The professor flies out to stop a food riot. He must play the part of Candell until the Wish Machine ends the episode.
The more I remembered the worse I felt. The leaders had used fear to establish their control over the people. The United States was on a war footing and I was a member of the elite Christian Law Enforcement Police; a strong-arm enforcer of a thoroughly corrupted Mafia-type despotic government.
As the truth became clear I shuddered in dread. What other horrors had happened to the United States of America in this reality?
Candel had an immediate task. He (I) had been told to stop a food riot. I could do that with good conscience. Without further thought I went to the bedroom closet, took out a belted contraption. It was a Flying Belt, standard issue for all roving security men. I placed it over my shoulders and buckled it around my waist. I could fly.
My scientific curiosity demanded I investigate this gadget. It weighed no more than 8 or 10 pounds and the power package in the center of my back was the size of a flattened grapefruit. The power unit was housed in a shiny black case.
I wanted to open it and find out how the anti-gravity worked. Where did it get its power? How was the power channeled to defy gravity? What focused the anti-gravity field to keep me floating and flying forward to control my movements? The secret of anti gravity would be another prize like the matter transporter… if I could take the knowledge with me when I woke up. By the fact of its mere existence this remarkable device was proof. Someone else had finally found the single unifying force that controlled all other forces; magnetism, gravity and the force that ties the atoms and the electrons together.
I resisted the temptation. I had no time to fuss with the flying belt. I had a job to do. I must perform as expected or face unforeseen consequences. Duty left no room for failure in this harsh world. I holstered my weapon and fastened the badge to my shirt. As I walked to the small balcony outside the bedroom my fingers performed a well-remembered ritual on the buttons of a small keyboard at my waist. I was airborne.
Once, when I was a younger man, a friend took me up in a Cessna 150. It is a perfectly safe aircraft … like my old beat up 1932 Ford Coupe I owned. He decided to have his fun and “try” me. We did a loop or two and I survived the stunts. When we landed I was as white as chalk and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. I was not in control. This time (and it might have been Candel’s familiar use of the belt) the experience of flying was wonderful. Sam Candel knew what to do so I let his unconscious habits take over. I enjoyed the ride.
I jetted forward. Lifting a dozen feet the topmost leaves of an oak tree were barely a yard or two from my boots. My mind found it hard to accept the truth that I was actually flying. I saw people on the streets and walks below me. Above and around me others coasted through the air in flying cars and belts like my own. A dozen men and women flew near and when they saw me they moved aside; Secmen were to be avoided.
Sector 16 was in the more run down, older part of the city. It was a mile from my (Candel’s) apartment. Shooting up like a rocket, in three or four minutes I was 500 feet high. Minutes later I was above the four-block area that had been designated Sector 16NW.
This part of the city was old. The buildings were squalid. Even from this 500 feet it was plain that the brick and wooden buildings and structures below were falling into ruin. The neighborhood had a look of hopelessness. There was one marked difference from my own world. Every rooftop was a mosaic of solar cells, hot water accumulator tubes and hydroponics gardens. Wind chargers whirled in the breeze everywhere I looked. Candel’s world had its magic as well as its grief.
Directly below was a square white one-story building. The structure was, roughly, 100 feet on each side. Surrounded by barbed wire topped chain link fences, the outside was surrounded by a shouting mob of 80 or more persons. I had found the riot.
Next episode: For the first time the professor finds a light of hope for America.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
