Dark Rivers of the Heart

in the humid on-shore breeze. A hundred yards away, at the edge of the breaking surf, two pelicans stalked stiffly back and forth through the fringe of foaming water, as if engaged in an ancient Egyptian dance.
        Inside the Road King, Ellie was one of three people working at videodisplay terminals in the living room. She rose, smiling, to receive Phil's embrace and kiss.
        Rubbing her belly affectionately, he said, "Ron has new shoes."
        "I saw them earlier."
        "Tell him he really has nice moves in those shoes. Makes him feel good."
        "It does, huh?"
        "Makes him feel black."
        "He is black."
        "Well, of course, he is."
        She and Phil Joined Ron and the Padrakians in the horseshoe-shaped dining nook that seated seven.
        Sitting beside jean Padrakian, welcoming her to this new life, Ellie took the woman's hand and held it, as ifjean were a sister whom she hadn't seen for a while and whose touch was a comfort to her. She had a singular warmth that quickly put new people at ease.
        Phil watched her with pride and love-and with not a little envy of her easy sociability.
        Eventually, still clinging to a dim hope that he could someday return to his old life, unable to fully accept the new one that they were offering him, Bob Padrakian said, "But we've lost everything.
        Everything. Fine, okay, I get a new name and brand new ID, a past history that no one can shake. But where do we go from here? How do I make a living?"
        "We'd like you to work with us," Phil said. "If you don't want that… then we can set you up in a new place, with start-up capital to get you back on your feet. You can live entirely outside of the resistance. We can even see that you get a decent job."
        "But you'll never know peace again," Ron said, "because now you're aware that no one's safe in this brave new world order."
        "It was your-and jean's-terrific computer skills that got you into trouble with them," Phil said. "And skills like yours are what we can never get enough of" Bob frowned. "What would we be doing-exactly?"
        "Harassing them at every turn. Infiltrating their computers to learn who's on their hit lists. Pull those targeted people out of harm's way before the axe falls, whenever possible. Destroy illegal police files on innocent citizens whore guilty of nothing more than having strong opinions.
        There's a lot to do."
        Bob glanced around at the motor home, at the two people working at VDTs in the living room. "You seem to be well organized and well financed.
        Is foreign money involved here?" He looked meaningfully at Ron Truman.
        "No matter what's happening in this country right now or for the foreseeable future, I sill think of myself as an American, and I always will."
        Dropping the British accent in favor of a Louisiana bayou drawl, Ron said, "I'm as American as crawfish pie, Bob." He switched to a heart-ofVirginia accent, "I can quote you any passage from the writings of Thomas Jefferson. I've memorized them all. A year and a half ago, I couldn't have quoted one sentence. Now his collected works are my bible"
        "We get our financing by stealing from the thieves," Ellie told Bob.
        "Manipulate their computer records, transfer funds from them to us in a lot of ways you'll probably find ingenious. There's so much unaccounted slush in their bookkeeping that half the time they aren't even aware anything's been stolen from them."
        "Stealing from thieves," Bob said. "What thieves?"
        "Politicians. Government agencies with 'black funds' that they spend on secret projects."
        The quick patter of four small feet signaled Killer's arrival from the back bedroom, where he had been napping. He squirmed under the table, startling Jean Padrakian, lashing everyone's legs with his tail.
        He pushed between the table and the booth, planting his forepaws on young Mark's lap.
        The boy giggled delightedly as he was subjected to a vigorous face licking. "What's his name?"
        "Killer," Ellie said. jean was worried. "He's not dangerous, is he?"
        Phil and Ellie exchanged glances and smiles. He said, "Killer's our ambassador of goodwill. We've never had a diplomatic crisis since he graciously accepted the post."
        For the past eighteen months, Miler had not looked himself He wasn't tan and brown and white and black, as in the days