REMOTE CONTROL

"OK, it looks like the worst of this earthquake occurred at 3 pm, just before the miners would have been lifted and let loose," Nito said.

"That's terrible. Dying at work, at the end of your shift."

Nito gave a nod of agreement as he checked the machine and grabbed a map pencil from his shirt pocket. He made some marks on the thin paper, then said, "It is just as I thought. This was planned."

His friend was alarmed. "What do you mean, Nito? You can't plan a natural disaster!"

"No," Nito conceded, "but you can arrange to have people killed in one."

"How are you discerning this from the readings?" Harguile asked.

"It's not all from the readings, some of it is the realization of all the events connected to this disaster. After all, who was down in that hole? Not just some rock-breakers. Don't forget the Bacardi heir John Santierra, who was passing through the mine because he didn't feel like climbing the damn mountain."

"Sweet Sram'balone!" Harguile cursed. "You just pointed out a big dune full of ideas to me! I wonder myself whether they--"

"Stop right there," Nito barked. "It won't help to wonder, any more than to gussy up fruit with little silk nets. Oh Christ," Nito's eyes shut as he remembered something painful. "I forgot to decarbonate the soda in my refrigerator. It's going to have tailworms in it when I get back there. Oh Christ already." His memory had obviously been shunted, and Harguile grabbed his arm and shook it roughly.

"Goddamn it, man, what are you talking about! Forget the soda and the tailworms... they're shunting you, so go back to the earthquake! You said it was a setup..." Harguile prayed to his ugly little God that whatever concentrated beam had struck his friend would leave him unaffected. Then he found himself staring directly into Nito's ear. He thought there might be something valuable in there. Something worth investigating. So he got out his pocketknife.

"I just don't think my sodas will ever go full steam, I just don't believe they know how to think so..." Nito was mumbling to himself, staring down toward the far corner of the room. Harguile grabbed his ear and began slicing around the tiny opening, working to make a hole his knife could fit in.

Nito screamed in agony, twisting his head around and pushing at Harguile's arms, but the man would not relent. He began to jab and make bloody punctures all around Nito's neck, all the while droning on about, "Sacks of these fine Allan products. They shuffle the day from highly infamous to an endless stream of anti-pouting."

The two men fought each other weakly until dawn’s first light, when they finally regained their senses. Nito stared at the little machine, and held a small, white towel to his bleeding head. Harguile, guilty and incoherent, covered both his eyes from the intense and terrible light mounted in the ceiling.