Islands in the Net

"Hey!" Garcia-Meza objected. "You should talk, de

Valera-you and your socialist internal-money system-"

"Please don't start on that again," Kaufma

"His ideology sucks," de Valera said. "If he wants to be a desert hermit, he could move to Arizona and stop paying his phone bills. He doesn't need the shoulder-launched- rockets and the whole nine yards."

"I'm with de Valera on this one," McIntyre said. "And I still don't see how the Russian space station fits in."

"He's confused," Laura said. "He's not sure what he's doing is right. It's like-he wants to be as different from us as he can, but he can't get us out of himself. He's full of some kind of self-hatred I can't understand."

"Let's give him his say," Garcia-Meza said.

They ran more tape. Arbright asked Gresham about FACT.

"The Malian regime is finished," Gresham said, "the sub- marine is just a detail," and he began talking about Azanian

"imperialism." Detailing how roads could be land-mined, convoys ambushed, communication links cut, until Azanian

"expansionism" was "no longer economically tenable."

Then without warning he started in on plans to heal the desert. "Agriculture is the oldest and most vicious of humani- ty's bio-technologies. Rather than deracinated farmers in

Azanian sterilization camps, there should be wandering tribes of eco-decentralized activists...."

"He's a screwball," de Valera said.

"I think we're all agreed on that," Mrs. Wu said. She turned down the sound. "The question is, what is our policy?

Is Gresham any less threatening to us than Grenada or Singa- pore? He certainly cultivates a line in aggressive bluster."

"Grenada and Singapore were pirates and parasites," Laura said. "Grant him this much-he only wants to be left alone."

"Come on," de Valera said. "What about all that high- tech hardware? He didn't get that by selling handmade jewelry."

"Aha!" said Garcia-Meza. "Then that is where he's vulnerable. "

"Why we should harm someone who fought the F.A.C.T.?".

Suvendra said. "And if they could not frighten or defeat his people, could we?"

"Good point," said Mrs. Wu. They watched Gresham lean back briefly in his peacock chair and mutter an order to the lieutenant on his left. The Tuareg saluted smartly and swag- gered away, off-camera.

"He is in a desert no one wants," Suvendra said. "Why force him to come after us?"

"What the hell could he do to us?" de Valera said. "He's a Luddite."

Laura spoke heavily. "Can you run the tape back? I think that man who just walked off-camera was Sticky Thompson."

They stirred in shock. Mrs. Wu ran it again. "Yeah,"

Laura said. "That walk, that salute. Under that veil, it's got to be him. Sticky-Nesta Stubbs. Of course-where else would he go? I wondered what had become of him."

"That's horrible," de Valera said.

"No, it's not," Laura told him. "He's over therein the desert with Gresham. He's not over here."

"Oh, my God," McIntyre said. "And to think I stay up at night worrying about atom bombs. We'd better tell Vie

They stared at her. "Smart move," de Valera said at last.

"Vie

Mrs. Wu rubbed her forehead. "What do we do now?"

"I can think of one thing," Laura said. "We can protect his supply lines, so no one else bothers him! And I know one supply that's got to mean more to him than anything. Iron

Camels, from GoMotion Unlimited in Santa Clara, Califor- nia. We should make inquiries."

"Rizome-GoMotion," McIntyre said. "Doesn't sound half bad."

"Good," Garcia-Meza said. "He is vulnerable, as I said.

Transport-that would give us influence over him."

"We might be better off forgetting all about him," de

Valera said. "It's hot in the Sahara. Maybe they'll all evaporate."

"No one's ever going to forget Gresham," Laura said.

"They never forget what they can't have.... We'd better get hold of that company." She looked around the table as they sat in the flickering television dimness. "Don't you see it?

Iron Camels-the Jonathan Gresham Look. Every would-be tough guy and rugged individualist and biker lunatic on this planet is go

"Could be worth millions," de Valera mused. "Hell, I'd bet on it." He looked up. "When does this thing air?"

"Three days."

"Can we do anything in that time?"

"In California? Sure," said Mrs. Wu. "If we get right on it.'

So they got right on it.

Laura was cleaning her kitchen when her watchphone buzzed.

She touched it and the door opened. Charles Cullen, Rizome's former CEO, stood out in the corridor in denim overalls.

"Mr. Cullen," she said, surprised. "I hadn't heard you were back in Atlanta."

"Just dropping in on old friends. Sorry I didn't call, but your new phone protocols.... Hope you don't mind."

"No, I'm glad to see you. C'mon in." He crossed the living room and she came out of the kitchen. They hugged briefly, cheek-kissed. He looked at her and gri

"You haven't heard yet, have you?"

"Heard what?"

"You haven't been watching the news?"

"Not in days," Laura said, throwing magazines off the couch. "Can't stand it-too depressing, too weird."

Cullen laughed aloud. "They bombed Hiroshima, he said.

Laura went white and grabbed for the couch.

"Easy," he said. "They fucked up! It didn't work!" He rolled the armchair behind her. "Here, Laura, sit down, sorry.... It didn't explode! It's sitting in a tea-garden in downtown Hiroshima right now. Dead, useless. It came flying out of the sky-tumbling, the eyewitnesses said-and it hit the bottom of the garden and it's lying there in the dirt. In big pieces "

"When did this happen?"

"Two hours ago. Turn on the television."

She did. It was ten in the morning, Hiroshima time. Nice bright winter morning. They had the area cordoned off. Yel- low suits, masks, geiger counters. Good helicopter overhead shot of the location. Tiny little place in wood and ceramic in some area zoned for small restaurants.

The missile was lying there crushed. It looked like some- thing that had -fallen off a garbage scow. Most of it was engine, burst copper piping, ruptured corrugated steel.

She turned down the gabbling narrative. "Isn't 'it full of uranium?"

"Oh, they got the warhead out first thing. Intact. They think the trigger failed. Conventional explosive. They're look- ing at it now."

"Those evil bastards!" Laura screamed suddenly and slapped the coffee table hard. "How could they pick Hiroshima?"

Cullen sat down on the couch. He could not seem to stop gri

They're evacuating Nagasaki right now."

"My God, Cullen."

"Oh," he said, "call me Charlie. Got anything to drink?"

"Huh? Sure. Good idea." She called the liquor cabinet over.

"You've got Drambuie!" Cullen said, looking. He picked out a pair of liqueur glasses. "Have a drink." He poured, spilled a sticky splash on the coffee table. "Whoops."

"God, poor Japan." She sipped it. She couldn't help but blurt her thought aloud. "I guess this means they can't get us."

"They're not go