A World Without Secrets Read Online Free PDF

from a television show I had seen about the reputed alien spacecraft landing in Roswell, New Mexico back in 1947. One of the first people on the scene later reported finding a piece of aluminum-foil-like material that would immediately return to its un-creased flat shape after being crumpled. Government investigators quickly denied the report, saying that the alleged alien craft was in fact just an ordinary weather balloon. Of course, since it was the government, no one really believed them . Most people expected government officials to always lie and spread disinformation about anything deemed top secret or potentially embarrassing to an administration. "This is certainly no weather balloon," I said aloud. "What if the original report was true and the government was able to duplicate the material at some point?"
    To satisfy myself that this was the same paper I had thrown away earlier, I turned the wastebasket over, dumping the contents on the floor. I then examined each piece of scrap paper before returning it to the waste receptacle. When I had checked all the pieces and come up empty, it was proof there was only one piece like this.
    "The question now, Mr. Colton James," I said aloud, "is what do you do about it? If you tell anyone about this, they'll confiscate it faster than you can say Area 51."
    But what the hell good is having a secret as great as this one if I can't tell anyone , I thought as I grinned like an idiot.
    I never did get my dinner and even forgot to turn off the stove until I noticed the bright red glow emanating from a blackened pot long empty of water. I also didn't get much sleep. I spent the first several hours sitting at the table crumpling or folding the paper every which way and then marveling as it flattened out and the creases completely disappeared. My favorite trick was to shape the paper like a plane and send it sailing across the room only to see it flatten out and float gently to the floor. But while the process was amazing, I failed to see any practical use for it. If it couldn't be written on, it was useless as paper unless there was a special pen that could be used. Thinking I just needed to figure out what kind of writing implement should be used, I tried every pencil, pen, and magic marker I could find in my apartment. I had no success with any of them. I even dug out an old box of graphic art supplies I'd purchased while in college and tried some India ink. It didn't work any better than the others.
    It was after four in the morning when I made my next discovery. I had found a grease pencil mixed in with my college art supplies as I prepared to put them away. I happened to be standing when I first spotted the pencil in the box, so I held the paper against the wall to try it. The grease pencil didn't work any better than the other things I'd tried, but when I removed my hand from the paper, expecting it to float to the kitchen table directly below it, it remained stuck fast, as would a rubber balloon with a static charge.
    As I stood there staring at the paper, I noticed the time on the wall clock just above it. The hours had passed like minutes. Unable to think of anything else to try at the moment, I decided some sleep might improve my deductive powers. At the very worst, it couldn't hurt. I was suddenly taken with an overwhelming urge to yawn and stretch— a sure sign I was tired.
    Ten minutes later I was lying wide awake in bed, trying to decide what to do with this discovery. Light was already pushing its way through the foot-square opening in the plywood that covered the window area by the time I finally drifted off to sleep.
    * * *
    The paper was still firmly against the wall when I awoke in the early afternoon. I couldn't stop staring at it as I ate my breakfast cereal— two bowls today because I was so hungry.
    I left the paper there as I tried to concentrate on the story outline I was preparing, and it was still there four days later when my buddy, Bill Boyles, stopped