With These Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

the
package to the beginning. A nod from the voice-over actor signaled
him that talent was ready. The technician pushed a few buttons and
three beeps indicated the beginning of the recording. The video
played on his monitor and in the sound-booth. The actor behind the
pane of glass read from his copy, drowning out the original sound
on the video.
    "A suicide bomber attacked this school today,
killing at least 100 children and 30 women. The bomber drove up to
the school in an ambulance to avoid being stopped by security
forces. This man says he believes they are being punished by Allah
and is begging for help from the West."
    "Cut and print!" proclaimed the recording
engineer.
    Happy with the report's new soundtrack, he
finalized the file and sent it along to the media center above.
There, it would become part of the day's newscasts.
    On the ground above all this deception,
Isabelle was arriving at the entrance to the media center's parking
garage. A gate separated her from the interior. To gain entrance,
she rolled down her window and turned to face a retina scanner just
outside the driver's door. The device looked a little bit like
something one might find at an optometrist's office and bore the
Apophis sun-logo, like so many things. A bright light repeatedly
flashed into Isabelle's left eye while the scanner read and
analyzed the patterns of blood vessels of her retina. She turned
her head back in the direction of travel. Isabelle had gotten used
to the gate opening right away and her foot moved over the
accelerator - but the gate stayed down. Instead, a message flashed
across the device's little screen while a buzzer made sure it drew
in the driver's attention.
    Scan Inconclusive
    Isabelle faced the scanner to endure another
round of the pulsing light. This time, the gate opened. Somewhat
blinded, Isabelle pulled forward into the garage. She had to squint
and mostly rely on her other eye to find her way down to her
parking spot.
    Soon, Isabelle had descended the many parking
decks and arrived at her spot on the bottom level. She pulled her
thumb-drive out of the dash and with the folder of research
materials in hand, she headed to the elevator lobby. Her office was
on the top floor, but there was no time that morning to climb the
stairs all the way from the basement level. The elevator's two
metal doors slid open. Isabelle was engrossed in the ball-lightning
paper and waited for the only passenger to exit. His voice emanated
from inside.
    "I'm going up."
    Isabelle stepped into the elevator and pushed
the button for her floor. Her eyes glanced at the man on the other
side of the car. Standing in the elevator was Michael Leese,
wishing her a good morning. Isabelle distractedly returned her
colleague's greeting and continued to read.
    A few moments later, Isabelle entered her
office. It was a very unique place. Next to a large desk was a
totem pole that depicted a young woman and a wildcat. A bookshelf
displayed several journalism awards, many from Alaska, and pictures
of her as a child in the jungle. One picture stood out for its
hand-carved wooden frame. It held a photo of a younger Isabelle and
her parents. Gemma and Lionel’s daughter looked like she was the
happiest kid in the world. In her arms was the tiny puma-cub
Tonati, his tongue lapping across her chin.
    Two of her office walls were completely
interactive. Each displayed numerous news reports as they came in
from all over the world. Despite the global variety of feeds, each
story would pass through the new-truth facility first. There, it
was edited by computers and personnel in any language delivered.
The lower third of each screen was occupied with closed-captioning
in the story's native text. Isabelle spoke many languages. Her
childhood afforded her this skill and she was able to read along on
many foreign feeds.
    Isabelle was eager to continue her research
which had been disrupted by the missing file message earlier. She
plugged the thumb-drive into the