Damien Broderick - Strange Attractors

couple to
her left, at the frosted window. She recognised them from somewhere, from the holos . . .
This time the music seemed almost to claw at the soft inside of
her round stomach, as if some needle-clawed bat were scratching to
fly out of there. Bianca found the muscles of her upper body twisting her through near-spasm. It was hardly under her control, and the graft in her back gave her no discomfort at all.
And she had an important thought. T hat older man, the one
with the glasses —and that woman. She did recognise them. She
knew who they were. She had to speak to them. Especially the man:
something odd had came to her, something she needed to say to
him.
Baker had studied covert recordings of Alderson and Loerne discussing these places. Despite Alderson’s qualms about the miracle bands, he nonetheless visited them every Saturday night, clearly
struggling to come to grips with the phenomenon, with its spiritual
implications. Certainly he was the member of the Wallace Inquiry
who could most easily be shocked.
For the Unit, this night provided an ideal opportunity. Baker
would show them havoc.
Fie had a similar interest in watching Glass Reptile Breakout
live, but his own researches into biofeedback technique and its
attendant miracles, unlike the Inquiry’s, were not public. Indeed,
they were not even known to the State government. Which did not
mean that less rested on them. The Inquiry’s recommendations
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Russell Blackford
were limited to this one State. Yet whatever checks it demanded on
the use of the miracle-inducing equipment in Victoria — and Baker
intended that the ruling would be the unexpected one of total
abolition —his own involvement had a significance extending well
beyond Victoria, would benefit the entire Free World. His American and Chinese colleagues were particularly eager to restrict public access to equipment and techniques which created the
BF-miracles.
Officers of the Signals Unit were compiling a list of Australian
leaders who were suspected latents. It was part of an international
intelligence effort for the benefit of democracy. Eventually even
small fry like Alderson and Loerne would be tested against the
U nit’s criteria. Baker looked forward to seeing the final list. Once
established, it would enable his researches to take on a very practical use. Latents, such as the flick-dancer in his high cage, were potentially so vulnerable.
Baker slapped another pair of two dollar coins down. He stared
through the gaunt feather-cheeked young barm an, w'ho passed
over a pot of weak beer and a modicum of change.
He would wait until the end of the night, for the encores. Then
he’d wreak such ugliness that the BF equipment would surely be
suppressed —if not for good, certainly for the span of the resulting
outrage.
The Signals Unit could not maintain its Australian monopoly on
the necessary expertise while gross miracles were publicly flaunted
by these so-called miracle groups. So far no one in Australia outside the Signals Unit had succeeded in replicating the miracle effects under artificial conditions, without the participation mystique of the sharks and roe and their beloved bands. Were research at the Universities and hospitals further advanced, he’d be ham strung, for tonight’s work would then have the effect of spurring rather than halting their studies.
Sipping his beer, he gloated. The flick-dancer would make a
perfect victim.
The song changed tempo. Baker could see why the band called it
a healing song. It became almost parodically tranquil, redolent of
fresh fields and bird calls and all things sentimental. Baker resisted
its cliched charm. His own training with the Signals Unit had developed his detachment as well as skill.
Leaning against the padded bar, Baker could look almost
straight up into the perspex cage, dangling from a network of gold-
Glass Reptile Breakout
85
painted chains, where the flick-dancer performed. The power of
the music! If it could augment a healing process, Baker thought
savagely, it could also reverse it. He would see to that.
It was called flick-dancing, but Tigershark never used a flick-knife.
Some dancers in Sydney did, but he had not seen it on his last trip
there, only on imported American holos. His own instrum ent more
closely resembled a steel-handled wedge-bladed carpenter’s knife,
small enough to fit entirely in his palm. It