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C:\Users\John\Downloads\J\Jerry Davis - The Moon at Noon.pdb
PDB Name: Jerry Davis - The Moon at Noon
Creator ID: REAd
PDB Type: TEXt
Version: 0
Unique ID Seed: 0
Creation Date: 30/12/2007
Modification Date: 30/12/2007
Last Backup Date: 01/01/1970
Modification Number: 0
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20The%20Moon%20at%
20Noon.txt
THE MOON AT NOON
©1997 by Jerry J. Davis
The Freud simulation program told Mike that he had a subconscious desire to be
caught. That was ludicrous, though ---
being caught would mean the end of his career, which was a job he enjoyed. It
would also be the end of his marriage, as his socially-conscious wife would be
embarrassed out of her mind. His kids would be harassed at school, taunted
with jeers about their crazy father, and for this reason alone Mike took
precautions. He had to be cautious, even though being cautious was the very
opposite of what he was doing. What did the Freud simulation know, anyway? It
was only a program.
His rubber-walled car would do no more than 35 miles per hour down the crowded
expressway --- to go faster would not be safe.
Mike often wondered why 35 miles per hour was considered safe, and
36 miles per hour was not. His car puttered like a motorboat, burning natural
gas, and inched its way from one lane to another as he progressed toward the
next off ramp. Zeiter Park Exit, the sign read. Center City. His car made
putt-putt sounds as it crept down the long, safe exit ramp.
As he came to a stop, he did so gently so as not to trigger the air-bag in his
steering wheel --- which had gone off several times before. For some reason it
had a hair trigger, and when he'd first bought the car Mike thought it was a
factory defect. No, said the factory representative, it was made that way on
purpose.
Just to be safe. That, and the webbing that made up the seat belt system, was
now standard in all cars by law. As was the crash helmet on his head.
Mike found a parking place on the street beside some bushes in Zeiter Park,
right between two other rubber-walled cars. Rubber walls with a titanium-steel
passenger compartment imbedded within, the mandatory norm and ultimate in
safety and protection. Four way anti-skid disc brakes and pneumatic
collapsible bumpers on front, back and sides. Titanium roll bar. Non-breakable
Plexiglas windshield. It was --- all of it --- state of the art, and required
by law.
As was the helmet on his head.
Mike got out of the car, pulled a bundled pack out of the back seat, and
stepped up onto the soft, rubberized surface of the park sidewalk. He felt
like a spaceman stepping out onto a hostile planet. The helmet he wore was not
only a crash helmet for driving a car, it also doubled as the mandatory helmet
to be worn by pedestrians, along with the mandatory knee and elbow pads, and
of course the bullet proof vest to protect him from muggers. Mike, like most
people in the last few years, had saved money by buying the whole outfit as a
single suit, called a safety suit, which contained all the safe elements
required by law for those who would go out in public. As a bonus, this suit
also contained an emergency transponder that would radio for help if he should
fall down and break his leg or hip, as if that were possible. This was not
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currently required by law, but Congress was in the process of considering it.
A few joggers ran past, each wearing a safety suit, and a few young couples
lay under trees on blankets, groping each other's suits in frustration. Mike
carried his bundle far up the hill, staying on the sidewalk, and at one point
crossed the street
(safely, at a crosswalk), and headed away from the park.
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Up a long, steep hill he hiked, up to the top where one of the bigger
skyscrapers in town stood, a black and polished bank building called Haben
Tower. Inside he went, face blank, eyes straight ahead as he passed the
security monitors. He walked straight to the elevators and pushed a button and
waited. He was alone, he'd timed it right. Most people at this time were busy
in their offices, all their visitors and visitations having been taken care of
earlier that morning. The elevator arrived and he alone stepped inside. He
pushed the button for the top floor, and stood stoically as the doors slid
shut and the elevator began to rise.
This is my civil disobedience, he told himself. I have a right to do this. I
have an obligation to do this. I've gone too far to back down now.
Mike took deep breaths, conscious that his hands were shaking.
The ride lasted a long time. It was a slow elevator. Fast elevators were
dangerous. Mike had plenty of time to open the pack and pull out the rubber
Ralph Nader mask. He pulled off his helmet, put on the mask, and put the
helmet back on. With the helmet on, he was sure, no one would look twice at
the mask.
There was a pastel tone from the elevator's speaker grill and the doors slid
open. Several executives in black and white safety suits stepped in as he was
stepping out. One gave him a startled glance but said nothing, and Mike dared
not look back as he walked away from the elevator. Hopefully the man had
doubted his own eyes. Mike continued down the hall and around a corner to the
stair well. A security monitor was right there, electric eye focused on him as
he tried the door. It was unlocked, of course
--- it was a fire exit --- and he pushed it open and stepped through. He
walked up the one remaining flight of stairs and faced the one remaining door
at the top of the building. This one was locked, as it was not safe beyond.
Mike, fortunately, had a pass key which he'd swiped from a janitor two weeks
before. Within seconds he was out in the sunshine on the roof, with all of
Center
City in view.
Now he had to work fast, for there would be security guards after him within
the next few minutes. He opened the pack, pulled out the aluminum and nylon
contents, and then began removing his safety suit. After that was off, he
removed all the rest of his clothes --- everything, including the helmet. The
only thing that remained was the Ralph Nader mask. He stood naked on the roof,
shoving his clothing into the pack, and with that done he began pulling out
the telescoping aluminum struts and unfolding the nylon wings of his hang
glider. He had eight wing nuts to fasten and twelve buttons to snap. He worked
quickly but with precision, as he'd practiced this over fifty times in his
garage. He had done it in secret, as hang gliders were strictly forbidden, and
mere possession of one was a felony --- now he was doing it bare-ass naked on
the top of a public building, in full view of the world.
The wings spread out and caught the faint breeze, glittering with all the
colors of a butterfly. Mike finished the last few snaps and stashed his pack
with his safety suit and helmet in a net at the top of the harness. He looped
the padded harness around him and stood near the building's edge, nerving
himself. He thought of the words written by his hero, the great 1960's pop
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philosopher Ashleigh Brilliant, "Should I abide by the rules until they're
changed, or help speed the change by breaking them?" The door behind him burst
open and a half-dozen security guards rushed out onto the roof, and Mike,
startled, ran for the edge of the building. "Speed the change!" he shouted out
loud, his voice
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20Noon.txt cracking with excitement. He took one last long step and the
building was behind him.
The first few seconds were the biggest thrill, as he felt himself plummeting
through the air. Then the wings caught and yanked him up, and he curved up and
around to taunt the guards on the building top. They stared at him like a
group of knights in black, leathery armor, some of them even smiling. Mike
waved, made a steep bank and turned away.
It was a dizzy feeling, reeling through the air with it rushing across his
bare skin, pulling at the little hairs on his chest, arms and legs. He was
eye-level with the sea gulls and pigeons, sharing their element, scaring them
off the ledges of the tower and sending them squawking away. The excitement
and the caress of the air was of sexual intensity, and his sexual organ
responded in kind. He flew several times around the tower, seeing shocked
faces pressed up against tinted windows, before he turned on a wing and soared
off across town.
The top of another tall building lay below him, down the hill from Haben
Tower, and he could have landed on it had he wished.
Instead he touched the microwave relay antenna on its roof with the tips of
his toes as he flew over, making it wobble, causing a momentary interruption
in someone's data-link. Somewhere in the building, someone missed a word in a
conversation, or lost some bytes in a data transfer. The thought made him
giggle, and he circled around and waved at the windows, each one filled with
faces and open, gaping mouths. As he did so, the wind caught an edge of his
mask and pulled it off.
His face had been sweating under the mask, and the sudden blast of cool air
was a shock. He turned quickly away from the windows, dipped the glider and
banked, soaring away from the building. Holy Jesus, he thought. Holy Jesus.
Holy holy Jesus. For the first time since he jumped off the Haben Tower he
felt naked.
What am I going to do?
It was like a bad dream.
Heading away from the buildings, Mike continued down the hill, passing over
the City Hall. He circled above it, feeling his panic fade. Far below, gnat
sized people stood around in a parking lot looking up at him. He was so far up
that there was no way they could see his face, not even with binoculars. Not
clearly, at least. He continued to circle, smiling at the city buildings and
the tiny figures in the parking lot beneath him. City officials, no doubt, men
and women in the public trust, making laws to protect people from themselves.
Seeing something strange in the sky today? An eclipse perhaps? The moon at
noon?
He meandered above the city searching for updrafts. The loss of his mask still
worried him. It made him feel unsure, urged him to race the glider toward the
park for a quick escape. But he had plenty of elevation, and there were warm
updrafts here and there
--- he could stay up for another 30 minutes at least. At the moment he was
deliberately avoiding the park, not wanting to help any of the authorities who
may be tracking him to guess where he intended to land. As long as Mike
maintained his altitude, all it would take was one long dip, a quick swoop
across town, and he would be at the park --- far faster than anyone in a car
or on a bicycle could follow. I have time, he told himself. Lots of time.
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Daring himself, Mike turned into the wind and headed for the far side of the
hill, where the updraft would be the strongest.
The breeze coming in from the West hit the hill and deflected up at a steep
angle. Mike felt for it as he rounded past the concentric circles of the
Country Club, hoping to ease into it as
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20Noon.txt he thought it might be quite turbulent. He was over the upper half
of the golf range, the really tough holes which sat on the lower shoulder of
the hill, when the updraft hit him. Even though he was expecting it, it caught
him off guard as to how strong it actually was --- he felt the Earth drop away
and the blood rush to his feet, and there was creaking sounds from his
aluminum frame and two harsh pops, followed by a rapid fluttering of nylon.
The thrill of fear went through him like a spike. Two snap buttons on the
leading edge of his left wing, out toward the tip, had come undone. The drag
of the loose material pulled on that wing tip and made the glider turn, taking
him against his will out of the updraft.
Mike swore, throwing his weight to the other side, fighting the turn. If it
kept up like this, the best he could hope for was a slow spiral down to the
ground. What he was really worried about was coming around and hitting that
updraft again. With two snaps off, it wouldn't take much to pull the rest
loose --- the wing would come off like it were unzipped, parting from the
frame that held it out. Mike would tumble to his death, and only prove to the
world that hang gliding --- with or without a safety suit --- was too
dangerous to be legal.
Mike managed to cancel the turn, even to coax the glider a little to the
right. This was still no good, as he was now heading right for the side of the
hill. He had hardly any control now at all, though if he could just get it a
little more to the right, he could land safely on the fairway to the 7th hole.
But a sudden updraft caught him and sent him up another thirty meters, getting
him right up to the crest of the shoulder. And there, sitting on the ridge,
was the Country Club clubhouse. Mike aimed for the white rock of the long,
flat roof, and touched down to find it very hot on the bottom of his bare
feet.
"Yow!" he said. "Ow! Oooh! Ouch!" He hopped around, getting out of the
harness, then dropped the glider and danced around to the wing tip. He snapped
the buttons shut, rushed back to the middle, harnessed himself, and ran off
toward the North-East.
There was a terrible dip off the edge of the roof, and for a moment it didn't
look like he was going to clear the line of trees separating one side of the
ridge from the other. He turned on one wing and sailed in between, right
through the trees and only several feet over the grassy ground, then the hill
dropped away and the city once again spread below his bare toes. "Jesus!" he
exclaimed to himself. "This is it. This is enough." He pulled on the bar and
went into a dive. The glider swooped down toward the tops of the buildings,
the air rushing past him and roaring in his ears, then he pulled up and
crossed over to the park, a streak of color slicing through the air. He
circled around once, looking for a secluded spot, and shedding some of the
speed from the dive.
There was a whole meadow adjacent to his car that looked totally deserted, so
he took it down and hit the ground running. He reached the edge of the bushes
and struggled out of his harness, then quickly began undoing the wing nuts so
that he could fold the wings and get out of sight. From somewhere to his right
he heard shouting, and he gritted his teeth, trying to hurry. "Over there!"
he heard a woman's voice. "I think he landed!"
"Where?!"
"Over there!"
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Mike folded the wings and rushed into the bushes, pulling the glider after
him. He pulled his pack out and fumbled with his clothes, putting his
underwear on backwards and buttoning his shirt crooked. By the time he had his
safety suit on he could hear people in the meadow where he'd landed, calling
out to each other,
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Jerry%20Davis%20-%20The%20Moon%20at%
20Noon.txt saying they could swear this is where he had dropped from sight.
Trying to be as silent as possible, he disassembled the glider ---
though no matter what he tried, he couldn't silence the unsnapping of the
buttons. Someone was poking around in the bushes to the right of him, about
ten meters away, when Mike finished stowing the glider in the pack. He took a
breath, turned toward the street and pushed his way through the bushes to the
sidewalk.
There were two cops and a squad car right in front of him.
One was walking around the bushes toward the meadow, the other stood at the
car and then looked over to see Mike on the sidewalk, looking guilty. "Hey,"
he said, walking over to Mike. "What's that in the bag there?"
"What?"
The officer reached over and unzipped part of the bag, where a tuft of the
nylon had been sticking out. He pulled more of the nylon out and felt it with
his fingers. "I'll be damned," he muttered, looking up and peering into Mike's
eyes. "You're him."
"I'm who?" Mike said, but his voice was shaking, as were his hands.
"Don't play games with me, you're that crazy bastard mooning the city from the
air!" The officer whipped out his night stick and smacked Mike in the face.
"Pervert!" Whack! "Terrorist!"
Whack, whack! Mike gasped in agony and fell backwards, watching in horror as
the policeman's partner came into view and begin delivering blows of his own.
#
Consciousness came and went. Mike was aware of the ride in the ambulance, and
the doctors putting stitches in his face. Then he was in a hospital bed. The
gaps in between were like sections of a video tape that had been erased with a
magnet. He lie in the white, sterile linen, held snugly by the safety straps
required of all hospital beds, and stared at the holes in the ceiling. His
face felt as if an angry cougar used it to sharpen its claws.
Mike thought of his kids, his wife. His job. It was over.
They would never understand. Why did I have to do this? He tried to feel
regret, but it wasn't there. He was glad he was caught ---
he was calm about it. The Freud simulation had been right. In one single act
he'd broken all of the safety laws he so desperately hated, and he was proud
of it. He'd done it, survived, and now he could get on with his life . . . or
at least what there was left of it.
Someone was yelling outside the door. The voice had the edge of authority in
it, and sounded angry. "Let me get this straight.
You beat up and put into the hospital a man who broke the safety laws? Is this
what I'm hearing you say? I can't believe anyone can be so stupid! No! Shut
up! I don't want to hear any more . . ."
The voice faded out as they conversation moved away from the door.
Mike felt the impulse to smile, but it hurt too much. Good thing he'd had his
safety suit on before the police caught him. It had probably saved his life.
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