The Hidden Truth: A Science Fiction Techno-Thriller Read online

  Mom actually was a scientist. She’d studied chemistry and was working on her Ph.D. when she dropped out of school to have Kira and marry Dad. She was a great help when I took chemistry last year, but she expected me to just know all the atomic weights and ionic states and such. All of them. Perfectly. Right away. Trying to learn chemistry from her was an exercise in frustration on both sides.

  Dad, on the other hand, was a patient teacher. One of my earliest memories was sitting in his lap while he read Barenstein Bears books to me. He was a great reader and had an excellent library. His books ranged from technical books to works of history, philosophy, and politics. His answer to many of my questions was to hand me the appropriate book to read, and stand ready to rectify my confusions. When I took an introduction to calculus at the community college the previous autumn, he handed me a beat up copy of Calculus Made Easy by Silvanus Thompson.

  Dad was a great help on my calculus homework. He’d earned a degree in electrical engineering from Georgia Tech, worked for a while, and met my Mom while he was back in school working on a master’s. They were married and returned to Sherman, Tennessee, where he got a job in electrical contracting just before my big sister was born. He didn’t use all the math he studied in school, but he remembered plenty. His work was feast or famine. He’d land a big industrial job and work sixteen hours a day or even more, including a round trip to Johnson City, Knoxville, or as far away as Chattanooga. He usually had enough work to keep a couple other contractors and apprentices busy. Then, he’d have a few months at a slower pace doing mostly residential construction work before the next big job came up. That spring, he’d finished work at a new auto plant and was back to a more sedate pace.

  So when I set out to be a scientist, he handed me a well-worn copy of Matter and Motion by James Clerk Maxwell. “He’s one of the smartest and most successful scientists that ever lived,” Dad explained. “When you read his book you’re learning exactly how a brilliant scientist thinks about the most basic concepts. You’re learning straight from the guy who figured out how electromagnetics works, instead of suffering through the cleaned-up and dumbed-down version you get from your teachers and textbooks.”

  I was surprised how interesting and readable the book was. Dad would answer my questions and help me with some of the math when I got home from school. Debate season was over for me since I hadn’t qualified for Nationals. I had plenty of spare time to study. Some of the math went completely over my head, particularly the section on what Maxwell called “Least Action.” Most of it was merely difficult. I’d grind through, get stuck, Dad would get me going again, and I’d grind some more. I was glad I’d taken calculus already. By the time the school year was almost over, I’d worked my way through Matter and Motion.

  Dad asked, “Have you given a thought to what you want to do this summer?”

  The previous summer I’d tagged along with him doing electrical work as an apprentice. The time wouldn’t count toward becoming a journeyman electrician since I didn’t have a high school diploma, but the experience would be helpful if I wanted to try working as an electrician while I was in school, like Dad did. The money was good too! “Are you busy enough that I can help you out like last summer?”

  “I’m taking some time to help out your Uncle Rob, but it’s nothing you need to help on. I’m also working a small residential job near Knoxville, but it’s strictly part time. I may want you to help here and there if I get in a crunch. Mom and I want to take the family on a weeklong vacation in August. I want to stop in at a trade show in Houston and visit the Huntsville Hamfest on the way back. On the way out, we’ll pick up Kira and visit some of the familiar sights in Nashville and Memphis – just a road trip, nothing elaborate. It may be one of our last opportunities for a family road trip, what with you heading off to college next year and Kira graduating. You’ll need to find something to do with the rest of your summer. I have a proposition for you. You keep up with your studies and take a college-level physics class at the community college – the calculus-based one, so you can apply it to a degree in physics or engineering. Ace the class, and I’ll pay you for the hours. Same rate as last summer.”

  That seemed uncharacteristically generous of Dad. Last summer, he had me logging hours on a timesheet for working in the heat and humidity of construction sites all summer long. Getting paid for studying? He must be feeling prosperous after finishing that auto plant job. “Sounds like a good deal,” I replied, before Dad had a chance to regret his largess. “I also want to do research for next year’s debate topic. Would you let me count that?”

  Dad was always supportive of my debate research. “Reading makes a full man, Meditation a profound man, and Discourse a clear man,” he was fond of quoting.

  “What’s the topic for next year?” Dad asked.

  I knew this was going to be trouble: “Resolved that the U.S. federal government should substantially increase alternative energy incentives in the United States.”

  He glared. “You realize the Gore Tax has done more to destroy the country’s economy than even 9/11. Coal towns up and down Appalachia have been devastated. Taxing carbon was bad enough. But subsidizing uneconomical forms of energy only adds foolishness to folly.”

  Yes, my father was a climate denier.

  President Lieberman got Congress to pass the Preserving our Planet’s Future Act as a monument to the late President Gore. A key part of the plan to decrease greenhouse gas emissions and rein in global warming involved a carbon tax that opponents, like Dad, called the “Gore Tax.” Global temperatures had stopped rising and in fact levelled off in the years since the plan passed. A strong consensus of scientists all agreed that the President’s action had averted global disaster, yet some extremists denied there was a connection between the law and the climate. It was all just a coincidence and natural variation, they claimed. Dad followed climate-denier websites like wattsupwiththat.com where skeptics argued that because carbon dioxide levels had continued to rise while temperatures levelled off, the Gore Tax was ineffective. But any number of climate scientists had models proving just how much worse greenhouse gases and temperatures both would have been without the law. I’d tried discussing the scientific consensus and the importance of saving the planet from climate change with Dad, but he was just too stubborn to listen to me.

  “Of course, I have to be able argue both sides of the topic,” I pointed out. “And I’d appreciate whatever evidence, insights, and arguments you could share.”

  I doubt I fooled him, but he smiled. “I suppose so. But mind you, I’ll expect you to keep filling out your timesheet and account to me for the work you do.”

  I agreed, glad to have averted that potential conflict.

  * * *

  My summer days fell into a routine. I got up, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed on over to Kudzu Joe’s coffeehouse. It was slow in the mornings. The local Masons met there Wednesdays for breakfast, and there were some retired gentlemen who tended to hang out and shoot the breeze. There were a couple of truckers who’d stop in now and then to grumble to each other about how the Gore Tax put them out of business. But most of the customers were lawyers from the Lee County Courthouse across the square, business people with offices nearby, or truckers or working folk who came in, grabbed a cup and left. Joe didn’t mind my nursing a cup of coffee and working at one of the tables. Sometimes, my best friend and debate partner, Amit Patel, would join me if we were working on debate prep. Usually though, I spent the time studying physics. By the time the lunch crowd started in, I headed home for lunch.

  Then I went off to the community college for my physics class, which was held Monday through Thursday. Friday was a study and review session, which I usually skipped. After class, my schedule was less fixed. Sometimes I’d head back to Joe’s. Sometimes I’d head home if Dad were in, and if I thought I’d need his help on the latest homework. Sometimes I’d head over to the Berkshire Inn. It was a national hotel chain, but the Patels owned the local franchise
. They had a small lounge where they served breakfast in the morning, and I could work there with Amit, when he didn’t have to get behind the desk to check in a customer or run an errand for his folks. His folks didn’t mind if we used the exercise equipment in the weight room, so sometimes we’d work out or swim before I headed home for dinner. Moreover, I’d been to the hotel weekly during the school year watching the science fiction-western, Firefly, with Amit on the big screen TV in the lounge. By then, the show was in its second season, and we caught every episode.

  Amit started joining me at Kudzu Joe’s more often when our mutual friend from the debate team, Emma, started working a morning shift as a barista. Lately, he’d been studying up on something called game theory. I’d heard of game theory, but the kind of game theory Amit was studying involved trying to manipulate girls into going out with him. Naturally, I found the concept fascinating, having developed quite an interest in girls, myself. Near as I could figure from Amit’s description, it involved “negging” or putting down a girl’s self-esteem to the point where she’d go out with you. It didn’t make much sense to me why you’d want to date a girl with poor self-esteem who could be so easily manipulated.

  One morning, my obnoxious cousin Abby Tolliver came into Kudzu Joe’s with a gaggle of her friends. As they were ordering and picking up their drinks, Amit smirked. “Witness my game,” he said softly as he got up and walked confidently over to Abby and her friends. “Hi, Abby,” he said.

  “What do you want, loser?” Abby said contemptuously. I marveled at how effectively she communicated her scorn, making her “you” sound like “eeyoo.” Her nose crinkled in disgust at Amit’s effrontery in thinking he was worthy to speak with her. Abby’s friends giggled at what they perceived to be Amit’s humiliation.

  Amit looked impassively at Abby for a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to let you know how very sorry I am,” he said with seemingly sincere regret, “but I won’t be asking you out to the Fall Ball in September.”

  One of Abby’s friends almost choked on her iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soymilk. Abby was so outraged at Amit’s presumption she couldn’t speak for a moment. Amit just stared at her with a concerned and sympathetic look on his face. He was fortunate to have timed his approach before she got her drink or he might have ended up with a face full of scalding hot decaf soy latte. Finally, Abby exclaimed, “What makes you think I’d even consider going out with you?!?”

  A look of relief swept over Amit’s face. “Oh, I’m so glad you feel the same way. Thanks for taking it so well.” He nodded gravely at the girls and said, “Ladies,” by way of a goodbye. Then he turned his back to them dismissively, strode confidently over to the table, and sat down facing me. “Do warn me if your dear cousin is about to smack me on the back of the head,” he said softly.

  Abby’s exclamation as she stormed out the coffee shop was unworthy of a proper young lady. Her friends followed in her wake. “You certainly pissed her off,” I observed. “If that was an example of your ‘game,’ I’d say ‘you lost.’ Abby is even less likely now to ever go out with you than she was before. Of course that’s an accomplishment in itself.”

  “You still don’t get it.” Amit sighed. “I wasn’t gaming Abby.”

  “Huh?” I was confused.

  “Look, Abby may be bitchy, but she’s cute, her family is loaded, and she’s probably the single most popular girl in school. She thinks she’s way too good for the likes of me. Only the top guys in her little clique’s pecking order have a chance with her, right?”

  “Yeah…” I still didn’t get it.

  “So where does that leave the guy who apparently just turned her down?”

  I began to see what he was getting at, but it still didn’t make sense. “It’s not like you’re going to be, oh, homecoming king just because you preemptively turned down Abby when you had no shot with her in the first place.”

  He grinned “No, of course not. But Abby just got rejected by someone her clique rates as a zero. That’s blood in the water for the sharks she swims with.”

  “All I see is you came up with a clever and convoluted way to cut down and infuriate Abby. Not that she doesn’t deserve it. But I don’t see what it buys you.”

  “Ah, but not every girl is a part of her clique, and the ones Abby and her gang snub and put down will jump at the chance to perceive themselves as better than Abby – to go out with the guy who turned down Abby Tolliver.”

  Realization was beginning to dawn. “You’re ‘gaming’ Emma.”

  He got that cocky grin again. “Not necessarily. Can’t tie yourself down to one girl, dude. Gotta play it cool, have the attitude that you’re in demand; you don’t need any particular girl. ‘Gotta fake it ‘til you make it.’” He dropped the attitude and stopped regurgitating his pick-up artist slogans. “But if all this lands me a date with Emma, I’ll start there. You pick up any vibes from Emma?” His back was to her, and she was serving another customer.

  “She did seem awfully amused when Abby and her gang stormed off. And she’s been looking over this way. Are you going to ask her out?”

  “‘Indications of interest,’” he said proudly, as if he were a doctor providing a professional diagnosis. “I’m not going to ask her out right now. Too obvious. She’s no dummy. But, soon.” He took a sip of his coffee. “See, you need to understand game. I have the Indian thing to overcome, so I have to have good game just to break even, at least with girls around here. You could clean up if you put your mind to it. And you’ve got the whole bad-boy mystique going for you, what with your dad marrying a Tolliver.”

  I never ceased to be amazed how everyone in town seemed to know everyone else’s business. I’d certainly never mentioned my parents’ story to him, what little I actually knew of it.

  It must have been fifteen minutes later when Sheriff Gunn walked into Kudzu Joe’s. He came through the door and stopped. Seeing us, he came straight over to our table with a slow and commanding authority. He was a big and imposing man, and he also had some trick of posture and body language that made him seem even more imposing. I took a deep breath and studied how he walked and held himself. It helped me distance myself from his intimidating influence. I still had to will myself to remain calm as he spoke.

  “Boys, a very respectable young lady filed a complaint with me just now that she was verbally assaulted in this establishment not long ago,” The sheriff towered above Amit. “Either of you two have any comment?”

  “Well, sir,” I preempted Amit, “if there were any abuse I’m afraid it was directed by my cousin, Abby, at Amit, here. He very politely declined to go with her to a dance, and unfortunately, Abby took it rather poorly.”

  “You expect me to believe that Abby Tolliver,” the sheriff was so incredulous he said her name twice, “Abby Tolliver wanted to go to a dance with Amit Patel?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, sir. I didn’t think so either at first, but Abby got so upset when Amit turned her down that, well, I have to wonder if maybe she truly did have a crush on him. But, anyway, Amit was polite and courteous throughout the entire exchange. A perfect gentleman.” I said all that just loud enough that Emma could hear and, hopefully, take the hint. Sure enough, Sheriff Gunn called her over. Emma was no great friend of Abby. She explained it to the sheriff more or less the same way.

  I think Sheriff Gunn could see this was going nowhere, but he felt he had to put us in our place. “Boys, this is a quiet town and I aim to keep it that way. If I hear any more complaints from Miss Tolliver, so help me I will run you both in for disturbing the peace and I’ll let your fathers tan your hides when they pick you up, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” we both said.

  The sheriff looked straight at me. “I understand there’s been heavy traffic up by the Cove Creek Plant. Lots of trucks off the old highway near your Uncle Rob’s place. You know anything about that?”

  Dad had mentioned something about a project up at Uncle Rob’s but he’d lectured me s
trongly never to mention his business around town. “No, sir. I haven’t been up to see Uncle Rob in months,” I said truthfully.

  Sheriff Gunn grunted and left.

  “Thanks guys,” Amit said to both me and Emma, “I owe you.” He turned to Emma and casually laid his hand on her forearm. “How about I treat you to a movie and ice cream when you get off, by way of thanks?”

  Damn if she didn’t take him up on it. They exchanged numbers.

  “What happened to waiting and asking her out later,” I asked after Emma was out of earshot, back behind the counter serving her next customer.

  “It was the right time. Mutual shared danger. Excitement. And now all those tingles are linked in her mind with me asking her out. Twenty bucks says we make out on the first date.”

  After what I’d seen, I wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. “So you’re doing her the favor by allowing her the privilege of a date with you?” I was still a bit incredulous at it all.

  “Gotta maintain the right frame,” he said. “Establish your superior value and follow through.” He dropped the cocky attitude for a moment. “That did work out better – and faster – than I expected. And thanks for the save with the sheriff. Like Abby got so upset because she secretly yearns for me.” He was loving it. “I can’t wait for that one to get around. I owe you, dude.”

  “Yeah, the next family get-together is going to be pretty interesting, but it was worth it to see her taken down a peg,” I assured him. By then, it was lunchtime. Amit nonchalantly blew Emma a kiss as we left. She giggled. Girls.

  The Lee County sheriff interrogating someone about a teenage squabble speaks volumes about how the Tollivers owned the county. And yes, my mom actually was one of those Tollivers. My Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Jake Tolliver started off in coal but the family wisely diversified into lumber, chemicals, natural gas, and other businesses long before the great coal crash. When Mom fell for Dad at school, her parents forbade the match. They saw Dad as an uncouth adventurer trying to marry his way into money. The Tollivers disowned Mom and it was years before they spoke again. More recently, Grandma Tolliver insisted on inviting us over for Thanksgiving. Grandma was always gracious, but she was the exception. With Abby’s father, my Uncle Larry, around, we spent most of the meal pretending not to notice that the Tollivers were pretending not to look down on us. Mom’s other brother, my Uncle Mike, was just as bad. The social structure of the community was simple. The Tollivers were on top. The lawyers, doctors, and senior Tolliver executives were in the next tier. There was a decent middle class of Tolliver managers, engineers, teachers, and county workers. A number of nuclear workers, engineers and managers who worked at TVA’s Cove Creek Plant the other side of the ridge from my Uncle’s place. Some Oak Ridge or other TVA workers who didn’t mind the long commute. Blue-collar workers, like Dad, were not as well respected. Social status at school was strongly influenced by social status of one’s parents.