A Strange Valley

by Darrell Bain

  “Maybe, maybe not. I would probably depend on how religious I was, myself. What else?”

  “In the second place, if many of the inhabitants are consciously aware that their city is different, the news couldn't possibly be kept secret. At least given that they're still relatively normal humans.”

  “I think I have to agree with you, but suppose there's a cabal of sorts? Maybe they have some method of surreptitiously changing people without their knowledge.”

  Daniel laughed. “You've had too much wine. A few people may know and not be saying anything, but I think we'll find that the average citizen is unaware, at least consciously.”

  “You keep saying ‘consciously'. What do you mean by that?”

  “Well ... let's take you and me, for example. Neither of us has married, yet we're past the age when most people have been. We're both more intelligent than average; otherwise, the agency wouldn't have accepted our application in the first place. That's just two factors, but I don't dwell on them and I'll bet you don't either.”

  “True. Well, I guess we'll see, won't we? Do you want the bathroom first or shall I go?”

  “Go ahead. I'll finish my wine.”

  Shirley unlatched her bag and removed some garments. She took them into the bathroom which was closeted to the right of the little alcove holding the sink, mirror, coffeepot and other of the standard facilities always furnished by Holiday Inns. He heard the latch close as she shut the door. Presently, sounds from the shower could be heard.

  Daniel hadn't been quite honest with his partner. He had indeed wondered why he had never met a woman he liked enough to think about staying together permanently, as in marriage. No, even that wasn't quite right. Back in High School there was a girl ... Marsha. They had gone steady for a year. Daniel still believed he had loved her deeply and that she had reciprocated that feeling. Unfortunately, her parents had taken overseas jobs and never returned other than for periodic vacations. Eventually they had lost touch, but he still remembered her-and hoped that someday he would find a woman he could feel so strongly about again. Over the years he had gone with numerous women for a while, when sexual tension built up enough to become demanding, but it never lasted, and almost always it had been he who broke the relationship. He had simply tired of them and he still didn't know why.

  He finished the glass of wine he had been working on and poured the last of the bottle into his glass, still musing while Shirley maintained control of the bathroom. Women aren't altogether the problem, he thought. He had become close friends with only a few men over the years, too. It's probably the result of my upbringing, he thought. He barely remembered his mother, who had died in an automobile accident when he was four, and had never known his father. He grew up with adopted parents whom he never felt comfortable with. His adopted father ran a strict, loveless household and totally dominated his meek wife. He always was a sanctimonious sonofabitch, Daniel thought, a hardass Pentecostal fundamentalist who never tired of preaching to the uninitiated and whose ultimate response to any argument was Because the Bible says so! The break became final and irrevocable when he enlisted in the Marines rather than accept his putative father's offer to support his college studies-if he would drop his interest in Biology and begin study of a respectable subject such as business or theology.

  Water under the bridge he thought, and stood up as Shirley came back into the room, clad in a peach-colored robe with a motel towel covering her damp hair.

  “All yours,” Shirley said. “Watch the shower; it's wild!” She touched the towel for emphasis.

  Daniel rubbed his short brown hair and smiled. “I don't have to worry.” He picked clean underwear and a robe from his luggage and entered the bathroom. It was still steamy from Shirley's stay and he showered quickly, plugged his powered toothbrush in at the alcove where the sink lived, did his teeth and was ready for bed. The wine was making him sleepy.

  Shirley was already in bed, her back turned and under the covers, as if she cared little about any further conversation for the night. That suited Daniel. He turned out the lights and was soon asleep.

  * * * *

  The sound of the outside door closing woke Daniel. He blinked, trying to orient himself in the near-total darkness, alleviated only by a thin shaft of weak light seeping into the room from where the window curtains weren't quite closed completely. He squinted into the darkness. Shirley's bed was empty, the covers turned back. He sat up in bed just as a shadowy figure paused by one of the small table lamps. Its light flared. Shirley was limned in the glare, holding a canned coke.

  “What-?” Daniel began, but was interrupted.

  “Sorry. Couldn't sleep and wanted something to take away the taste of the wine.” She tilted the can to her mouth.

  “S'okay. What time is it?”

  “Around midnight. Go back to sleep.”

  Shirley turned the light off and slipped into bed, leaving Daniel to wonder why she had turned the light on in the first place if she hadn't wanted to wake him. He had trouble getting back to sleep but eventually dozed back off. He dreamed of Marsha, his childhood sweetheart and woke with a hard erection and an urgent need to relieve himself. Fortunately, Shirley was still buried under the covers and he didn't have to worry about her seeing him in that state.

  After finishing in the bathroom, and feeling much the better for it, Daniel plugged in the Motel coffee pot, not expecting very satisfactory results. At the first sip, he was surprised. It wasn't bad at all. He shaved and dressed in jeans and a western shirt while drinking the coffee, then eased out the door to find a morning paper, an abiding vice since puberty. The day just didn't start right until he had his coffee and paper.

  Daniel skipped the West Virginia Gazette in favor of a Metropolitan daily and brought it back to the room. Shirley was out of bed and out of sight, either in the alcove or bathroom. He sat down and perused the headlines. They didn't amuse to him. The filibuster in the Senate had finally been overridden and President Smith's nomination of Martin Luther Elton for the Supreme Court was confirmed. A sidebar to the article noted that President Smith confirmed the rumors that he intended to ask Congress to consider legislature placing certain restrictions on declared members of the Islam faith, citing great national security concerns as his reason. The story was continued on the next page but it was all speculation and no facts. He skipped it and went on to world news.

  A quarter page black and while photo showed members of the Saudi Royal family being led to posts, where some were already fastened with hands behind them, waiting on the firing squads. The revolutionary council certainly wasn't wasting time-nor showing much mercy, he thought. The peace treaty the reigning family had signed with Israel had already been revoked and now they were paying the price for having negotiated it in the first place. Tom Meekins, Smith's Secretary of State, noted that neither Saudi Arabia nor Israel was of strategic interest to the United States now that a sufficient supply of oil was assured from Russia, Canada and South America. Daniel wasn't so sure, but then he wasn't an expert in international affairs either, he admitted to himself.

  If there was one thing he did agree with President Smith on, it was that he had continued to maintain and support the armed forces. On the other hand, if he weren't so strident with his foreign policies, the country might not need such a sizable military. Sometimes he wondered how the former preacher had ever managed to get elected, but again, he knew he wasn't any more of an expert in political theory than he was in affairs of state.

  “Anything interesting in the news?” Shirley asked as she came from around the alcove. She was wearing white slacks and a short, pale green blazer. She looked very good in them. One side of the blazer drooped the slightest bit, where Daniel knew the weight of her handgun was pulling it down. He wore his own piece in an enlarged side pocket of his jean jacket.

  “There's always something interesting, but rarely anything you can do much about,” he responded. “Coffee's made.”

  “I saw, but I'll wait un
til we eat. Are you about ready?”

  “Yup.” Daniel folded the newspaper to finish later when Shirley took a turn driving. He hadn't glanced at the editorial page, where a nationally syndicated columnist suggested that it would be a good thing to remove the constitutional limitation on a President serving more than two terms, and that now, while the sitting President was still in his first term, would be a good time to get started. Although the columnist never mentioned it in print, he was a strict Pentecostal and an acquaintance of President Smith.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Mmmm. That was, um, interesting, to say the least,” Lisa said. She stretched her hands over her head and tensed all the muscles in her body, like a lithe and rested cat getting ready for the hunt.

  “Only interesting?” Marybeth gazed fondly at Lisa's naked body adorning the rumpled covers of the bed, thinking what a sweet girl she was. Too bad she hadn't found a man she cared enough about to live with yet; she knew that her friend was much more heterosexually inclined than she was.

  Lisa turned to face Marybeth, feeling her breasts move with her, seeking a new center of gravity, and liking the way the other woman's admiring gaze followed them. She brought her hand over to touch Marybeth's thigh, the nearest portion of her body to her. “Well, more than that. I never imagined being with a woman could be so ... so...”

  “Pleasurable? Nice? Wonderful?”

  “All of them. And it's not like it was better than with a man; just different, but every bit as good. Why on earth does it upset so many people? Especially since they've never tried it.”

  “Good question. Easy answer. Religion always tries to control sex and every other fundamental human drive, just like any other power group. Just be glad we're not susceptible to their arguments and enjoy it for now. However, we might have to be a little discreet after our guests arrive. And speaking of, we'd better get Tyrone to think about getting another couple to stay a day or so while the spooks are here, just to make this place look like a real B&B.”

  “Don't you know anyone to ask? I thought you were privy to all the secrets.”

  Marybeth moved close enough to Lisa to lean forward and give her a quick kiss from where she had propped herself on an elbow. “There are no secrets, remember? Or if there are, Tyrone hasn't told me, other than the fact that most of us in the valley are subtly different in lots of little ways from the general population-and that most of us don't even realize it.”

  “Seems funny, but then I didn't recognize anything odd about myself until you let me in on the details. Why don't we just put it all on the web and see what some good scientists could make of it?”

  “Tyrone says that the media would go into a frenzy if it ever gets publicized. You know, hidden valley in the mountains, strange people, don't go to church or marry much and that sort of thing. And I agree. You do too, or Tyrone and I wouldn't have picked you to help out here.”

  Lisa ran her hand up and down the smoothness of Marybeth's thigh and up to the curve of her hip. She rested it there, a pensive look on her face. “But there must be a reason. Hasn't anyone ever looked into it?”

  “Tyrone says he just discovered it himself a few years ago. He's doing a genealogical study to see if that matters, but he's being very careful about it and it's taking a long time.”

  “Why be careful? Lots of people search out genealogies these days.”

  “Just playing it safe. He farms little bits and pieces out to different search engines and experts on the subject, but never gives away the whole picture. And besides, there may be nothing at all to it, so far as we're concerned.”

  “Yes, but there could be. Remember, I taught High School Biology before going to work at Beamer's. I know a little something about genetics.”

  “You not only know something about genes, you inherited some good ones. These for instance.” Marybeth reached over and caressed the nearest of Lisa's breasts, partially covering it with her hand and rubbing her palm lightly over the nipple.

  Lisa grinned. “Talk about me! Yours are just as nice, if not nicer.”

  “Yes, but I like pink nipples.”

  “Oh, pish.”

  “Yeah. Who can tell the color when they're in your mouth?” Marybeth demonstrated.

  Lisa held her close, loving the feel of Marybeth's soft lips engulfing her nipple and swirling her tongue around it, bringing it to sleek erectness. “Weren't we going to see about another couple moving in?” She managed to say through the rising excitement of her body.

  “It can wait. It's still early.”

  * * * *

  Murray Phillips was again meeting with the President. As usual, the secret service team was made to leave the room, something they always did reluctantly.

  President Smith was sipping at a cup of coffee and grimacing. “They don't make the coffee nearly as good down here as they do upstairs,” he complained.

  “I could have a carafe sent down,” Phillips offered.

  “No, no sense in letting the kitchen staff know how often I come down here, but I sure get pissed not being able to discuss matters in the Oval Office. Why can't you debug it?”

  “I could, Mister President, but it would just call attention to the fact that we've got something that we've kept concealed so far. This is much safer.”

  “All right, then, let's get on with it. What's doing with that damned valley today.”

  “There's nothing new yet, at least from Masterville. I have a set of agents who will arrive tomorrow. They'll be staying right in town at a Bed and Breakfast, posing as a married couple on extended vacation, and collecting folk stories. I have two other pairs on the way under other guises.”

  Phillips paused while the President reached beneath his suit jacket and brought out a package of cigarettes, his secret vice. If any of his opponents ever caught him smoking, he figured it would shave a good many points off his popularity polls. “Okay, what else?”

  “I've started a genealogical study of the inhabitants. It will take a while since I don't want to do it openly.”

  “What's that for? Who cares who their ancestors were?” The President was notoriously deficient in scientific knowledge but it didn't appear to hurt him politically. He knew that the majority of American voters were just as unschooled in science as he, and furthermore, that most of them had no interest in alleviating the situation even if they had the capability.

  Phillips tried to explain in simple terms. “It might turn out that the people in the valley all derive from a small population base originally, and keep their gene pool more or less intact by not marrying too often outside the group.”

  Smith wasn't quite sure what a gene pool was but he understood about marriage within families, and the political implications, immediately. “You mean they're interbred, like dogs or those poor white families in the Appalachian Mountains? Hell, that's great! Talk about a ready-made issue! We can—”

  Phillips dared to interrupt. “Sir, we don't know that yet, and it might take some time to find out. And it could very well be something else that's responsible.”

  The President wasn't listening. He leaned back in his plush chair, resting one arm on the padded armrest and dragging on his cigarette with the other. He blew smoke carelessly in Phillips's direction, not caring that he was a nonsmoker. “Just think of the possibilities. We can portray them as a threat to the whole country, then take credit for containing the threat. And by God, we'll use them as a perfect example of what happens when you use genetics to breed a superman. Not that they're super, but we can make the country think they are. Oh man, I can just see it. Let the guy who winds up opposing me try to blather about protecting the rights of minorities or separating religion from politics. I'll eat him for breakfast!”

  Phillips nodded agreement, knowing that Smith was capable of just such doings. He was ruthless, and devious about his ruthlessness, a potent combination of traits in a President, especially one seeking reelection in an America jittery about terrorism and illegal immigration and drug use
and the rise of gay and lesbian influence in politics and the media and a hundred other seemingly insoluble issues. Phillips knew that some of the perceptions were vastly exaggerated but that wouldn't matter to the President; he would use them regardless. And so would his opponent, if he or she thought of it first, Phillips conceded. In the meantime, his job depended on the party in power staying in power, which meant helping Smith get reelected.

  “I'll give you a daily brief on Masterville. And why don't we assign it a code word, in case I need to mention it where someone outside the loop is present?”

  “Good idea, but be damn sure there aren't many in the loop. I want this held close to the vest until I'm ready to use it. Unless you discover something that's an immediate threat to the country, of course. In that case, we'll come down hard, immediately.”

  “Right. How about Freddy as a code word?”

  “Freddie? That's my dog's name!”

  “Exactly. If you hear me mention that Freddy may be causing problems again, for example, no one will think a thing about it, except maybe to laugh. But then you'll know to get with me as quickly as convenient.”

  “Problems! If that dog ever eats another briefing paper, he's going to the pound! But you're right, Murray; mention he's in trouble and that's what will come to mind. Everyone in the nation has heard about that episode. Freddy it is. How do you damn spooks come up with that shit right off your head like that?”

  “Practice and training, Mister President. Now I've got something else for you. The drug boys just made another big bust in Little Rock. It appears that part of the proceeds were being smuggled out of the country in cases of frozen chicken quarters, to Russia, and from there directly to several of the big Mideastern Mullahs to finance training and operations. The rest of it was being distributed here.”

  “Goddamn them! Not only are they corrupting our youth with their fucking drugs, they're using the money to finance those damn Cyclesiders!”