A Strange Valley

by Darrell Bain

  “I don't know much about the manufacturing side, but Beamer Research doesn't manufacture too much, anyway. Mostly he licenses the products out. By the time they finished the third floor and had descended back to ground level, Daniel thought he had a good idea of how the place was arranged. It appeared to be an enjoyable place to work. The employees all were friendly and didn't appear to be stressed or in a hurry. The whole place was clean and neatly constructed to maximize space. The building very nearly touched the back of the mountain, where a cliff of granite sloped upward for a hundred feet before the forest began again.

  Outside, as they walked around, first Marybeth and then Lisa would point down into the valley at buildings or edifices, describing what they were seeing. He had to admit that the view was magnificent from this high up. And the view right next to him left nothing to be desired, either. As they walked, Marybeth slipped her hand into his, the same way Lisa was holding onto the other one. Lisa didn't appear to mind. He felt uncomfortable at first, then relaxed. It felt nice to be escorted by two good-looking women, both holding his hand as if they possessed him. Well, Lisa did own him now, but Marybeth? He didn't know what that was about. Some local custom? He decided to ask later, but for the present, he simply enjoyed the tour and the view.

  * * * *

  While they were walking around, Harry was depositing his research results with Tyrone, who sat with him long enough to translate the data more or less into laymen's language for one release, and left it as it was for the more scientifically erudite web surfers. When they were finished, he took the results to his office and gave both sets to Gina and Tim.

  “You can split up the work and send these out to as many sites and groups you can think of where they'll make the biggest impact. After that, spend as much time as you can spare monitoring feedback. Summarize it and give me a report every few hours. And send copies to the Mayor, the Chief and to Jeremiah at the Clarion of everything you give me.”

  “Don't want much, do you boss? No problem, we'll get right on it,” Gina said, handing one copy of the report to Tim and keeping one for herself. They both began scanning the paper copies. Harry liked to print things out and read them off real paper for some odd reason.

  That done, Tyrone found himself at loose ends. He had worked hard over the last few days at his administrative tasks, feeling that a crisis was upon them, and was glad that he had. Now he could devote most of his attention to developments sure to arise from the revelation. He leaned back in his soft leather manager's chair and sipped at his coffee, trying to plan ahead.

  * * * *

  One of Crafton's erstwhile Administrative Assistants, now reporting to Shirley, burst into her office without knocking, brimming with excitement. He held a printout in his hand and placed it on her desk.

  “Look at this! We did our usual morning search for any references to Masterville and this is what we came up with!”

  Shirley took the printout, which was the layman's version of Harry's research, and scanned swiftly down the lines of type. She felt her heart thump as a surge of adrenaline coursed through her body. Her heart missed a beat, then she made herself slow down. She went back to the start and read the account in detail. Finally she looked up.

  “So that's what they are. Mutants! Good God, what will the world see next?”

  The AA didn't answer, being unaccustomed to having opinions solicited from him. Crafton ordered and told, rather than asking.

  “Is this it, or is there more?”

  “Oh, there's more, and it's building up faster and faster. It's just a matter of trying to sort out and summarize all the opinions and comments and advice and ... well, it's a bombshell!”

  “Is it accurate, do you think, or some kind of scam?”

  “Ms. Rostervik, I don't know, but it does have Tyrone Beamer's name on it. His company has a good rep, according to our research. I don't think he would sacrifice his company's reputation over a hoax like this.”

  “I don't either. All right, get me some good scientific advice about the accuracy of the purported research as well as the plausibility of his conclusions. Then fix up a quick summary of public reaction and have it ready for me by this afternoon. In the meantime, I'll try setting up an appointment with Mister Phillips. If this is all true, you're right: it is a bombshell. It was going to be, anyway, but it looks as if they fired first.”

  When the still excited AA left, Shirley began turning the data over in her mind. She could just imagine how it would affect Phillips and the President. They would probably pass right over the part which emphasized that the inhabitants of Masterville were as human as anyone else, just different, like many other variants of the race were. They would both jump on the irreligious and immorality (in their biased opinions) of the people there, to the exclusion of almost everything else about them, admirable or not. She shook her head at herself as she read over the report again, especially the summarized amendments tacked on to the bottom by the AA. There was an offer to cooperate with private scientific establishments in search of final proof of the theory, a stated desire to be left in peace by the Mayor, a statement from the Masterville Police Chief discrediting the Agency's account of Terrell's death and a demand that interference from NSA “hoodlums” cease and desist immediately, hinting that some of them had come to bad ends already. There was a reference to an advance story that would be the forthcoming lead of the Masterville Clarion, covering recent events and explaining to the citizens in detail just who and what they were—and complimenting them on their good fortune.

  * * * *

  Shirley was disconcerted by the revelations, and had no one to talk to about them. Beforehand, she had begun to believe that there was nothing threatening about the people of Masterville Valley. They seemed perfectly normal to her. But now she didn't know. She wasn't a scientist and was unable to judge the importance of the mutation. What really bothered her was that apparently most of the inhabitants hadn't even realized they were that different themselves. That was an amazing fact in itself, if true.

  The other AA came running in with another printout of copy fresh off the internet.

  “Look, Ms. Rostervik, there's going to be a town meeting in Masterville tomorrow night to explain it to all the people. We can infiltrate that and maybe pick up something useful!”

  “All right, send whoever we can spare, but stay on this story and see how it develops. I'm going to call the director. And by the way, I don't like that Miz business Call me Shirley, Okay? And tell the others to as well.”

  “Yes ma'am. Will do.” She ran out, leaving the latest copy behind.

  Shirley merely glanced at it since she didn't doubt the accuracy of the report. And she had some qualms about sending more agents into Masterville, but knew that if she didn't, she would simply be replaced and someone else would do it, anyway. She picked up the red phone and turned on the cam. Phillips liked to see expressions when he talked to subordinates.

  “What have you done so far?” Phillips demanded as soon as he came on the line.

  “I'm sending some agents in to the town meeting. Have you heard about it?”

  “Just did. Go on.”

  “I'll have the propaganda guys in, and get them going. They aren't anywhere near prepared. This took us by surprise.”

  “It took everyone by surprise. Those goddamn Martians know what they're doing. You can't tell me the whole goddamn city doesn't know exactly what they are. Town meeting, my ass. I'll bet that's just for show.”

  Shirley despaired of either Phillips or the President ever interpreting anything except in the manner they wanted to, which meant in either religious or political terms. She had stated plainly in her Op report that she didn't think the citizens were aware of their significance. In fact, she had stated that she thought that leaving them alone for the time being was the best policy, since they certainly weren't hurting anyone. Apparently that was no longer an option.

  “Is there anything else to do now?”

  “Just us
e your spinners for damage control for the time being. They'll know how to handle it. Damn, Bobby Lee isn't going to like this. He wanted a gradual buildup going toward the election before taking care of those atheistic mutant bastards. Okay, stay with it; I'll get back to you later.”

  The phone clicked dead. Shirley leaned back in her new manager's chair and thought the whole situation over again. Try as she might, she couldn't help but feel that the Masterville situation was being used for political purposes, which in turn was being driven by religious conviction. She thought it was wrong, but still, there was a chance that there really was a national threat. Would she want her children to become infected with their mutation and grow up as atheists? Or were they really atheists? Perhaps they just didn't subscribe to a particular religion?

  Looking back, she couldn't remember anyone in Masterville commenting one way or another, although every time she asked a leading question, such as where she could attend church, she had gotten vague answers about there being a couple or three churches in the valley if she was interested.

  And the way they apparently lived together and had children more often than not without worrying about marriage; suppose she actually lived there? Would she have a problem with that? Perhaps, if she were married herself. Someday she intended to marry, if she found the right man, and she wanted to have children. But right now she was thinking more on how to advance her career. And that meant following orders from Phillips. She touched the intercom and asked the female AA to send in the senior disinformation specialist.

  * * * *

  “Those goddamn atheists knew what we were going to do, Mister President. They had to! They completely pre-empted our plans. Now how the hell would they have known something like that?”

  “Are you certain your sections are secure? You had one mole and one turncoat. Why not more?”

  “Yes, sir, I realize that and I apologize for it. But this came too quick. Hell, we had barely got our plans laid when this broke.”

  “Then they either eavesdropped on our conversation or they're fucking mind readers, and I sure hate to think that. Nothing would ever be secure if they are. What are you doing about it?”

  “Just disinformation right now, Mister President, just as fast as we can churn it out. I'm also sending in some agents to that town meeting they called and see what they pick up. That's all we can do right now unless you want to order the army in, or call a news conference and denounce them.”

  “No, no we can't call the army in. Not yet. And I want more information about what that place is up to before I comment publicly on it. Now listen, it's all right to get some human intelligence going, but don't let those agents get near you, or anyone else who knows anything when they report back, just in case. You hear?”

  Phillips hadn't intended to come in contact with anyone who came from Masterville anyway, but he agreed, then went on. “You will have to make a statement soon, won't you?”

  “If the story keeps building like my press secretary says it is, yeah, I'll have to, so get to work. And just in case, take your stuff out of hiding and get it moving in that direction.”

  Phillips winced, but agreed. “Yes, sir. I'll do that now.” He put down the Presidential phone and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out another phone, entered encryption codes into it, then dialed, while his heart bounced around in his chest like hockey puck gone wild. He had thought of using the dirty bomb, but that was just his imagination working. Now that it was a real possibility, he wasn't as sure as he had been. But this was just an order for movement, not a detonation. Maybe Bobby Lee would leave it at that.

  “Simmons? Is that you? Okay, good. Listen, I want you to start that special product moving east, toward Arkansas. Why? You don't need to know that yet, but get it started. There's a possibility we may need to use it. What? Yes, I'll send more funding. Have it picked up at the usual drop. I'm also going to double the deposits to your offshore accounts. There'll be more coming, too, if we have to use the product. You understand? Fine, only trusted people now. This can't go beyond your group, not ever. And I rather think you're going to be in a position to start spending some of that money before too much longer. Right. Get going.”

  Nothing at all had been said that would incriminate him. The use of off budget funding would be discounted as simply the way the agency sometimes had to work. The CIA used it all the time and it wasn't past the FBI to play dirty on occasion, either. He was in good company. And encouraging Simmons a bit wouldn't hurt a thing. Would it?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The internet stories about Masterville were picked up almost immediately by the national media, especially after Jeremiah Jones wired an editorial which he wrote for his own paper to every big daily, and to all the national television networks and web news sites.

  MASTERVILLE: A MODEL COMMUNITY

  Yesterday Tyrone Beamer and other prominent citizens of our small city of Masterville, located in northern Arkansas, announced some startling research findings derived from a study of traits displayed by the inhabitants of Masterville and some surrounding villages.

  According to Harry Sildon, Chief Scientist at Beamer Research Company, also located in Masterville Valley, most of the citizens here have acquired some traits that the rest of the country may envy and could well emulate.

  We are very thrifty. We run our own schools without any assistance from the national government. In fact, we run our city without the need to rob other taxpayers, even while scrupulously paying our own share of taxes to the national coffer. We come out way behind in the bargain, yet don't complain a bit. Being able to run our own affairs is compensation enough for our good people, it seems.

  There is virtuously no crime in Masterville. Doors are mostly unlocked at night and parents know where their children are. Besides, the children are well behaved, even the teenagers. The juvenile justice system here has hardly anything to do.

  Most citizens own their own homes, bought without government assistance from the VA, Freddie Mae, Freddie Mac, or any other government program.

  There are accidents and illnesses here, just as there are anywhere, but the people manage to run their two hospitals without being accredited by the Joint Commission, a megalith “non-profit” organization which has grown into an octopus that arbitrarily sets hospital standards, without which they cannot receive government funding. Our Hospital Administrators say that they neither want nor need outside funding; they prefer to run their medical facilities by themselves.

  The doctors in Masterville manage to practice medicine without paying massive malpractice insurance premiums. In fact, they pay hardly any at all. Just about every person and every practitioner in the city is insured by one of two companies, both located in the city. They are regulated by the state but charge much less than medical insurance companies elsewhere.

  The infrastructure of Masterville is paid for by citizens residing in the valley. No money has ever been requested from the government, either state or national, to help with our water or power or sewers or roads.

  Some small-minded persons might sneer at the low marriage rate found in Masterville, but no one can complain about the low divorce rate, or the lack of children or mothers receiving federal assistance, such as food stamps, medical insurance, free lunches or the like. Children whose parents can't afford school lunches work in the school cafeterias in exchange for their meals, and do you know what? It doesn't seem to hurt them a bit! But those are a minority. Most children live in homes where they know and love both their parents, whether married or not.

  The high schools in this small city produce a higher percentage of graduates than just about any in the nation. Most of the kids go on to college, but most of them also return to their valley afterwards. We can't say we blame them. Where else would they find such a fine place to live? Some of them volunteer to serve in the Army and our other defense services first, then come home. Surprisingly, there isn't a recruiting station in the city. The young men and women make
up their own minds. They think learning a trade is a fair exchange for a few years service defending the country.

  There aren't that many lawyers in Masterville, simply because there isn't much crime nor is there much courthouse lawyering from personal action suits. The people get along so well with each other that they don't find a need to sue. They obey the law, and raise their kids to do the same. Personal quarrels are rare and usually settled through arbitration rather than lawsuits.

  There is little poverty in Masterville. Almost everyone has a job and makes decent wages. The cottage industries in the city, like the little shirt factory for example, produce quality goods, manufactured in quantities sufficient to meet demand. They publish books and support writers. Think of some product you've bought that is of substandard quality, such as shoes and boots and you may find a place here which makes them to your specification, and makes them to last. There is a moderately sized research firm which has made significant discoveries in genetics and biologicals and a few other small industries that provide jobs for anyone wanting to work-and our citizens aren't afraid of a bit of physical labor. They believe in the dignity of work, whatever the job, and try to do it well.

  Where there is want, the citizens give generously, knowing that half their money won't go into fund raising or paying zillion dollar salaries to “Directors.”

  How do minorities get along in Masterville? Why, just like any other citizen. There is no “Black” or “Mexican” or “Other Side Of The Tracks” divisions here. We all get along with each other because we respect each other, and we don't need fire and brimstone preachers to tell us how to do it, nor do we need them to tell us when and where and how we should or should not marry and worship and live our lives as we have been doing for two hundred years.

  Given all these virtues, we are now asking why the National Security Agency has sent agents here to investigate us? Do they think we are going to contaminate the rest of the nation because we happen to possess a small mutation, just now discovered? A mutation just like the mutations all of us possess, some good, some bad. Contaminate the nation how? By showing what it is like to live in a community with hardly any crime, prejudice or poverty? Where you rarely hear the word “minority” except maybe in English class at one of the high schools. Where we work and play and have kids and enjoy life the way it was meant to be lived? If that is the case, we suggest that every city in America apply for a supply of those same little prions we're supposed to have. It might do them all some good! And while we're on the subject, we will be more than glad to provide them to politicians of any ilk. They need them more than anyone else we can think of.