Creative Destruction
by Bill Kowaleski
Creative Destruction is a sequel to the novel Brighter Than the Stars, in which Earthlings meet technologically advanced space aliens. The Cygnians come only to do business, but their schemes to sell fusion-powered generators become contentious and competitive.
Many human and alien characters return from the previous novel, including Jim McDermott and his team, who try to reduce the risk of societal upheaval that the new technologies threaten. Meanwhile, many different groups are either plotting to steal the technical advances for their own purposes or trying to destroy it and drive the Cygnians off of Earth.
| Cast of Characters and Species | Table of Contents |
Chapter 6: Exile or Isolation
Paul Welton was growing more and more frustrated with the compartmentalization of knowledge he was forced to endure. He understood the rules of information confidentiality, but he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t get clearance.
“Mr. McDermott, could you please explain to me why the person you hired to design the power provisioning systems in this plant cannot see the reactors where the heat is generated?”
McDermott was sitting facing Welton in a small huddle room in the office wing of the Upper Zion Fusion Plant. He had no permanent office there and had to scrounge for a free room whenever he needed to have a one-on-one.
“We’ve been over this, Welton. We deliver you therms, you turn them into electricity.”
“You can’t run a power plant like an automobile assembly line, sir! I need to see the whole process. You hired me because I’m one of the world’s foremost authorities on power plants. Can’t you trust me to—”
“Not a matter of trust, Welton,” interrupted McDermott. “There are good reasons for this separation of duties, this need-to-know protocol that will soon become apparent to you. But even after that, you’re not going to get what you want. Now, are you saying you need some specific additional information to get your job done? If you do, I’ll see what I can do.”
Welton decided to take a chance, hoping McDermott wouldn’t know he was overreaching. “I need to know the mechanism by which fuel is fed into the reaction and how the reaction is started and maintained.”
McDermott sat completely still for fifteen seconds, staring toward a spot on the wall above and to the left of Welton, then he abruptly stood. “I’m going to arrange a meeting for you, Mr. Welton. I’m not competent to decide what you can and cannot know, so stay here while I contact someone.”
McDermott strode out of the room, pulling out his cell phone as he walked. Welton sat calmly, excited that perhaps he might finally be getting closer to the full access he needed.
Within a minute, McDermott returned. “Okay, Mr. Welton, please take the corridor outside to your right and report to Security. We’ve arranged a meeting with someone who can clarify your needs.”
Welton eagerly exited the tiny room, and walked confidently down the long, windowless corridor, a study in utilitarianism with its hard, gray tile floor, off-white walls, and ceiling lined with full-spectrum LED bulbs. He passed door after door, nearly every one closed, walking almost five minutes, footsteps echoing hollowly, until he reached a window cut out of the wall, a small sign saying only “Security” hanging above it.
The guard at the window spoke before Welton could say a word. “Mr. Welton, please come through the door to your right when I buzz it open.”
The guard led him down another long, soulless corridor, this one even longer than the one he’d just traveled. The corridor ended abruptly at a wall with a single door in the middle. When they passed through it, Welton saw a rectangular conference room, three walls painted off-white, the fourth, nearest the door, covered in an odd, tightly-drawn, fine metallic mesh.
Centered in the room was a lacquered oak table, two meters square, with two straight-backed wooden chairs. The one nearest him was empty, the other, on the opposite side of the table, was occupied by someone he’d never seen, an African-American man, perhaps forty years old, unremarkable in looks and build, wearing a houndstooth sport jacket, light gray open shirt, black-rimmed eyeglasses, and charcoal slacks. The man pointed to the empty chair.
“Welcome, Mr. Welton. I am Dr. Gerald Landis.”
Welton stopped breathing for an instant. He was in a room alone with the famous Dr. Gerald Landis, the man whose scientific papers had changed the world, whose mysterious research had led to the facility all around them, whose renown equaled that of a famous athlete, though he hadn’t been seen in public in over three years.
“It’s a distinct and rare honor to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“And I’m very happy to meet you also, Mr. Welton. I am well aware of your reputation, and it’s great that we may be able to work together. But there are some things I need to know first.”
“Certainly, anything, Dr. Landis.”
Landis touched the side of his neck and held very still for just an instant, dropped his hands to the table, and began. “You seem very interested in the mechanism by which the reactors work, the way the really hard problems are resolved, like how to start and maintain the reaction.
“As you know, these have always been the problems with fusion power, along with generating more power than it takes to start and maintain the reaction, of course. As you also know, my papers on the subject touched on these areas, but also stated that there were top secret aspects that would be revealed at a later date. So tell me, why do you need to know those things?”
Welton knew there was no chance he could deceive a person like Landis, but he also could not tell the truth. He smiled, cleared his throat to buy a second and said, “Well, I have to admit, I was mostly curious, but the more I know, the more likely it is that I can do the best possible job. For example, if I knew more about the characteristics of the reaction, perhaps I could design a better heat transfer mechanism.
“This is my field, Dr. Landis, and this is the latest technology. Why do you think I wanted to be here so badly? I want to be on the cutting edge, to learn what’s new, to keep abreast of my field. But I can’t. I’m relegated to the role of helping with somethin’ that isn’t all that challenging or interesting.”
Landis touched his hand to his neck again and held it there for at least ten seconds.
“Okay, Mr. Welton, here’s the situation. I appreciate that you want to stay current in your field. As a scientist, I am most sympathetic, it’s what we all have to do. Maybe I could show you the things you want to see. But if I did, you’d have to move into this facility and live inside the firewall. And when I say ‘firewall’, I don’t mean some piece of computer hardware, I mean a real, physical division that you pass through once, and then you stay on that side, no communication outside the firewall, no trips back through, not for at least five years. Are you still interested?”
“Well, that’s a bit of a shocker, I’m not sure...” Welton faded to silence, his eyes darting, wringing his hands. He knew his body language was revealing too much, but he’d lost control of himself.
“I was actually hoping you’d say yes, because you would be such an asset to this team. Perhaps if we raised your fee by the amount that the other party is paying you, the offer would be more attractive?”
“What other party, Dr. Landis? I, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You’re sounding more and more like the Houston native you are, Mr. Welton. We have a very complete report on you, and that’s one of your tells. You do know what a ‘tell’ is?”
“Yes, I’m nervous, I admit it. But wouldn’t you be, too, in my situation, Dr. Landis?”
“If I was afraid I was getting behind in my field, yes, a little. But you’re downright scared, Mr. Welton. Why is that? Isn’t it because you are in the employ of another party that wants to steal this technology, or worse?” He leaned forward to emphasize the words “or worse.”
Welton was beat and he knew it. The question now was what to do. “So what is the other alternative, Dr. Landis? I mean if I choose not to go behind the firewall?”
Landis reached under the table, appearing to press a button. “We really can’t afford a trial. I mean we can’t afford the potential publicity. So I guess you’d just have to disappear.” He stared at Welton with a grim smile, saying no more.
“You’d kill me? It’s that big a deal?”
“No, not kill. You’d go into exile somewhere unimaginably far away. A place you could never leave, a place where you could never communicate with anyone on Earth. Would you prefer that, or would you rather move in behind the firewall?”
The door opened, giving Welton a tremendous scare. He jerked his head around to see the guard that had guided him earlier and James McDermott. They entered the room, closed the door, and stood against the wall, saying nothing.
“So what’s it going to be, Mr. Welton, exile or join us?” Dr. Landis asked.
“Couldn’t I give it some thought—”
McDermott spit his words out like they were shot from a machine gun: “You’re not going to be a free man again for some time, Welton. If you don’t answer now, then we’ll send you into exile at once. I don’t like indecisiveness, so get on with it.”
Welton decided to try one last bit of defiance. “I am an American citizen, sir, and I have a right to a trial, and due process. You cannot just send me off somewhere never to be seen again.”
“Mr. Welton, you don’t understand: while this is a commercial facility, it is under military protection, and is considered a military base under United States law. I thought they told you that in the briefing.”
“But all you’ve got is suspicion; you have no proof I’m employed by some other party—”
McDermott interrupted. “Sorry, you’re wrong. We have absolute, incontrovertible proof, and once you make your decision, we’ll show you that proof.”
Welton sat silently, weighing his options. It could be a bluff. If so, and he agreed to cross the firewall, he would voluntarily be cutting himself off from the world. No legal process could protect him. But if he demanded the legal process, and they really did have the proof, he was done for.
“Okay, okay, I’ll join you. It’s really a pretty easy decision.”
“Good choice,” McDermott said. “But there’s a condition. Full disclosure about the other party. We have ways of knowing when you’re lying; methods so accurate you’d be shocked, but trust me, we can always determine your truthfulness.”
Welton didn’t doubt that. He told them everything.
Copyright © 2019 by Bill Kowaleski
