Lev.DN......Index......Mail.....................Lev.UP, page 8.....(c) 2005 Lee Skidmore.....................................Lev.UP

The alien cavalry tried arriving years ago when Light+ waves were first harnessed. As 
the enormous energies required to detect Light+ listened, the aliens logged on. They 
were genuinely nice enough to download free transmitter plans, along with--more 
importantly--some spectacular energy making tips. The Eriadnians taught us that much, 
but no more. To those Earth citizens-who dreamed of traveling from star to star, 
investing in Light+ travel development companies became a popular investment forum 
crisscrossing the nets. Reality, and the World TelCo had long since intruded 
bummerware-wise, however, and Light+ vehicle development related companies' shares 
were only traded on the Lunar exchange. Paranoia prevailed. A Light+ transmitter was 
never built.
    Highly volatile, many Light+ companies literally disappeared. Still, they persisted. 
    One intangible thing of extreme value that the peoples of the earth recieved from the 
Light+ transmissions from the Eriadnians was the motivation to finally master the cliff 
that edged the plateau of space after the decades of 'Earth Only' politics that had 
constipated the movement to open space to a pioneering people held back too long.
    The govware's ghostly icons in the faded forest flickered up to the next level. Eller 
started, then relaxed. Some ultra-slinky femware had brushed up against the govware's 
security screen.
    "Damn, some people never change," thought Eller as the spy.espware returned the 
identity of the approaching software field, with its coincident one-hundred and eighty
centimeter, naturally red-topped, curvy bio-nucleus.
    "It's been a long time since our last interact, but you still look to be e-z access,"
he observed, real.voice, with an overly cold disdain for the femware as it slithered
along on its way to the next meadow.
    Eller inserted the Smart.Vel relaxer tool made from his phone case into the drain cover 
for the restroom's autocleaner. The tool worked its tech magic. The super-strong hooks, 
stretched out, released the super-strong loops.
    The cover pulled free. Below him, exposed, lay the gleaming ultra-smooth interior of 
the slicksteel pipe below. From his jacket, Eller slipped the hot comp, with a zippy bag 
followed by a tiny reel of hair thin filament. 
    Into the zippy bag went the comp. Sure that the zippy was well attached, he sent the 
comp slithering down into the pipe. The barely visible filament trailed behind. Nearly a 
hundred meters of the micro-line reeled out before the anchor barbs announced the end 
of the line to Eller's fingers. He pushed the anchors deep into the thick black brush of 
Smart.Vel ringing the opening to the pipe.
    The hot comp's long ride deep into the bowels of the twisting snake of drain pipe 
would keep the tattletale chip in the hot comp from activating when the cops arrived.
    With the perforated cover pressed back into place over the opening, Eller removed the 
counterfeit relaxer tool. He listened for a moment to the crinkling sounds of the 
Smart.Vel tightening the cover as the hooks reformed. When the snagging, and pulling 
sounds ended Eller set the relaxer back on the spongesteel with the other two 
undisturbed tools.
    He looked down at the lase-light's control icons. The stream of dense red light 
reappeared, reactivated the programming in the forbidden bio-plast tools. The tools de-
formed, liquefied, flowed together again. A bright green replaced the dusky red. The 
new color activated the case shape memory file stored in the intricate weave of the ultra-
complex molecules. Smart bio-chains of atoms twisted and untwisted, as they were re-
forged by the five-seventy-nanometer photon hammer that was the lase-light's beam. 
    "Come on, come on, let's get out of here," burst from Eller, too loud in real.voice.
    Finally, the undulating blob became recognizable. The phone's rear case appeared, 
solid, whole, hard. He rose from his crouch on the cool spongesteel with a groan that 
broke into laughter born on the rush of a too long tension tied breath. With a twist of a 
wrist he snapped the case back onto the phone.

Lev.DN......Index......Mail.....................Lev.UP, page 8.....(c) 2005 Lee Skidmore....................................Lev.UP