OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO OOOOOOO. OOOO oOOOO OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO" OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO' OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO" OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO' OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO |---------------------------------------------------------------------------| | | | 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, ste 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 anythingg now. Using est 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... ú ùþ ú ú þù ú ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜ ú ù ú ú ù ú ÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ ±±±±ÛÛÛßÛ²ÝÛÝÛÛÝþ Üú úÜ þÝÛÛÝÛݲÛßÛÛÛ±±±± ±±±±²²²²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜþúÝ ù ù ÝúþÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²±±±± ±±²²²²ÛÛßßÛßÝÛÛÛÛÛÝÜúþ þúÜÝÛÛÛÛÛÝßÛßßÛÛ²²²²±± ²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²² ²²²²Ûß ú ù ù ú ßÛ²²²² ²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²² ²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²² ±²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²± ±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÛ²²²±± ±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ Phoenix Modernz Systems: 908/830-TANJ ÜÛ²²²²²²±±± ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û VapourWare BBS: 61/3-429-8510 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ ÛÛ±±±±±±²²²Û underworld_1995.com 514/683-1894 Û²²²±±±±±±ÛÛ ±±±²²²²²²ÛÜ RipCo ][: 312/528-5020 ÜÛ²²²²²²±±± ±±²²²ÛÜÜÜ etext.archive.umich.org ÜÜÜÛ²²²±± ±²²²ÛÝ ÝÛ²²²± ²²²ÛÜ ÜÛ²²² ²²²ÛÝ ÕÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ͸ ÝÛ²²² ²²²²Ûß ú ù ³ TANJ Mailing Address ³ ù ú ßÛ²²²² ²²²²²Ûß þúßÞþßþþÜùþ ³ PO Box 174 ³ þùÜþþßþÞßúþ ßÛ²²²²² ±±²²²²ÛÛßßÛßÝÛÛÛÛÛÝÜúþ ³ Seaside Hts, NJ ³ þúÜÝÛÛÛÛÛÝßÛßßÛÛ²²²²±± ±±±±²²²²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜþúÝ ù ³ 08751 ³ ù ÝúþÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²±±±± ±±±±ÛÛÛßÛ²ÝÛÝÛÛÝþ Üú ÔÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ; úÜ þÝÛÛÝÛݲÛßÛÛÛ±±±± ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜ ú ù ú tanj@pms.metronj.org ú ù ú ÜÜÜÜþÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ TANJ Distribution List: Send mail to talmeta@cybercomm.net to be added to the TANJ-DL!