The Traveler

“Now you would think that the whites who ran the reservations would admire this. After years of degradation, the Indian was becoming moral and strong again. Unfortunately, the Lakota weren’t becoming obedient. Dancers started the ritual at the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota and the whites in the area got very frightened. A government agent named Daniel Royer decided that the Lakota didn’t need freedom or their own land. They needed to learn baseball. He tried to teach the warriors how to pitch and swing a bat, but they weren’t distracted from the Ghost Dance.

“And the whites said to one another, ‘The Indians are becoming dangerous again.’ So the government sent soldiers to a Ghost Dance ceremony at Wounded Knee Creek and they fired their rifles and slaughtered 290 men, women, and children. The soldiers dug pits and tossed the bodies into the frozen ground. And my people went back to alcohol and confusion…”

The noise stopped. A minute later, the back door squeaked open and Sanchez came out. He removed the mouth filter and pulled off the hood of the white suit. His face glistened with sweat. “We’ve got a match,” he said. “There was a strand of her hair on the couch in the living room.”

“Good. You can go back to the van.”

Sanchez removed the suit and went back down the driveway. Once again, Boone and Thomas were alone.

“Maya was here,” Boone said.

“According to this machine.”

“I want to know what she said and did. I want to know if you gave her money or a ride somewhere. Was she wounded? Has she changed her appearance?”

“I won’t help you,” Thomas said calmly. “Leave my house.”

Boone drew his automatic, but kept it flat on his right leg. “You don’t really have a choice, Thomas. I just need you to accept that fact.”

“I have the freedom to say no.”

Boone sighed like a parent with a stubborn child. “Freedom is the biggest myth ever created. It’s a destructive, unachievable goal that has caused a great deal of pain. Very few people can handle freedom. A society is healthy and productive when it’s under control.”

“And you think that’s going to happen?”

“A new age is on its way. We’re approaching a time where we will have the technology necessary to monitor and supervise vast numbers of people. In the industrial nations, the structure is already in place.”

“And you’ll be in control?”

“Oh, I’ll be watched, too. Everyone will be watched. It’s a very democratic system. And it’s inevitable, Thomas. There’s no way it can be stopped. Your sacrifice for some Harlequin is completely meaningless.”

“You’re welcome to your opinion, but I will decide what gives meaning to my life.”

“You’re going to help me, Thomas. There’s no negotiation here. No compromise. You need to deal with the reality of the situation.”

Thomas shook his head sympathetically. “No, my friend. It’s you who are out of touch with reality. You look at me and see an overweight Crow Indian with a broken garbage disposal and no money. And you think: ‘Ahhh, he’s just an ordinary man.’ But I’m telling you that ordinary men and women will see what you’re doing. And we will stand up, rip open the door, and leave your electronic cage.”

Thomas got out of the chair, stepped off the porch, and headed for the driveway. Boone swiveled around on the bench. Holding the automatic with two hands, he blew away his enemy’s right kneecap. Thomas collapsed, rolled onto his back, and stopped moving.

Still holding the gun, Boone walked over to the body. Thomas was conscious, but breathing quickly. His leg was almost severed from the knee down and dark red blood pulsed from the cut artery. As Thomas began to go into shock, he looked up at Boone and spoke slowly. “I’m not frightened of you…”

An intense anger overcame Boone. He pointed his gun at Thomas’s forehead as if he wanted to destroy all the other man’s thoughts and memories, then his finger squeezed the trigger.

The second gunshot seemed unbearably loud, the sound waves expanding out into the world.

31

Michael was being kept in a windowless suite of four rooms. Occasionally he heard muffled noises and the sound of water going through pipes, so he assumed that there were other people in the building. There was a bathroom, a bedroom, a living room, and an outer guardroom where two silent men wearing navy blue blazers blocked him from leaving. He wasn’t sure if he was in America or a foreign country. None of the rooms had a clock and he never knew if it was daytime or night.

The only person who talked to him was Lawrence Takawa, a young Japanese American man who always wore a white shirt and a black necktie. Lawrence was sitting beside Michael’s bed when he woke up from his drugged sleep. A doctor came in a few minutes later and gave Michael a quick physical examination. He whispered something to Lawrence and then never returned.