This 13,487 word Science Fiction Novelette is about someone mis-using nanotechnology developed for wild-life studies and preservation to spy on stock information to finance a White Supremacist return to power in post-Apartheid South Africa. Published in the August, 1992 issue of Analog Science Fiction and Fact this piece provided a nice check just when I had a big repair bill for my 2nd handicap-converted van. The first died at 167,??? miles. The ‘new’ one got me up to close to 200,000 but my commute was a bitch – made easier later with a mini-van I drive from my wheelchair. But I just found this story and wanted to share.

 

 

 

Eavesdroppers

©F. Alexander Brejcha

 

I.

         The gazelle was frozen, its eyes flicking from side to side; white in stark contrast to black.  The smell of fear was thick in the air.  The rest of the herd was drawing away in high bounds almost as if their legs were spring-loaded.  Their flight left a trail of dusty plumes on the baked African veldt; its grasses dried to even and stiff golden strands.

         But the gazelle didn't move.  The green sprigs that had caught its attention were only half-eaten and hunger obviously won over fear.  It bent down to nibble cautiously, eyes still scanning the surrounding area.  But the droning of the locusts had gradually resumed and the gazelle relaxed.  Overhead, an angry sun glared down from a clear sky so seamlessly blue that it looked like a painted ceiling.

         The hunter was frozen in mid-step where the sudden flight of the panicked herd had locked it.  It watched the lone buck and waited.  It was downwind from its intended prey and it wanted to get closer.  Then an angry chattering from the side startled it as a male ground squirrel gave a warning that sent its family diving into the burrow they shared with a pair of mongooses.

         The hunter exploded forward as the angry chattering galvanized the skittish buck.

         Heavy clawed feet dug into the baked earth to propel the tawny, muscled mass of the hunter towards its lean prey.  The gazelle was off and running, trying to catch up with the rest of the herd, but before it could get up to speed, the hunter was on it, bearing it to the ground and clamping its eager fangs around the fragile neck.  The powerful jaws closed in a vise-grip to snap the vertebrae.  The hunter's head twisted from side to side in a powerful shaking motion and the gazelle went limp in its jaws; warm fresh blood flooding its mouth...

#

         "...and cut the duping there."  Manuel laid his hand on Ashane's shoulder as he removed his sensor-helmet and looked over at her husband.  "How about the gazelle?  Did you get it all down?"

         Kume's anachronistic and bushy Afro bobbed as he pulled off his confining sensor-helmet.  "A masochist's delight.  I dropped the levels on the monitor channel, but believe me, the dupe has every adrenalin surge of panic and the agony of death right to the very end."

         "The end?"

         "Just like the original recording from the nanoscanners, except I skipped back and did a slow fade to black at the end."

         "That's not realistic," Ashane protested.

         Manuel squeezed her shoulder in sympathy.  "No, but it's more artistic.  I don't like it either, but the studios made it very plain what they want.  Kume's right.  If we want their money to support the wildlife fund, we've got to play their game--"

         "Besides," Kume interrupted.  "We were lucky that we finally got one of our scanner-infected quarry animals paired with a predator carrying scanners."

         "Really."  Manuel reached past Ashane to pull the recording crystal out of her terminal and wound his way over to the other side of the equipment-cluttered lab to take Kume's from him as the older South African handed them over.

         He eyed the optical storage chips critically, juggling them for a minute as he thought.  Overhead, the blades of the overhead fans spun slowly, moving the warm air of the lab around as the airconditioners struggled against all the computers they had jammed into the once spacious warehouse.  At the moment, though, it seemed almost cool after the baking sun of the veldt.

         Lions, prey, death.

         A downbeat presentation, for all its drama.  Then he thought of the perfect balance and looked back down at Ashane, who was getting ready to shut down her console.

         "How about the dolphins?  Did you figure out what to do about the phasing problem of the transmission during the shift from air to seawater?"

         "Uh huh,"  She nodded with a bright grin.  "Kume gave me an idea and I worked on it a bit."  She got up to join her husband, dropping into his lap with a contented sigh.  Then she blew in his ear lightly to tease him.  "Once in a while he comes up with some good ideas."

         They made a striking pair.  Ashane was a beautiful woman with flawlessly smooth and even blue-black skin -- much darker than Kume's even chocolate-brown -- and her hair was a tight, short cap in contrast to the fluffed out, old-fashioned Afro that crowned his battered ex-boxer's face.  But they were somehow made for each other.  The connection between them was almost visible.

         She looked back up at Manuel.

         "We used paired receivers and when the signal strength drops because of submersion, the second, ELF, set kicks in automatically.  Kume reprogrammed the computer to compensate for the phase shift.  I've got a live feed going on another channel set right now as a test recording."

         "Last time we checked," Kume continued, "it was feeding perfectly.  The nanoscanner infection had spread to all the prime sensory sites and replicated to completion.  The transmitter had just finished constructing itself and started broadcasting.  Getting sufficient body-current to power everything was the hardest.  The bio-chemistry of the Dolphin is just a little different from the other species we've been infecting and it took us a couple of tries to get it right.  Like all our other subjects, it's a frustratingly weak signal, but it's a clean one now that we've placed and coordinated enough surface and subsurface re-broadcasters.  Want to plug in?"

         Manuel nodded and put away the storage chips before putting on his helmet again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kume reach for his computer's microphone...

#

         Flying... floating, suspended by a warm and caressing crystal-clear cradle.  Sonar signals surrounded and painted a vivid picture of the cliffs that loom nearby, and also of the schools of fish that flitted past ahead.  The flexible body wiggled and put on speed, aiming itself towards the waiting food.  Then, confusion as fine trapping filaments grabbed hold and an invisible hand dragged upwards, tightening and cutting into streamlined flesh.  Signals came back.  A large dense object hovered above in the light.  Frantic warning pulses streamed out.  Tighter and tighter the invisible lines cut in and drew upwards.  The surface broke and light flooded everywhere and deep breaths were drawn as the body twisted and bucked, trying to free itself.

         Then a numbing blast of sound and agony flooded up...

#

         He was on the floor; his right elbow screaming in pain from where he must have hit it on the way down.

         "You all right Manuel?" Kume asked as he reached down to help remove Manuel's helmet.  His face was strained.

         Manuel nodded weakly and rubbed his whole tingling arm.  "You?"

         Kume tried a feeble smile.  "Better than you.  My monitor was still turned down."

         Soft hands wiped his face with a moist cloth as Ashane knelt beside him.  "I'm sorry, Manuel--"

         "Why?  It's not your fault I'm a klutz."  He grinned.  "As for the drift-netter and the dolphin, hey, that's the danger of a live feed.  Besides, don't be too solicitous or Kume might get jealous."  He got to his feet with a power boost from the powerful African who shook his head and looked down at him somberly.

         "Hardly.  Only an insecure man gets jealous."  Then Kume's face cracked in a grin.  "Besides, you're too short."

         Ashane nudged Kume in the ribs with an elbow as he put his arm around her.  "Hush!  He's cute.  And I like his mustache.  I think its sexy.  Besides, he's a doctor.  Be careful."

         "I'm a doctor, too, or I will be once I get through my thesis defense."  Kume drew himself up, barely controlling the smile that threatened to crack his face.  "And as for his mustache:  pooh!  Besides, look at that hair:  it's got no character."  He dismissed Manuel with a wave.  "And some doctor.  He hasn't seen a human patient in the five years we've been working on the scanner project.  He's as broke as we are."

         "Hmm."  Ashane cocked her head and then leaned closer to her husband.  "He has a point."  She grinned.  "Sorry, Manuel.  Besides, I like your wife."

         Manuel smiled and shook his head as he sat down by her terminal.  He was still shaky from the harsh death of the dolphin; amazed at the vividness of the signal.  He had never experienced anything so strong.

         He looked up at them.  "You know, it's a good thing the scanners won't work with people.  It's making me wonder a little, though.  I know Tom Carlyle's work showed that the greater complexity and cerebellar activity of the human brain made it impossible to get a coherent signal--"

         "From your brain, I might point out," Ashane giggled.  "You were the only test subject."

         Kume covered her mouth lightly.  "Ignore my wife, please.  What's that got to do with it?  You were hooked into a dolphin."

         "Just that, with the dolphin, we have the most intelligent mammal we've successfully scanned to date, and the signal is more powerful than anything else we've monitored.  This is a complex brain we're dealing with.  Why no interference here if complexity is the cause of interference?"  He eyed the helmet suspiciously.  "I wish Tom was still with us.  There's something screwy here--"

         "Not really," Ashane countered, freeing her hand by biting Kume lightly.  "It's still completely different than the human brain."  She grinned up wickedly at her husband as he tried to recapture her.  "Beast."  But she let herself get pulled back into his arms.

         "Maybe," Manuel conceded, trying to keep a straight face at their usual little game.  "Definitely...  A beast, that is.  As for the dolphin's brain, I'm not sure about the differences.  But first things first.  The studio's pushing for the preview, so we better get these crystals off.  I'm not sure what they'll think of the dolphin scene, but we'll see.  At least we won't have to worry about the fine nuances of species differences.  The mass-produced helmets for the theaters won't be as detail-producing as our lab-monitors, so it won't matter.  But, after the crystals go out, I've got a job for us.  It just doesn't make sense that the image from that dolphin was so intense, but that we can't interface with a human brain.  We've done an awful lot of refining since Tom did that test on me -- maybe we missed something?"  He looked at Ashane.  "I want to borrow you to check into that a bit.  I'm getting a little nervous."

         "About what?"  Kume released Ashane and perched himself on the corner of the chair, looking puzzled.

         Ashane frowned.  "I think I know what he means.  He's worried about what will happen when the world sees the new scanner-derived wildlife movies we'll be supplying data for.  A lot of people might ask the same question:  'what about people?'  If they don't just chalk it up to better special effects."

         Manuel nodded.  "Exactly.  There are going to be a lot of people wondering how we're doing it."

         "Ouch!"  Kume nodded.  "You're right.  I guess it's a good thing we hid ourselves real well."

         "Yup."  Manuel went on.  "I want to find out more about this now, so we don't get caught up in some fallout later because somebody else figures out an angle we missed.  So, Ashane and I will look into human brain-interfacing again, and as for you:  lets see if you're as good at programming and detecting as you think you are.  As we all think you are.  I'd like you to start by comparing any field data we have coming in from infected anthropoids, using the Renzler Scale of Anthropoid Intelligence.  That's the most recent... '97, I think, and as far as I know is the most accurate scale around.  See if there is a difference in sensory intensity that correlates with intelligence."

#

                                                      II.

         The afternoon sun was magnified by the floor to ceiling sheet of glass that was the outer wall of her office and she reached out to increase the polarization before turning back to her desk.  A tall skinny man stood there, archaic horn-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.  He looked like he was having a major ulcer-attack.  "But Ms. Daniels, the Hodgkiss reports are due in New York today--"

         "Screw New York.  If I don't swing this deal with the Moscow Stock Exchange in the next few hours I'm out several million dollars easy money.  Now get me Nicholai in Vladivostok, he's checking on some background I need.  And get me Towers in L.A..  I promised to let him in on this for saving my ass on that scam on the Tokyo exchange."

                 "I'm on it."  Jack scrambled, after leaving a small disk lying on her desk.

                 She shoved it to the side and reached out to turn on her desk terminal as she inserted a worn, unlabelled disk she pulled of her purse.  "Screw New York indeed.  With this deal, I may buy the home office.  Nobody knows about this coming merger."

#

         Manuel yanked off his helmet in shock and looked down at Kume.  "Where the hell is that coming from?"

         "As near as I can figure, Ms. Daniels is a stock-broker with a South African brokerage firm -- and from what I saw out the window, I'd say right here in Pretoria, only a few blocks away."  Kume swiveled on his chair and took off his own helmet.  "I caught it by accident when I went off the re-transmitted signals from our field units.  At first I thought I was getting interference and I kept fine-tuning and phase correcting when I caught flashes of a signal.  It took a while because the composite signal comes in on several frequencies at once and they all have to be perfectly tuned and synchronized... anyway, once I finally got in a clear group of matched transmissions, I realized that they were on a totally different frequency arrangement than what we usually use and... well, you can imagine my surprise when I caught your signal.  It's pretty flat and lifeless compared to what we're getting from the animals, as I'm sure you saw, but apparently your preliminary scanners are at least able to tap into primary sensory signals."

         He looked up at Ashane, oblivious to her confused expression.  "I knew you could do it.  I just didn't realize you had gotten that far with them.  It's only been three days since you started experimenting.  I could have sworn you said you were striking out.  I guess you had a breakthrough.  Did some of your scanners get loose from here before you could do a controlled test?"

         "What makes you think they're our scanners?" Manuel asked, finally realizing what Kume was rattling on about.

         "They're not?"

         "No.  You were right the first time.  We're still in simulation models and striking out every time we try.  Did you scan for any other signals like this one?"

         "Ah, well, no.  I thought they were our... I mean... well, if they're not--"

         Manuel frowned.  "Try it.  Scan the whole range around where you found that signal.  And tap into our other monitoring stations, too."

         "Do have any idea how many frequen--"

         "That's why we have computers.  It has to be a composite signal on a specific number of frequencies.  Give the computer the parameters of the intercepted signals and hook it in to your receivers.  Obviously someone else has been working on developing scanners like ours and they're tapping into people.  I want to know who, and why!"

         Ashane had been silent, but she finally spoke up, her face animated.  "I'll bet I know why we've been having trouble.  Our scanners are too good.  We were focusing on getting the most vivid images possible out of the animals for what we're doing and the scanners we developed are great for that, but with people, there is too much interference.  But whoever's tapping into that stockbroker must have been working with the idea of eavesdropping on people from the beginning.  They're working with cruder scanners that only tap into the primary senses and aren't overwhelmed by the extra signals that are swamping our scanners.  Did you notice how flat and lifeless the signal was?  Sight and sound only, nothing else.  That proves it."

         Manuel and Kume looked at each other and after a moment nodded.  Manuel turned back to her.  "That could be it.  But I still want to know who the hell is doing this.  Kume, sorry, but could you get going on trying to track this?"

         "Okay," Kume sighed and turned back to his console, pausing briefly to look back up at Manuel.  "By the way, there is a positive correlation between signal strength and intelligence from the anthropoid data I went over so far.  I don't have enough to give you exact numbers, yet, but as a gut feel, I'd say it's pretty strong.  So, up to a certain degree at least, the smarter, the better.  Something to keep in mind for future recording."

         "Thanks.  Shit!  So why didn't it work with people?"  He shook it off.  "That's going to have to wait.  Right now, we have to track down these eavesdroppers.  I'm going to call Mitchell at the studio and see if he can get them to hold off on releasing the clips.  Obviously someone is working in the same direction that we are, but why?  I want to know, before we start calling attention to ourselves."  He turned to Ashane.  "Would you please keep monitoring that stockbroker and see what else you can find out about her?  What firm she's with, for one thing.  It's invasion of privacy, but at least let a woman do the invading.  I'd feel uncomfortable if Kume or I did the lis--"

         "Prude."  Ashane stuck out her tongue, but she looked secretly pleased.

#

         A little while later, Manuel cut off the screen on the phone in his office and leaned back to let the cold air from the overhead vent wash over him.  An uneasy feeling gnawed at him.  He had been too late to stop the clips from being sent out.  The studio execs had gone wild about them and they had already distributed samples and prototype audience helmets to select screening audiences both in The Americas and Europe.

         Mitchell, who was going to direct the picture, had not cared much about the news about Daniels' eavesdroppers.  His dismissal of the discovery had been succinct:  "As long as they're not trying to cut in on our action, I don't give a shit.  They're obviously just in it for a quick buck.  Don't worry about it."

         Not very reassuring.  He didn't like the idea of someone using their discovery -- what they had thought was their discovery -- and doing something they couldn't do.

         The door to the office opened and Ashane poked her head in.

         "You done?  Good."

         He sat up.  "I thought you were supposed to--"

         "Van Der Hoeven Investments.  Her first name is Jennifer and she lives at 135--"

         "All right," he laughed.  "All right!  How did you find out so quickly?"

         "I got lucky."  She came into the office.  "She had to run home to get some papers she forgot and I came on just when she was ordering a cab.  And she's getting anxious.  She's--"

         "Hurry up!  Get back here," Kume's voice called from out in the lab.

         Manuel and Ashane joined him as he was pounding the keyboard of an adjacent terminal intently while he kept a watchful eye on its screen, even while whispering into the microphone clipped to his shirt.  Then he looked up.

         "I'm waiting on the frequency scan to finish, and I kept an eye on Daniels while Ashane went to get you--"

         "What happened?" Manuel asked.

         "Her whole stock deal fell through," Kume explained.  "Someone beat her to the punch."

         "She was working on a deal to buy up shares in a small company that was just bought up by a conglomerate," Ashane added.  "Insider trading, pure and simple."

         "Yea, except someone else knew, too," Kume finished.  "They bought up all available shares before Daniels could do it.  She's hot!"

         "Someone, as in the person whose scanners we're picking up?" Manuel guessed.

         Kume nodded.  "Seems that way.  Apparently it's not the first time and she's tearing apart her office looking for bugs."

         "Can she pick up the scanners' transmissions?"

         "She might be able to detect that there is some sort of a signal," Ashane answered, "but even that's doubtful.  Doesn't matter.  She'll never be able to make sense of it without a computer translation set-up like ours."

         "What was that you were keying in?" Manuel peered over Kume's shoulder at the one screen.

         "The stock that was bought up, I figured maybe we could trace the buyers."

         "Are you still recording Daniels?"

         "Yes.  I'm hoping to find out what other deals she's been burned on--"

         "Find common buyers and we have our eavesdroppers?"

         "Exactly."

         "Unless the stocks were bought through fronts," Ashane cautioned.

         Manuel perched himself on the edge of Kume's desk, his fingers tapping slowly on the underside.  "Can we find them?"

         "I don't see how," Kume said sourly.  "Unless I find some more signals and maybe pin down where they are operating from--"

         Manuel jumped down and started pacing anxiously.  "Wait a minute!  That could be our chance.  The scanners are severely limited in signal strength since they have to be powered by the subject's own body.  The eavesdroppers would have to have receiving and re-broadcasting stations set up near each subject.  Just like we have--"

         "--and there's got to be one near Daniels," Ashane cut in with a grin.  "All we have to do is find it."

         "It's got to be in Daniels' building, or in an adjacent one," Manuel decided.  "This is going to sound crazy, but I want to keep all this to the three of us.  What do you think about sabotaging their transmitter, if we find it, and planting a trap there with scanners cued to humans... assuming we can make some."  He stopped as he saw the suddenly distracted look on Ashane's face and asked her, "what's wrong?"

         She was quiet for a moment, but then glanced up.  "Nothing, with your idea.  But I just had one of my own.  I've been thinking more about our own problems with the computer simulations.  Maybe our trouble now isn't it isn't hardware, but software?  Our new scanners are much better than the ones we tried on you and, to be safe, we're doing everything first with software simulation.  That's okay with animal specimens, but the human brain is so much more complex that perhaps our testing software can't handle all the variables involved in simulating scanners in a human brain.  Daniels' eavesdroppers never had our trouble because they never worried about the type of detailed signal we're after.  Let's try some new live tests, beginning with the latest anthropoid models as baseline and using simulation to configure the scanners as much as possible for a human brain.  I'll volunteer.  I'll bet that they'll work just fine despite the computer projections.  They're safe enough now.  We know--"

         "You'll volunteer?"  Manuel stared, remembering her aversion to the early tests.  "Kume, what do you think of that?"

         He shrugged.  "Hey, she's over twenty-one and vaccinated.  If she's willing to be a Guinea pig, that's her decision and I'll respect it.  I may not be really comfortable with it, but she's right.  The scanners are safe."  He swiveled back and forth slowly.  "And I think she's got another point:  you might be trying to handle too many variables.  That would explain your problems in trying to simulate scanner use in humans."  He shrugged.  "But even if the more complex scanners fail, try the approach the eavesdroppers used and just tap into the primary senses.  We're not doing this for the studios, just for us."

         Manuel stared at the helmet in his hands.  "Makes sense..."  He turned to Ashane.  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

         She shook her head.  "No.  But something's going on here and we need to find out what it is.  You did it last time and it's only fair that one of us try it this time.  I can handle it, and you heard Kume:  there's no danger.  Besides, you two will be the only ones listening, and you're both family."  For a moment she seemed extremely embarrassed and her eyes reached out to Kume, who came over and hugged her close.

         "It'll be fine."

         Manuel was silent for a moment and then coughed softly.  "Look, I hate to break this up but we had better get working.  Before I steal your wife again, how's the frequency scan going?  Did you pick up any other signals?"

         Kume studied the display panel of one of the terminals and, after a moment, shook his head.  "No, and the chances are slim.  Our best bet is to cover the area around Daniels to try to find that transmitter.  I can put together three portable directional frequency scanners that will only be triggered by a multi-phase signal like the one from Daniels', and then we can go hunting."

         "Good, do it, please."

#

                                                     III.

         A busy week later, Manuel decided to take a break and check on Kume's progress.

         "Where's Ashane?" he asked as he looked around the lab curiously.  "I haven't seen her all day."

         "She needed to be alone," Kume explained.  "For the last week she's been carrying the new scanners so we could continue testing and she finally had enough.  I pulled them out and triggered the breakdown of the transmitter.  I hope you don't--"

         "No, of course not.  We were done.  Any sign of life from our trap?"

         "Nah.  Not yet.  But since the signal from Daniels kicked in yesterday, we know they fixed the 'accidental' overload we arranged.  But we should know pretty soon if the trap worked and if any of the repair people got infected."  He looked at his watch.  "Considering the time it takes for the nanoscanners to spread to the sensory sites, plug in, replicate, link up for power and then assemble the transmitter, I expect we'll know sometime today if we caught anyone.  Provided they're close enough to a re-broadcaster."

         "'Aye, there's the rub', as the great bard said."  Manuel frowned.  "Those field units we pulled in and scattered around the city will help, but we can't possibly cover more than a fraction of the area."

         "At least we know that since the ones bugging Daniels are also limited, they can't be too far away from her office.  We're all pretty close.  Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't picked up our signals."

         "Uh uh." Manuel shook his head.  "Most of our signals come in over the phone lines from the field.  Well, if you hear--"

         "Hi.  Talking about me?"  Ashane was standing in the doorway, a forced smile on her face.

         "Not any more... what's wrong?"  Kume asked, noticing her expression.  He started to pull off his helmet and get up, but she waved him back.

         "I'm okay.  Keep monitoring.  I'm just feeling the effects of listening in on the recordings you made of me.  I had no idea how good the scanners really are--"

         "Well, they better be.  We're tapping into as many nerve junctions as possible.  But are you sure you're okay?" he persisted.

         "I am, really!"  She smiled weakly.  "Now tell me:  what's up?  You look like you have some news."

         Manuel didn't quite believe her, and it was clear that Kume didn't, either, but they knew her well enough not to push it.  Instead, Manuel told them about his last call.

         "Well, I just had a call from Mitchell--"

         "What did he say?" Ashane cut him off.

         "Just that the reactions to Lion Hunt clip we sent were overwhelmingly positive.  To quote him:  'the audiences went wild!', end quote.  The dolphin shots were never sent out, but the studio wants as much gritty wildlife footage as we can get together.  And they want it soon, so they can begin editing and adding dramatic footage to put together a worldwide broadcast, keyed in with the turn of the century next year."

         "Great!"  Kume's face split in a wide grin as he looked up from under the helmet.  "That's the type of publicity we've been pushing for all along."

         "Well, before you get too excited, why don't you take a break and let me monitor for a while."  Manuel glanced briefly at Ashane, who still looked very subdued.  He had a feeling she could use a moment alone with Kume.

         Kume nodded, understanding, as he reached up to take off the helmet, but then he froze.  "Wait as minute!"  He turned to his console suddenly and cocked his head, listening.

         "I've got one!"  He glanced up briefly.  "Our trap paid off  and our own eavesdroppers got somebody!"

         Manuel grabbed a helmet and passed it over to Ashane and then put on his own, plugging both into Kume's console.

         He was soon immersed in an eerie double life; standing in the slightly stuffy but sterile lab with a metal helmet clamped around his head, and at the same time, riding in the passenger seat of an antique gas-powered car out in the sunshine, almost sneezing from exhaust fumes he wasn't physically smelling except by proxy.

         Tall, generic office buildings thrust up from pedestrian-jammed concrete sidewalks flanking the wide city street.  The open car window sent in a buffeting wash of dry air spiced with a range of urban sounds and smells.  The car radio started playing an older top forty hit by a popular English female singer from the early nineties who had hit it big with a rich, genuine soul sound.  Lisa, somebody or other, he couldn't remember her name, but he remembered how surprised he had been when he had seen the video of her first hit and found out that she was white.

#

         Suddenly 'he' cursed and reached over to turn the radio off.  "Another keffer!"  His guttural, snarling Afrikaans was hard to follow and the obvious flare of hatred in the voice was sickening.

         "She's white," the unseen driver said.

         "Doesn't sound like it to me, Karl.  But if that's true, it's even worse."

         "Why?"

         "I don't like the idea of a good white woman humiliating herself to make money kissing up to the--"

         "Ah, stuff it Eric!  You're talking like van Goetzer.  He hired our bodies, not our brains.  This is the new South Africa now.  Everyone is a human being, and according to the law:  equal.  They may not be as good as we are, but we're stuck with the new laws--"

         "--and there's too bloody many of them voting to be able to put things right.  It doesn't matter.  Things will change again, you'll see.  Don't make fun of van Goetzer -- he's right.  What we're doing will restore our rights and our land.  You never really understood that.  That's why you will never truly be part of the Movement."  'He' looked over at the driver -- an older man with thinning grey hair sitting there shaking his head.  A resigned smile hovered on his face.

         "If you say so, Eric.  If you say so.  All I know is that we're getting good money to maintain some electronic equipment.  I don't care about more than that.  I have a wife and children to feed."

         "Well I don't anymore--"

         "Don't care?"

         "Don't have a wife or children!  The keffers killed them in the housing riots."  Hatred suddenly battled with intense loneliness and pain.

#

         Manuel snatched off his helmet, feeling vaguely ill.  "Keep recording, Kume, and let me know if you hear where they're going."  He stared at the thing in his hands, torn between nausea and fascination.

         "I don't believe how real it felt.  With their eavesdroppers, it was like peering in a window, but with ours, it was like really being there..."  He shuddered.  "And I don't like where I've been!"

         But Kume just nodded absently as he sat staring at Ashane in shock.  "Van Goetzer and The Movement!  That's the same group of ass-holes responsible for the death of Tom's wife."  He shook his head.  "Damn!  I still remember when he found out."

         Ashane's hand was warm on Manuel's arm.  "Me too.  I can't blame him for going over the edge."  Her hand clenched.  I don't believe they're still running around out there!"

         "Karl and Eric," Manuel mused.  "At least Karl doesn't seem to be a fanatic, just greedy--"

         "A greedy bigot!"  Ashane's jaw was clenched.

         "True.  He might learn eventually, though.  But Eric, he's another kind, an anachronism.  He'll never change.  I've seen the type.  They're rare these days, fortunately, but there are still too many--"

         "More than you know!"  Kume's voice was ice-cold as he interrupted.  Obviously he had been listening to them, too.  "Eric's type isn't the dying breed you think.  Not even in America.  You ought to know that, Doctor Fuentes."  His voice

was mocking.  "Hispanics are a minority, too.  I will admit that things are better in the America's, but here, the old ways are taking a long time to die.  Real changes are still very recent history.  The laws may be more enlightened and they are enforced, but with many, the old attitudes are right below the surface."

         Ashane's expression mirrored her husband's.  "The latest race riots weren't that long ago."  She linked hands firmly with Kume as dropped to sit next to him.

         All at once, Manuel felt like he was intruding and he withdrew to his office.  He wanted to call Mitchell, anyway. 

#

                                                     IV.

         "Who the hell is van Goetzer?"  Paul Mitchell was leaning forward and glaring into the phone's camera.  Judging from slightly puffy eyes, Manuel had a feeling he had interrupted a brief nap and he tried to look contrite as he explained.

         "He's an old guard fanatic who fought tooth and nail against the breaking down of the apartheid barriers.  He's in hiding now, but he was a strong driving force in Orania for its brief existence, and when that was reabsorbed, he started a para-military force to build and protect a huge sheltered estate where he could be his own king.  That didn't last long before he had to go into hiding.  But he's been behind a lot of the racist demonstrations that have sprung up from time to time as he pulled together people who miss the good old days when only White was right.  One of the nanotechnologists who worked with us in the beginning -- Tom Carlyle -- got caught in the sidelines of one of those demonstrations.  His pregnant wife was accidentally killed when a mob got out of control.  In '97."

         "Oh, I'm sorry.  But why is he worrying you so much right now?"

         "Because I want to know what he's up to--"

         "Raising money to keep spouting bullshit, of course," Mitchell broke in, dismissing it.  "It's getting harder and harder to make anyone listen to that kind of archaic ranting."

         "That's what I thought, but I was politely corrected by someone who is better placed to comment on that.  No, I'm starting to think there's more to it than just fading glory grabs.  We're talking major money here.  Kume worked out how much money they made just on that last little coup, just from what little he could track down, and it was well over a million, just that one time."

         Mitchell whistled.  "Oh!  I didn't realize."  He shook his head.  "So he's greedy.  What's it prove?"

         "Nothing, yet.  Just a bad gut feeling.  Once 'Lion Hunt' hits the theaters, he'll realize that someone else is doing what he is and--"

         "--you're afraid he'll come after you!"  Mitchell laughed.  "Hell, the way you hid yourselves, no way!  Relax.  I can't even find you.  But I have your bank account and I see deposits, major deposits coming."  He closed his eyes, hands hovering like over a crystal ball.  Then his eyes snapped open.  "Lighten up.  You're getting paranoid.  Van Goetzer is an ass-hole who wants to retire in style with a clever scam.  Don't worry about it.  Now go get me some more footage like that dolphin scene you sent.  That's drama!  Not everyone went for it, but I have a 'feeling' about it."  He leaned back and stabbed his gut.  Then he reached forward and the picture disappeared into shimmering grey phosphorescence.

         Manuel turned off the phone, his hands clenching.  Mitchell was wrong.  There was a lot more going on here than it seemed.

         He got up and went back out into the lab in time to see Ashane wave her hand at him.

         "Plug in, quick!"

         He did...

#

         Karl was leaning forward to see through a sudden burst of rain that smeared the windshield.  Here on the unautomated city streets, traffic was fairly thick.  He glanced over briefly.

         "What's bothering you, Eric?"

         "I'm starting to wonder what we're doing here.  We're bugging people, somehow, and it's for big money.  Some of my connections have filled me in on a little of what's happening.  But instead of reporting directly to van Goetzer, we're reporting to some guy Carlyle -- and not even directly, but through middle-men.  I want to know what he's up to."

         "Who?

         "Carlyle!" Eric snapped.

         "Who is Carlyle, anyway?"  Karl looked over again.

         "He's the one who's got us running around.  I got his name from one of the shippers who brought us the last batch of supplies.  I couldn't find out anything else, though.  If I can find out more about him, I'll bet I get in on some real action when we're ready to take back control of the country."

         Karl sighed.  "And how are you going to do that."  It was obvious he didn't care.

         "Simple.  I'm going to find out what Carlyle is doing with all the money he's been raking in.  I know he's got to be making a damn sight more than he's telling.  The Movement's getting a nice flow of cash, but what about the rest?  He swears he's only keeping expenses, but if Carlyle is being straight, why is he so secretive?  I'll lay you odds van Goetzer would love to find out if Carlyle's keeping more than his share."

         "Oh give it a rest, Eric.  This rain's getting too heavy to sit here and listen to your bitching.  If Carlyle has any sense, he is living the good life and enjoying things a bit.  So what if he is?"

#

         Manuel pulled of his helmet numbly.  "Carlyle?  Not Tom.  It couldn't be."

         "It has a certain sick logic."  Kume looked at Ashane, his face carefully blank.  "I've had my suspicions.  Even if it seems bizarre.  Who else would make scanners so similar to ours that we can pick up on the signal so easily?  He was in on all our early research."

         All eyes drifted over to the far wall where a large picture hung.  Kume and Ashane in a mass hug with another Black couple.  The man was closer to Manuel's height, a full head shorter than Kume, and seemed slender and frail in comparison, but closer inspection betrayed the tightly sculpted body of another sort of athlete.  His skin was the same rich ebony as Ashane's, matching the other woman perfectly.  She could have been Ashane's sister, except for the bulging of her advanced pregnancy.

         Ashane walked over to the picture and stroked the swollen stomach, her jaw tight.  She glared at Manuel and Kume.

         "After van Goetzer's crowd killed Marilyn and his baby, do you honestly think he could be helping that murderer against our own people?"  Her eyes narrowed and Kume cringed.

         "Compensation maybe?" Manuel offered.  "He blames his own people for over-reacting?  Hell, there were a lot of African leaders who criticized the radicals for not ignoring van Goetzer when it was obvious he was going to get shut down anyway by the coalition government.  What if he's lashing out personally because of Marilyn's death?  It's the only explanation I can think of.  I've read about a number of similar reactive personality changes in psych journals... well, maybe not."  He shut up.  It didn't sit well with him, either, and it was obvious that Ashane didn't buy it.  He tried another tack.  "Hasn't Tom tried calling, or anything?  I lost touch with him and I don't even know where he's at anymore.  You four were so close--"

         "He hasn't seen fit to ask us for help," Kume cut him off as Ashane went over to the window, her back a rigid exclamation mark; her face tightly controlled as she shut them out.

         Manuel knew better than to say anything.  If Kume didn't go to her, she didn't want comforting.  He knew her best.  Manuel picked up a helmet.

         "Look, we better keep monitoring.  Maybe we'll learn something more."

         Kume nodded.  "'Shana, do you want to plug in?"  He looked over and held out a helmet.  "We need to know."

         She didn't say a word, but just grabbed the helmet on her way past him and then sat down on the other side of the counter at her own desk, ignoring Kume and Manuel.  "Feed it over here, please."  She didn't look at them.

         "Sure."  Kume spoke softly into his microphone as he sat down and put on his own helmet.

         Manuel plugged his helmet into Kume's terminal...

#

         "Eric, I have a feeling that you two are probably wondering about all the money I've been getting from our operations, and what I'm doing with it."  Eric stared at the abstract pattern on the blanked phone screen as the familiar deep voice went on.  "Well, I've been planning a little project of my own.  It involves getting scanned footage of Black violence against us -- which will be ea

 

 

 

 

 

 

sy to get or fake.  Then I plan to hook it into that worldwide broadcast the movie studio is planning.  And I want you to present that plan to your bosses.  No offense, Karl, you have been invaluable, too, but I think a more material reward might make you happier, so you'll get a good bonus on your next check.  But you, Eric, deserve recognition for the faithful service you have been doing for your race.  When you present this, van Goetzer is bound to take you into his confidence and give you that chance you probably want.  Your leader has planned well from his hiding place and he will soon be in position to strike a major blow for our side.  But he made one error.  He thinks there is more support for his views than there actually is, and so he may fail again.  But with my broadcast to pave the way, he'll have all the support he could hope for."

         "And you want me to present this?  Why don't you do it and take the credit?"

         Carlyle laughed.  "Believe it or not, but van Goetzer still doesn't trust me, and I have to go through you unless he calls me.  But in this case it doesn't matter.  I'll have my share of credit -- both fiscally and otherwise.  After all, it's my plan that is financing him to a large extent and I'm the one who is designing the scanners, so van Goetzer already knows how much he owes me.  But I like my privacy.  Also, as you may have guessed, I have been keeping a decent share of my proceeds for myself and I'd like to enjoy that.  Now, contact your boss and let him know what you have planned, but don't give the details.  Insist on speaking to van Goetzer himself and don't tell anyone else just what we're planning or they'll take the credit and bury you.  Let me know what happens."

         The phone-screen went totally blank for a moment and then the normal decorative stand-by pattern resumed flickering.

         Karl reached over to turn off the phone.  "Well, you got your wish, and I got mine.  Now shut up and plan your presentation so you can get your reward.  I'll wait for mine in the mail."

#

         "That was Tom," Kume admitted reluctantly.  "I'd know his voice anywhere."  He leaned over towards the phone and typed in a directory request, but nothing came up except an old disconnected listing.

         Ashane was suddenly heading for the door out into the hall, and she turned briefly as she reached it.

         "Let me see if we can track him down through some of his old friends that I know.  Maybe he's kept in touch with them."  Then she disappeared into the hall and Manuel looked over at Kume.

         "What's with her?"

         Kume shrugged, but his face was troubled.  "She and Marilyn were real close, almost like sisters.  They both came from poor backgrounds, married professional men and then educated themselves.  It made for a bond between them.  That's all.  It must have come as quite a shock to see how Tom's been twisted--"

         Manuel studied Kume's face.  After five years of constantly working together, he knew the large man better than his own brother back in L.A. and there was no doubt in his mind:  Kume was lying.

         "That's not all there is to it and you know it.  What the hell is going on?"

         "Nothing!"  Kume turned away, his face blank as he started to put his helmet back on, but Manuel got up and went over to grab it from him.

         "Bullshit!  We've been friends too long... I know you.  Don't lie to--"

         "Back off, Manuel!"  Kume stood up, his voice harsh as he towered over Manuel.  "You don't underst--"

         "You back off!"  Manuel glared back up.  "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?  We're family!  Ashane's really upset about something and you know what it is but you're not doing a damn thing.  I know she wants to handle her own problems but you've always been there for her and right now you don't seem to give a shit."

         Kume flinched.  "I do care!"  Forcing Manuel aside through sheer force, he headed for the door.

         Manuel ducked past him and blocked it.  "If you go through this door, don't bother coming back.  We've never lied to each other or kept anything from each other before and I won't take it."

         For a moment he thought Kume would just push past him, but then the large South African froze and stood unmoving, his eyes focused on the helmet Manuel had tossed onto the counter next to his terminal.  Finally he turned back and walked back to his terminal to drop onto his chair heavily.  He spun away and sat silent for a long time, staring at his clenched hands in front of him.  His head shook slowly and the massive hands flexed rhythmically.  Finally he sighed and seemed to sag slightly as he turned back to Manuel.

         "We have been lying," Kume admitted.  "We've known about Tom all along."  Manuel dropped into a chair, shocked, and Kume looked down briefly.  "I'm afraid so.  He called us... oh, I guess about six months ago to see how we were progressing on the scanners.  He was," he waved his hands uncertainly, "different.  Hyper, and real secretive.  And he didn't want us to tell you he had called.  He kept pushing, trying to get us to give him the designs for our scanners.  He had gotten fairly far in developing scanners based on the work we did when he was still with us, and by sticking to sight and sound only and not trying to be as sophisticated as we were.  But he had been trying to refine that further and to make it work with people, but that's where he started having problems and wanted our help.  'Shana and I both felt real uncomfortable about his call and we didn't help him.  We told him he would have to call you."

         "And that was the end of it?"

         "Yes... well--"

         "Well what?"

         Kume looked uncomfortable.  "Well, that was it, as far as I know, but 'Shana's been real touchy about the whole thing lately.  I almost wonder if she hasn't been in contact with him again.  She always was closer to him and Marilyn than I was.  Maybe he called when she was alone and she got roped into helping him somehow.  She obviously hasn't given him our secrets, but maybe she has helped him with his own scanners."

         "That would explain why she was so upset just now when she found out he's working with those ass-holes of van Goetzer's," Manuel mused.  "Have you asked her about it?"

         "No.  I figured she'd tell me about it when she was ready.  We don't keep things from each--"

         "You're wrong, dear."  Ashane had come back in without them realizing it and she moved past Manuel to sit down next to Kume.  Her face was moist.  "Tom called back a few days later while you were at that conference in Paris and Manuel was in New York--"

         "Why didn't you tell me?"  Kume reached out and pulled her close, one hand kneading her neck gently.

         "I don't know... we were talking about Marilyn and the baby for a long time... it was a boy you know.  Tom hadn't wanted to know, but Marilyn couldn't resist finding out.  She had been so excited.  It was what Tom had been hoping for.  Then, suddenly I was blabbing about our work here... I was afraid of telling you that I had given away some of what we had learned."

         "It's all right."  He hugged her tight.

         Manuel went up to them and laid a hand on her shoulder, ignoring Kume's irritated look.  "There's more, isn't there?"

         She nodded and squirmed out of Kume's embrace, reaching up with her shoulders to wipe her eyes dry as she stood up to face Manuel.

         "Afraid so.  Once I had started helping him, it was easy to go on... it was easier than to admit what I was doing to you.  I've been sabotaging our attempts to develop scanners for people.  There was no software problem or problem with interference from a human's more complex brain.  Just me changing a few parameters here and there while you weren't looking and talking fast every time you thought about trying again.  In the meantime I was helping him to interface with people without using our more advanced scanners, just what he had developed on his own--"

         Kume stared.  "You helped him develop the scanners for Daniels--"

         "--and several other brokers, company C.E.O.'s and such.  He told me he was using the money anonymously to finance relief and educational programs for our poor.  We are equal according to the law, now -- and even in the eyes of more and more people -- but we can't compete properly until we have the education and resources to get the good jobs and get into the mainstream.  Too many people are barely out of a primitive tribal society, trying to adjust to a modern world.  And not just here in South Africa, but all over the continent.  Hell, Manuel, look at your own country:  many of our people still fight for assimilation, there.  Equality still has a long way to go even in the 'great melting pot'.  That's why I was helping him.  I was afraid to tell you because what we were doing was illegal."

         Manuel bit his lip.  "And now you find out that that money has been going to people like van Goetzer instead.  Ouch!"

         "Exactly!"  She looked back at Kume briefly.  "Now do you understand why I'm upset?  I've been helping him against our own people!  I just tried to track him down, but he's cut off the line I used to reach him before and I can't get a lead on him anywhere!"

         "So why did you stop screwing up my attempts to make people-scanners?" Manuel asked.  "You didn't know about him then."

         Ashane's mouth was a tight slash.  "Because he asked me to help you develop the best scanners possible if I wouldn't help him do it.  He wanted Eric bugged.  He said he was going to move Eric up in the hierarchy of the Movement and through him, show the whole world what they are."

         "Good idea, except he's doing the exact opposite!"  Kume growled.  "But at least that explains how he knew Eric wanted to track him down, and why he contacted Eric, just now."

         "I just can't understand Tom turning against everything he believes in," Ashane protested in a low voice.  "He's never had anything but contempt for people like van Goetzer.  That's why he changed his name.  He was tired of people not retaining his services just because he had an African surname.  Most of his clients never saw him personally or on the phone, so it wasn't a problem in his consulting work.  He hated--"

         "He hated bigots?"  Manuel ventured.

         "Exactly."

         "Seems to me once you get in the habit of hating, the targets sometimes get blurred."  Manuel shrugged.  "That may sound clichéd, but it's often true."  He reached out to take her hand briefly.  "Don't blame yourself.  From what I understand, the radicals who accidentally killed Marilyn were a pretty militant group.  Remember what I said about compensation?  It happens that people can go from hating a few responsible individuals and then generalize it.  Why he's helping van Goetzer, I can't understand.  But he may not have gotten to that yet.  He may still be focused on those directly responsible for Marilyn's death.  And there's something else, too.  I hate to raise this possibility, but consider the fact that Tom built up his consulting business in Europe and America where he went to school and never really identified with the African experience.  It wasn't until he met Marilyn on a business trip that he got interested in discovering his roots.  He was from a rich family in Ethiopia and never knew much other than that, Europe and America--"

         Ashane pulled away from him.  "You're saying it's easier for him to lash out against Africans because he doesn't feel they're his people?"  Her body rejected the idea.

         Kume's face had been running through a wide range of expressions as they spoke, but settled finally on reluctant pity.  "That makes sense, "Shana.  It still hurts, but when combined with everything else, it makes a certain twisted sense--"

         Manuel nodded.  "When coupled with Marilyn's death, yes.  I don't know, but it's the only explanation I can think of."  Ashane obviously didn't buy it and he gave up.  "Look, whatever Tom's problem is, we have to find out what really going on.  We've got to figure out what to do."

         "Start by keeping an eye on Eric," Kume said immediately and turned back to his terminal to slip on his helmet after.  "We've got to find Tom.  Obviously he is using our own scanners to keep tabs on Eric.  He's got to figure that since we bugged Eric, we know about his plans.  And that means he has to move quickly before we try to stop him."

         Manuel nodded.  "You're right.  We have to find van Goetzer and Tom before they can implement their plan, whatever it is."  He leaned forward.  "'Shana, I'm sorry, but could you please speed through the recorded scan to make sure we haven't missed anything?  And Kume?"  He waited till Kume looked up, only half paying attention to him.  "We'll have to cover Eric live, in shifts, to make sure we keep track of what he's doing.  Sooner or later he'll be getting together for a meeting with van Goetzer and we've got to be 'there'."

         "Can't we call the police, or somebody?" Ashane wondered.

         Manuel shook his head.  "And say what?"

         "They've been involved in stock fraud!"

         Manuel shook his head.  "Prove it without implicating us for breaking the Right to Privacy Act of '94.  And we're probably violating a bunch of broadcasting laws, too."

         "Ouch!"  She slumped and leaned into Kume with a sigh.  She was obviously distressed over the idea that Tom was somehow involved.   But Kume just gave her an absent-minded kiss and brief hug before concentrating on Eric's transmission, so she got up after a moment and sat down at her own terminal to go through the recordings from earlier.

         Manuel, in the meantime, went upstairs to his apartment to lie down for a couple of hours so he could let Kume and Ashane take some time together later to talk.  He had a feeling they needed to.

#

         He only had an hour before his intercom rang and he groped for the answer bar to see Kume stare out from the screen.

         "What is it?" he mumbled.

         "Sorry, Manuel.  Eric just made a call and he's heading over to meet van Goetzer now.  And get this!  The meeting is at the Henderson Tower."

         "The Henderson?"  All at once, he was wide awake.  "That's just down the block!  Do you mean to tell me van Goetzer's been that close all this time?"

         "You got me.  But that's where they're meeting.  It's pretty logical.  It's owned by old money -- one of the few left that is -- and it's got a heliport for quick entry and exits."

         "I'll be right there!"  He threw his clothes back on and hurried down to the lab where Ashane sat under the helmet.

         "Well Kume, just what did you hear?"

         "Actually, 'Shana heard part of it on reviewing.  Eric had called van Goetzer's people earlier and laid out his proposal very briefly, just like Tom told him to.  And, as Tom expected, when he refused to give details except to van Goetzer himself, he was told to wait.  Then, van Goetzer himself called them and Eric laid out Carlyle's plan.  He didn't have much time, but the plan must have fitted well with whatever van Goetzer has planned, because he invited them to join a closed group meeting of the Movement--"

         "--at the Henderson."

         "Exactly."

         Suddenly Ashane began waving frantically.

         "Plug in, damn it!  And get ready to call the police!"

#

         "Well, well.  What have we here?"  Eric shoved the half-conscious African back down on the ground, gun-barrel digging into his cheek.  "Thought you'd have a nice Sunday afternoon mugging, didn't you?"  He turned to the older White man who was staring down at them in surprise.  "Get lost!  I'll deal with this."

         "Right!  He was trying to rob me--"

         "Go on!  Get out of here!"

         The man ran, torn coat-tails flapping as he disappeared around the corner out onto the main street.

         "Eric!  Don't be stupid," Karl warned from behind as he climbed out of the passenger seat of the car Eric had barrelled into the alley with.  Trash cans, cardboard boxes and piles of garbage had been scattered everywhere.  Around them, bleak, bare concrete walls climbed upwards, devoid of any windows.  A strong smell of urine and rotting garbage hung in the air.

         Eric laughed.  "Hey, I probably saved that man's life."  His heart was pounding from the adrenalin rush.  "That Black bastard had a gun on him and was forcing him onto the ground.  Who knows what he was going to do.  Might even have been trying to rape him.  They're all a bunch of unnatural bastards, anyway."

         The man on the ground was moaning and half-retching as he moved weakly, digging in his coat pocket.

         Eric slammed the gun barrel on his wrist.  "Ah ah aah!  Naughty, naughty.  What are you looking for?  Another gun?" He reached down and fumbled around in the large pocket, fingers closing on something rectangular and hard.  He pulled it out.  It was a folding leather case which he flipped open to reveal a gold badge and a police I.D., the Black man's face prominently displayed.

         "Shit!" Karl exclaimed, coming up behind them.  "Now you've done it.  He's a detective!  He was probably making an arrest and you let the suspect get away.  Oh, great!  Van Goetzer's going to love--"

         "Shut up, damn it!" Eric snapped.  "You fool!  He probably heard you.  I might have been able to explain, but you just blew it."

         The man on the ground slumped, unconscious again.

         Karl bent down next to him, checking the officer's eyes.  "You ran into him too hard with the car.  He's really hurt."

         "He's going to be dead," Eric said calmly.  "He might have heard van Goetzer's name, and you know we can't bring him into anything like this."

         "What are you talking about?"  Karl's eyes were wide.

         "Just this."  Eric had been looking around, but the alley was devoid of life, every doorway sealed tight.  He turned the officer on his back and stripped off his light jacket to wad it into a ball.  Then he pressed the gun against the right side of the upper chest, cushioned by the crumpled jacket, and carefully pulled the trigger twice, shifting aim slightly.  Two muffled thuds rang out and the body jerked, once, twice before lying still.  Eric reached down to check to carotid pulse and feeling nothing, nodded and stood up, grabbing Karl's arm to urge him back to the car.

         "Done.  Let's go!"

         Karl followed, a dazed and sick look covering his face.  "You're crazy!"

#

         They stared at each other numbly, Manuel reaching for the phone.  Kume stopped him.

         "You can't!"  His face was anguished.

         "What the hell do you mean?" Ashane and Manuel burst out together.  "We've got to call the police," Manuel added.  "I just couldn't pull free to do it!"

         "You can't call because we would get the blame!" Kume snapped back.  "Think about it!  We know where -- I recognized the area -- and we know how it happened.  Who else but the murderer would know that?  It's done with now.  What's going to happen once van Goetzer get's his way?  If Eric is that callous, what does The Movement have planned?  If we get arrested now, we'll never find out, and nobody will believe us in time to do anything.  Everything is coming down now!  The meeting is about to start!  We've got to 'be' there.  If you call the police, they'll have a voice print and an automatic display of our number and address and we'll never have a chance to stop van Goetzer!"

         "He's right, Manny."  A soft hand touched his arm lightly.  Only two people could to get away with that nickname.  Ashane, and his wife, who was away on business.  Ashane looked sick, but she was nodding.  "We have to wait.  That officer is dead.  We can't change that.  We have to stop van Goetzer."  Her hand clamped on Manuel's arm.

         He stared at them and swallowed.  "Yes, is personal."

         "They killed Marilyn and her baby," Ashane said softly.  "Let us get them on record--"

         "Well, in that case, you need more than just a recording of a meeting of ass-holes planning trouble!"  Manuel got up resolutely, a formless suspicion that had been haunting him suddenly crystallizing as he headed for the door.

         He looked back.  "Where is the meeting?"

         "Second floor Ball Room, but why--"

         "Good, keep scanning, and record everything.  And Ashane, call the police and tell them to get over there."

         Kume stared at him, confused.  "I told you, we can't call the police without implicating ourselves."

         "Too bad.  This is to stop another killing.  I don't believe I didn't see it before!  I may be wrong, but I think I know what's really going on here."

         Both of them looked confused for a moment, and then Kume's eyes widened and he moved for the phone.  Ashane was right with him as she threw her helmet on, dawning understanding spreading over their faces.

#

                                                      V.

         The morning air was surprisingly crisp outside as he ran across the street, dodging the light weekend traffic.  Manuel hoped he wasn't overreacting or he would have to do some very fast talking when the police showed up, but he had a sinking feeling he was right.

         As he pounded through the cavernous lobby of the Henderson office complex, heading for the information desk, he was followed by a wake of raised eyebrows that crested when he paused breathlessly to ask where the Ball Room was.  It took a moment before he was hesitantly pointed in the right direction.  A stone-faced guard was stationed at the door, though, and he felt a surge of doubt again as the crew-cut behemoth blocked his way.  What if he was wrong?

         "This is a private meeting."  A massive hand was held up to stop him as he reached for the door handle.

         "I have an invitation."

         "You?"  The question reeked scorn and Manuel felt a surge of anger come over him.  For the first time, he was intensely aware of his obvious Hispanic blood and he glared up.

         "That's right!  I'm here to demonstrate what they're trying to rid the world of.  Now get your ass out of the way or call van Goetzer, Karl or Eric out here to vouch for me.  And explain why you can't do a simple job like guarding the door!  Higher races, indeed!"

         Manuel could almost hear the grinding of mental gears as the familiar names and his attitude threw the guard off balance.  Finally, the guard moved aside and opened the door, his eyes burning down.  Manuel tipped an imaginary hat and waltzed past, drawing a deep breath as the door closed behind him.

         As he walked into the huge conference room, he started to wonder if it had been stupid idea to come here.

         Several dozen people were seated in folding chairs lined up in front of a small elevated stage with a podium where a startled-looking man in his sixties stood with his mouth open and one arm raised as if to make a point.

         Van Goetzer.

         Funny.  He just looked like a nice old man, not a violent fanatic.  Manuel forced himself to focus on why he was here.

         "What the hell is the meaning of this?" van Goetzer's heavily accented voice demanded.

         Manuel took another deep breath, the plan he had been formulating on the way over coming together in his mind.

         "If you really want to know," he answered lightly, scanning the shadows in the back of the stage.  "I'm here to stop your plans by letting you know that we can expose them at a moment's notice.  But, to make it a little easier, I'm also here to save your life, and probably Eric's, too.  Much as I have to admit that I don't give a rat's ass about either one of you."

         Van Goetzer leaned back.  "Stop my...  wait a minute, you're going to save me?  From who?"

         "Not so fast.  First I want some answers from you.  I'm willing to trade information."

         "What do you want to know?"

         "Would you believe I'm just dying to hear, first-hand, a statement from you about race-relations in South Africa today and why you are here?"

         "Why?  If you know about my plans, you know how I feel."

         Manuel smiled.  "Humor me.  Let's just say I want to hear it straight from the... straight from you.  As for why?  Let's just say that that's another part of what I'll give you afterwards.  Two for one.  Best deal in town.  I'll save your life and satisfy your curiosity."

         As he spoke, he scanned the audience, spotting Karl in the front row and, next to him, a confused-looking man who had to be Eric.  Perfectly placed to see and hear everything.  And Kume and Ashane were recording every word and expression.  He smiled as van Goetzer shrugged amiably.

         "Well, why not?  I'll have to repeat myself a little -- but that's part of why I'm here in the first place."

         "To drum up a little support and financing, I take it?" Manuel guessed, taking in the obvious affluence of most of the audience.

         Van Goetzer nodded.  "Precisely.  I am not alone in feeling wronged.  This was our land.  My ancestors came here and broke their backs to build a home here.  It was our land.  There were few Blacks here.  They came after they saw what we were building and wanted to take from us what we built with our sweat and blood..."

         Van Goetzer was off and running.  Calm and controlled at first, he grew increasingly emotional as he vented his beliefs and frustrations.  It was clear that he had never forgiven his expulsion from a posh government position when the coalition government had been phased in and the last legal and social barriers had been torn down -- unofficial as well as official.

         Manuel stood silent as van Goetzer talked, increasingly aware of two things.  First, that he was tired of standing, and also, that he was becoming increasingly nauseated by the strident rhetoric.  There was an unsettling undercurrent of hatred in the words.  Hatred, and fear, he sensed.

         Enough!

         He stepped forward and raised a hand.  "Mr. van Goetzer.  I think I have a good idea of how you feel now and it would only be fair to explain why I'm--"

         "No!  Not yet!"  A tall figure stepped out of the shadows from a hiding place at the back of the small stage and the room drew a collective breath as everyone saw the rich, flawlessly complexioned blue-black skin.  "Keep recording," the newcomer said to Eric, who tried to shrink in his seat, obviously recognizing the voice.  Then he went on cheerily.

         "Hi, Manny.  Long time, no see.  Sorry, I know you hate that name, but Manuel sounds so bloody stuffy.  I'm afraid I've stirred things up a bit.  Where are 'Shana and Kume?  Back recording all this?"

         Manuel nodded.  "Hi Tom.  Long time no see."  He tried to keep it light, but he was worried about the brittle edge in the voice and the strained expression as Tom went on.

         "That's what my people are doing, you know.  'Shana gave me the frequencies before she got disillusioned with me."

         Manuel swallowed, seeing he had been right.  "You're right on cue, you know.  I just wish you'd change your mind."

         Tom shook his head sadly as Van Goetzer cleared his throat.

         "I'm going to repeat myself.  What the hell is going on?"  The older man had obviously lost his patience and was glaring at Manuel.  Then he looked back at Tom.  "And who the hell are you, and how do know him?"  He nodded in Eric's direction.

         Eric looked trapped.  "But I don't know--"

         "Maybe I can explain," Manuel interrupted.  It was time to try to take back control again.  "Mr. van Goetzer, the reason I came here--"

         "--was to stop me from killing you," Tom finished.  "I'm Tom Carlyle."  Van Goetzer's stared at him, mouth open.

         "You're Tom Car... but..."

         He stopped as an enormous glittering handgun suddenly appeared from inside Tom's loose overcoat.

         "Be quiet!"  As the gun swung to cover van Goetzer, Tom's features twisted with hatred.  "This is a .44 Magnum automatic.  A bullet from it -- depending on the slug -- will go through half a dozen people."  Every eye in the room was fixed with fascination on the glittering chrome barrel and its vented rib.

         Manuel would have preferred a less graphic description of the gun's capabilities.  He moved forward... to face a gaping muzzle opening that looked like it could have accommodated a broom handle comfortably.

         "Please don't interfere, Manny," Tom pleaded.  "I have to do this quick before I lose my nerve."

         "This isn't the answer, Tom.  You know it.  This isn't you!"

         "Are you kidding?  Marilyn and our child are dead because of him!"  Sudden ice, and resolve again.  "And Eric, there," the gun swung briefly over to the cringing figure in the front row, "killed that policeman because of him."

         "An eye for an eye?"

         Tom sighed and shook his head.  "You don't understand, do you?  Revenge isn't everything.  This is all being recorded.  Enough of this will be spread around -- hooked onto your precious nature movie by people I have planted -- so that the whole world will see this at the turn of the century.  And even if not on your planned world-wide broadcast, in some other way.  Nanoscanner films are going to be all the rage soon and my people will have no trouble slipping recording crystals into at least some projectors.  Sooner or later they will expose this collection of anachronistic raving hate-mongers for the whole world to see."

         "Okay, Tom.  But you've already done that.  Soon the world will see it.  But don't kill him.  You'll just make him into a martyr.  Don't you see?  They'll just think of you as a blood-thirsty nigger who killed a White man.  You'll destroy everything you tried to do; and destroy a slowly growing understanding... God, I sound preachy!  But damn--"

         "You still don't understand, Manny."  Tom shook his head, a sad smile on his face.  "You're a good friend, man, and I love you for that, but I come from a family where we take our debts very seriously."  He turned to van Goetzer who blanched and tried to back away, but the wall behind him blocked the older man's retreat.

         "It's time, I'm afraid."  Tom's face was totally devoid of emotion as he said softly, "the blood of my wife, my child, and that policeman, is on your hands.  And now, so is mine."  He turned his back on van Goetzer and closed his eyes as he put the barrel of the gun into his own mouth and, aiming carefully upwards, pulled the trigger with a harsh jerk.

         Triple explosions drenched the room:  mind-numbing and echoing thunder, the stench of cordite; and a flood of wetness that splashed back to soak the cringing, sobbing figure of van Goetzer who dropped to the floor in a faint.  Tom's body stood upright for a moment, a formless bloody mass propped on his shoulders, and then it collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  It was almost clean, only part of the shirt was stained.

         Manuel stood frozen, numb with shock.  He had seen trauma victims as bad during his internship and residency, but they had been post-mortem objects of clinical observation and study -- not a friend blowing his own head off right in front of him.

         The doors to the ball room opened suddenly, only a muted thud audible as they slammed back against the walls to admit the anxious Ashane and Kume.  Manuel realized his ears were still ringing from the sound of the gun.  Ashane ran towards Tom's body but Manuel reached out to snare her, helped by Kume who was right behind her.

         The grey pallor on Kume's face betrayed his own shock as he turned Ashane away from the slumped figure on the floor.

         "No honey, don't!  There's nothing you can do.  He's gone."  He eased her into Manuel's arms and stalked towards van Goetzer.

         The Movement leader was just picking himself off the floor.  His face was slack and his eyes unfocused as he dabbed ineffectually at the pieces of bone and brain that were spattered over his face and body.  His white shirt was streaked with red.

         Kume stood over him, and helped him to his feet; his face a panorama of emotions.  Momentary fury that faded into grief and then to reluctant pity.

         "He shot himself," van Goetzer giggled.  "I'm safe.  See?  I'm safe.  Thank you young man."  He didn't even look at Kume.  "I guess I really ought to go take a shower, though, before I go home.  I've got a dinner party this evening and I just know that Christina won't tolerate it if I come in like this.  I mean it might upset the guests..."  His voice trailed off into incomprehensible mumbles as two of the Movement 'guards' escorted him off the stage, steering well clear of Kume's towering figure.

         Police were gathering outside the wide open doors, holding back a quickly gathering crowd outside and as the dazed and queazy Movement members left, they were efficiently snared and led away for questioning.  As an officer outlined the body, Manuel sank onto a chair.  His legs were virtually limp and he felt empty, distant.  Closer to the door, Kume stood holding a sobbing Ashane tight, gently stroking her hair.

         No one looked at the body sprawled on the stage as the questions began...

#

                                                     VI.

         The three of them sat facing the phone screen, Mitchell's florid face beaming out at them.

         "I wanted to thank you all for everything.  The broadcast's all set.  In exactly," he glanced at her watch, "eight hours and forty-five minutes it will run, timed as the 21st century begins... well, technically it's not till 2001, but no one really 'feels' that.  Besides, your revised film is ready now, and it will be seen and marveled at worldwide.  I can't thank you enough.  You've done an incredible job putting it together and it should be one hell of a box-office hit."

         "How do the rest of your people feel about the changes we made?" Manuel wondered.

         Mitchell shrugged.  "Well, some of us were a little nervous at first, but once the confidential test market reports came in, they cheered up.  The film is radical, but it's sensational stuff and the receipts that the accountants are projecting did a lot to ease our minds.  There have already been leaks--"

         "Carefully orchestrated I'm sure."  Manuel teased.

         "True, but that's Publicity's role.  Anyway, the leaks, and surveys afterward, show that the interest in the film is real strong and growing daily.  This will really give audiences a feel for the urgency of your wildlife conservation efforts--"

         "--and give them sensationalism," Ashane put in, cynically.

         "True," Manuel admitted, "but it will get our point across.  After what happened with Tom, our original plans seemed a bit tame.  A little stronger approach is needed if people are going to understand the urgency of saving our vanishing wildlife."  Manuel felt almost giddy when he thought about the whole world watching their work.  Luckily, Mitchell had been a closet conservationist and had really rallied behind their changes.

         "Well, make sure you get down to the theater early for the press party," Mitchell urged.  "And take care.  I've got to run home and change."  The image wavered and then disappeared.

         Manuel leaned back and glanced at Kume and Ashane.

         "How many copies of Tom's crystals do you think his people will be able to slip in after the film?"

         Kume smiled sadly.  "I don't know, but I can't wait to see the news-casts afterwards."

         Ashane grabbed his arm tightly, looking a little worried.  "You do realize that they'll come after us, don't you?"

         Manuel shrugged.  "Hey, they can't prove we knew anything about it.  As far as they can prove, Tom's people will have acted on their own.  We turned in all our records and data."

         Kume held out a large hand.  "I don't care.  It'll be worth it!"

         "Amen to that, brother!"  Manual grabbed the hand and shook hard.  Ashane's soft palm draped over theirs and pulled them towards the ceiling.

         "With all respect to Dumas:  to Tom!"

#

                                                     VII.

         Swelling music teases the eyes and ears as a point of light grows out of the darkness.  An open expanse of African veldt surrounds.  A wealth of chattering sounds and dry scents overwhelms the senses.  A voice speaks out from all around.  A female voice.  Sensuous, yet dignified and serene.  Ageless, wise.

         "Behold, the wilderness.  One of a few remaining refuges for a shrinking number of animal species.  Come with me on a journey to explore them and for a little while, live with me and experience a different world... a dying world.  Among other lives which you will enter, you will live as an animal on these plains, and as a dolphin in the oceans.  But as with any feature film, there is a preview of coming attractions.  In this case, though, 'attractions' may be the wrong word.  It depends on you."  The voice fades and new sensations and images overwhelm...

#

         The veldt still surrounds, but it looks somehow different.  Somehow abstract and colorless.  Below, wide clawed and furred feet move silently, leisurely.  Running alongside is a small shape.  A lion cub.  No, two.  A little further back, a second cub is clumsily stalking.  Oversized soft feet trip on the rough ground and the second cub falls over just as he is about to pounce.  The world stops moving as a bitter scent is caught off a shift in the strong wind.  Sounds.  Strange, ugly sounds.

         "But she's got cubs!"

         "So we'll sell them to the zoo.  The mother's skin will bring a fortune!"

         A metallic click.  A crash of thunder and pain and then the ground rushes up, fading.  The cubs come running up, confused.  Tiny rough tongues stroke in concern, but the sensation fades along with the light...

#

         Scene shift.

#

         Flying... floating, suspended by a warm and caressing crystal-clear cradle.  Sonar signals surround and paint a vivid picture of the cliffs that loom nearby, and also of the schools of fish that flit past ahead.  The flexible body wiggles and puts on speed aiming itself towards the waiting food.  Then, confusion as fine trapping filaments grab hold and an invisible hand drags upwards, tightening and cutting into streamlined flesh.  Signals come back.  A large dense object hovers above in the light.  Frantic warning pulses stream out.  Tighter and tighter the invisible lines cut in and draw upwards.  The surface breaks and light floods everywhere and deep breaths are drawn as the body twists and bucks, trying to free itself.

         Then a numbing blast of sound and agony floods up--

#

         Scene shift.

#

         Static, darkness, then a voice.  Deep and rich.  "There is another species to be concerned about before we return you to the movie.  A species not in danger of extinction!  Listen and watch for a moment!"  The darkness seems to shimmer, and then the smells of dust, exhaust and garbage grows strong...  Point of view, normal city alley seen from a human vantage point...

         "Well, well.  What have we here?"  He shoved the half-conscious African back down on the ground, gun-barrel digging into his cheek.  "Thought you'd have a nice Sunday afternoon mugging, didn't you?"  He turned to the older White man who was staring down at them in surprise.  "Get lost!  I'll deal with this."

         "Right!  He was trying to rob me--"

         "Go on!  Get out of here!"

         The man ran, torn coat-tails flapping as he disappeared around the corner out onto the main street.

         "Eric!  Don't be stupid..."

 

 

                                                  - end -