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energy. Sir Walter sighed heavily enough that I wrote him, Quiet, remember?
    He gave a sad little half–smile and a nod my direction and then rippled invisible.
    I find nothing apropos of the recent purchasing by our friend , he said, apparently using the term “friend” a bit more loosely than I would have done. Then he muttered, Mon Dieu, c’est impossible , which I understood just fine even if I didn’t see any impossible things in the locale of this office.
    What’s impossible? I scribbled on my notepad.
    Listen, do you not hear something?
    He was right; I heard voices. I hear talking , I wrote.
    I hear the signature of one whose thoughts are most familiar , said Sir Walter.
    Helmann? I wrote.
    No, no, he said, his voice with an eager edge. Do you not recognize this man’s thoughts?
    Dude, I wrote, basically ‘deaf’ in that department. You’re the only person whose thoughts I’ve ever heard.
    Quite, quite, said Sir Walter. But I thought perhaps the thoughts of your sister’s advisor might come through to you.
    My sister’s WHAT ? I wrote, so fast the letters looked like scrawl.
    It is Monsieur Professeur Pfeffer whose voice you hear approaching us even now.

Excerpted from the personal diary of Girard L’Inferne.
    Circa 1990
    A Corps of one thousand chameleons. This is what I shall require. Thankfully, I need not couple with a thousand mothers this time to produce the offspring I have need of. Technology is a most excellent servant.
    Fritz has no lack of racially–pure volunteer surrogates from countries newly free of Soviet domination. Hunger, for food and gold, are our allies at this time. Most propitious, this falling away of the walls separating East from West in Europe.
    My one thousand chameleons shall do more than Hitler’s hundreds of thousands. He cleansed only millions of humanity’s dregs. My purging of humanity shall be numbered in billions.

Chapter Seven
----
    CALL IT PENANCE
    · SAM ·
    Hans entered the room pushing a little trolley like you get in a hotel room. My cocoa had been poured into a ceramic mug, but I could smell the spicy scent of syllaberries rising with the steam.
    I knew where I was, at least.
    “I thought we might breakfast together, as we have much to discuss,” said Hans, smiling as he removed the covers from plates containing thick, sliced sourdough with butter and jam for me and brown rolls with deli meats and cheeses for him. “I really find it impossible to keep up with the myriad beverages young people today consume. I visited a coffee shop last weekend only to discover my simple coffee with a splash of cream had at least fifteen words to its description. And then I had to specify the temperature at which I preferred to drink.” Hans smiled at me as he offered a crisp cloth napkin across the trolley after draping one upon his own lap.
    “So it’s morning now?” I asked.
    “Ah, yes, I believe it is,” he said, briefly consulting a cell phone. He held it a second longer that necessary, like he wanted me to notice it.
    “That’s my phone,” I said, accusation in my voice.
    Hans sipped his coffee and arranged cheese upon one of the rolls. “May I assume that you would prefer your parents not worry as to your whereabouts or state of, ah, health at the moment?”
    “Of course I don’t want them to worry,” I snapped. “Take me home and that’ll be a non–issue.”
    Hans smiled. “I have already ensured it will be a ‘non–issue’ by sending them a message.”
    “You texted my parents?” I asked, feeling my face growing hot. “What, like a ransom note?”
    Hans looked taken aback. “Of course not, my dear young woman. I merely indicated your intentions to spend the day in Fresno with your, ah, Asian friend.” He pronounced it “A–zee–un.”
    “They’ll figure that out as soon as they call Gwyn,” I said. Instantly I regretted revealing her name.
    “Gwyn Li and her mother Bridget are even now driving to meet you at Shibuki Spa for a day of