AfterNet 01 - Good Cop Dead Cop

living people who announced their intention to fly to Indonesia to help, he wished he could do something. In fact it occurred to him that disembodied volunteers might be able to offer a lot. An influx of unorganized living volunteers would need housing and food that the region just couldn’t afford, but disembodied volunteers would need neither. They could work tirelessly, going into places too dangerous for their living counterparts. And they would have little to fear from oppressive regimes or civil unrest. Disembodied Without Borders? The thought appealed to him. It seemed more practical than Rybold’s grand schemes for his center.
    He couldn’t help but wonder what effect 100,000 new disembodied would have. In some ways, it’s really just another drop in the bucket compared to the number of people already dead. But in another respect, it was huge. Many of them would know about the afterlife and they would be demanding access to the Internet at some point.
    “Oh, I finally found it. Looks like it’s on FM, a college station,” she said.
    They listened to the report, coming from Madras, India. NPR reported the death toll in Sri Lanka at 12,000 and the reporter in India talked about the devastation there.
    “Here, we go, 30th Street.” She turned their police cruiser south. Despite the delays on the interstate, they were still on time for their meeting with Tracy Newell at the Explorers.
    Munroe had never been to Colorado Springs and it had been a while since she had visited. “That’s the Garden of the Gods?” he asked of the red rock formations he could see in the distance.
    “Yeah, but it’s a funny angle here, wait till we get closer,” she said.
    “They’re like Red Rocks,” he said, referring to the city park and amphitheater west of Denver.
    “Kind of. The rock formations are kind of straight up instead of at an angle like Red Rocks. Oh, here’s where we want to turn.”
    She turned east and drove up a road that climbed a small bluff. She could see lots of housing developments surrounding the bluff, but they were on a private road, following a sign that said “To castle.”
    “Castle?”
    “That’s what it said. Jeez,” she said. The road ended in a circular drive in front of a castle. Not the medieval kind with arrow slits and battlements, but more the Sound of Music kind. She parked their car in one of the few visitor parking spots.
    “I really should have looked this up before we came here,” Munroe said. “Too busy following tsunami stuff.”
    They walked to the arched entrance into which the words “The Explorers” were carved. Seals on either side showed a covered wagon with a mountain in the distance and a sailing ship headed toward a sunrise or set. The thick wooden doors were left open and when they entered they saw closed modern glass doors that kept out the cold.
    Inside they walked up stairs to a reception area. An older man, a security guard, was seated behind a beautifully carved round desk.
    “Hi, can I help you?”
    “Yes, I’m here to see Tracy Newell. I have an appointment.”
    “Sure, let me ring him and if you wouldn’t mind signing in?”
    She signed the visitor book. She decided not to sign Munroe’s name. When she was done, the man said, “Up the stairs to my left, one flight up. Go down the hallway, all the way to the end.”
    They followed his directions. At the end of the hallway another reception area served a ring of offices. A woman typing at the reception desk looked up at Yamaguchi.
    “Mr. Newell’s on the phone right now. If you could take a seat?”
    She nodded and sat down. Munroe sat beside her.
    “Hey, Linda, pick up that magazine,” he told her. She didn’t like his tone but she picked it up anyway. It was the official Explorer’s magazine, glossy and professionally done. She thumbed through it and saw that it was published in the Springs at Explorers Press, the publishing arm of the organization. The photos and stories were all about fresh-faced kids doing good works around the world. She privately thought, “Young Republicans for Christ,” then felt guilty about it.
    “They’ve got that Hitler Youth look, don’t they?” Munroe asked. She was always worried when their political views coincided.
    “He’ll see you now,“ the administrative assistant said, without looking up from her typing.
    Yamaguchi put down the magazine and got up. She muttered under her breath, “Shut up now.” The receptionist looked up at that but