Joe Haldeman - Forever Peace

"I assure you it is not."

"Major... this is not some sort of gun we're designing. It's an abstraction."

"I don't know anything about that."

"How on God's green earth do you think you can stop me from thinking about something?"

"That's not my business. I just need the records and the statement."

"Did you get them from my co-author? I'm really just a hired hand, called in to verify some particle physics."

"I understand that he's been taken care of."

She sat down and put the three pages on the desk in front of her. "You can go. I have to study these and consult with my department head."

"Your department head is in full cooperation with us."

"I don't believe that. Professor Hayes?"

"No. It was J. MacDonald Roman who signed – "

"Macro? He's not even in the loop."

"He hires and fires people like you. He's about to fire you, if you aren't cooperative." He was completely still, and didn't blink. It was his big line.

"I have to talk to Hayes. I have to see what my boss – "

"It would be better if you just signed both documents," he said mildly, theatrically, "and then I could come by tomorrow for the records."

"My records," she said, "cover the spectrum from meaningless to redundant. What does my collaborator have to say about all this?"

"I wouldn't know. I believe that was the Caribbean branch."

"He disappeared in the Caribbean. You don't suppose your department killed him."

"What?"

"Sorry. The army doesn't kill people." She got up. "You can stay here or come along. I'm going to copy these pages."

"It would be better if you didn't copy them."

"It would be lunacy if I didn't."

He stayed in her office, probably to snoop around. She walked past the copy room and took the elevator down to the first floor. She stuffed the papers into her purse and jumped into the lead cab at the stand across the street. "Airport," she said, and considered her diminishing options.

All of her travel to and from D.C. had been on Peter's open account, so she had plenty of credits to get to North Dakota. But did she want to leave a trail pointing directly to Julian? She would call him from the airport public phone.

But wait; think. She couldn't just get on a plane and sneak off to North Dakota. Her name would be on the passenger list, and somebody would be waiting for her when she got off the plane. "Change destination," she said. "Amtrak station." The cab's voice verified the change and it made a U-turn.

Not many people traveled long distances by train, mostly people phobic about heights or just determined to do things the hard way. Or people who wanted to go someplace without leaving a document trail. You bought train tickets by machine, with the same kind of anonymous entertainment chits you used for cabs. (Bureaucrats and moralists would love to have had the clumsy system replaced with plastic, like the old cash cards, but voters would just as soon not have the government know what they were doing when, and with whom. The individual coupons made barter and hoarding simple, too.)

Amelia's timing was perfect; she ran for the 6:00 Dallas shuttle and it pulled out just as she sat down.

She turned on the screen on the back of the seat in front of her and asked for a map. If she touched two cities, the screen would show departure and arrival times. She jotted down a list; she could go from Dallas to Oklahoma City to Kansas City to Omaha to Seaside in about eight hours.

"Who you runnin' from, honey?" An old woman with white hair in short spikes was sitting next to her. "Some man?"

"Sure am," she said. "A real bastard."

The old woman nodded and pursed her lips. "Best you get some good food to carry while you in Dallas. You don' wanna be livin' on the crap they serve in that lounge car."

"Thank you. I'll do that." The woman went back to her soap opera and Amelia punched through the Amtrak magazine, See America! Not much she wanted to see.

She pretended to nap the half hour to Dallas. Then she said good-bye to the spike-coiffed lady and dove into the crowd. She had more than an hour before the train to Kansas City, so she bought a change of clothing-a Cowboys sweatshirt and loose black exercise pants-and some wrapped sandwiches and wine. Then she called the North Dakota number Julian had left her.

"Jury change its mind?" he asked.

"More interesting than that." She told him about Harold Ingram and the threatening paperwork.

"And no word from Peter?"

"No. But Ingram knew that he was in the Caribbean. That's when I decided I had to run."

"Well, the army's tracked me down, too. Just a second." He left the screen and came back. "No, it's just Dr. Jefferson, and nobody knows he's here. He's pretty much joined us." The phone camera tracked him as he sat down. "This Ingram didn't mention me?"

"No, your name's not on the paper."

"But it's only a matter of time. Even not connecting me with the paper, they know that we live together and will find out I'm a mechanic. They'll be here in a few hours. Do you have to change trains anywhere?"

"Yes." She checked her sheet. "The last one is Omaha. I'm supposed to get there just before midnight... eleven forty-six Central Time."

"Okay. I can get there by then."

"But then what?"

"I don't know. I'll talk it over with the Twenty."

"The twenty whats?"

"Marty's bunch. Explain later."

She went to the machine and, after a moment's hesitation, just bought a ticket as far as Omaha. No need to guide them any farther, if she was being followed.

Another calculated risk: two of the phones had data jacks. She waited until a couple of minutes before the train was going to leave, and called her own database. She downloaded a copy of the Astrophysical Journal article into her purse notebook. Then she instructed the database to send copies to everyone in her address book with *phys or *astr in their ID lines. That would be about fifty people, more than half of them involved with the Jupiter Project in some way. Would any of them read a twenty-page draft that was mostly pseudo-operator math, with no introduction, no context?

She herself, she realized, would look at the first line and dump it.

Amelia's reading on the train was less technical, but severely limited, since she couldn't identify herself to access any copyrighted material. The train had its own magazine on-screen, and courtesy images of USA Today and some travel magazines that were just ads and puffery. She spent a lot of time looking out the window at some of America's least appealing urban areas. The farmland that flowed by in the dusk between cities was peaceful, and she dozed. The seat woke her up as they pulled into Omaha. But it wasn't Julian waiting for her.

Harold Ingram stood on the platform, looking smug. "It's wartime, Professor Harding. The government is everywhere."

"If you tapped a public phone without a warrant – "

"Not necessary. There are hidden cameras in all train and bus stations. If you are wanted by the federal government, the cameras look for you."

"I haven't committed any crime."

"I don't mean 'wanted' in the sense of a wanted criminal. Just desired. Your government desires you. So it found you. Come with me, now."

Amelia looked around. Running was out of the question, with robot guards and at least one human policeman watching the area.

But then she saw Julian, in uniform, half hidden behind a column. He touched a finger to his lips.

"I'll go with you," she said. "But this is against my will, and we're going to wind up in court."

"I certainly hope so," the major said, leading her toward the terminal. "My natural habitat" They passed Julian and she could hear him fall into step behind them.

They passed through the terminal and walked toward the lead cab in line outside.