The Premium Member

After spending three full years in the laboratory, as the final round of testing for the Aurora anti-missile system I led was completed, the plane window framed the plane trees outside, their golden leaves falling to the ground. They were willing to offer me a lifelong green card and an annual research fund of ten million to stay abroad, but I just shook my head. It wasn't that I wasn't tempted, but every time I video called, the leader said, "The motherland is waiting for your results," and my mother said, "The pomegranate tree at home has borne fruit again." Those words gave me more resolve than any material offer. Before I left, the leader specially booked me a first-class ticket worth fifty thousand US dollars and repeatedly reminded me, "The documents are more important than your life. Don't reveal your identity along the way. Safety comes first." I hid the USB drive with the core parameters of The Light System in my inner pocket, placed the paper encrypted report into a magnet-proof briefcase, and changed into faded jeans and a gray hoodie—so I looked like an ordinary international student and wouldn't draw attention. I deliberately boarded the airplane half an hour early, hoping to find a quiet place to rest first. My seat was in first class by the window, offering a good view and making it easy to watch the briefcase at my feet. Just as I reclined the seat back to a comfortable angle and reached for my eye mask, someone suddenly grabbed the back of my collar with force, yanking me roughly from my seat. My elbow struck the tray table, and the water bottle on it rolled noisily down the aisle. "Are you blind? Can't you see this is my seat?" I rubbed the sore back of my neck and looked up at the man before me—his face brimming with arrogance. "Sir, are you sure you're in the right seat?" I bent down to pick up the water bottle and pointed to the boarding pass on the seat. "This has my name on it—Yale Lincoln." The man didn't even glance at the boarding pass; he scoffed, "On this plane, my word is the law." He pointed to the airline badge on his chest, which read "premium member," and said, "See? I'm a premium member of this airline. I can have any seat I want." I frowned and shifted my briefcase closer to my feet, blocking the spot. "No matter what kind of membership you have, I paid for this seat. Why should I give it to you?" The man stepped forward, looming over me, his spit nearly hitting my face. "Because my father is a shareholder of this airline! If I'm unhappy, the entire ground crew will be fired." Nearby passengers were already glancing over, some whispering quietly, but no one dared to speak up. The flight attendant in the blue uniform quickly approached. Her name tag read "Tina," and she wore a practiced smile, yet nodded and bowed only to the man. "Mr. Clark, please don't be upset. Leave this minor issue to us." When Tina turned to look at me, her smile disappeared instantly, replaced by a look of impatience. "Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Clark is our premium member and enjoys the privilege of priority seat changes. Could you please move to economy class? We can make you the first row of economy and offer you a voucher." "Economy class?" My heart sank—economy class is crowded and chaotic; what if someone with ill intentions might be watching my briefcase? If anything happened to the documents inside, what should I do? "Sorry, I can't." I stepped back, blocking the seat. "There are important things in my bag that I must keep it with me. It can't leave my sight." Tina's expression darkened, and her tone grew cold: "Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Clark letting you go to economy class is already a courtesy." I locked eyes with Tina, "Does your airline's policy state that 'premium members can forcibly take the seats of regular passengers'?" Tina was momentarily stunned by my question, then pulled out her mobile phone, swiped a few times, and shoved the screen in front of me: "We checked your ticket information; the associated identity profile shows you've been working on a farm abroad for the past three years. To be frank, you're just a laborer. What important things could you possibly have? Don't put on airs here!"