Independence Day: Silent Zone Read Online Free PDF Page A

article explained it had all been in good
fun, it
sufficiently impressed one reader, one of the CIA's army of
"burrowers," who clipped it out and started a file: "Okun,
Brackish (?)" In years to come, this one-page file would expand and
multiply until it had become a monster, filling a cabinet all its own.
----
    That
April,
the file grew considerably when the CIA came visiting. At eight in the
evening
during midterm week, Okun and the other Mothers had decided not to
brave the
crowds in the library. Instead, they'd retired to his dorm room,
affectionately
known as the Pad of Least Resistance, to engage in certain herbal
rites. As
smoke filled the room, they engaged in what was, for them, a rather
typical
conversation.
    "Dude,
you know what we should do?" Winter croaked, struggling to keep from
exhaling as he passed the ceramic vase-shaped instrument back to the
load-master. "We should put up mirrors in all the halls so when you're
going to class the whole school is like a hall of mirrors at a
carnival."
    "Cool
squared," Okun nodded. "We could invent a new product called Mirror Paint and
coat every surface
in the room with it."
    The
Mothers were pleased and showed their approval with a round of silent
nods.
"Mirror paint. I like."
    "What
if everything in this room was covered in mirror paint? The walls, the
bed, the
plants, all these books..."
    "And
dig this: the final step would be to dip our bodies in mirror paint so
everything in the room, except your eyes, was a mirror."
    "Then
we could make mirror contact lenses, so we'd disappear completely and
you'd
have to feel your way around the world."
    More
nods.
    This
important research discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door.
It was an
official-Hounding man-knuckle rapping that sent the Mothers into
immediate
action. While Okun stashed the bag, Winter opened the windows and began
fanning
smoke out of the room. The knock repeated itself, insistent.
    "Just
a minute," Okun yelled. "I just need to finish this one thing."
Crabbing a textbook off the bookshelf, he opened the door a crack and
saw a man
in a suit standing in the hallway. He banged the door closed and
mouthed the
word "NARC!" to the wide-eyed Mothers.
    "Excuse
me," the voice came through the door, "I'm looking for Brake-ish
Okun. My name is Sam Dworkin, and I'd like to speak to him about
possible
employment."
    After a moment of
indecision, Okun opened the door six inches and slid through the gap
into the
hallway, a little puff of smoke trailing him outside. Once he got a
good look
at the man, he rela:ed a little. He was about sixty-five and seemed to
le
alone.
    "Are
you Brake-ish Okun?"
    "I
think so. I mean, yes. It is I. I'm Brackish Okun."
    "You're
absolutely sure?" the guy asked seemingly amused.
    "I
was just in there reading this"—he glanced down at the page—"this
math book. So, you said something about a job? What company are you
with?"
    The
gentleman quickly invented a name, then asked if they could step
inside,
suggesting that Okun's friends might come back another time.
    "Right,
good idea." But when he opened the door, he found the room empty. He
crossed to the open window in time to see the last Mother jump from the
trellis
to the flower bed, then sprint away into the night.
    "Very
cool. I have a fire escape. What was your name again?"
    "Dworkin.
Sam Dworkin."
    Okun
offered him the best seat in the house, a beanbag chair, but Dworkin
sat down
on the unmade bed instead. He looked around the room, dismayed. The
cluttered
cubicle was a riot of over-flowing bookshelves, home-built electronic
equipment, and Okun's personal belongings. The ceiling was wallpapered
with
music posters and schematic drawings. The old man looked a little older
once he
was inside and seated on the bed. "You're not exactly who I was
expecting
to meet."
    Okun
didn't understand.
    "Westinghouse
Science Student of the Year, National Junior Science Foundation Merit
Scholar,
eight hundred in math on the SATs. I suppose I expected