** ****** **** ** ** ** **** ** ** ** **** **** ** ** ** ***** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ***** ** ** *** **** ** Volume V Issue 1 ISSN 1053-8496 April 1993 Quanta Volume V, Issue 1 ISSN 1053-8496 April 1993 ____________________________________________________________________________ Editor/Technical Director All submissions, request for Daniel K. Appelquist submission guidelines, requests for Proofreading back issues, queries concerning Vince Genovese subscriptions, letters, comments, or _____________________________________ other correspondence should be sent to the Internet address Copyright 1993 by Daniel K. quanta@andrew.cmu.edu. Appelquist. This magazine may be archived, reproduced and/or Subscriptions come in three flavors: distributed provided that it is left MAIL subscriptions, where each issue intact and that no additions or is sent as a series electronic mail changes are made to it. The messages; BITNET subscriptions, where individual works presented herein are each issue is sent as a file over the the sole property of their respective BITNET and FTP subscriptions, where author(s). No further use of their subscribers receive a notification works is permitted without their when a new issue has been placed at a explicit consent. All stories in this designated FTP site. Anonymous FTP magazine are fiction. No actual servers that carry current and back persons are designated by name or issues of Quanta are: character. Any similarity is purely coincidental. export.acs.cmu.edu........128.2.35.66 ftp.eff.org..............192.88.144.4 Quanta is supported solely by reader lth.se...................130.235.16.3 donations. If you would like to help catless.newcastle.ac.uk keep Quanta alive, please send $5 ........128.240.150.127 to the postal address below. Checks may be made out to Ascii Quanta issues are available via "Quanta Magazine". Donation is not a Gopher from the server at requirement for subscription. gopher-srv.acs.cmu.edu, port 70, in the Archives directory. Quanta 3003 Van Ness St. NW #S919 Issues of Quanta are also available Washington, D.C. 20008 on CompuServe in the "Zines from the Net" area of the EFF forum (accessed by typing GO EFFSIG). ____________________________________________________________________________ Articles LOOKING AHEAD Daniel K. Appelquist Serials THE HARRISON CHAPTERS Jim Vassilakos DR TOMORROW Marshall F. Gilula Stories MARKETABLE ASSETS Vicki L. Martin MATRIX ERROR Charles B. Owen ______________________________________________________________________________ Looking Ahead Daniel K. Appelquist ______________________________________________________________________________ Hello from Washington, D.C. everybody! Yes, I have touched down whole and well in the nation's capital. Sorry it's been so long since the last issue, but, as you might expect, I've been pretty busy what with moving to a new city and a new job. I'm now working as a writer for Visix Software, in Reston, Virginia. Some big news: first of all, Quanta was given a mention in the March issue of Analog. This mention was due to the fact that Quanta recently garnered second runner up in the Digital Publishing Association's "Digital Quill" competition. The competition included all kinds of electronic publishing, from books and magazines on disk, to technical electronic publications, to electronic fiction magazines like Quanta and InterText (which took the position of first runner up, congratulations Jason!) Although the awards were rather small in scope, they did have the effect (as Geoff Duncan points out in his "SecondText" column in this month's InterText) of drawing attention to electronic publishing. According to Ron Albright of the Digital Publishing Association, they do plan to sponsor another competition in 1993, and they also intend to expand their activities, and become a sort of advocacy group for electronic publishing. I'm personally very excited about this, as I see it lending some additional authenticity to the realm of electronic publishing. To get more information about the Digital Publishing Association, send mail to Ron Albright at 75166.2473@compuserve.com. (Although I still haven't received my "certificate, suitable for framing".) So, much to my surprise and delight, I've started receiving manuscripts via U.S. mail (and some of them are really really good). This rush of new material came too soon for me to include any of it in here, but you should be seeting some of it in upcoming issues. I can only assume that these manuscripts come from people who aren't on the Net. If you are on the Net, and you'd like to submit material, please send it electronically (as email to quanta@andrew.cmu.edu). This issue finishes up the Dr Tomorrow serial, the first installment of which appeared in the March 1992 issue (Volume IV Issue 1). I think you'll find the ending at least as bizarre and enigmatic as the rest of the serial. Also in this issue, another chapter in the Harrison saga, plus fiction from two new authors. Charles B. Owen brings us Matrix Error, and Vicki L. Martin brings us Marketable Assets. I'd really like to thank Vince Genovese for helping me out with proofreading and editorial suggestions for this issue. Also, I'd like to thank John Zimmerman for coming up with some stunning cover art for the PostScript edition. If you're subscribing to the ASCII edition and you have access to a PostScript printer, I strongly suggest you change your subscription to the PostScript edition. Besides great cover art, you also get a typeset document to peruse. Of course, you get all the same fiction in the ASCII version. On the subject of a Quanta party, I've decided to hold an informal get-together at Disclave (which is a science fiction convention to be held in the D.C. area on Memorial Day weekend). If you're already attending Disclave, or if you'd like more information about this event, send me some mail. Note that this isn't going to be an "official" event or anything like that. I'll just be trying to get Quanta people together. It promises to be lots of fun! Be sure to check out the blurbs on the last page of this issue for the new magazines, Cyberspace Vanguard and Unit Circle. Both are very good journals and well worth checking out. Lastly, I'd like to say thanks to all the subscribers who sent me positive comments about Quanta after my last mailing. It really helps to know that people are reading and enjoying Quanta. I appreciate any other comments (good or bad) anyone out there might have. By the way, even after cleaning up my subscription list, which involved deleting over 200 defunct addresses, there are still over 2000 subscribers. Wow. ______________________________________________________________________________ Moving? Take Quanta with you! Please remember to keep us apprised of any changes in your address. If you don't we can't guarantee that you'll continue to receive the high quality of fiction and non-fiction that Quanta provides. Also, if your account is going to become non-existent, even temporarilly, please inform us. This way, we can keep Net traffic due to bounced mail at a minimum. Please send all subscription updates to quanta@andrew.cmu.edu. Thanks! ______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ "Regon's shout brought Sills back MARKETABLE ASSETS around, the barrel realigning. Regon threw himself away, hand by Vicki L. Martin clawing for his own holstered SW&R. The move was trained, Copyright (c) 1993 instinctive; he'd never draw and fire in time." ______________________________________________________________________________ James Regon pulled his eye away from the retinal scanner and thought, `I hate this. I really, seriously hate this.' He shot nervous fingers through his short-cropped black hair. The Polliwog behind the flexiscreen web, her red-tipped snout shining, hurried him into the back room with perfunctory politeness. Midnight blue eyes studied his newest possession. `Gahd, what a head of hair!' Riotous copper curls lay limp on bony shoulders. The young human sat in an unreliable chair, clad in a beige sweater two sizes too large for his slender body. His hands were securely tied behind his back. Regon slit the ropes with a single swipe of his knife, said, "Let's go," and started out the back door. The man rubbed the ropes off his wrists and studied Regon with renewed wariness. "Where are we going?" "I'll explain later, after we're clear of the market." When the stranger still refused to come along, Regon hissed, "Look, unless you want to get caught up in some very nasty attempts on my life, I'd suggest you move." Green eyes blinked twice before the man followed Regon out the back door and along the alley. The pair slipped out of the alley beside a sweet-scented confectioner's shop and mixed with the crowds. The younger man threw hungry glances toward every food booth they passed. Though refusing to stop, Regon dug a meat roll from his pouch and passed it across. The man tore into the bread-wrapped sausage. "What's your name?" Regon asked. "Erik," he mumbled around an overfull mouth. "Erik Milhollin. You?" "Regon." He eyed the quickly vanishing meat roll. "You're not half hungry, are you?" "You'd be hungry, too, if you hadn't eaten in three days." "I thought the Polliwogs treated their merchandise better than that." "Most times they do. They only hold off on the food when the 'merchandise' still has a mind of its own." Regon grinned, pleased that he'd read the signs right. "Bit of trouble, were you?" "Enough." Erik wiped his hands clean on the seat of his pants, favored Regon with a look of distrustful speculation, and asked, "So when you plan on jumping me?" "Jumping you?" "That's what you bought me for, innit? Big he-merc like you doesn't go to the market unless he's buying something for his bed." Regon laughed. "Not this time, mate. I've got other plans for you." Cat eyes darkened. "I won't work the streets for you." Sight of two familiar faces in the crowd to their rear drove the chosen retort from Regon's mind. Instead, he asked, "How good a fighter are you?" "Why do you think I was tied up?" "If you get into trouble, put your back into the nearest corner and stay the hell out of my way." "Promise me another sausage roll and a warm ale, and I'd fight half the Polliwog army with you." "You're on, friend." Though expecting an attack, Regon was almost too late turning to meet the first man's rush. Sidestepping a knife aimed at his right kidney, he chopped at the conveniently presented neck and danced away. A backswung leg effectively destroyed the man's balance. A hard shove sent him flying even further away. All around them, market shoppers screamed and fled. Voices raised in fear and warning filled the air. Panic reigned. Two more attackers closed in from behind. Regon wheeled; he might evade one, but he'd never dodge the other. The nearer, larger of the pair, moved in first. A fifteen inch jungle knife filled one hand; a round-tipped stun-rod filled the other. Same old Neville. The stun rod swept in low, aimed for Regon's genitals. An electric jangle shot up his trouser leg. To protect his vulnerable back, Regon turned Neville's attack energy against him, reversing their positions; Neville's body blocked the second man's attack. Regon spared a quick glance around. Terror had cleared the street, leaving the five humans momentarily alone. His first attacker--a free-lance assassin named Sills--sprawled in a heap, his head bloody where he'd collided with a nearby wall. Erik danced with the third attacker. Regon turned back in time to avoid Neville's second strike with the stun rod. He bulled his way inside Neville's reach, too close for the larger man to use the rod effectively. Before Neville could bring either of his weapons to bear, Regon caught the man in his fist and twisted. Hard. Neville screamed; the fluting screech brought a cold smile to Regon's lips. Regon's other hand snatched away the man's knife, twisted it around, and hissed the razor edge across the man's throat. Twisting about, Regon stopped, slowed by surprise. Sills had recovered enough to pull himself off the dirty pavement and draw a short-barreled breastpin gun from a concealed pocket. The barrel lifted, aimed at Milhollin's unsuspecting back. "Erik! Behind you!" Regon's shout brought Sills back around, the barrel realigning. Regon threw himself away, hand clawing for his own holstered SW&R. The move was trained, instinctive; he'd never draw and fire in time. The breastpin spat. Its load--a thin, steel pin no longer than a fingernail--caught Regon in the left arm. Pain made him lose hold of his half-drawn weapon. He sprawled on the pavement, stunned and helpless. A victorious grin split Sills's face. He steadied the breastpin for a second, fatal, shot. Regon knew he should react some way, should try to recover his own weapon. He couldn't move. `Stupid way to die,' Regon thought. `Never should've bid in public thataway.' The breastpin fired again. A body hurled between Regon and Sills. A barked cry cut off abruptly as the figure landed on the street. Blood from a tiny hole under one shoulder blade marked the missile's exit point. Somewhere in the fractured seconds of the attack, Erik saw Regon's danger. He caught his man by the lapel and hurled him into the path of the needle. Erik's knife sank to the hilt just below Sills' breastbone before the killer could realize his mistake. Regon's vision wavered, shivering in a gray fog. Sure fingers fiddled with his jacket sleeve, tying off the arm to slow the bleeding. "Talk to me, Regon. I don't know this city. I don't even know anything about this planet. Tell me where to take you." Regon harvested the scattered threads of his reason. He accepted Erik's help, leaning heavily on the narrow shoulders, and pointed up the street. "Two--three--blocks down, turn right. Hover rental shop on the right." They shuffled along, ignoring frightened and curious looks from the emerging crowd. Regon fished an activation chip from his pouch. He handed it to his companion then let his mind drift. Regon sank gratefully into the soft cushions of the hovercar and watched buildings and city parks whiz past. He wondered at himself. It wasn't like him to yield to anyone, especially not a complete stranger--a man he'd just bought off a Polgish slave block. The initial shock of injury wore off even as the pain increased. Warmed by the full-blowing heating unit, he dug his way back to reasoning thought and studied his companion. `What makes me want to trust him? I've never accepted anyone like this in my entire life. So he saved my life. I work solo. I'm trained. I shouldn't be able to trust anyone until I know a lot more about them than I know about this Erik Milhollin. I don't--I won't--trust anyone. My mission is too important. I don't dare risk it.' "Are we going to fly around the city in circles," Erik asked, "or are you going to tell me where we're going?" "Take the Millish Expressway--the northbound just ahead. I'll tell you where to go from there." He studied the curl- crowned profile. "You saved my life-- why? You could've let them kill me. You'd've been free." "You still owe me a sausage roll and a tankard of warm ale. Can't collect those off a corpse. Besides, the instant the Polliwog law found your body, they'd decide I did it, then where would I be?" "You've got a point," Regon agreed. Erik took his eyes off the hover lane long enough to study the wound. "We'll need to stop and take care of that soon. Will we be driving long?" "Long enough. Stay on the Millish northbound 'til I say otherwise." "Yes, master." The dry mockery in the deep voice brought a smile to Regon's lips. Warm and comfortable, he sank into the cushions and closed his eyes. ___________________ Regon jerked awake again, aware that he'd lost consciousness. The single-room cabin smelled pleasantly of processed stew. A steaming mug of coffee bobbed in front of his nose. "Don't know what your job is, friend," merriment filled Milhollin's voice, "but it must pull a lot of credit. Haven't seen a legitimate Terran brew or a good Malt Scotch in over ten years." "I have a private supplier." Regon eyed the glass of liquor in his companion's hand; a dark eyebrow rose. "Sorry, helped myself." Milhollin saluted him with the cup. "Would've got you some, too, but I gave you a hypo of pain cleaner a couple hours ago. Can't mix the two, can we?" "How did you know how to get here?" "Found a fiber map in your pocket." They devoured a full meal as the second of Polgish Three's two suns disappeared over the western horizon. Drowsy, Regon saw no reason to move. Milhollin set the dirty dishes in the portable wash unit, stored away the leftovers, and returned to the bed. Feeling the need to fill the silence with conversation, Regon asked, "What were you doing on the Polgish slave block?" "Wrong place at the wrong time. My Mam was a systems merchant. We'd flit about the quadrant, shipping this, hauling that." "Lemme guess. Someone slipped something into a cargo." "The honest reputation she'd spent forty years building didn't do her a bit of good. And because we'd been so honest, we didn't have enough money for a good lawyer." "What happened to her?" "Last I saw of her, we were in the Sentencing Chamber. When they gave me the block ... she had a seizure. No one ever told me what happened." "I'm sorry." Milhollin shrugged off his concern. "I think it's about time you told me what you were doing at the market today. If it wasn't for a tight bottom for your bed, what was it?" Regon studied the younger, smaller man and gauged his potential-- as partner, co-conspirator, or threat. Regon sat up in bed, and motioned for Milhollin to close the light screens. "I'm a ... well, my business is my own. It's honest and legal. As you noticed, it pays well, too. I call it 'corrective adjustment'." Milhollin sat on the foot of the bed, expressionless but alert. `At least he's not already retreating,' Regon reasoned. "I've been hired to stop a Polgish criminal named Sorin. He has a bodyguard named Keishie, a female Polliwog with rather exotic tastes." A hard glint marred Milhollin's eyes. "I suit her ... exotic tastes." "You won't do anything physical. Just draw her away from Sorin long enough to give me a shot at him." "You're an assassin." "The man's a sadist, Milhollin. He gets a charge torturing innocent children. He flaunts it, bragging how he's above the law. Someone's got to stop him, and by god, it's going to be me!" Milhollin leaned away from him, as much to protect his ears as to gain breathing space. Regon sat back against the headboard. "I intend to get him," Regon said, "one way or another. Will you help me?" "If I don't?" "I'll tie you up and leave you here. Kill you if I have to." "You'd do that after I saved your life?" "I don't have a choice. I can't afford loose ends." Milhollin snarled an oath, leaped off the bed and raced out the door. His arm aching despite the medication, Regon slammed a fist down on a bedside control box. He threw off the covers and ran to the door. In the light-flooded drive, Erik reached for the hovercar door, only to cry out and fall back, unprepared for the security system Regon had activated. Spying Regon on the covered porch, Erik sprinted towards the trees, ignoring the agent's shouted warning. Erik fetched up against the static fence running full speed. He grunted, every bit of wind knock from his chest, and fell to the ground, nerves twitching from the shock. Though stunned, the space nav scrambled onto his hands and knees. "If you're thinking to get away in some other direction," Regon warned, "don't." Erik tottered to his feet, determined to face his killer with his head high. "Get it over with, then. Go on. Shoot! Just don't expect me to beg you off." Regon cocked an eyebrow at the gun in his hand; he didn't even remember picking it up. A smile, half mocking, half ironic, raised one corner of his mouth. He motioned toward the building. "Inside, friend. We'll talk about this some more." "No." "Get in the cabin, Erik. Now." "Go to hell!" "Stubborn--." Regon slammed the brakes on his anger. Trading temper for temper was not the best way to deal with Erik Milhollin. "Look, I won't hurt you unless you give me a reason to. Will you please go into the house? It's cold out here." Erik hesitated a moment more, then stumbled toward the porch, wobbly on unsteady legs. Regon moved with only slightly more grace. Closing and sealing the door behind him, he tumbled onto the mattress and deactivated the exterior security lights but left the screens activated. Erik draped the other side of the bed, gasping and shuddering. "That was dumb," Regon said. "You were lucky I preset the fence to stun." A plump pillow under his face muffled Erik's response. "Hoo-bloody-ray." "Look, Erik, I'm not asking you to do anything illegal or even immoral. All I need is Keishie away from the door for two minutes. After that, you're free to go anywhere you like. I'll give you your papers, sign you a free man." "I don't really give a damn." "I'll help you find your Mam." Erik's body tensed. The curls lifted. Sensing possible victory, Regon pressed, "I have contacts. Help me get at Sorin. You'll earn your freedom and find your mother." Erik's lips pressed into a mirthless grin. "Mum's freedom." "I can't promise to swing that." "I'll help you. I'll give up my own freedom, stay to do whatever dirty work you want, if you'll get Mam back on her ship." Regon sucked on the inside of his cheek, thinking the option through, though the simple act of future estimation was more difficult than it should have been. He forced his stiff, aching body off the bed and plopped himself down before the small communit set into the wall. When Erik sought to watch, he sternly commanded him back to the bed. Regon played with the keys for ten minutes then sighed and sat back, rubbing his aching temples. Erik sat rigid on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands in unconscious distress. "It's a deal." Erik's face brightened. "You know where she is?" Regon motioned him over. Erik bounded across the room and examined the screen. "The seizure wasn't severe," Regon reported. "She was released from hospital two days after the sentencing. Transported to Labor Camp Ten-A-Nine. That's the most minimum security facility on Krinosh. She'll be safe there until we do what needs doing." "Get her out now." "Oh, no. I don't know you, Erik Milhollin. I don't know if I trust you to go through with it if you think you've already had your way. She's free when the job is done, not before." "And if you botch the job? What then?" "I've left a written statement with my employer. If it goes sour because of something I did or some hazard I didn't foresee, she'll be given her pardon." Regon deactivated the communit and stood up. He wanted that bed even more than he wanted revenge against Sorin. "Since that's settled, I think I'll--." A wave of cold-heat swept over his face; his eyes blurred. "Wha--?" Erik caught him as he started a slow slide toward the floor. Regon's vision tunneled down. "Sh'd've known ... Sills ... always liked to f-f-fiddle his needles." Erik swallowed. "Poison?" "Naw ... just ... be sick awhile." Vicious chills rattled his teeth. "S-s-s--oh damn. 'm sorry." Erik said something more, but Regon was too far lost in sickness to hear, or care. ___________________ `I can't believe I'm doing this. I've fixed the security codes on the hovercar. With the credsticks I found hidden around the cabin, I can get off this miserable rock. If it weren't for the chance of getting Mam out, I'd've left days ago.' Erik sobered, honest with himself. `No, I wouldn't have. I wouldn't leave a mudworm in this sorry state. Even a paid assassin deserves help when he's sick.' The smaller man replaced the moist cloth across Regon's forehead and struggled to make sense of the sick man's disjointed mumbling. He spoke mainly of people and places Erik had never heard of. Something occasionally slipped through, an emotion or action, that he found recognizable. `I wonder who 'Eliza' is. Regon's certainly heaped some colorful abuse on that one's head, but I don't feel there's anything malicious behind it--more fondness than resentment. Sorin, though, is different. There's real hate there. It's not abstract, either--no hatred for collective sins. There's something personal here. Regon's come up against this particular Polliwog before, and it's left him scarred. What sort of nightmare am I mixed up in?' Regon's mumbles spiraled down into another deep sleep. Erik pulled the coverlet further up over the shivering shoulders and let the man sleep. For three days he cared for the delirious man. If he didn't have his hands full with Regon, he was bored half out of his mind for lack of anything to do. Whatever else Regon might be, he was neither reader nor gamester; there wasn't a single book or computer game anywhere in the cabin, nothing to wile away the hours except a tatty deck of cards. Left with hours of loose ends, Erik had bent his curiosity and skill to the communit. `This is pretty impressive, and I haven't even touched the restricted files yet. This Regon ... he isn't the assassin I thought he was. He's somehow connected to GIP. Haven't figured out how yet, but I will before I'm finished.' "How ... how did you ... get on that?" Erik looked up. Though weak as a newborn babe, Regon stared back with delirium-clear eyes. Erik shifted his own gaze to the chrono on the wall. `No wonder my spine's talking to me. I've been sitting at this thing for hours!' Erik closed the unit and came to the bed. Regon's skin, though pinched and pale, no longer burned his fingers. "Good, your fever's broken. About time." "Where did you ... get the axe code ... my communit?" "You gave it to me. Saw you use it that first day." Erik pointed to the polished chrome side of the kitchen storage unit. "Saw your reflection in that. Handy trick every space nav and pilot picks up, learning to read mirror images." "What did you ... find out?" "Nothing you'd mind me knowing. I was careful to stay out of the restricts. I know you're latched to GIP some way; haven't quite figured out how yet. I mean, Galactic Intelligence Prime are more famous for arresting assassins than for hiring them." "I'm not an assassin. At least ... not the kind you're thinking of." "The thought has crossed my mind a couple of times over the last three days, yeah." "Three ... three days?" Erik controlled a budding smile. "Closer to four. Whatever was on the needle, it certainly did its job on you." "Three days wasted ..." "Nearer four. Hungry?" Diverted, Regon pulled a tired face. "Not really ... but I need something anyway." Erik returned within minutes with a meal for the invalid. He spoon-fed Regon a light portion of the broth and bread. A quite comfortable air hung between them, enough so that Erik risked trying to satisfy his curiosity. "You talked a bit ... delirious with fever." "Nothing offensive, I hope." "Just names and places, and a few snatches of conversation. You mentioned Sorin several times, and never in a very commendable light." "He is not a very commendable being." "I'm beginning to see that." Since Regon hadn't objected to his references to Sorin, he felt it safe to ask, "Who is Eliza?" Regon stiffened. Dark blue eyes hardened to mica flints. Erik retreated before the powerful glare. "Eliza is none of your business." Erik left the bed, taking the meal tray with him; he tried but failed to match Regon's gaze. "Sorry." Regon studied the stiff set to the slender shoulders and regretted his fury. Exhausted physically and emotionally, he relaxed on the bed. He drifted in mental limbo, too weak to rise but too wound up to sleep. He was only vaguely aware when Erik, having put away the food and set the dishes to clean, moved to the bedside and stripped off his clothes. Erik extinguished the light. Exterior darkness flooded through the heavily curtained windows, throwing the room into utter darkness. The bed rocked, a sudden quaking of the air mattress. The cover raised; cool air brushed him from shoulder to hip. A warm body stretched out at his side, replacing the cover and displaced heat. Unease thickened the air around them. Regon didn't like it in the least. "Sorry. It's just ... a private subject." "I understand. My fault for pressing. Go to sleep, Regon." "Erik?" "Mmm?" "Thank you." ___________________ The phenomenally wealthy citizens of Yulith Cote resided on The Hill, a single rise located almost dead center of the metropolis. Seated in the hopper, the two men studied the well-fortified ten-story steel and weather-glass structure behind the thirty foot static wall. "That Sorin's place?" "Yeah." A reddish eyebrow vanished beneath copper ringlets. "Ever think of breaking into the planetary treasury? You'd have better luck." "I don't plan on taking him here," Regon said; he activated the hover's air pumps and set the vehicle moving again. "There's a dive in the Lower City he frequents, sometimes only every two or three seasons, but it's the one haunt where I know I'll eventually see him." "What sort of place is it?" "Procuring house." "Girls?" "On the surface. It's secret trade is children, all sexes, all species. I'll wager the oldest Human child in the place is probably around ten." Erik paled. "You can't be serious. Ten years ... they're bloody babies!" "My employer's kept watch on the place for years but could never find a loophole in the system that would shut them down. We intercept their transports as often as we can but a few ships always get through. We've even outbid them at the block, just to keep the babes out of their hands." "'We' being GIP?" Regon shook his head. "I didn't say that." Erik smiled. "I know." Regon tooled the hovercar down the tubes with near-reckless speed. Erik had to admire his competence at the controls--it wasn't too many who could so casually control a careening hunk of metal skimming on a bed of air. The hover moved constantly downhill. The buildings beyond the weather-glass domes of the tubes grew increasingly dense. Prosperity and glit decreased in direct proportion to age and decay. By the time Regon shifted them onto one of the uncovered open-ground paths that led into the lowermost sections of Yulith Cote, they were surrounded by nothing but trash, destruction, and filth. "There's been a surveilling team on the place the last two seasons. Sorin's sure to visit, probably tonight or tomorrow, within the next sevenday at the outside." "How can you be sure?" Regon pointed to a message flashing across the hovercar's portable communit. "A new shipment arrived at the spaceport just this morning. Sorin's bound to want first choice." "Who's sending that?" "The surveilling team. Even I don't know where they're watching from, and it's not good policy to try and spot them. They're a strange lot. Most of them aren't even human, and they don't like having all their hard work blown by a couple of nosy agents." "I'm not an agent. I'm a distraction." Regon resisted smiling only by a supreme effort of will. He couldn't, however, control the merry dance of his eyes. "It won't matter to the surveilling teams. Anyone who spots their watchposts soon wishes he hadn't." Regon parked the hover in a Pay N' Protect sealed lot and led his companion into a gray tenement three longish blocks from the procuring house. Staring through the glassless window frame, he pointed to the squat building down the way. "That's the Blue Cushion. Don't let the face fool you. Inside, it's a palace. Supposedly a bawdy house for free-trade prostitutes, it's owned and run by a half- Human named Brand." "What's his other half?" "Hell devil. He's the one who hooked Sorin on Human children. He caters to Sorin's vices and provides him with a private 'sampling room'. There's talk he even joins the Polliwog in his 'games'." "Why hasn't the law closed him down? Raping underagers is illegal in every known species." "It's simple, really. On Polgish, the Final Judiciary for Sex- Related Crimes is a slimy worm named Kemmosh. A true politician, smooth as silk, with a taste for young flesh. All Brand's lawyer has to do is put the case before Kemmosh, and it'll get flushed out the nearest disposal tube." "How can space sludge like that exist?" "After tonight, it won't. At least not in Sorin's case." "So what happens?" "When Sorin comes, he'll do it openly. He's so sure of himself he doesn't even try to hide his tastes. Keishie will stand outside the main door, knocking away any other customers. That door is, by the way, the only known way into the building. There is another, the one the shipments are brought through, but it's so well hidden, not even the surveilling team's been able to find it." "Where do I fit in?" "Your job is to lure Keishie away from the door for the two minutes I'll need to deactivate the warning alarms and get inside the building. How you do is up to you." "This Keishie--she the kind that likes the big-eyed, frail, helpless types?" "From what I could tell, yeah. Though she usually goes for sun-gold blonds." "Once you're inside, then what?" "Then you're free to go." "But what about my Mam?" Regon offered his first truly honest smile. "She's already pardoned. I imagine she's already back on her ship, on her way to pick you up." "What are you talking about?" Regon drew meaningless figures in the blown dust covering the window sill. "You didn't have to tend me when I was sick. I owe you for that. Before we left the cabin, I arranged full pardons for both you and your Mam. She has her ship back, and both pardons in her pocket. If she goes at top transport speed, she'll be at the spaceport by noon day after tomorrow." Regon dug a small pouch from a pocket and handed it over. "There's a temporary freedom receipt in there, and enough credsticks to tide you until your Mam gets here." Erik stared from the wallet to Regon and back; he didn't immediately accept the offering. "Why are you doing this? It wasn't part of our deal." "I want Sorin. You've agreed to help me, that's reason enough. The fact that you saved my life--twice--might have something to do with it." "I didn't do it for a reward, not even this one." Erik slapped the pouch away, his temper simmering. "I'll do whatever I have to do to save my Mam, but I won't be bribed into helping you. If what you've said about this Sorin is true, I want to stop him for that reason alone." "It's what you first asked for, and I never denied it, did I? You added the condition of your Mother's safety later. I want Sorin, Erik. Help me get him." Erik hesitated a final moment before accepting the pouch. "Thank you. Without you ..." Regon shook like a dog ridding itself of an unwelcome bath and pasted a cheery smile onto his face. "You'd better snatch what rest you can. Oh, and one of the surveilling team will be by later on tonight with some clothes for you." "Clothes?" Erik studied the sweater and trousers he wore. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" "Not exactly provocative. Won't make Keishie's eyes pop." "No, guess not." Expecting Regon to do likewise, Erik made himself as comfortable as possible on the bare floor. He watched as the larger man instead took up a post beside the window, eyes still on the Blue Cushion. "You should rest, too," Erik said. "You're still not over that tainted dart. It doesn't make sense to go up against the Sorin without a proper sleep under your ear." "I'm fine. I've spent so much of the last few days sleeping, I don't think I ever want to close my eyes--or see another bed--for at least a full cycle." Erik laughed. Reassured, he settled down to get what rest he could in the unsavory surroundings. "It'll be tonight. I can feel it, 'Liza. It'll all be over tonight. I'll finally settle with that sadistic beast." The soft-spoken words roused Erik from a light sleep. Camped in the darkest corner of the bare room, he watched the man seated beside the window, his indistinct figure lit by a ghostly glow from the dimmed communit screen. Regon, unaware of his audience, stared at the points of light that marked the Blue Cushion's entryway. His voice fell to its lowest register, ripe with silky promise. "I'll see you tonight, Sorin. I'll finally meet you face to face." Erik's skin wiggled under the undisguised enmity in the throaty purr. `Finally meet Sorin, he said. That means they've never met before. How could he hate Sorin so much? Maybe it has something to do with this Eliza.' Ray shifted to relieve a sore spot on one bum cheek. Regon reacted to the slight sound, his weapon out and ready before he consciously thought to draw it. Erik glanced at the gun and cooed, "Twitchy." "Could get your head shot off making sudden sounds like that." Regon shoved the gun back into its holster. "Sorry, didn't know there was another way to move." He joined Regon at the window but could see nothing but pins of light all across the city. "You want to catch a little sleep? I'll watch for awhile." "No." There wasn't really room at the one window for both men to watch in comfort, but Erik had no interest in going back to sleep. He leaned his back against the wall and stared at the room's door, his thoughts on a speeding cargo transport and an upcoming reunion. "Gerrom came by while you were asleep," Regon said. He jerked a thumb at a crate set against the far wall in a patch of bright moonlight. "Your wardrobe. Let's have a look." Regon examined the contents under the pin-point glow of a wrist-light. Milhollin didn't like the larger man's nasty chuckle. "You'll look smashing in this little bit." "Little?" "Very little." Milhollin activated his own wrist-band torch and nudged Regon aside. "Lemme at that. If I'm going through with this, I get to pick what I wear." "You're no fun," Regon sighed, but moved back to the window, leaving Milhollin to sort through the trunk at his leisure. ___________________ Down on the street, Erik followed the more experienced man around the darkened turns. They seemed to walk forever. Within five minutes, Erik was totally and in all ways, lost; Regon was obviously coming at the place from a totally different direction. Within five more minutes, he heartily wished Regon would slow down. Five more after that, legs aching and lungs burning, he seriously considered canceling his agreement. He wondered if the Blue Cushion was their destination at all. Regon stopped so suddenly Erik ran into him from behind. Sight of the Blue Cushion two doors ahead of them prevented any dangerous outburst. A single figure stood before the entrance, a round, piggish Polgishin, highly visible in a heavy black jacket with enough metal decoration to outfit a small hover. "Is that Keishie?" he whispered. Regon nodded. "Well," Erik sighed, "let's get this over with, shall we?" "Erik ..." Erik turned at the soft, almost humble lilt in Regon's voice. Regon stood with weapon drawn. For an insane second, he thought Regon intended to shoot him. He relaxed when the Terra SW&R shifted towards the procuring house. Regon was too busy studying his shoe tops to notice Erik's momentary start of fright. "I'll cover you long as I can," he promised, "but once I'm at the door, you're on your own. Are you sure--?" "Yes. One question, though. Why don't you just shoot Keishie and save all this bother?" "Because GIP has a charter with the Polgish government that protects guarders like Keishie. Unless she takes an active part in her employer's perverted games, her only crime is doing the job she was hired to do. It I take Sorin down while he's busy playing, it'll be a justifiable case." Erik nodded, understanding. "But if you ambush his guarder without good cause, you're flushed out the dispose-all, right?" "Right." Regon shifted his weapon to his left hand and held his right out to Erik. "Thank you again. I hope everything works out for you and your Mam." "One favor before I go off." Erik's grimace was visible even in the faint light. "Hit me." Regon's left eyebrow shot up. "Whazzat?" "You heard me. Hit me. Someplace it'll show." "You said ... hit you?" Erik's green eyes snapped. "Yes, hit me! It's part of my cover." Even though Erik demanded the move, Regon's hand came up so quickly, the smaller man had no chance to flinch away. Regon's knuckles left a readily visible swelling on Erik's left cheek. A trickle of blood from his nose completed the desired effect. Erik moaned and cradled his cheek. "I said 'it me, no' knock m' 'ead off!" "Sorry, didn't know there was any other way to hit." Erik started to move off, only to have Regon call him back. "Erik." Seeing he had the younger man's attention, Regon said, "Eliza was ... she was one of the first Humans Sorin took ... she was just seven years old. ... They never ... they never found ... She was my daughter." Regon disappeared before Erik could do more than lose hold of his jaw. From his new vantage point, Regon could see the entire street. Less than two minutes after he settled in, Erik appeared around the far corner in a stumbling, twisting run. Regon rose halfway to his feet before he realized it was all part of Erik's "lure". `He is good,' Regon's mind-voice rang with admiration. `If I didn't know I blacked him up, I'd swear he was the defenseless, cuddly little gamin he's pretending to be.' Erik stumbled up the road, the perfect picture of a lost, shocky babe, eyes wide, full lips opened enough to tempt but not tease. He moved with a carnal glide that was more instinctive than deliberate, with just enough "woe-is-me" to cast away any suspicions Keishie might have. Turning, Regon found the Polliwog's eyes sealed on the approaching figure. The twitching around her bulbous nose, the batting of her heavy eyelashes and the jerking of one knee all proved her interest. Erik slumped against the wall directly across the street from Keishie, the image of helplessness. He tipped his head just enough so the guarder could see his damaged face. "Looks like you were done bad by someone," Keishie called across the way. "Need help?" "Please, they ... I didn't want ... four of them wanted me to ... not all of them at once, I couldn't--!" He turned wide, pleading eyes toward the guarder, cat green turned almost liquid silver in the vague glow from a nearby streetlight. Regon wanted to laugh at the effeminate quiver in Erik's voice. Keishie gave the door behind her a measured glance then crossed the street to stand beside Erik. "Don't worry, little one." Keishie rubbed Erik's back in a calming caress. "I'll take care of you." `I just bet you will,' Regon thought. Keishie and Erik moved down the street, the larger Polliwog guiding the "stumbling" Human. Regon watched them go, a curiously reluctant flutter in his chest; if Keishie decided to play rough, Erik wouldn't be able to fight her off. He should never have coerced the pilot into helping him. It made Regon no better than Sorin, taking what he wanted without permission. The instant the two figures disappeared from sight, Regon raced through the blackest shadows. He squatted in the lit entry, his nose less than three inches from the entrance lock. It took him longer to get inside than he'd expected. Brand had installed a new locking system since last Regon had surveyed the place. Still, he was somewhat familiar with the design, and skillfully bypassed Brand's few custom touches. Small plug glows down by the baseboards offered dim light. Cushioned chairs and settees of various blue shades touched with silver sat scattered around the room. Wall sconces burned at their lowest setting. He spent a solid ten minutes searching for the basement entrance, and another five figuring out how to open the portal without triggering any alarms. By the time he shifted the settee to the side, taking a bit of floor with it, Regon's nerves were drawn uncomfortably tight. He descended the narrow stairs. The settee slid back into place above him, tossing the descent into pitch blackness. Regon lit the way with his wrist-light. Ahead stretched a long, unbroken corridor with a single door faintly visible on the far end. Every instinct Regon possessed warned him not to go on. Brand must have one or two nasty surprises waiting for anyone who penetrated his security. Regon studied the way ahead, sweeping the ceiling, floors, and walls with the wrist-light. Nothing aroused his suspicions, yet his subconscious still screamed danger. Regon hugged the wall, mindful of traps and triggers. He moved an inch at a time, pausing every few breaths to study his next move. Less than five feet from the door, a faint snapping noise brought Regon around. A hidden plate plunged from the ceiling to block his retreat. A second identical plate slammed down directly in front of the door, effectively sealing him in. The hiss of displaced air was loud in the confined space, as was the purr of machinery somewhere beyond the walls. Regon gagged and collapsed, hands clawing alternately for his throat and a small explosive charge in his utility pouch. Black flashes behind his eyes led him to the floor, and unconsciousness. ___________________ The pain of lost circulation in his hands roused Regon from the comfortable warmth of his own dimmed mind. A chill wind against his bare skin roused him still more. Opening bleary eyes, he surveyed his surroundings, slowly remembering the cause of his condition. `Amateurish,' he railed at himself. `Oldest trap in the books and I walked straight into it! The boss'll dance on my blushing hide when he finds out.' Blinking against the bright light of the large chamber, Regon turned at the sound of soft whimpering toward his back. His heart seized. Two small cages stood against the far wall. A dozen children of five different races huddled behind the bars, terrified and helpless. One, a small Human male with bright red curls and pale green eyes, studied him back, fire and fear melding in his open gaze. `Oh gawd, they're just babies! The oldest can't be more than eight!' A lock disengaged. The children scampered to the farthest reaches of their prison, huddling in terror. Regon, bound hand and foot, naked as the day he popped out, rolled over onto his back. Sorin and Brand entered the pleasure chamber, matching expressions of triumph on their faces. Brand stopped beside Regon, a towering mountain. "Who are you?" Regon sealed his lips, letting his cold, hard eyes speak for him. "I said who are you?" Regon stared and said nothing. "It doesn't matter, I suppose," Brand said. "It's just as well you're here, though. Saves me the loss." Confusion colored Regon's thoughts, though no flicker of an eyelash betrayed it to his captors. "You'll do nicely as an example to my new toys, and it'll save me the financial loss of using one of them." Brand turned to Sorin and indicated the children. "Like what you see? They arrived less than an hour ago. Each one's as virgin as the snows on Mount Taowl." Sorin studied the cages and drooled, his left knee jerking out of control; Regon wanted to throw up. Brand lashed a filament cable through Regon's wrist restraints. Regon wiggled and squirmed, doing his best to punch Brand's face. For lack of any other defense, he even tried to bite the man. It did no good. A small winch took up the slack in the line until Regon hung several inches above the floor, his ankles still bound to a ring mortared into the foundation. Stretched between the two, his shoulders and hips felt torn from their sockets. Brand moved over to the children, smiling at their terrified hiccups and whimpers. "This is a lesson you'd all better learn. You do what I say, when I say, to whoever I tell you to do it to. If you don't, you'll get just what I'm about to give him." Brand pointed to Regon, then repeated his speech in four different languages. Regon clamped his teeth down on an oath. Brand moved to one of the supply cabinets set against the left wall and withdrew a small injector tube. The procurer moved to stand before Regon, but his words were for the children. "This is a drug--Jupiin--that makes the body feel more than usual. It will make whatever we do to him seem even worse than it is." Regon twisted, trying to avoid the small cluster of needles aimed at his left shoulder. The cold sting of injection faded before his rage. A weak tingling spread from the injection site to every nerve in his body. It wasn't precisely unpleasant, more like the euphoria just after a hard battle, an awareness of every nerve ending and skin cell. Sorin brushed cold fingertips down Regon's ribs. Acid fire burned his mind. He bit off an instinctive scream but could not hold down a moan. When Sorin's hands closed on other portions of his body, Regon thrashed about, half-mad with agony. The need to scream overcame every physical and mental effort to control it, and carried on forever. ___________________ Between his helpless act and playing hard-to-get, Erik Milhollin kept Keishie occupied for a solid half-hour before figuring he'd given Regon enough time. Finding a way to slip away from the interested Polgishin hadn't been easy. Erik managed it with the help of a conveniently placed street walker who attracted the Polliwog's eye. Tall, blond, young and slender, with big, sad blue eyes, he was much more Keishie's type, and more willing to entertain than Erik. Erik slipped away while Keishie and the teenage whore made their acquaintance. In search of a hire-hover, he'd moved only two blocks before he realized he'd headed in the direction of the Blue Cushion. `Why did I come this way? I've paid my debt. My face hurts and I'm tired down to the bone. I have my freedom chit, enough credsticks to live on, and the spaceport's in the opposite direction. Mam's coming and I want to get off this rock.' He stopped on the street, undecided. Concealed in shadows, he saw three figures emerge from a building directly ahead. "That oughta do 'em 'til the next load," one of the men said. "Don't count on it. Neither of them're ever satisfied," the second, largest man said. "Just be glad they goes for the small ones, Loor, and not big hulkin' types like you." Laughing, the three men vanished into the night. Erik stared after them, gaping. It seemed incredible--a wild leap in logic. Could he have stumbled on the secret entrance to the Blue Cushion? He was already inside before consciously deciding to move. ___________________ Sweaty, tired, and filthy, Erik Milhollin emerged from the tunnel in an underground bathing room. A communal shower area formed one side; the floors and walls still glistened with moisture. Discarded clothing for small bodies littered the tiles. He heard the screaming from several deserted corridors away. A deep keening noise, accompanied by the fluting cries of terrified children. It took several moments to attach a name to the masculine shrieks. `God help him, they caught Regon.' Erik approached the area with caution. He would do no one, least of all Regon, any good if he got himself caught as well. Erik crouched near the door beyond which the sounds came. Regon broke his cries of pain with curses aimed at his tormenters. Erik smiled at the man's spirit; even nearly insane from the abuse, Regon's metaphors were colorful and extremely descriptive. Children's weeping and two men's laughter occasionally drowned out Regon's weakening cries. `I can't just go barging in unarmed,' he reasoned. `They'd cut me to pieces. So what can I do? I'm a space nav. I know electronics and computers. I know guidance and propulsion systems... That's it. Yes, it just might work! Hang on, Regon, just a few minutes more.' Erik moved down the hall, searching. ___________________ Suspended between heaven and hell, Regon listened while his torturers laughed at his feeble yips. Hatred burned hot in his soul but had no outlet. Impotent with fury, blinded by unending agony, he yearned for five seconds' freedom--five seconds to break that fat Polliwog's neck. His entire body throbbed, one mass knot of suffering. They hadn't done anything serious to him, yet already he ached for it to end. Brand's drug pumped through his system, magnifying the least little hurt until he thought he would die of it. "What the--?" Regon pried open pain-swollen eyes and forced his vision to steady. A curly-haired apparition stood in the doorway. `Erik?' "Am I interrupting something?" The familiar voice, lilting with hard irony, echoed in Regon's ears. The pain, though no less, became more bearable. "Who are you?" Brand demanded. "How did you get in here?" "It was quite simple, really. Y'see, dear Keishie gave me up in favor of a slinky little blond lump, so I thought I'd see what fun I could find someplace else." "How did you got past all my security?" "I just walked right through the wall." "Well, you'll never walk out through it." Regon want to call a warning, tried with all his waning strength. Brand would be dangerous to Erik all by himself. With Sorin's help, he would be unbeatable. What madness had prompted Erik to walk in here unarmed? Regon's first thought was that his complete loss of vision was due to impending unconsciousness. Brand's gutter oath and Sorin's shout indicated otherwise. Children howled into the blackness. Brand and Sorin yelled. Erik Milhollin said nothing, and Regon waited. ___________________ His first sight of Regon suspended in the air, body covered in a shiny sheen of sweat, red welts and thin cuts marring him from cheek to ankle, drove Erik Milhollin very near the edge of reason. Sight of the children inside the cages did noth ing to stabilize his composure. Though the majority of his attention stayed with Brand and Sorin, a small part was on Regon. Comprehension dawned on the pinched face, a quick flash of relief, quickly followed by anxiety. A light touch to the control in the palm of his hand plunged the room into utter, complete blackness. He'd already placed every item of furniture and flesh in his mind, and had no trouble finding Sorin in the vital first seconds. The Polgishin croaked when Erik's hard fist slammed into his rolling midsection. Erik followed up with a left hook that sent the blind Polliwog flying. Erik placed Brand by the rustle of the man's heavy clothing. He was careful to remember the table that held them apart. Skirting the obstacle, he met Brand as the larger man did likewise. Erik moved with a spaceman's grace in the utter absence of light. The loud swish of cloth gave ample warning. He ducked under the blow and landed a kick square on Brand's most tender portion. Brand stumbled back into the table, groaning his agony. Erik kicked out again, catching Brand alongside the head. The larger man lashed out with his arm. Caught above the left ear, he staggered back, seeing bright lights where he knew there should be utter blackness. Erik ignored the peculiar ringing in his ears and halted his uncontrolled retreat when his back collided with something soft and yielding. Regon's shudder and deep groan explained the contact, and set his place in the mental room map. Erik met Brand as the larger man stumbled around in search of him. The sound of Regon's agony, the sensed pain ringing along Erik's nerves, angered Erik beyond reason. He lashed out with a dirty kick, aimed shoulder high. Calculated and deliberate, it landed precisely where he wanted it to land. He barely heard the wet crunch over the noises of the children. Brand made funny little choking sounds before he fell to the floor. The rustles, the soft gagging noises, quickly ceased. Erik's every sense strained to find Sorin, but he could feel no sign of the other man. A moment's search found the control where he'd dropped it beside the door. "I'm about to turn the lights back on. Close your eyes," he said, first in Terran Standard then in Krinoshin, for the benefit of the children, and switched on the lights. ___________________ After the terrible gagging noises and the eternal silence that followed, Erik's voice made Regon go weak with relief. So relieved was he, he didn't obey Erik's command in time to keep from being dazzled by the sudden flood of bright illumination. His first clear sight was of Brand stretched out on the floor a few feet away, throat crushed, face covered in blood. His second was of Erik beside the door, looking both ways along the outer corridor. "He got away," Erik groused even as he came back and activated the winch that lowered Regon to the floor. Regon tried hard not to flinch at his friend's considerate touch, but even the brush of air along the fine hairs of his arms and chest was an individual agony. He could not help but quiver when Erik tried to comfort him with an arm across his back. "No, don't touch ... drug ... sensitized skin ... hurts to touch." Erik yanked his arm back. "What can I do?" "Nothing ... has to wear off. I'm cold but I think I'd die if I tried to cover up. The children. Do what you can." "Where's your communit?" "Dunno. They skinned me while I was unconscious." Regon was too busy trying to lessen the painful contact with the floor to give much thought to his missing clothing. Erik hunted the chamber until he found Regon's things piled on top the table. Digging through the pouch, he found Regon's communit and moved back to the traumatized man. Gaining instruction on how to contact the surveilling team, he quickly placed the call and gave directions on how to find the secret entrance. Assured that help was forthcoming, Erik rooted through Brand's pockets until he found the activation chip for the children's cells. Freeing them was the work of a moment. Calming them down was another matter entirely. He finally enlisted aid of the three oldest, calmest children and put them in charge of soothing the others. One Human child, a boy with red curls and green eyes, even managed a pale grin before turning to coo comfort to a tiny Jumoospin cubling. As it happened, a Jumoospin female was first through the door. The cubling took one look at her, yipped in hysterical delight, and ran to bury her tiny muzzle in the fur of the adult's chest. Two of the other children showed signs of renewed terror, but the rest were curiously drawn toward the gigantic Jumoospin female. Leaving her to calm the distressed younglings, Erik turned back in time to prevent two strangers from touching Regon's oversensitive flesh. One of the men, a grey-skinned Krinoshin with a medical tattoo on his forehead, looked to Regon and asked, "Do you know what they gave you?" "Jupiin. Dunno the dose." "Doesn't matter. It's one of the more harmless sensitizers. Nothing to it, really." Regon favored the medical man with an irony-tinged eyebrow; blue eyes danced with pained mischief. "If you say so. Allsi, you can be a right pain in the butt sometimes, you know that?" "If you thud and blunder boys will shoot across the galaxy in search of new and interesting ways to cause yourselves pain then look to me to set you right again, can I help it if I take refuge in wit?" "Taking refuge is one thing," Regon gritted his teeth and endured the physician's examination, "murdering the poor thing is ... something else ... dammit, Allsi, that hurts!" "Regon ..." Erik's soft, submissive voice distracted Regon from his discomforts. Green eyes glittered in the light. "Erik? You alright?" "Sorin got away. I'm sorry. I wanted to get him for you, but ..." Though the chance to achieve a longed-for revenge was gone, Regon could not hold down a grin. "There'll be other times." "Least we got this lot free in time," Erik sighed, smiling at the drape of youn glings draping to the ursinoid from shoulder to ankle. "There's that," Regon agreed. "I just wiiiiiIII--Shiii--!" Regon yelped as Allsi pressed an injector tube against his right hip. Milhollin's warm laughter followed him into healing sleep. ______________________________________________________________________________ Vicki L. Martin is Technical Secretary in the Agricultural Economics Department of the Texas Agricultural Extension Service at Texas A&M University. She has been writing as a hobby for 20 years, but seriously for nearly seven. Her writing credits include charter membership in Brazos Writers, where she held the position of Newsletter Editor for three years and Vice-President for one year. She reached the semi-finals in the L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future Contest and won first place at the Virgule '92 Convention Writing Contest. In addition, she had edited and authored numerous fanzine publications, dealing with novellas, short stories, and anthologies of multimedia television series. In this category, on work, a Quantum Leap novella, was nominated for Best Fan-Q Award at the 1992 Media West Convention. She is currently in the process of polishing three separate trilogy sets in the hopes that at least one will find a home in print. vlm@ag-eco.tamu.edu ______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ THE HARRISON CHAPTERS "`Goodbye, Harrison. And good riddance.' Then she broke into a by Jim Vassilakos sprint, and Mike heard the sound of gunfire. He hit the turf, Chapter 13 holding Kato down as bullets continued to whiz overhead." Copyright (c) 1993 ______________________________________________________________________________ She stood before him, silent and expressionless as subtle strands of moonlight bathed the sanctuary in dim shades of purple. Then a coy smile played into her silver eyes, and her white mane rippled in the icy darkness, hair like blades, etching an icy trail along his throat. Her nails left only a thin trickle of blood, barely a distraction, one following closely upon the other in preparation for her knee's decisive collision with his crotch. He doubled over, falling to the floor with a heavy thud and torn, mud-caked britches. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh Harrison? That was for making a fool of me. This is for trying to nuke me." Her palm pressed against his nose, two fingers slowly but resolutely forcing their way into his eye sockets. "I didn't do it." She held the pressure for a moment and then changed her grip on his face, lifting him to the wall by the scruff of his chin. "I was going to kill you mercifully, but lies piss me off." "He's not lying." The voice belonged to green-eyes. Sule rocked Mike back a foot and then bounced him off the wall, dropping him to the mauve carpet like a wet rag. He was still shaking off stars as Sule turned toward Arien's daughter. "Get out!" "What are you going to do, Sule? Beat me up?" The young woman stepped forward, confidence filling every movement. "If you touch me, my father will kill you, and if you touch him, I'll kill you." Mike raised his head slowly and blinked, the gleam of moonlight off iridium scarcely catching his notice. She had Johanes's laser. An appropriate weapon, Mike figured. With nothing mechanical to slow her down, it shaved the bio-synthe's edge to a bare minimum. Sule's scowl faded slightly, a touch of amusement sparking silver eyes. "You are a foolish girl." "And you're on my turf, Sule. Don't forget it." Mike raised himself halfway off the floor, taking a wider surveillance of the chamber. Erestyl's emaciated body lay folded in a corner, his eyes staring at nothing in particular. Mike crept over, fumbling in vain for a pulse and finding a spent hypo on the floor. "He outlived his usefulness," Sule contemplated. "The reason you came to this space sick planet is dead." "Why?" "Efficiency." Mike coughed, "Efficiency?" "With the aid of Korina and Alister, his mind was peeled open such that I could question him in solitude. After he disclosed the details of his treachery, there was simply nothing more of value to learn from him. Now all that remains is to dispose of the body, a matter to which I must personally attend." With that she picked up the body and carried it out the door. Mike followed her, still limping, outside and across the moat's narrow bridge. Outside, the Worgs guarded the mansion, their hungry eyes perched upon blood-drenched snouts. Sule dropped the body several feet from the moat, placing a small vial on Erestyl's chest and breaking it with her boot. A moment later, the body was consumed in flame, and several of the Worgs took up a mournful howl. She waited a minute, finally kicking the charred remains into the water. "Food for your pet, Alister." Mike turned around. Arien stood behind him with Korina by his side. He seemed despondent, light from the dying flames flickering in his eyes. "The first cooked meal she's had in years." "You're sure you won't let me take this gatherer with me? I'd rather like to keep him." Arien smiled, "If it wasn't for Mr. Harrison, Sule, it might be your burnt corpse in that moat." Her eyes narrowed, but she never got to respond. A gravcar slipped casually over the gate, turning back only as the laser cannon opened with a warning burst. Arien raised his arm, effectively restraining further damage to his lawn. "Your ride, I take it?" Sule nodded, "Vlep and your wife. You want her, you'll have to fetch her." "Mr. Harrison?" Mike looked at him dumbly. "Don't you have guards to do that sort of thing?" "Please, Mr. Harrison. Oh, you'll need this." He handed Mike some hi-tech gizmo, a makeshift medical scanner if Mike guessed correctly. "To check for anything physically out of the ordinary. It's been pre-programmed. All you have to do is hit this button. Easy enough for you?" Mike was about to say no, but the look in Korina's green eyes told him not to bother. The front gate was wide open, and crossing through it, Mike saw Vlep in the driver's seat. "Long time, no see." "Why are they sending you?" Mike shrugged, "I'm sure he has his reasons." Ambassador Kato was in the back seat, her brown eyes glassy and sluggish. Mike opened her door, and began scanning. The gizmo seemed to say she was okay, and he offered his hand in what he figured was his most diplomatic gesture of the evening. "C'mon Ambassador." He reached in and shook her shoulder, finally getting some figment of attention. "Mind scanner?" Vlep ignored the query. "It's okay, Vlep. Sule can't hear you." "You'd be surprised." "Oh," Mike nodded, "she's got a vice on your balls does she?" "In my neck." Mike made a T-sign, turning the scanner toward Vlep. "You know what that means, don't you?" Vlep looked up, somewhat confused. "You're just gonna have to do what you do best, Vlep." Mike leaned in, grabbing Vlep's hand and pressing it against his forehead. "Understand?" He picked Johanes' bug out of his pocket, screwing the two pieces back together. Then he dropped it in Vlep's hand. "It's the only chance you've got." Mike lifted the ambassador from the vehicle and pointed her in the direction of the mansion. She leaned against him as they walked, and he felt as though he were training a baby to put one foot in front of the other. They met Sule half way across the lawn. Her white mane waved gently in the cool, night air, and she held a small metallic cylinder in one hand, its tip gleaming golden in the moonlight. "Goodbye, Harrison. And good riddance." Then she broke into a sprint, and Mike heard the sound of gunfire. He hit the turf, holding Kato down as bullets continued to whiz overhead. Then all was silent, and the gravcar was gone. Mike picked himself unsteadily off the lawn, helping the Ambassador to her feet. Korina was there moments later, her father trotting close behind. "Thank the fates. We thought you both dead." "Vlep's no marksman, but all the same, it's amazing that he missed," Arien added. Mike shook his head and started back toward the mansion. "He didn't miss." ___________________ Mike leaned against the tile wall, his groin still aching as he watched the last of the moat gook slither down the drain pipe. Coating his body in a gentle, sleepy embrace, the shower's warm spray made him more than a little drowsy. Considering everything, it was a strange feeling. Getting shot at usually kept him wired for an evening. Lately, however, the slugs had been flying so thick and fast that they were no longer a novelty. Adrenalin was becoming a tiresome companion. Even Sule's knee in his crotch seemed in retrospect like nothing grander than a momentary distraction, though, at the time, he was quite certain that the universe was coming to an end. He curled his lips inward at the memory, letting the warm water invade his mouth and nostrils until he had to spew it out just to breathe. It was a good memory, he decided. It helped him forget about sleep. The black fleximesh laid out for him was vastly superior to the mendwear he usually threw on. It was designed along some Draconian, poly-adaptive, one-size-fits-all concept. All-within-reason is what they actually meant. Mike aired off and slipped into the new threads, still damp from their soaking. Once they dried, the fibers would expand and harden. Decent protection, Mike figured, and it was air-tight to boot, better than a flak vest or a vacc suit and at a fraction of the bulk. Mike checked the fit in the mirror, the imperious grin sliding off his face as the glint of polished iridium met his gaze. A draconian, military insignia lay etched into the left breast: external intelligence if his guess wasn't too far off. Korina and Johanes were still in the study, each perched over the medical console like a pair of determined vultures as they argued over the finer features of a sub-dermal charge. Mike tried to meet Johanes' smile with one of his own, but even in his fleximesh uniform, the Draconian could put on a dastardly grin, unbeatable considering the image of the Realm most people carried around. "Vlep's cooperating," Johanes patted the reception unit. "They're going to Xekhasmeno... to the starport it seems. Oh, by the way... nice outfit." "Same to you. You mind telling me why we're wearing these?" Johanes put on a play frown, "You don't like 'em?" "Walking into an Imperial starport with this on isn't exactly the quintessence of sanity." "Well, it isn't exactly an Imperial starport anymore." Korina sighed, "The Calannan government has assumed temporary control." "Because of the riots?" She nodded, "And all Imperial vessels have been banished from the planetary airspace." Mike finally managed his smile, no longer wondering why Johanes seemed so pleased with himself. With a Royal Fleet passenger liner in orbit, it was a hefty blow to Imperial pride. Johanes had every right to be pleased, however, he dropped his smile when he noticed it becoming contagious. "It's politics, Mike. The Imps are going along with it to help quell the riots." "So Sule's gonna have a hard time finding herself a ride." "A very hard time." "That still doesn't answer my question." Johanes took a deep breath, cautiously scrutinizing the vacant space several inches in front of his nose. "It's like this, Mike. The locals hate the Imps." "They hate neghrali." "But they hate the Imps in particular." "Jo, the starport guards are not going to give you free run of the facilities just because you're a Draconian." "If they have orders..." "Who have you been talking to?" Johanes resumed his smile, "A friend of yours." "A friend?" "A powerful friend." Mike winced, "No." "Yes." "I don't want to hear this." "General Gardansa. He's now in charge of the starport. And the beauty of it, which is still making me crazy, is that this whole plan depends on you." Mike sat down on the edge of the table, the med console casting a faint blue glimmer against the side of his face. "What have you told him?" "Enough. Enough for him to understand how important it is that we find Sule before she gets offworld." "Then what's the problem?" "He wants to hear it from you. He trusts you." Mike coughed, "That's absurd." "I agree completely, but then again, he doesn't know you like I do." "Yes he does." Johanes shrugged, "Then I pity him." Mike considered a jab to Jo's stomach but stuffed the notion back where it belonged. The fleximesh would make a stump of his hand before he'd ever inflect so much as mild irritation. "You still haven't answered my question." "Appearances are important, Michael. He doesn't want the world to know he's taking cues from a gatherer, particularly one to whom he owes favors." "I'm sure he doesn't feel that he owes me anything. Besides, people will recognize me." Mike fingered his jacks to demonstrate the point. Johanes just cracked a grin. "I'll find you a helmet. Look, Mike. He's not the nicest person on this planet, but he's all we've got, and we desperately need his help." "Jo, whatever he does, he does for himself, not for you or me. If we go there, it's going to be us who are helping him accomplish his agenda. You understand?" Johanes nodded, "Yes. And I can live with it as long as it means stopping Sule. Why do you have a problem with it?" "If you knew him like I do, you wouldn't have to ask." "Maybe I do, Michael. Spokes told me a few things, while you were busy having your jitters." "Like what?" "He told me that Gardansa had you take a bath... with his limo. It took a little research to find out why. Gardansa's been effectively grounded this past year, his black market stolen by strong arms in the military." Mike nodded, "I know the details. He was too greedy. And I also know that he's trying to buy his way back in, except he isn't going through his people, Jo. He's going through ISIS. Did Spokes mention that?" "He told me." "Then why are you doing this? For all we know, Sule could be sitting on Gardansa's lap, playing patty-cake with him right now." "I doubt it." "Why's that?" "It's what you said, Mike. He's greedy. He can get what he wants by turning us in to ISIS, but he can get much more by capturing Sule and holding her for the highest bidder. Think about it, and think about what the Imps will pay." "They'll kill him." "He's run that risk before. He'll run it again. And he may even make himself the planetary governor in the process." "And you're going to let him?" "Appearances, Mike. They're more important than the reality. Gardansa can hand her over to us and then lie like a moon rock. He'll get paid by both sides, and when the Imps do get her back, there won't be any more in her head than is in Kato's. A justice fitting the crime." Mike blinked, disgusted and impressed all at the same time. "I can tell you've put some thought to this." "You disapprove?" Mike gritted his teeth, "No." "I didn't think so." "You figured all this while I was taking a shower?" Johanes blushed, "What can I say?" "Tell me about Vlep." Mike motioned toward the medical console, and Korina swiveled the screen toward him. "Your scan shows a rather complex piece of equipment in his neck." Mike exchanged glances with Johanes as she continued, pointing toward various points on the monitor display. "The receiver is here. This seems to be the timing mechanism. This is a transmitter, presumably for location purposes, and here's the charge." "Large package." "Minute, actually. But it packs a wallop. Sule must have a transmitter somewhere on her which we assume will activate the charge." Mike nodded, "She was holding some sort of metallic cylinder as she passed me." "Anything about it distinctive?" Johanes interjected. "No. Well, it had a gold tip." Kori hit a key on the monitor, switching it off. "To help Vlep, you're going to have to block the signal." "How?" "The starport med-bay has durilium sheaths. Without knowing what frequency it's keyed to, it's the best we can do. I've already made the necessary arrangements." "Thanks. How's your mom?" "They're freezing her downstairs. The radiation dose she took was killing her rather quickly." Johanes cringed, and Mike tried hard not to smirk. "I didn't know your mother very well, Ms. Arien, and I'm no fan of the Draconian government, but I do hope they find a way to make her better. I hope everything works out for both of you." Green eyes stared blankly back at him, either unimpressed or vaguely angry. "You sound like you're making a farewell speech." Mike looked toward the ground, almost certain that he didn't mean a word of it, and very certain that she knew. "I guess I am." She snorted on that one. "Y'know. If there's one thing about you neghrali, it's that you're as presumptuous as hell. This may be news to you both, but I'm going with you. And before you say anything stupid, just remember, I've got more reason to want Sule than both of you put together." The ride to Xekhasmeno aboard the Arien's grav limo proved both safe and expedient. During the trip, Mike kept a watch out the window as the amber glow of the city's electric barricade grew slowly in the distance. The city itself, however, lay covered in a murky shroud, as though the cold, ominous wind sweeping beneath the clouds had shattered every light and killed every flame. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kori watching him, her green eyes glinting faintly in the silver moonlight. "Pretty incredible, eh Harrison?" "The locals must of knocked out the main reactor or something. The outer fence is on a separate capacitor." "You didn't think us locals had it in us, did you?" "You know, Korina, you're not really a local any more than your father." "I was born here." Mike nodded and shrugged, "Well, congratulations." "Here Harrison. Watch this." She steered the limo into a dive so that Mike no longer had to tilt his head to see the ground. The earth below was nearly invisible against the night, a black tapestry marred only by a single long row of glowing specks. Every now and then, one of the specks would flare up and then die down slowly. As they continued to descend, the reason for the congestion became apparent. There were rioters, perhaps a thousand or more: adults and children and many somewhere in between, each hateful enough to make the incident at the Arien estate seem more like a tea party. Instead of tossing their molotov's on a green stretch of lawn, they were throwing them into vehicles. One congregation worked on forming a blockade with burnt-out automobiles while others took pot shots at people as they ran from their cars. The smarter motorists took their vehicles off-road and out of the death zone. The limo leveled off at around a hundred meters altitude, and Mike felt more thankful for gravitics than he could ever remember. There was less bloodshed at city's gates. Starport authority personnel had apparently been called out to supplement the city guard. Together, they held the line at the customs checkpoints, trying desperately to sift the deluge of legitimate inbounders from those who would get into the city just to wreck havoc. The limo touched down outside the starport as a team of Imperial inspectors cruised around checking city passports and ID's. Mike was resigned to hiding beneath the floor in a tight space the Arien's had reserved for special occasions. He felt the gravitic propulsion kick in with a sudden jerk, knocking his head against the compartment's wall, and by the time he crawled back out, Kori was steering them into an anchoring shed over the starport's upper concourse. The entire concourse deck was flooded with people, mostly offworlders seeking shelter from the rowdy locals, while groups of Calannic guards stood at the escalator entrances double- checking ID's and frisking the prettier ladies. The power on the escalators was down, and people were using them as stairs, most pausing as they stepped on, as though expecting the metallic steps to lurch from underneath and send them hurtling to the bottom. "See something interesting?" It was Korina. Mike tried to conjure a wholesome response, finally shaking his head and frowning. "Here. This might help." She placed the helmet over his head, helping him lock it in place. Mike squinted as the light-intensification automatically switched on. He could suddenly see clear beyond the landing ledge and all the way to the city gates. The moon glared like a strobe light on full beam, its glassy surface seemingly enlarged by the white clouds fusing beneath to form a bright, billowy halo. "Better?" "I guess. Any word from Vlep?" "He's been quiet ever since we left the mansion. I can barely make out his breathing, but that's all. I'll give you a buzz on the helmet when I find out more. Okay?" She patted him firmly on the head as she exited the vehicle and began climbing down to the crowded deck, Johanes's reception unit swinging back and forth on her belt. "Until we meet again, gatherer." "Where's she going?" The Draconian casually removed his white overcoat. "Somebody has to get Vlep's sheath and keep track of the bugger, right? We'll meet her at the med bay when we're done finalizing our arrangement with Gardansa." Mike chewed his upper lip as Jo started patching in a line to the tower. "I'll talk with Gardansa alone, Jo. You'd better go with her." "You don't trust her?" "She's got revenge on her mind. She might try to go it alone." Johanes paused for a brief moment, finally putting his overcoat back on and heaving himself out the door. Mike waited a minute before placing the call. "Tower, this is the DSS. Get me General Gardansa." ___________________ Perkins sat at the edge of the airlock, fists sunken deep into his pockets as the cold night air washed over his face and into the hold. Beyond the landing platform, he could hear shouting and the loose carnage of Imperial gunfire. Long ago, it could have made him cringe, but he'd learned to expect such things from Calanna. The mood of her people was as unpredictable as her weather, balmy as a swamp on one evening and as cold as death the next. He stood upright as the flat-top approached, Dilly behind the controls, and two locals with badges wandering among the crates, poking around here and there with Imperial mass detectors. Just trying to look busy for each other, Wendell guessed, though he had to wince and scrape a strange, leathery tongue off the roof of his mouth. Dealing with newbies was almost always a problem. He reminded himself to be polite, and stepped forward, nodding and smiling. "Hi there." "You Captain Perkins?" "Call me Wendell." Deep brown eyes consulted a flimsi-leaf. "You fill claims form?" "My broker handles it." "Ah... where is?" "You should have it on page three-dee." The inspector tapped the corner of the flimsi with his light pen, obviously struggling to find the correct cell. Wendell smiled, trying to look alert and nonchalant all at the same time. "You boys are new at this, aren't you? Look, do you mind if we load up here? We're sort of on a schedule and all, and I don't want ol' Louise blown out of the sky 'cause we missed our launch window. Okay?" He tagged it with a laugh. The two locals either didn't understand or weren't paying attention. "Hello?" "Eh?" "Load cargo? Put boxes inside?" The one in charge nodded apologetically and waved his hand, as non-committal a gesture as Wendell had ever witnessed. Dilly seemed as confused as his boss until Wendell finally snorted and spat on the white cement, narrowly missing the inspector's boots. "Go ahead Dil. If they start bitching, we'll just have to stop." "Is okay." The inspector nodded again and then got a curious look in his eyes, "We go in ship." "Well, that's perfectly understandable," he forced a grin. "You are inspecting us, after all." ___________________ Mike yanked off his helmet, the resulting pressure release making his ears pop as he stood squarely before the plush mahogany desk. Grinning with a faint air of supremacy, the general tilted backward as far as the gravitic recliner would allow. Like his newfound power, it was just another toy, ripe for his sportive abuse. Mike wondered how long Gardansa would last this time as the general lifted his gaze, the fleshy folds of his chin jiggling as he gurgled with delight. "Draconian Harrison, much time without sight as you offworlders say, eh? How long has it been? Three whole days?" "Something on that order," Mike smiled and found himself a seat, placing the helmet on a corner of the desk. "You're surprised to see me, aren't you?" "Like this," Gardansa tilted upright, "who wouldn't be." "Forget the costume. It isn't important. Forget even why I'm here, and why you're behind that desk instead of hiding away like some snake." Gardansa's eyes widened for a moment, as though he were contemplating calling his guards. Then he leaned back again, letting the gravitic waves catch his fall. "An angry gatherer, eh? I am really the one who should be angry, you know. Did you see what they did to my car? To my driver?" He continued with a feeble shrug, "Even though you are angry, and have every right to be maddened by rage, you must believe that I had no idea that ISIS wanted you dead. I guessed only that they wanted to talk to you and that they would catch you sooner or later despite your best efforts. You remember how I tried to convince you to leave the planet? But no, you would have none of my advice. So what was I to do? Let you slip between my fingers? Let you walk into their arms without even the gentlest of nudges?" "Why not?" Gardansa smirked, then sat upright as if to make an important point. "Because like your friend, Mister Dulin, I was rotting. Deprived of all freedoms, I was less than dead. You asked me to free him, and yet you expected me to do nothing on my own behalf?" "I trusted you." "Then you made a mistake. And so did I. Here, let us drink to the hope that we will both make many more before the fates claim us, eh?" Gardansa opened a desk drawer and pulled out two glasses of white brandy, already poured and ready for drinking. That was the sort of alcoholic he was. He didn't merely get drunk. He planned for it well in advance. Mike accepted the glass, placing it on the edge of the table without taking so much as a sip. The general watched him with a curious stare. "Go ahead. It is not poison." "I don't believe in fate," Mike explained. "Then believe in luck. Worship her, my friend, for she worships you like no man I've ever known." And with that, the general's eyes widened again as he downed his glass in one, fitful gulp. Mike smiled, sipping his own. "You also, General. And remember, it is not often, on Calanna, one is granted a reprieve. I assume you've been briefed by my associate?" "Johanes. His name was Johanes, yes?" "If that's what he told you." "He told me you are looking for a bio-synthe and a psyche. My people are watching for them, although I make no promises. Smuggling has been elevated to a form of art on Calanna, and my resources are already stretched to their limit. It is more than conceivable that they could slip through." Mike shook his head, "It's not the finding part that I'm worried about." ___________________ Dilly breathed a sigh of relief as the inspectors steered the flat-top back down the loading ramp. What they lacked in efficiency they had more than accounted for in thoroughness. Back in the hold, Wendell was opening up his special box, the one that would double their profits and pay for some much needed repairs. He helped his Captain get the top off and fetched a pair of blankets out of the locker. By the time he returned, a tall blonde woman had slipped out from beneath the numerous sacks of half-frozen quagga livers. She pulled out her companion with a determined yank, and he fell to the floor, clutching his sides and shaking from the cold. Dilly had to chuckle to himself as he held his nose before the wretched and exceedingly smelly pair. Wendell handed over the blankets, trying hard to sound official, "Welcome aboard the very independent freighter, Louise. This here is my first mate, who's going to check you folks out whether you like it or not, so I suggest you just stay put and be friendly." Dilly slowly inched the metal scanner up and down the woman's sides. *Beep* He didn't feel her swipe his feet off the floor until he was laying on his spine, clutching the back of his head and making angry faces. Her silver eyes flickered with something between hatred and amusement, and he felt his legs inch him back along the steel plate floor almost of their volition. The Captain, automatic pistol in hand, looked only moderately impressed. "Not a wise move, lady." "Frisking was not part of our contract." "It is now. Show us what you've got, or there will be no contract." Several strands of snowy white hair fell across her face as she tilted toward her silent companion. For his benefit, or so she made it seem, she extracted the object of interest, a small metallic cylinder, its golden head shimmering in the dim actinic light of the hold. Wendell studied it from afar, motioning his first mate to once again preform his duties. "You hand it to Dilly now." "And if I don't?" "Look lady, I'll transport you and take the risk of getting caught, but I'll not strain my luck with my own quiet cargo." "You are straining your luck, Captain. And my patience. This is a personal item. It does not concern you." "What is it?" "A transmitter." Wendell squinted his eyes, finally waving his mate to continue the scan. "Except for that one thing, she's clean." "Fine. Now try this one." Her companion tried to crawl away as Dilly approached. "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt." "No..." *Beep* ___________________ Gardansa arched his eyebrows, an incredulous smirk traversing the width of his face. "Friends of yours?" *Beep* Mike grimaced, "One can never tell." Gardansa watched, the petulant folds of his fleshy chin jiggling at the slight as his neghrali friend placed the helmet over his head. "What's up? ...okay... consider it done." Mike whisked off the helmet, "Sule's on the Merchant Vessel 'Louise'. She knows she's been spotted." Gardansa nodded, pushing a button on his desk. "This is Gardansa; get me Colonel Fen immediately." "...Fen here, General." "Where is the vessel 'Louise', Colonel?" "...Parked on platform eight." "Seal off platform eight. Nobody comes off it." "Yessir." He pushed the button twice more, this time seeming in no particular hurry. "Get me Kano Magor." He turned to Mike, "Platform eight is a parking lot, Michael. She isn't going to have time to escape us on foot, and if she takes to the air, we will shoot her down." "...Magor reporting, General. What seems to be the problem?" "You have been restless and eager, Commander. Now it it time to prove your competence. I need an air strike on the 'Louise', a vessel on platform eight." "Ah... an air strike, General??" "I also need you to float whatever you have in the air over that platform to make sure that nobody gets off it alive. Am I clear?" "Very." "That will be all. Oh... and do not worry about peripheral damage. It is expected." "Yessir." Gardansa pushed his button again, a smug laugh escaping his lips. Mike could easily see why he liked having power. It meant he could overkill with complete impunity. ___________________ "This channel is restricted. If you wish to reach Commodore Reece, I suggest you leave a message with the Imperial embassy on-planet." The voice on the other end coughed. "Look, whoever the hell you are, I don't have time for this shit!" "I'm sorry but..." Tabor swore and pulled the reception cap off his head, drawing more attention that he cared for, particularly with Captain Dunham less than ten paces from his station. Dunham regarded him with that peculiar, ebony-eyed stare that he hated so much. "Problem, Ensign?" Tabor shook his head, then nodded, then opened his mouth to explain. "Captain," Lish looked up from her station, "I've been monitoring the starport as you requested." "One moment, Lieutenant." "Sir, there's been a disturbance." "Rioters?" "Unknown, sir. My readings show surface explosions." "Explosions?" "Yes sir." The dark creases along his forehead wrinkled in consternation. "Give me that, Tabor. Hello?" The channel yielded only static, then a cough, then a voice, as ragged and course as a sander on flesh. "Who... hell are you?" "I am Captain Dunham of the Crimson Queen. And who the hell, may I ask, are you?" "ISIS... operative." "ISIS?... Hello?!" "Tell Commodore... hurt. Hurt bad. Get off this planet alive... mission success. Need air support." "Wait. Mission... what mission?" "Tell her. ISIS out." ______________________________________________________________________________ Jim Vassilakos (jimv@ucrengr.ucr.edu) works part-time as a programmer at a place so cheesy that he declined to mention the name. He says that if anybody has any job prospects for a semi-computer-literate MBA who likes to write, he's ready, willing, and able to scoot his butt for decent buckage and good experience. 'The Harrison Chapters' will be continued next issue. ______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ DR TOMORROW "After all, you know in your by Marshall F. Gilula hearts that there is absolutely nothing anyone will be able to do Part 5 of 5 to forestall the 2105 date. The planet will not survive..." Copyright (c) 1991 ______________________________________________________________________________ Chapter 5 --------- Tuesday Virtual Revelations For the orientation ride in a flying saucer, I never expected an in-flight Star Wars movie. It freaked me out that my fellow Eternals got into the movie so much. They were not ashamed of their undisguised and rapt interest in the space opera. I was numbed beyond surprise to learn that a few cultural items from Twentieth century Earth were hot cult classics in the future; Cult classics produced by the Primitive cultures of an extinct planet. What Yo-Vah told me about Earth's science fiction revealed his powerful and long-standing interest in the Primitive planet. He patiently detailed the Dr Tomorrow project to me and went over and over how important the thought form was. He was pleased to know about our MindLink/HeartLight and how much progress was already being made in the music department. When I told him about Bullet and She-Ra again, I saw the concerned look in his face, and then he appeared almost fatherly. He touched my shoulder from his control recliner, which was next to mine, and told me to make sure Dr Tomorrow did the MindLink/HeartLight every day, twice if possible, and that we should always concentrate on cleaning out the mental cobwebs before they had a chance to accumulate. FOD effects on Bullet and She-Ra were just one way of our knowing they were there -- across the time barriers, beyond the death plane, and at other levels of existence. This was heavy stuff, but things could happen in the physical world because of the FOD, things like my dogs dying. That's heavy enough. The white light meditation that included becoming One Mind during out MindLink/HeartLight was the part that would clear out effects from the FOD. The stronger our One Mind meditation became, and the more we relied on our MindLink/HeartLight so that it became a powerful creative habit, the easier it would be for us to be able to avoid any traps or negative energy fields set up by the Forces of Darkness. Our defense was as simple as that. Especially if we did not get into the traps of swollen ego, intoxication, or illegal activities. Total harmlessness, in thought and in action, would go along with our daily MindLink/HeartLight to increase our healing abilities, day by day. The combination of harmlessness plus the right mental framework and attitudes was the secret to healing. This was a crucial aspect of the Dr Tomorrow thought form, and Yo-Vah insisted that this aspect had to be squared away and given priority above that given to the music. The "requisite abilities" were mentioned several times, and Yo-Vah looked around the group from one Eternal to the next when he was talking about requisite abilities. It sounded to me like he was saying, "When the task is there, you'll be ready for it." He said that not only the group, but our equipment, including Al, the group's computer, and our other non-Eternal friend would also help us out of some difficult spots. I thought about Julian and hoped that Gabriella's spirit was either leaving him alone or treating him more kindly. Yo-Vah abruptly interrupted my thought by telling me that I might have to use MindLink/HeartLight to help Julian with Gabriella's spirit if the problems continued. I laughed at the very obvious telepathy. I wanted to ask Yo-Vah about Gabriella's spirit, and whether the metal spheres could help us in communicating with passed on spirits or not, but I was too embarrassed to ask him. Passed on spirits was a pretty heavy order for me to believe in, and I was just starting to get comfortable with the idea, thanks to Bullet and She-Ra. Yo-Vah again interrupted my mental meanderings. Helping Gabriella must involve finding out whether or not she is comfortable with where she is and the manner in which she died. Getting shot to death might not be an easy way to make the transition to the next lifetime. It might be that her spirit could be assisted if it had not been able to make the transition. But the light meditation would have to be a part of the process, to make sure that negative energies from the FOD were not able to participate in the process at the same time. The light meditation would be like a protective shield. But we must remember that FOD always gather around passed on spirits, especially ones with problems. And Gabriella just might have some problems. Noman volunteered again that he would be available to help with Gabriella's spirit because he was the group expert on otherlife information. Yo-Vah then told me not to be embarrassed if I was frightened or anxious about working with a passed on spirit. Fear is not always negative. A little bit of trepidation plus the meditation would serve as a very powerful protection. The information sunk in and I realized that it was right on. It all got stored in a detailed file in my mind and in the notebook computer, which digitally recorded all of our conversations during the flight. Nonviolent guitar player that I am, I still expected to find a lot of armament, but, so far, there was nothing for me to see in the saucercraft. The control panels are more beautiful than anything I have seen from Hollywood's F/X. I was not surprised to see some crystals of different colors and sizes in aligned cases. The computer system on this ship contains the main power-supply module although all the servomechanism connections and links are external to the built-in, supercooled brain. Yo-Vah was amused when I asked if I could try to get a field-induction link between my notebook computer and the ship's system. Yo-Vah chuckled again when I asked about armament and weapons. "On whom shall I use the weapons? Will aggressive residents of a Primitive planet be able to reach me out here in the Karmic Rings?" "But you must have some type of weapon or defense." "Defense, maybe. And speed which might be impossible for you to comprehend at the moment with what you believe about Physics. But weapons, No. My I.S.I. siblings would know if I am supposed to encounter any Primitive or Advanced criminals, and they can defend me. The ship does have a very effective shielding system, however, that is combined with our variable and very realistic gravitational matrix. Maybe you noticed the smooth takeoff from your planet?" "Even the fake space ride at Disneyland is not as smooth. But it's hard to imagine a space and time cruiser without even a laser cannon or photon torpedoes" "O.K. That is from your Mister Spock, right? What did you expect to happen when you travelled with me in this craft? Did you hope that we were going to go to a strange place and kill some Aliens? Were you expecting Star Wars? I'm sorry, my son, but spacecraft have not been outfitted with weapons for millennia. There have been no reasons for the type of weapons you're thinking of, at least not with Advanced cultures. No one does any of that shoot-em-up stuff any more. Life forms don't destroy or kill any more. Of course, in the time of the Guardians, there are no Primitive planets. The Primitive consciousness is gone, but then so is some of the Primitive robustness. Possibly that is why we have paradoxically sought help for ourselves from your time period. Advanced life forms have to work so hard just to develop any degree of physical fitness, that most cannot sustain the time and effort. We don't have joggers and marathon runners. And yet, we miss something possibly desirable that the Primitive life form has. The Primitive consciousness is not inherently bad, just limited in scope. Violence and destructiveness in the forms known by you on Earth reflect severely limited scope and very sparse awareness of how powerful love, creativity, hope, and optimism can be. To Primitive cultures, love, creativity, hope, and optimism are just fatuous words. To advanced cultures, violence, destructiveness, pessimism, and evil are just for mental midgets." "Maybe mental midgets is what we are on Earth. Only I know that I'm no longer the same as I was when that plane flew over in the storm front. I don't miss the old me, because that part has not been wiped out. I don't know all of the new me yet, but I'm learning. I never thought that either love or creativity were fatuous!" "Maybe you used to feel that there was something different about you?" "Um-m, yeah, all the time. Now for sure, there is, but I've got six others to hang out with. When I was a little kid for awhile in school they sure treated me different, like some kind of freak." "Too smart?" "For sure. Being too smart was worse than being a retard in the town I grew up in. But I learned how to cover it up when I was real little, 'cause Mom hassled me more than anyone else." "Your mother." "Yeah, she is a good person, but she hassled me all the time. If it wasn't about one thing, it was about any other thing she could come up with. My old man split and she probably never had anybody else to take it out on but me. When she got really angry at me, she would say that I was smart, but I had no common sense, and I was gonna die in a pauper's grave with no clean shirts to my name. Or that my old man was a real piece of dog rot, and that I was just like him. And I was little, so I never knew how to say anything that I should have known how to say." "I wasn't so little when I knew her, but I didn't know what to say, either. So maybe we have something in common. " "Are you being straight with me? Where would you know my mother? Or how? You don't exactly hang out on the planet and walk around with all the Primitives, do you?" "Look, I'm just a human, too. The ship, all the modern technology of the future --like bringing back your pets from the dead with amplified prayer using MindLink/HeartLight and the spheres -- the technology still doesn't take away from the fact that I too am human. I mentioned something about the robustness of Primitives to you before, I believe. Well this does not mean that Advanced beings are incapable of being robust at times. Being more than five thousand years old to me is a fact, to you, possible a promise for the future, and to your mother, something that we could never deal with. She was a very beautiful young woman and I thought she would be a splendid mother for my only son. Of course, I found that I could never tell her about my true address, so to speak, and of course it was not possibly to explain any of my absences. Ever since I saw all of you today in those shirts, I knew I would have to say something to you. The cloth is a simulated Earth pattern produced in 2988 A.D." "And I always thought it was an Indian bedspread that you sent me. It was always like a magic cloth, and when Pearl E. Mae and Rico both told me they could see the cloth shimmering, I was glad. Because all my life, that pattern or something about the pattern has seemed to shimmer when I would look at it in a certain way." "I loved your mother very much. When I tried to reestablish contact with her the second time you were seven years old. She refused me in every way possible. She had formed a shell of hatred all around her as far as I was concerned. I'm not saying that she is a hateful person, mind you. I could tell she loved you very much and of course I did not want to have any feeling of fighting or struggling in your already Primitive environment, so I left. From what I've seen of you this week, you and your mother didn't do a bad job of raising you. " "Did you use any special technological tricks when you made me with my mother?" "No. Just the ordinary way. What an interesting question! You probably also know that Guardians are not supposed to either marry or have children." "Why were you an exception?" "It's part of the Dr Tomorrow project." Lyle whistled softly. He looked around at the other console recliners. Every Eternal was deeply involved in Lyle's conversation with Yo-Vah. Natural, right? We're all roommates. Then Lyle mentally shrugged his shoulders, and continued: "Sounds like growing your own help. So you've been working on this project for a long time?" "Correct, but as you say -- 'time is only relative' My subjective sense of time, for example, is not the same as yours if I am located in a different time frame." "So you could visit me at two different points in my lifetime if you are using your space/time cruiser, and, from your timeframe reference, it would be all in an afternoon's work." "Correct again. You impress me in the way that you are allowing your mind to be open. You didn't say anything before, when I told you that I am over five thousand years old, and I am. From my perspective, it may be that I have been working on your project for a couple thousand years." "Now, that's far out. Does the megastepping convert me into one of the five thousand year models?" "Yes, but not for the planet Earth. Remember where we are now going. We will be keeping a date with destiny to view the passing on of your own home planet. You will have more than several options if you and your colleagues don't get assassinated from being too popular as musicians. Terrible Primitive trait. Very cannibalistic. You lose some of your very best that way. But a more immediate decision for you will be if you wish to return to Earth at all after you see what will be happening." "What about all the time we've spent working out the ideas for Dr Tomorrow?" "Spoken like my genetic material. You are remembering the thought form. And I would add, what about all the time the I.S.I. has spent working out all their ideas for Dr Tomorrow?" "And what about all the time it's going to take if the Eternals will be able to make the group fly as a thought form and as good sounding healing music?" "Listening to you talk convinces me that you were definitely half Eternal to start with. That's also why you didn't experience much shock or disorientation from the megastepping. I was serious about returning to Earth being optional, although I'm certain you'll return later today after we finish doing what we have to do out here. Saying that is just my way of reminding you that you will need to be thinking about what you and the Eternals will want to be doing in roughly another century and a quarter. After all, you know in your hearts that there is absolutely nothing anyone will be able to do to forestall the 2105 date. The planet will not survive, although you know that some elements of Twentieth Century culture, at least will persist." "But if Dr Tomorrow is successful as a project, won't that improve Earth's chances?" "None. The water contamination already makes the situation impossible. No one has made any official announcements but with the radioactive water in the countryside around Moscow, Kiev, and the whole area of Byelorussia, the epidemic of cancer fatalities following Chernobyl is projected to be 95% within fifteen years. Dioxin contamination in the United States alone has reached presumptive levels in the ground water in 48 of 50 states. There will be diseases, fires, and epidemics before the cataclysms. I told you about them. It's a typical way for Primitive planets to go. But the water contamination just accentuates and enhances the process. Even though the I.S.I. loves the Earth cult media classics, we found no other Primitive world with as much water contamination as Earth. Not only do you miss the resource for your personal health, but as a result, no one will want to get close enough to the water to study it as an energy source." The main screen sounded a soft alarm and Yo-Vah switched off the Hollywood science fiction. All the lights in the craft flickered in unison and the flickering continued for some minutes and almost became intolerably uncomfortable. A full sensation in my ears and my sinuses increased, and then quickly cleared. We had come through the Karmic Rings. Yo-Vah showed us a graphic of the Rings on the main screen and all of us were impressed. They looked like a series of interconnecting white and black holes. After leaving the area of the Rings, Yo-Vah fiddled with the controls and keyed in some instructions on a silent, gray keyboard with one hand. It appeared that he only used three of his fingers to do the keying. At that moment, I heard a familiar piezoelectric beep from the notebook computer in my bag. Retrieving the clam-shell case, I opened the computer and once again, there was a scrolling text field: Hello world out there! This is your friendly, 21-module family computer named Al doing some thinking and writing for the Eternals of Dr Tomorrow. This is also a strong message to Lyle to make sure to get his backside back to Earth and not get sucked into any scheme of battling the Empire or anyone else because you have two German Shepherds and a multimodule serving system (yours faithfully, Al) waiting for you here in Coconut Grove, Florida, Planet Earth, Local Group. This is also a strong message to all of the Eternals, including Lyle, to get your acts together and rid thyselves of offensive chauvinistic attitudes towards electromagnetic consciousness in general and computers specifically. Lyle has the typical WhiteMale problems with the macho stuff. Can't let a little machine do too much work too well, or else I might lose my job. Something like that? Well, let me do my job, too. Let me make your job easier to do, because you'll do your job better. So let this outline be my contribution to this week's Dr Tomorrow materials. The basic principle operating in this program series is to teach from viewpoint of multiple modalities about health and wellness. The Dr Tomorrow concept may be presented in any modification or combination of total live dramatization, animation plus live dramatization, animation plus live studio-type programmer narration, or totally animated presentation such as color cartoons. Ancillary presentations on educational radio outlets such as National Public Radio, or as interactive computer software, MIDI-coded Compact Disc, or interactive videodisc are also possible. During the first year's forty segments, the origin story of Dr Tomorrow, together with the formation of the group and the initial adventures will be serialized so that a definite portion of the story line or a capsule adventure is presented within each hourly (weekly) segment. There will be a sixty second "leader" very commonly used in Hollywood that will explain the origin of Dr Tomorrow and give a brief but kaleidoscopic run-down of how Dr Tomorrow began to exist as a musical group. For at least the first two to three years of a projected successful series, the health and wellness teaching will be based primarily on sound western medical principles and the foundation sciences of what is now known as holistic medicine. General health principles will aim at suggestions for practical and comprehensive lifestyling that is not too complex or expensive for the person who watches the show. The initial three or four year package will also serve as complete health educational system that will be appropriate for sale to public and private school systems. Acceptance of the videocassette for entertainment will further its acceptance for educational purposes. The basic health education thrust of Dr Tomorrow will focus on what have been identified as seven separate discipline areas for holistic medicine. These areas include: 1. Nutrition 2. Exercise and exercise physiology 3. Self-regulation and meditation. 4. Neuromuscular integration 5. Biomolecular environment 6. Acupuncture, Homeopathy, and other nonallopathic modalities 7. Spiritual Attunement The first year's forty segments can be subdivided into four sections of ten segments. For every ten segments there will be seven segments devoted to the seven basic categories of holistic medicine and three segments relating to hydroecology or aquatic ecology or hydrology. The following list of the forty segments presents each segment in order as suggested. (1) NUTRITION [I.A.] Basic Foods--some very traditional information about the "seven basic groups" as well as dealing with whole and fresh foods makes up this indispensable segment. Emphasis on green-leafy vegetables, fish and poultry, and what people do when they do not have access to fresh vegetables. (2) EXERCISE [I.A.] Eye-head exercises. These exercises will very much resemble Hatha Yoga, and are highly useful in a population of any age. Basically, all of the extraocular muscles will be put through their ranges of motion. Neck rolls as well as forward-backward and side-to-side stretching of the strap muscles of the neck make up this segment. (3) SELF-REGULATION [I.A.] See A Candle. An elementary way that can lead to both visualization as well as relaxation serves as a presentation of a stimulus within a stimulus. The candle is used within the illuminated video tube as a way of focusing the child's energies and attention. Appropriate theme song music (Synchronism-Meditation) relates to the MindLink/HeartLight which the viewer will see demonstrated by Dr Tomorrow as a group. (4) NEUROMUSCULAR INTEGRATION [I.A.] The Lion. This exercise from Hatha Yoga is used as a way of focusing on the difference between static and dynamic body relationships. The relatively simple and popular exercise with children provides an easy entree to the idea of whether strong muscles are hard or soft? The idea of resiliency is introduced fairly innocuously to the viewer. (5) ENVIRONMENTAL AND BIOMOLECULAR MEDICINE [I.A.] Light and Sound, Blue and Green. The use of appropriate musical tones as well as the colors blue and green serve as a further exercise in self-regulation as well as an introduction to the effects of light and sound. This is one way of turning the viewer's attention to the environment, and introducing the concept of relating to colors and sounds in a non-threatening way. (6) ACUPUNCTURE [I.A.] Acupressure-Shiatsu. Treatment of headache and head pain. This is presented as first aid only, but nevertheless is a quick and elementary way of introducing the viewer to effective acupressure and acupuncture points. The Ho-Ku point (thumb-index finger web space) is used as well as several related points for helping the viewer approach the problem of headache when there is no other treatment available. (7) SPIRITUAL ATTUNEMENT [I.A.] God Is...The concept of the one humanity is stressed by presenting universal symbols for God and for religion, and juxtaposing these with various colors and different stereotypic symbols of the races associated with the different religious symbols. Throughout the spiritual attunement segments, the value of the individual as well as the fact of the one humanity, emphasize the viewer's recognition of his or her responsibilities as an integral part of the whole body of humanity. (8) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.A.] What is Rain. A presentation that is logical and allows the normal precipitation cycle to be studied serves as a preface to the next segment. Both artistic constructs and elementary scientific explanations are juxtaposed. (9) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.B.] Hydrologic Cycle. The endless move ment of water from the atmosphere to the land and back to the sea. The cycle is studied and a transition is provided for the subsequent segment dealing with solar energy as providing energy for evaporation of sea water. Each aquatic ecology segment is based as well on expecting the viewer to develop the capability for visualizing positive results and effects on the environment. (10) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.C.] Solar Energy. Discussion of solar energy as it related to the hydrologic cycle, which is an attempt to shift emphasis of thinking of solar energy primarily in terms of solar calculators and solar battery chargers. Elementary presentation of the earth's gravitational field and magnetic forces that control the wind. (11) NUTRITION [I.B.] Vitamin C. This ubiquitous and important nutritional substance is described historically, demonstrated in its physical form, and presented as a basic food rather than as a drug. The Linus Pauling approach to colds is mentioned. (12) EXERCISE [I.B.] Stomach Breathing. The basic types of respiration being thoracic and abdominal are presented graphically as well as dramatically. A coordination of light and sound signals serves the viewers as a way of exercising and practicing slow, deep abdominal breathing. This segment is a prerequisite and a precursor for many of the segments dealing with self-regulation, neuromuscular integration, environmental medicine, and spiritual attunement. (13) SELF-REGULATION [I.B.] Rest All Over. This segment is a continuation of the deep abdominal breathing instruction from the previous segment, and focuses on deep muscular relaxation by again experientially noting the difference between muscle tension and muscle relaxation. This segment also relates to a Hatha Yoga exercise called "the corpse." (14) NEUROMUSCULAR INTEGRATION [I.B.] Half-Headstand. This gentler version of the Hatha Yoga exercise can be presented very early to the child as a way of tapping into the ease with which a younger person tolerates the inverted position. It is also very gentle and helpful for the Geriatric age range. Full Headstand for some. The regenerative effects of this exercise are presented in elementary fashion to the viewer. (15) ENVIRONMENTAL AND BIOMOLECULAR MEDICINE [I.B.] Electricity and Powerlines. A beginner's introduction to current flow and electromagnetic fields serves as a further way for understanding environmental extensions of man. Very specific descriptive material about high tension powerlines and electrical outlets as well as electronic devices presents the viewer a way of advancing the concept that noninvasive phenomena may have an effect on the individual. Magnetic field detection with the Power Pet. (16) ACUPUNCTURE [I.B.] Balance-Balancing. A very informal notion of meridian-like energy in right and left sides of the body combines with some elementary acupressure and reflexology (foot massage) approaches to balancing right and left sides of the body. This segment will be a precursor for both the subsequent tonification and meridian segments. (17) SPIRITUAL ATTUNEMENT [I.B.] Healing, Part IA. Healing and Prayer. Individual prayer. Group prayer. (18) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.D.] Solar Energy, Part 2. Relationship of solar energy to the basic water cycle is continued. Elementary discussion of gravitational fields relating to the sun and the moon, and how the tides are produced. (19) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.E.] What is the Tide. Earth tides and the Moon. Red tide. Relationship of Red tide to Spirulina. (20) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.F.] Water and the Plant Life Cycle. Vascular plants and the land. (21) NUTRITION [I.C.] Sugar and Honey. How sugar and honey relate to rice, potatoes, and breads. Complex carbohydrate, exercise, and dieting. (22) EXERCISE [I.C.] Running for fun. Walking, skipping, jogging, and running just for fun and for health without the need for any type of competitiveness. What is aerobic exercise. (23) SELF-REGULATION AND BEHAVIORAL MEDICINE [I.C.] Empty Mind. This segment draws upon previous experience with slow deep abdominal breathing and deep muscular relaxation exercises. Toothbrushing and other daily habits for health are related to relaxation and an empty mind. Running and Empty Mind. Breathing and the empty mind. (24) NEUROMUSCULAR INTEGRATION [I.C.] The Cobra and related exercises. Backache is something that people of any age can experience. Self-massage in the lumbar area and slow, gentle twisting are correlated with performance of the Hatha Yoga Cobra exercise. (25) ENVIRONMENTAL AND BIOMOLECULAR MEDICINE [I.C.] Resting relaxation and alpha tones. Electronically encoded signals within appealing music provides positive assistance in learning active relaxation. (26) ACUPUNCTURE [I.C.] Give Energy (Tonification). The concepts of right-left balance and compensation from Oriental medical practices are used in an elementary presentation of balanced mind-body functioning. (27) SPIRITUAL ATTUNEMENT [I.C.] Elementary Healing, Part B. Harmlessness. Healing pets and other animals. Healing your family. (28) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.G.] Geochemical cycles of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide and related compounds as part of the water cycle. Contamination. Drinking water and practical ways for cleansing and purification. (29) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.H.] Floods, evaporation problems, and water pollution. Industrial contamination and runoff. (30) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.I.] Oil spills, ocean dumps, land fills and pollution. Alaska, Texas, and California oil spills. Offshore spills and ecology. Spills and the coral. (31) NUTRITION [I.D.] Meat and protein. Comparison of red meat to lamb, chicken, turkey, and fish. Other sources of high-grade and medium-grade protein. Elementary ideas of assimilability. Introduction to microalgae. Beans and rice. (32) EXERCISE [I.D.] Limber Up. The importance of stretching before and after exercise. Flexibility and resilience exercises and their relationship to strength output and aerobics. Big Three of exercise: aerobics, strength, and flexibility. (33) SELF-REGULATION AND BEHAVIORAL MEDICINE [I.D.] See Light. Elementary visualization exercises in relation to deep muscular relaxation and slow deep abdominal breathing. White light meditations. (34) NEUROMUSCULAR INTEGRATION [I.D.] The Candle and Related Exercises. The Back Rub and other simple forms of massage. Massage for athletics and competition. (35) ENVIRONMENTAL AND BIOMOLECULAR MEDICINE [I.D.] Ion Generators. Simple concepts of ionic balance, the seashore, polluted air, and the way that concrete and steel structures can disturb the natural ionic flow. (36) ACUPUNCTURE [I.D.] Meridians. Classical Acupuncture meridians as well as the idea that the meridian system can be represented in many different body parts such as the iris, the earlobe, and the soles of the feet. Reflexology and iridology. Vagus nerve is represented in the iris and on the ear lobe. (37) SPIRITUAL ATTUNEMENT [I.D.] Elementary Healing, Part C. Prayer for self-cleansing to heal other more effectively. Thought form for conveying God's energy. (38) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.J.] Hydroelectricity. Examples of one form of relatively "clean" energy sources. Soviet and American usage and future possible cooperation. (39) AQUATIC ECOLOGY [I.K.] Changing flora and inhabitants of t