SG: Rad #100 (4/5): Never

[Gary W. Olson]

(continued from part three, preceding...)

                                 ***

     Rumi Moroboshi had not been entirely surprised to find the door
of Hal de Macobe's office open.  Nor was it a surprise that one of the
larger windows in said office was also open, and that it did not have
a screen.  Hardly the safest of designs for an office nearly a
thousand feet above street level, she thought, but she guessed it had
been included for the convenience of certain flight-capable persons of
Hal's acquaintance.
     Hal's office itself was barely worth remark--a desk, three
chairs, a computer monitor, and a filing cabinet.  Had she not seen
his name on the door, she would never have guessed the office to be
his.  She wondered if his apartment--or house, or wherever he went at
night--was as barely past functional as this.  If everything in his
life was as rounded off and featureless.
     Not her business.  Not tonight.  She was here to go through the
window.
     The air was cooler than it had been the night before.  The
crescent moon was low to the south, seemingly rising out of the lights
of Los Angeles and its sprawling suburbs.  The stars were blurred by a
thin haze of clouds.
     Rumi flew lower, her eyes now on the C Building.  Down past where
the rotating exterior of Dave's Place met the uppermost non-rotating
floor.  Down just a bit further...
     There.
     Rumi flew to the ledge, which was lit by a mix of city light and
fluorescence from the office windows.  A woman was seated there,
calves dangling over the edge.  Black jean shorts and a red
'Nightwish' t-shirt were all she wore.  Her arms and legs were well-
defined--not over-muscular, but sinewy and sleek.  Her skin was darker
than in the pictures Rumi had seen, a bronze-gold only a few shades
lighter than that of nectarisite, and Rumi wondered if she had been
biding her time in a place that got a lot of sun.  The front of her
left calf had a scar that ran four inches down from her knee.  Her
long black hair--longer than in the pictures--flew free in the breeze.
     Facially, she was the same as her twin, Shadebeam--thin lips,
soft chin, slight nose, and green eyes.  But where those features in
Shadebeam had been weathered by the desert and were often stretched by
her cynical, joyful, or sardonic expressions, on Akane Moroboshi, they
seemed serene and untwisted.  As she regarded the city she once lived
in, the look on her face was an unaffected nostalgia, and when she
looked up to see Rumi's landing, her carefree smile made Rumi smile as
well.
     "Aunt Akane...?" Rumi asked.  "You... you're here?"
     Akane smiled, then stretched her arms as if she had been waiting
for a while.  The move was graceful, almost feline, though it did not
put Rumi in mind of the kind of cat one easily scratches behind the
ears.  Her lithe form put Rumi in mind of Earth's larger cats.  A
panther, or a lioness.
     "Yeah, that's me," said Akane.  "Hi, Rumster.  Glad you could
make it."
     Rumi floated to the ledge and sat next to Akane, an arm's length
away.  She looked down at the front entrance to the C Building and the
parking lot beyond.  All the cars seemed miniscule at this height.
She regarded Akane's surroundings--a thin ledge bracketed by two
smooth black metal columns, plus a window that was not of the kind
that opened up for incoming or outgoing superguys, or anyone else.
     Akane saw her examinations.  "This area wasn't being observed.
At least, not by anything that, just by having eyeballs on the scene,
could keep me from actualizing.  I mean, it turns out that it doesn't
really count if, say, bacteria observe me, or caterpillars, or most
birds, or a majority of dogs.  Computerized systems won't interfere,
either, unless there's an Artificial Intelligence--or Computer
Intelligence, if we're being Heuristically Correct.  The observer has
to have some basic degree of sentience."
     "Aunt," said Rumi, "what are you talking about?"
     Akane blinked, then nodded.  "Right.  Forgot I never explained
this to you.  I don't have my radiation powers anymore--I lost those
when I died for the last time and left a body behind that folks could
bury--but now I can basically go anywhere and anywhen, provided that
no one... no one sentient, that is... is watching at the time.
Humans, aliens, AIs, dolphins, cats, some dogs... squirrels and
lemurs, surprisingly enough... and a few other creatures.  They all
qualify as sentient-enough observers.  Basically, the unobserved parts
of the universe exist in potentia until they're observed, and I can
actualize myself--observe myself into being, really--as long as no
such observer is around, or at least is not observing, and damn, I
ramble on."
     "What about goats and demon monkeys?" Rumi asked, unable to hold
back a smile.
     "Never tested on them," Akane replied.  "Or hyperintelligent
cows, for that matter.  Speaking of which... the Lost Continent of Mu?
Really?"
     "That's where they say they came from," Rumi said.  "Though it
turns out to be more of an island, per se.  A floating island in a
hollow earth dimension."
     "Wow," said Akane.  She sounded genuinely impressed to Rumi.
"I'd love to see that.  Do they have any pictures, or holographs,
or..."
     "Dad saw it," Rumi interrupted.  "Capella came through with the
ship I saw in my... our... dream-vision, and she showed it to him in a
hologram."
     "Hmm," Akane said.  "I'll have to ask him about that."
     "You're seeing him, too?"
     "It's why I'm here," Akane replied.  "Remember?  You asked me to
visit him in person.  And I thought about it, after... and you were
right.  Dream casting isn't the same."
     "I see," said Rumi, unable to keep a note of disappointment from
her voice.  "Why do you stay away?  Why haven't you even written?"
     Akane had a pensive look, as if she had been expecting these
questions.  "When I came back to Earth, Bill and his team--that's Team
Cynical, of course..."
     "Who?" asked Rumi.
     "Supergroup from Seattle," said Akane.  "I can't believe Rad
never... wait."
     Rumi was unable to suppress her smirk.
     "Got me," Akane said, flashing a grin.  "I am *so* out of
practice.  Anyway, Team Cynical was enmeshed in a battle against this
way-crazy AI acronymed BIGCHIP, which was in the service of the True
Necronomicon, which, though we didn't realize it right away, was in
Bill's Powerbook.  The M.I.B. was also involved, and they had one of
their Special Specials, Jade Muyal, out trying to use the situation as
leverage to get Bill to give up all the proof he had stored up on them
as to some of their many dirty deeds.  One thing led to another,
BIGCHIP got blown up real good, the True Necronomicon along with it,
and we returned to Seattle, where we encountered BIGCHIP's final
surprise.  It'd corrupted Muyal somehow, and she set this trap.  It
backfired on her, killing her and nearly wiping us out.  But Bill and
I, we'd been talking about unplugging since even before my trial, and
we realized this was the perfect time to disappear.  We took the
Tau... one of the AIF's ships, from when they came to Seattle... and
left."
     "The rest of Team Cynical knew?"
     "The story wouldn't have held," Akane went on, "if they didn't
put out the idea that Ramrod'd been killed in the warehouse explosion.
I somehow managed to get through it all without anyone outside of TC
twigging to my continued livelihood.  Dom, Nora, Dog-Thing... they
understood.  They didn't want to see us go... well, him go, anyway...
but they got it.  We'd had enough of the world."
     "You missed a lot," Rumi noted.
     "Yeah," said Radian.  "I've been learning that, while looking up
stuff for Esteban on his great-grandfather and Erasmus Fancy and
Richard Cartier and so on."  She sharply exhaled.  "It's a good thing
for Richard Less that he's well-hidden," she added.
     "What's it like, where you are?" asked Rumi.
     "No details," Akane said, the sharp look on her face melting back
into a smile.  "It's sunny, and has ways of keeping us from getting
bored.  That's all I'll say about it."
     "It also gave you one of those," said Rumi, pointing at the scar
below Akane's left knee.
     "Oh, that," Akane said, tracing it with a fingertip.
"Pelosiraptor got me.  Screechy bastards are quick, gotta give 'em
that."  She shook her head.  "Can't tell you where, sorry.  There are
only two people outside of where we're at who know, and they're not
TC, or anyone up there."  She pointed up to the restaurant.
     "So did Ramrod's... Bill's... material on the M.I.B. cause their
downfall?" Rumi asked.
     "Turns out, yeah," said Akane.  "Another thing I caught up on
just of late.  'Course, if Unethical hadn't testified, and if Director
O'Larson hadn't gone off completely unhinged at the Senate committee
hearings, they might've salvaged something.  And if the U.L.A. hadn't
come along to recruit Less and start the G-War, they might've re-
established..."
     "So Dana Wader wasn't a real M.I.B. agent?"
     "I'm sure she believed she was," said Akane.  "The same with the
guys she had working for her... no, someone was using her.  No idea
who."
     "Ah," Rumi replied.  "So... um... how did we get on this topic
again?"
     "Why I stayed away and didn't write," said Akane.  "Where we went
to... it's our world now.  And it's a good one.  For us, at least.  I
guess... I guess I just decided to stay gone.  But all the while, I
knew 2007 would be coming up.  So... I started casting for you, though
it was Esteban I found first."
     "Why him?"
     "He was connected to you," Akane replied.  "Though you hadn't met
him yet.  Has to do with destiny and such.  Probably a good thing
you've not yet met Scholarman."
     "Who?"
     "Sorcerer Superfluous.  Or Eric, as I called him.  The only one
for whom Destiny not only blinks, it just doesn't look, 'cause its
eyes would water.  Anyway.  From Esteban, I found you, and engaged in
some light manipulation via time-and-space travel.  The message in the
bratwurst.  The mail to Manny and Rad, which was really more about
getting them and you going than any real importance The Programmer
had."
     "Tell me about it," Rumi said, nearly snorting with amusement at
the thought of The Programmer being important.  Akane looked away,
down at the city.
     "It wasn't about stopping Capella, or the Programmer, or Fancy,
or anyone," said Akane.  "It was about getting you over to where
Esteban lived on that day."
     Rumi was silent.  She was not sure she wanted to know what she
was about to ask.
     But Akane knew it already.  "Because that was what you asked of
me."
     Rumi found her voice.  "When?"
     Akane shrugged.  "Whenever.  Sometime during your lifetime.  I'm
always going to be around, and for the next forty years at least, I'll
be somewhere on Earth, just a dream or a letter away."
     "And... and if I don't?"
     "Then it doesn't happen," Akane answered.  "Then it didn't
happen.  If you'd never gone to the roof, and your father and uncle
never got the tipoff letter from me... what would have happened
instead?"
     They would have stayed at the Seconds's cookout.  The pseudo-
ninjas would have come there for Tom, instead of Templar's studio.
The pseudo-zombies would have gone to Esteban's apartment, where they
would have tried to take Miguel away.  They might have succeeded, as
they had before, or they might not have.  Capella's ship would have
still come up through Dodger Stadium.  Demon monkeys would still have
flushed out Dana Wader and Erasmus Fancy from the deep underground
base.  Chalandra would still have brought the _Vander Harkness_ into
the battle.  The armed goats would still have come in.  The assorted
ex-CalForce superguys, plus her parents, would still have fought,
because that was what they did and who they were.  Maybe Capella or
the goats would have gotten Fancy.  Maybe not.  Rumi was hard pressed
to see how the question of where she was at the start of a pseudo-
zombie or pseudo-ninja invasion made a real difference in the end
result.
     Except... unless she was somehow among those attacked by the
pseudo-ninjas, she would not have met Esteban--at least, not then.
She would never have been spirited away to Burning M00se.  Never met
Lemon, or Coco.  Never seen the underground base, or the battle on the
surface.  She thought back to her first impressions of Esteban, and
realized that while she might have met him later on, she might never
have seen below his surface.  She might never have had cause to ask
why he was as he was.  Why this world was as it was.
     Why she was as she was.
     "What about you?" she asked.  "Won't changing time affect you?"
     "Nah," said Akane.  "Got a get-out-of-causality-free card after I
died and transcended and completed the circuit and all that.  I'll be
back with Bill, but I'll still remember having done all this, even if
it unhappens."
     "I see," said Rumi.  She took a breath.
     She thought, though she knew she did not really need to.
     "Okay," she said.  "This is me, then.  Asking.  Do this thing.
Set this up.  Pass it on to... well, you, I guess."
     Akane lifted her eyes and looked at her.
     "You're lucky I have an eidetic memory," she said.  "I'll have to
remember this for six-thousand-nine-hundred-and-seventy-seven
lifetimes, until I show up to be told.  Also, I'll have to wonder why
I thought getting neck tentacles was a good idea.  That's a long time
to wonder about that sort of thing."  She paused, and smirked.  "I'll
probably have to get them just to satisfy my curiosity."
     "Yeah," said Rumi, grinning.  "But... Aunt, that's it.  After
this, no more manipulation or mucking about in my causality.  Even if
I ask."
     "Deal," said Akane.  She held out her hand.  Rumi gave it a
shake.
     "Now about dream casting," said Rumi.  "How does it work?  Is it
magic?"
     "No," Akane replied.  "I'm not sure how far research into quantum
absurdity has gotten, but Dr. Gigawatt might be able to hypothesize...
well, anyway.  It's a trick I was taught during my walkabout through
the universe.  Some people I met on a far off world in another galaxy
taught me.  It's kind of like whistling... once you've done it, you
can keep doing it, only you do it with your brain.  Sort of.  You..."
     Rumi looked up at what Akane was staring at.
     Who she was staring at.
     Rad was perhaps ten feet above them, his psychokinetics allowing
him to slowly descend.  When he saw them, he started to talk... then
stopped.
     He wobbled in mid-air, as if what he saw was too much to process.
     "Like, sis," said Rad.  He looked stunned, then incredulous.
Then a grin broke out across his well-tanned face, catching the
fluorescence from the office behind Akane and Rumi and reflecting it
back at them.
     "Hey, bro," Akane replied.  "Welcome back to Earth."
     "Like, whoah," Rad added.  He looked at Rumi.  "Like, what...?"
     "Surprise to me too, dad," said Rumi.  "She got me down here so
we could hash out a few things... and because I think she knew you'd
track me down."
     "Whoah."
     "My thoughts exactly," Rumi replied.  "Um, Aunt, I think I'm
going to go back to the dinner party now."  She hesitated.  "Is there
anyone else you want me to send down?"
     "There's a whole list," said Akane, "but I don't have a lot of
time.  I'll be dreamcasting at them, sooner or later.  Chal, Glum,
Manny, Shade, Eric... all my... um... 'peeps,' is it?  Kids these
days.  Anyway.  I'll start being more, you know, letter-writerly.
Through the mail drop as 'Miranda Satori,' same as always.  Well, once
I pick up some paper.  And beer."
     "Okay," said Rumi.  Somewhat awkwardly, she hugged Akane.  Then,
she psychokinetically rose from the ledge, as Rad floated down to take
her place.  Less awkwardly, she hugged her father.
     Then she floated up and around the lower edge of the restaurant,
around to where the open window to Hal's office waited.  She thought
of looking back, but decided the time for that had passed.

                                 ***

     Richard Cartier, the Director of the M.I.B., gave The Programmer
a nod that was singular in its lack of warmth.  The Programmer, given
the revelation of his identity only moments before, asked the only
question he could.
     "Um... who?"
     "Do you know nothing of history?" asked Erasmus Fancy.  The
massive bonobo, arms crossed, glared down at The Programmer, whose
action response was to fidget.  "As the Dweller in the Shades, Cartier
fought numerous threats to his city--Gothopolis--and his country.
When Dankar Rukh raised his army of Unmentionables, it was he who
found the counter-curse to put them back down.  When President
Cleveland was kidnapped by Loose Lips and taken to the Charnel House,
it was he who rescued him in time!  He prevented invasion from
Venus... twice!"
     "The first time did not truly count," Cartier said.  "They only
wanted to attend the World's Fair."  He looked up at Fancy, an eyebrow
raised.  "And you are the last person I would ever have expected to
hear extoll my record, particularly seeing as defeating *you* several
times is on it."
     "It is a matter of principle," Fancy stiffly replied.  "He should
*know.*  Everyone should *know* who we were.  Remember what happened.
It is not like these events were never reported!"
     "Sometimes they were, and sometimes they were not," Cartier
noted.  "And these days, those that were are often dismissed as
fabrications.  It's a matter of record that 'tall tales' were often
reported, even in so-called 'respectable' papers, as tools for
boosting circulation.  Even in 1897 and 1899, when Capella's ship was
going back and forth between Gothopolis and Palenque and many people
spotted it, that only accounted for maybe a fifth of the actual
reported airship sightings."  He made a dismissive gesture with his
hands.  "And it is not as though we courted publicity, unlike the
heroes and villains of this age.  Both sides had good reason to avoid
the spotlight."
     "Yes," said Fancy, though he did not seem entirely happy about
it.
     "But enough of this tish," said Cartier.  "Tell me how you
realized who I was.  I cannot believe you simply recognized my face.
I am far too... changed... by my time in the Ravenousity's dimension."
     "You forget," said Fancy, "I learned the secret of your occult
abilities as the Dweller in the Shades.  I learned from whom they
came, and the price you paid."  He looked at the door.  "And when she
revealed that she used to be known as the mage Hecate... I
remembered."
     "Remembered what?" asked The Programmer.
     "'To thee I sing,'" said Fancy, his rich, low voice now filling
the room.  "'My soft low song to thee and Hecate, The dweller in the
shades, at whose approach E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves...'"
     "'...as on she moves,'" Cartier joined in.  "'through blood, And
darkness and the barrows of the slain.  All hail, dread Hecate
companion me... Unto the end.'"
     They both lapsed into silence.  The Programmer wondered if he was
expected to applaud or something.
     "_The Sorceress,_ by Theocritus," said Fancy.  "From which you
derived your nom de guerre.  An honor to the true Hecate, who gave you
power in your hour of desperation and need."
     "More like a loan," Cartier replied.  "With interest.  But surely
such a coincidence..."
     "I doubt it is that," Fancy said.  "A mage who presumed to use
the name of a dread divine power for her own purposes, who presumably
made no sacrifices, and offered no worship.  Was it you who stripped
her magical powers from her, or...?"
     "It was not," Cartier stiffly replied.  "Nor do I know that my
lady had any direct hand in removing Heather's knowledge and
abilities.  I suspect... oh, yes, I *suspect,* when the veil of
reality is being stretched to and from as was reputed to have happened
when CalForce, Radian, and Shadebeam contended with Ian and Chelsa
over the fates of Rad and Dar... but I do not *know.*  I did not
encounter her until years later, after I escaped from the
Ravenousity..."
     "And how did *that* happen?" Fancy interrupted.  "Your last diary
entry indicated you expected the rite you would attempt would mean
permanent entrapment.  If you are free, does that not mean the
Ravenousity is free as well?"
     The Programmer was not sure what a 'Ravenousity' was, but found
himself hoping he never did.  It did not sound pleasant.
     "I was drawn back here by another warping of the veil of
reality," said Cartier.  "Something to do with the True Necronomicon,
and an insane supercomputer that went by the acronym BIGCHIP.  There
was a confrontation, and the object it was bound to... a PowerBook of
some kind, I believe, though I only discovered this much later... was
cast out of this dimension, and into the Ravenousity's.  I was pulled
out as it was pulled in.  The last I saw, the Ravenousity had
swallowed the True Necronomicon, and was looking quite ill about it.
Not that it was pretty before, mind you.  At any rate, it remains
trapped in its own dimension."
     "The Ravenousity never consumed you?" Fancy asked.  He sounded
astonished.
     "Evidently, no," Cartier answered.  The Programmer waited for an
elaboration, but the old man did not give one.  "I wanted to thank
you," Cartier instead said, "for writing the final entry in my
journal, chronicling my demise."
     "I frequently swore I would write your epitaph," said Fancy.
"Though I thought I would have a hand in bringing it about... I could
not resist."
     "Hmph," commented Cartier.  "And how did *you* make it through
the interregnum?"
     "Through my wiles and my cunning," said Fancy.  "And... by being
trapped in the stasis lock in the tunnels beneath the central temple
at Palenque.  Long story on that."
     "No doubt," Cartier replied.  His grim smile returned.  "But let
us return to the business at hand.  You must be wondering why, after
fighting you and Capella at every turn in the late 1890s over very
similar experiments with your nectarisite, I now wish to aid you in
your objectives?"
     "The question has occurred to me," Fancy said.
     "And to me," The Programmer interjected.  Cartier and Fancy both
now gave him sour looks--probably, The Programmer thought, for
reminding them that he was there.
     "The short answer is, 'I was wrong,'" Cartier said.  "In the
eleven years I have been back, while patiently gathering the pieces of
the Bureau into the pale shadow it is now, while recruiting and
bringing discipline to Dana Wader, Hecate, and others who, in normal
circumstances, would never have been considered to be Bureau
material... I have also made contact with Terra Subterrene.  I have
learned how far the corruption has spread through the Aetheric
Dimension, and the danger is poses not only to the people of that
realm, but of ours as well.  The danger to America, the land I swore
to defend.  And though I hate to say it... yours appears now to be the
only way."
     "Wait," said The Programmer.  "What is this Aetheric Dimension
corrupted *with?*"
     "It is not important that you know, at this stage," Cartier said.
"Only that, if you cooperate, it will mean frequent travels to the
underground civilizations that make up Terra Subterrene... something I
have been informed you greatly desire."
     The Programmer stifled the gleeful cackle that had been about to
erupt from his mouth.  "Um... yes," he managed to say.  As an
afterthought, he crossed his legs.
     "And you will have the dominion you have so long sought," Cartier
said to Fancy.
     "What will *you* have?" Fancy asked.
     "Allies," said Cartier.  "The old Mega-Intelligence Bureau is
gone, done in by a combination of damaging records released to the
press by a late superguy known as Ramrod, the damning testimony of a
Dr. Roger Unethical, and the bizarre revelations of Director O'Larson.
O'Larson himself and his wife Connie have vanished.  The Special
Special Agents as of the end of his brief tenure have dispersed.
Muyal is dead.  Kim and Roth are... well, not unreachable, but near
enough.  Less seems to have vanished even more thoroughly than
O'Larson, though if I still had my occult detection abilities, I'd
wager I could find him.  And Selanova... her experiment with this
'Homeland Security,' creating a security agency that, on the surface,
is just more of the same, but beneath, is something that may surpass
Director Ross's greatest expectations, albeit in the service of an
agenda whose contents we do not yet know--ironic, considering what she
did to him once he made those expectations plain.  Her and Chalandra
Harkness, with whom I once crossed paths... reachable, perhaps, but
unlikely to consider an alliance, even for achieving mutual goals.
     "And, finally, Less.  Whatever his other faults--and I observed
several in reviewing what files I could find on him--he understood
things about this world that few do, or would wish to.  Reminds me of
old John Thomassen, remember him?"
     "Indeed," Fancy replied.
     "Who he?" The Programmer asked.
     "One of the founders of the Military Intelligence Service," Fancy
said.  "During your country's Civil War.  The real entity that was
fronted by the Northern Army's Bureau of Military Information.  He
kept it going after the official dissolution of the BMI at war's end.
The M.I.S. lasted for decades in the shadows, before becoming the
M.I.B. in 1952."
     "He was also the meta-powered being known as 'Union John,'"
Cartier added.  "Another name this young whippersnapper likely does
not know.  At any rate... it appears the M.I.B. has come full circle.
It is a shadow agency, much like the M.I.S. was.  It protects America
against threats internal and external, seeking no acknowledgement, and
certainly receiving no thanks, never mind official funding.  It is
still needed in this day and age... and it wlll... *continue.*"
     "What of other agencies I have heard rumblings about," said
Fancy.  "Such as I'm With the Government, and They?"
     "They have grown at our expense," said Cartier.  The Programmer
thought he heard a bitter tone creep into the old man's voice.  "Their
goals... I do not believe they are as... dedicated... to this country.
Perhaps I am wrong... but I do not believe so."  He sighed.  "Which is
not to say that alliances, should we strike any, will not be
beneficial.  To reclaim our former status, and give America an agency
that sees the threats the world bears with starless eyes... I will
forgive much."
     "Very well," said Fancy.  He tilted his head, and the nectarisite
orb that was his left eye caught the lamplight.  "Allies, at last."
     "Allies," said Cartier.
     They again regarded The Programmer.  The Programmer, again,
fidgeted.
     "Allies," he agreed.  "So... um... what now?"
     "Now you will be taken to guest quarters," said Cartier.  "The
labs in which you will labor to recover and refine your work are not
yet ready.  And you may wish to find where your pets have gotten to."
     "What?" asked The Programmer.  "They're right... here."  He
turned the pet carriers around, and discovered that his cats were no
longer inside them.
     "They have teleported away," said Cartier.  "Though likely not
far.  I have that effect on felines, unfortunately.  Hecate is, among
many other things, associated with dogs.  Cats are very aware of
this."
     "Wait... teleported?" The Programmer asked.  "The hell?"
     Cartier sighed.  "You will learn."
     The look Cartier gave The Programmer now was not sour, nor
condescending, nor anything else The Programmer could name.  It did,
however, send a shiver through him.  He was not a man to be crossed.
     "Right," The Programmer said.  "I'm all about the learning.  Yes,
yes."

(continued in part five, following...)
--
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gary W. Olson.  All Rights Reserved.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
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