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charge?”
    “When did that happen?”
    “Years ago. Do you ever watch the news?”
    He thought about it. “Not on purpose. If I want to hear political propaganda I just tell a stranger I’m an American.”
    May opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded. “Okay. But there’s still information you can sift out.”
    “Don’t care; don’t care. Anything that affects me personally I can find on Lilith dot com. They let you decide for yourself what you want censored. I check that every day when I get home.”
    “You missed the asteroid story.”
    “I was distracted.”
    Her smile was deservedly smug. “Sorry.”
    “Are not.”
    “No, I was being polite,” she agreed. “So he’s been using a nano to turn old women into beautiful young women, and he’s got fanatically loyal help wherever he needs it.”
    “Maybe transsexuals too,” he said, thinking of the customs inspector. “Why make them look like Indians?”
    “It’s good cover. Ever since JNAIT started up they’re everywhere.”
    “Janet who?”
    She glared at him. “Start watching the damn news! The Joint Negotiating Alliance of Indian Tribes. Jay-en-ay-eye-tee. Incorporated last year. The Bureau of Indian Affairs has been going nuts ever since. JNAIT has been in the World Court, suing to get the U.S. to adhere to its treaties or pay compensation. They’ve been recognized by practically everybody as a nation, got their own stamps and currency, for Christ’s sake.”
    “What kind of population are we talking about here?”
    “Something like a million original shareholders, with maybe a million more immigrants by now. Shareholders get paid dividends from corporate revenues, but immigrants get paid income from nonvoting shares they buy. There’s no income tax. Or any taxes.”
    “Wow. I didn’t realize the casinos were that big—”
    “I’m going to smack you in a minute! JNAIT owns pieces of businesses all over the world. Most of their revenue comes from running the waste recycling services in major cities of the U.S.”
    “I thought that was a big Mob industry.”
    “It was. JNAIT underbid everyone, and whenever they got turned down they published computer records that showed who was getting bribed … Oh my God, Connors is behind them. It’s so obvious.”
    Toby nodded. “Everything the man did was always obvious afterward. He must have found everyone who was willing to go along with him, made them young again, then waited. He has to have started almost as soon as he left Watchstar.”
    “You said he couldn’t make nanos himself.”
    “He couldn’t. But the ones we made could make their own. They’d simply make nanos to order by following his instructions.” He clapped both hands to the sides of his skull. “That’s why he was working there in the first place! My God, the crazy sonofabitch was stealing wheelbarrows!”
    “You keep calling him that. Didn’t you like him?”
    “Sure. Calling him wha— Right. That’s what he called himself, a ‘crazy son of a bitch.’ After I listened to a few stories about his childhood—as few as possible, after the first—I had to agree on both counts. Incidentally, if we end up meeting him, do not mention mothers in any context.”
    “What kind of stories?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    “So why did I ask?”
    “A merciful failure of imagination.”
    “… Oh.” May tried to think of something else. “So much for his toolbox.”
    “What?”
    “You said manipulation wasn’t in it.”
    Toby shrugged. “He was a minimalist. He did only use it once.”
    *   *   *
    On the way to their ride they almost passed a newsstand.
    Toby stopped dead and turned to look at a headline.
    AIDS DOCTOR MURDERED!
    The picture below was from his original passport photo, so there was no chance anyone would recognize him.
    The vendor was willing to accept Swiss francs, though the sucre was worth more.
Tragedy struck the world last night when nanotechnology wizard Tobias Glyer, MD, PhD,