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|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
| |
| There Ain't No Justice |
| |
| #131 |
| |
|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
- Flashback 3: Persistance of Vision -
by Tal Meta
...And she'd called me by a name I wouldn't use for eight more years.
The next thing I knew the world had rotated itself ninety degrees, and I
could taste dirt and grass in my mouth. Blackness welled up and swallowed what
was left of my view.
---
Someone told me once that your body can always tell when you're waking
up in your own bed. This wasn't one of those mornings, if it _was_ morning. But
I've spent so many nights of my life lying in hospital beds that I can tell
when I'm in one of those, too. I sat straight up in the bed, tearing two or
three intraveneous tubes and electrical leads as I did so, as the cry escaped
my lips... I'd been dreaming again; a nightmare, really. I'd been in my old car,
the '87 Chevy Spectrum, and it was raining bricks.
Suddenly I realized... that wasn't a dream: it was a memory.
A memory I hadn't possessed the 'day' before. I'd just picked up another
two whole years. Had that rain of bricks somehow made all this possible, I
wondered? I'd been driving through Philadelphia, on my way to the University
Library, when a load of construction materials, suspended fifteen stories
overhead, had broken loose and rained down onto the street below. Eleven people
had died... I'd been left wishing I had, too.
2001 had started out a fairly good year. All the loose ends of my life
had been neatly tidied up, I was single, she was single, and we were due to be
married in another six months. Everything looked so perfect, you know? I'd
always joked that I had lousy timing, always in the wrong place at the right
time, and all that, but this was just a bit ridiculous.
By the time they cleared away the debris and got me out of what was left
of my car, it'd been too late to save my legs, and the doctors told me that even
if they had, the damage to my spine would have left them useless anyway. That...
was more than I was ready for.
It's complicated. I'd spent the first five years of my life in and out
of wheelchairs. I hadn't minded, then.... it was fun. But this was forever...
My self-reflections were disturbed by a pair of nurses who burst into
the room to respond to the monitors that were protesting the lack of feedback
from the tubes and leads I'd shorn off when my nightmare had awoken me. They
bustled about as I dragged myself back to the present. Well, 1978, anyway. It
was still 1978, wasn't it? I asked for a newspaper, which they brought me. I'd
been out for a couple of days, that was all.
---
They day before I was discharged, I got an interesting phone call...
from Michele.
"They're releasing you tomorrow. We need to talk." she said in a hushed
voice, as if she were afraid of being overheard.
"You betcha", I replied, "got any plans on how we're going to manage it?"
"You're the genius, remember? Figure something out. I've got to go."
CLICK.
___
My "solution" to the problem turned out to be relatively simple,
although somewhat risky. I walked out into the woods and recovered the attache
case for 1985, and withdrew five $100 bills. Using a razor, I cut out the serial
numbers, dates, and signitures from one of them, rode my bike into Lakehurst,
and simply asked the bank teller if the bill was still "good" in that condition.
It was, as it turned out. So I got change, acquired a Freehold area phonebook
from the local library, got her father's business address, and called a cab.
Calling ahead didn't seem to be on my list of options. My last encounter
with her family had left me expecting a less than hearty welcome should I turn
up on their doorstep. So I decided to lurk at the back of the property and see
the lay of the land, which proved to be an education in itself. Lady was there!
She recognised me almost instantly, and was barking excitedly around my heels
as I dodged among the trees with her, laughing to myself.
The tone of Lady's barks must have alerted Michele, because she soon
joined us. We practically fell into one another's arms and kissed, and almost as
suddenly as we were together, she shoved me away from her and practically
screamed at me "What the hell happened to us, Tal?! What are we doing in 1978?
And whose bright idea was it to stick me back living under my PARENTS?!?"
"I haven't the slighted idea, chipmunk," I added playfully, "but I've
got to admit, I'm glad we're both here. Both here, and whole! Oh, sweetheart! I
can walk again! Everything WORKS! We can make it all happen differently this
time. And we're rich! Ummm, when did you, ah, arrive, anyway?"
"About a week and a half ago," she replied, "and just how long have
-you- been here?"
"Since '75. I'm not sure why, or how, but I arrived early enough to stop
you from being raped." I paused for a moment, to draw a shuddering breath. "I
thought I'd lost you forever, you know. It didn't turn out quite the way I
expected it would... you wound up hating me, and fearing me like I was the devil
himself."
"That much I gathered. Imagine my shock when I awoke in a strange room
in a strange house! And no scar!" she paused for a moment, tossing her hair over
her sholder. "I tried reading my diary, but it was like reading something
written by someone else." A wicked smile played across her face, the kind of
smile that almost always preceded trouble.
She slipped into my arms again, and while we kissed, her hands roved up
and down the length of my back. With a sudden movement, she drew them back
between us, aiming for one of my ticklish spots. In moments, our embrace had
turned into a wrestling match, with each of us trying to reach the others
"spots" while simultaneously protecting our own. Just as suddenly, she broke
away, and fled towards the barn that sat at the southwest corner of the
property.
I suppose I could have overtaken her easily (my legs were longer than
hers), but I had a feeling I knew where we were going. The weather for late
October was crisp, but not exactly chilly; and the run was warming both of us up
quite efficiently. We both stopped quickly once inside the barn, and we gave
Lady a chance to catch up before closing the door behind us.
With a shy but knowing smile, she led me up into the loft.
___
We spent the next few months connected mostly by telephone, with
occasional weekend visits as our parental schedules allowed. On the phone we
spent most of our time catching up on what we each remembered, or did not
remember, of our lives before we awoke in the past. Michele remembered more than
I did; perhaps because she didn't travel as far back as I had. My memory only
reached as far as November of 2002, while my lawyers were still in court seeking
to sue the construction company responsible for my accident for as much money as
possible.
Michele's memory stretched further, well into May of 2007, by which time
my case had been settled out of court for the grand sum of $110,000,000. By the
time I was finished paying the doctors, the lawyers, and the government, the
grand sum of $27,000,000 was left for me to continue my life with. After
establishing a decent sized college fund for my daughter Moire, Michele and I
had gotten married, despite my repeated appeals to her to forget me and find a
life with someone "whole".
I suppose that my desire for Michele to find someone else and forget me
was mostly selfish; with her around there was literally no way I could manage to
simmer in my own self pity. We'd always served as a kind of sounding board for
each other, and part of me deep down inside was deeply releived when she
continued to stand by my side despite my injuries. That was 2005.
In the twenty-six years we'd known each other by that point, we'd never,
ever, made love to one another. We'd either been too young, too apart, too
married (to other people) or too far apart to find the opportunity. When we'd
finally both been single again, I'd used the argument (jokingly, at the time)
that the only way I'd ever be sure that she'd definitely be there the next
morning would be if I had a "legal contract" requiring her to be there. Some
proposal, huh?
But like the old song says, love kept us together. We'd been friends for
so many years that just being together was enough. I went back to college,
pursuing my BAs in engineering & computer programming, and she did volunteer and
religious missionary work in the inner city. At the edges of Michele's memory
was my imminent graduation, with my intentions to continue my education with a
MA in physics, with an eye towards an eventual PhD. in mathematics.
That was a beginning anyway. Sometimes, lying together between the
coarse blankets in the hayloft, we'd speculate as to whether we were really here
at all, and if this wasn't just the latest thing in VR; or if my eventual
delving into the workings of the physical universe hadn't uncovered some
loophole that had allowed us to once again be young, whole, and together.
---
The months continued to roll by until at long last it was summer again.
My beard was finally beginning to form, but the summer brought an even bigger
surprise to Michele... she reached menarche.
Yes, this came as a surprise. While it is not unusual for a fifteen year
old girl to get her first period, for Michele it was a _big deal_. In that other
life, she hadn't had hers until she was eighteen. I speculated that perhaps her
injury had caused this late development, and that with it gone, her body had
simply matured naturally. This of course made us both much more cautious in
regards to our sex life; we were playing with live wires, now.
Michele's only real worry was how long she could survive in the same
house as her brother and parents; she had hated it silently, when she was a
child. The grown woman wearing that child's body found it completely
intolerable. Already there had been heated arguments between her and her mother,
and with her father as well. She was used to the freedom of living by her own
rules; to be subject to theirs again was purgatory.
---
About mid-June, I had a very, very strange dream. It had the qualities
of a memory, but it was just too strange to be real.
I was old in this dream; older by far than I had ever imagined myself
being. I was perhaps 60 or so, with my legs intact, and I was wearing a white
lab coat. A variety of computer equipment surrounded me, as well as some
decidedly strange looking apparatus whose function eluded me. Several younger
people (assistants? students?) bustled about, and a small cluster of clean
shaven gents in uniforms and suits looked on as I brought the whole apparatus up
to speed. One of them gently tossed a glass paperweight from hand to hand.
All of us are closely monitoring a computer countdown. On the stroke of
12:00 exactly, another glass paperweight suddenly appears inside a glass case
that is attached to the rest of the machinery in the room. Everyone present
applauds, although the suits still look skeptical. I remove the paperweight
from the case, and hand it to one of the assistants, who also takes the other
paperweight and begins to perform a series of tests on them both. "Identical!"
she exclaims.
For the next hour, we warm up the lab equipment. One of the assistants
seats herself in a comfortable chair, and dons an circlet bristling with
electrodes. As she sits there, she begins a low chanting, and is quickly in a
light meditative trance. The original paperweight is placed inside the glass
case, and I bend over the young girl and whisper into her ear "12:00, August
14th, 2044. Execute clearance Meta Alpha Zero Naught."
The paperweight in the case vanishes. Everyone applauds again.
---
The next morning, I called Michele to tell her about the dream. While
she hadn't remembered anything new about our future, she did feel that there was
something "wrong" about the dream I'd had. Later in the conversation, I heard
what I thought was a faint click, but thought nothing of it. When we hung up an
hour later, the phone clicked twice when she hung up.
The clicks on that phonecall were forgotten by the time the weekend
rolled around. Michele and I spent the afternoon horseback riding before
returning, as we often did, to the hayloft. This time, however, we were rudely
interrupted by her brother Louis, and her father, Larry.
"There! I told you she would be with HIM!" Louis cried, as Michele and I
scrambled to get ourselves properly attired for receiving 'guests'.
Flight not being an option, I tried to duck behind one of the hay bales.
The shotgun roared, and I felt a pellet or two sting my rump as I rolled behind
it. "Can't we talk about this!?" I ventured, as the second blast rocked the bale
I had been hiding behind. Michele was screaming for him to stop, pleading with
him for my life as I maneuvered from bale to bale, looking for an exit. There
were none. No easy escapes this time, I thought to myself. Time to stand my
ground. After the fourth shot, I heard him crack open the shotgun to reload...
and I walked out from behind the bales and stood next to Michele.
Larry snapped the gun closed, and drew a fresh bead on me. Michele tried
to interpose herself between me and the gun, but I pushed her aside and held her
there. Larry and I just stood there, glaring at one another over the barrel of
his gun, taking one another's measure for the first time. He hated me, naturally
enough, but something in the look in my eyes was bringing something like
fear/respect as well. I reached out with my mind, and -pushed- the fear back
into the recesses of his mind, and was working on the hatred when Louis threw a
rock at my head.
I'd always loved to watch things fall; it's even more interesting when
you're the one who's falling...
---
It was a different hospital room I awoke in this time; and despite the
pains in my neck, back and head I felt somehow more clearheaded than ever.
I remembered EVERYTHING. All of it, and more than even I had guessed at.
I didn't shoot bolt upright this time, but my laughter did awaken my mother, who
had been sleeping in the chair next to my bedside. After I had assured her that
everything was fine, we both went back to sleep. The next time I awoke that
night, I _did_ almost leap out of the bed. Where the hell was my jeep?!?
I'd been unconscious for two days, and babbling some pretty outrageous
things. Dr. Karen stopped by to see me the first day I was awake, and we had a
plesant chat about this and that. The police had some questions for me the next
day, but thankfully the words 'stautory rape' were never mentioned (Michele
and I were, afterall, only fifteen!). They were more concerned with whether I
wanted to press any charges against Larry or Louis, which, all things
considered, I was willing to let pass. I didn't realize the leverage I'd given
up until after I was released from the hospital.
Michele's phone number was disconnected. Social engineering the Freehold
Middle School's office staff revealed that her parents had taken her records,
and were planning to send her to a 'private' school in September. I snuck out
of the house the next night, and rode my bicycle all 11 miles to her house for
some late night recon, only to discover I was already too late.
She was already gone.
___
Banging my head against the wall didn't produce much except a headache,
and at this point I was pretty certain that I didn't have any new memories to
regain. Left with nothing better to do with my time, I booted up the old
'mainframe' (my private name for the 986 computer I'd built into a console TV
cabinet) and unlocked at last the C:\DIARY\TM_MEMORIES.ASC file. It didn't hold
any surprises for me, as I remembered writing the damn thing now. Using my
daughter Moire's PGP passcode simply hadn't occurred to either of us, I guess.
If anything, it held -less- than what I remembered now, which no longer
surprised me much. But reading things I'd written in the 'past' always gave me a
warm feeling... it was like I could somehow reach out and touch the past that
way. Which I knew was about half the solution to why and how I came to be here.
That night in my dreams I saw Michele at her parent's house, arguing
with them furiously. I couldn't hear the words, but the emotions of all the
participants were quite clear. Michele was fed up with being dictated to by
her parents, her mother was positively aghast at this sudden assertiveness
her daughter was displaying. Larry and Louis were somehow smug, in a
predatious, creepy way; they had a secret they were getting ready to spring.
Michele almost exploded when her father dropped a group of brochoures on the
coffee table; each one displaying a beautiful tree lined campus surrounding what
amounted to... a prison.
When I awoke the next morning, I suddenly re-remembered the jeep. It
_should_ have arrived with the computer & finances. But who knows? Nothing had
arrived quite when it was supposed to, which troubled me a little... my time
machine was usually pretty well calibrated. Besides, someone could have stolen
it... although an '80 Jeep Cherokee should have aroused some comment locally. I
went looking for it the next morning, but couldn't even find evidence that it
had ever been there. Oh well. I was sure it'd turn up eventually.
It was time for a little B&E.
___
I couldn't exactly pick my time... eleven miles wasn't a trek I was
going to make every day until it 'looked right'. So I decided to take the
daylight route... Larry would be at work, Louis might be anywhere, and Carol,
their mother, would probably be inside somewhere.
Couldn't be helped.
As luck would have it, Larry and Carol were both out. Louis, however,
was in. I could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
I could have beaten the information out of him, of course. But why? That
would just lead to trouble later on, and as far as I was concerned at the
moment, he and i were even. So I settled for hogtieing him, dragging him out to
the barn, and suspending him a good fifteen feet off the ground. Then I went
back inside to ransack the house.
I was reasonably certain that wherever they'd sent Michele, it was
costing them money. So I went looking for the checkbook. I almost didn't find
it, locked away in a roll top desk, but a little work with a nail file was
enough to bring it to light. Cross checking the log against the collection of
brouchoures gave me the name and address I'd been seeking.
Wincliff Sanitarium, Collinsport, Maine.
___
Getting to Maine was not going to be easy. Given my past history, I had
every reason to believe that the police would be there ahead of me, not even
bothering to try and intercept me enroute. I had to figure out a way of getting
there quickly enough not only to outrun pursuit, but to have sufficient
operating time before the authorities would even know to start questioning my
whereabouts.
That would require an airplane, I imagined. No problem, I chuckled to
myself. Easiest thing in the world.
I had alot of years under my belt. I'd served four years in the USAF as
an inflight refuler, and at one point I'd held a private pilot's license. I'd
been a data thief, a scientist, hell, I'd even been a politician for awhile
(in actual, public office, as well as the collegiate-level tenure & grant
approval style.)
Steal a plane? Heh.
___
I landed 'my' Cessna at Collinsport Airport rather late in the evening,
and stored the plane at the end of the field. I'd only packed a few essentials;
a set of lockpicks, telco handset, pliers, laptop, you know, the usual vandal's
friends. The bulkiest thing I carred along was a 3' x 6' piece of shag carpet;
useful for crossing barbed & concertina wire. It was twenty-three miles from
the airport to the sanitarium... I liberated a car and went there directly.
Since the walls were designed to keep people in, not out, they posed no
problem to cross. At that hour of the night nobody was on the grounds except a
few security guards... none of whom even suspected I was there. I made my way to
the main administrative building, and traced the phone wires into the basement.
Once down in the basement I took about an hour familiarizing myself with
the layout of the internal phone network, and monitored all the traffic between
the various offices and nursing stations. The sanitarium was still on a paper
record system, so I'd have to wait a few hours before the shift got dead enough
for me to venture upstairs and have a look.
Using the sound card in my laptop, I'd taken a voice sample of Nurse
Jeleco, who seemed to be the senior nurse on duty. Using the sample, I patched
into the phone network and informed the nurse at the duty station upstairs to
expect a young orderly to be coming along to pickup the records of some of the
more recent arrivals for review. I could be reasonably sure that Cally Jeleco
wouldn't be along to interrupt me; I'd built the sample from a conversation
between her and a nurse named Sally planning a rondezvous in one of the
unoccupied rooms.
The laundry was located down in the basement, so I located a uniform
that looked as if it'd fit me well enough, and ventured upstairs. The nurse at
the admissions desk didn't even look me over; she even had the records waiting
for me. I thanked her and took them right back to the little closet I'd staked
out as my command post and began to look for Michele's records.
Didn't take long to find them, of course. She was in the Jostler Annex,
which could be any of the buildings on the grounds. According to her records,
she'd been diagnosed paranoid-schizophrenic and was on a diet of barbituates to
calm her down. While I was relaxing, reading over the doctor's appraisal of her
condition, the phones at ALL the nurses stations started ringing, and I could
hear alarms going off in the distance.
One of the patients in the Jostler Annex had just broken out of their
room, and was loose on the grounds! I had a feeling I knew who it was...
---
I quickly gathered up my bag of tricks, pausing only to run my knife
blade across the telephone bus, squashing internal communications. I slipped
back out the window I'd come in through,and made a break for a nearby stand of
trees. I raced along the wall, heading towards the excitement, figuring that if
she was still free, she'd be heading away from it. By pure luck I found her
before the guards did, the only one who thought the same way I did I tackled
from behind and subdued quietly.
We left the same way I entered, by tossing the carpet over the wire at
the top of the wall, and climbing it... although as groggy as she was, I had to
push her half the way, and carry her the rest. It was a short jog to the car I'd
brought. Twenty short minutes brought us back to the airport.
Two hours later, we were in the air.
---
I flew low over the hills, as Michele slept in the seat beside me. I
reflected to myself on the bridges I'd burned to reach this far. My 986 and all
it's peripherals were a heap of plastic slag out in the sand pits behind my
mother's house... I wouldn't be returning there. The money I'd buried even
deeper, as something told me it would be years before I saw that again, either.
Before I'd burned the computer, I'd used the printer to forge documents for
Michele and myself; to all except the most rigorous examinations, we were now of
legal age, with valid social security numbers and everything. A full selection
of diplomas traced our education through High School.
When she awoke, I introduced her to her new self, and she squeezed my
hand tightly when she realized that we were, at last, truly free. I took the
time to return the plane to it's original owner, fairly sure that he'd never
even know it had been gone. A bit of hair dye for us both, a cab and a bus,
and we were on our way out into the world once more.
---
We settled in Oregon, her taking a job as a receptionist and I with a
small electronics repair shop. As time passed, I spun out the story, the full
story of how I remembered my journey to this time, and this place.
It had all began, as most stories do, with my birth, and meandered
through my upbringing and young life. I had known her then, and loved her, but
had foolishly thrown away any chance of a relationship. My career goals had
led me into science, with all its attendant sacrifices.
In 2019, I met and married a fellow scientist, a neurologist whose
expertise centered on the workings of the human brain. Nancy would later become
known as the mother of the science of psionics, and her work in that field was
instrumental to my own... the study of time.
Conventional time travel was a messy affair, requiring feats of
engineering quite beyond the human race for the forseeable future. The fusion
of my wife's studies and my own led me to a more elegant solution, and one that
required far less energy than say... a whole star's worth.
For many years, I'd worked on perfecting my own theories, sparing no
avenue of investigation. My wife passed away in 2037, of lymphoid cancer, and I
mourned her deeply. My work was at an impasse; inanimate objects would travel
normally; live subjects simply vanished.
I took a year off from the university, and travelled. I visited many of
the lands I'd visited as a child and younger man, and while visiting a cliffside
in Portugal, I had the vision, eppiphany, breakthrough, call it what you will,
that I'd been looking for.
Inanimate objects had no 'self' in the past. They could exist alongside
themselves, for they had no point from which to observe the universe. But a
living subject was another matter; it had memories of the time it was being sent
to. Upon my return to the university, I embarked on a fresh set of experiemts,
using myself as the first subject.
Yes, it was Frankenstein-like, but if i was wrong, how could I justify
putting another's life in danger?
---
It was a success. I sent myself back three days on the first experiment,
and didn't realize the memory problems because i wasn't travelling far enough
backwards for the gaps to become appearant. When I informed my superiors of the
breakthrough I'd made, they were quietly aghast. The very next day I was met at
home by a pair of gentlemen in well-tailored suits, and whisked off to a
military base in Colorado.
It seemed that one of the major grant providers for my project had been
the DSI, popularly known as The Shop. With their aid, I built a bigger, even
more elaborate device, capable, I soon realized, of sending -troops- back into
the past.
Only then did I begin to seriously question the uses to which my
research was going to be put. I decided that the only way to put a stop to it
was to make it 'not happen'. But I knew the kind of people I was now working for
well enough never to let my superiors suspect I had anything but the highest
loyalty to their adgenda.
Several nights later, I infected the facility's computer with a
tapeworm, erasing all of the data relevant to my project, and locked myself in
the lab with a few chemicals from the lab down the hall. In the early dawn I set
the timer on my cobbled together explosive, seated myself inside the transfer
chamber, donned the control helmet, and sent myself back to 1970, almost
seventy-five years into my own past. I imagine that the bomb went off on
schedule; there was no way to check.
---
Of course, a journey this far back erased nearly every memory I had of
the years I'd just lost. I was left with nothing except a vague unease, and a
feeling that something had been lost; that my life was a kind of dream.
My life meandered along much as it had before, but at various times I
was haunted by recollections of opportunities I'd let slip by in my first life.
I started exploring those options, which led me into the military instead of
college, and to getting back in touch with Michele instead of concentrating on
unravelling the workings of the universe.
After the accident left me in a wheelchair, I once again set my life
along a path very similar to the one I'd followed before, earning many of the
same degrees. It was only after several years that my memory of that first life
began returning, but by 2015 I had enough of it back to start the whole project
over.
This time I built it in our basement... no more cloak and dagger
gymnastics for me.
---
"But what went wrong this time?" Michele asked, "If the time machine
worked as well as you claim, shouldn't we have arrived when we'd planned, in
1985?"
"Well, that's partially my fault." I replied. "If you'll recall, the
original idea was for us to both arrive in March of 1985. You'd recover the jeep
and equipment, and drive down south to meet me in Louisiana." I paused for a sip
of coke before continuing, "But while the machine was warming up, I started
having second thoughts... I think my last conscious thought before throwing the
switch was 'Maybe I could go back far enough to save her from Roger.'".
"So why did we arrive so far apart?" she asked.
"If you think about it, it's obvious. Even though you weren't in the
command circuit for the time machine, that phrase had just as much meaning for
you as it did for me. Remember Tabitha, your cousin? Roger raped her, too."
"You're right; I arrived a few weeks before that happened originally!"
"But of course, with him already taken care of, she wasn't in any danger
afterall." I added.
"So, whatever happened to the jeep?" she asked me.
"Dunno. I guess it'll turn up eventually. Maybe when we go back for the
money in '85, it'll be there waiting for us."
At that point, our daughter Cassilda began crying in her basinet.
Whatever other surprises the future held for us, we were finally together for
good at last...
<20> <20><> <20> <20> <20><> <20>
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> <20> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD>۱<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> VapourWare BBS: 61/3-429-8510 ۲<><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD>۱<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> underworld_1995.com 514/683-1894 ۲<><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> RipCo ][: 312/528-5020 <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> etext.archive.umich.org <20><><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>͸ <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> TANJ Mailing Address <20> <20> <20> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> PO Box 174 <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> Seaside Hts, NJ <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> 08751 <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>; <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>ݲ<EFBFBD><DDB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۱<EFBFBD><DBB1><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20> tanj@pms.metronj.org <20> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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