretary could be seen in the lobby, typing behind a desk.  The offices and halls looked normal, with businessmen in suits working on computers in their cubicles.

Nobody who did not work at the department ever went in, however, because they did not know what the place was for.  Many passed by on the sidewalk every day, believing that the Department of the Investigation of Truth worked on something important for the government and the people, like using scientific research and logical reasoning to discover facts.

In actuality, the department’s job was not as peaceful as people believed.  The employees did unearth facts, but they did so through the use of discomfort and pain, inflicted on enemies given to them by the Justice Center.  The Department of the Investigation of the Truth was a torture chamber.

Joe Carson, unconscious because of the stun blast, was placed in a black bag in the back of the car escorting him.  Two men lifted the bag out of the car when it parked in front of the Department of the Investigation of Truth, and carried him inside the lobby.

The secretary sitting at the front desk smiled sweetly.  “May I help you?” she asked.

The two men grinned back.  “Appointment for Joe Carson?” one asked, nodding his head toward the bag.  The woman typed something in on the computer, and then pushed a button that automatically unlocked a large door behind her.

“Yes, you’re cleared.  Go right in,” the secretary said.  The two men hefted the bag up and walked through the door.  The door locked behind them, but not before a low moan echoed up from the bowels of the department.

Joe awoke to the sound of someone screaming.  He was trapped in darkness, and his hands and feet were tied.  He was being carried, but seconds later, he was dropped, slamming against a stone floor.  Joe struggled against the bonds holding him, but could not break them.

The screams stopped.  Somebody else was laughing, apparently enjoying the pain he was inflicting.  “Doctor, there is no need to go through any of this.  Just tell us what you know.  Tell us what you have learned.  Share your thoughts with the Department of the Investigation of Truth.”

There was a silence, and then another voice choked out, “I’ve told you all I know!  Let me go!  Let me out of here!”

“Ah, Doctor,” the other voice said.  “Why do you hinder our investigation?  All we want is the truth.  Just tell us what you know.  Perhaps this will persuade you.”  Another scream rang through the chamber, echoing off the walls.

“Hey, Robbins,” a voice said, sounding very near to Joe.  “Leave that guy.  We’ve got the rebel here.  President Geoff wants information from him as soon as possible.”

There were footsteps, and Joe got the impression somebody was walking toward him.  “Really?  An express case, huh?  Did you say that this was the rebel, the guy from the stadium?”

“That’s him.  The president wants to know the location of a false document hidden in Mechstadt.”

“All right then.  Let the investigation begin.”  A foot sailed into Joe’s midsection, and he coughed blood and curled up on the ground, his chest aching.  Another kick hit him in the back, and a third struck his legs.  Joe thrashed in the bag, trying to break free.

“Hmm.  He’s stronger than the others.  Get him up.”  The bag Joe was in was unzipped and pulled away.  Joe, growling with rage, blood dripping from his chin, was hauled to his feet.

He glanced around at the room, slightly dizzy.  He was horrified at the structures he saw around him.  There was a boiling vat of acid in the corner, a cage that had hundreds of pointy needles pointing in to its center, racks laid out covered with chains, spikes, and hot irons.  Sitting against the far wall, bound in heavy chains, was a small man with a lab coat.  He was clutching his hand, and Joe saw that his palm had been covered with black burns.

The two men who had brought him in moved quickly to hold his arms.  Joe saw that they were soldiers of a high rank.  Medallions on their sleeves told Joe that they were Travis Geoff Heroes, 1^st Class, and Mechstadt Champions, 2^nd Class.  The man in front of Joe, however, was different.  He wasn’t wearing any soldier’s uniform.  He had a long, dark cloak, and tall, black boots.  Attached to both wrists were bracelets lined with silver spikes, and a collar decorated in the same manner was wrapped around his neck.  A number of evil-looking implements hung on his belt, some of them smeared with dried blood.  One of the most frightening things, however, was the scar that ran across the man’s face.  It started high on his forehead, passed over his left eye, and ended on his cheek.  Something had cut out the man’s eye.

In high school, Sam Robbins had been an inventor.  He was very good, making more efficient parts for automobiles and computers with his unique talent for working with wires.  However, another student, an athlete named Fred Stevens, who was top in every sport at Southern Mechstadt High School, cast a shadow over his accomplishments.  Stevens, considering Robbins a weird little kid, had often picked on him.  At one science fair, Stevens tossed Robbins specially made microscope on the roof, getting it stuck.  Robbins, unable to get his microscope down, missed the contest, which he had a good chance of winning.  When Robbins tried to tell the teachers what had happened, they of course did not punish their star athlete, and went on with the contest.  Robbins, very depressed and enraged, dropped out of school for a week to plan his revenge.

Two weeks after the science fair, Stevens was spray-painting his blasterball record onto a wall at the rival Eastern Mechstadt High School, when he was struck from behind with a club.  Robbins dragged him to an abandoned junkyard, and there began his work of forcing an apology from Stevens and also a confession of everything he had ever done to put down Robbins.  He used an array of special tools of his own making to cause his enemy suffering, and went a bit overboard.  Soldiers arriving on the scene the next morning found Robbins with a tape of his victim’s confession, and also a completely mutilated Stevens.  His throat had been slit, but not before his eyes, tongue, ears, and fingers were removed, his intestines dragged out, and the muscles in his legs cut out.

Robbins was immediately taken to the Justice Center, where he spent several long interviews with interrogators, solemnly explaining how he had tortured Stevens extremely harshly, but had been able to keep him alive until he confessed to everything.  Strangely, the interrogators didn’t seem mad at him; they actually seemed interested in his methods.  Robbins was asked to lecture on the tools he had made, and the degree of pain that they created.

Some time later, it was announced that Sam Robbins, the student who had killed the great athlete of Southern Mechstadt High School, was electrified to death.  However, Robbins was actually relocated to a different part of town and allowed to continue inventing tools of torture.  President Thomas Reason, the leader of the time, had found a job for Robbins.  He had worked at the Department of the Investigation of the Truth ever since.

“My name is Captain Manning, and this is Captain Wordsworth,” said one of the soldiers.  “We’re Mr. Carson’s escort service.”

Robbins scratched his eye, putting his finger inside the empty socket, and laughed.  Joe looked away.  Robbins had lost his eye when the building of a new torture tool had gone horribly wrong, and a burning laser had carved a scar down his face, melting his eye.  “Joe Carson, the rebel.  At last we meet.  I hear the great President Geoff is looking for something, and you know where it is.  So, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

Joe felt uneasy about the idea of being tortured, but he kept his courage.  He spit right into Robbins’ face.  Robbins wiped the saliva away and then lashed out at Joe.  The spikes on the torturer’s wrist cut into Joe’s face, drawing blood.  Joe grunted in pain, and would have fallen backwards if the two soldiers hadn’t been holding him.

“We’ll have to teach you some manners, Mr. Carson,” growled Robbins, walking across the chamber.  He motioned to a rack.  “Put him there.  Tie the chains on his arms and legs.”  Joe struggled, but Manning and Wordsworth were strong, and within minutes he was strapped to the rack.  Heavy chains were now wrapped around his wrists and ankles.  Robbins walked over to the wall and began turning a wheel.  The chains went taut, drawing Joe out to his full length.

“One more time,” growled Robbins.  “This document, the one President Geoff wants.  Where is it?”

Joe glared at the man.  “When I get out of these chains, I’m going to take out that other eye!  I’m going to take your nose, too!  I’ll take your whole head!”

Robbins chuckled.  “Sorry, Carson, but you’re never getting out of those chains.”  He spun the wheel several times.  The chains drew tighter, and Joe felt his spine lengthen.  He tightened his muscles, trying to keep himself from stretching any farther.

“The book, Carson,” growled Captain Wordsworth, walking by Joe.  “Where is it?”

Captain Manning circled the rack on the other side.  “Where is it, Carson?  Just tell us now.  There is no escape from this.”

Robbins turned the wheel again.  The chains were pulled even tighter.  Joe sucked in a deep breath, and then tried pulling his arms close, using all his strength.  Robbins tried to turn the wheel, and found that he could not.  He shoved and kicked at the wheel, trying to force the chains to pull tighter, but they would not.  Joe was too powerful, using all his might to pull the chains back to him.

“Hmm.  Stronger than the rest,” Robbins muttered to himself again.  He left the wheel and walked over to the rack, picking up a sharp iron as he walked.  “You there, Wordsworth, go and hold the wheel.”  The captain walked over to the wheel and held it steady.  Robbins stepped up next to Joe.  “All right, rebel.  You’ve brought yourself to this.  You know, if you tell us the location of the false document, you will be taken to the Justice Center.  Their methods are not as vicious as mine.  Just give us the location, and you will be released.”

Joe gritted his teeth and glared at the torturer.  “Robbins, right?” he asked, in menacing tones.  “I’ve heard of you.  You’re that loser from Southern Mechstadt High School, a long time ago, who went crazy and killed a guy.  Didn’t have the courage to confront the guy face to face, and had to sneak behind his back.  You little wimp!”

Robbins was taken back, but recovered quickly.  With a roar, he brought the brand down on Joe’s chest.  The hot metal burned through his clothes and scorched Joe’s flesh.  Joe roared in pain, thrashed on the rack, and tried to grab at his attacker.  The sudden burst of energy caught Captain Wordsworth by surprise.  Joe’s muscles brought slack into the chains, and the wheel spun, catching the captain’s forearms in the iron spokes and twisting.  There was a sickening crunch as Wordsworth’s arm was twisted backwards, and the man fell to his knees, crying and holding his arm.  He opened his eyes and saw the back of his elbow, a sight he was not used to seeing.

Joe was in a wild rage, shocked by pain and anger, and he was using all his force to break free.  He wrenched the chains as far as they would go and grabbed Robbins around the neck.  He pulled the shrieking man close, trying to rip off his head, but the tight chains would not allow him to do this.  Finally, he wrapped one chain around Robbins neck and began to pull it.

Robbins gasped.  Captain Manning ran up and began pounding on Joe’s face and neck, but he continued to hold the chain, choking Robbins.  Robbins, seeing one solution, reached out and slapped the soldier to get his attention.  His eyes bugging out of his head, he pointed across the room at the key to the shackles.

Manning retrieved the key and unlocked one of Joe’s arms.  Robbins broke free, spinning in a circle to remove the chain wrapped around his neck, and spun to the ground, breathing heavily.  Unfortunately, the master of torture landed on one of his own torture devices- a rug decorated with thousands of needles pointing straight up.  Robbins screamed in agony as the flesh of his palms was pierced in nearly five hundred different places.

Meanwhile, Joe lashed out with his free arm and punched Manning in the face.  The captain tried to move back, but Joe grabbed him by the hair and brought him close.  He forced the key out of Manning’s hand and then dug the key into the man’s cheek, gouging out a sliver of skin.

The captain dropped back, and Joe unlocked his other arm.  He bent down and unlocked one leg.  Looking up, he saw Captain Manning running back at him, one of Robbins’ jagged knives in his hand.  Joe kicked out with his free leg, hitting his attacker under the chin and sending him flying backwards again.  Joe moved quickly to unlock his other leg, and then stood up.  He was no longer being held down.  He was free, and he was mad.

Manning recovered from being kicked in the mouth, and grabbed a sharp needle, almost three feet long.  Growling, he rushed at Joe, the needle pointed at his chest.

Joe whipped one of his forearms forward, easily pushing the point to the side.  Manning rushed forward of his own momentum, and the needle missed Joe badly.  The captain rammed into Joe, pushing him back.  Joe found himself tumbling back onto the torture rack.  As Manning flew down on top of him, Joe placed his feet on the man’s chest and let his own momentum carry the captain into the air.

Manning clattered through the chains that had once held Joe’s arms and crashed against a tray of knives and needles.  The captain fell to the ground, stuck through the chest with six of the knives.  One of these knives had entered his heart, and within seconds, he was dead.

Wordsworth had taken his arm out of the wheel and was staggering forward.  His damaged arm, having been twisted around several times, hung dead at his side.  He cried out in pain and drew his handgun, aiming it at Joe.

Joe ducked down behind the torture rack as the bullets began to zing through the room.  He picked up the hot iron and crawled across the ground as Wordsworth began to come after him.  Dodging through the different torture devices, chased from behind, Joe was desperate to escape.  Then he heard several clicks, and realized that his pursuer was out of bullets.

Joe launched himself to his feet and rushed backwards.  Wordsworth was trying to reload, but it was impossible with his horribly mangled arm.  At the last second, the captain dropped the gun and screamed in horror.  Joe swung the hot iron as hard as he could.

The iron flew into the side of Wordsworth’s head, shattering the skull and sending hot blood and brain matter splattering against the wall.  The captain fell, dead, and Joe dropped the iron and turned to find his last enemy.

Robbins, bleeding from his hands, lifted himself up and glared evilly at Joe.  Snarling angrily, the torturer picked up a knife and a corkscrew-shaped piece of wire and started toward Joe.  Joe plucked a curved dagger off a table and went to meet his opponent.

Robbins leaped forward and swung the knife.  Joe dodged out of the way, and was jabbed sharply with the corkscrew wire in the side.  When Robbins drew out the weapon, it seemed to dislodge and tear more flesh than seemed possible for a thin needle of the size.  Joe swung the dagger, but Robbins ducked under it, and swiped with the knife, cutting into Joe’s leg.  Joe growled and stepped backward.  Robbins followed him, jabbing with the corkscrew.

“This weapon hurts, doesn’t it?” laughed Robbins.  “More than the knife, I believe.  You don’t want to get touched with this.  But you will.  You can’t escape.  Before long, you will be dying for me to accept the location of the document and send you to the Justice Center.  But I won’t stop.  You’ll die slowly, rebel.  Slowly and painfully.”

The knife jabbed forward again, and Joe instinctively reached out and grabbed Robbins’ wrist.  The corkscrew shot forward to spike him, but Joe swung his dagger down and jabbed it deep into the forearm of Robbins.  Robbins screamed in pain, released both weapons, and tried to hurry backwards.  Joe, however, was not about to let him escape.  Disregarding the dagger, he stepped up and hit Robbins hard in the jaw.  Robbins flew backwards, and Joe followed him, hitting him again and again.  Robbins fell to the stone floor, coughing blood and holding his stomach.  He looked up at Joe, struggling to breathe.  “Mercy,” he moaned.  “Mercy, Carson.”

Joe reached down and grabbed Robbins by the collar.  He lifted him up, ready to give him a final, killing blow.  However, he hesitated, not feeling as if he could kill the pitiful man, whom he had reduced to nothing.

In that instant, Robbins pulled free another needle on his belt and jabbed it forward, deep into Joe’s abdomen.  Joe screamed in pain, drew the needle out, and sank to his knees.  His insides squirmed and tightened, and Joe covered the hole in his stomach with his hand, lest blood start squirting out.

Robbins, still recovering from the boxing lesson he had been given, turned and grabbed a hatchet off a nearby table.  He lifted it up, ready to bring it down on his enemy and kill him once and for all.

Joe pushed himself off the floor and slammed himself into Robbins chest.  He shoved Robbins across the room, propelling him across the floor.  He slammed him against the wall of the torture chamber, reached up, and wrenched the hatchet out of his hand.

Robbins swallowed nervously.  “Mercy?” he tried again.

Joe growled in reply and grabbed Robbins by the front of his cloak.  He dragged the man sideways, along the wall, and bent his knees, ready to launch Robbins into the air.

Robbins could not understand what Joe was doing until he felt heat and fumes burn his eyes.  He was not two feet from the vat of acid.  “Oh, no!” Robbins gasped.  “Carson, no!  Please, don’t!  Don’t do it!”

Joe hauled Robbins into the air and flung him over the rim of the vat.  Robbins reached out a hand to pull himself out of the acid, but missed, and was dunked into the boiling liquid.  He rose to the surface, a horrible scream coming from his throat.  His face and skin were bright red as he struggled to escape, reaching for the edge of the acid vat.  In the next moment, however, Robbins was submerged, and the acid entered his lungs.  He did not come to the surface.

Joe turned with a long sigh and sank back against the wall, pain emanating from every part of his body.  He heard the sound of chains ahead of him, and tried to get up to fight his next enemy, but could not.  Joe looked up and saw the man in the lab coat, the man Robbins had previously been torturing, staggering towards him under the weight of heavy chains.

The man looked scared and helpless.  Obviously, he was very happy that Joe had managed to get rid of the torturers, but was also nervous of what Joe might do to him if he made him angry.  “Excuse me, kind sir, but could you help me out of these chains?”

Joe hobbled to his feet and forced a smile on his face.  “No problem.  I’ll get the key, and then we’ll get out of here together.”  The man in the lab coat smiled.  Joe found the key by the torture rack and brought it back.  He unlocked the man.  “My name’s Joe Carson.  What’s yours?”

“Dr. Donald Page,” the man said, shrugging out of the chains.  Once free, he took a rag out of his pocket and bandaged his burnt hand.  “I am a surgeon of the Justice Center.”

Joe was surprised.  “You’re from the Justice Center?  What are you doing here?”

“Well… our leader perceived me as a threat, and I was brought here,” said Dr. Page.  “I was suspected of passing top secret information to Mechstadt civilians.”

Joe raised his eyebrows.  “Top secret?  What kind of secret?”

Dr. Page looked around the torture chamber, at the evil devices and the two dead bodies of the soldiers.  “Please, Mr. Carson, we should probably get out of here.  If I can, I will explain when we reach a safe place.”

Joe nodded.  “I understand.  Let’s get out of here.”  He pointed over to one of the soldiers.  “Here, take his jacket, and I’ll take this one.  That will be our disguise.”

The two put on the jackets of the soldiers and headed up the long stairway.  Keeping their heads low, they said their goodbyes to the secretary, who apparently had no idea of what had happened.  Joe and Dr. Page walked out into the dark street, Joe still limping from his many wounds, and started down the sidewalk.  Joe passed a car, which he presumed to be the soldiers, since he saw his backpack in the passenger seat.  He searched through the pockets of the jacket, found a set of car keys, and opened up the door.  He took out his backpack and climbed into the soldier’s car.

“My car is still here,” Dr. Page said, pointing up the street.  “I was tricked into coming to this place.  President Geoff told me to meet some important executives here at the Department of the Investigation of the Truth.  Before now, I did not know what it was this department did!”

Joe nodded and climbed out of the soldier’s car.  He guessed that maybe it would buy them some time if it looked as if the soldiers were still at the department, and that everything was still fine.  Joe walked down the street and climbed into the passenger seat of Dr. Page’s car.  It looked like President Geoff even had to keep some secrets from his own people.  Probably only a handful knew about Zelkom and the real history of Mechstadt.

Dr. Page glanced over at Joe.  “You have been badly injured.  I know a place where I can treat your wounds.  Don’t worry.”  Dr. Page drove quickly through the darkened streets, but not fast enough to arouse suspicion.  In any case, many drunk drivers shot through the streets so fast that they killed people, and were able to get off with only a fine if they were able to prove that they were loyal citizens.  The fine was reduced if it was discovered that the person killed was not quite a faithful citizen.

“And now,” Joe said, still clutching his stomach.  “Your secret.  What is it you have discovered in the Justice Center?  Why were you being tortured?”

Dr. Page cringed, as if remembering something awful.  “I… I only became a surgeon at the Justice Center a couple of years ago.  I noticed that a lot of doctors were employed there, and so I arranged to work there, too.  Only last week did I discover what it was the surgeons did.”

Joe turned to the doctor.  “What?” he asked.  “What is it?”

“We are meant to perform a very dangerous surgical procedure on the president,” said Dr. Page.  “For a year, I have worked with the other scientists deep underneath the Justice Center, working on putting together a body.  We grow a human body in a closed-off container, affecting it with catalysts and extra enzymes so that it grows to be an adult in a much shorter period of time.”

Dr. Page pulled up to an apartment building.  “I used to live here,” he said.  “In fact, it used to be my private lab, where I helped out those who could not afford a real hospital visit.”

They climbed out of the car and walked into the apartment.  They took the elevator up to the sixth floor, since Joe was feeling too weak to climb the stairs.  Dr. Page’s apartment was organized, but very dusty, as if nobody had entered in years.

Dr. Page immediately went to work fixing up Joe.  His burns were treated, and bandages were placed over the bruised areas where Robbins had kicked him while he had been trapped in the bag.  Next, Dr. Page sewed up the wounds Robbins had inflicted with the corkscrew, and last fixed the small hole the torture master had made with the sharp needle.

“That needle should not have done much damage,” said Dr. Page.  “Nothing vital should have been struck.  You will live, but if it is possible, you should try to take life more slowly for a couple of weeks.”

Joe forced a laugh, causing a sharp pain in his abdomen.  “Yeah, right.  How can anyone live a slow and easy life with President Geoff coming after them.”  He thought for a moment, and then said, “You still haven’t told me what it is you do as a surgeon.  What happens at the Justice Center?”

Dr. Page continued explaining.  “Well, we grow an adult body and keep it in a container, lifeless.  However, the body can be brought back to life with the right dose of electricity to the heart.  The proper type of blood must also be forced through the veins for about five minutes with machines.  And, last but not least, a new brain must be put into the skull and connected to the spine correctly.”

Dr. Page was about to go on when there was a knock on the door.  “Hello?  Hello?” a soft voice asked.  “Is somebody in there?  Is somebody there?  If you do not come out, I shall call the police!”

Dr. Page hurried to the door and opened it up.  “Miss Berry, how pleasant to see you again!  It has been so long!”

A woman with a red dress and a briefcase stood at the doorway.  She looked astonished to see Dr. Page.  “Doctor!  You have returned!  I wondered where you had gone.  It has been a couple of months since you have been home.  I guess they’re really keeping you busy in the Justice Center.  But it must be very rewarding to help your government.”

Dr. Page swallowed and smiled.  “Yes, yes… in any case, I am kept quite busy.  I just stopped by to pick up some things.  Oh, yes, and I had to help my friend.  His name is Carson.  Joe Carson.”

Miss Berry’s eyes widened in terror.  Joe guessed that she had heard his name somewhere.  He forced a smile on his face.  “Eh… hello, Miss Berry.  Very nice name.  Is it spelled the same way as the fruit?”

Confusion registered on Miss Berry’s face.  “Fruit?  What are you talking about?  Fruit?  What’s that?”

“You know,” Joe said.  “The fruit- berries.  You really don’t know what I mean?”

Miss Berry turned to Dr. Page.  “Good to see you again, Doctor.  I must be going.  Hopefully you will get done with your work and show up around here more often.  Good-bye.”  She turned and hurried down the hall.

Dr. Page turned to Joe and sighed.  “Miss Berry is a nice woman, but apparently not as quick to the half truths of the government.”

“Almost nobody is,” Joe said, shaking his head.  “Nobody can truly see what this religion based on machinery is doing.  She didn’t even know the true meaning of the word ‘berry’.”  Becoming very serious, he said, “Dr. Page, I think Miss Berry recognized my face and my name.  I am a wanted man, probably on more severe terms than yourself.”

Dr. Page stared in horror.  “Really?  What is it you have done?”

“The same as yourself,” Joe said.  “I discovered a truth about Mechstadt, and did not agree that it should be kept hidden.  So now, President Geoff wants me either dead or captured.  I have a plan to escape to Tropicana.”

Dr. Page reeled in horror.  “Tropicana?  Are you serious?  The land of demons?  It is worse there than here.  You can’t do it!”

“You don’t understand,” said Joe.  “The Record is a lie.  You know now that is possible for some of the most unimaginable things to be absolute truth.  You have seen the president’s torture chamber, and obviously know something horrible about surgery in the Justice Center.  Trust me.  The Record is just another lie of the government!”

Dr. Page was shocked.  Joe stood up, put on his overcoat, and said, “We need to get out of here.  Miss Berry is nice, but she thinks I am a criminal.  She is probably calling in the soldiers right now, thinking she is doing you a favor.”

Joe and Dr. Page hurried out of the apartment and climbed back into the car.  As Dr. Page started driving down the street, there was the sound of sirens behind them, and then the light of a single police car came into view.

“Floor it,” Joe ordered.

Dr. Page put his foot on the gas, and the car shot forward.  The police car slowed down for a moment beside the apartment, and then saw them fleeing away and took up the chase.

They shot through the streets, narrowly missing potential fatal accidents as other cars veered out of the way.  “Keep going,” Joe said, putting his hands on the dashboard.  “We can’t be captured.  If we are, we’ll be sent back to the Department of the Investigation of the Truth.”

A gunshot rang out, and a bullet hit the rear window, shattering it.  “Get your head down,” Joe said, ducking down behind his seat.  “Keep driving.  Stay low.”

More shots rang out.  Joe glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the soldier in the passenger seat leaning out the window, firing at them.  Citizens in the street yelled in horror when they saw the car chase, and their growing hatred of the government and love of the rebellion grew.  Joe grinned, seeing the shootout as an advantage for overrunning the government of Mechstadt.

A disadvantage, however, was death.  Dr. Page was struck in the back with a bullet and let out a cry.  “Dr. Page!” Joe cried, reaching out and taking the steering wheel.  Blood was oozing onto the seat, and the doctor’s eyelids were falling.

The car slowed down, and the police rammed into them from behind.  Joe instinctively spun the wheel.  Both cars spun across the street, sliding right into an intersection.  Joe planted his arms and feet against the roof, floor, and sides of the car interior and braced himself for the impact as he saw the enormous departed citizens truck shooting across the intersection right for them.

The big truck tried to stop, but it was moving too fast.  Dr. Page’s car was tossed like a salad.  The police car, with the officers desperately trying to escape from their vehicle, was also struck.  The officers were killed immediately as they were crushed halfway out of their doors.

The truck slid to a stop, ejecting long-dead bodies of the homeless.  Dr. Page’s car slid up onto a sidewalk, no longer resembling a car.  Dr. Page was dead.  Joe lay in the passenger seat, glass shards in his hair and skin, unconscious.

President Geoff arrived at the Department of the Investigation of the Truth with two members of the secret police.  Now that Carson had been captured, President Geoff was actually looking at the positives of the long manhunt.  He could see a plus coming from Ivan Federico’s death.  Federico had been loyal to the Mechstadt religion and to the government, but had never really known the truth, like many of the other officials did.  He did not know the true identity and past of his leader, or the real history of Mechstadt.  If he had ever found out the truth, he might have become a very lethal weapon, maybe even injuring President Geoff before he was stopped.

The wanted posters and money reward were probably helping to unite the people against a common enemy, although the stunt Carson had pulled at the blasterball stadium had united them against the government.  Usually, the creation of a scapegoat brought the government back into the power when they helped the people fight a common enemy.  The people of Tropicana had been the scapegoat for a very long time, but they were very far away, and Mechstadt citizens did not always feel threatened by them.

President Geoff walked into the lobby and approached the secretary.  “Hello.  I believe we have an appointment with Mr. Joe Carson.  Is he in with Dr. Robbins right now?”

“Yes, he is,” said the secretary, after checking the screen.

“Okay.  Good,” the president said.  “Well, now that we’re here, can you tell the two captains who escorted him here that they can leave.  We can take it from here.”

“The two captains have already left,” said the secretary.  “About twenty minutes ago.”

President Geoff and the two members of the secret police stood rooted to the floor.  “You say they already left?” asked President Geoff.  “Are you sure?”

“Nobody ever authorized their departure,” one member of the secret police said.

“Manning and Wordsworth should be justly punished,” the other said.

President Geoff, however, felt as if there was another possibility.  “You two, go down and check if Carson is down there.  Now!”  The secret police drew their weapons and headed into the door, descending down the stairs.  While President Geoff waited, his cell phone rang.  He answered it.  “What?” he growled.

“Sir, there’s been a Joe Carson sighting in west Mechstadt!  Apparently, he has escaped.  A police cruiser tried to catch them, and there was a bad accident.”

President Geoff got the location and closed his cell phone just as the two secret police members came running up the stairs.  “Let me guess,” the president growled.  “They’re all dead, and Carson is missing.  Correct?”

The secret police nodded.  One said, “Manning and Wordsworth are dead, and we found another skeleton in a vat of acid.  Looks like Robbins.”

“Just three bodies?” asked the secretary, as they headed for the door.  “Whatever happened to Dr. Donald Page?”

 “Page?” asked President Geoff, glancing back at the secretary.  “Oh, no.  Was he down there?”  The secretary nodded.  President Geoff hung his head in his hands.  “Well, this just keeps getting better and better.  Page and Carson must be working together now.”  The three hurried out of the building and into their car.  President Geoff sat in the backseat, shaking his head.

Dr. Page, like all of the surgeons of the Justice Center, knew the secret about all the lives of the Mechstadt rulers.  Unlike all the other surgeons, he had been against the surgery that had taken place five times in the Justice Center since the founding of Mechstadt.  President Geoff suspected that Dr. Page might have passed top-secret information on to friends or relatives, and had arranged for him to be questioned in the Department of the Investigation of the Truth.

They shot through the streets and arrived at the accident scene.  A departed citizens truck driver was giving a report to a soldier, and several others were looking through the wreckage.  At least thirty dead bodies were lying around the street, apparently having been thrown out of the truck.  Two police officers were dead, and their car was totaled.  Dr. Page’s car was also very badly damaged, and had been rammed up on the sidewalk.

President Geoff let out a sigh of relief when he saw the bloody hand sticking out the window of Dr. Page’s crunched car.  “Phew.  Page is dead.  The secret has been contained.”  He thought for a moment, and then hurried over to the car.  He glanced into the car interior, over Dr. Page’s bloody body, and let out a growl.

Joe Carson was not in the car.  He was still alive.

President Geoff walked away from the car, and passed the police car.  He barely glanced at the dead bodies of the police officers, the men who had given their lives trying to capture the man their leader had wanted, but stopped when he heard a voice.  Amazingly, the police radio was still working.  Even more amazingly was what the police officer was saying.

“This is Officer Lewis, responding to Carson sighting.  There he is.  Carson is in west Mechstadt, at the intersection of Turncoat and Bergstrom.  We are pursuing him.”  There was a pause, and then the voice continued.  “All right, we’ve just about got Carson.  We’re heading through west Mechstadt to the ocean barrier.  We should have him cornered soon.”

Joe had gone into a pharmacy in west Mechstadt to pick up some medicine.  The car crash had opened up many of the wounds Dr. Page had bandaged, and had also inflicted some new ones.  He walked by a huge rack of vitamins.  Vitamin A and C deficiencies were very serious nowadays, since the cleaning and atomizing of Mechstadt foods unfortunately removed the needed nutrients.  There were also tanning guns, little guns that shot UV lights to deal with the Vitamin D scarcity because of the blocked-out sun. 

Joe grabbed some pain pills and some bandages and was heading to pay for the stuff when he saw the horrified look on the shop owner’s face.  He followed the man’s gaze to a TV set perched in the corner.

A reporter appeared on the screen.  “President Geoff has just released a photo of this dangerous individual.  If you should see him, call the Justice Center hotline immediately and report his location.  A reward of a million dollars will be given to whoever helps in his capture- dead or alive.”  Joe’s face appeared on the screen.

Joe glanced back and saw the shop owner picking up the phone.  Joe shoved the medicine into his backpack and rushed out onto the street.  In the distance, he heard the sirens of approaching police hover cars, and growled in anger.  He would have to run again.  But he was sick of running.

Joe heard the grumbling motor of a motorcycle coming down the street, and he glanced up to see a scary-looking man with a leather jacket, green spiked hair, and earrings coming down the street at a high speed.  Joe tightened the straps on his backpack and stepped out into the middle of the street, in front of the motorcycle.

The motorcycle stopped, and the driver began rolling up the sleeves of his jacket.  “Yo, we gonna have a problem, fool?” he growled, balling his fists.

Joe took the man by his nose ring and moved him forcefully off the motorcycle.  Then he climbed on and screamed down the street.  The police cars were right behind him.

Joe shot down the street as fast as the motorcycle would go.  The hover cars moved just as fast, though, and were soon right behind Joe.  Joe passed a sign that read WALL AHEAD and gulped.  He was getting close to the ocean barrier wall.  Once there, there would be no place left to go.  The soldiers would have him.

A voice blared over speakers.  “Stop, Carson.  Stop the motorcycle now and give yourself up.  You are trapped.  You cannot leave Mechstadt.”

Who were they to tell Joe what he could do?  Angry, Joe shot forward, even when he saw the gigantic barrier wall rising up in front of him.  The police cars slowed down, seeing that he had nowhere to go.

Joe stopped the motorcycle at the foot of the wall and leaped up onto a ladder that rose up the wall.  It was so dark that the soldiers didn’t even see him until he was halfway up the wall.

“Stop there!  Stop or we’ll shoot!” snarled the soldiers.  Joe continued up the wall, finally reaching the top of the wall.  He raced along the wall ramparts as bullets blasted into the concrete all around him.

A new sound reached Joe’s ears.  It was the sound of the ocean, the waves pounding against the concrete wall.  Joe had never heard the sea before, and it scared and overjoyed him at the same time.  He couldn’t see the waters, but they sounded a lot larger and stronger than he had imagined.

“Stop, Carson!  Stop!” the voices shouted.

Joe took a deep breath, and then glanced back at the country of Mechstadt.  He could barely make out the shapes of skyscrapers and the black clouds.  He could hear the shouts and gunshots and car engines and factory groans scattered through the land.  A smile appeared on his face.  He wouldn’t be missing much.  Joe leaped over the wall and into the ocean.

            The soldiers climbed up onto the wall several minutes later and looked down into the ocean.  “He could not have survived,” one soldier said.  “Call the president.  Tell him Carson is dead.”

A DAY IN THE SUN

            Zamia enjoyed running along the beach.  He went swimming in the ocean often, sometimes even swimming rather than running up the coast.  When he was hungry, he would dive to the bottom of the sea and pick up crabs and slow-moving fish to eat.  Like all of the natives, he did not see the need to cook his food over a fire.  There was nothing in Tropicana that could harm anyone.

            Some of the first traders from distant lands had tried to explain to the natives the danger of bacteria and viruses, and the need to cook food.  The natives replied, speaking as best they could in the foreign language, that if bacteria were alive, then they were no different from things like fish and insects, and could be eaten.  They went on further to say that fire caused more trouble than bacteria.  It created ugly, black smoke, and also made wood disappear- wood that, if not burned, would feed termites, which would then feed the natives.

            Zamia felt that he was close to the Shadow City.  Something smelled different about the air, and he saw some traces of black clouds far off in the distance.

            Zamia sat down in the warm dunes and fell asleep again.  He awoke to the sound of dolphins squealing in the ocean.  He got up and hurried down the beach to play with the animals, when he saw that the dolphins weren’t playing.  They seemed to be pushing something onto the shore.

            Zamia hurried into the water and saw that a team of five dolphins was pushing a man onto the shore.  Zamia rushed into the water and took the man by the collar of his heavy clothes.  He dragged him onto the sands and quickly began pounding his chest, trying to get the seawater out of the man’s body.

            After several minutes, the man coughed and threw up gallons of seawater into the sand.  He rolled on his side, moaning and clawing at the sand.  Zamia sat back, watching the man, knowing that he would survive.  The person sat on the ground for a long time, and then suddenly lifted his head.  His tired, bloodshot eyes registered amazement as he dug his fingers through the sand.  He looked as if he had never seen the ground before.

            The man rolled up to his feet and turned in a circle.  His jaw dropped when he saw the blue ocean, the green jungle, and the sandy beach.  He finally spotted Zamia and was taken back.  He said something, but Zamia did not understand.

            A pack washed up on the shore.  The man walked over to it and opened it up.  Zamia, interested, hurried over.  The man in the weird clothing began to take things out of the pack.

            Zamia stared in wonder at the things the man took out of the backpack.  There was a large, flat object, like a thin, square rock, which opened up into two panels.  The man discarded it because it would not react when he pushed a small section of it.  Next, the man took out a small red pebble, attached to two larger pebbles with thin black vines.  He inserted one of the larger pebbles into his ear and smiled after a moment.  He handed the pebble over to Zamia.

            Zamia stared at the object, and then put it in his own ear.  He gasped as he heard strange, awful sounds.  He leaped to his feet, searching for the source of the noise, and the sounds vanished when the pebble was pulled out of his ear.

            The next thing the man took out of the pack was familiar to Zamia.  It was a cactus.  The man handled it carefully, then moved a little ways up the beach and placed it in the dirt just in front of the jungle.  Zamia smiled when he saw this.  He had taken the man for a citizen of the Shadow City, but this could not have been true if he had just planted the cactus.  The beings in the Shadow City hated the natural world.  They would burn a plant for heat and energy rather than help it survive.

            Zamia noticed that the man was beginning to sweat.  It must have been too hot for him.  Zamia hurried down the beach and leaped into the ocean.  The man followed after him a minute later, leaving his black overcoat on the beach.

            Joe could never have imagined the air could be so warm.  He sat in the sand, enjoying the burning sun.  Eventually, he used a sharp rock to cut his jeans into shorts, and put on a white shirt.  He spent hours just splashing around in the nice ocean with the Tropicana native, who seemed pleased that he had planted the cactus near the jungle.

            Already, Joe’s wounds appeared to be healing.  The warm saltwater had cleaned out the cuts better than any antibiotic could, and now all the injuries he had been given in Mechstadt were mending themselves.  Joe wasn’t sure, but he believed the quick curing process was due to the warm sun and clean air.

            Joe became hungry, and the native boy seemed to understand.  The boy dove under the water, and returned with a crab, which he quickly put to death.  The boy broke open the shell of the crab, and handed a goopy mess of internal organs to Joe.

            Joe felt slightly sick as he took the crab intestines, but then he took a bite and smiled.  The fresh food was far better than the mineral-enhanced, nutritional diet carbon/potassium bars from Mama Viola’s House of Homemade Cookies in south Mechstadt.

            Joe and the native ate the entire crab.  Joe was still a little hungry afterwards, but he decided he didn’t need to ask for more, since there appeared to be food everywhere in Tropicana.

            Joe left his pack on the beach, seeing that he didn’t need any of the stuff.  His laptop hadn’t survived the ocean.  He didn’t need any other clothes besides the shorts and the shirt, although he kept his pair of running shoes.  He put the MP-3 player in his pocket since it was so small and light, and also since he believed he could use it later on.  He also brought his goggles, since he could use them to hunt underwater, and also his breathalyzer tube.  Then, running to catch up, he hurried after the native, who had gone into the jungle.

            Joe found the native climbing up a tree.  The native plucked out two mangoes and climbed down.  He handed one to Joe and the two ate as they walked through the cool jungle.  After a while, they stepped out of the tall trees and into a field.

            Joe stared in amazement at the animals in the fields.  Huge buffalo, small gazelle, and tall ostriches littered the green plains.  Other than enormous radioactive rats the size of dogs and super toy poodles the size of mice, he had never seen an animal before.  He walked forward through the grasses, toward the closest buffalo.  The buffalo turned to Joe and took a step toward him.  Unaccustomed to large herbivores, Joe turned and raced away into the jungle, hoping the beast wasn’t chasing him.  The native glanced after Joe, and then chased him through the trees, thinking it was a game, since it was absurd for the buffalo to actually chase down and injure Joe when he had done nothing threatening.

            Joe, running as fast as he could, was surprised when the native came up beside him, sprinting as fast as he was, and apparently breathing quite easily.  Joe, his breathing difficult, slowed down and let the native run ahead of him.  He guessed that the natives of Tropicana lived much healthier lives than the people of Mechstadt.

            They ended up walking north along the coast, where Joe attempted to communicate.  “My name is Joe Carson,” he said.  “What’s your name?”

            The native said something in a different language, and Joe did not understand.  He repeated himself, wondering when the native would get the hang of his language.

            All of a sudden, Joe remembered reports of interactions between Mechstadt traders and natives.  Always, the natives had been forced to learn the language of Mechstadt.  No traders had ever tried to learn the language of Tropicana.  Joe abruptly stopped talking, and started listening.

            “Zamia,” the native said, pointing to himself.  He pointed to Joe, and said something in questioning tones.

            “Joe,” Joe said, pointing to himself.  He pointed to the native.  “Zamia?”  The native grinned and clapped Joe on the back.  Joe smiled, and they walked on.

            Joe tried to remember what had happened after he leaped over the wall.  Things had gotten pretty bad.  He remembered the waves slamming him against the barrier wall.  He remembered the icy waters, waters that hadn’t seen the sun for years, freezing him and choking out his breath.  He remembered the putrid black waters burning his lungs and dragging him underwater.  After that, everything had been cold and pain, and Joe had given up.

            The next thing Joe knew, the cold had vanished, and he was being bumped through slightly warmer waters.  Sometimes, the sun shone on his face.  In any event, he was moving through the clear water at incredible speeds, and the pollution was washed from his body and clothes.

            Finally, he had found himself on the warm shores of what he assumed to be Tropicana.  For the first time, he saw trees through his own eyes.  He felt sand, and he felt the sun.  Everything was warm and clean, a feeling that could never be replicated by a computer’s image of Tropicana trading posts.

            Joe and Zamia ate a last meal of insects and roots from the jungle, and then curled up in the warm dunes to sleep.  Joe noticed the incredible silence of Tropicana.  During the night, there were no factory explosions, engine roars, or shouts of human beings.  There was only the soft chirp of crickets and the distant bellows of a tiger.  Joe grinned before falling asleep.  Even though he had started out the day being near-death, it had turned out to be the best day of his life.

POWER PROBLEMS

            “Citizens of Mechstadt, the end is near!  The Creator is nothing but a lie!  He never built Mechstadt as the first country in the world!  He does not even exist!”

            “President Geoff is an advocate of the devil!  He lied to us!  The Record is a lie!  All he wanted us to do was to build this country so that he could then kill us and take over the world!”

            “The government of Mechstadt is in league with the aliens, and they are harvesting our organs in our sleep!”

            The mobs of protesters had grown larger, and they were also growing more vicious.  As they swept through the streets, gathering force, they looted shopping malls and supermarkets.  They were moving in the general direction of the Justice Center.  President Geoff had no choice but to try and stop them.

            A huge airship holding an enormous view screen floated over the mob.  An image of President Geoff appeared on the screen.  “People of Mechstadt, do not be deceived!  You have been lied to, but not by me!  Joe Carson is the one who has tricked you!  Look what he is making you do, all with just a few words!  Just a few words, and you turn on your beloved president!  You revolt on your own Creator!  Stop this immediately, and calm yourselves.”  President Geoff chose to use a quote from the Record.  “Go forth and invent!” he commanded.

            The protesters did not stop.  Garbage flew up into the sky and rained against the screen, covering President Geoff’s face.  The airship flew away, and with it, the people’s last ties to the government.

            Soldiers arrived immediately, firing stun rifles from the tops of skyscrapers.  Cans of tear gas flew down into the crowd, causing them to disperse into buildings.  Later, President Geoff said on an important news bulletin that the attack by the soldiers was for the people’s own protection.  It was too late, though.  A revolution had started in Mechstadt.  The next morning, the secret police were guarding the Justice Center, and soldiers had been placed on the roofs of skyscrapers all around the building.

            President Geoff saw that things were not going well.  Sighing, he left his office and walked over to his advisors.  “All right, guys.  It’s time for some more surgery.”

            The advisors agreed.  President Geoff and a group of assembled doctors and neurosurgeons walked downstairs, through several locked doors, and into a lab underneath the Justice Center.  There, ten different human bodies sat frozen in enormous glass jars.  President Geoff walked through the lab, examining the bodies, and said, “Let’s see… the people are going to want somebody kind of old, somebody who can assure them of their past… somebody who looks truthful and sincere, and who can easily put down this revolt…” President Geoff pointed at the last body, an old, bald man.  “I’ll try him.”

            As the scientists prepared for the operation, President Geoff decided it was time for a little acting.  With his advisor’s help, he wrote a script, and then acted it out in his office, pretending that he wasn’t on camera.

            “What is going on in the city?  What is it that has gotten into the good hearts of the chosen Mechstadt citizens?  Why are they revolting?” President Geoff asked, pounding his fist on the table.

            “I don’t know, sir,” an advisor said, reading from a sheet of paper off camera and making every word sound like a different sentence.  “Perhaps you should order the extermination of the people.”

            “Yes,” President Geoff said, rubbing his hands together.  “Yes, that’s a great idea.  Kill as many people as possible!  Leave them without a ruler!  Ha!  Let’s just hope they don’t have the brains to follow the next leader who steps up to take care of Mechstadt!”  The advisor turned off the camera and smiled.

            “Excellent job, Mr. President,” said the advisor.  “Now, we’ll just air this ‘secret’ footage when the next leader comes in, and we’ll see if the people will listen to him.”

            “Great,” President Geoff said, leaving his office.  “You guys take care of editing that clip.  I’ll be back… as someone else.”

            The president headed back down to the underground labs.  The body of the old man was strapped down on one table, and two scientists were working on sawing through his skull.  President Geoff climbed up onto a separate table and placed an anesthetic tube over his face.  The room began to spin.

            “All right,” President Geoff said, as his eyes closed.  “How about a cool name when I wake up?  Something neat, like Manny Rocket… or Barry Bomb…”

            “Don’t worry, Mr. President,” a surgeon said, inserting a needle into his forehead.  “This won’t hurt a bit.”

            President Geoff sighed as he floated off to sleep.  He had heard the same words from the last five scientists who performed surgery on him, and it always hurt.

MECHSTADT INVENTIONS AND INTERVENTIONS

            Joe and Zamia continued talking as they walked, trying to understand each other better.  Zamia learned the words for ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘look’.  Joe learned the words for ‘jungle’, ‘ocean’, and ‘beach’.  They talked quickly, pointing and making gestures, not caring whether they were understood or not.

            Zamia suddenly looked up the beach and pointed.  “Look,” he said.  Joe glanced up and saw that there was a small building in between two huts.

            “A trading post,” Joe said, staring at it.  “Abandoned, it looks like.”  They walked closer, and Joe pushed open the door.

            The little hut had been abandoned.  There were a couple of empty cans of food on the ground, and also some broken bottles.  Joe turned over some papers that were in the corner, and read those that were still legible.

            “These are reports from the 1900s,” Joe said.  Even though he knew Zamia did not understand much of what he said, he spoke anyway, just trying to reinforce the language in his friend’s head.  “This is an order from King Turncoat.  He’s telling the workers here to leave the post and focus their trade further north, closer to the land bridge.  It’s signed by the king.  It…” Joe stared at the signature on the paper, seeing something familiar in it.  He thought for a long time, and then reached into his back pocket.  He found a piece of paper; the award President Geoff had mailed him the day after Uncle Ted had died.  The award was signed by President Travis Geoff.

            Zamia did not understand Joe’s concern, but Joe’s jaw dropped in horror as he made a stunning realization.  “It can’t be!” he said, comparing the two signatures.  The ‘T’ on Travis and the ‘T’ on Turncoat were completely identical.

            “What’s going on?” Joe asked himself, as they left the hut and started traveling again.  “How is this possible?  King Philip Turncoat was ruler almost one hundred years ago.  How could he and President Geoff have the exact same writing?”

A voice rang in Joe’s head, the voice of Dr. Page.  “We are meant to perform a very dangerous surgical procedure on the president…We grow a human body in a closed-off container, affecting it with catalysts and extra enzymes so that it grows to be an adult in a much shorter period of time… The body can be brought back to life with the right dose of electricity to the heart.  The proper type of blood must also be forced through the veins for about five minutes with machines.  And, last but not least, a new brain must be put into the skull and connected to the spine correctly.”

Joe wished Dr. Page had finished telling him the secret of the surgery in the Justice Center.  He knew that some kind of surgery, involving bringing a manufactured human body to life, took place, but he did not know why.  He was very confused.

            Zamia still did not understand what the problem was, but saw that they were getting closer to the Shadow City.  He pointed once again at the gigantic black clouds that sprouted in the distance.  “Look,” he said.

            Joe lifted his head again and blinked in surprise.  “Wow.  I’ve never seen Mechstadt from outside.  It looks so small from here, but up close…” He shuddered and shook his head.  “Where do we go now?  Do we go into the jungle?”  He used the Tropicana word for jungle, and pointed at the green trees.

            Zamia shook his head and pointed toward the black clouds.  “I see that,” Joe said.  “But where to next?  Should we go and travel in the jungle?  Climb the mountains?”

            Zamia continued pointing in the direction of Mechstadt, and then began to walk up the beach.  Joe stared for a moment, and then hurried to catch up with him.  “You can’t be serious, Zamia.  You want to go there?  Doesn’t it look awful to you?  Isn’t it much nicer out here?”

            In his own language, Zamia said that he wished to get closer to the Shadow City and the legendary land bridge, and also to see the trading posts.  Joe did not understand what he said, but he understood that Zamia had some plan, and decided to follow him.

            “All right,” he said, as they headed off through the sand once again.  “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

            It took another three hours of traveling before they reached the first trading post.  Joe and Zamia crawled up over a dune and looked down on a solid metal structure.  Two men with chainsaws were chewing into the forest, and another was using a winch to drag in huge nets of fish from the ocean.  Mass amounts of dead and dying fish and chopped lumber piled up alongside the trading post.  A truck came rumbling down the beach, and the supplies were loaded quickly into the back.  Then the truck rumbled away, and the men walked into the trading post to take a break.

            Joe noticed an absence of birds and small mammals.  In fact, there were no animals around, aside from many flies and rats, who were hanging around the outhouse and the pile of garbage near the trading post.

            Zamia stared in shock.  Who were these men?  What was this stuff they were leaving on Tropicana?  Why could they not leave it in their own country?  Why was it discarded here, as if it was the beasts’ fault?”

            “Look at all this trash,” Joe said, shaking his head.  “It’s not fair for them to be polluting elsewhere.  They made this stuff.  They should be keeping it, not putting it somewhere else.” 

            “Who are those people?” asked Zamia.  “If they are from the Shadow City, why do they bring their mess to us?”

            Joe understood his friend’s angry tones.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I know it must be bad seeing this, probably even worse than actually living in Mechstadt.  Don’t worry, though.  I’m sure these guys will soon be gone…”

            Joe realized he was talking to nobody.  Zamia had gone out from behind the dune and was approaching the trading post.  “Zamia!” Joe shouted.  “Come back!  They’ll kill you!”  Joe rushed over the dune and chased after his friend.

            The door to the trading post opened, and a trader came out, a rifle in his hands.  He laughed when he saw Zamia.  “Hey, Earl, come look at this.  Another one of  ‘em savages came out for a visit.  He don’t even have no spear, not like the last ones.  You want me to shoot ‘em?”

            Joe rushed toward the man, hoping he could intervene.  “Don’t you dare shoot him!” he roared.  The trader looked up, as if just seeing Joe.

            “Whoa!” he cried, letting his guard down.  “Who are you, and how in the great name of Travis Geoff did you get out here?”

            Joe rushed up to the man and ripped the rifle out of his hands.  He lashed the end of the rifle over the man’s face, knocking him to the ground, and then turned to Zamia.  “Run, Zamia!  We have to get out of here!”

            Zamia did not want to leave, but Joe threw down the rifle, grabbed the boy by the hand, and rushed him out over the dunes.  The other two traders came to the door and found their partner unconscious.  One looked up and saw Joe and Zamia running through the dunes.

“Hey!  Stop, you stupid natives!” roared one man.  The other reached into his coat and pulled out a black pulse grenade.  He drew back his arm and heaved the grenade into the air.

The bomb struck the sand just in front of Joe.  He knew it well.  Manufactured in the Justice Center, the grenades were used by the police to flush out criminals.  They were very effective, and sent out rebounding shock waves that burst eardrums and broke teeth when detonated indoors.  Outdoors, they still had the capacity to knock them unconscious and put them at the mercy of the traders.

“Down!” Joe shouted, throwing Zamia to the ground beside the grenade.  As fast as he could, he heaped sand over his and Zamia’s heads, covering their ears.

The grenade exploded, throwing up a cloud of dust.  The two traders retrieved their weapons, and then started out into the dunes.  Joe and Zamia recovered themselves after several seconds, and then took off in the direction of the trees once again.

            “Into the jungle!” Joe shouted, hurrying into the trees with Zamia.  The native finally began to realize the seriousness of their situation as bullets struck the trees around them.  They were about to break out of the jungle when Zamia stopped, looked around, and then called for Joe to halt.

            “What is it?” Joe asked.  “We have to go.  They are coming.”

            Zamia shot up a tree, as agile as a monkey, all the while whispering the same word.  “Tun-geria.  Tun-geria.”  Joe, hearing noises in the undergrowth, decided it would be better to hide than to run, and followed Zamia up the tree.

            The traders rushed past them twenty seconds later, still firing blindly into the trees.  One stopped and held up a hand.  “Hey, I think I hear something over there.  I’m going to go check it out.”

            “All right,” the other trader said.  “I’ll look over here.  Those damned savages can’t have gotten far.”  The two traders walked off in different directions.

            Joe suddenly heard one of the traders shout in joy.  “Ha!  Here they are!  Got you!”  There was a gunshot, followed by a tremendous roar, and then a series of screams.  The screams stopped abruptly.  The other trader came running back.

            “Charlie?  Charlie, what’s with all the screaming?  What was that noise?”

            Zamia held a finger to his lips, motioning for Joe to keep absolutely quiet.  The trader below them continued to shout.  Suddenly, the massive form of a tiger leaped from the bushes and killed him within seconds.  Joe stared in horror at the massive carnivore.  He had seen big, killer rats before, but this was different.  This creature had not been developed by chemicals.  It was naturally gigantic and lethal, with a perfectly clean orange and black coat, rather than coarse, black fur marred with oil and garbage like that of a rat.

            The tiger sat down to eat the dead man.  Joe gulped in terror.  He realized he had learned a new word.  “Huh,” he said, softly.  “Tun-geria.  Tiger.”

            Zamia and Joe crept away through the branches, climbing onto the overlapping branches of other trees, and climbing down to the ground when they were a safe distance away.  They left the tiger to feed, and then continued up the coast, heading once again for the Shadow City.

            They reached the next trading post at nightfall, and Joe wished Zamia had not seen what was there.

            Soldiers surrounded the trading post, holding machine guns and flashlights.  The gun turret on top of the trading post turned slowly from side to side, ready to fire.  At least thirty natives were down by the building, shuffling in chains that connected their ankles.  The natives were moving in a circle, picking up wood that had been cut down beyond the dunes and trudging slowly back to the trading post, where they lay the wood in a pile.

            “What is this?” Zamia asked, enraged.  “Why do the people do that?  Joe, we must stop them!”  Zamia had seen pain before in Tropicana, but it always served some purpose, and made you smarter if it did not kill you.  But there was no lesson to be learned from his unneeded cruelty.  “We do not deserve such work!  What can we do?”

            Joe was also alarmed and upset.  All his life, the natives of Tropicana had been put down as demon savages.  Now it was the Mechstadt people who were savage, enslaving the good locals just so their trading post would make more of a profit without them having to do extra work.

            “Yeah,” Joe said.  “We have to stop them.  We need to free those natives.  But how?”  He studied the trading post for several minutes, and then came up with a plan.  “Zamia, follow me.”

            It took a lot of speaking in both languages and diagrams in the sand before Zamia understood.  Joe smiled and went back to his spot on the dunes, watching the trading post.  He brought with him a coconut from the jungle, and rolled it down the dunes, where it stopped against the trading post.  Meanwhile, Zamia crawled through the jungle, hiding himself just beside the pile of timber that the natives were moving.  Then, when the soldiers were not looking, Zamia hurried out from behind the wood and got into line with the other natives, placing one leg on either side of the chain, so that he appeared to be locked down.  He grabbed an armload of sticks and began shuffling along with the others.

            The natives who saw this expressed alarm, but Zamia spoke to them, quickly and quietly, saying that he was here to help, and that they should continue and not let the soldiers know of his presence.

            Joe lassoed a soldier around the neck with a vine and dragged him back into the dunes before he could know what was going on.  In the dunes, he beat the cruel slaver severely and then donned his helmet and took his gun.  He tied a vine around his arm, so that Zamia would be able to tell him from the other guards.

            Joe walked down into the trading post, made several rounds around the building, and then walked inside.  He found himself kicking his way through a mess of garbage and moldy blankets that were left by the men.  At last, he reached a small control room, where a man was operating the gun turret on the roof.

            Joe left the man to his work and finally found a key hanging on the wall.  He took the key and walked back outside.

            Zamia was now back at the trading post.  He and Joe exchanged a silent nod, and then he threw down his sticks and broke from the chained line of natives.  Zamia snatched up the coconut and crawled up onto the roof of the trading post.  He climbed up onto the moving gun turret and then slammed the coconut down the barrel.

            Joe turned around, aiming with the machine gun, and took out two traders in the legs.  They fell to the ground, howling.  Another trader whirled around, and Joe shot him, too.  He moved down the line of natives, shooting at the soldiers.  A sudden screaming from most of the natives caught his attention, and he turned around.

            A large, tattooed man had stepped out of the trading post, holding a whip.  The natives were all terrified of the man, and hunched down in the sand, cringing.  The whip shot through the air, snagged the machine gun, and quickly pulled it out of Joe’s grip.  The slave driver laughed and advanced on Joe, still cracking the whip.

            Joe threw aside the helmet, which only slowed him down.  A look of surprise crossed the big man’s face, as if he recognized Joe.  Joe guessed that the trading post still received news from Mechstadt, and that they had seen his wanted poster.

            “No way!” the man said, staring in shock.  “Joe Carson!  Here?  Alive?”

            Joe took advantage of the man’s surprise and rushed forward.  He punched the man as hard as he could in the chest.  The man, half a foot taller than Joe and maybe one hundred pounds heavier, punched him once in the face, and Joe fell backwards, dazed.  Joe got up as fast as he could, though, remembering years of practicing karate in his apartment.  He lashed out with a ferocious kick into the man’s chest.  The slaver caught Joe’s leg and twisted his foot.  Joe, his leg still caught, leaped up and delivered a second kick with his free leg, right in the man’s face.  The man released Joe, and Joe rolled onto the ground.  The man felt his face, and then growled and lunged at Joe, punching him twice in the face and sending him to the ground once again.

            Zamia leapt off the roof and tackled the man from behind.  Still, the slave driver was too strong, and tossed Zamia away, laughing.  Zamia landed in the sand, eyes blazing.

            Joe picked himself up and took the key out of his pocket.  He tossed it to Zamia.  “Release your friends, Zamia.  I’ll take care of this guy,” he said, blood running from his bottom lip.  Zamia did not understand the concept of the key, but the other natives knew what it was and how it worked, and they all rushed toward him so as to be unlocked.

            The gun turret turned and aimed at Joe.  There was a dull booming sound, and then the roof of the trading post blew up, sending gray smoke and twisted chunks of hot metal into the air.  The big slave driver turned around to see what had happened, and Joe rushed forward to attack.

            Joe punched him twice in the face and once in the stomach, harder than ever, sending him reeling backwards.  He followed the man back, karate-kicking him in the chest and then punching him again between the eyes.  A left hook dislocated the slave driver’s jaw, and a second karate-kick surely broke some ribs.

            The man tried to lash at Joe with the whip, but he dodged around it and punched the man a final time, lining up his entire arm behind the punch.  Both shoulders, elbow, and wrist were completely lined up with each other.  Joe even propelled himself forward with his legs.  The punch sent the slave driver staggering backward into the trading post, where he landed in the garbage inside.

            Meanwhile, Zamia had freed most of the slaves.  Joe hurried over to help, and soon thirty-five pairs of newly freed feet were jogging up the beach away from the ruined trading post.

            A safe distance away, the natives stopped to eat, for they were very hungry, and had not been allowed to forage for several days.  Joe thought that the feeding of all the natives would be difficult work, and believed that he should begin in hunting down food so that none of the natives would go hungry.

            But that wasn’t the case.  All of the natives headed off in different directions to get food.  Two thirds hurried down too the ocean and dove underwater, where they returned with crabs, fish, and mussels.  The other natives ran up into the jungle and came back eating grasshoppers, snails, mangoes, and oranges.  Within ten minutes, the food crisis was over, and the natives were full and happy.

            Zamia spoke with the native who had been deemed the leader by his fellow slaves, a man named Rak.  Rak explained that they had been kept as slaves for several months.  A large group of them had come to the trading post with fruits and vegetables for the traders that had just arrived.  At first, the traders had been happy to see them, and assured them they had a gift for the natives, if only they would come back in several days time with more food.  The natives came back two days later with coconuts and fish, and presented the food to the traders.  The traders, in return, gave the natives their gift- a long chain forged from bits of scrap metal, in which the natives were locked up and forced to work.

            “The people will now go back into the jungle, away from the Shadow City,” said Rak.  “Do not be fooled by the Shadow City people’s apparent generosity and kindness, for they are deeply flawed, and will kill and maim for no reason.”

            “Where will you go?” asked Zamia.

            “I will take to the jungles and warn all of those that I meet of the danger from the Shadow City,” said Rak.  “Once north of the Shadow City, I will consider my job done, and return to the mountains.”

            Zamia looked off in the distance, in the direction of the Shadow City.  “I am traveling north as well.  Perhaps I could travel with you.”

            “Of course,” said Rak.  “It would be my pleasure.  You rescued us from the traders, you and your friend.  Tell me, is he of the Shadow City?”

            “Perhaps,” Zamia said, and they both looked over at Joe, who was laughing as he shared crab with the other natives.  “His body is like that of those in the Shadow City, but his mind is like ours.  I do not know where he comes from, but dolphins brought him out of the sea.  He had with him many strange objects, like the things the traders have, but he also had a cactus, and this he planted just outside the jungle.  How can he be of the Shadow City if he has such an understanding for nature?”

            Rak nodded.  “Yes, it is strange.  If he is not of the Shadow City, perhaps he is from the Forgotten World.”

            Zamia jumped when he heard the name.  “The Forgotten World?” he asked.

            “You have not heard of it?” asked Rak.

            “No, no, I have,” said Zamia, a pained looking coming over his face.  “The Forgotten World, I know it well.  It was a place like the Shadow City, except farther away.  My father found maps of the place in an abandoned trading post in the northeast.  Still, nobody is sure if the place still exists.”

            The next morning, Joe, Zamia, and Rak headed up the beach toward Mechstadt.  Every mile or so, they would pass a pile of rotting garbage, left by the traders.  Joe was beginning to understand that Tropicana was used as Mechstadt’s gathering and dumping site.  Resources were taken from here and eaten up, and then given back when they were of no more value.

            “This isn’t right,” Joe said, as they passed a pile of rotting fish heads, moldy wood, and chunks of concrete.  “Perfectly healthy lives could be lived without any of this garbage.  Mechstadt technology is not necessary for life.  In fact, machinery hurts more than it helps!”

            Rak glanced at Zamia, uncertainly.  “I am teaching him our language,” said Zamia, nodding his head.  “And also learning his.  We will be able to communicate soon.  All I know now is that he does not like this trash, and neither do I.”

            “Yes,” Rak said.  “The Shadow City is a great producer of trash.  Before these traders arrived, Tropicana people had no idea of what trash was.  Everything in nature can be used and serves a purpose.  But this junk has no purpose.  The people of the Shadow City must be very stupid if they cannot see that what they are making is not usable.”

            A gunshot suddenly rang through the trees, followed by absolute silence.  Joe, Zamia, and Rak hurried into the dunes and hid there, staring into the jungle.  “More soldiers?” Joe asked.  “What are they doing in the jungle?”

            Another gunshot sounded.  “Only one person out there,” Zamia said, and held up one finger to clarify.  Joe nodded.

            Rak squinted into the trees.  “There is a native there.  She’s there at the edge of the forest.  But why is she not running?”  Zamia saw the shape of a native, hunched over at the trees.  All of a sudden, they were aware of another shape striding confidently through the jungle.  It was a tall man wearing a camouflage jacket and carrying a large shotgun.  He was dragging a bloody tiger fur behind him.

            “Hunters,” growled Rak.  “Taking the fur and leaving the meat behind.”  The hunter suddenly stopped and looked in their direction.  He appeared to have heard the woman, even though she was staying as still as possible.

            “Oh, no,” Zamia said.  “He’s spotted her.  We have to do something.”  The hunter put down the tiger fur and began to walk through the forest, aiming his rifle out in front of him.

            Joe hurried out from behind the dune, which caused Zamia and Rak to utter cries of alarm.  “Joe!  Why do you go to your death?” Rak cried.

            “Wait,” Zamia said, thinking.  “He appears as they do, like one from the Shadow City.  Perhaps he can save the woman.”

             The hunter finally came upon the native woman, who was sobbing hysterically.  He grinned and raised the shotgun.

            “Wait!” Joe shouted, rushing forward.  “Hey, stop there, friend!”

            The man lowered the shotgun.  “Who are you?  Where did you come from?”

            “From my trading post, just over the dunes,” Joe said, hurrying up to the man.  “You weren’t going to shoot this woman, were you?  She is my slave.  She escaped from my sight after I sent her to get some fish.”  The woman suddenly saw Rak and Zamia waving her over from behind the dunes, and took off toward them.  The hunter let out a shout and raised his weapon, but Joe stepped in front of him.

            “Yeah, that’s right!  You better run!  Get on back to that trading post and finish gutting those fish,” Joe said, and then turned back to the hunter.  “You were saying?”

            “Oh, sorry,” the hunter said, shrugging and lowering his weapon.  “Good thing I didn’t shoot her before.  See, some other traders hired me out to clear out these forests.  Some pretty big beasts live in here.  Tigers, jaguars, and hippo… dangerous beasts for Mechstadt traders trying to make an honest living for the little families back home.  So it’s my job to kill all the creatures.”

            “Hmm,” Joe said, forcing a smile on his face.  “Bet you make a lot of money selling the fur and the meat, huh?”

            “Yeah,” the hunter said, smiling.  “Except sometimes the animals are way too big for me to cut up, and I’m only able to take claws and teeth.  It’s a mighty hard life out here.”  He loaded more bullets into his weapon, and then turned, hearing noises.  The hunter saw a wild pig rooting in the mud, snorting and cutting up grass with its tusks.  Grinning, the hunter took aim with the rifle.  He laughed.  “Man, pigs are like the dirtiest animals, aren’t they?”

            Joe cracked his knuckles and drew back his fist.  He thought of the black smoke circling over Mechstadt, the deadly chemicals spinning around on the winds, the polluted waters surrounding the country, the heaps of garbage piled up along the beaches of Tropicana.  Pigs were nothing compared to human beings.  “Yeah, sure,” he growled, and punched the hunter as hard as he could in the face.

            Joe dismantled the gun and buried it in several different pieces.  He scattered the ammo out into the mud, and shoved the unconscious man into the mud, throwing the bloody tiger fur over his head, in the hopes that some carnivore would come, smelling the blood, and put an end to the hunter.

            He came back to the beach twenty minutes later, and found Rak and Zamia talking to the woman.  She still looked sad, but did not run from Joe, and he guessed that his friends had explained to her that he was not a normal Mechstadt citizen, but one of the good guys.

            “Nicely done,” Zamia said, handing Joe a chunk of fish.  He smiled and ate up the fish.

            The native finally decided to tell them her story.  Although Joe could not understand most of it, he sat and listened politely.

            “My son and I lived in the jungle when the hunter from the Shadow City came,” said the woman, who was named Keeli.  “We stayed out of his way for several days while he killed the animals, and moved farther and farther south.  Still, though, he moved south too, as if pursuing us.  Finally, he caught sight of my son climbing in the trees, and killed him with his weapon.  That was yesterday.  I have been hiding from him ever since, and he just now found me.  Thank you for helping me escape.”

            “I am deeply sorry about your son,” Rak said, bowing his head.  “My two companions and I are on a mission to warn off all the natives away from the Shadow City so that tragedies such as this no longer happen to the good people of Tropicana.”

            “Yes,” Keeli said.  “I shall be leaving now.  I am going to live on the east side of the mountains.  Still, I do not believe it is fair.  This land near the Shadow City has always been peaceful foraging ground for our people.  I wish it did not have to fall into the hands of the people of the Shadow City.  There are so many innocent animals and trees living here that will now be destroyed by those murderers.”

            Keeli waved good-bye, and then set off into the jungle, heading east.  Joe, Zamia, and Rak ate several more fish, and then started off again.  The dark black clouds of the Mechstadt were becoming larger.

UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

            The surgical procedure was very lengthy and difficult.  President Geoff opened his eyes more than twelve hours later and flexed the muscles in his new body.  He was older and slower now, but his brain was still as sharp as ever.  It was a brain that had been formed by over one hundred years of being the ruler of Mechstadt.

            President Geoff got up and changed from the surgical gown into a gray suit.  He picked up a cane that had been left for him and examined himself in the mirror.  President Geoff smiled.  He had now assumed a look of dignity and intelligence.  The people of Mechstadt would follow his rule now that he was a truthful, intelligent old man.

            The president left the underground lab and bumped into himself in the hall.  “Excuse me,” he said, stepping around his old body.  One of his advisors stood behind the body, holding a remote control.  With the old body under the control of a computer, they could set it to do anything they wanted so that the new president would appear like an even better leader.

            “The scientists did a very good job with the computers in that body’s head,” the president said.

            “Yes, they did, Mr. President,” said the advisor, leading the body down the hall and into another door.  “How shall I address you, sir?  Have you come up with a new name?”

            “Manny Rocket should work fine,” said President Rocket, nodding his head.  “How have things been while I was away?”

            “Not good,” the advisor said.  “The protests have grown more vicious.  People want the truth… or some form of it.  They need a new leader.”

            “Good,” said President Rocket.  He walked down the hall and entered a room with the other officials.  “Greetings, everyone.  Allow me to introduce my new self, Manny Rocket, seventh ruler of Mechstadt, and the one who shall put down the rebellion.”

            The government officials cheered, and a camera was rapidly rolled in front of the new president.  He reviewed his lines for a moment, and then had the camera turned on.  His face was then broadcasted live over all the TV sets in Mechstadt.

            “Good people of Mechstadt,” the president said.  “My name is Manny Rocket.  For years, I have been an official in the Justice Center, and I have just now seen the horrors that your former president, Travis Geoff, burdened you with.  I want you all to know that I understand the pain that you are going through, and that I shall do all I can to save you in your time of need.

            “Trust me when I say that I shall figure out the truth and let each and every one of you know what it is,” Manny Rocket said.  “We are in a time of great confusion and peril.  Do not trouble yourself with riots and protests to find out just how terrible a man President Geoff was.  Let me do all the work.  Return to your homes, and rest easy, knowing that I am taking control here at the Justice Center.  Good-night, my loyal citizens.”  The camera was turned off.

            “Excellent job, Mr. President,” said an official, smiling.  “Very nice work.”

            In the streets of Mechstadt, the tension lessened a little as people started to believe that their revolt had been meaningful and had worked, and now they were free to go home.  They headed back to their apartments, watching on TV as reporters fed them false information about goings on in the Justice Center.

            Apparently, Travis Geoff was trying to make plans for a new policy against people speaking up against the government.  Meanwhile, Manny Rocket was slowly gaining power, winning over political opponents and trying to become president.  There was a tape of Geoff falling asleep among a pile of beer bottles in a dark room, and then more footage of Rocket helping a little boy to ride a tricycle.  People watching their TV sets booed when they heard Geoff talking about raising taxes and bringing back the draft.  Then the people cheered when they saw footage of Manny Rocket leaping to his feet in the middle of a faked conference with the other officials, banging his cane on the table, and shouting, “Enough with the lies, Geoff!  Enough with the damn lies!”

            The propaganda went a long way in boosting Manny Rocket’s prestige.  It also cast Geoff aside as a cruel and evil person.

            Finally, Manny Rocket came back on the television sets the next morning.  “Good people of Mechstadt, for the past twelve hours, I have been fighting for your rights in the Justice Center!  Geoff wanted to hold you down, but I knew that was not right, and I have battled him in the political arena.  Still, he is close to taking back control of this wonderful country, and he must not be allowed to do that.  Observe this footage, which I took secretly when I suspected that Travis Geoff was pure evil!”

            The television sets now played the footage that President Geoff had faked in his office.  The camera showed President Geoff, pounding his fist on his desk.  “What is going on in the city?” he growled.  “What is it that has gotten into the good hearts of the chosen Mechstadt citizens?  Why are they revolting?”

            “I don’t know, sir,” an advisor asked, his voice trembling.  “Perhaps you should order the murders of the people.”

            “Yes,” President Geoff snarled, rubbing his hands together.  “Yes, that’s a great idea.  Kill as many people as possible!  Leave them without a ruler!  Ha!  Let’s just hope they don’t have the brains to follow the next leader who steps up to take care of Mechstadt!”  The camera zoomed in on the evil look on President Geoff’s face and froze.  The screen faded to black, and the people were shocked to see their horrible leader speaking so happily about their deaths.

            Manny Rocket came back on the screen.  “Horrifying, isn’t it?” he asked.  “Why, you good people may have been destroyed if I had not come in to save you.  Now there is something that you must do for me.  In just a few hours, there will be an emergency surprise election.  You will be voting for who is the next president.  It will either be me, Manny Rocket…” In the background, there was the sound of birds chirping, and somebody playing on a harp.  “… Or Travis Geoff.”  Now in the background, there was the sound of creepy organ music and a wolf howling.  “Choose wisely, good people of Mechstadt.  You have to make a choice between good and evil.  Good-bye.”  Rocket disappeared from the screen.

            Next, every channel showed the false documentary of Manny Rocket’s life.  “Manny Rocket was born into a life of poverty in south Mechstadt.  Rather than turn to a life of crime, he devoted himself to the local homeless shelter.  The story is that he once took the money he found in the street and gave it to a veterinarian so that a puppy he found in a back alley could have a much-needed lung transplant.”  The screen showed a boy of seven smiling and holding a healthy-looking puppy in his arms.  “The operation was a success, and young Manny adopted the puppy as his own.”

            Everyone in Mechstadt could, of course, identify with the young Manny Rocket and his puppy, and they felt even more attached to their future president.

            “… And then at the age of thirty, Manny demonstrated his enormous courage once again.  He rescued three young children from a burning orphanage.  The fire truck was late arriving to the scene.  New evidence announces that the real reason the fire truck didn’t make it in time was because of the young Travis Geoff, six at the time.  The rich, spoiled brat had parked his toy tank in the middle of the street and refused to move it to let the firemen pass…

            “Over the years, Manny Rocket and Travis Geoff met several more times.  One of these occasions was twelve years later, during a job interview for a company that made engine parts for cars.  Before the interview, Travis stole Manny’s papers, so that he did not have his ideas during the job interview.  When Manny was interviewed, he did not complain about the thievery, and merely left the building when he was not chosen.  Later, the company went bankrupt because Travis could not figure out how Manny’s intelligent ideas worked.”

            The people of Mechstadt were now feeling sorry for Manny Rocket.  He had lived a hard life, never complaining, never stealing, and he never did come out on top.  But they had the power to change that.  They could vote in the election and make Rocket the new president, so that he finally achieved his lifelong goal of becoming better than his younger counterpart, the evil President Geoff!

            The rebellion was over.  The people were settling down.  The government was gaining prestige again, and the same ruler was being given power.

            The election was a landslide.  One hundred million people voted for Manny Rocket, and three voted for Travis Geoff.  In a humongous ceremony, Manny Rocket was crowned ruler of Mechstadt.  A parade followed, and soldiers marched through the streets before President Rocket as he waved to the cheering crowds from an airship.

            The final effect was saved for last.  People gasped in amazement when the black clouds of smoke opened, and a ray of sunlight fell directly on President Rocket.  The people did not need any more proof.  Even the Creator appeared to say that Rocket was a born leader.  How could the people have been so foolish, not believing in the Creator or that Mechstadt was the first country in the world?  Here was proof that no rebellion was needed.  They were the chosen people, and their new ruler was good and just.

            Above the black smoke, the secret police directed large fans at the haze from airships at the designated time and place, and talked among each other.  Usually kept in the dark, they questioned each other, trying to learn what had happened to the country’s state of emergency.   “Anybody know what happened to Ivan Federico and Joe Carson?” one man asked.

CRIMES OF THE SHADOW CITY

            Most of Tropicana was thick jungle, grassland, or mountain.  However, near the center of the continent, east of the tall mountains, was the desert.  Considered by the people of Mechstadt to be a barren region, devoid of life, the desert was actually very alive.

            Brightly colored lizards roamed the dunes, searching for insects that perched for too long in the hot sands.  Big, nimble ground squirrels dug enormous networks of tunnels beneath the earth.  Thin, agile ferrets hunted the squirrels, and were in turn hunted by the rattlesnakes and the larger lizards.  Vultures soared through the skies, recycling dead carcasses after they had been systematically cleaned by packs of jackals.

            One squirrel scurried out of its hole and raced across the hot sands.  A small lizard saw it coming and tried to escape, but the squirrel was faster.  Moments later, the squirrel was sitting in the sands, poking the dead lizard into its mouth.

            A shadow of a vulture passed nearby, and the squirrel raced off, its cheeks bulging.  It leaped down into an abandoned hole, and immediately scented a rattlesnake.  The snake came slowly for the squirrel, moving down its tunnel for a meal.

            The squirrel escaped the tunnel and hurried across the sands again.  An enormous lizard, watching from the top of a boulder, would have given chase if it hadn’t already been preoccupied with an ant fortress beneath the boulder.

            The squirrel found itself hurrying back into a hole.  However, the hole was a dead end, having never been completely finished.  The squirrel began to dig, but it was too late.  Behind it, the head of the rattlesnake appeared, gliding in silently for the kill…

            The big lizard gave up on the ant mound and came after the rattlesnake.  It bit down on the snake’s back and wrenched it from the hole.  For ten minutes, the two battled.  The lizard was bigger and stronger, but the snake was venomous.  Unfortunately, the fangs could not penetrate the lizard’s scales, and soon, the lizard was gulping down the crushed snake body.

            The squirrel stayed hidden in the hole, safe.  It had been a very exciting day, meeting new dangers at every turn.  Now the squirrel was tired, and sat down to rest and sleep peacefully…

            The squirrel heard a booming explosion not far off, and then was thrown in the air and crushed as the sands all around him mixed and swirled like wind.  Desert plants were uprooted, entire dunes were blown into the air, and animals were killed immediately.

            From up in the sky, two weapons technicians from Mechstadt sat in an airship and looked down at the two craters in the ground they had created.  Two ten-mile wide stretches of desert had just been completely eradicated.

            “Huh,” one technician said, snapping pictures with his camera.  “Looks like the Fireball-5 has a bigger radius than the Nightmare-1000.”

            “Yeah, I think you’re right,” said the other technician.  He typed something in on his flight computer.  “Still, just to be safe, let’s go up by that canyon and test them one more times.”

            “Of course,” his partner replied.  “We want our bomb testing results to be perfect.  I mean, our leader is expecting our very best.  We need to work our hardest.”  He smiled, certain that he was his country’s model citizen, a hero and a hard worker.

            “Doing some more testing might take up more of our time,” the other man said, guiding the airship forward.  He glanced at his watch.  “I guess we’ll be back at Mechstadt by tomorrow morning.  Oh, well.  It’s a tough life in this profession, and I guess that’s one of the negative aspects.  Sometimes you don’t see your family for days.  You have to make sure the money keeps rolling in, so that they have the brightest futures ahead of them.  Family is by far the most important thing in life.”

            They continued for another few moments in silence, arming the two missiles President Geoff had asked them to test.  Then one of the men glanced out his window and let out a chuckle.

            “Well, would you look at that?  It appears to be a pack of jackals walking together.  Huh.  Looks like two adults and a couple of puppies.  I guess it’s a family unit.”  He smiled thoughtfully, and then jettisoned the Nightmare-1000.  “Bombs away!”

            Joe, Zamia, and Rak had reached the land bridge.  The sight was not pretty.  The trading posts had become so constant that they were no longer safe walking on the beach.  They had to walk silently through the jungles to avoid being spotted by the traders.  Even there, they heard the whine of machinery as the Mechstadt workers tore through the trees.  The land bridge was a terrific sight.  A huge bridge of land, half a mile wide, that stretched off from Tropicana and disappeared into the sea.  And, far off in the distance, just about where the land bridge was lost from sight, was a humongous black cloud of smoke.  The peaks of skyscrapers could barely be seen rising above the horizon.

            There was noise everywhere.  Trees were being cut down at high speed.  Timber was being loaded up into trucks.  A huge wall decorated the land bridge where it touched Tropicana, and an enormous gate was placed there.  Trucks loaded full of lumber rumbled through the gate and began the long trek out across the land bridge to Mechstadt.

Soldiers were patrolling the wall, and also walking through the forest.  Joe, Zamia, and Rak were hidden in the jungle, watching the machines get closer and closer.  They had already cut through a lot of the foliage, and dead stumps had been set on fire to clear the way for tractors and other vehicles.

            The piles of garbage on the beach were much larger.  Joe saw that although Mechstadt had a recycling program, much of the stuff in the pile was recyclable.  Paper, plastic, and scrap metal were just a few of the items that did not have to be here, sadistically obstructing the environment.  Joe guessed that this was the main dumping ground for Mechstadt, aside from just tossing it over the wall and into the ocean.

            “The Shadow City,” Zamia gasped.

            “Yeah,” Joe said.  He had learned the words, and thought them a fitting name.  “Mechstadt, the Shadow City.”

            “There are no natives here,” Rak said.  “They would be crazy to live so close to the soldiers.  There is no trade here, either.  These men steal what they want from Tropicana, and take it back to their homes.  We should leave while we still have our lives.”

            They cut back into the jungle, leaving the land bridge behind.  They passed more trading posts, but luckily, none of them had enslaved natives.  They passed no natives and no animals, and even tasted a scent of chemicals.

            “They are spreading,” Joe said.  “The city is becoming crowded.  They’re probably going to be moving people to live out here next, and they’ll be cutting through more and more forests to make room for new neighborhoods.  It’s not fair!”

            They slept in a tree in the jungle, the sounds of industry and machinery, familiar to Joe, distant and barely audible.  Sleeping on the cool moss in the high branches, the army ants crawling by his nose, Joe began to fear for Tropicana.  He thought he had disabled the evil government, but Mechstadt was still growing.

            The next morning, they walked through the jungle for ten miles, stopping only for a few seconds to pluck fruit or gather roots.  They broke out of the jungle and reached another beach.

            “This is the northwest corner of Tropicana,” Rak said, looking around.  “We have traveled all the way up the west coast, and only seen a few natives.  They must have already traveled to other areas.  Either that, or they were all killed.  And now, my job is done.  I have warned all those living near to the traders from the Shadow City, and now I go back to the mountains.  Farewell, Zamia.  Farewell, Joe.”

            Zamia and Joe waved their good-byes, and Rak walked off into the jungle, heading in a southeasterly direction toward the mountains in the center of Tropicana.

            “Where do we go now?” asked Joe.

            “We can go east,” Zamia said, pointing down the ocean.  “I have been there before.  There is a village there, made for elderly natives who can no longer travel.”

            Joe nodded.  “Let’s go there.”

            The two walked along the beach.  Joe realized that if the maps in the history book had been true, the continent of Zelkom would have been somewhere north of their location, out in the seas.

            “Do you know a place called Zelkom?” asked Joe.  Zamia shook his head, not recognizing the name.  Joe pointed out to sea.  “It would have been out there somewhere, a place very much like the Shadow City.”

            Zamia’s eyes widened in shock.  “This place is out at sea?  Could it be that you are speaking of the Forgotten World?”

            “The Forgotten World?” Joe asked, thinking of Zelkom, the place that the government had made the people forget.  “Yes, that’s it.  You know where it is?”

            Zamia was nervous whenever he spoke about the Forgotten World.  He had been the same way when Rak had mentioned the place’s name.  He had always wondered if the place had existed.

            Joe drew a map in the sand, drawing the map from the history book from memory.  He made a circle for Tropicana and a small dot for Mechstadt, and then placed Zelkom in the northern seas.  “Is it here?  Do you know of this place?”

            Slowly, Zamia nodded.  Joe was drawing the same continent Zamia’s father had once drawn after taking a map from an abandoned trading post in the northeast.  Zamia’s father had labeled the place the ‘Forgotten World’ because when he explored a trading post some years later, the continent was not on the current maps.  The traders appeared to have forgotten the place existed.

            Meanwhile, Joe was thinking.  Obviously, the stunt at the stadium had not been enough to prove the conspiracy to the people and disrupt the Mechstadt government.  Proof of Zelkom would have to be brought back to the city.  A new quest was forming in Joe’s head.  It was a quest to journey to the Forgotten World and bring back proof its existence.

            “I want to go there,” Joe said.  “To the Forgotten World.  Can you take me?”

            Zamia was very quiet.  He did not answer.  He looked out at the sea, a fearful look in his eyes.

            “Zamia?” asked Joe.  “What is wrong?”

            Zamia finally spoke.  “When I was only a child, my father attempted to find the Forgotten World.  I had been walking for only about a year when he left.  He made a large canoe with two other men, took the maps, and set off into the sea.  He was a very good fisherman and sailor, and we all expected him to come back.  But he never returned.”

            Joe somehow comprehended what Zamia was saying.  He lowered his head.  “I’m sorry, Zamia.  I did not know.”  He thought for a moment, and then said, “I will go on my own, then, to the Forgotten World.  This is something I have to do.  I have to stop the Shadow City, and open the people up to the truth.”

            Joe and Zamia continued down the coast.  After some distance, Zamia lifted his head up and listened.  Joe also listened.  He heard distant voices, coming from inside the forest.  “That is the village of the elders, the only village on Tropicana.  Would you like to go there?”

            Joe was about to refuse.  He didn’t think the elders would take kindly to someone who looked like a trader from the Shadow City.  But then he thought of getting some answers about Zelkom, and believed that elderly natives would most likely have the information than any other person on Tropicana.  “Yes, let’s go,” Joe said.

            They headed into the jungle, passing younger natives who were collecting food.  Most of the natives gave Joe an odd look and shrank out of his way.  Clearly, they had grown to be afraid of anyone who looked like they were from Mechstadt.

            “It is bad luck if younger natives do not spend at least six months helping the elders,” said Zamia.  “Good luck comes when go out of your way to help others.  When my father did not return, I spent a full year here, gathering food for the elders and making sure the roofs of their huts did not leak.  But it did not do me any good.”

            They broke out of the forest and into a large clearing of about forty huts.  Elderly men and women wandered around the clearing, speaking with each other and going into huts to sleep and eat.  Joe noticed that even though it was the only retirement village in Tropicana, it did not seem very crowded.  He asked Zamia why there weren’t more elderly natives.

            “Some elders don’t choose to come here,” said Zamia.  “It is their decision.  When most feel as if their life is at an end, they go to their favorite spot to rest and think over their lives.  Others are looked after by their families elsewhere.  Not all of them attempt the journey to the village of the elders, but it is here if they should choose to come.”

            The natives had finally noticed Joe, and they began to talk wildly amongst themselves.  Joe heard the Tropicana word for “Shadow City” and also “murderers”.  He held up his hands in a gesture of peace, and Zamia hurried over to the elders to explain Joe’s good intentions.  After several minutes, Zamia came back.

            “They are going to speak things over,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as the elders grouped together.  “In the meantime, we should gather food.”

            Joe and Zamia headed out into the jungle, filling Zamia’s pouch with wriggling grubs, green leaves, berries, grasshoppers, and nuts.  After thirty minutes, they returned to the village of the elders.

            The natives were all sitting in a circle on the ground.  The younger natives were standing around behind them, their nervous eyes on Joe.  Joe and Zamia walked slowly up to the circle of elders and sat down in the empty spaces left for them.

            “Greetings, elders,” Zamia said.  “My name is Zamia, and he is called Joe.  He means you no harm.  He is not of the Shadow City.”

            “We respect your judgment, one called Zamia,” an elder said.  He had dark, wrinkled skin, and a poultice of herbs wrapped over his right hand, covering his fingers.  “If you trust this stranger, than so do we.  What is it you want here?”

            “Just a chance to serve Tropicana’s elders, and also to talk,” said Zamia, bowing his head.

            “In that case, welcome,” said the elder.  “My name is Krag.  I am the oldest here.”

            “How old?” Joe could not help asking.

            “The exact age is not known to me,” said Krag, sternly.  “But I will say that when I was your age, our people did not have any words for ‘murder’ and ‘pain’ and ‘garbage’.  The Shadow City was hardly known, and we had no need for such words of evil.”  Joe felt bad, knowing that it was Mechstadt’s fault that the usually happy natives had developed those words.

            Zamia was in awe.  “You are indeed old,” he said.  “You must have acquired much wisdom over your long life.  Perhaps you have information on the Forgotten World?”

            Joe was surprised that Zamia had brought up the lost continent, especially if it caused him so many painful memories.  He turned to Krag to wait for his answer.

            “The Forgotten World,” said Krag.  “There is no proof that the world exists, but believe me, I have heard tales.  They say that there is a place that sent its people here before the Shadow City did.  That was a very long time ago, and most of the trading posts were centered in northeast Tropicana.  Then, about the time the traders moved across the land bridge on the west coast, the traders from the Forgotten World stopped arriving.  They had disappeared.  The only traders left came from the place known as the Shadow City.  The Forgotten World was… forgotten.  They were no more.  And nobody knows what has happened to them.”

            “What do you think happened?” asked Joe, remembering that the history book had told of conflicts between Mechstadt and Zelkom.

            “I am not entirely sure,” Krag said.  “But there were stories of fights between the two different types of traders.  I believe I even witnessed a few of those fights.”

            Joe could tell by the faces from the other elders that they did not believe him.  Even Zamia seemed skeptical.  “You remember a time when the people from the Forgotten World were alive?  You must be very old indeed!”

            Krag shrugged.  “I can tell you don’t believe me.  It is okay if you don’t.”  He winced, and then removed the poultice of herbs that was on his hand.  Joe saw that Krag was missing the last digit on his pointer finger.  Seeing Joe’s stare, he said, “This is a very old wound.  Lately, in my old age, it has been hurting me more and more, and I use herbs to dull the pain.”

            Joe nodded his head, staring at Krag’s hand.  Something seemed familiar about the wound, but he could not place it.  He scratched his head, and then continued listening to the elder, still thinking.

            “I have heard tales from fishermen who travel too far north,” said Krag.  “They say that the Forgotten World is impossible to find, for the sky turns green, and the air and water turn to poison.”

            “Poison?” asked Zamia, thinking of his long-lost father.  “What do you mean, poison?”

            “The fishermen say that you cannot breathe the air,” said Krag.  “The water is also poisoned, filled with dead fish, and tastes of trash.”

            “Trash?” asked Joe.  “You mean the water tastes like dirt and muck?”

            “No,” Krag said.  “Dirt is natural.  It is not trash.  The fishermen told me of something else.  They said… they said they had tasted the stuff once before.  When they had been near the Shadow City, and the wind had carried the awful, stinging taste into their mouth and eyes.”

            Joe suddenly understood.  Krag was talking about chemicals.  When the fishermen had gotten near to Zelkom, they had tasted chemicals.  That’s what had happened to Zelkom.  Mechstadt had attacked them with chemical weapons, and had completely annihilated the people.  That was why there was nobody left from Zelkom, and why it was no longer seen on the maps.  Zelkom was, indeed, a forgotten world.

            Zamia did not understand the concept of chemicals.  Krag’s story had excited him, and now he was planning an excursion out to the sea to find the Forgotten World and his father.  “Krag, do you know of any fishermen in this area?”

            “Yes,” Krag said.  “Why do you ask?”

            “I wish to journey to the Forgotten World,” Zamia said, to the amazed gasps of the assembled elders.  “I wish to discover the truth about the lost continent.  And I wish to find out what happened to my father, who, years ago, embarked on this very same quest.”

            The elders were surprised.  Krag’s eyes widened.  “Your father went in search of the Forgotten World?  Then, your father must have been Kelp, the fisherman.  Is this true?”

            “Yes,” said Zamia.  “You knew my father?”

            “I heard of his quest, and how he did not return,” said Krag, lowering his head.  “I am sorry for your loss, Zamia.  But let it serve as a warning to you, so that you do not rush in so boldly as he did and meet the same fate.”

            Zamia shook his head.  “I must go.  Joe and I must find the Forgotten World.  If we succeed, we have a chance to save Tropicana from the Shadow City.”

            Once again, a ripple of amazement ran through the assembled native.  Krag blinked in astonishment.  “Is this true?  How?”  He turned to Joe.  “How?” he demanded.

            “It is difficult to explain,” Joe said, wondering how he could enlighten the natives on the concept of the Mechstadt government, the citizens there, and the evil president who could be uprooted.  He tried to explain it in terms the natives would understand.  “I come from the Shadow City, but I am not like them.  I know their fears, and also their weaknesses.  They fear the Forgotten World.  They live in the hopes that it does not exist, because if it did, their religion would be flawed.  If I can bring proof of the Forgotten World to the Shadow City, they would not understand, and they would lose their power.”

            The elders were impressed, but Krag refused to be a believer.  “I am sorry, Joe, but I don’t believe that will work,” he said, shaking his head.  “It all seems too easy.  I know that the people of the Shadow City are strong, as are their tools.  I, too, have tried to cripple the Shadow City forces, but failed.”

            “You fought the Shadow City?” asked Joe, interested.

            “Yes, a very long time ago,” said Krag.  “When I saw that they were unnecessarily cruel to natives and animals, I tried to stop them, but I did not succeed.”

            Joe stared at the old native, and once again, his eyes looked down to the missing digit on his finger.  Recognition dawned in Joe’s eyes, and he gasped as he remembered a passage from the history book…

…There were also mounting disputes over the sinking of a Mechstadt supply ship.  The government of Zelkom blamed Tropicana, but most of the people of Mechstadt blamed Tropicana, even when a Mechstadt sailor came forward and said that he had seen a native swimming alongside the ship.  The native had been holding a stone, and had banged a hole in the hull of the ship.  The sailor had swung at the native with an axe and cut off the last digit on his pointer finger.  The Mechstadt government, however, refused to listen to the sailor, and demanded that Zelkom pay for the damage.  Angry arguments grew to fierce fighting between traders and soldiers on both sides on the high seas and along the coasts of Tropicana…

            “You sank a Shadow City supply ship!” Joe suddenly cried.

            Krag’s eyes widened in terror.  “How could you know that?” he asked.  “How do you know?”  Zamia and the other natives turned to stare at Joe, and then looked over at Krag.

            “I believe you,” Joe said.  “You must have been alive back when the two countries were fighting.  You lost your finger when you sabotaged a supply ship and caused it to sink.”

            Krag was amazed that Joe somehow knew this.  “How do you know that?” he asked again.

            Joe smiled.  “It is difficult to explain.  But don’t you see, if I know that, shouldn’t I know what can destroy the Shadow City?  Trust me when I say that the key to saving Tropicana lies in the Forgotten World.”

            Krag looked around at the elders, still distraught.  Finally, he said, “I suppose you are right.  You speak true, Joe.  We must prepare for this journey to the Forgotten World.  Spread the word, young ones.  Find a fisherman, a navigator.  We require a large canoe, and enough food for a long journey.  Joe and Zamia are going to save Tropicana!”

THE JOYOUS RETURN OF STUPIDITY

            Eventually, President Rocket was able to create a story that the people accepted.  Travis Geoff had wanted to raise taxes, just to be greedy.  To do this, he decided to send out the soldiers in full force, so that he had a reason to take more money from the people.  And, since there wasn’t really any problem in Mechstadt, he decided to make one up.  He sent out his top secret agent, Joe Carson, to incite rebellion within the people.  Carson had come up with the story that there was a government conspiracy covering up an imaginary continent, and that the Record was false.  Next, Geoff had sent out the soldiers to stop the people, and had faked a chase for Joe through the city.  He would have been able to succeed in his plans and win more tax money for nothing, but the sly Manny Rocket and found him out, and had put a stop to his greed.

            Reporters now spoke of Travis Geoff’s trials at the Justice Center, where he was found guilty of lying to the beloved people of Mechstadt.  Instead of having a judge decide his fate, the citizens of Mechstadt were allowed to vote on Geoff’s fate in a week-long reality television series called Doomed President.  Very few voted for him to receive life in prison.  Everybody wanted him killed.  It turned out to be a very close tie between the electric chair and being hung.

            Days later, the brainless body of President Geoff was placed in an electric chair and zapped.  President Rocket walked at the head of Geoff’s funeral procession to the cemetery in east Mechstadt, one of the few places where there was still green, even though it was fake grass.  President Rocket shed a single tear when his predecessor was put in the ground.  However, in reality, the coffin was empty.  President Rocket, who had taken a new stand on the issue of recycling, had secretly earned one hundred dollars by selling his old body to the hamburger factory.

            Back at the Justice Center, everything was going back to normal.  President Rocket took care of the country’s problems in his office and wasn’t seen so frequently out in public.  He brought up his addiction for mulfikar in his new body, and spent much of his time ‘concentrating’.

            The secret police remained mostly in hiding, and took care of the dissidents who refused to believe the story that President Rocket had given them.  The soldiers were now seen as friends of society, duped by President Geoff just like the Mechstadt citizens, and not as evil killers acting with the knowledge of Geoff’s plans.  The stadium in west Mechstadt was repaired, and blasterball games were seen once again on television.

            There were also other shows on TV that subconsciously triggered devotion to the ruler of Mechstadt.  There was the weekly comedy of ‘Lucky Larry’.  In every episode, the main character, Larry, obeyed everything the government told him and received everything he wanted.  The audience roared with laughter when Larry’s untrustworthy boss was imprisoned because he tried to cheat on his taxes and made an error in the column for nationality.  Afterwards, Larry was able to take control of the company.  There were also the action movies in which the slick secret agent from the government roots out the traitorous radicals and saves the city from utter destruction.  Usually, the savior of the world owed his success to the intervention of the great Creator or because of his determination and faith in his religion and government.  This generated more love for a country that was under the shining face of the Creator and could do no wrong.

            President Rocket walked into a conference room one day, still dizzy from a recent mulfikar fix.  “So, what’s going on, guys?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.

            “There are complaints of a one-thousand pound rat in the sewers,” said an advisor, reading from a report.  “It hasn’t killed anyone yet, but eight people saw it ambling down the street.  It’s as big as a bear.  People want to know when the rat problem will be solved.”

            “Soon, soon,” said President Rocket.  “Try to divert the flow of some of those toxic chemicals.  Put them in the ocean instead of the sewer.  Make big fish, not big rats.  Big fish aren’t a problem for anyone, right?”

            “You are right, Mr. President,” said the advisor, scribbling something down on the report.  “Good thinking.  Big fish don’t bother anyone.”

            “President Rocket, some people are feeling sorry for the Tropicana natives,” said an official.  “They want to know what Mechstadt can do to help out those backward people.”

            President Rocket thought, and then shrugged.  “Say we’re doing all we can to help the natives.  Find some footage of a trader giving candy to some young natives and show it right after tomorrow’s blasterball game.”

            “Anything else?” asked the official, typing something on his laptop.

            “Yes,” said Rocket.  “Teach those natives our language.  I think it would be really great if we could teach one of the stupid savages to say, ‘Thank you, Mechstadt!’ or something like that.”

            “Of course,” said the official, nodding his head.

            “Food shortages in south Mechstadt, sir.”

            “What are you, stupid?  How could we have a giant rat problem and a food shortage at the same time?  Get some hunters and serve south Mechstadt up some nice rodent sandwiches.”

            “Chemicals in the air have sent some twenty more children to the hospital on the east coast.”

            “Build some more portable breathalyzers and distribute them freely,” said President Rocket.  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the equipment with the profit I’ll get from introducing mulfikar to the natives in Tropicana.”

            “You want to start selling dust in Tropicana?”

            “Why not?” asked President Rocket.  “Those natives have stopped trade with us because they can’t do much with the little watches and flashlights we make for them.  We might as well start trading them something that they’ll want more of.  Right?  Right?”

            “Oh, Mr. President, you’re knowledge is beyond comparison!”

            “No wonder you are the ruler, President Rocket!”

President Rocket was back in control.  Mechstadt was completely under his power, and would do anything he said.  Joe Carson and his crazy rebellion had died together.  Things could not have been better for the ruler of Mechstadt.

THE FATAL VOYAGE

            At Krag’s command, many fishermen helped out in the building of the canoe.  It was actually three canoes locked together with wooden shafts with about three feet in between them.  The largest canoe was in the middle, and the two smaller canoes were on either side, and would keep the vessel upright in stormy weather.  A sail was made from a buffalo skin stretched out on a bamboo pole.  Hundreds of natives gathered food for the voyage and delivered it to the canoe.

            Joe and Zamia intended to be the only ones to head out to sea, but they were mistaken.  News of the expedition had traveled through Tropicana like wildfire, and many candidates had come to help out in any way they could and volunteer for the adventure.  Two other natives would accompany them.  Their navigator was a sturdy elder with a gray beard named Eskar.  He had gone out to sea to fish nearly every day of his life, and was very learned in the art of seafaring.  Still, he had never gone near to the Forgotten World, and had always chosen to stay away from the greenish glow on the horizon that marked the mysterious continent.  Before the quest began, he took a slab of volcanic rock that he always carried about him and shaved down the underside of the canoes, so that the craft would have as little friction as possible.

            Also coming with them was a humongous warrior named Gurl.  He was about Joe’s age, but about a foot taller and heavily muscled.  He had come from deep in the jungles when he heard of a quest to stop the Shadow City.  It was said that Gurl wrestled regularly with gorillas, and when he dragged the enormous craft down to the water’s edge on his own, Joe believed the rumor.

            Gurl declared his undying loyalty to Zamia and Eskar, but did not trust Joe, and gave him frequent dirty looks.  The four piled their food into the canoe together and prepared to set off.

            Krag hobbled down to the shore, his hand bandaged up in a new poultice.  “Good luck,” he said, smiling.  “Good luck, all of you.  Seek out the Forgotten World.  However, if you should feel the taste of the poison, turn back immediately.  Do not forge onwards.”  Krag bid all the travelers farewell, and patted Joe on the shoulder.  “Farewell, Joe.  Do what I could not.  Bring about the demise of the Shadow City.”

            Joe smiled.  “I will,” he said, and hopped into the canoe.  Zamia, Eskar, and Gurl followed, paddling quickly to escape the breaking waves.  With the natives cheering from the shore, the craft drifted out to the horizon.

            Joe was amazed at the native’s intelligence.  Instead of merely bringing stores of food, they had brought the means to grow food along the way.  One small section of the smaller canoes was halfway filled with muddy water, and green plants, live snails, wriggling worms, and multiplying grubs were being grown right there in the canoe.  There were also entire branches that held ripening mangoes, oranges, and other fruits.  Joe soon learned that the lichens that grew along the edge of the canoe were also edible.

            The first few days of travel passed without incident.  Joe, Zamia, and Eskar took turns rowing, although Gurl never put his paddle down and rowed throughout the day.  He never seemed to tire, and made it point not to eat as much as the others, even when his stomach was growling fiercely.  He seemed to want to prove that he was much better than Joe.

            Eskar kept them on course, observing the skies during the day and the stars during the night.  He fished often, bringing fresh meat for the crew.

            Even though they were heading straight for a continent doused in poison, Joe enjoyed the trip.  When he wasn’t paddling, he sat in one of the smaller canoes with his feet kicking the water, looking up at the sky, or watching for dolphins and whales out at sea.  Nobody spoke much, except when Eskar talked of old voyages he had gone on when he was only a boy.

            On the fifth day, Eskar twisted his head away from the clear, bright sky and said, “Let’s have a feast.  We shall try to eat everything in the pond we have made.”

            Joe did not understand, but obeyed.  The four of them quickly ate up the plants, worms, and snails in the makeshift bog in the small canoe.  Afterwards, they were very full, but felt stronger.  Next, Zamia and Joe bottled up the fresh water from the pool in coconut shells and lashed them in the main canoe with the mangoes and other foods.

            “So, what was the point of that?” asked Joe, when they finished.  “What were we celebrating?”

            Eskar forced a grin on his face.  “Bad weather.  That’s what we were celebrating.  There’s a storm coming.  All that fresh water and food would have been dumped into the ocean by the wind and waves, so I thought we’d better eat it first.”

            Joe lifted his head and looked around at the sky.  “Storm?  But it’s so nice out.  Are you sure?”

            By nightfall, the sky had darkened, and the little vessel was threading its way through humongous waves.  The sail had been taken down, and the crew clung tightly to the canoes so that they were not blown away by the powerful winds.

            “Spread out!” shouted Eskar, crawling out to the front of one of the small canoes.  “Spread out to different ends of the canoes and keep the ship from turning over!  Even out the weight on the ship!”  Quickly, they moved to the front and back of the canoes.  Zamia and Joe went to the backs of each canoe, and Eskar and Gurl moved up to the fronts.  The craft spun wildly in the waves.  Cold waves sprayed the crew, making them shiver.

            Zamia glanced up and saw that the lines in the large canoe had come undone, and one of the tight bundles of food was coming undone.  “The food!” he called out, and, when nobody heard him in the screaming wind, he leaped over and started to tie the food down.

            He succeeded, but the next wave nearly tipped the boat, and Zamia found himself falling into the ocean, with only one hand on one of the small canoes.  “Help!” he shouted.

            Joe leaped away from his canoe, and grabbed Zamia’s hand before it disappeared under the water.  He hauled Zamia up onto the craft, at the same time feeling himself sliding.  “Hey!” he called.  “Help!”

            Gurl twisted around and grabbed Joe’s ankle.  With one deft movement, he drew Joe and Zamia back onto the craft.  Eskar lashed the food back down with vines, and the crew took their posts again.  The rain howled down on them, and they bailed as fast as they could.

            In the morning, the wind stopped and the sun appeared again.  The canoe was half underwater, but still floating.  They bailed out as much water as they could, and then Gurl began to paddle again.  Eskar pointed out the direction from the angle of the sun, and they started off on their quest again.

            The food was starting to run low.  There were eight coconuts of fresh water, and twenty mangoes left on the eighth day of the journey.  They rationed themselves, using only two coconuts and five mangoes a day.  Still, it looked as if they would have a very tough journey getting home.  They would be continually hungry and thirsty the entire way.

            At last, Eskar lifted his head and pointed.  “There.  There it is.  The Forgotten World.”

            Joe, Zamia, and Gurl all looked up.  Far off in the distance was a strange greenish glow.  It was just like the black cloud that fell over Mechstadt, and Joe had a feeling that Zelkom was directly below the gaseous atmosphere.  But what was the green stuff?

            They drew closer, with everyone paddling for their destination.  Joe began to make out the shape of land, a long way away.  It was just a gray blob, about a mile away, but it was there.

            Then Zamia started to cough, and Eskar began to gag.  Gurl clutched his eyes and gasped.  Joe sniffed the air and felt his nose burning with the awful scent of chemicals.  His eyes watered, and now his throat was burning up.  Joe reached over the side of the canoe, grabbed a handful of water, and gulped it down to clear out his mouth of the awful chemicals.  To his horror, he found the same awful taste in the water as well.  It tasted very familiar.  In fact, it tasted like chlorine.

            “Chlorine!” growled Joe, spitting into the sea.  He grabbed an oar and paddled backward as fast as he could, somehow escaping from the awful chemicals in the air.  The crew floated in the raft, just outside the poisoned atmosphere, and slowly recovered.

            “What was that?” Zamia asked, his face twisted in fear and pain.  “It was awful.  I never thought anything could be so bad.  What was that?”

            “Chlorine,” Joe answered, shaking his head.  “Chemicals.  Trash.”

            “I cannot go through that again,” Gurl growled.  He shook his head.  “It is not possible.  We will die if we stay in that stuff for too long.”

            “Yes, Gurl is right,” Eskar said.  “We shall never make it to the Forgotten World.  We cannot survive in that air.  The very sky is poisoned.”

            Joe sighed, and then remembered something.  He reached into his pocket and drew out his goggles and his breathalyzer tube.  The natives looked over at him.  “What is that?” Zamia asked.

            “My things,” said Joe, staring at the devices.  “I brought them from the Shadow City.  I never thought they would come in handy again… but I see I was mistaken.  I have a plan.  I will go alone to the Forgotten World, and then come back.”

            “How?” asked Gurl, surveying the devices.  “How will you survive?”

            “These things will allow me to live,” said Joe.  “This will guard my eyes, and this will remove the chemicals from the air.  I shall be able to survive in the chlorine.  I will go to the Forgotten World in one of the canoes, and then come back.”

            Eskar, Gurl, and Zamia exchanged looks.  “Are you sure?” Zamia asked.  “Are you certain you will be able to come back?  You are certain you will not die?”  In his head, he was desperately hoping that Joe did not end up like his father.

            “I’m certain,” Joe said, taking a deep breath.  The plans were made.  Joe ate a mango, drank from a coconut, and then untied one of the small canoes.  He began paddling through the ocean, alone, toward the Forgotten World.

            His goggles blocked the chlorine from his eyes, and the breathalyzer tube kept it from his lungs.  Still, he felt his skin itching from the chemicals.  It was as if the entire sky was alive with tiny daggers, and they were trying to destroy him and keep him from the lost continent.  Joe glanced over his shoulder and saw Zamia, Eskar, and Gurl on the craft, hazy through a green-tinged sky.  Turning back around, Joe continued toward the lost continent.

            The chlorine concentration grew and grew, until Joe could even taste the chemicals with the breathalyzer tube.  He was still able to breathe though, and he pressed on.  He got a headache, and he was sure the hair on his arms and legs was turning bright white, but other than that, the poison did not affect him.

            Meanwhile, Zelkom got closer and closer.  Joe could not believe he was finally arriving at this lost place.  He could hardly remember his life before he had learned the truth.  So much had happened in the last few months.  After so many weeks of traveling, and days of battling for his life, it was hard to believe that Joe had ever lived a normal life in Mechstadt.

            The canoe touched down on the shore of Zelkom.  The ground was stony and barren, with no signs of life.  Joe did not really expect any, especially with all the deadly chlorine gas hanging around in the air and the ocean.  He dragged the canoe up onto the shore of Zelkom and began to walk over the continent.

            Zelkom appeared to have been completely wiped out.  The ground was nearly solid rock wherever he walked, as if the place had been severely bombed before being pelted with chemicals.  The history book had said that Zelkom had been about twice the size of Mechstadt, but as Joe walked over the Forgotten World, he saw that Zelkom was barely half the size of Mechstadt.  It was nothing but a barren boulder jutting out of the sea, or at least now it was.  Zelkom had probably bombed it so severely that it had lost all its topsoil into the ocean and became only a fraction of what it once had been.

            If that was the case, then there was no chance of finding anything that would point to the civilization that had once been here.  Even though he was standing here, right on top of Zelkom, he had nothing to bring back to Mechstadt to prove to the people that the place had existed.

            Joe turned to leave.  He headed back to the canoe.  He had failed.  There was nothing here.  The rulers of Mechstadt had covered their tracks too well.  There was no evidence here that he could bring with him.

            Then Joe saw something silver jutting out of the ground some distance away.  He jogged over to see what it was.  It turned out to be a circular door in the ground, something like a manhole covering, with a spinning wheel on top.

            Joe bent over and spun the wheel.  He heard the click as a lock clicked open, and he found that he could open up the door.  Joe dragged the metal door open, and heard a suck of wind like a sharp intake of breath.  For an instant, stale but chemical-free air exploded out of the underground chamber, washing the chlorine gas from Joe’s face.  But then the air diffused in the chlorine atmosphere, and the chemicals came back to Joe’s face.

            Joe dropped into the dark chamber and tried to look around.  Some light came in from the doorway above him, letting him see some dark objects in the room.  Other than that, Joe was blind.  He fumbled for a light switch, and finally found a chain just above his head.  He pulled it.

            A gasp echoed from his lips when he saw a human just in front of him.  It was a person hidden under a red rubber suit, with a gas mask over his head.  “Whoa!” Joe cried, staggering backwards.  He fell against the wall, staring at the person sitting just in front of him.  The person did not move, and Joe guessed he was dead.  But he couldn’t be sure.  He couldn’t see anything under the red suit.

            After five minutes of not moving, just staring, Joe came to the conclusion that the person was dead.  He glanced around the little chamber and saw that it was a small bomb shelter.  There was a large pile of cans against one wall, and a pile of garbage against another.  There was also a large tank, which might have held water at one time, but now it was empty.  Joe could hear the hollow thump when he rapped his knuckles on the tank.  There was a small cot in the corner, and the body in the red rubber suit was sitting on a chair.  At his side was a large notebook that had been completely covered with writing.

            Joe stepped forward and patted the being on the shoulder, and he still did not move.  Joe did not feel any flesh, just hard bone.  The person must have been a mere skeleton under the suit.  Joe shuddered, lifted up the notebook, and began to read through it.

            …It has finally happened.  Mechstadt has attacked us.  I am in the bomb shelter, and was there when the bombs struck.  It was a massive explosion that shook all of Zelkom.  There are no radio stations coming through, and all the sensors that I have above ground have been totally destroyed, not giving me any clue of what the surface conditions are like.  I have no idea what they hit us with, but there is something on the surface.  I could smell some poison chemicals before I locked up all the vents.  I am beginning to think that I am the last human alive in Zelkom…

            …This is all the fault of the Mechstadt government.  Several years ago, the battles with those people started.  It is hard to believe those savage men originated from Zelkom.  Anyway, they no longer trust us.  Ambassadors from Mechstadt came four months ago.  Police had to keep the mobs from swarming them, and the diplomats, unfortunately, found haven in Mechstadt Embassy, and were not torn to pieces, as they should have been.  The ambassadors announced that they wished Zelkom’s influence on Mechstadt to stop.  Apparently, we were a bad influence for those people.  Such arrogance!  They were once Zelkom people, with Zelkom ideas and beliefs, and now they want to start their own principles.  It’s almost like they’re trying to find a whole new religion or something…

            …I can’t believe how long it is has been.  Surely, if there were any survivors, I would hear them above ground, rebuilding.  But there is nobody.  I am alone in this land.  I have plenty of food and water at the moment, but how long am I going to be forced to stay down here?  It has been two years already, and I cannot hold out forever.  I will have to go up on the surface sometime.  I will build my house again, and if Zelkom is too far damaged, I will have to build a boat and row to Tropicana…

            …The Zelkom traders must have heard of what has happened to their homeland.  If Mechstadt has not destroyed them already, they should come here to see the state of their country.  Then I will be able to leave this place.  Help will come soon.  They may even come today…

            Joe flipped to one of the last pages with writing, and slowly read the man’s last words.

            …Now it has been five years, and the water is all gone.  The same chemicals come through the vents.  The surface of Zelkom is no place to live.  And this awful pit has weakened me so much, that I do not believe I shall be able to live much longer.  The air is stale, and the oxygen canisters are running low.  I have food for another year, but no water and no oxygen.  I am dying…

            …A plague upon Mechstadt!  A plague upon the people who caused me such suffering!  They must be destroyed!  They must all be destroyed!  A plague…

            The journal ended there.  Joe closed the book and looked around the bomb shelter.  When Mechstadt attacked, this man had been the last survivor, dying here in his bomb shelter when the chlorine gas would not let him escape.

            Joe opened up one of the cans of food, and found it full of a black, charcoal material.  It looked as if even the canned foods hadn’t lasted the decades underground.  Joe had been hoping to take some of the food back to the canoe.

            Joe walked around the bomb shelter, seeking out anything he could bring back to the canoe as proof that Zelkom had once existed.  At first, he did not see anything.  Then, he hurried back over to the cans of food and read one of the labels.  ‘Pete’s Scrumptious Canned Ham.  Zelkom Meatpacking Plant.  Sealed March 13, 1895.’  Here was the proof that Zelkom existed.  Joe tucked the can into his pocket and climbed out of the bomb shelter.

            Zamia, Eskar, and Gurl kept close watch over the distant land of Zelkom from behind the poison barrier.  “It’s been a very long time,” said Gurl.  “Perhaps the poison has killed him.”

            “If that is the case, than we would be wasting our time and our food waiting for him to return,” Eskar said.  “But we must wait longer, for Joe was very brave to go into the poison, and I wish to see him return.”

            Zamia desperately wished for Joe to survive and return.  He did not want to lose another friend.  He drank a little from a coconut, and then pointed into the greenish mist.  “Look there!  Joe returns!”

            Joe paddled out of the gloom.  He had been gone for over two hours, and the chlorine had greatly damaged him.  His hair was of a lighter color, and his skin was unhealthy and peeling.  Despite this, a huge smile wreathed his face, and he laughed as he paddled up to his friends.  “I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!”

            The natives cheered, and hooked up the little canoe back to the craft while Joe splashed in the saltwater and scrubbed away the chemicals.  He pulled himself back into the boat a few minutes later, still grinning.  “Here it is.  Here’s what’s going to destroy Mechstadt.”  He held up the can.

            The natives examined it.  “I don’t understand,” said Gurl, shaking the can.  “It does not look like much.  It looks like any other bit of trash from the Shadow City.”

            “Yes,” said Joe, nodding his head.  “But this trash is different.  You see, there is writing on it in my native language, which says that this is property of the Forgotten World.  And when the people in the Shadow City see that, the Forgotten World will no longer be forgotten.”  Joe smiled.

            “Very good,” said Zamia, beaming.  His smile faded.  “But how do we get the trash to the Shadow City?”

            Joe’s smile faded.  “I have not thought of that yet,” he said, thinking.  “But I’m sure I’ll find a way.”  As Joe sat back in the canoe to rest and think, Eskar turned the ship back toward Tropicana.

            They ran out of food in two days.  Their stomachs growling, the four paddled weakly toward Tropicana.  Only Gurl appeared to still have his strength, although his ribs were showing through his skin.  Zamia, the smallest, was painfully thin, and elderly Eskar was beginning to show signs of weakness, too.

            While Gurl paddled, Eskar fished nonstop, but was still never able to bring in enough to sate their hunger.  On the fourth day since their departure from Zelkom, they had all been severely weakened, and sat back, letting the breezes take the craft back to Tropicana.

            “We’ll make it,” Eskar said, looking up at the stars.  “We’re very near to the coast now, I can feel it.”  By now, they had their hands trailing in the water for pieces of seaweed and anything else that looked edible.  Just as they were beginning to give up hope, Gurl stood up and peered into the distance.

            “There!  I see it!” he shouted, pointing.  “I see Tropicana!  I see our home!”

            Just appearing out of the mist, far off in the distance, was the coast of Tropicana.  It was still a long way away, but relatively short compared to the amazing distance they had already traveled without food.

            The crew cheered.  Gurl began paddling toward the shore, laughing.  Zamia threw himself in the water and splashed around in front of the vessel.

            Joe’s smile disappeared when he heard a sound he had not heard for a very long time.  It was a sound he had last heard when they had passed the last Mechstadt trading post.  It was a sound that marked the closeness of the horrible beings of the Shadow City.

            It was a low, grumbling engine.  The crew turned and saw a ship speeding toward them, its engine whining noisily.  The ship was much larger and faster than their craft, and it spit gray smoke into the clean air as it approached.  As it came nearer, Joe saw the words emblazoned on the side: Mechstadt Sea Patrol, Ruling the Sea Since the Beginning of Time.

            Gurl grunted and stood up, hefting the oar up with him.  Joe saw that soldiers on the deck of the ship were holding machine guns, and he quickly told Gurl to put the oar down.  “Wait.  Maybe there is something I can do if we do not fight.”  Gurl slowly put down the oar.

            As a child, Joe had heard great tales about the Mechstadt Sea Patrol, and had often marched around the house, shouting their slogan, “Ruling the sea since the beginning of time!”  He remembered seeing the films of the daring sailors shooting through the water at high speeds, firing missiles at canoes of angry natives.  Now he was enraged.  These sailors raced around the ocean like idiots, with their weapons and their expensive, high-tech engines, and claimed to rule the sea.  However, in Joe’s mind, it was Eskar and the other fishermen natives who ruled.  They went out to sea in the crafts they had built themselves, rowed themselves or caught the wind in sails, and faced hunger and dangerous weather.  The Mechstadt Sea Patrol in no way ruled the sea.

            The boat pulled up alongside him, and the soldiers all aimed their weapons down at the craft.  A man with a megaphone stepped up onto the deck of the ship.  “You there, Tropicana natives!  You are permitted to come aboard our ship!  No sudden moves, or you shall be shot!  Do you understand?”

            The natives looked around blankly, but Joe nodded his head.  A ladder was thrown down to them, and Joe, not seeing any other alternative, climbed up, motioning for the others to follow him.  Soon, they were assembled on the deck of the ship.

            Gurl was not especially happy with his move.  He snarled, never turning his back on a soldier.  The soldiers tried to move closer, to stop him from spinning around, and the big native became more enraged.  Joe tried to tell him to stop, but he suddenly struck a soldier with his powerful forearm and was shot with a taser.  Gurl slumped to the deck, only half-conscious, and the other soldiers leaped on him to pin him down.  Joe leaped at the soldiers to pull them away, and was clubbed over the back of the head.  He was shot with a taser for good measure, and then left on the ground.  Unknown to everyone, the small spark of electricity activated the small, long-dead MP-3 player still stuck under his fingernail.

            Eskar and Zamia were quickly bound and led over to another side of the ship.  Joe and Gurl, both unconscious, were dragged after them.

            The man with the megaphone walked to the cabin and peered inside.  “Yes, we’ve captured the stupid brutes.  One is young, and will be good for the commercial.  Go on, bring out the President.”

            There was a silence, and then President Rocket stepped out of the cabin.

            President Rocket was not at all pleased with his newest task.  Since the people of Mechstadt were skeptical of how the natives were being treated, he was forced to create a commercial, in which he was helping and aiding the natives.  He stepped out of the cabin, a sunburn already starting on his baldhead.  He was sweating in his business suit.

            “All right,” he said, crossing the deck.  “Let’s get this over with, and then get out of this awful place.  Set up the camera.”  President Rocket looked around the sea, wrinkling his nose in disgust.  “I can’t believe I have to be out here to interview a bunch of stinking natives.”  A camera was set up on the deck on a tripod, and focused on the president. 

            “Greetings, citizens of Mechstadt,” said President Rocket, smiling into the camera.  “Greetings, and welcome to the wild, dangerous seas off northern Tropicana.  We are just within the shore of the untamed continent, and we find ourselves with four natives, who appear to be very emaciated and weak.  As proof of our good intentions toward these people, I shall personally see that they are rescued.”

            President Rocket walked over to Zamia, who had just been untied.  Little would the future audience know, but Zamia had a rifle against his back, making sure he did not try any sudden moves on the president.  “Hello, little native boy,” President Rocket said, smiling cheerfully.  Zamia only stared.  “Please, little one.  You appear so hungry.  Please accept this healthy, carbon/potassium bar.”  He handed Zamia a yellow bar with chunks of black, partially unwrapped in a blue wrapper.  Zamia took the food, examined it, and then took a bite.  He chewed for a second, and then spat the processed food onto the ground.

            President Rocket shook his head and walked away from the native boy.  “Don’t worry, we can edit that out later.  Ungrateful idiot!  He should get used to this food.  Soon it will be the only thing left on this planet.  Now, for the stupid old fool.”  Clearing his throat, he said to the camera, “Observe this poor, elderly man.  Probably driven out of his homeland by wild beasts and younger, more savage native men.  Oh, the awful, feral ways in which these people treat their elders!  How are you, old one?”

            Eskar only stared, blankly.  “Please, take this mineral-enhanced water, for I am sure you could use it, being without fresh water here on the high seas.”  Eskar took the bottle of water, unsure of how it worked.  Finally, he raised the bottle to his lips and tasted the water.  He swallowed, and wrinkled his nose at the strange, chemical taste.

            “Ah, look how he enjoys it,” said President Rocket, smiling.  “Yes, yes, we’re all friends, Tropicana and Mechstadt.  Separated all those thousands of years ago on the land bridge, we are now reuniting through the use of technology.  Our trade posts have allowed us to make contact with our old cousins, and we help them out in their times of need, no matter how savage and immoral they are.”

            President Rocket smiled.  The commercial was going pretty well.  He decided not to interrogate the biggest native, who was still unconscious.  But the other was coming awake, stirring on the deck, and President Rocket was getting an idea.  “Bring that poor native over here, men.  He looks even more starved than the others.  That must be why he is having trouble standing.”  President Rocket narrowed his eyes, and asked, “He’s just been beaten, right?  If you guys have shot him, better leave him over there.”

            The soldiers lifted Joe and began carrying him across the deck, and into the camera.  Joe’s head was lowered, and President Rocket could not see his face.  Nobody else recognized him as the wanted Joe Carson, or even as a Mechstadt citizen.  Joe had changed a lot over the months.  His skin was much darker, and the chlorine chemicals had lightened his hair.

            “Poor sailor,” said President Rocket, digging in his pocket for another carbon/potassium bar.  “We might even have to take him to the infirmary below the ship.  We will make him well again at any cost, don’t worry.  I would gladly do anything to help these natives.”  President Rocket stepped forward and clapped his hand on Joe’s shoulder.  “Lift your head, friend, and have a bite of this delectable Mechstadt snack!”

            Joe’s eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his head.  He looked up and glared at President Rocket.  “Delectable Mechstadt snack?  I lived there for twenty five years, and I happen to know that there is no such thing!”

            President Rocket’s eyes widened in horror, and he nearly had a heart attack.  “Joe Carson!” he gasped, as he looked upon the ghost everyone in Mechstadt believed to be dead.

            Joe didn’t recognize President Rocket as his archenemy, Travis Geoff.  Still, he didn’t like the person before him, who he knew was some sort of Mechstadt official.  “That’s right,” Joe growled.  “Who are you?”

            The soldiers recognized something was wrong.  This native had clearly spooked the president, and was also speaking flawlessly in the Mechstadt tongue.  They dragged Joe backwards, away from the camera.

            President Rocket was going into hysterics, babbling incoherently.  “How could he still be alive?  How can he still be here?  Why is he still here?”  Soldiers ran to help their president as he began to sway on the deck.

            Eskar took this opportunity to pull himself away from the guards.  He was old, but he was still strong.  He threw two guards to the ground and drew his rock from his fur clothes.  He swung the rock as hard as he could and broke a soldier’s forehead.  Another guard leaped at him, angrily drawing back his rifle with which to strike the old man.

            Gurl intervened, one massive hand cupping over the soldier’s face and crushing his features.  He was handcuffed, but ripped the metal bonds like they were paper chains.  The soldier was thrown overboard, and two more quickly followed as Gurl began his rampage across the deck.

            President Rocket was taken below decks, and the soldiers tried to follow him to safety.  Joe dragged himself free and punched out both guards.  He raced to the edge of the ship and saw the craft bobbing not far from the sea patrol ship.  “Come on!” he shouted, turning to his friends.  “We can get to the boat!”

            Eskar and Zamia leaped over the railing and into the ocean.  They began swimming toward the small craft.  Gurl stopped on the railing and turned around, his body quivering with rage.  “Come on!” shouted Joe, pointing.  “Follow them!”

            “I cannot,” Gurl growled.  “They will kill you in the water with their weapons.  You must go.  I will hold them off.”  With that, Gurl whirled on the soldiers that were coming up out of the cabin and began to thrash them with his fists.

            “Gurl!” Joe shouted.  “We have to leave!  We can escape!”  Even as he said this, he realized that what Gurl said was true.  If they leaped over the railing, the soldiers would shoot them in the water.  Gurl was sacrificing himself so that the others could escape.

            “Go!” roared Gurl, and fought his way into the cabin.  Joe heard his roars from inside the boat, and also the screams of soldiers.  Then there were several gunshots, and Gurl’s roars stopped.

            Joe leaped off the railing and splashed into the sea, following after Eskar and Zamia.  They reached the craft and began paddling toward Tropicana as fast as they could.

            Behind them, the Mechstadt Sea Patrol boat turned and began to lurch forward, its engine driving it faster than the tiny craft.  The soldiers on the deck shouted and began to fire.  Bullets splashed in the sea all around them.

            “We can’t make it!” shouted Joe, looking around as the huge boat drew closer.  He let out a sigh.  “We’ve lost.”

            Something struck the bottom of the boat.  At first, Joe thought it was a torpedo.  The entire craft trembled, and then began to skid through the water incredibly quickly.  “What is this?” asked Joe, looking around.  Even Zamia and Eskar looked confused.  Zamia glanced down into the ocean and let out a cheer.

            A squad of dolphins had appeared, and was pushing the small vessel through the ocean toward Tropicana.  The Mechstadt ship, which had been gaining on them, began to lose ground.  They were now moving too fast to be captured.

            “The dolphins have saved us!” Eskar laughed.  Joe smiled, remembering the dolphins that had pushed him to shore when he had leaped over the wall at Mechstadt.  He remembered the time the tiger had attacked their hunters at the first trading post he and Zamia had stumbled upon.  He was being saved once again by the animals.  Even though Mechstadt was a tremendous drain on the natural world, there was still enough magic in nature to assist them in their quest.

            President Rocket sat in the infirmary, his mind still racing.  The ship’s doctor was looking after him, but could find nothing physically wrong with the president.  Whatever the problem was, it was with President Rocket’s brain.

            Meanwhile, the ship’s navigator stared in shock as the little craft raced out of sight toward Tropicana.  “How are they doing that?” he asked, as he put the ship into full speed.  Still, they were not moving fast enough.  Bewildered, the navigator called up the captain.  The captain listened for a moment, and then sighed.

            “Well, then, they have escaped.  Turn around and head back to the trading post.  There, we’ll at least be able to get the president serious medical attention.”

            The dolphins left the craft not far from the shore, when the sea patrol ship had disappeared in the distance.  The animals splashed around in the ocean for a while, swimming with Zamia, who leaped into the water to thank their rescuers.  Then, they, too, disappeared into the ocean.

            Ten minutes later, the craft pulled up on shore.  Natives on the coast had been acting as scouts, and when they spotted the craft in the distance, they ran off to tell the others that the crew had returned.  When the vessel arrived, a party of old and young natives greeted them.

            Krag hobbled along the shore, smiling.  “Welcome back!” he said.  He noticed that someone was missing from the crew.  “Where is Gurl?”

            “Gurl gave his life so that we could escape the Shadow City soldiers,” said Eskar, hanging his head in sadness.  The rest of the natives did the same.  “He used his great strength to hold off many soldiers while we made our escape.”  There was a moment of silence for the great warrior.

            Krag finally asked, “Did you find it?  The key to saving Tropicana?”

            Joe smiled and held up the empty can of food from Zelkom.  “Here it is.  Here is what is going to save Tropicana.”  The natives cheered.

            There was another feast in the jungles of Tropicana that night, in which the weary travelers gained back their strength and weight from endless platters of roots, fruits, insects, fish, crabs, and grubs.  While they ate, Joe discussed his plans.

            “All we have to do now is get this can to the Shadow City,” Joe said, as he rested with his back against a tree trunk.

            “How will you do that?” asked Krag, chewing on a root.  “It seems like an impossible task.”

            Joe was thinking the same thing.  Nobody could reach Mechstadt by sea.  The humongous waves would destroy any craft against the ocean barrier wall of the country.  Crossing the land bridge was also risky.  Not only would Joe have to navigate through the many trade posts, but he would have to somehow sneak inside a supply ship heading to Mechstadt.  Either that, or he would have to run the thirty miles over the land bridge on foot before the tide swept him up.

            “I have to get into the Shadow City,” said Joe.  “I can do nothing here in Tropicana.  I have to be in the very heart of that awful place in order to get the people to revolt.  And this time, I have to make sure the revolt continues.  I don’t know how President Geoff put up with the last rebellion, but he won’t be able to deal with a second one.”

            They finished eating.  Joe began walking through the jungle, trying to think up a plan.  He was just heading off to bed when a young native girl came dashing up.  Joe recognized her as a scout for the elders of Tropicana.  When he walked back to the camp, he found the girl talking hysterically to Krag.  Krag was listening, his eyes narrowed.  “I don’t understand.  Repeat yourself, Meka.”

            “The ones of the Shadow City!” Meka said, shrilly.  “I have just seen them at their camp!  They can fly!  They can fly up in the air with their sky crafts!”

            Krag glanced up at Joe.  “Is what she says true?  Can the people of the Shadow City fly?”

            An idea finally formed in Joe’s head.  “Yes,” he said, grinning suddenly.  “They can.”

LOSING CONTROL

            An airship took President Rocket back to Mechstadt.  There, he was treated in the Justice Center hospital.  Still, nothing could be found wrong with him.  He continued babbling, and was frightened of shadows.  In reality, his tired old brain had been thoroughly startled by the sudden appearance of Joe Carson, right before his eyes.  He had received hundreds of reports from different soldiers that Carson was definitely dead.  If the waves didn’t kill him, the pollution would.  This he had been assured over and over again by top advisors who had been handpicked for their ability to be in agreement with their president.

            Despite this, Joe had somehow survived.  President Rocket feared another rebellion, and could not stop trembling.  He thought of his past of peasant revolts and deadly riots in the streets of Mechstadt.  He did not feel he had the strength to endure another one.  President Rocket had lived a very, very hard life.

            Born in Zelkom in 1850 as Ezekiel Mechstadt, he had suffered from many diseases, like frostbite because of the bitter cold and black lung because of his labor in the coalmines.  He took a job as a sailor onboard a trade ship, and was able to make a profit helping the traders bring back supplies from Tropicana.  Next, Ezekiel had braved a career as a daring explorer, and had walked across the land bridge attached to the west coast of Tropicana to find a brand new continent.

            He had set up Mechstadt as a land where the engineers, architects, inventors, and other workers of Zelkom could come and make a profit, since there was plenty of coal, iron, and oil to go around.  Mechstadt grew quickly.  Quickly enough, Lord Ezekiel Mechstadt believed, to be perceived as a threat by Tropicana or Zelkom.  The paranoid leader quickly introduced an industrialization policy in 1883 that would give Mechstadt more firepower than Zelkom.

            The consequences did not turn out well.  The people were able to turn out the weapons, but the focus on industrializing caused a severe drop in agriculture.  Many peasants died, and Ezekiel Mechstadt fell out of favor.  For several weeks, while the government officials tried to fix his mistake, Ezekiel believed he would be justly executed.

            Then the officials came forward and provided their silver-tongued leader with a way out of trouble.  The officials liked Ezekiel Mechstadt.  He was very good with words, and his plans had also provided wealth for the officials.  They advocated some risky surgery, in which Ezekiel’s brain would be cut out of his head and placed into another body.  Ezekiel agreed.

            Some months later, King Phillip Turncoat arrived.  He bore a stunning resemblance to a sailor who had recently mysteriously vanished, but nobody seemed to give it a second thought.  King Turncoat became very popular, and the people of Mechstadt believed him to be a much better leader, even though he continued many of the same plans brought about by Ezekiel Mechstadt.

            King Turncoat built more trading posts in Tropicana, and in this way, found his countrymen coming into contact with Zelkom traders more often.  Those who spoke with the people of Zelkom were often tainted, and spoke of the rights and civil liberties that were being handed out there.  Turncoat did not like this.  Zelkom influence had to be completely destroyed.

            Diplomatic affairs went foul in 1894.  Battles were taking place between Zelkom and Mechstadt people all over the globe.  Zelkom had a bigger population and a better navy, but Mechstadt did have one advantage.  Their coal, iron, and oil reserves had led to a quick industrialization.  The scientists had more technology and machinery than they knew what to do with.  At last, they found a good use for their machines, and started work on a secret experiment in the Justice Center.  The experiment was deemed a success in 1895, when a satellite was launched up into space.  Then, when the rural people of Zelkom were not expecting anything, Turncoat gave the order that ended in the complete and utter destruction of Zelkom.

            Turncoat began the task of erasing Zelkom from the people’s minds.  The population had been drastically reduced by the war anyway, and he found himself preaching to a mere ten thousand people.  Little by little, he began to teach the people one of his own ideas, and inspired them to believe that the Creator had placed them on Mechstadt with the intention of having them build a perfect, technological world.  As Mechstadt grew stronger, building up its weapons and factories, so did King Turncoat’s first draft of the Record.

            Some people had stronger minds than the others, however, and refused to believe what was told to them.  King Turncoat started an organization of secret police to hunt down these people and destroy them.  Many were outraged when they discovered that family members of friends had been killed by the secret police.  It was later given out that they had been killed because of plotting and sabotage against the government.  Even this, the people decided, was not a good reason to have their friends killed.  In 1921, they revolted again, despising their king and the acts of his secret police.

            Surgery took place once again.  The new leader was now Emperor Nathaniel Smith.  He strengthened the Record, and also denied all evidence of Zelkom.  Even scientists who had worked on the weapon that had destroyed Zelkom were no longer sure the continent had ever existed.

            Emperor Smith faced a lot of disloyalty inside his own administration.  Many of the officials disliked the idea of performing another surgery and having their leader outlive them.  Emperor Smith appeased the officials by giving them more and more money.  He took this money out of the accounts that had normally gone to wages for factory workers and better machinery to make factories safer.  Many workers starved to death, and others were killed in accidents caused by bad equipment.  In 1946, another rebellion took hold of Mechstadt, and the people screamed for the death of their horrible ruler.

            A third surgery.  Prime Minister Ronald Bergstrom took charge of Mechstadt at the end of 1946, continuing the same plans and speaking with the same precision and persuasion as all of the former leaders.  Copies of the Record were distributed everywhere, and passages of them were also read over the radio.  Nobody had any idea what Zelkom was, and completely believed in the biblical texts that the government gave them.

            Some of the government officials, however, were not enjoying the money they were given for keeping quiet, began to start their own political parties.  They spoke in secret against Prime Minister Bergstrom, inciting rebellion among the people.  While they never told the people the entire truth, which the citizens would not be able to handle, they did cast Bergstrom as a very evil man.  The officials had decided that they did not enjoy growing old while they helped their leader remain young and in power for all eternity.

            In 1953, the prime minister ordered the assassination of the members of the other political parties.  Many innocent officials were killed in the hunt for those speaking against the government.  Even civilians were found guilty of speaking against Bergstrom in staged trials, and were publicly executed.  The people, enraged, once again fought back.  Bergstrom, not wanting another surgery, tried to hold the people back, but could not.  Another surgery was imminent.

            In 1954, after a shaky period of civil war and riots in the streets, President Thomas Reason came to order.  Just as his name implied, he advised the people to use rational thought and reflection before they acted out against each other.  The people settled down into a world of peace, especially after the brainless body of Ronald Bergstrom was hung.

            President Reason continued with the reeducation of Mechstadt, even though it was hardly necessary now.  Anyone on the street would fiercely argue that the Record was nothing but complete truth.  Government officials were kept appeased, and factory workers were paid what they deserved.  There were very few revolts and disagreement with government decrees.  The secret police took care of these dissidents quietly so that no public outcry was made.

            At last, the leader of Mechstadt had created the perfect world.  He had learned from his mistakes, and found the perfect balance between appeasing the officials and appeasing the citizens.  He had also built the foundations of a religion that could do nothing but strengthen the government.  As technology was firmly supported, even by the great Creator, it appeared, Mechstadt could only continue to grow stronger as it built up its armaments and heavy machinery.

            However, there was a small downside.  No riots meant there was no reason for President Reason to be forced to find a new body.  In the year 2005, he was over seventy years old, and believed that he might die any day now.  Now that he had built his country, he wanted to enjoy it in a far younger body.  He had the scientists grow the body of Travis Geoff, the ultimate picture of youth and enthusiasm, and then created a plan on how to move into this new body.

            Around the time, the only thing that could be considered as a threat against the government was an organization of environmentalists who had been running tests on the pollution caused by the factories of Mechstadt.  Several secret police members infiltrated the organization in secret, and created the plan of assassinating President Reason.  At first, the environmentalists wanted nothing to do with the plan.  They did not like what was happening to the government, but they would never go against the great President Reason.  However, the secret police had taught to be persuasive, and continued to speak of their plans.

            At last, one of the nature fanatics was riled into acting out the plan.  The secret police, acting as the man’s true friends, gave him a gun and sent him out to kill the president.

            President Reason’s brain was removed.  The next day, his brainless body was fitted with a small computer that gave it the impulse to smile and wave, and the body was taken through town in a large car at the head of a parade.

            The nature fanatic crept through the security guards.  He believed he was sneaking through of his own stealth, but the guards had actually been given orders to let him through without searching him for a weapon.  The man leaped from the crowd, screamed to Reason that his policies were causing pollution that was destroying the world, and then shot him through the head.

            The nature fanatic was immediately set upon and beaten to death.  The government advocated the destruction of all such organizations, since it appeared that assimilating with nature caused madness and disloyalty in weak minds.  The people all disbanded the environmentalist organizations, and went back to praising the creation of computers instead of admiring the beauty of a flower.

            In 2006, President Travis Geoff had taken control of Mechstadt.  He assured everyone that he would continue with all of the late Thomas Reason’s plans.  He made many public appearances, helping in children’s schools and meeting and talking with factory workers at their place of employment.  President Geoff was loved by all.  With everything great, he had never thought he would have to have surgery so soon.

            However, that had all changed.  Those despicable Carsons had ruined his plans, and had caused him another surgical procedure.  Now he had to reinstate his power all over again and fall into the goodwill of the same people.  President Rocket was tired.  He did not feel as if he could do this once again.

            After four days, President Rocket had recovered slightly, and returned to his work.  He had the commercial about the natives sent out on television, so that the people would stop worrying about the treatment of the natives and continue working again.

            President Rocket also had another job to complete.  The first thing he did when he got back in his office was to hire a team of construction engineers, who he sent down to the very lowest corridors of the Justice Center.  There, they were told to start building a very powerful bomb shelter.  Concrete, steel, and other elements went into the creation of a very strong structure that would withstand any weapon.

            The others in the Justice Center had a sinking feeling what President Rocket was preparing for, but they did not say anything, not even when the president called for a deep-freeze chamber to be built into the bomb shelter, along with an incredibly powerful lithium battery as big as a three cars massed together.

            President Rocket was preparing for the very worst.  He was the only one who saw it coming.

RETURN TO THE PROMISED LAND

            Joe bid good-bye to his friends in Tropicana the next morning.  He shook hands with Krag, Eskar, and Zamia, and waved good-bye to all the other natives he had met with over the weeks he’d stayed with them.  “I have a plan to destroy the Shadow City,” he said, nodding his head.  “I will stop them from bringing their evil to Tropicana.  I do not know if I shall return.  However, you will know if I succeed.”

            “How will we know?” asked Krag, interested.

            “The walls of the Shadow City will come crashing down,” Joe elaborated.  “And the entire country will be destroyed in its own civil war.  However,” Joe added, swallowing nervously, “if I do not succeed, you must leave here.  Get as far from the land bridge as possible.  Go to the southeastern corner of Tropicana, and live your lives there.  Hopefully, the people of the Shadow City will never reach you.”  Even as he said this, he knew it wouldn’t work.  The people of Mechstadt would stretch across all of Tropicana in the hunt for raw materials and extra living space.  Maybe this generation of natives and animals would survive, but the next would be brutally hunted to extinction by the spreading tides of Mechstadt colonists.

            “Good luck,” Eskar said, nodding his head.  He thought for a moment, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew the sharp slab of volcanic rock that he often used to cut open fish.  “Here, take this.  Perhaps it will come in handy in your travels.”

            Joe took the stone, smiling.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I will use it well.”

            Zamia did not want to see Joe leave, but he said nothing.  “Good luck,” he said.  “I wish I could help you out.  Are you sure I can’t come?”

            “I’m sure,” said Joe, nodding his head.  “This is something I have to do alone.  It is going to be very dangerous, and I don’t want to put any of my friends in harm’s way.  Stay here, Zamia, and live a good life.  Don’t be sad because of the evils of the Shadow City.  Have fun in this land for as long as you can.”  Zamia nodded.

            Joe turned to Krag.  “Thank you for your help, Krag,” he said.

            “No, thank you, Joe,” said Krag, smiling.  “You are embarking on a very tough journey.  Nothing I have done can compare with it.  Good luck, Joe.  I hope that you succeed, but even more, I hope that you survive.”

            “Thanks,” Joe said.  He took a step back.  “Good-bye, all of you.  Thanks for everything.”  Joe headed off into the jungle, exhilarated and saddened at the same time.  He was heading off for the final showdown with the government of Mechstadt, with a plan to stop their spread into Tropicana.  At the same time, he knew that he might never see his native friends ever again.

            Joe walked for miles along the coast.  He had been walking for some time when he heard a crackling sound of static coming from below him.  Joe jumped and whirled in a circle.  The sound appeared to be coming from himself.  He realized it was coming from underneath his fingernail, and remembered his long-lost super miniaturized MP-3 player.

            The static was very loud, and Joe knew he would not be able to sneak into a trading post with the noise.  He sat down on the beach and began fishing under his fingernail with a stick.  The pain was enormous, but Joe was used to such pain now.  Eventually, the little red music player popped out from under his fingernail.

            Joe did not know what had caused it to activate.  Its batteries should have died out years ago.  Joe cleared his throat and said, “Status report.”

            “Ten percent battery remaining,” the MP-3 player replied, in a loud, clear voice.  That confused Joe.  Then he remembered the taser shock he had been given.  It had probably booted up the battery again, turning the player back on.

            As Joe thought, the MP-3 player began to play music.  It was loud, techno music that Joe remembered listening to years ago.  He sorted through the music files by squeezing and rolling the little device on his fingertips.  He suddenly arrived at a file he did not remember entering, and opened it.

            “Twenty four hour recording,” the MP-3 player said.  “Unavoidable emergency activation.  Play?”

            “Play,” Joe said.  The MP-3 player began to play its recording of the last twenty four hours, starting when Joe had been struck with the taser.  He thought as he listened, his confusion growing.  He was listening to the man from the sea patrol ship.  Apparently, the man was President Rocket, the new leader of Mechstadt.  The man’s voice sounded familiar, even though he was sure he had never heard an accent like that before.

            This President Rocket spoke quickly, easily.  He never paused, never seemed to stop and consider his next words.  He always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say.  In fact, he spoke just like President Geoff had.

            Joe found Dr. Page’s words running through his head.  They were suddenly very clear.  “We are meant to perform a very dangerous surgical procedure on the president…We grow a human body in a closed-off container, affecting it with catalysts and extra enzymes so that it grows to be an adult in a much shorter period of time… The body can be brought back to life with the right dose of electricity to the heart.  The proper type of blood must also be forced through the veins for about five minutes with machines.  And, last but not least, a new brain must be put into the skull and connected to the spine correctly.”

            A new brain, Joe thought, his eyes widening.  That was Dr. Page’s secret!  President Geoff’s brain was put in President Rocket’s head!  They were the same person!  That was why they sounded alike!

            Joe was amazed.  This threw things into a whole different light.  The leader of Mechstadt was close to immortal if he could do this.  That must have been how he had erased Zelkom from the people’s minds.  He had lived far longer than they had.  He was able to control the minds of each new generation, feeding them whatever information he wanted them to believe.  It was all so clear!

            Joe listened to the recording again.  As he listened to the voice of President Rocket, hearing him helping a native one moment and insulting him the next, he realized he had some very important evidence against Mechstadt.  And this was far more significant than the Zelkom meat can.

            By nightfall, he could see the lights of the first trading post far in the distance.  He sat down in the jungle to rest, and was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a snap of a twig nearby.  Joe rolled back up to a sitting position and listened again.  There was another snap of a twig.

            At first, Joe believed a jaguar or a tiger to be stalking him.  He thought quickly, turning up both MP-3 players to full volume, ready to flick them on and scare away whatever beast was nearby.  Then there was a muffled cough, and Joe realized that it was a person who was hunting him.

            Joe went sliding through the undergrowth, spotting a figure standing, silhouetted in the near blackness.  He leaped forward and pinned the person to the ground.  “Stop!” the person shouted, before Joe could cover the person’s mouth with his hand.  “Joe!  It’s Zamia!”

            “Zamia?” Joe asked, drawing back.  He suddenly recognized his friend in the darkness.  “Zamia, what are you doing here?  I told you to stay with Krag and the others!”

            “I couldn’t stay,” Zamia said, raising himself to his feet.  “I had to come with you.  I didn’t want to lose another friend.”

            “You could die!” Joe cried out.  “You should not have come.  I don’t want you to end up dead.  You’re an innocent native.  But I was once part of the problem.  I was once a person of the Shadow City.  I contributed to their power.  If anyone should be made to stop them, it should be me.”

            “I don’t care,” Zamia said.  “I’m coming.  I don’t know what happened to my father, but the chances are the people of the Shadow City killed him on the ocean, just like they almost killed us.  They have done plenty to make me angry.  I want revenge, and I want to stop them from hurting Tropicana any further.”

            Joe could not argue with the young native.  In the morning, the two headed off together.  They walked silently through the forest, eating while they walked.  The trading post structure on the beach got larger and larger before them, until they were in the jungle not far from it.

            The trading post was not very large.  Joe counted only six men working there.  They had nets that were dragging in endless loads of fish and from the sea.  Because they were so far from the land bridge, though, there were no trucks that led to the post.  Instead, a different mode of transportation was used to get the fish back to Mechstadt.  Just beside the trading post was a circular landing platform.

            “What do we do?” asked Zamia, staring at the trading post.

            “We’ll have to wait,” said Joe.  “Wait and rest.”

            “Wait for what?” asked Zamia.

            An airship suddenly appeared out of the clouds.  Joe grinned and pointed.  “For that.  That’s how we’re going to get into the Shadow City.”

            Zamia stared at the contraption slicing through the cloudy sky to the trading post.  “You mean…”

            “That’s right,” Joe said.  “We’re going to fly.”

            The airship reached the trading post in forty minutes.  The men quickly began to load the fish onboard in enormous crates.  The airship was refueled, and made ready to make its next long trip to Mechstadt.

            Joe listened to the men as they worked.  “Harry, you taking another load to Mechstadt?” asked one man.

            “You crazy, Nat?” Harry asked, shaking his head.  “I’m not going to fly through the night.  I’m too tired.  I’m going to bed.”

            “The fish might go bad,” Nat pointed out.

            “Who cares?” Harry asked, pushing past him.  “The factories in Mechstadt will boil it all down into carbon/potassium bars anyway, whether it’s fresh out of the sea or ten years old.”  The workers headed into the trading post.  Joe grinned.  The sky was beginning to darken.

            “It’s time,” he said, and moved out of the jungle.

            The man on watch was named Kyle.  He had been a computer programmer in Mechstadt until he had grown bored with his surroundings, and decided to do something for his country.  He had signed up to be part of the trader brigade, and now was here, fighting the savages of Tropicana and bringing back supplies for the blessed homeland.

            In reality, he was sitting in a hammock he had made, sipping a beer and aiming a machine gun with his feet.  He yawned as he began to drift off to sleep.  There were no natives or dangerous animals around anyway.  It didn’t matter if he stayed awake or not.

            Suddenly, the hammock was flipped over.  Kyle tried to shout, but beer clogged his throat, and he gagged.  Before he could pick himself up, a stick slammed down on his forehead, and he fell unconscious.

            Zamia dropped the stick and hurried over to the airship, which Joe was opening up.  He dragged out several crates of dead fish so that the load would be lighter and also so that the smell would not be so bad.  “Can you work this thing?” asked Zamia, as Joe climbed behind the controls.

            “I think so,” Joe said, pushing the levers of the airship.  It rose quietly into the sky, its motor humming softly, and then began to float off toward Mechstadt.

            “All right,” Joe said, breathing a sigh of relief.  “That was only our first challenge.  We’ve got plenty more dangers ahead of us.”

            As the airship made the long trek through the sky, Joe went to work on the ship’s speakers.  He plugged his own MP-3 player into the ship’s computers and turned up the volume as loud as it would go.

            “What are you doing?” asked Zamia, as Joe worked on the gadgets.

            “Getting ready for our arrival,” Joe said.  He thought for a moment, trying to judge exactly what the Mechstadt government would do when he arrived.  One of the first things they would do would be to shoot him out of the air and blow him to bits with rockets.  Joe turned around and looked at the crates of fish.  They would work just fine for what he had in mind.

            Meanwhile, the black smoke clouds grew larger and larger.  The tall skyscrapers of Mechstadt came into view.  Joe hadn’t seen them for months.  They looked just as ugly as ever.

TRUTH FROM THE HEAVENS

            President Rocket walked through the Justice Center and into a conference room for an emergency meeting.  “What’s wrong guys?  Anything new?”

            The officials exchanged nervous glances.  “Actually, Mr. President, we are a little concerned about your health.”

            “My health?” asked President Rocket.  “Well, I’m fine.  Just had to get ready for the next riot, if it should ever come.”

            “Yes, the riots,” said an official.  “We were talking about that, too.  We believe it may be time for the government to release their hold on this country just a little bit.”

            President Rocket was shocked.  “What?  What are you talking about?”

            “We want to give the people more freedom,” said an official.  “All this policing and propaganda is making it hard to rule.  We have to make sure nobody goes against us.  Perhaps if we adopted a more open form of government, we would have less work, and the people would be happy and run themselves.”

            President Rocket shook his head.  “You must be going out of your mind!  The devil himself has been influencing you!  Don’t listen to him!  Do you know what will happen if we give those people more freedom?  There will be more riots, more crime, and more danger!  The citizens will grow angry and discontent and flood the Justice Center, looking for us!”

            “I don’t think that’s true,” said an official.  “I think the people will be happy, and respect us more if we just appreciated them a little more.”

            The president sat down in a chair, gasping for breath.  “No, no, it’s all wrong!  I won’t have that in my country!  I won’t have it!  You guys are out of your mind!”

            “No, President Rocket,” an official said.  “You’re the one who is having problems.  You don’t trust us anymore.  You don’t trust anybody.”

            “Exactly,” growled President Rocket.  “I have lived a long time.  I have learned that trusting people often gets you into big trouble!”

            “That’s another thing,” the official said.  They were all growing bolder now, and standing up against their ruler.  “You’ve ruled this country for over one hundred years, always with the same policies and rules.  Maybe it is time for you to retire.”

            President Rocket growled at the man.  “Retire?  I’ll never retire.  I’m ruler for eternity!  You hear that?  I will rule forever, and nothing can ever stop me!”

            The officials tried to calm President Rocket, but he was angry.  He left the conference room and called an important assembly in front of the Justice Center, in which he could gather his loyal subjects.  Millions of citizens flocked in front of the government building to hear their leader speak.

            “My people,” said President Rocket.  “I am at your mercy.  I am merely your servant.  However, some others do not believe I am treating you fairly.  Which is why I want to ask you, would you like a different form of government?  Would you like a country where you worked for yourselves, and I was nothing more than a distant supervisor?  Or would you like me to be helping you, right alongside you, assisting you with everything you do, and explaining the correct way when you do something wrong?  What would you like?”

            The people all shouted that they wanted a government in which the president helped them out.  President Rocket smiled, feeling he had proven to his officials that he had been right.  “Thank you, thank you, my loyal people.  Now, you may go back to your important daily lives.  I, myself, have much work to do that will of course result in your safety…”

            President Rocket trailed off as a piece of garbage landed just to the right of his podium.  He was silent for a moment, and then asked, “What is this?  Who dares to throw garbage at their magnificent leader?  Show yourself, traitor!”  The people looked around in astonishment, but nobody moved or said a word.  Rocket snarled angrily and picked up the can.  He held it out for one of the soldiers.  “Here, take this to the Justice Center and get some fingerprints-…”

            President Rocket froze when he caught the label on the side of the can.  ‘Pete’s Scrumptious Canned Ham.  Zelkom Meatpacking Plant.  Sealed March 13, 1895.’  He let out a low moan, his mind and heart racing.  It had been a long time since he had tasted Pete’s Scrumptious Canned Ham.  In fact, he had last had some over one hundred years ago.  Suddenly, however, the sour taste was right on his tongue.  He began to feel afraid.

            One citizen suddenly glanced up and pointed.  “Look!  In the sky!”

            Everyone looked up to see a large airship plowing through the black clouds above them.  Speakers suddenly blared on the ship, and a voice sounded from above.  “Yes, we’ve captured the stupid brutes.  One is young, and will be good for the commercial.  Go on, bring out the President.”  The next voice was harsh and ugly.  It was the voice of President Rocket.

            “All right.  Let’s get this over with, and then get out of this awful place.  Set up the camera.  I can’t believe I have to be out here to interview a bunch of stinking natives.”  President Rocket let out a gasp.  The citizens below, staring right at him, began to glance at each other, uncomfortably.

            “It is a lie!” shouted President Rocket.  “It is a trick!  A computer’s trick, to try and incite another rebellion!  Do not listen!  Obey me!”  President Rocket’s outburst had no effect on the crowd.  In fact, it even helped them to identify the two voices as one and the same, as the airship’s speakers continued.

            “Greetings, citizens of Mechstadt.  Greetings, and welcome to the wild, dangerous seas of north Tropicana.  We are just within the shore of the untamed continent, and we find ourselves with four natives, who appear to be very emaciated and weak.  As proof of our good intentions toward these people, I shall personally see that they are rescued.  Hello, little native boy.  Please, little one.  You appear so hungry.  Please accept this healthy, carbon/potassium bar.”  There was a pause, and then the sound of someone spitting and coughing.

            “Don’t worry, we can edit that out later,” the president’s voice said.  “Ungrateful idiot!  He should get used to this food.  Soon it will be the only thing left.  Now, for the stupid old fool.”  There was the sound of President Rocket clearing his throat.  “Observe this poor, elderly man.  Probably driven out of his homeland by wild beasts and younger, more savage native men.  How are you, old one?”

            The citizens of Mechstadt looked around at each other, amazed at the twisted version of their leader that they were hearing.  They were hearing parts of the commercial they had seen on TV, but now they were hearing more cruel bits that had been cut out.  They never imagined their president could be so unkind.  “Please, take this water, for I am sure you could use it, being without fresh water here on the high seas.  Ah, look how he enjoys it.  Yes, yes, we’re all friends, Tropicana and Mechstadt.  Separated all those thousands of years ago on the land bridge, we are now reuniting through the use of technology.  Our trade posts have allowed us to make contact with our old cousins, and we help them out in their times of need, no matter how savage and immoral they are.”

            This was where the commercial shown in Mechstadt had ended.  But the soundtrack continued.   “Bring that poor native over here, men.  He looks even more starved than the others.  That must be why he is having trouble standing.”  There was a pause, and then, “He’s just been beaten, right?  If you guys have shot him, better leave him over there.”

            There was another long pause, and then President Rocket said, “Poor sailor.  We might even have to take him to the infirmary below the ship.  We will make him well again at any cost, don’t worry.  I would gladly do anything to help these natives.  Lift your head, friend, and have a bite of this delectable Mechstadt snack!”

            Joe’s voice was heard, angry and tired.  “Delectable Mechstadt snack?  I lived there for twenty five years, and I happen to know that there is no such thing!”

             “Joe Carson!” President Rocket gasped.

“That’s right,” Joe growled.  “Who are you?”  The Mechstadt people looked around in horror.  They had been told that Travis Geoff’s accomplice in the rebellion, Joe Carson, had been killed.

President Rocket was heard, babbling hysterically.  “How could he still be alive?  How can he still be here?  Why is he still here?  Why won’t he die?”

After this, there was the sound of roars, screams, and gunshots.  This had been the time where Eskar began battling the guards.  Gurl’s roar was heard as he launched himself into action.  After that, there was the sound of Joe and the natives speaking in the Tropicana tongue, followed by Gurl’s continuing roars, which ended with a series of gunshots.  Then there was the sound of splashing water, and finally, the squeals of dolphins combined with the cheers of Joe and the natives.

President Rocket looked around at the people.  “Who are you going to listen to?  Me, your leader, or some madman hijacking an airship?”

In the airship, Joe grabbed a microphone and shouted into it.  “People of Mechstadt!  The government is still hiding the truth from you!  President Rocket is in on it!  He does not care for you!  He only wants total control of you!  You just heard this on the speakers!  Everything he says is a lie!”

President Rocket looked around, and saw the angry faces on the people.  He swallowed.

“That’s right,” said Joe Carson, high in the airship.  “I’ve just found you out!  I’ve discovered the conspiracy, President Rocket!  Or should I say, President Geoff?  Or maybe you like to go by President Reason?  Or Prime Minister Bergstrom?  Or even Ezekiel Mechstadt?  You were all of them, weren’t you, Mr. President?  You have kept control of this country for a very long time.  However, now it’s time for you to let go!  Your reign is over!  Prepare for a rebellion!”

  President Rocket’s mind was racing, remembering all the revolts he had lived through.  He did not want to face another one.  As fast as he could, he turned and hurried away from the podium.  The soldiers hurried after him, firing into the air as the crowd roared and surged forward, angry for answers.

President Rocket hurried through the gates of the Justice Center with the soldiers right behind him.  He shook his head angrily, and then looked up at the airship.  “Blow that thing up with rockets!”

In the airships, Joe and Zamia looked down at the roaring, rebelling people.  “It is done,” Joe said, breathing a sigh of relief.  He smiled.  “Our job is over.  We’ve done all we came to do to get rid of Mechstadt.”

Zamia was in awe, looking down at the country of technology.  He had never seen anything like this.  Concrete, wires, engines, factories, smoke, computers… everything unnatural about the world, crammed into this small place.  And somehow, there were people living here, too.  Zamia was continually coughing in the pollution, even though he had Joe’s breathalyzer.  His eyes watered from the chemicals.  He could not imagine how people lived in this place.  Why would anyone want to stay around an atmosphere like this?

“Now, we leave?” asked Zamia, trembling.  The air was very cold, and both Zamia and Joe had wrapped trader’s uniforms over their regular clothing.

“If we can,” Joe said, turning the airship around, and heading for the barrier of the city.  “Let’s hope we can make it before…”

Alarms blared all over the city.  There was a low thumping sound, followed by a high whistling.

“Oh, no,” Joe said.  He rushed over and peered over the side of the airship.  A rocket had just twirled out of the roof of the Justice Center, and was shooting at them.  “Rocket!” he shouted.  Joe ran across the airship and began heaving the crates of fish out into space.

Zamia stared in horror at the rocket shooting toward them.  “That will destroy us!” he gasped.  At the last second, the rocket veered off and detonated against a crate of fish.  The airship rocked, but continued flying.

Joe continued throwing the crates of fish out into the air, knowing that another rocket would be soon in coming.

There was another thump, and the second rocket came shooting up at them.  Joe shouted and kept throwing the crates out.  He noticed that the first rocket’s explosion had thrown the airship off course.  If they continued in this odd direction, there would be time for a third rocket to come after them.

“Zamia!” shouted Joe.  “Take the wheel!  Steer the ship!”  Zamia lurched across the ship and took control of the airship.  He had watched Joe steer, and now he tried to get it back on course, toward the edge of the country.  The second rocket exploded on a crate of fish, and the airship trembled with the impact.  Mutilated dead fish rained down on the streets, and the smell of meat lured many of the rats out of the sewers.  Joe looked down at the chaos below him, people and rats racing through the streets, screaming inarticulately.

“Over the wall!” shouted Joe.  “Just steer over the wall!  Keep going!”

The airship was nearly to the wall now.  Joe kept throwing the crates of fish out, just so that the ship would be lighter and travel faster.  “We’re going to make it!  We’re going to make it!” Joe laughed.  He guessed that President Rocket must have been too busy with the revolt in Mechstadt to worry about the escaping airship.

Then a third rocket trailed up out of the Justice Center, missing the crates of fish.  “Hold on!” Joe shouted, leaping to the ground.  The rocket just clipped the back of the airship, and there was a massive explosion.  The airship began to fall to the ground as it lost air.  Both Joe and Zamia were severely shaken inside as they plummeted through the sky.

“Hang on!” Joe shouted.  The airship exploded against the roof of a building, and the roof caved down on the two.  Flames were everywhere, and explosions shook the ship every few seconds.

“Ugh,” Zamia groaned, removing himself from a pile of dead fish.  “We didn’t make it.”

Joe and Zamia clawed their way out of the destroyed airship and limped through the flaming wreckage.  They were sitting on one of the last buildings next to the barrier wall.  A little faster, and they would have made it out of Mechstadt.  However, now they were trapped, and it was only a matter of time before President Rocket’s soldiers came to look for them.

“Zamia, follow me!” shouted Joe, hurrying to a door.  They raced down concrete steps, heading into the building, and passed several men who were just about to come onto the roof to see what was going on.

Joe was trying to come up with a plan.  He and Zamia could not stay in Mechstadt.  The place was about to become engaged in a horrible civil war, which would hopefully destroy the entire country.  President Rocket’s soldiers would be looking for Joe, to put an end to his sparking of rebellions once and for all.

They ran down several staircases.  Zamia was looking around at his surroundings in horror.  He did not like the feeling of being closed in by all four walls.  He had never been in such a building in Tropicana.  Sure, he had gone into huts sometimes, when it was raining.  But these walls closed out the very air and light, not at all like the huts.  He felt as if he would never be able to break out of this place.

Even more terrifying was when he and Joe climbed into an elevator.  Zamia gasped as the doors closed, and then the floor shook a little.  Moments later, the doors opened again, and Zamia goggled out at a completely different hallway near the ground floor.  “What magic is this?” he gasped.

            “Follow me!” Joe cried again.  “We should be in east Mechstadt.  I know where there’s an airship station nearby!  We can still get out of here!”

            Distressed citizens didn’t even notice them as they raced down the sidewalk, shoving people out of their way.  Everybody was doing the same, running wildly in all directions, as the entire country was losing control. 

Zamia could not understand how the cars could move at such high speeds.  It was just not safe for anything nonliving, with no brain of its own, to move at speeds that could crush another human being.  Joe dragged him along through the city, and finally, the airship station came into view ahead of them.  It was a gigantic raised platform, suspended by iron struts above the street between two buildings.  A single airship waited, its engine idling, while the pilots and the ticket vendors raced away from the station and inside a building.  It looked as if they had just heard the news of the rebellion, and were heading off to find someone else who would confirm the rumor.

            “There,” Joe said, smiling.  “Almost there.  We’re going to make it after all!”

            A black hover car suddenly bounced up onto the sidewalk and stopped in front of them.  Four men in black climbed out of the car, carrying tasers and handguns.  They began to move forward.  Joe and Zamia skidded to a stop.  Joe’s jaw dropped.  He remembered his fight on the roof of the tram with Ivan Federico.  One member of the secret police had almost killed him.  Now, four secret police stood before him and the airship, and Joe’s odds did not look good.

            “What is it?” asked Zamia, staring at the men.

            “Shadow City law enforcers,” Joe said, swallowing nervously.  “They obey their leader.  They are evil.  And they are good fighters.  I… I don’t know if we can get through them.”  Joe looked around, and then pushed open a door in the building next to them.  “Come on!  Inside!” Joe shouted, pushing Zamia into the building.  The secret police began to run faster, heaving people out of their way.

            Joe saw that they had just entered a crowded restaurant.  A waiter walked over to them.  “Not today,” he said, shaking his head.  “This entire block seems to be going insane.  Looks like there’s another rebellion.  We’ve got to close up.”

            “We don’t want to eat,” Joe said, breathing heavily.  “Just tell me where your back door is.”  The waiter stared at them for a moment, and then glanced back through the empty tables, where a number of waiters and cooks waited, ready to drive away anybody who tried to loot the establishment.  Joe shoved the man out of the way, and he and Zamia raced through the restaurant through the rear door.

            The secret police kicked their way into the restaurant lobby.  One raised his weapon at Joe.  “Carson!  Freeze!” the man shouted, and pulled the trigger.

            The bullet just missed Joe, blasting into the wall.  Immediately, all staff in the restaurant dove to the floor in a panic.  Joe and Zamia tripped over yelling people and fell to the ground.  Joe pulled a table down next to them to shield them from any more bullets.  Meanwhile, the secret police were leading the staff out of the restaurant, clearing the room for a shootout.

            “What do we do?” asked Zamia.  Joe looked at the back door of the restaurant, just beckoning them to abandon hope and rush blindly to escape.  He gulped and then covered his head as bullets began to strike the table, chipping away the plastic material.

            “Joe Carson, come out with your hands up!” a secret police officer shouted when the bullets ceased for a second.  “Come out now!  You are under arrest!”

            Joe didn’t see any way out.  If he surrendered to the secret police, he would definitely be killed, trapped in Mechstadt.  If he went for the door, he would definitely be shot in the back.  Either that, or Zamia would be shot, and Joe did not want that to happen.  He leaned back against the table, still thinking.

            It was Zamia who came up with a plan.  “Joe!  Eskar’s stone!” the native said, his eyes wide.

            “You can’t fight guns with a rock,” said Joe, shaking his head.

            “No,” Zamia said, shaking his head.  “The stone.  It looks like a weapon of the Shadow City.  It looks like the device that the traders used!”

            Joe finally understood, and dug Eskar’s stone out of his pocket.  He flipped it up over his head, and heard it strike the ground in front of the four secret police.

            “Pulse grenade!” one screamed.  “Everybody down!”  Joe heard the four men crashing to the ground.  Weapons clattered away as they clapped their hands over their ears, desperate to block out the deadly reverberations that they believed were coming.

            Joe pulled Zamia to his feet and hurried him toward the back door.  “Come on!  Let’s get out of here!” he said.  “Out the door!”

            The door was locked, but Joe blasted it open with his foot.  He stepped aside so that Zamia could get out, and looked back into the restaurant.  To his horror, he saw one of the secret police aiming a handgun after them.

            “Get down!” Joe shouted, trying to push Zamia out of the way.  He was too late.  The bullet struck Zamia in the back of his shoulder, and the native moaned and sank to the ground as pain spread through his body.  Joe pulled his friend out the door and into the alley, laying him down on a stack of folded up cardboard boxes.

            Inside the restaurant, he heard the man in black who had fired say something.  “Hey, all right.  I got that stupid native that’s helping Carson out!”

            The blood boiled in Joe’s vein.  He would not stand to have his friend injured and talked about in that manner.  In a rage, he whirled around and stormed back into the restaurant.  The secret police were very surprised.  They were in the process of hurrying to the back door, reloading their weapons.  When Joe appeared in front of them, they dropped their weapons and switched to close-combat gear as fast as they could; knives, tasers, and clubs appeared in the men’s hands.

            Joe remembered a time when he had scarcely been able to handle one member of the secret police.  At first, they had seemed much more powerful and better trained than Joe.  But his ventures through Tropicana had made him a lot stronger, and now he was very, very angry.

            He hit the first man in black under the chin with the palm of his hand, knocking his head back and nearly placing his bottom lip over his nose.  The man’s taser went skidding over the floor.  The man was lifted off the ground, and almost hit the ceiling.  Joe punched the next man right between the eyes, knocking him back onto a table.

            The third secret police member slashed at Joe with a knife, cutting into his sleeve.  Joe dodged around the next knife swing and punched the man hard in the gut.  The man doubled over, bringing his face to waist level, and Joe hit him so hard with a spinning kick that blood and teeth spattered out over the floor.

            The fourth man took careful aim and struck Joe right on the forehead with his club.  Joe staggered back slightly, but recovered quickly, and turned back to the man.  He caught the club’s next swing with his left hand, twisted it out of the man’s grasp, and then smashed the club over the man’s face.  The man slumped to the ground, and Joe heaved the club down at him and kicked him in the chest.

            His revenge sated, Joe hurried back into the alley.  Zamia was alive, but the wound obviously hurt a lot.  Joe knelt down and lifted up his friend.  Moving as fast as he could, he jogged out of the alley and hurried up the steps to the airship platform.

            One pilot shouted at him from the sidewalk, but Joe ignored him.  He broke a window on the airship’s undercarriage, and stuck his hand through the broken glass to unlock the door.  Once inside, Joe placed Zamia in the copilot’s seat, and then maneuvered the ship up into the air.

            The airship rose shakily between the skyscrapers, coming dangerously close to scraping the surrounding concrete and steel.  But then, finally, the airship rose out of the buildings of Mechstadt, and into the foul black smoke over the country.  Joe looked down for the last time at his native country before the smoke obscured his vision.  Multiple traffic jams had started because of the large number of people rushing through the streets.  Joe guessed another rebellion had taken over the city.  He heard the sound of gunshots, and guessed the soldiers and the secret police were trying to take control once again.

            Their efforts would be in vain.  Somehow, Joe knew that this rebellion would be the one that ultimately removed the government from power.  Breathing a sigh of relief, he set the airship on a course toward Tropicana and found a first-aid kit in a wall panel to take care of Zamia.

THE FINAL SOLUTION

            The rebellion spread through Mechstadt like wildfire.  Soon, everyone had taken to the streets once again, and were screaming for the government to tell them the truth.  Soldiers tried to stop the rebellions, but they did not succeed.  Before too long, a massive crowd of millions of citizens was streaming toward the Justice Center.

            President Rocket hurried into his conference room, where his advisors and officials sat, talking in low voices of what to do.

            “Quick!” Rocket shouted.  “The people need a new leader!  President Rocket is obsolete!  I need to be made into somebody else!”

            Everyone exchanged worried glances.  “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. President,” said one official, finally.  “But we have decided that we shall not do that anymore.  I think it is time for Mechstadt to be placed under a different rule.  We need a new form of government.”

            President Rocket stared at them.  “What are you saying?  Are you refusing to obey me?  I said I want a new body!  The people are mad enough to burn down all of Mechstadt!  The only way to keep the country together is to get a new leader!”

            “Exactly,” said an official.  “A new leader.  Not the same leader who has ruled over them since the founding of the country.  A new leader.  Not you.”

            President Rocket was horrified.  Everyone was revolting upon him.  The people of Mechstadt, and now even his own officials.  He was left helpless.  Nobody would listen to him anymore.

            Another idea suddenly occurred to him.  He did not especially like the idea, but it was the only thing that made sense now.  If he couldn’t be in charge of Mechstadt, than nobody could.  President Rocket turned and hurried down the hall, to his office.  He made a quick series of calculations on his computer, and then rushed down to the secret chamber he had made below the Justice Center.

            An advisor saw him.  “President Rocket, what are you doing?  Come back, please.  There is nowhere you can go.  Don’t worry.  We will find you a good job as a government official until you pass away, peacefully.  But we can no longer keep transferring you to a new body every time…”

            President Rocket slammed the door and locked it.  He hurried down a long line of stairs, punching in a combination on a keypad at a steel door.  The door opened, and President Rocket passed through a long tunnel of steel and concrete.  At last, he entered his protected shelter.  Laughing slightly, he climbed into a pressurized deep-freeze tube and flicked it on.  A door closed over him, and the air began to get colder.

            President Rocket smiled as his skin began to turn blue.  “Ha.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’ll always be the leader.  We’ll see who has the last laugh!  Ha ha!”

            “He went into his bomb shelter?  Are you sure?  What is he going to do, wait until the rebellion is over?”  The officials searched the Justice Center, finally believing the advisor when they found the bomb shelter locked up tight.

            “What was he doing?” asked another official.  “I thought he went into his office.”  They walked down the hall to the president’s office, finding something on his computer screen.  It was a numbered clock, running backwards.  There were fifteen seconds on the clock.

            The officials stared at it, trying to decipher it.  Then one said, “Uh-oh.  You don’t think he…”

            Another official gulped and covered his face with his hands.  The government had made the ultimate mistake, placing the control of the most dangerous weapon in the world in the hands of the most unqualified, most untrustworthy person in the country.  “Yep.  Looks like he did.  We should have been more careful, especially with something as dangerous as the satellite.  Aw, President Rocket, why did you-…”

            There was only one second left.  As the official closed his eyes and waited for the end, he glanced out the window at the cloud of black smoke hanging over the city.  At last, he finally made the realization that maybe technology wasn’t all that good for the world.

            The satellite in space whirred to life.  It slid slightly out of orbit.  Instead of positioning itself over Tropicana, it was now over Mechstadt.  A series of lights flashed out of the satellite, moving quickly to completely encircle the country of Mechstadt just outside the cloud of black smoke.

            The photons screamed through space and struck the water.  Instead of gently raising the temperature, the photons cut through the bonds holding the molecules of salt together.  Sodium and chlorine, the atoms that make up sea salt, split apart.  The sodium worked quickly to react with the water.  Just a pinch of sodium could blast apart a beaker of water as the sodium violently gave up electrons to the water to obtain a more stable electron configuration.  Mile-long stretches of sodium atoms could do much worse.

            A bright white light rose up all around the country.  Heat melted the ocean barrier walls and swept through the city.  Buildings, cars, and people were destroyed in the blink of an eye.  Within moments, all of Mechstadt had been completely destroyed.  Worse, the chlorine from the salt rose up into the air in great, green clouds, killing everything in the air and driving out the black clouds of smoke.  The technical city was dead.

THE NATURAL WORLD

            The wave of heat and light sent the stolen airship spinning through the sky.  Joe and Zamia were thrown around inside the interior of the ship, colliding with the walls, floor, and ceiling, until the ship finally plunged underwater twenty miles from what remained of Mechstadt.

            Joe and Zamia swam up out of the sinking airship and exploded to the surface of the water, coughing.  Joe turned in a circle and glanced back at Mechstadt in surprise.  He hadn’t expected this.  Instead of a black cloud and a country of skyscrapers and factories, there was nothing but a small lump of land surrounded by a misty atmosphere of green chlorine.

            “Whoa,” Joe said.  He looked back at Zamia, to make sure that his friend was all right.

            Zamia smiled, despite the pain in his back.  “You were right, Joe.  Proof of the Forgotten World brought an end to those people.  Like you said, the walls of the Shadow City came crashing down.”

            Joe and Zamia stared back at the country for another few seconds, and then began to swim toward Tropicana on broken plastic slats of the ship’s exterior.

            The explosion had alerted natives all over Tropicana.  They came as quickly as they could to the land bridge, and stared in astonishment when they saw that the Shadow City clouds were gone.  The black was instead replaced by green.  The Mechstadt traders were very terrified at what had happened.  Some climbed into trucks and began to drive out across the land bridge to see what had happened.  Others, believing their Creator was punishing them for not engaging in the search for new technology every minute of every day, raced off into the jungle to hide.

            When Joe and Zamia arrived on the shores of Tropicana, they were once again greeted by cheering natives.  They were instantly fed, and experienced native herbalists treated Zamia’s wound.  A feast began out of nowhere, congratulating the heroes and celebrating the destruction of the Shadow City.  Food was continually being brought in for them to eat.  Roots, berries, fish, insects, crabs, and other Tropicana delicacies were heaped in the sand for the natives.  Krag, Eskar, and the other elders arrived by canoe, knowing that Joe and Zamia had vanquished the Shadow City.

            The wild party went on until the middle of the night, when the natives finally began to tire.  There was new hope for the natives and the environment of Tropicana.  Their fears of the Shadow City traders gone, some of the natives were already planning on how to get rid of the trading posts lining the west shores.  The traders would either be killed for their brutality, or allowed to assimilate into Tropicana civilization if they were to give up plans of technology and trash.

            Krag clapped Joe on the back as he and the other natives settled down into the dunes to sleep.  “Well done, Joe.  You have done a great thing for the land of Tropicana.  No longer will we have to fear our lands being changed by the people of the Shadow City.  Thank you so much for all you have done.”

            “You’re welcome, Krag,” Joe said, smiling.  “I’m just glad I could do something to help.  After so many years of living in the Shadow City and going along with what they did, causing pollution, spreading the country’s borders, strengthening their hold, I’m happy I could make a difference for the better.”

            Joe lay back in the dunes to sleep, feeling the warm ocean breeze on his face.  As he sank deeper into the comfortable sand, he felt himself remembering one of the last verses from the Record.

            …And those who live as a loyal, hardworking citizen of the industrial nation of Mechstadt, under the clouds of hope, obeying the rules set forth by their leader, shall find themselves permitted into heaven, where they shall spend eternity by their beloved Creator…

            Joe saw some truth in that.  He had spent a very hard life in Mechstadt, living dangerously under the stinking, black clouds and under the watchful eye of the prying, corrupt government.  He was the only one in the country who had fought against the system, and he had earned his way into his heaven, the place where he was now sitting.  His paradise was the natural world of Tropicana, in which anybody could live the perfect, most healthy life, not as a needy human being, but as just another living creature in tune with the environment.

MONEY CAN’T BUY EVERYTHING

            For centuries, nothing stirred on Mechstadt.  It had been reduced to half its normal size, and was completely bare of any topsoil.  No plants, lichen, or even bacteria could survive on the continent.

            At last, the chlorine gas disappeared.  Another three years passed.  And then something stirred beneath the surface of the continent.  An enormous lithium battery ran out of power, and a pressurized, deep-freeze chamber opened up.

            President Rocket woke up groggily, but otherwise feeling as if not a day had gone by.  He quickly gathered up what he had brought in the shelter with him; a suitcase full of five billion dollars, which would help him start a new life.  He opened up the bomb shelter, climbed up a flight of stairs, and broke out into the open air.

            President Rocket looked around, noting that the Justice Center, which appeared to have been there only minutes before, was gone.  In fact, nothing remained of Mechstadt.  The people and the country had been completely erased.

            President Rocket didn’t mind.  With no people, there would be no more riots.  There would be no more rebellions or dangers or government work.  President Rocket looked around, realizing that he would have to start over completely.  Laughing to himself, he turned and began to walk across Mechstadt.

            He walked off Mechstadt and started across the land bridge.  The sun’s rays pounded down on him, and his bag of five billion dollars began to feel heavy in his hand.  He stopped to rest often, eventually feeling thirst and hunger for one of the first times in his life.  No more people meant there was nobody around to bring him food.

            It took ten hours, but President Rocket finally left the land bridge.  He stepped onto the sandy beaches of Tropicana, and glanced around for some natives.

            Tropicana had changed.  There was no evidence of the trading posts that had once lined the coast here.  Instead, the beach was covered with cactuses.  President Rocket had no idea how the cactuses had gotten there.  He walked forward, toward the jungle, and let out a call.  “Hello?  Is there anyone in there?”

            A tall native emerged from the undergrowth and walked forward, unafraid.  President Rocket smiled.  “Hello there, young man.  Do you understand what I am saying?”

            The native grinned, and said something in his own language.  President Rocket frowned.  “Oh, that won’t do.  Please hurry and adjust to my language.  I am very hungry, and require food.”  He rubbed his stomach and pointed to his mouth to try and show the native what he wanted.

            The native only smiled, and pointed all around him, from the jungle to the beach.  “No, no,” said President Rocket.  “Food is what I want.  Not jungles or saltwater.  Food.  I will pay you.  I will pay you a great deal.”  He opened up his briefcase and pulled out some money.  “Here, ten dollars for something to eat.  What do you say?”

            Once again, the native pointed in a circle, motioning back to the forest, to the ocean, and up and down the coastline.  President Rocket was growing hungrier and hungrier.  He knew that he would need food soon, and decided to up his offer.  “Fifty dollars,” he said.  “Please, hurry.  Whatever you have.”

            The native laughed.  Then he turned and ran off into the forest.  President Rocket waited for a while, hoping the native would return.  The native did return, holding something in his hand.

            “All right,” said President Rocket, licking his lips and stepping forward.  “What have you got?  Chocolate?  Crackers?  Dry cereal?”

            The native opened his hands, and President Rocket looked down at a squirming green grasshopper.  “What the heck?  Food!  I asked for food, you idiot!  Not for bugs!”

            The native was taken back.  He thought for a long time, then gulped down the grasshopper and walked away.  President Rocket was left standing, still hungry.

            After a while, he decided he was too hungry to wait for anyone else to help him out.  He walked into the jungle and looked around for something to eat.  He spotted some mangoes in one of the first trees, but could not reach them.  After thinking for a bit, he tried to climb up the trunk of the tree.  It took the old man several times, but he eventually made it.

            Once in the branches, President Rocket threw down as many mangoes as he could reach, knowing that he would probably need a lot of food.  As he was climbing down, he heard a low snorting sound below him, and looked down to see two wild boars feasting on the mangoes.

            “Hey!” President Rocket shouted.  “Those are mine!  Go away!  Go away!”  The pigs continued eating.  When the last mango was eaten, they wandered away into the bushes.

            Still hungry, for the president had not thought to eat any of the juicy mangoes sitting in the tree, President Rocket climbed down.  He walked to the next tree, his stomach growling painfully.

            In the next tree, he found lots of oranges.  He reached up and picked one off the lower branches.  President Rocket hurriedly tore into the fruit, and ate six more in rapid succession.  After that, he was almost too full and sick to move, and staggered back to the beaches.

            He sank to the sand, groaning with pain.  His stomach, unfortunately adapted only to processed carbon/potassium, could not cope with the sudden diversity of compounds in the food.  President Rocket moaned in agony as he lay down on the beach.

            “Aw, man!  Anyone out there?  Can anyone here me?  I need help!  My stomach hurts so bad!  Aw, man!  Please, anybody who helps me out, they’ll get a million dollars!  A million dollars for just a little assistance!  Please, somebody!”  President Rocket looked around, but nobody came.  “Two million dollars?  Three million?”

            President Rocket was suddenly very sad.  He had lived as the leader of Mechstadt for over hundred years, and he had developed the most powerful, industrial nation in the world.  But now, he had nothing to show for it.  Mechstadt was gone.  All he had was the billions of dollars he had brought with him in the freezing chamber, and those were not worth anything here in Tropicana.

            There was only one thing keeping President Rocket sane.  He had beaten his enemy, Joe Carson.  Carson had most likely died in the explosion that destroyed Mechstadt.  President Rocket had lasted longer than his enemy, despite everything Carson had done to destroy him.

            “Ha!” President Rocket growled, slapping the sand.  “That’s one thing I’ve accomplished!  A full and meaningful life, in which I conquered all my challenges and destroyed all my enemies!  Nobody has ever been better than me!  Nobody has ever defeated me!”

            Laughing to himself, and feeling a little better, President Rocket rolled over to rest.  He found himself face to face with a dead log, which didn’t really surprise him.  However, what was on the log caused severe anguish within the president.

            “No!” howled President Rocket, leaping to his feet.  “No!  It’s not fair!  It’s not fair!  No!”  Roaring with rage, President Rocket raced down to the ocean, clawing at his face and tearing out his hair.  Screaming, he threw himself into the waters, wanting nothing more than to give up his life.

            He got his wish.  As he once had said, when asked about the pollution problem,  “Try to divert the flow of some of those toxic chemicals.  Put them in the ocean instead of the sewer.  Make big fish, not big rats.  Big fish aren’t a problem for anyone, right?”

            It turned out he was wrong.  Enormous fish, their scaly bodies enhanced by one of the last reserves of Mechstadt chemicals swirling around in the ocean, swam up and dragged President Rocket to the bottom.  Sharp, mutated fangs made short work of the President’s flesh, and specks of blood and gnawed-on bones washed up on the shore.  It turned out that big fish did turn out to be a problem.  President Rocket was finally dead.

            The reason for his madness lay just up on the shore.  Someone had etched on the dead log a long time ago with a stone, forming the words “Joe Carson was here.”

            President Rocket had not won after all.  All his work on Mechstadt had meant nothing.  In the end, Joe Carson made it out alive to Tropicana, and had ended up with a pleasant, meaningful life, which was all President Rocket had ever wanted.  Unfortunately, his taste for power had forced him to skip from one body to another, so that he was never able to just settle down and relax and enjoy his accomplishments.  Despite Rocket’s prolonged life, he hadn’t been able to achieve more than his enemy.  Carson had lived out a much better life with the natives in Tropicana.

It was just a small shred of information, but it confirmed what President Rocket had dreaded learning.  Before running into the sea, he had finally realized the awful truth. 

Nature was far better for humans than technology was.

*The story you have just read is completely fictional.  However, there is an empire in the current world that is based solely on technology.  And, once upon a time, there was a world based on nature.

Gorilla Warfare Deleted Scene

Stem looked angrily over Arroyo Grande as he started the long flight back to Africa for the secret weapon. From his vantage point, he spotted a known enemy, Dean Parnell, leaving his house and heading for the school. Not able to resist, Stem landed the helicopter nearby, hiding it with the use of a complicated koala camouflage secret, and snuck into the Parnell home.

He maneuvered silently through the dark home, at last finding what could only be Dean's room. Metallica posters covered every inch of the walls and the window. Burned CDs and barbecued floppies lay strewn on a table. Children of Bodom action figures littered the floor.  Stem liked the lime green floor tiles.  They reminded him of the color of eucalpytus leaves from his home.  After he cut the soles of his feet for the third time, he realized it wasn't tile- the floor was covered with a layer of crushed flat Mountain Dew cans.

Stem picked his way carefully through the mess, searching for some clue that would hint at the weakness of his enemies. He was disappointed when he saw nothing useful. Suddenly, his gaze fell on the computer, which had been left on. The screen showed a strange web page.

Stem rethought his plans. If he couldn't find a weakness, he would instead do his best to strike fear into the hearts of his opponents. Sitting down at the computer, he began to type furiously.

Foolish mortals! he wrote.  Utterly blind to your fate!  Picking your way through pointless lives, unaware of how futile your efforts to survive shall be!  You are totally unprepared for the great end to your civilization!  When society is finally destroyed, I shall be the only one left standing!  Shattered lives, piles of rubble... you will see at last the time you have wasted becoming distressed over such trivial matters, for the pain and damage I shall wreak upon you will make all else seem like child's play!  Optimists should celebrate now, for your end draws near, trust me!

Stem submitted the entry and left the computer, feeling satisfied.  Surely that should cause the ones that had killed his brother to quake in fear.  If not, it should at least do some good in making the humans easier for his ape henchmen to deal with while he's away.  Laughing to himself, Stem slipped out the window.

Several minutes later, a comment appeared on the computer screen under Stem's entry.  It read:

lol!  so true, dean! &:>) LMAO i like ur reference to the book of revelations !

Posted 8/15/2005 at 7:34 AM by Frodoholic - delete - block user

Still chuckling with growing intensity, Stem snuck back into the helicopter and took off into the morning sky.  The students of AGHS were doomed, especially when the evil koala returned with his secret weapon!

Here is a very short new installment to Gorilla Warfare.

Stem was shocked upon hearing of the apparent army his enemy had raised.  “What?  Hundreds?  Oh, this is bad.  We cannot take hundreds of warriors.”

“What do we do?” Silverback cried, shivering uncontrollably.  “What do we do?”

“Get a grip, soldier!” Stem cried, slapping the gorilla repeatedly about the face.  “Keep calm.  I have a plan.  I’ll take the helicopter back to Africa and bring back… well, you’ll see.  Meanwhile, Zany, I have a job for you!”

Zany gulped.  “Okay.”

“Don’t be so nervous,” Stem said, smiling reassuringly.  “Your job will involve no fighting at all!  In fact, I believe it will be incredibly easy!”

Zany beamed.  “Really?”

The next morning found Zany cold and shivering, lying nearly unconscious on the roof of Jehan Mirzaei’s house.  Zany rubbed his hands together to keep warm, and checked a watch that Stem had given to him.  The sun was just beginning to come up over the horizon.  It was time.

Zany crawled slowly off the roof and dangled in front of Jehan’s bedroom window, his feet clinging to the gutter.  Zany took a deep breath and drew a diamond glass cutter from his supply kit.  Moving with the utmost precision, he cut a circle in the window, and used the suction cup fingers of a long-dead gecko to pull the piece of glass out of the window.  Zany moved as slowly as possible.  This was a very delicate operation, that required all of his concentration.

A rooster crowed noisily nearby, and Zany lost all concentration.  His toes released their grip on the gutter, his face struck the window and shattered it, and the chimpanzee crashed into the bedroom and landed hard on a desk.  Zany took a propped up chemistry book in the groin and the glass cutter went up his nostril.  For several moments, the chimp romped through the room, groaning and cursing.  When the worst of the pain had subsided, he turned his attention back to his task.

Jehan was still snoring peacefully in his bed, oblivious to the ape that had smashed through his window.  Zany drew a hypodermic needle of tranquilizer from his kit, moved up to Jehan, and pulled his arm out from under the bedcovers.  He poked the needle into Jehan’s forearm, delivered the tranquilizer, and grinned.

The first part of his mission, the part he believed would be the hardest, was accomplished.  Zany laughed evilly at the ceiling.

Jehan’s mother was putting a bagel in the toaster when Zany walked into the kitchen.  The chimpanzee was dressed in Jehan’s clothing and had a backwards baseball cap on his head.  “Hey… wassup,” the monkey said, timidly.

Jehan’s mom glanced strangely at the ape.  “Acknowledging me for the first time?  What’s the occasion?  You need money?  You need me to make some food for some of your friends coming over?  You know, that Sean doesn’t even eat any of it!”

Zany stared, wide-eyed, hoping he fit the character he was trying to play.  He tried to remember everything he knew about the typical American family, and moved toward the refrigerator.  “I feel in the mood for bacon and eggs this morning,” Zany said.  “Sunny side up.  And coffee with cream.”

“Well, you can make it yourself!” Jehan’s mom said, leaving the room.

Zany gazed around the foreign kitchen.  “Very well.”  He opened up the fridge and searched, trying to use his limited knowledge of English writing to find something to eat.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee,” Zany said, searching the shelves.  He picked up a plastic container and read its outside.  “Cream.  Hmm, this has cream in it, maybe this is coffee.”  Zany opened up the container and found a spoon.

Before he could commence ingesting cream cheese, a strange creature entered.  It was wrapped in blankets, and shuffling over the cold tile in black slippers.  A face set in a scowl protruded from the blankets.  Although the eyes appeared closed, the person navigated across the kitchen, took a box of Cholesterol’Os from the cabinet, and headed for the TV.

Zany shook his head in astonishment.  “Where am I?” he gasped.

Zany reached the school, where he hoped he would find things a little more normal.  He took a radio out of his backpack and spoke in muffled tones.  “Zany here.  Mr. Mirzaei is out of the way.  I have infiltrated the school, and am awaiting further orders.”

“Good work, soldier,” Stem replied.  “Your orders are to infiltrate the Langwell Club and discover a point of weakness.  That is all.”

“Right,” Zany said.

“Jehan!” a girl’s voice called out behind him.  Zany froze, afraid to turn around.

Stem heard the voice over the radio.  “Relax, Zany.  You’re one of them now.  No need to be frightened.  Act naturally, and no harm will come to you.”

“Right,” Zany said.  He turned off the radio, took a deep breath, and turned around, smiling.  “Hi,” he said, waving at the cute girl just behind him.

The girl had been smiling and looking forward to conversation, but something changed when the girl saw Jehan’s face.  Her eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth.  “What?” she snarled.  “How could you?  You jerk!”

“Excuse me?” Zany asked, confused.  “I don’t understand.”

“You jerk!  I can’t believe you?”  Before Zany could react, a punch caught him in the gut, sending him to his knees.  Next, a kick struck him in the temple, drawing blood.  Zany hit the ground, moaning.  Still screeching, the girl rained blows down upon him.

Zany struggled and looked around for help.  He saw a female teacher watching him from the window of a classroom.  “Please, please help me!” Zany cried.

The teacher slowly closed the curtain.  “I saw nothing,” Mrs. Hamblen said, sitting down at her desk.

When the girl had finished with the beating, she started off down the hall, leaving Zany a bruised and battered mess on the sidewalk.  “Jerk,” she growled.  “I can’t believe you cut your hair!”