Bruce Sterling - Islands in the Net

Prentis reached absently through the hole in the desk and pulled out a tube of glue. "That's all that matters. Sure, maybe we've cooked a little dope in Grenada, liberated a few programs, but that's just for start-up money. We make food.

And we make jobs to make food. See all those people work- ing down there? You wouldn't see 'em in a Stateside plant.

The way -we do it here, it's labor-intensive-people who might have been farmers, making their own food, for their own country. Not just handouts, dumped from some charity plane by rich nations."

"We have no quarrel with that," Laura said.

"Sure you do," Prentis said. "You don't want it stripped down and cheap. You want it expensive, and controlled, and totally safe. You don't want peasants and slum kids with that kind of technical power. You're afraid of it." He pointed to the machete. "But you can't have it both ways. All tech is dangerous--even with no moving parts."

Long silence. Laura turned to Andrei. "Thanks for bring- ing us down here. You've brought us in touch with a genuine problem." She turned to Prentis. "Thank you, Brian."

"Sure," said Prentis. His gaze flickered upward from her breasts. She tried to smile at him.

Prentis set the glue down carefully. "You want to tour the plant?"

"I'd love to," David said.

They left the office, reassuming their masks. They went down among the workers. The crew didn't look much like

"slum kids"-they were mostly middle-aged cadres, most of them women. They wore hair nets and their paper overalls had the shiny look of old bakery bags. They worked in twenty-four-hour shifts-a third of the crew was asleep, in soundproof acoustic cubicles, clustered under the giant mural like Styrofoam barnacles.

Backed by Millie Syers, David asked alert questions about the equipment. Any containment spills? No. Souring trouble?

Just the usual throwbacks to the wild state-tailored bacteria did tend to revert, after millions of generations. And wild bugs wouldn't produce-they just ate goop and freeloaded.

Left to multiply at the expense of the worthy, these backslid- ers would soon take over, so they were scorched from the tanks without mercy.

What about the rest of the Charles Nogues, beyond the bulkheads? Why, she was full of factories like this from bow to stern, all safety-sealed so spoiling couldn't spread. Lots of careful slurry-pumping back and forth between units-they used the old tanker pumps, still in fine condition The ship's containment systems, built to prevent petroleum gas explosions, were ideal for bio-hazard work.

Laura quizzed some of the women. Did they like the work?

Of course-they had all kinds of special perks, credit-card boosts whenever they beat the quotas, TV links with their families, special rewards for successful new recipes.... Didn't they feel cooped up down here? Heavens no, not compared to the crowded government yards down-the-island. A whole month vacation time, too. Of course, it did itch a bit when you got that skin bacteria back...

They toured the plant for over an hour, climbing bamboo stiles over the hull's six-foot reinforcement girders. David spoke to Prentis. "You said something about bathrooms?"

"Yeah, sorry. E. coli, that's a native gut bacterium... . If it gets loose, we have a lot of trouble."

David shrugged,. embarrassed. "The food upstairs was good,

I ate a lot. Uh, my compliments to the chef."

"Thanks," Prentis said.

David touched his glasses. "I think I've scanned pretty much everything... . If Atlanta has questions, could we get in touch?"

"Uhmmm ..." Prentis said. Andrei broke in. "That's a bit difficult, David." He didn't elaborate.

David forgot and offered to shake hands again. When they left, they could see Prentis stalking behind the office glass, pumping his spray gun.

They retraced their steps up the catwalk. Andrei was pleased.

"I'm glad you met Dr. Prentis. He's very dedicated. But he does get a bit lonely for his native countrymen."

"He does seem to lack a few of the amenities," David said.

"Yeah," Laura said. "Like a girl friend."

Andrei was surprised. "Oh, Dr. Prentis is married. To a

Grenadian worker."

"Oh," Laura said, feeling the gaffe. "That must be won- derful.... How about you, Andrei? Are you married?"

"Only to the Movement," Andrei said. He wasn't kidding.

The sun was setting by the time they returned to their safehouse. It had been a long day. "You must be tired,

Carlotta," Laura said as they climbed stiffly from the three- wheeler. "Why don't you come in and have supper with us?"

"It's nice to ask," Carlotta said, smiling sweetly. Her eyes glistened and there was a soft rosy glow to her cheeks. "But I can't make it tonight. I have Communion."

"You're sure?" Laura said. "Tonight's good for us."

"I can come by later this week. And bring my date, maybe."

Laura frowned. "I might be testifying then."

Carlotta shook her head. "No, you won't. I haven't even testified yet." She reached from the driver's seat and patted the baby's tote. "Bye, little one. Bye, y'all. I'll call or something. She gunned the engine, kicking gravel, and drove through the gates.

"Typical," Laura said.

They walked up onto the porch. David pulled his key card.

"Well, Communion, that sounds pretty important-"

"Not Carlotta, she's just a klutz. I mean the Bank. It's a ploy, don't you see? They're gonna make us cool our heels here in this big old barn, instead of letting me make my case.

And they're calling Carlotta to testify first, just to rub it in."

David paused. "You think so, huh?"

"Sure. That's why Sticky was giving us the runaround earlier." She followed him into the mansion. "They're work- ing on us, David; this is all part of a plan. That tour, everything... . What smells so good?"

Rita had dinner waiting. It was stuffed pork with peppers and parsley, Creole ratatouille, hot baked bread and chilled rum soufflé for dessert. In a candlelit dining room with fresh linen and flowers. It was impossible to refuse. Not without offending Rita. Someone they had to share the house with, after all... . At the very least, they had to try a few bites, just for politeness sake... . And after all that nasty scop, too.... It was all so delicious it stung. Laura ate like a wolverine.

And no dishes to wash. The servants cleared everything, stacking it onto little rosewood trolleys. They brought brandy and offered Cuban cigars. And they wanted to take the baby too. Laura wouldn't let them.

There was a study upstairs. It wasn't much of a study-no books-just hundreds of videotapes and old-fashioned plastic records, but they retired to the study with their brandies anyway. It seemed the proper thing to do, somehow.

Lots of old framed photos on the study's walls. Laura looked them over while David shuffled curiously through the tapes. It was clear who Mr. Gelli, the former owner, was.

He was the puffy-faced hustler throwing a good-buddy arm over vaguely familiar, vaguely repulsive Vegas show-biz types.... Here he was toadying up to some snake-eyed goof- ball in a long white dress-with a start, Laura realized it was the Pope.

David loaded a tape. He sat on the couch-an overstuffed monster in purple velour-and fired up the TV with a clunky remote. Laura joined him. "Find something?"

"Home movies, I think. He's got lots-I picked out the most recent."

A party at the mansion. Big ugly cake in the dining room, smorgasbord groaning with food. "I shouldn't have eaten so much," Laura said.

"Look at that jerk in the party hat," David said. "That's a mad doctor, for sure. Can you see that, Atlanta?"

Faint squeaking came from Laura's earpiece; she was wear- ing it loose, and it dangled. She felt a little funny about having shared the earpiece with Carlotta; kind of like sharing a toothbrush, or like sharing a... well, best not to think about that one. "Why don't you take that off, David?" She removed her own glasses and pointed them at the door, guarding them from intruders. "We're safe here, right? No worse than the bedroom."