"I'm told that you actually discovered a group of previously unknown ocean species in the Florida Keys. Is that correct?"

Ned Landson nodded.

"Actually, Robin, I discovered a whole range of animals, from a new species of tiny fish to several microscopic marine plankton, which oceanographers had previously overlooked."

"Wow!" Robin marveled. "How did other scientists miss discovering them before you came along?"

"Well," Ned replied, his left hand finally scratching the offending itch, "the species of fish I discovered was almost identical to a previously recorded species - but only on the outside. Inside, the species are very different."

Robin nodded. "And where did you find these fish?"

"In an area of the ocean known as the Bermuda Triangle," Ned answered blandly.

"You mean that spooky place where airplanes and ships supposedly vanish?" Robin replied.

Ned chuckled in reply.

"That's the place," he said. "But those stories about airplanes vanishing and stuff are just nonsense. My dad used to work on deep salvage operations, and now he's a deep-sea fisherman. We've both been into the Triangle hundreds of times. There's nothing there but swarms of sea life, blue skies, and waves of green.

"And it's all perfectly normal sea life," Ned added hastily.

"So you say!" Robin quipped. "And what are your plans for the Antarctic, aboard the Destiny Explorer?"

Ned thought about it for a moment. "I guess I'll get to study some of the Antarctic life firsthand ... But I doubt scientists have left very much undiscovered down there!"

Robin laughed, obviously charmed by her guest. "Thank you, Ned, and good luck. Now let's turn our attention to someone you may have read about in the newspapers.

"Michael Sullivan is a computer hacker from Queens, New York," Robin continued. "You might remember him from the news several months ago ... Michael was the young man who single-handedly exposed a band of cyber-hackers who were ripping off people on-line.

"Can you tell us about it, Michael?"

In Woodside, Queens, a remote cameraman and a director were crammed into a tiny run-down apartment in a seedy brownstone near the elevated Number Seven line subway station.

A young man with a shock of bright apple-red hair was sitting in an electronic wheelchair. The youth turned and faced the camera with a smile. His hair and freckles seemed to glow red on the television screen.

Michael Sullivan took a deep breath and sat back in his wheelchair. As he began to speak, the sound technician prayed that no trains would roll by outside the second-floor window.

"I've been a hacker since I was a little kid," Michael answered carefully. "But a little while back, I ordered a lot of stuff off the Internet for my mother. We got the stuff all right, but our credit card was billed twice for the electronic transaction."

Back in Studio B, Robin nodded, hoping against hope that her audience was still with her and following this young man's explanation.

"It took a couple of months for the on-line store to credit us for the double billing," Michael continued. "When a customer service representative told my mom that she didn't know how it happened, I decided to hack into the files and look into the double billing myself."

"Wow," Robin gasped, trying to sound enthusiastic. "What did you discover?"

"I found out that double billing was happening all over the Net, with a whole bunch of different mail order companies. It was obvious to me then that pirates were electronically pulling the second transaction into their own on-line site and downloading the credit into their own account."

"So they were stealing the money!" Robin exclaimed.

"Not technically," Michael corrected her. "After a couple of weeks, the thieves would slip back into the system, take the money out of their account, and electronically transfer it back to the credit card company they cheated."

"What did that accomplish?" Robin asked, obviously puzzled.

"They kept the money in a bank account long enough to collect a month's interest on it."

"Gee, that sounds pretty complicated," Robin continued.

"Not really," Michael replied. "They were using the Net to grab illegal loans, essentially. After a month they returned the money but kept the interest they'd accrued - and on thousands of transactions a day, that was a lot of interest. More than a million dollars a year!"

Robin laughed. "Now you knew what was going on. So, what did you do next?"

"I hacked into the pirates' system, downloaded their records, and turned them over to the New York State Attorney General," Michael replied proudly.

"And made the headlines, too," Robin interjected. Michael nodded and brushed the red hair off his forehead.

"So I guess Internet pirates should beware, as long as Michael Sullivan is there!"

"They should," Michael agreed, doing a victory circle in his wheelchair.

"Good luck on your trip to Antarctica, Michael," Robin concluded. Then she turned and looked into camera one.

"We're going to have to break for commercials now," Robin announced. "But when we get back, we'll have an intimate chat with the Irish band Such a Pretty Bird ...

"And don't forget that tomorrow we have a special Sunday edition of Teen Beat, where we take an uncompromising look at the ups and downs of the faltering Rebuild America program."

Robin smiled. It was an expression calculated to tantalize her viewers - a smile that seemed to hold both a secret and a promise.

"You won't want to miss that," she concluded.

2.

REBUILD AMERICA.

Sat.u.r.day, November 11, 2000, 8:17 P.M.

Independent News Network executive offices.

92nd floor, World Trade Center Tower.

New York, New York.

As the prerecorded rough cut of the Sunday show ended, the elderly, balding man in an impeccably tailored Brooks Brothers suit leaned forward in his leather executive's chair and switched off the monitor. As soon as the screen went blank, a device silently lowered the monitor into its resting place within an elegant, highly polished walnut desk.

During the screening, the illumination in the office had been dimmed so low that the twinkling lights from the Manhattan skyline were clearly visible through the windows. Now the room grew steadily brighter. Out of the dark shadows in the corner of the room there appeared the silhouette of a second man.

With a sigh, Mycroft E. Endicott - the princ.i.p.al owner, CEO, and president of the Independent News Network - faced his young guest. The other man, seated in a soft leather chair, was also impeccably dressed. But unlike the older executive's placid, almost bored expression, this man's look was of indignation mingled with undisguised horror.

"You simply must see the administration's point of view in this matter, Mr. Endicott," the younger man said insistently. "You ... you can't air that show tomorrow. It would have a negative impact on your viewers. It would warp their perceptions of what the government is trying to accomplish."

As he spoke, the man held out his right hand, his thumb clenched by his fingers. His eyes were wide, as if he were trying hard to project honesty and sincerity.

"Can't you see that this program is dangerous and could have a demoralizing effect on the American people in this time of national emergency?" the younger man continued, using his clenched hand to punctuate his words.

"The truth has always been dangerous, son," the older man replied evenly.

"The truth! You call that the truth? It's quite clear to me, Mr. Endicott," the young man continued excitedly. "That show is a pack of lies and ill-conceived innuendo. Why, there are so many inaccuracies that I lost count ... which makes me wonder whether this special Sunday edition of Teen Beat is really up to the journalistic standards formerly adhered to by your Independent News Network."

The younger man paused, challenging the older man with his stare. But Mycroft E. Endicott remained silent.

"Do you really believe that this show you plan to air tomorrow is fair and balanced?" the younger man prompted. "Let me point out that your anchor for that program is quite young and -"

As the government man continued to speak, Mycroft E. Endicott observed his guest, who was "quite young" himself. Endicott noted that while the young man's voice and manner were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with calculated sincerity, they also carried more than a trace of arrogance - a trait that was typical of the current administration's White House staff.

As well as of the administration itself, Mycroft E. Endicott realized, though he kept that particular observation to himself. Instead, he decided to calmly answer the man's charges.

"Yes," the older man replied. "Frankly, I would call tomorrow's episode of Teen Beat fair and balanced. Robin Halliday is young, but she's also one of my best broadcast journalists. I pay her a lot of money, and I have big plans for her future."

The executive sat forward in his chair, until he seemed to be leaning over his desk.

"But even if she were the lowliest copywriter in the backwaters of our meteorological division, it wouldn't matter one whit!"

Endicott's voice rose a decibel, and he spoke a little faster. As a seasoned businessman, he didn't want to tip his hand by showing his emotions. But he had taken a deep dislike to the young man sitting opposite him, and he couldn't help showing it.

"I want both you and your president to know one thing, son - all my news people are fair and balanced, and I defend their judgment one hundred percent!" Endicott concluded.

"But Ms. Halliday's segments on the Gary, Indiana, and Syracuse, New York, reconstruction projects are so negative, and so full of unsubstantiated rumor, scandalmongering, and misrepresentations, that it's almost slanderous!" the younger man challenged.

"Sorry, son," Mycroft E. Endicott replied. The communications executive was a large and imposing man, and his natural forcefulness of character seemed to fill the huge office. "You must not be a lawyer, or you would know that a news story isn't slanderous if it's true," Endicott stated. "As I see it, Ms. Halliday's report is right on the money. Her sources are rock solid, and INN's legal department has approved the report."

Endicott began to stab the air with his index finger to punctuate his point.

"The president - that's your boss - wasted billions of taxpayer dollars. Not once, but twice. First by rebuilding the industrial sites in too big a hurry. Then - at the instigation of his inept, ecology-obsessed vice president - by enacting environmental control laws that made those brand-new factories inoperable ... unless, of course, billions more tax dollars are wasted on further renovations ..."

Mycroft E. Endicott sighed again and sat back in his chair.

"What the administration has done is madness," Endicott said in a softer voice, but with no less emotion. "And I'm d.a.m.ned proud that one of my reporters had the guts to actually tell the American people the truth!"

Despite having his say, Mycroft E. Endicott was still gripped by anger, though he did his best to maintain control in front of this government man. The emotion he felt was a natural one, considering the events of the past months. And his feelings were shared by millions of Americans.

Nearly a year after the pa.s.sing of G.o.dzilla through the very heartland of America, basic services in the areas affected by the monster's rampage were still not restored. Factories and businesses from California to Indiana to New York City had not yet restarted. They lacked electricity, water, telephone communications, and reliable distribution of raw materials, manufactured goods, and vital services.

Worse still, the destruction wrought by G.o.dzilla acted like a cancer. It was spreading. Now many parts of the country that had in no way been directly affected by G.o.dzilla, King Ghidorah, or Rodan were currently suffering from power and communications failures as well.

Even more shocking than that, the United States had been forced to import basic foodstuffs for the first time in its history. The rich farmlands of the Midwest had not yet recovered from the ravages of Kamacuras. The farming problem also seemed to be spreading, and the more the government tried to help, the more vital crops failed and the more farmers lost their land and their livelihoods.

In the last few years of his second term, the sitting president had used his power to coerce Americans into adopting stringent new rules and regulations that affected nearly all aspects of their everyday lives. Gasoline and electricity were rationed. Imports were restricted. Food might be rationed next. Fuel and food prices were so high now that most people couldn't afford even the basics anymore.

Oil prices were rising, too, as tension that had been building in the Middle East for decades finally exploded. Iran and Iraq were at war with each other again. Egypt and Libya had been sucked into the combat, too. The Iraqis were using their minuscule navy to blockade Persian Gulf oil ports.

Oil exports from that region were effectively stopped, and a worldwide economic recession soon followed. The U.S. stock market was in downward spiral, with the Dow Jones industrial average bottoming out last week below 4,000.

The U.S. president, instead of dealing with the international economic threat, had announced a series of big-government domestic social programs. It was to be the capstone of the president's undistinguished administration - his "visionary" Rebuild America program.

The president promised that he would end America's dependence on imported oil, even as his vice president promised that - to ensure environmental safety and deter global warming - no new nuclear power plants would be constructed in America.

But you can't have your cake and eat it, too.

Without oil imports or nuclear power to fill America's energy needs, nothing in the private sector was working. And government wasn't doing much better, despite all the power it grabbed for itself.

It would be a cold winter in the United States, with heating oil stores depleted and no more being imported.

The administration followed its misguided social programs with ma.s.sive tax hikes to pay for them. The president promised to use the money for the "common good." Instead, billions and billions of dollars were being squandered because of bureaucratic boondoggles, union corruption, and the criminal negligence of petty "public servants" at every level of government.

Congress was no better. The individual representatives were scrambling to grab as many tax dollars as possible for their own regions - whether their states were affected by G.o.dzilla's pa.s.sing or not.

Almost nothing that was destroyed by the monsters had been rebuilt - save for an Oakland, California, reconstruction project that was one of the first begun and the most thoroughly supervised. Now America was almost broke, unemployment was higher than twenty percent, and social safety nets were stretched to the breaking point.

The slogan Let's all pitch in and Rebuild America! - the product of a Madison Avenue advertising agency - rang more and more hollow every day. Americans were indeed pitching in, but nothing was being accomplished. Morale in the nation was worse than it had been during the Great Depression of the 1930s, and there seemed to be no way out of the economic or social doldrums for the foreseeable future.

The military, which was supposed to be prepared for war, was mobilized domestically to deal with the continuing crisis. Soldiers ran subways and railroads, delivered mail, and built dams and electrical towers, but they did not hone their skills in the art of war. Endicott doubted that the combined might of all the armed services in America today could deal with an actual military threat if one should materialize.

The s.p.a.ce program was in shambles as well - and not just due to the destruction of the s.p.a.ce station Mir and the shuttle Atlantis by King Ghidorah, either. Without adequate supervision, the National Aeronautics and s.p.a.ce Administration had fallen apart. No shuttle had been launched in nine months, and the next scheduled launching had just been delayed for the fifth time.

The satellite system, vital for communications and weather forecasting, was quickly decaying, and few new satellites were being launched to replace those dying of old age in orbit. Mycroft E. Endicott discovered that unless he was willing to wait, he would have to pay the French government to launch his new communications satellite on an Ariane rocket. NASA was so far behind that the agency couldn't fit it into their shuttle schedule before 2015!

Worse than anything else was an announcement that had stunned the country two weeks ago. On a Friday afternoon, after the stock market had closed and most reporters had gone home for the weekend, the president signed an executive order that declared a continuing state of emergency and effectively put the nation under martial law. He even suspended the upcoming presidential election, which was to be held in November 2000, for "at least" three months.

Congress, controlled by the opposition party, began to complain and was still complaining. But the president was careful to cover his tracks with an army of const.i.tutional lawyers - and he was the commander in chief of the military. It all seemed legal, so far.

But Americans were grumbling. Soon they might do more than grumble ...

If only the government left the private sector and the common people alone to deal with the problems, Endicott thought bitterly. People know what is best for them - government does not. Instead, the administration grabbed more power than it deserved and much more than it could handle ... And just look at the result!

Businessmen like Mycroft E. Endicott had to tread lightly these days. So far the government had left him - and the notion of freedom of speech - alone. At least they had until this little visit from a policy-wonk messenger boy for the president.

"You can certainly see the president's point of view, Mr. Endicott," the young man said, interrupting Endicott's painful musings. "The president has everyone's best interest at heart. He simply wants to a.s.sure the American people that the twenty-first century will be a time of peace and prosperity."