Free Streams of Babel by Carol Plum-Ucci Page B

ran red yesterday on the Dark Continent, three hours from Home Base.
" Home Base would be the location of the terror cell headquarters. And granted, the Dark Continent means Africa, but I have been v-spying on VaporStrike for weeks, and I know he has a love/hate obsession with America. I believe he is being coy.
    I nagged and trumpeted my deep sense that Home Base was New York, and Colony One therefore was within three hours of it. I sent them other e-mails from VaporStrike, referencing America as that "Dark and Unruly Habitat" In January, USIC was formed, and almost immediately the new supervisors decided to test all these water supplies. After all the towers came
up clean, Hodji's nickname for me was "Expensive." I did not care. My instincts are not given to misinterpretation of so much chatter. A few weeks later, I sent Roger link after link to news pages of a strange outbreak of illness in California.
Check this! Many alarms! Colony One???
I repeatedly nagged.
    "Yo, Expensive! We can read the online newspapers ourselves, thank you," Roger finally e-mailed to me. He says to stick to my chat rooms, to the
gathering
of intelligence, and not the
interpreting
of it. I am insulted.
    But next, I am humiliated. The Centers for Disease Control confirmed that the California illness was linked to E. coli—bad spinach at a fast- food salad bar.
Oops.
Hodji says they knew this, even as I flailed e-mails to them. "Expensive" wore off, but "the Kid" has remained.
    I won't look foolish again. I keep to myself these days that I think Colony One is in America.
    Only one hit on "vinegar" has downloaded. When I chase it, I find only an antidote for the bite of an Angolan fruit fly. Very serene afternoon. The extremists are so content that for a few moments, the only sound in here is my normal asthmatic wheezing. When they make a few comments among themselves, Hodji takes occasion to mutter into my earpiece.
    "Did you know there are three hospitals for every square mile in New York City? Did you know they could find the right asthma drug for you just by watching your lungs on a laptop for half an hour?"
    He is in rare form today. I am not wheezing badly now, though that is unusual since my family died. Several weeks after their funeral, Hodji saw me get so bad as to collapse. Once I faint, fortunately, my chest opens up normally again. I simply
got up and resumed working, but it scared the life out of Hodji. He sent to Karachi for medicine, but it doesn't work for me. I need many tests, and thus his references to New York City hospitals.
    My screen suddenly goes to black. I roll my eyes, listening through the
ssssssst
of the power loss. I glance over to the gruesome threesome. Their screen has gone to black, too, and they make groans of disappointment, despite that StarFind's rhetoric contained nothing new and exciting.
    Uncle Ahmer comes out and stands behind them, scratching his head. I assess that he has rigged the crash to get rid of the extremists. He must want to tell us something important.
    He holds up some cable wire and speaks in Arabic, in which they had been conversing. "We crashed this morning, also. I must rewire again. I'll try to have it done for tomorrow. You will come back?"
    Their disappointment causes them only to drop some rupees beside their keypad and stalk outside with their Styrofoam coffee cups. Uncle Ahmer locks the door, puts up his closed-for-servicing sign, and moves for their money.
    "Good men! They leave a tip!" He tosses one coin to me, pockets five or six himself, then drops the fake cable wire into Hodji's palm. "Roger is coming. He e-mailed half an hour ago."
    I look out the window. It is almost dark. It is highly unusual that Roger will bring his blond head here before midnight.
    "He says it's important," Uncle Ahmer tells us, and I can see opportunity flash in his eyes. When the Americans say it's important, there are usually larger payments coming. He turns to me. "But first, Roger wants to know if you