

VERITAS

by

### H. BUCK SAWYER

Copyright © 2019 by

H. Buck Sawyer

Smashwords Edition

### Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Story

VERITAS

Tom Trumbull was at home working in his combination office and electronics lab. He was about fifty, mature but not lacking a youthful stance in life, and fit enough to still move well on the tennis or basketball courts. His hands flowed smoothly over the electronic equipment and the laptop on his lab bench, and he was humming to himself to provide the custom sound track that he liked to have when the work was going nicely. Tom believed that spinning your own soundtrack was a good way to celebrate the movie of which you are the creator and star. Often you're the only witness to what you're doing, but the wise understand that one witness is enough. You don't need a guardian angel, saints, cosmic accountants, aliens, or your mother to tell you that you're doing something really neat. The universe is a busy place, and it's counting on you to handle the full appreciation of the fresh blossoms in your vicinity. If you can provide some music to go with it, all the better.

Tom's invention was a video camera that could photograph the human aura, linked to software he created to manipulate the images. And at this point, the more challenging tasks of his project were done- the steps that required every available circuit of his neural capacity tightly focused to accomplish the godly trick of bringing a complex cloud of factors together to squeeze and weave the laws of physics and electromagnetic forces into the creation of a device never seen before, at least on this humble planet. Once he had gotten the basic aura image capture function going, he had taken pictures of himself while concentrating on different states of mind, and from there he had eventually developed the beginnings of a software system for interpreting or correlating emotional states with images shown on his computer screen.

He was excited that he was finally making progress refining the process, and concentrating at the moment on coaching himself for a photo with a stronger sad feeling. He didn't notice his wife standing at the lab door, just home from work and having entered the house quietly to avoid disturbing him. "Oh, yes, you were so hurt, so sad," he cooed softly to stir up his old memories from childhood. "Grandpa's dead, and you're never going to see him again. No more fishing trips." He tweaked a couple of knobs on his converter control panel and watched the image on the screen change slightly. "No more riding in Grandpa's lap steering the truck. Grandpa's dead." He was doing a good job activating his memories and the related emotional neurons, and he wasn't aware that Diana was watching him and wishing that he could do as good a job with feelings when she needed to square off with him at times.

With the deft manner of a seasoned facilitator of emotional processing, she gently commented, "Tapping off that old pain can soften a lot of scar tissue, Tom. Maybe even with a virtual therapist." Tom's body jumped a little at the sudden intrusion into his private tender zone, and he felt his emotional shielding clanging back into place as his breathing quickened. "Is that what you're working on?" she offered, as though handing him a tissue. "Could be a real winner." She stayed by the door, mercifully intending to give him a sense of space to recover his composure before she approached him for the customary welcome home hug.

"Oh, hi, honey," he stalled. "Ah, virtual therapist? No. But, ah, therapists might like this gadget. I think I'm getting photos of feelings."

Now she walked over and gave him a hug. "Oh, good. So maybe you could email your therapist a picture of your feelings from a nice safe distance. A lot of guys might like that. I don't think it would really move the process forward, but I guess there's a chance it could shake something loose."

"Well, that's not what I'm after anyway. I'm hoping to get this to work like a lie detector. But I've got to figure out what I'm seeing first."

Diana peered at the aura on the screen, captured as a still image from Tom's last moment on camera. It was a complex tangle of glowing blobs, filaments, and spots of various sizes and colors.

"See those blue dripping looking things?" he asked. "I think those are from the sadness I was feeling remembering his funeral. They weren't there before that." He clicked to bring up an earlier image, which looked similar overall, but did, indeed, lack the blue drips. "See? No blue. But clusters of yellow ripples around that red area. I was doing the happy memories of riding the tractor with grandpa."

"Wow. That is amazing. Have you gotten any other particular correlations yet?"

"Not yet. Just getting started on this part. It's tricky adjusting the combination of stimulator frequencies and tuning the translation of response into colors."

"Well, you just keep sticking your periscope into other dimensions, honey. I going to try some kitchen magic. Stroganoff tonight."

Tom salivated the hopeful words "Beef stroganoff?"

"Of course not. Veggie. Didn't you get enough meat this week?"

"Yeah. I had a giant meatball sub yesterday."

"Oh, that should last the hunter a few days."

"Right. And I've got some sausage stashed in the freezer too, in case I start feeling weak. I did make the lemon pudding cake for tonight."

"All right. That always a hit. They're coming at six, right?"

"Yeah. They're bringing hors d'oeuvres."

In the Trumbull dining room that evening, the last spoonfuls of lemon pudding cake were disappearing with eulogies in soft sounds of intense pleasure. Their friend Ted poured himself more coffee, and offered refills around the table.

"No thanks" said Diana. "Get's me too revved up at this hour."

"All set, dear," said Ted's wife, Sherry.

"What a feast," said Ted, pushing his empty plate away. "I hope I didn't disgrace myself by eating too much."

"Not possible," said Diana. "The cooks love to see a good reception."

Tom added, "And that turbo charged coffee should keep you from slowing down while you're digesting."

Sherry challenged, "Maintaining equilibrium by balancing extremes, Tom?"

"Holds atoms together," he said. "Must be a reasonable principle."

"Well, are you two ready to check out Tom's latest project?" Diana invited.

Ted stood. "I believe I am, indeed, perfectly balanced and ready for that adventure now. What's new, Mr Wizard?"

They all headed for the lab. "Well, we want to make sure you really liked the food, so we're going to give you a little lie detector test," said Tom. "The second and third servings could have just been an attempt at flattery."

"I don't think so." Ted patted his tummy happily.

In his office, Tom pointed to a few photos he had tacked to the wall, each showing a colorful aura pattern. "These are from my new lie detector. That's me in the pictures. But you will have the honor of being the first real test subject."

Sherry and Ted paused to look at the photos, studying the differences. "Looks like aura photos somebody had at the psychic fair I went to a couple months ago," she said. "You made an aura camera?"

"I saw a book like that once," added Ted. "Kirlin photography, or something like that."

"Yes. Kirlian. But that was debunked," said Tom. "The images were neat, but it turned out they were due to moisture on the exposure plate, and the object had to be right on that plate. My device operates more like radar. No physical contact at all between device and subject. I've tried it up to 20 feet away."

"So, what are those little things in the picture? Is this like an MRI?" she asked.

"The photos were all of me, but taken when I was in different moods."

"So, what's the lie detector part?" prodded Ted, wondering if he could fool the gadget.

"Have you ever seen auras?" Diana asked her friends.

"Tried a lot," said Sherry. "I don't know. I may have seen something like that, but it may very well have been just imagination."

"That's the problem with a lot of psychic research," conceded Diana. "It's hard to prove anything."

"True," agreed Tom. "But I'm hoping to make some headway there. On those photos, I've got four different emotions. The raw images from the device are enhanced by the software I'm developing to try to bring out recognizable patterns for different states of consciousness."

Ted kept probing, relishing the chance to win what seemed to him like a video game. "Gonna tell us which is which? I mean, I can see some differences, but what are we looking at?"

"On the left, that's happy," said Tom, pointing. "Those small yellow ripples occur with quiet happiness."

"What's this one? Little red spots." Sherry pointed to the next photo.

"That's anger. Quiet anger. I was thinking about dictators and genocide."

"Do you have an application in mind yet?" asked Sherry. "At this point, we're not seeing anything you can't read on somebody's face."

"Granted," said Diana. "But this is just the beginning. Imagine being able to take a picture and see that someone had enough simmering anger to be a potential killer."

"Oh, that could be really good. But what about this lie detector function?" hounded Ted.

"Well, I'm working on that," the inventor replied. "You ready to help try it out?"

"Sure," Ted volunteered. "This could be historic. The first liar caught with the...ah. What do you call this thing?"

"We've been calling it an auracam," said Diana.

"Does it take long to set it up?" asked Sherry.

"About a minute. You going to do the lying, Ted?"

"Sure. Let's do it," said Ted, burping.

Tom pointed to a stool in the corner at the end of the long work bench, positioned so that Ted wouldn't see the monitors during the test. Then he sat down at his computer to activate the equipment.

"Is it still or video?" asked Sherry, watching Tom aim something that looked like an oversized video camera at Ted, who was about six feet away.

Tom glanced at a monitor screen where an aura-like image of Ted's head was coming into focus. Sherry and Diana looked over Tom's shoulder, watching the image of Ted start to exhibit a little movement of colors in some areas. The aura image seemed to extend out a foot or so from what looked like the location of Ted's actual head.

"OK," explained Tom. "At first, I'm just going to snap a reference shot of you in neutral state of mind. Got it?" He worked his keyboard to send a copy of the first snapshot to a second monitor screen. "Now, why don't you start lying about something, and I'll snap shots when I think you're really into it."

"Right," started Ted. "I bought a new car today, one I've been looking at for quite a while. It's a Volvo 950 convertible. I got a great deal on it, cause it's a demo from last year. I got it for five thousand bucks. I was just about to leave the lot with it when a camera crew showed up to shoot a commercial and the director offered me a thousand bucks just to smile and wave while driving away."

Sherry interrupted, "Wait a minute. I don't see anything different on the monitor from when he started. Do you?"

"I don't either," added Diana. "I think the problem is that you're not really lying. We need something you can really lie about. Have you ever broken the speed limit?"

"Nope. Never," said Ted quickly and firmly.

The three observers peered at the monitor.

"I never drive over fifty."

"Hunh. No change," tallied Sherry.

"Have you ever cheated on your wife?" tried Sherry.

Ted hesitated briefly before responding firmly. "No." He paused for two seconds. "I mean, yes. Many times."

Sherry suddenly looked like a hawk as she pointed at the video image. "Did you see that red spike thing?"

"I caught it," said Tom calmly, punching keys to move the new still image over to the second monitor.

Sherry and Diana stared at the photo, which clearly had a red line the size of a nail that had not been present before. Ted looked a bit flustered.

Diana directed "Give us the real answer, Ted. Did you ever cheat on your wife?"

"No, of course not," he quickly insisted.

Tom hit a few keys and the new image replaced the first red spike picture on the monitor, this new one with a larger red spike.

Sherry jabbed "Was it somebody I know?"

"What is this? I said no," pleaded Ted.

"Then what is that big red mark about?" demanded the hawk.

"It's a tough question," parried Ted. "I'm nervous. Yes, the thought has certainly come up at times, but I never did anything."

Tom sent a fresh picture to the display monitor, again with a pronounced red line, now a bit thicker. Then he tried to steer for a safe harbor. "Ted, did you ever cheat on your income tax return?"

Ted quickly threw out "No. Never."

The three observers watched the video monitor. The big red line was gone, but a smaller red line appeared near where the first one had been.

Seeing their facial responses, Ted amended "Well, maybe just a little. Very minor."

The small red line faded out, but Sherry was immediately back on the sticky issue. "Was it just a one shot deal?"

"I never did a thing," claimed Ted, who had stood up to move out of camera range. He glanced at her face, and he knew he was losing ground. "All men think about it. Even Tom. Right, Tom?"

"Of course. Totally naturally thoughts," confirmed his friend.

"OK. So why don't we finish this little experiment?" challenged Sherry. "Are you ready to get back in front of that camera?"

"No. I'm not going to have you upset because this prototype gadget can't tell the difference between what I might have done and what I may have thought about doing. No."

"Diana, thanks for dinner," said Sherry. "I think Ted and I will be leaving now."

Ted called for rescue. "Tom, could you please tell her that your machine is under development and not ready for the real world?"

Sherry cut off the pleading. "Tom, I think your camera has just corroborated my intuition. Keep up the good work. Let's go, Ted."

Heading for the door, Ted stopped to say to Tom, "You gotta be careful with that thing. You say you want to help the world, but I sure wouldn't call this situation very helpful. Good night."

Diana accompanied the bruised couple out of the room, while Tom turned back to his computer to make a few adjustments. A minute later she came back in. "Well, Prometheus. That was quite a fire bomb."

"I'm sorry. But, hey, maybe it's better for them to deal with it openly. I don't think it's a big issue. Probably happened years ago anyway."

"Perhaps," said the wise woman. "But what I'm struggling with is your role in forcing them to confront that issue."

"Honey, you get well paid for helping people to confront their emotional issues."

"True. Because they've chosen to do that. Ted and Sherry didn't. You just dropped it on them with your machine."

"And thus science advances. The potential for an infallible lie detector is staggering. Imagine- no one able to ever get away with lying. Now, wouldn't that make the world a better place?"

"Sure. It sounds good in theory. But it might be messy at first."

"So is childbirth."

"And it might backfire. Once you let the genie out, you won't be able to control what happens."

"True. And I will keep that in mind."

After cleaning up the kitchen together, Diane went upstairs to read in bed for a while. Tom went back to his office, interested in reviewing the images from Ted's disastrous session in front of the auracam. He dropped into his seat, turned on the equipment to boot up, and sat back to mull. Millions of good people shared his frustration at the sewage coming out of too many greedy mouths in high places. Lies that blasphemed the sacred power of the Word, like shards of dark energy that had escaped from black holes, sneaking through hyper space, and now attempting to suck up all the gold atoms in Eden.

There's an ideal balance in creation, though it's difficult to maintain in the twelve- sided rugby game of individual life forms, each charged with remembering the connected aspect of their soul sparks while simultaneously pumping all their vitality into the scrum. Play hard and look forward to shared drinks at St Peter's pub after the game. But the liars on a this planet had forgotten the rules, and our cosmic astroturf was threatening to go supernova if things weren't brought back into balance soon.

So, a few weeks earlier, Tom had vowed to do something to help restore that balance to his wobbly planet- to get on that tug of war rope to pull the biosphere back from the brink of disaster. He'd been doing freelance jobs in software and control systems for small renewable energy developers for a few years, but that wasn't turning the eco-tide on any appreciable scale, and he was feeling that the situation was getting desperate. He had just finished a big contract with a paycheck that allowed him to take some time to work on his own quest, and he had been lucky enough to come up with a promising discovery to develop.

Maybe he'd been subconsciously working on it for a while before that, because the idea for the device popped into his mind soon after the big decision to volunteer. And it arose out of concepts he'd already been thinking about recently, stimulated by a variety of internet lectures that resonated with ideas he'd first seen a few decades ago. His wife had always been great with plants. Being an electronics guy, Tom had found the reports of Cleve Backster's hooking up lie detectors to plants to be fascinating and a handy imprimatur for his own curiosity to study Diana's feelings about interacting with plants. He had also recently purchased a nifty gadget with a pistol shape that you could aim at an object and on its little screen get an immediate readout of the exact temperature of the target, down to a tenth of a degree.

He had read plenty of new age books on chakras and spiritual energies and seen all sorts of drawings of human auras and some photos that claimed to show aura energy around the subjects. Some of those claims had been debunked under careful review, but he thought some of it might be legit- though just not possible to measure yet. Diana, as a psychotherapist and counselor, had talked about sometimes feeling that she was seeing the aura of certain clients. And Tom allowed that maybe those classical painters of saints with halos were onto something. The nearly magical principles of quantum mechanics were getting plenty of attention lately along with recent physics discoveries which clearly indicated that the interplay of consciousness with matter was the right context for research going forward.

By staying on top of such revelations, Tom had been marinating his cerebral cortex in what historians of invention call the "near possible". Records of the patent office provide clear evidence that breakthrough inventions often happen at nearly the same time with researchers who have no known connection to each other. Maybe that's due simply to both of the visionaries being aware of the state of the art in that field, and then just creating the next step as a logical progression. But other theorists such as Carl Jung would claim that the global unified subconscious is the real womb of invention, with novel products somehow conceived there before popping out like identical twins, albeit born in two different laboratories thousands of miles and a short time apart.

That arrangement for separate but duplicative invention could be engendered by a cosmic principle configured to ensure steady progress in the unfolding of life. If one inventor's efforts should fall prey to the hazards of happenstance, the other citizen can still get the invention out into the main stream, and thus move technical evolution forward in a timely manner. Who or what is making these rules? Well, maybe the same admin department of creation that determines which small sectors of the galaxy will give birth to all the new stars. Astrophysicists aren't denying the star nursery phenomenon just because they can't explain it yet. But there it is on the big black screen of space as revealed by Saint Hubble. And as above, so below.

Tom had also been very impressed at recent breakthroughs in imaging of the sun. Whereas just a few years ago, everyone considered the sun to be a uniform ball of hot golden light, the latest techniques in photography and computer analysis had revealed the star to be an extremely complex organism with all manner of different functions taking place. In a fertile stew of such concepts, he had opened himself to inspiration, gestated the lucky seed, and given electronic birth. His device could be described as working somewhat like radar, though using an energy beam similar to that in an electron microscope. He had developed a way to generate a pair of very high frequency light waves, slightly out of phase, and somehow bouncing back from the energy field surrounding humans, mapping the fluctuations around the subject. He jiggered with receptor plates to sensitize them to register the returning signals, and finally got a system that worked to capture images of something like an aura, now readily made observable to the human eye, even the eye of a total non-believer in abstract hypotheses about souls, telepathy, or the influence of consciousness on physics experiments. Getting the software to interpret the images had taken hours and hours of frustrating work, but he finally broken the code, at least for the first phase of seeing identifiable images that clearly related to particular emotional states of mind.

And now he had accomplished the first real life application of his invention- catching a liar in the act. He seemed to have created a tool to promote truth. Veritas. A truth camera. For which an appropriate name would be veri-camera. Vericam. Yes. That was it. Vericam. He sat back elated at the easy visions of vericams being used to ferret out every lying scumbag on the planet. But he was worried that the same type of people who put the celebrated Galileo onto the pope's shit list had plenty of present day counterparts. Tom closed his eyes in prayer and asked the universe to please guide him safely to the happy ending.

Next morning Tom was eating some breakfast and reading the newspaper when Diana came in. "You're up early. How late did you work?" She poured some coffee into her travel mug and sat down like a bird ready to fly off.

"About two o'clock. I got the program adjusted so I think it'll pick up lies pretty well now. I need some more pictures to analyze though."

"Oh, really? Would you like to get on camera while I ask you about affairs?"

"Wouldn't work, darlin'."

"You have nothing to hide?"

"As you must surely know, I haven't had sex with anyone else since I met you. So there's nothing I could even consider lying about."

"We could ask if you've been sexually attracted to other women."

"I probably have. Most healthy men are."

" Do you have a current attraction to someone?"

"No one comes to mind."

"Think hard."

"Even if I did, there's nothing wrong with that."

"Yes. I agree that it's natural. I only ask that you tell me about it if it starts turning into a big issue. And don't try to hide it, cause I've got a built in lie detector."

"I believe it."

She stood up, and gave him a quick kiss. "Gotta run. Early appointment with a couple that weren't good at talking things over in a timely manner. I'll see you around six."

"OK. Bye. See you later."

She grabbed her coat and disappeared toward the garage. Tom sat back to let his coffee lift him into a contemplative zone. Yep. Built in lie detector. Handy at home. Not so much in court, he mused.

Later that morning, Tom paid a visit to his lawyer and long time friend, Dave Mazzeo, and was patiently sitting in the small reception area when Dave came out of his office. "Hey, amigo, good to see you," said the stocky lawyer, shaking Tom's hand vigorously.

"Thanks for clearing some time to see me."

"Not much time, I'm sorry to say. I've got to head to court soon. But come on in." Tom followed him into his office, and Dave closed the door, waving to a chair. "Have a seat."

"Thanks. Does it cost extra if I sit?"

Dave sat down behind his desk. "No. But I do charge extra if I have to listen to bad jokes. What's up?"

"Well, I've got a situation that I think you'll find intriguing."

"Good. It has not been a very interesting day."

"I want to discuss a new invention I'm working on. It's a video camera lie detector. It doesn't need to be physically connected to the subject. Doesn't require their cooperation or permission to use it either."

Dave leaned forward. "Stop. Stop right there. Invasion of privacy. Big issue. You'll probably have to restrict use to consenting subjects."

"What about wire tapping?" challenged Tom. "There's no consent there. Invasion of privacy is justified in some cases. There's clear precedent."

"Maybe with a court order. How does this thing work? You've already got one?"

"Yes. I have a working prototype."

"And it works how?"

"It's kind of like radar. Bounces a special signal beam off the subject's aura, captures the reflected energy, and the software translates that data into color patterns. If you've ever seen purported aura photos, it's kind of like that." Tom slid a couple of photos out of his folder and placed them on the desk. Dave looked briefly at the pictures as Tom continued, "I started out charting emotions, correlating the images I was getting with known emotional states in the subject. Next step was to identify a pattern that appears when someone is lying. Now I've gotten it so it can spot a lie in real time while the subject is talking."

"And you've tested this?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be wasting your time. It works. But I need more development to refine it. That's why I need legal advice. Where can I test this outside my own lab without legal problems? I need some real, sincere lying."

"Well I've seen plenty of that over the years. But you're not going to get into court with that thing. Does it look like a video camera?"

"Pretty much. I could doctor up the case to pass for a video camera."

Dave laughed. "If it were an election year, there'd be plenty of public lying to shoot."

"I can't wait for the next election."

Dave thought a minute, then said "I've got an idea. Insurance companies. They've got huge amounts of money at stake in fraud cases. They'd love to use this thing. What do you call it?"

"I'm calling it a vericam. So what about the legal aspect of using it?"

"Insurance industry has plenty of reason to take care of that themselves. Maybe they never tell the subject and won't use the results as direct evidence, but just to figure out what really happened. And in some cases, the subjects may agree, but that would only be if the guy weren't actually lying. So if you need real lying, it's probably not going to be acceptable as evidence. It could, however, be extremely valuable as covert intel to guide investigators toward something they could try to prove in other ways."

"OK. Insurance companies, fraud department. I'll try it."

"May I suggest a written contract for services to protect yourself, even though you're not asking for any payment? I'll draw up something if you like. Have it ready in a couple of days. Can I see this vericam?"

"Sure. More than welcome. Sooner the better."

"Great. How about five o'clock this afternoon?"

"Five it is. My lab at the house."

"You know- if this works....." Dave can't verbalize his rapidly expanding vision.

Tom stands to leave. "Right. Things will be a little different around here. Yeah. See you at five."

That evening, Tom was in the kitchen cooking dinner and listening to the news when Diana came home around six. She gave him a hug and a kiss, without expecting him to surrender his utensils. "Um. Smells good. How was your day?"

"Great. Talked to Dave Mazzeo and he stopped by to check it out. He's pretty excited."

"Great to have him aboard. I think you're going to need a lot of legal support on this." She went off toward the powder room.

Tom turned up the news volume a bit to hear better: "...should be on the Senate floor for a vote tomorrow. Late this afternoon Pioneer Power of New Hampshire announced that they have stopped a radiation leak discovered this morning. A spokesman for the nuclear power plant stated that the amount of radiation released is minor, and there is no cause for concern. Nuclear Regulatory officials are arriving tomorrow to analyze the incident."

Tom broke in, "Oh yeah. No cause for concern said the man with the glowing hair. That story's not going to work forever, boys." He turned the stove burner off and dashed into his office. In a minute of searching on the internet, he had a number for Pioneer and was dialing his desk phone.

"Pioneer Power," answered a friendly voice.

"Hello, I'd like to know if you've scheduled a press conference about the leak today." He waited a moment to hear the response, then confirmed, "OK. 10 am. Thanks."

He hung up and dashed back into the kitchen. He checked his cornbread in the oven, and looked at the timer, which showed 10 minutes to go. "Great. Just enough time to print up some handy press credentials. He put a lid on the skillet and headed briskly back to his office. As his printer kicked out a realistic press tag, Tom was not unaware of the irony of falsifying credentials in order to catch someone lying about a possible nuclear radiation event. Sometimes there are hierarchies of morality in a situation, and you have to engage in a lesser offense in order to serve the higher purpose. People who can't navigate this challenge may have to endure the lesson of watching others suffer great consequences.

Tom had made the two hour drive to Manchester next morning and easily gotten into the press conference at the nuclear power company office. The small room was buzzing with a couple dozen reporters, but he managed to set up his bulky video camera on a tripod at the side of the room near the back. Up front was an empty podium and on the wall behind it a large banner with the atomic power symbol replacing the O's in Pioneer Power. Tom aimed and adjusted the aura camera and connected it to the laptop that he set on the floor under the tripod, with the display opened so he could monitor the image in real time. Before long, the gray suited company spokesman strode in and took the podium.

"Good morning. I am Peter Trenton, Vice President of Operations for Pioneer Power. Thank you for coming to hear our explanation of the recent events. After a brief statement, I'll be happy to take all of your questions. Thanks to the efficiency of our monitoring equipment, this type of incident can be safely contained before any harm is done." He droned on for a few minutes before inviting questions.

One eager reporter piped up, "When are you going to complete an evacuation plan to meet the Green Party's outline?"

"The plan we already have is approved by the NRC and the state legislature. We believe that plan is totally adequate as it stands."

Another reporter took a shot. "When did you learn about the weakness in the cooling system?"

"We have been carefully tracking the performance of the pressure relief system for ten years now."

Fifteen minutes later the questions had been exhausted, and the spokesman thanked everyone for coming. Tom had been watching his laptop throughout the session and noticed a couple of times when the red spike had appeared. The laptop recorded the subject soundtrack along with the aura image, so it would be simple to determine exactly which statements were lies. He was very excited to get back home with the results to show Dave the first demonstration of the vericam in a real world situation. He was humming a merry tune as he packed up and sent Dave a text that he would be back in town around five o'clock with a pack of fresh lies in the can.

By the time Dave arrived and was knocking on his back door, Tom had watched the press conference footage a couple of times, selecting still images of the obvious lies and then adding an audio clip of the fallacious statement for each image. Tom hurried to let Dave in. "I've got it all set up," he crowed. "Perfect indictment."

"Well, not quite an indictment. But I'm excited to see what you got."

They plunked down at the desk in his office and Tom started the presentation. "OK. The first image you see here is a reference base. That's the guy's aura on taking the podium." He brought up the next image and the sound track ran, "We believe the evacuation plan is totally adequate as it stands."

"Look at that. Beautiful red spike perfectly timed as the forked tongue wagged."Dave looked at the image. "Can you show me the reference picture again?"

Tom returned to the first image. "Clearly no red mark at all."

"How about other times?" asked the lawyer. "Does that red mark disappear right away between lies, or between statements you think are lies?"

"Absolutely. It doesn't linger. Not with this guy. Now I haven't done enough testing to see whether somebody who wasn't a skilled professional liar would show some red after the lie. Maybe the pros have their thinking more compartmentalized as opposed to the occasional liar who might continue to echo guilt after saying the actual lie."

"Yes. And people can be trained to fool regular lie detectors. So you don't really know if those red statements are actually lies in this case without having corroborating evidence."

"True. More research needed, to be sure," conceded Tom.

"And we need to be thinking about backlash. If we were to go public with this thing, we could wind up in a mysterious accident. Remember Silkwood? Death would be nice to avoid if possible."

"Agreed. And I've already thought about that. My plan is to disseminate the design for the vericam on the internet so we're not the only guys with the magic bullet, and thus we're not worth killing. But I'd like to keep the patent rights, too. Can we do both?"

"I'll check with a friend who does intellectual property law. He can get started on documenting your rights el pronto. First step just takes a few days. Then you can share it, but we'll include a statement that anybody's welcome to build and use such equipment, while you're reserving rights to all commercial applications with patent pending. And now you're calling it a vericam?"

"Yeah. Now that I've got it tuned to detect the lies. That's the whole intention. Veritas."

"That is very focused. Vericam. Good name."

"OK. Now what about getting this expose on the nuke out to some local TV people?"

"That would be jumping the gun just a bit. I don't think we're ready to go public. At this point, any allegations you put forward would only serve to bring an immediate legal counterattack. And we don't have any good proof that this thing works. We've got to have more controlled testing."

Tom grinned. "I've got an appointment Tuesday with the investigation department at Collateral Insurance. The person I spoke to on the phone seemed pretty interested."

Dave reached in his briefcase. "Great. Here's the release I prepared. Before you do anything there, get it signed, preferably by a VP."

"Thanks. The highway to greatness beckons."

"Yeah. Just watch out for the toll booth. Now, I've got to get home for a little birthday party. The twins turn thirteen today."

"Well, have a great time. My best to Mary. You know, the mother should really get the honor on the birthday," suggested Tom.

"Thanks. I'll convey that kind thought."

Tom was working in his lab when Diana came in from work. She gave him a warm hug and a kiss, then looked at the monitors. "What's new in the world of truth and consequences?"

"Plenty. I went to the press conference this morning at Pioneer. I got some great shots of white man with forked tongue. Take a look." He hit a key to play the audio clip to accompany the still image.

"Wow, that red mark does look a bit like a forked tongue. And having the audio at the same time is a very effective presentation. It is really amazing."

"Yep. Could change everything."

She wrinkled her face. "I'm a little concerned about that. Too much change too fast can cause indigestion. You can't just suddenly remove the way things have operated for hundreds of years without causing a lot of disruption."

"I think it's going to cause a big splash at first, and then people are going to start modifying their behavior just because they know this exists. So, ideally, little adjustments to clean things up will be made everywhere by whoever's been dishonest. Look, all the fundamentalists believe the same thing's going to happen the day Jesus comes back. Instant truth. They don't seem worried about it."

"That's broad stroke wishful thinking. This is the nitty gritty. I think it might just polarize further, and the real nasty people won't even make a pretense of being civil any more."

"Come on, honey. We're talking about the power of truth and light here. A marriage of technology and ethics. Have a little faith, will you?"

"Tom, you're talking about surgery without anesthesia. I don't think the patient is going to like it."

Tuesday afternoon Tom made his foray to the insurance company that was willing to consider using his vericam. He was sitting in the office of one Rebecca Wharton, a seasoned account executive handling the case of possible arson regarding a fire in which a young girl had died. Tom was running elevated adrenaline levels - appropriate for the excitement of giving the first commercial pitch for the vericam. "I called several other companies, but you were the first person who seemed interested," he said to her.

"Well, I can understand a general response of skepticism.," she replied. "I ran this past a few of my associates here, and most of them laughed. I happen to have some, ah, metaphysical interests, and consequently I can easily entertain the basic premise of a breakthrough in photographing auras."

"That's wonderful. Thank you. Thank you so much. Would you like to see a demonstration of the results I've gotten?"

"Absolutely. I've been very excited since I first heard about it."

Tom stood up, pulled the laptop out of his briefcase, and set it on the desk so she could see the screen. He got up and walked around to her side and hit the power button. The screen opened with his desktop wallpaper being a picture of the vericam. "That's what the camera looks like. Pretty much like a slightly oversized video camera. Close enough so people would assume that's all it was." She leaned forward a bit to get a close look, and Tom hit a key to begin the presentation he had organized. It started with a still image of the aura of the spokesman at Pioneer Power. "That's a reference image without lying."

She leaned in again to study the aura representation. "That's a fascinating image," she commented. "So much variation in different areas." She looked at him. "Do you know what all those colors and shapes mean?"

"Not in detail," he conceded. "That'll take a whole lot more research. And I just wanted to learn enough to get the system to produce a clear component that correlates with lying."

The screen image changed to show the red spike in the aura as the audio of the spoken lie played. "...We believe that the evacuation plan is totally adequate as it stands."

The image went back to neutral reference for a couple seconds and then changed to show a slightly different red spike mark as the audio ran "...have been carefully tracking the performance of the pressure relief system for ten years now."

The screen went black and Tom closed the laptop, retreating to his chair.

Rebecca smiled. "So that red mark tells exactly when a person is lying? How does it work?"

"Well, the beam is a multiple frequency mix that I discovered would bounce off the aura like radar bounces off something. The vericam captures the reflected signal and the software translates that data into colors that we can see on the monitor. If you were psychic, the aura might look quite different."

"Unfortunately I'm not psychic. Are you?" She seemed to be enjoying the rare inclusion of the paranormal into the insurance world."

"Wish I were. That would have probably helped with developing this system."

"Well, that's where we come in, isn't it? Hopefully, we can help each other to move it forward."

"Yes, hopefully so. But first I'd like to have you sign a release my lawyer drew up to ensure that you assume legal responsibility for this testing." He pulled the document out of his briefcase and handed it to her.

"I'll have legal look it over. They may want to add something, but the concept seems fine. Tell me, can your camera work through a one way mirror?"

"It should. I can certainly run a few tests at home to check that. Would your approach be to use a hidden camera while interviewing someone you suspect of fraud?"

"I've got to work that out with counsel, too. We might do that, or just put the camera in the room and tell the suspect it's routine videotaping of their statement. We've been audio taping those sessions for years."

"Depending on the type of case you're investigating, we should draw up a format that would include questions that get to the heart of the issue."

She laughed. "Oh, we're very good at that. So, you're prepared to move forward?"

"Absolutely. Any time."

"Good. Then I'll be seeing you soon. Thanks so much for coming over. This could be a tremendous boon to the insurance industry and ultimately lower premium cost for everybody."

"Well, thank you. I'm thrilled to put it to use." He stood, picked up his briefcase, and shook her hand before heading out.

That evening Tom and Diana were soaking in the hot tub on the deck behind their house. "I hope you're not going to let this excitement you're feeling override your sense of caution," she advised. "People committing high level insurance fraud may not like being exposed."

"I think I'm on the beam. Seems like I wound up at just the right company to take the vericam forward."

"Do you trust the woman you met with?"

"At this point, where's the risk? Dave drew up a nice safe contract. She's gung ho."

"I deal with insurance companies a lot, because they are constantly resisting paying for things that people think should be covered. The law orders companies to maximize profit to the shareholders, and that tends to produce an adversarial culture, and I'm afraid justice isn't always the prevailing force. Your liaison person is trying to mediate between two powerful forces, and you are about to step right into that battle. In a war zone, things can blow up anywhere. My spider sense is tingling on this."

"Thanks. I will certainly keep that in mind." He gave her a long hug, and they relaxed into the soothing temple of hot water, both open to the blessing of deep harmony.

A week later the legal contract for vericam services at Collateral Insurance had been amended into mutual agreement, and Tom was meeting with Rebecca Wharton to work out final plans for the session in which she would meet with the insured who was under suspicion of arson. Tom had laid out a line of questioning that he thought would lead to specific statements that would offer good prospects for vericam recognition of lying.

Rebecca was pleased with the plan. "You must be quite a chess player to set up logic traps like this."

"Just the engineering mind."

"I like it. Regardless of how he tries to steer clear, I think we'll get the key statements our of him. He should be here in ten minutes. Battle stations." They got up to go to the pair of adjacent rooms specially modified for the session. Rebecca had a small room carefully appointed to create a very relaxed atmosphere, with two comfortable chairs but no desk, some extra plants, and pleasant paintings. One of the paintings was abstract, well suited to have a small opening positioned to perfectly disguise the vericam lens. Rebecca spoke loudly at the wall. "Everything set?"

On the other side, Tom had activated his equipment and called back, "Could you just sit in his chair for a minute for final check?"

She sat down there. "Should I do some lying too?"

Tom watched the image of her aura appear on his laptop screen and admired the swirling colors. "Thanks, but that wouldn't work. How about thinking of your favorite vacation spot?" He saw an area of green waves appear on one side of her aura. "OK. I see changes. I think we're all set." Then a flurry of orange bubbles replaced the green waves.

"How's that look?" she called.

Tom peered at the screen. "Well, I don't know what that means, but it's something distinctive. It's working. That's enough, though. Let's get focused." Rebecca got out of the hot seat and settled into the off camera chair. Tom's screen went to black, and he paused the recording mode.

A few minutes later, Rebecca's assistant knocked on the door, opened it to let the suspected arsonist in, and closed the door on the truth chamber. Rebecca rose to greet the man with a handshake. "Thanks very much for coming in again, Mr Rydell. I'm sure you are eager to wrap up this unfortunate episode, as are we. Have a seat, please." She gestured toward the hot seat and took the other herself. "We have your written statement about the fire, but we just wanted to clarify a few points that our risk reduction department raised. We are always looking for ways to promote better safety practices for all our insured."

"Sure. I'm certainly willing to help my insurance company to promote safety."

"It is difficult, I'm sure," she said sympathetically, "given the circumstances."

"I've been seeing a therapist to help me deal with feeling guilty for the little girl's death. I know there was nothing that I could do, but I still feel responsible somehow."

In the observation room, Tom saw the first appearance of the red spike Rydell's aura on his laptop screen, and he would have groaned if he could have risked making a sound.

Rebecca continued "Well, I think that's a natural stage to go through. Now, you've read the inspector's report about the origin of the fire, I presume."

"Certainly. I just wish I had known there was a furnace problem. I had scheduled the annual service call for the next week." Red flickers were being recorded on the laptop behind the wall.

Rebecca said, "We contacted the manufacturer. They claim that in forty years in business they've never had one of their furnaces blow up."

"Good. I'd hate to think anybody else would have to go through this kind of thing."

Fifteen minutes later, the session was over. Rebecca thanked Rydell and sent him off down the hall. She waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn't return before she went next door, where Tom was packing up his equipment. "How did it look? Will it take long to analyze?"

"Oh, I think we're going to have a solid basis for considering this as arson. My stomach's a bit twisted thinking about the dead girl while my camera peers into the soul of the guy responsible."

"I'm sorry about the emotional angle. People think this business is dry, but there's often a lot of pain involved with claims."

"I'm sure. I just wasn't expecting it to feel that way."

"Well.... thanks for taking it on."

"Onward. I'm going to get right on it. We can present results tomorrow, if you want to let your people know."

"Tomorrow? I'm so excited about this amazing breakthrough for the industry. I can't wait to see it. Could I maybe come by your office later today? I'd like to see more about how the whole thing works. Would six o'clock give you enough time?"

"Six? Sure. OK. But let me call you to confirm we've got something worth looking at."

"Wonderful. See you later then."

Shortly after six, Tom heard his doorbell ring and hurried from his office to the front door to let Rebecca in.

"Hi. I wasn't sure this was the right address. This is your home?"

"That it is. Come on back to the office." He led the way back toward his work room.

"I thought you'd have a laboratory in some high tech research building."

"No. All under one roof."

She followed him into his office, which he had spent a few minutes tidying up to avoid the bad impression that a well organized person might form if they saw his usual clutter. "Have a seat." He had set a second chair at his desk area. "I printed up a few of the key shots," he said, handing her the photos, each with the related false statement printed at the bottom. "What did you feel during the session?" he asked. "Did you sense that he was lying?"

"Nothing clear," she answered. "I was focusing on steering the questions to cover all the bases. I wasn't in a very intuitive mode."

Tom sat down and hit a couple keys on the laptop to start the video playback of the whole session. He suddenly hit the pause. "Would you like a glass of wine? Or juice? Water? Tea?"

"You know, I'd love a cup of tea, herbal if you have it. Thanks very much."

"Be right back. Advantage of working at home." He returned a minute later with a couple of cups on a tray with a sampler box of tea bags and a small jar of honey. "Water's heating." He sat down.

Rebecca was looking at the prints, comparing the reference photo to those with red spike marks.

"Can you tell anything else about this guy from these photos?"

"Not really. I started differentiating components of the first images I got as soon as I had the basic system working, but I focused on identifying the single function of lying, which, fortunately, came out pretty quickly. I think I may have lost a friend in that process, but I'm hoping he'll forgive me when the aftermath settles down."

"I'm certainly familiar with the backlash that can happen sometimes when the facts comes out. But you can't let that stop the truth train."

Tom hit the play button to resume the video of the arson deposition. "So most of the time, he's truthful," he advised her.

Rebecca leaned forward just a bit to scrutinize the patterns in the aura image. "Sure is complex. Reminds me of some of the new photos of the sun."

Suddenly the red spike mark appeared as Rydell was saying, "I know there was nothing I could do."

Tom froze the image. "There it is. Big lie number one."

"Guilty. Damn. That camera is amazing," she said.

"Yeah. I think it has a great future. Worldwide impact." He started the video again. "I've already trimmed every lie into a tidy indictment. Six clearly false statements."

"The insurance industry is going to save hundreds of millions with this device."

Tom savored the bigger reward. "I'd say the potential savings in human suffering are priceless."

"Of course. This should eventually stop all sorts of pain. But that isn't going to pay you, Tom, whereas we will. I think you're going to be very wealthy and a hero too."

"Well, I'm glad I found a receptive contact. Thank you."

"Oh, I'm thrilled to be involved. I told you that I'm a long time fan of the paranormal. My dad taught me how to dowse when I was a kid. So using unseen energies to find something is not new to me. But this is amazing. Could you maybe show me how the system works? I don't want to take up your family time, but I'd like to have personal experience as context for handling any challenges from my associates. This is pretty revolutionary."

"Sure, that's fine. No other plans." The tea kettle whistled, and Tom jumped up to bring in hot water. Rebecca selected a ginger mint teabag from the box.

"Just work, work, work? I tried working out of my home a few years ago. My personal life just evaporated. Does your wife mind?" Tom poured water into each cup and set the kettle down.

"She's still at work herself. Leading group therapy. I think Thursday night is, ah, people with cancer."

"Ooh, that's a tough one."

"I couldn't do it," admitted Tom. He pointed to the camera sitting on a tripod. "This black tube under the camera projects a beam of specially blended light frequencies that I developed to bounce off what people think of as the aura. The camera lens has been replaced with a sensor plate that catches the reflected beam, sort of like radar."

"Couldn't that be dangerous aimed at humans?"

"No more than the TV or cell phone waves that pass through us all the time."

Rebecca probed further. "Well, maybe it doesn't harm physical body stuff. But how about if it were toxic to the person's energy field? Really screwed it up. Ever had acupuncture? They treat imbalances in energy fields that western medicine still can't measure, but which could be a major cause of disease."

Tom was very surprised at the question. The issue hadn't occurred to him, and he hadn't figured her to be the kind of person interested in esoteric energy fields either. "Well, that is a really good question. And I guess I ought to be thinking about some way to test that. Probably have to get more precise understanding of what we're seeing with the vericam. Try to identify indicators of health and well being with the camera and see if they change after exposure to the beam."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem getting started," she said. "Just getting insurance executives and lawyers and judges to consider that the lie detector function really works is going to strain their sense of what's credible. Harm to the aura is way more far out than even the people who think cell phones cause cancer. Until phones are banned, the vericam should be fine. So I should try it."

"You want to be on camera?" asked Tom with surprise.

"Ooh, definitely. Builds the case for company acceptance. And I've wanted to get my aura picture taken for years."

"All right. It's certainly fortuitous to me to have your personal interests aligned with the paranormal."

"And for me to run into this connection through work."

Pointing to a comfortable chair in the corner, Tom suggested "OK. Why don't you sit in that chair then?" He moved the camera tripod to get a clear shot at her from about six feet away. She sipped her tea and watched him turn the camera on and adjust a few controls to get an image up on his monitor, angled so she could see it from her seat. He tapped the key to start recording. "OK. Can you see your aura?"

She looked with fascination at the aura image with slow and sundry pulsing of various colors and shapes. "That's me?" she asked with a tone that Tom heard as being real spiritual wonder.

"That's you. Want to make it your new Facebook photo?"

"Thanks. I may very well post it."

"OK. I'll email you a copy for whatever. You should be doing a neutral mood now just to get a base reference." He looked at the image and admired the nicely balanced pastels pulsing slowly.. He leaned forward to get a closer look."

"OK. Give me a minute or two, if that's all right. I want to try something." She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. Tom watched with surprise as the pastels in her aura slowly turned to bolder colors and an area of golden sparkles started to appear in a small upward swirl near the top of her head. He sipped his tea and watched the lovely image for a couple minutes until she opened her eyes and the golden star flecks disappeared from his screen.

"Did that do anything?" she asked, smiling peacefully.

Tom let out a joyful, "Wow. Sit over here at the screen, and I'm going to play that back for you. It was really incredible. Were you doing some kind of meditation thing?"

"Yes. I focused on memories of an angel that I used to be able to see when I was a kid for about a year after my mom died." The sequence started to play back on the screen, and they watched while sipping their tea. Tom froze the screen image just before the gold sparkles dissipated. "I'll email the whole clip to you," he said. He looked at her to check her emotional state, and was glad to see that she seemed fine. He felt it was safe to ask, "How did she die?"

"Breast cancer. That's probably sort of why I asked you about whether the rays from your camera could be harmful. She had a pretty tough time with the radiation treatments."

"I'm pretty sure the kind of mixed polarized light I use is nothing like any sort of harmful radiation. But I wonder if the camera might be able to see indications of disease before other detection techniques. I've heard some medical intuitive readers claim they can perceive early signs like that."

"Well, there you go, Tom. After you perfect nailing the liars, you can start looking for other uses for the camera."

"Yeah. Kind of like what happened with lasers. Pretty exciting."

"You're quite the pioneer. I'm a little more stuck in the present. So I think I'll leave you here to peer into the future." They stood up, and she gave him a hug. "I'll be looking for that email."

"It'll be there when you get home." He led her out to the front door.

She stepped out, saying, "Thank you so much, Tom. We'll see you soon. I think the whole industry's waiting for you."

A couple days later, Tom and Diana were both at home, working in their separate offices when a call came in. Diana answered, spoke briefly with the caller, and then, covering the mouthpiece, called downstairs to Tom. "It's the woman from the insurance company."

Tom picked up the phone on his desk. "Hi. Rebecca? How's the case going?" The upstairs phone clicked off.

"Big breakthrough," she announced. Rydell confessed. That saves our company about a half million dollars. Needless to say, we are extremely grateful and hope that we will be able to arrange an ongoing relationship, perhaps with an eye toward buying a full system when you are ready to expand..

Tom managed to speak fairly calmly, despite feeling a geyser of excitement. "Absolutely. I'll have to talk to my lawyer partner first. Could we call you in a couple days to set a meeting?"

"Of course. We just want you to know that we are very enthusiastic."

"Wonderful. We'll get back to you very soon. Thanks so much for helping us to get off the ground with this."

"And I want to thank you for sending those aura photos. Especially the still of the gold sparkles."

"Of course. It was a privilege to see it. I hope you don't mind that I showed it to my wife. She was blown away. And she's got quite the aura herself."

"I'm not surprised. So. We'll hear from you soon. Bye for now."

"Absolutely. Thanks. Goodbye." Tom hung up, sat back in his chair and put his feet on the desk to reflect on the good news.

Next day Tom was at Dave's office, discussing options for a business structure. Tom had asked Dave if he were interested in a partnership role. "I appreciate the offer, Tom, and I'd be delighted to participate that way."

"Great, cause I really have no interest in running a business. I figure I've got a few years of focused development work ahead to get all the value we can out of this breakthrough."

"Well, as soon as we get some momentum, we can hire somebody to keep things together on the business side. For now, we've got to get the patent, set up further testing, and bill for our first victory. Based on ten per cent of money saved, we'll have about fifty thousand to get started."

"I thought the first case was a freebie just for testing."

"Didn't you read the agreement we signed with them? We went over the whole thing at that meeting."

"I'm sorry. I just figured I'd let you take care of all that stuff. It's not my natural perspective."

"You still ought to be paying attention," urged Dave.

"OK. Sorry. I'll try to keep the business angle in mind."

"Good. Now, on page three it says that we will be compensated for any savings they realize from the get go. I'll be working out some exact figures with them after the case is finally settled."

"Great. Getting startup money without selling a piece of the business can pay off nicely down the road."

Just then Dave's desk phone buzzed. His secretary said, "It's Albert Compton from Collateral Insurance."

"I'll take it, thanks." He punched the flashing light on his phone. "Hi Albert. How's it going?"

"Trouble. Rydell's counsel somehow found out about the recorded conversations and the vericam. We're being sued for violating his rights, and they're trying to get an injunction on the vericam. I figured we'd wind up in court with this at some point."

"Yeah, no surprise," conceded Dave. "In hindsight, it might have been better to do it in the open since the thing looks like a modified video camera. I understand you've got another similar case open with three million on the table. If we could move fast to depose that one with a signed waiver to record audio and visual image, we should have adequate cover and a more engaging context in court with Rydell."

"Why don't you come over tomorrow morning 8 am? I'll check attitudes here. But I think the 'run for cover' contingent is likely to prevail."

"Takes a lot of courage to be revolutionary," suggested Dave.

"Too risky for this industry. You might do better in the shadows with this thing. Thought of calling the CIA?"

"We're hoping to bring this out in full daylight. And live to enjoy the harvest. I'll see you tomorrow Albert. Bye." Dave hung up and pondered the blow.

"How could Rydell have found out?" moaned Dave.

"If his lawyer subscribes to some kind of service that monitors the internet for any new stuff relating to lie detectors, they could have seen the bulletin I put out when I thought the CIA was going to disappear me. Or maybe the clever weasel has a mole at Collateral," mused Tom. "Which would be a perfect reason for them to hire us to screen all their employees, starting another major line of business for the vericam."

"Not if there's an injunction on your fine machine," said Dave. More silent pondering. "All right. I've got to do some research on privacy law. You can prepare a presentation on the accuracy of the vericam, aimed at the skeptics. I'll see you tomorrow at Collateral. 8 am. And why don't you call Rebecca just to see what you can find out?"

"That I will. Talk to you later."

Next morning at the insurance company, Dave and Tom were doing their best to persuade skeptical executives to take a chance on the vericam, which from the corporate perspective was a radical proposal well off their actuarial sense of tolerable risk. Chief counsel Albert Compton led the resistance to further use of the vericam. "I don't think we need to spend any more time reviewing the device. The real question is not whether this thing works. The issue is privacy. And I think we may be in for a long haul with this. I would not be at all surprised if it went to the Supreme Court. Rydell's got some pretty sharp counsel, and they smell blood. We've got an injunction hearing Thursday morning in District Court. Let's get ready for that and head for high ground."

Tom asked, "If they win an injunction, how will that impact further testing and development of the vericam? Can we depose the next case before shutting down?"

Compton said, "Most likely the injunction would pertain to any commercial, legal, or public uses. You would still be able to conduct experiments with it privately."

VP of public relations Mary Cheswick said, "PR is going to jump on this. It's going to be pretty hot, and we need to shine up our shoes. I may be calling you for background, Tom. We want to present you as a pure hearted scientist promoting truth in the world."

"Happy to help. Here's my cell," he said, handing her a business card..

A secretary came in the room. "Excuse me, Mister Compton. Kenneth Hayes of the ACLU is calling you about the Rydell case."

"Oh, Christ," he groaned. "I'll take it in my office."

Conversation around the table was informal until Compton returned a few minutes later. "Well, this is turning into quite the case. We seem to have truth versus justice here, with justice being the less enlightened force."

"What did he want?" asked Dave.

"The ACLU is inclined to join the case against us. The American Bar Association may jump in, too. And furthermore, Mr Trumbull, several federal agencies are now intent on finding out what kind of radiation you have been exposing people to."

"Well, it looks like your problem with boredom is over, Dave," quipped Tom. "Has anyone figured out how Rydell found out?"

"No," said Albert. "But we need to get that out of them before we go to court."

Tom was back in his office at home a couple hours later, when his phone rang. "Hello. Tom Trumbull here."

"Mr. Trumbull. My name is Peter Banks. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency. I've heard about some of the problems you're having with your invention, and I wondered if I might stop by to see if we couldn't help you out."

"You're with the CIA?" asked Tom with alarm.

"That's correct, Mr. Trumbull. And I think that we may be able to offer you some timely assistance. Could I drop by in, say, a half an hour?"

"I guess that's OK. Do you have my address?"

"We do indeed. I'll see you in thirty minutes. Bye."

Tom hung up the phone, jumped up, and hollered, "The CIA. Fuck. I could disappear without a trace."

He quickly dialed the number for Dave's office and got the receptionist. "Hi. This is Tom Trumbull. I need to talk to Dave right away. I don't care what he's doing."

"I'm sorry Mr Trumbull, but Mr Mazzeo is out of the office, in court and not available by phone right now."

"All right. Give him this message please. The CIA, that's the Central Intelligence Agency, is coming to get me. Peter Banks is the agent's name. Got that? OK. Thanks. "

Tom dialed another number. "Hello. This is Tom Trumbull. I need to speak with my wife right away, even is she's with a client. This is an emergency."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't intrude. I will give her the message in about thirty minutes."

"No. I can't wait. I may be dead in thirty minutes. Get her on the phone now."

Twenty minutes later Tom's doorbell rang, and he went slowly to the front door, trying to mentally get some sense of closure on his life. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"You must be Tom Trumbull," came the friendly voice. "I'm Peter Banks." Peter extended his hand with a casual enthusiasm. "Thanks for agreeing to a meeting, Tom. May I come in?"

"Of course. Sure. Why don't we go to my office?" Tom led the way into the office that had felt so safe an hour before.

In his office, Tom pointed to a chair, trying to avoid having his brain pump out narrative commentary suitable for a murder thriller.

Peter opened up with a soothing tone. "First off, Tom, I want to reassure you that we are not here to cause you any trouble. You look a little worried."

"It's been a tough day."

"I know. We're aware of what you're dealing with, and that's why I'm here. We really do want to help you with your invention. We think it could be a very positive development. Unfortunately, it looks as though further public use of the vericam may be delayed due to this injunction. What we'd like to do is offer you a situation in which we would fully support your developing and refining your invention. Sound good?"

"Just a minute. If you guys are trying to get control of this, you ought to know that I've widely disseminated the plans for the vericam. And a few people have contacted me indicating that they have already started to build their own."

"That's fine. I'm sure plenty of people can see the value of this invention. Good. We're not trying to get exclusive control of anything. We would simply like to be at the forefront of this technology, and that's why we're willing to invest a lot of money in supporting you. Of course, we would want some privileges in return. But you would be free to take full financial advantage of your work as soon as the injunction is lifted. I think it's a win win situation." He gave Tom an encouraging big smile.

Tom felt very relieved. "Well exactly what are you proposing?"

"We are inviting you to work in our laboratories and on some projects which should provide excellent testing for your equipment in the field. Real life situations. And no worries about constraints from cowardly corporations. You will be well paid plus expenses and a very nice apartment near our facility in Virginia. I think you'll find our environment very stimulating. Top notch minds. And a noble cause – protecting freedom."

"I would need to talk to my lawyer."

"As well you might. Why don't you call him now. I think my associates have probably informed him about this offer already."

Tom picked up his desk phone and dialed Dave's cell.

An hour later Diana came home and found Tom upstairs packing his suitcase. Following their brief conversation in the middle of her client session, he had called her office back and left a calming message saying he was OK and in no danger from the CIA, but was going off with them shortly because Peter Banks, after establishing a reasonable level of trust, had suggested that the international intelligence community was widely aware of the vericam already, and that it would be a prudent idea for Tom to have a safe situation for a while until he was no longer seen as the only, or even the best, expert on the greatest intelligence tool to hit the planet since scopolamine. Tom has assured her in the message that the Agency had also thoughtfully promised that they would keep an eye on her, even though they didn't consider her to be in any danger.

Diana rushed to give her husband a big hug. "Oh, I wish I could keep you safe."

"I think the people I'll be with are pretty safety conscious," he assured her.

"They flirt with dark forces, Tom."

"I know. But for right now, it looks like a great opportunity to keep moving with development in the real world. This injunction could drag out for years."

"You're not thinking about staying there that long?"

"Of course not. Maybe a few months at most. And I'm not going to be locked up. I'll come home some weekends, or you can come there. Supposed to be a nice apartment."

"Oh, yeah. With every room bugged."

"So what? That's their game. It's not going to bother me. Now, how about we go to a nice restaurant, then come home and get primal?"

She smiled. "OK. I'll be ready in five minutes."

A day later Tom was setting up his equipment in his new work space at an office facility in the Virginia countryside. He was pondering ways to structure future testing situations when three CIA staff came into his office. Mark Harmon was the senior among them and introduced himself and agents Nick Stimson and Cheryl Lambert.

"How's the equipment? Got everything you need?" he asked.

"Just fine. Wonderful setup. What I really need, though, are some liars. Some real sincere liars."

Nick said, "We've already arranged for that, Tom. If you're ready to collect data, we'll go out and pick up some excellent subjects."

"Great. Bring on the liars."

"OK. Why don't we rendezvous in room 93 in two hours?" directed Mark. "Cheryl will help you get your camera set up in there. In fact, Cheryl will be your personal guide for the first few days here. She'll show you around and teach you our procedures. See you later." He and Nick left.

Cheryl, an attractive woman with a casual manner, said, "Welcome to the mysterious world of the CIA, most of which you will never see."

"Thanks. I've heard what it's like here."

"Well that's good. It can be a little strange initially. The first general rule is: don't tell anyone here anything they don't need to know. The woman at the desk outside this office group will help you with any questions. I don't think you'll have any trouble."

"Could I have some kind of music system in here? And how about internet and email?"

"For now, you won't have internet from here, but you'll have full access at your apartment, along with cable TV with plenty of music channels. Maybe we can get you a boom box for some music here. You like to listen while you work?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Depends on the task at hand."

"OK. We want you to be comfortable in every way."

"Thanks. And where's the cafeteria? I'd like to get some lunch sometime."

"Sure. Let's check out the room and get the camera set up first. I'll get you coffee and a muffin for now, if that's OK. The food's great. Restaurant quality, and they're always changing the menu. Nice wine list too. We can do that after the session."

"Wow. That does sound quite nice."

Tom was ready for action when Nick and Mark joined him and Cheryl promptly at two pm in the room where the interviewing was going to take place. Nick jumped right into reviewing the plan. "We've got all the questions ready for these guys. And we already know all the answers, but they don't know that. So this session provides testing for you, and we'll be able to evaluate your results against what we know. OK?"

"Good enough," popped Tom. "What kind of activities are you going to be asking about?"

Mark said "We've got a little variety planned. You'll see."

"Everybody ready?" asked Cheryl.

Nick picked up an intercom phone on the desk. "Send in the first subject," he directed crisply.

A moment later, a door opened and a tattered looking guy walked in. Mark waved to a chair. "Would you have a seat please, Mr Miller? We understand you have agreed to answer a few questions and that you know you are not being charged with any criminal activity at this time. Right?"

"I agreed cuz I didn't have much choice." He sat down.

Nick said, "Well, we'd like to thank your for co-operating anyway. Now, where were you yesterday evening at about nine o'clock?"

Over the next hour, three other street weary guys were brought in one at a time and each was run through a set of questions about his recent activities. All of them seemed like low level, habitual bumblers without enough motivation to get involved in serious criminal enterprises. They'd been seen on security cameras shoplifting minor items – offenses that weren't worth prosecuting. But they were perfect experimental subjects for vericam research since they were comfortable spewing lies and excuses without much concern for logic or credibility.

After the last miscreant was sent off with thanks for his co-operation and advice to stay out of trouble, Nick clapped his hands once. "OK. That's a wrap. Here's a list of the questions we'd like you to analyze the answers on. As soon as you complete the process, call us at the number on the sheet, and we'll get together to look at your results. Any questions?"

"Yes. Do you mind if I get some lunch first?"

"No problem. Cheryl can take you to the mess hall. Food's great. But I'm sure we're all anxious to see the results." He clapped once and walked out with Mark.

"Let's drop the gear off at your office," said Cheryl, with a smile and a one clap mimic. "And then get some serious lunch."

During lunch, which was, indeed, as good as many restaurants, Tom and Cheryl chatted merrily. She had a sweet and playful demeanor that was quite a contrast to the brusque style of Nick and Mark. She asked about his home and hobbies, what his wife did, and how he got into working on the vericam idea. He told her about the double edged sword aspect of the camera, recounting the session with his friends Ted and Sherry and the awkward revelations that came out. Cheryl laughed easily and often, and occasionally touched his arm while speaking.

When she dropped him off at his office door after the lunch, she stood facing him, placed her index finger on his sternum, and said, "Thanks for a very entertaining lunch. Good luck with the analysis. I'll see you tomorrow." As she walked off down the hall, Tom wondered briefly what her aura might look like. Then, with his imagination glowing, he turned away and entered the lab to begin the more down to earth task of studying the drab auras of some petty criminals.

He worked into the early evening analyzing the testimonies, which required adjusting his filters and translation parameters differently for each person so the software could interpret their distinctive energy structures and determine what fluctuations indicated lying. He had refined the software to assess more detailed features and observed that the context of thoughts around the statements altered the light images and caused a considerable challenge in identifying the lies. The scrambled psyche of the petty criminals did not make the process any simpler, but tended to muddle the aura images. "Christ," thought Tom at one point. "No wonder these guys can't function in a normal job. Their minds are a mess."

Back at his temporary apartment later that evening, Tom called Diana after making short work of a delivered pizza and one of the tasty microbrews stocked in his fridge. "Hi, honey. I hope its not too late. I just got back and had a bite before calling."

"I'm up. And so happy you called. You sound tired."

"Yeah, I've been pretty wound up all day. I'm starting to feel a little looser, though. I think I've got about enough energy for a long hot shower, and then I'm done."

"How's it going? Are you seeing any advantage to being there? I wish you didn't have to be away from home."

"Not my ideal either. But this is our best shot at going on permanent vacation a couple years from now.

"Maybe. I guess I'm more focused on the present."

"It's not going to be long here."

"No, but it may seem long. Why don't you tell me about the important work you're doing?"

"Well, I don't know how much I'm allowed to tell you, and they've probably got the phone bugged. Their culture of secrecy about everything feels pretty weird. Especially when the vericam is all about eliminating secrets."

"So did you run some tests on somebody? Spies?"

"Oh, I had a bunch of liars to work with today. But they weren't spies. Petty shoplifters. Auras like mud."

"Really? That bad?"

"Yeah, it's actually more of a challenge than with a clear headed scoundrel. But it's a start. Takes a lot of tweaking the software. But they've offered me use of some of the best supercomputers in the world if I need it."

"Are the people you're working with nice?"

"Maybe at home. Can't tell at work. They're pretty business like. No complaints though. I haven't asked about it, but I'm hoping I could get back home for a visit soon."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. I miss you. I'm going to Seattle next weekend to visit my sister."

"Excellent timing, thanks. I've never been able to relate to her. One of you must have been switched at the hospital."

"That's why I'm going now."

Tom yawned. "Hey, sorry, but I think I'm losing steam pretty fast. I'd better sign off. I miss you, and I'll see you soon."

"Thanks for calling, Tom. I'll be looking for you on the dream plane. Bye."

The next morning, Tom was back in his new office after a presentation that went pretty well as far as he could tell, given that Agency people didn't talk much. A half dozen people had joined Mark and Nick for the review, and everybody seemed satisfied with the results, but guarded, as though they were already very concerned with the challenges that this technology was going to unleash, especially when the inevitable replication starting popping up on the other side of the world.

Tom was studying adjustments to his software when Cheryl came in. She beamed, "Congratulations, senor. You've won an all expense paid trip to sunny Mexico."

"Mexico? Wow. Are you going to be my tour guide?"

"I have indeed been asked to go along."

The prospect suddenly seemed like a fantastic perk. "How did this delightful prospect come about?"

"Some senior people have been extremely impressed with the results from the first round, and they'd like you to do a little field testing. Are you up for it?"

"Well, can you tell me a little more maybe? Is this going to be dangerous?"

"There won't be anyone shooting at us. We're just going down to interview a few people there to see what we can see. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"For how long?"

"Oh, two or three days. The brass wanted to show their appreciation with a little bonus. So we'll fly down, do the interviews and analysis, and then have some playtime in old Mexico. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Sounds great. Am I allowed to tell my wife where I'm going?"

"Yes, you may, And I hope you'll tell her there's no danger. We'll get some clothes for you. Need anything else?"

"That should do it. I've got plenty to work on today with the software. I do hope the next subjects are a little more clear headed than the schmoes we had first. Their mental muddle made things a lot harder."

"Oh, that won't be happening again. The next guys are pretty sharp. But more subtle, and they may be trying to hide stuff, in contrast to the buffoons from yesterday."

"OK. Sounds like an excellent challenge."

"Good attitude. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Get a good night's rest tonight."

The flight down to Mexico City went smoothly, with every step evidencing the advantage of being under the thoughtful umbrella of the CIA. Cheryl had picked Tom up early in a black SUV with driver from the Agency, who dropped them off at the airport, where a skycap was waiting to take their luggage and camera gear off to have it checked. Another guide appeared and led the way to a security check bypass and on up to the AeroMexico gate. Boarding hadn't begun, even for first class, but their escort handed their boarding passes to the gate keeper with a brief but effective comment, and in a few seconds, Tom and Cheryl were strolling down the tube. He was as pleased as a kid with a new bike when he settled into the luscious realm of first class seating for the first time in his life, stretching his legs out and wiggling a little just to savor the comfort.

Understanding that they couldn't discuss anything related to the actual purpose of their mission, Tom felt like he was already enjoying the festive bonus part of the trip. Cheryl handed him some enticing tourist literature for Vera Cruz, and they started looking it over and chatting about what they might do for sightseeing while there. She'd been before and had plenty of suggestions and pleasant memories of museums, nearby ruins, heavenly restaurants, and just plain lying on a beach with a frosty pitcher of fresh margaritas. They enjoyed a couple of hours of easy conversation, safe topics pulled from the innocent days of their youth, favorite movies, past travels. Date talk. And for Tom it wove a gentle fabric of connection, a sense of familiarity and trust- just as intended by his charming companion.

In Mexico City, they had been picked up at the airport with the same express efficiency as at their departure. Given the expenditure of zero energy on local transportation and a nice nap on the flight, Tom felt bright and ready for action while setting up the vericam in a nondescript office without windows. Cheryl helped local agents Bill Gibson and Maria Gomez arrange chairs for the interrogation. No one sat at a desk or table, since they wanted a fairly casual tone to keep subjects relaxed. They had the vericam in plain sight this time. Tom asked Cheryl to sit in the hot seat so he could check the camera and monitor. He adjusted the controls a bit, recording a few seconds of her image before he nodded. "OK. All set."

Cheryl went out one door, then Maria opened another one. "Juan, would you join us now?"

Juan came in with a pleasant smile as Maria gestured toward the hot seat. "Maria, how are you. Afternoon, Senor Gibson."

"Thanks for coming in, Juan," said Gibson. "This is Tom Trumbull. He's going to run video, if you don't mind."

"Fine with me." He looked at the camera patiently as Tom adjusted the image and started recording.

Gibson started, "How long have you been working for us, Juan?"

"Close to three years."

"Do you want to continue with us?"

"Si. I am very happy working for you."

Tom thought, he looks so sincere and confident. I've got to make sure I don't flash a weird look on my face if he pops out a lie.

Maria continued, "Do you think you can find people to infiltrate the guerrilla movement in Chiapas?"

"I would have to go there to find out."

"You don't know anyone in that group?"

"No. None of them."

The questions went on for fifteen minutes, a careful mix of simple facts and spy talk. Maria concluded the session by thanking Juan, and she showed him out the way Cheryl had gone. She then opened the other door to get another subject, who got a similar line of questions. A half hour later they thanked the third operative, and sent him on his way.

Gibson stood up. "All right, Tom. Those are our three candidates. We believe one of them is in sympathy with the Zapatista independence movement down there. We'd like you to analyze the footage and tell us which one you think it is. I'll have Cheryl bring in some lunch for you. How long do you think it will take?"

"Could you get some iced coffee, too? I'd say it'll take a couple hours to review the images and put together the list of likely lies. I saw a fair number of indicators of lying during the session. You want to place any bets on who's lying?"

Gibson cautioned, "We've got our suspicions, but really don't know. And I wouldn't want to skew your perspective. I want an honest test of this thing. It could be a fantastic tool for the intelligence community."

"Or it could really screw things up big time," added Maria, looking like someone who spoke from dark personal experience." She and Gibson left the room. Tom took a slow deep breath, intending to rise above the internal commentary that seemed about to erupt in his mind like a flock of crows excited at the discovery of a dead porcupine. What the hell am I doing here? he thought. I'm supposed to finger a guy because he supports native freedom fighters? He felt tainted. He liked thinking of the vericam as a beacon of divine light, the super weapon of truth and justice. The hope of the world. Maybe I'm way too attached to purity, he thought. Gotta open to the big picture. All renovation starts with demolition, and it's dirty and messy. Surgery's bloody and painful. I can't let some ideal of perfection distract me from tackling the reality of bringing the vericam into common use. A few more minutes of quiet breathing got the mental crows settled down, and he turned to his computer to start reviewing the session footage.

Half an hour later, Cheryl brought him some delicious Mexican tacos and a tall iced coffee laced with spices. She studied the monitor aura image he was working with. "Is that pretty much like an MRI showing which exact areas of the brain are active?"

"No. Not at all. There's no little group of brain cells that's activated for lying. What you're seeing has no relation to physiology. That's why it's taking quite a while to extract the data that your friends want. I'm still trying to figure out how different components of consciousness interact with my still pretty limited powers of perception. Someday this equipment will be considered as crude as a typewriter compared to a modern word processing laptop."

"Maybe so. But this is already so amazing. What are those yellow squiggles with tendrils?"

"Something to do with social connection. The lying is in part a stain or a stress on our sense of the web connecting us to others. But there are all sorts of other factors that tie in to moral judgement, like individual and tribal survival depending on deceiving a predator or an enemy. Some of it may go back to the origins of killing and eating other animals."

"Well, I hope it's not going to be a moral challenge for you to eat those tacos. They've got chicken in them."

Tom took a big bite, started chewing, and was soon making soft noises as delicious sensations ran through his olfactory cortex.

Cheryl laughed. "Sounds like you're bypassing your moral reservations. It'd be interesting to use the camera to see if different patterns show up from eating different foods."

"Oh, there are huge areas of research that'll open up once we get a basic acceptance of this technology. I'm just hoping to survive its birth. Herod had a rather poor response when he heard a great soothsayer had been born."

"Oh, yeah. Had all the little boys in the kingdom killed, didn't he?"

"Thus was it written."

"So, all the better for you to be working with people who have the power to protect you."

"But I've just been involved in an effort to get rid of some of their undercover employees."

"Well, yes, but only if they crossed us."

"Looks like this guy Juan was following some sense of higher moral duty than his role with us, and that gets him on the CIA shit list. Or maybe the shot list."

"Highly unlikely that he will get hurt by us. We're just going to fire him for this type of problem. He doesn't know enough about our operations to be terminated."

"Actually, that does make me feel a little better."

"Good," she said solidly. "Could you then finish up the report so we can get on to the tequila truth test I've got planned for you?" She smiled warmly and left the room.

Tom finished the tacos and sat back with the iced coffee, sipping the elixir with mystical reverence, as though the coffee beans had recently been the beads on a rosary and the caffeine had been revealed as the practical manifestation of the Holy Spirit. He was clinging to the hope that some beacon of wisdom would appear to guide him if he could cut through the mental static and just get his tuner on the right frequency. No luck yet.

A couple hours later, he had finished analyzing all the testimonies from the morning. He folded his laptop and headed to Bill's office, wondering along the way if Judas had mixed feelings about fingering a troublesome freedom fighter to the peace keeping authorities. The door was open, so Tom marched in. Bill stood up and beamed more enthusiasm than usually escapes the face of a seasoned intelligence man. "I gotta tell you, Tom. I'm pretty god damned excited to be right here making history with you. Spying may be the third oldest occupation in the world, but your invention is going to revolutionize it like nothing before. All right. What'd you come up with?"

Tom set his laptop on the desk, opened it, and flashed on Pandora making the fatal move with her little box. "Bottom line, looks like Juan is trying to hide a few things. You see a set of vericam images here, each with the corresponding false statement beside it."

Bill ran his finger down the line of statements. "Nailed him. That bastard. Yep. We knew that. And that. Suspected that." Bill straightened up and took a deep breath. "What a system. Absolutely amazing, Tom. It's so civilized and humane, but gets right to the point."

"Humane sounds good. Does that include your plan for how to deal with this guy?" challenged Tom.

"He's nobody, Tom. But we aren't going to do anything to him. We'll just take him off our payroll and notify his superiors here that he may have certain anti- government sympathies. So, don't worry about the little stuff. This is really just a damn good field test proving your equipment works like magic. And now I think you deserve some Mexican R and R to as a token of our appreciation. I understand that Cheryl's going to take you to Vera Cruz for a couple days of break before you head back north. Be sure to get to the University museum there. Fascinating stuff." He reached out to give Tom a hearty handshake. "Go. I'll let Cheryl know your finished."

"Thanks. I'll go pack up the equipment."

"OK. And email me that report before you go." Gibson was already dialing his phone to spread the news of the effectiveness of the vericam.

Tom retreated, wondering if he would live with regret, as did some of the inventors of the atomic bomb. Or would he even survive long enough to reflect on the results of his work? He felt that he was living way too close to powerful dark forces that could easily dispose of an inventor who might turn against them or just pose any sort of risk to their interests. As he packed his equipment, he decided that the short excursion to Vera Cruz was a great way to buy some time to evaluate his options.

Giving Tom any opportunity to evaluate options, however, was not at all the intention of those dark powerful forces. Cheryl had been instructed to make sure that Tom had no time, energy, or interest in reflection on his position. She scooped him up just as he finished putting away the vericam equipment, and she explained that the suitcases were in the car and they had just enough time to catch a quick flight to Vera Cruz. She led him out of the building and into a waiting car with an Agency driver, which shot off to the airport at an exciting clip.

Tom felt almost as though he were witnessing a 3D cinema car chase from even closer than the front row of a theater. There was a good bit of sharp swerving, mixed with the spices of hard braking and rocket-like acceleration. His brain couldn't help but reacting with frequent jolts of adrenalin. He suspected that Cheryl had a compulsion to thrill seeking that he hadn't noticed before, and he figured that such a penchant probably had to be present somewhere in the psyche to get hired at CIA, even as a janitor. Or a driver. Tom peered at their driver, hoping for some assurance of their likely survival. Cheryl saw the anxiety on his face. "Don't worry. He's got it under control. Standard traffic out to the airport." She checked her watch. "And we're just going to make the flight. First class seats with some good tequila will have you totally relaxed in a few minutes."

"Yeah, as long as this guy's cousin isn't the pilot."

Cheryl went on to ensnare Tom's mirror neurons with a mix of commentary on Mexican history and culture, delivered in bite sized nuggets coated with a buffet of facial expressions that he found totally engaging. He thought she could have probably been a very successful actress, except for that craving for real danger thing.

When the driver dropped them off at the airport, she led the way to check-in while deftly moderating her narrative intensity to match the gentle promenade of boarding for first class. Settled into a soothing seat of soft Mexican leather, and greeted by a flight attendant promising to bring deluxe margaritas shortly, Tom did indeed feel himself relaxing. Cheryl produced an artful book on the scenic and cultural delights of Vera Cruz and proceeded to weave a poetic preview of the pleasures ahead.

Over the next forty eight hours, Tom occasionally had the clear simple thought that he was being seduced by the dark force, but his inner voice of caution was small and seemed colorless compared to the endless sequence of sensory and aesthetic pleasures that easily dominated his thoughts. And Cheryl had the depth of understanding to occasionally insert a comment on the honorable goals of the CIA in promoting the benefits of democracy around the world and what great honor Tom would have as a unique contributor to this elite team of freedom protectors.

Nor did she assault him with the crude bribe of sexual intimacy on their first night in Vera Cruz. During the afternoon and evening, she had demonstrated respect for his possible moral reservations on adultery by maintaining physical propriety while still providing subtle indications of being receptive to more intimacy should he feel comfortable with that at some point. But at the door to her hotel room that night, she kissed his cheek with the clear message that nothing further was expected or welcome at that moment.

The next day was filled with touring activities. They had acknowledged on the plane that neither took any pleasure in lobbing on a beach. The wonderful museum, a historic tour of the colonial governor's mansion, a sprinkle of art galleries and craft studios, divine dining, and a sunset cruise around the harbor with more margueritas filled Tom's head with the colorful exuberance of Mexico. Back in the hotel after a couple of sturdy tequila nightcaps at a plaza cafe with mariachi from heaven, Cheryl very discretely asked if he would like to come to her room for a special treat.

"A special treat?" he asked in a fairly tequila lubricated state of mind.

"Oh, more than one," she offered. "A taste of the best sipping tequila in Mexico, and if you're interested, a little bit of very pure coke. You up for it? Nice view of the moon on the balcony."

"Hmm. The CIA gives you coke?"

"Well, once in a while for a special occasion."

"Jeez. I haven't had any coke since college. Used to like it a lot."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. Come on. Your last night in Mexico. You're a hero with the world's greatest intelligence agency. You're going to be crazy rich soon. You're on vacation. Come on. You deserve it." She opened the door, took his hand, and pulled him into the web.

Inside, Cheryl led him to a seat on the balcony, quickly produced a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila, and a little vial of white powder with a tiny silver spoon, setting them down on the little table. Tom surveyed the town below and breathed in the warm soft air drifting up from the beach. He was feeling pretty damn mellow. Cheryl poured two shots after showing him the artful blue bottle and commenting, "This is nectar of the gods of Mexico, senor. Three hundred bucks a bottle from the mortal's perspective." She chugged her shot.

"I thought you said it was for sipping," said Tom, holding up his glass in the moonlight.

"Well, you can sip the next one," she said filling her glass again.

Tom gave his glass a respectful sniff, and then chugged it. Cheryl promptly filled his glass again and then opened her vial of coke and offered him the spoon. "After you."

He took the tiny spoon and scooped into the vial.

"That's organic, you know," she encouraged.

"Right. Organic." Tom snorted in one nostril and snapped upright with the sharp sting.

Cheryl guided his hand back toward the vial. "But you need to balance both sides of your energy field though." He took another scoop and snorted that in the other nostril. As he sat back to welcome the buzz, Cheryl took the spoon and dug into the coke.

A little while later, the tequila and more coke had spun a pleasant web in Tom's head, and it seemed all too easy to respond vigorously when Cheryl started to kiss him.

The next thing that registered on his normal consciousness was Cheryl, in a bathrobe, shaking his shoulder. "Good morning, senor. Want some coffee? How about a shower? We need to head for the airport soon."

Tom looked around to start organizing a functional awareness. Bright light was flooding the room, and he breathed deeply, waiting for the trusty motherboard in his head to boot up. Shower. Coffee. were the first two links that came into focus. He smelled coffee. Very encouraging. He sat up and contemplated further physical movement to get to the shower. He checked limb response and that system seemed good to go. He stood up carefully, observed the necessary route, and started moving. Fortunately, his head felt just fine. No hangover. In the shower, he tried to review his memory banks to get a firm grasp on what transpired the night before. Images weren't clear, but there was a general sense of wild frolic and a lot of sex. And faint recollections of Cheryl taking pictures with her phone.

She brought him coffee after he toweled off and invited him to come enjoy the wonderfully healthy breakfast on the table. She spoke enough during the meal of fresh fruit and croissants to imply a pleasant tone of business as usual. Tom said little as he tried to finish assembling his recollections and to start worrying how the Agency might try to use last night's incident against him should they need leverage in the future. He didn't bother to ask Cheryl if she had been ordered to set him up. He felt like an idiot for having fallen into it.

An hour later, they were heading for the airport in a cab that swerved not even once. Their mood was civil, but clearly contained. Cheryl kept up a steady, interesting conversation, speaking about other places she had visited in Mexico and around Latin America. Tom responded politely but briefly. When she dropped him off at the CIA station office, she kissed his cheek, offered a simple "See you later," and disappeared.

Tom headed to his little office, stopping at the coffee room to get a cup of the delicious Mexican mocha coffee blend that he had become quite fond of. At his desk he started getting his equipment fired up while sipping the dark elixir and speculating about the blend of thoughts that Juan Perez had maintained before the deft inquisition of the vericam had isolated the double agent's secret ingredient.

Down the hall, other tongues were tasting the same brew but not feeling the same contemplative effect. Bill Gibson had handed around a few prints of the vericam images to his confederates. "Crystal clear. Amazing. Zeroed right in on him," he offered as a verbal caption.

"And all the results have been corroborated," said another tongue. "Perfect score."

"Solid conclusive proof," voted the third analyst. "Are we building more of these cameras yet?"

"We've been working on them for a couple of weeks, and they should be ready very soon," stated Gibson.

"So we don't need him any more, do we?" suggested the second tongue.

"No, sir," answered Gibson. "We can do all of this ourselves now. We thought it would be good just to keep him out of general circulation as long as we could. He's refining the analytical capabilities of the device. And that could go on indefinitely."

"Who else has this thing?" asked the second tongue.

"The plans have been widely disseminated. These lie detectors could be popping up anywhere, anytime," said Gibson.

"We ought to be seeing if there's a way to fool this gadget," said the analyst. "Why don't you get Trumbull working on that now? We might have to develop something like biofeedback training for our people. Short term, we're developing a list of operatives we'd like to interview before the word gets out that we've got something better than scopolamine. Is that it for now?"

The other two nodded that the meeting was over, and Gibson immediately headed for Tom's office, his face morphing from somber soldier into its jolly comrade facade. A minute later he stepped smiling into Tom's room, though he glanced ever so quickly at the vericam to make sure he wouldn't be among its victims. "Well, the star is back. And the fans are eager for more. How was Vera Cruz? Did you get to the museum? Or maybe not past the beach?"

"Thanks. No beach. Museums. Galleries. Food. Really a beautiful place."

Gibson shifted smoothly into business mode. "Good. Well, let me get you up to speed here. The Director and everyone else who knows about our field test success is very impressed. I think you can expect a bonus to show up in your bank account. You'll be heading back to Virginia today. With the basic design of the vericam widely available - after you gave it to every single one of our enemies, known or unknown,-we want to immediately get ready for other players to have the technology and be using it against our own people. We need to know if there are ways to fool it, neutralize it. Maybe some kind of biofeedback training. Maybe a jamming beam."

Tom took a chance. "Well what would be wrong with everybody having to tell the truth all the time?"

Gibson opened his mouth but no sound came out. Tom immediately had the thought that the silent open mouth could have been an apt response to a zen koan. He barely controlled his sudden urge to laugh, realizing that, to Gibson, the concept of everyone telling the truth was as impossible as the sound of one hand clapping. There was no answer that could exist in the world of his logic.

But letting go of the fleeting hope that Gibson would suddenly experience enlightenment at this classic juncture, Tom hit the mercy button. "Well, that's probably not very realistic, is it?"

"Maybe someday," came out of Gibson's mouth as his brain found initial traction in the zone of the possible before regaining solid footing on the highway of righteous certainty. "But not today."

"OK. Let's get to work then."

"Right. We've got you a flight back in a few hours. Safe trip."

"Well, I think that if I survive the ride to the airport, I'll be fine. Goodbye." They shook hands, and Gibson left.

Tom sat down to contemplate the new assignment. After some mulling, he concluded that this was a positive move for him. If he could stay under the safe umbrella of the Agency until the equilibrium of the cold war had been restored, he could probably leave without being hanged for desertion or poisoned to prevent anyone else from taking advantage of his expertise. The prospect of getting back to some pure research on the equipment was also a relief, since field work with the vericam seemed to inevitably get very messy.

He decided to call his wife to let her know he had survived some real espionage work and was heading back to Virginia intact. As he began to dial, though, he realized that he wasn't really intact. He put the phone down and wondered if Juan, the exposed double agent, was going home intact. Or had Tom's discovery sent the Mexican patriot down some horrible dark road, maybe to be tortured by people who didn't have the delicacy of a vericam. He sent the man mental wishes for a safe trip, wherever he was. And then his mind burped up a vision of Cheryl in bed. No. Not a good state of mind for talking to his wife. He'd call her later.

During the flight back to the capital of stolen knowledge, Tom pondered his karma at the contemplative altitude of thirty five thousand feet. Airplanes seem to conquer gravity quite nicely, but the trails of jet vapor and carbon dioxide that paint the hieroglyphic for "hot planet" across the friendly skies made this flight an ironic ride for a guy speculating on the fallout from his new mode of transporting truth around the globe. So far, his hope that the vericam was a warp drive to get humanity to the galaxy of pure veracity had hit a can of worm holes.

Maybe humanity wasn't quite ready for the change. He recalled a science fiction short story he had read long ago with the premise that a guy suddenly developed the psychic ability to hear the thoughts of the people around him, but also couldn't shut them out and, after a short while, found the assault on his awareness so intolerable that he killed himself. On the other hand, Tom had known a girl in college who was born with a fairly high level of psychic sensitivity, though she had been able to terminate the ESP in her teens after concluding that it was just too much foreign emotion to handle while trying to keep focused on her own life. She lived on happily. Could he manage to find the middle way, somehow throttling back on the impact of the vericam, and thus keep cultural evolution going while staying alive himself to enjoy some golden years?

He used to think that his youthful psychedelic experiences might be considered stolen awareness, effortlessly vaporizing the illusion of separation between self and one's surroundings. Meditation teachers often espouse attaining a similar state of mind, but commend very patient conversion of the egocentric self into the ocean of universal awareness. The slow hard work of dissolving ego rock with only waves of breath may be the organic pathway to higher consciousness, whereas psychedelics rocket the disciples of Prometheus to an exciting, fiery world for which they may not have acquired the proper visa. Tom wondered if humanity's entry into the heavenly realm of pure truth had not yet been properly earned. Was he a scout who could better serve his tribe by cautiously turning back to advise avoiding the dangers ahead, or was he the bold visionary willing to risk his life in determination to find a safe passage?

He didn't settle down into the domesticity mode until he was back in his little apartment in Virginia early that evening. He heated a big mug of hot milk and honey in the microwave, and then sat down to call his wife as the first sips triggered neurons that still held the primal comfort of the original manna: mother's sweet, warm breast milk- the essence of love and security.

"Hi, honey. I've returned alive from Mexico," he responded to Diana's "Hello."

"Tom. Hi. You're OK? 'Returning alive' sounds like it was dangerous."

"No, no. Not at all. Just exotic. Being in the field with real spies. But I was totally safe, just interviewing the guys who actually do dangerous stuff."

"Oh, good. Did you get out at all? Any time for fun sightseeing?"

"Yeah, I did get some time to to do a little history outings, some art galleries, museums. They do a great job at keeping the perks flowing. I'd love to bring you down here for some of our own national treasures."

"Oh, I'm ready for a little adventure. If you can ever cash in on the vericam, we could do some serious traveling. I'd love to go to Bali."

"Sounds good to me. But meantime, how would you like to come down here for a fun weekend?"

"I'd love to, but I've got a group retreat all this weekend."

"Well, how about next weekend?"

"I'm free. And I'd really love to see you. I could fly in Friday night."

"Fantastic. I can pick you up at the airport and we'll crank up the festo meter."

"Ooh. Sounds aerotic."

"Sure hope so. Plus every kind of food in the world. Concerts. Museums."

As he sipped the soothing beverage, small talk with Diana created a parallel sense of well-being in brain and belly, a sweet feeling of the soft comfort of home and family. She was, indeed, an angel.

A couple days later, Tom had taken advantage of the flexible schedule of his independent researcher role to arrange a visit to the office of his district's representative to Congress. He found the office in the Rayburn Building and presented himself to the receptionist. "Hi. I'm Tom Trumbull. Miss Bresnahan is expecting me."

"I'll let her know. Have a seat please," came the simple reply.

Tom had barely opened a magazine when Kate Bresnahan appeared before him. "Mr Trumbull? I'm Kate Bresnahan." They shook hands. "Would you like to come into my office?" He followed her in and took the seat she waved to as she parked behind her very tidy desk.

"Your call was very intriguing. You are currently working for the CIA?"

"Yes. They asked me to come to Washington to refine my invention. I hold the pending patent. My supervisor is Mark Harmon. Of course, they're not very forthcoming with information. They may even deny that I work there."

"Oh, I could easily verify your position there, Mr Trumbull. And, as you might guess, the penalties for misrepresenting that would be significant."

"Absolutely. Well, I'm here to talk about something which might seem a little far out."

"I'm ready to listen."

"OK. I invented a camera that photographs the human aura and reveals when the subject is lying."

There were a few seconds of dead air. "It shows when the person is lying?" she then asked.

"Yes. I started trying to develop some commercial application with an insurance company hoping to identify fraudulent claims. The first subject was guilty but he sued us and got an injunction against the vericam, as I call it. The CIA got wind of it and asked me to work with them for a while, which I am now doing." He could see that she was intrigued by the concept, and probably trying to keep a grounded perspective while being tempted to feel giddy at her insider's sense of how different government would be if no one could lie.

"At this point, Mr Trumbull, I would readily dismiss you as crazy if it weren't for the CIA obviously having found you credible."

"Yes. Initially I thought working with them was a fantastic way to develop supporting evidence to prove the efficacy of this invention. But now I've got to say that I'm pretty upset that this capability is in the hands of the CIA while the rest of the country can't legally use it due to the injunction. So I'm here to see if the Congresswoman might want to inform the Intelligence Oversight Committee about what's going on and see if the Congress would like to check out a machine that makes perjury impossible."

"If your machine works, Mr Trumbull, I think the Congresswoman will be very interested in the case. Do you have time to wait to see her?"

"Right now? Absolutely."

"I'm going to ask her to corroborate your story with the CIA to the extent possible. If that works, she'll want to see you shortly. Would you mind waiting in the reception area?" She stood, as did Tom, feeling almost as though gravity were loosening its grip on him.

"Fantastic. Thank you so much." He floated back into the reception area and settled into a soft chair below a lovely photo of the Maine coast. He tried to relax a bit by closing his eyes and doing some slow deep breathing, reminding himself that this was a good time to keep the mind quiet and receptive rather than letting his imagination spew out a collage of scenes in which vericams monitored every statement made in the halls and meeting rooms of Congress. He was working hard to stay in the formless quantum zone of unlimited potential, but geysers of righteousness were erupting from some very deep level of consciousness not readily subject to executive order. He was wondering if the tradition of swearing with a hand on a bible would soon become an outdated gesture, when he was snapped back to present reality by hearing his name spoken. Kate Bresnahan was standing in front of him, and smiling broadly to communicate recognition that she had the honor of participating in the blossoming of something very special.

"The Congresswoman is ready to see you. I'll take you in. This way." She turned to head down the hall.

Tom sprang up from his seat to follow Kate, feeling the excitement of approaching a gateway to a temple of vast power. He breathed deeply while walking, intending to charge up his own energy so some fertile spark would be ready to jump the gap from him to the high priest when he got close enough. Kate cruised through the open door to the sanctum, and stepped neatly aside to formalize Tom's entrance. Congresswoman Elaine Bidwell stood up and came around her desk to shake his hand. She was radiating fascination. "Mr Trumbull, you are a very interesting person. Have a seat, please, and tell me about this invention of yours. Kate, could you close the door and join us. I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long, but it wasn't easy to get those damned CIA people to admit you were working for them. I talked to Mark Harmon, and I'll tell you, he wasn't too happy to find out that you were here. They'll probably grill you when you go back there, so don't tell me anything that could get you in trouble. Do you have any promise of secrecy with them?"

"No, they never mentioned that at all," Tom replied as he sat down.

"Good. Let's be careful of what you say anyway. With your permission, we'll record this conversation for your protection. You've got to take precautions when dealing with those guys." She gestured at Kate to start a recording device beside the desk.

"So, your truth camera invention must be working well enough to have gotten the CIA interested," she opened.

"That's right. All the testing of this device in a variety of settings has indicated that it is extremely effective at determining when a subject is lying."

"And the camera operates at a distance without requiring any consent or cooperation from the subject?"

"That is correct," he affirmed.

"Then it seems to me that this truth camera could be very dangerous," she pronounced.

"Well only to people who do a lot of lying," said Tom, his mind shifting from cruise control into four wheel drive.

"No, the potential to trample an innocent individual's right to privacy under the law would seem to be a great risk with this device. On the other hand, I'm ecstatic at the theoretical capability to terminate lying in government, in the courts, and, apparently, in every other human enterprise. I'm afraid, though, that if this truth camera gets around and you were identified as the inventor, you could be in considerable danger because there are some very nasty people out there who would probably be angry enough to want you killed. And you, having obviously realized that, were thus hoping that the CIA would protect you in exchange for your services?"

She paused. Wow, thought Tom. She's used to doing most of the talking. "Hey, they came to me. And I wasn't concerned about safety. I'd anticipated that risk a while back and shared the plans all around the country. I had intended to retain the commercial rights initially, but I'd rather live modestly than die for money. I needed a place to test and develop it in the real world after I ran into an injunction when an insurance company used the vericam to expose an arsonist who had a good lawyer."

"And the higher courts may well decide that this device is an invasion of legal privacy and put a permanent ban on it."

"That would be grossly unjust. The laws that allow wiretapping provide that, under certain circumstances, the public good is considered more important than individual privacy. My attorney partner is hoping we can build on that precedent to get the injunction lifted. But it may be that new legislation is needed to accommodate this invention. And in the name of truth and justice, I'm asking you to help. It's ludicrous that the intelligence community can get away with using this while the general public can't."

"You've recognized the risk of backlash on this, Mr Trumbull. It's potentially explosive. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing it. I get hate mail every day from people who already feel the government knows too much about them. And how many legislators are likely to sponsor that kind of bill? It would have to be an ethically impeccable group, and that type is hard to find around here."

"I understand that concern. I've got personal issues I wouldn't want exposed. But I don't think personal purity is a prerequisite to support this legislation. I'd say it's more a matter of vision and courage. We could just start with using it in criminal cases. No more beating around the bush about who's guilty or whose lawyer can get them off. Pure justice, quick, cheap, and infallible."

She mulled silently for a few seconds. "All right. I'll talk to some other people about it. That's all I'm promising. Give Kate your contact info and we'll call you in a few days. You say you have a lawyer partner? Give her his info too, please." She stood. "Thanks for doing this, Tom. You are clearly a person with vision and courage. Good luck." Tom stood and she extended her hand, then gave him a warm, two-hand clasp. "And please be careful."

"That I will," he said, and then followed Kate out of the office.

Back at his small apartment in Virginia that evening, Tom sat down with his mug of hot milk and honey and called Dave Mazzeo to share updates on the struggle to get legal validation for use of the vericam. Dave answered the call and was a little taken aback by Tom's greeting- "Hey, it's Tom. And probably at least one if not several people are listening in. So don't say anything illegal."

"Well, I make it a general practice not to say anything illegal. Or do anything illegal. Lawyers tend to be pretty good about that. So, hello, secret listeners, legal or not. And hello, Tom. Sorry to say we got a little setback today from the district court on the injunction issue."

"How bad?"

"Well, they simply upheld the injunction for an indefinite period. They consider the vericam to be an invasion of privacy, not a legal source of evidence or allowable basis for denying the insurance claim. Looks like Collateral Insurance is going to have to settle with Rydell."

"I can't believe they're going to have to pay this killer off after catching him red handed. Well, did they say anything that at least validates the functionality of the vericam? I mean, I'm working with the fucking CIA because they love this thing. How about appealing the case to a higher court?"

"Well, national security is really a whole separate world from general civil law. It trumps just about anything. But you know how war often generates plenty of discoveries that later have major applications for peacetime. Nuclear power, for example. So that may be the only way to move forward right now. Maybe your employer would like to offer you a fat check for the rights to control the vericam, and you could retire comfortably to work on something simple, like gravity control."

"Not yet. I had a little talk with our Congresswoman Bidwell today. She's considering getting involved with some legislation to legalize the vericam - for certain uses at least. But she sure wasn't very enthusiastic as far as I could tell. Don't be surprised if you get a call from her office. They wanted your contact info."

"No problem. Maybe you need to try one who's more of a crusader- preferably someone with no skeletons to hide."

"Maybe. I thought I'd just catch a head start by talking to my very own elected US representative. And I think she's pretty clean."

"I've never heard a whisper against her in that regard. But the money it takes to run campaigns is huge."

"Yeah. So who then? Some guy who's so fucking rich everybody knows he wouldn't do anything for money?"

"You could try that."

"Yup. And when they find out I'm working with the CIA, any legislator should be willing to talk to me about wild ideas. Anybody come to mind?"

"Not off hand. But let's work that further, cause I've got nothing right now through the courts."

"OK. But keep the radar on. Something may pop up. Cosmic wild cards. Well, that's it from here, I guess. I'm going to the great temple of deep sleep. Goodnight."

And deep sleep does work wonders, especially with a clear conscience. You don't lie awake second guessing yourself. You settle down in a soft clean bed and let go of all the tension of fighting for truth and justice. Sleep parks the body as would a trusted valet, and your spirit floats off to the mystic realm where order and purpose transcend the turbulent drama of the planet's surface. The original meditative state.

So Tom was feeling pretty refreshed next morning, sitting in his office, refining the vericam software when the phone rang.

"Morning, Tom. This is Mark Harmon. I've got some interesting news for you. Seems like your invention is getting around."

"Hey, really?" said Tom with the enthusiasm of a new parent. "All right. Spreading the light of truth is good."

"Well, I don't think this is so good, Tom. Seems that a mafioso who was cheating on his boss heard that two of his friends had been executed for similar activities. This guy ran for cover, figuring he'd be next. He told the FBI a story about a lie detector camera being used to check loyalty in his little club."

"Wow. That's amazing. The mafia using a vericam?"

"Well, the mafia's not our concern, really. But the FBI called us to see if we knew anything about such a wondrous device."

"So, what'd you tell them?"

"We told them that we had heard about it and understood that various university labs were circulating the design and looking for results to prove that it works."

"But won't the FBI easily trace it back to me?"

"Of course. And in a few days they'll be at your house looking for you and asking your wife where you are and wondering if you sold this thing to the Mafia."

"Diana will tell them the whole story."

"Of course. Not a problem. And then we'll reward their diligence by letting them talk to you, too."

"Well, thanks a lot, massah. This is great. The law abiding establishment can't handle the raw truth, so now those outside the law are the only ones using the vericam. God, what have I done?"

"Hey, this is just the beginning. But let's look at the bright side. It's possible that organized criminals will use these things and find out they're all cheating on each other. There'll be a bunch of vendettas and only one or two survivors."

"Right. Whose only remaining goal in life is to find the inventor and slowly torture him to death."

"Ah, that's when it helps to have friends like us, Tom. I don't think you need to worry about your safety as long as you're in our good graces. So, keep refining your equipment and contributing here, and we stay one happy family."

"Right. So, I guess I'll get back to work. Thanks for the news. You are keeping an eye on my wife, right?"

"Of course. She's perfectly safe. Carry on. Bye."

An hour later Tom's cell phone rang. Caller ID showed a D.C. number. "Good morning," he opened.

"Mr Trumbull?"

"Yeah. Who's this? "

"This is Kate Bresnahan from Congresswoman Bidwell's office."

"Oh, hi. Did she decide?"

"The Congresswoman asked me to convey her response to your request. She spoke with a few colleagues and concluded that your device represents a clear invasion of privacy, and use of such technology in adversarial situations would be unconstitutional. Use with consent is allowed under current laws, and that's probably the best direction for you to work toward. She wanted to thank you."

Tom jumped in, "This couldn't be colored by her personal affairs, could it? She implied she wouldn't want to be subjected to this herself."

"I wouldn't know about that. I believe the congresswoman usually takes a very objective and impersonal view on such issues."

"Well, could you just tell her that the, ah, Mafia has now joined the ranks of users? Thanks." He hung up.

That Friday evening Tom drove to the airport to pick up Diana for their weekend visit. When he saw her walk out of the security area towing her small suitcase, he felt like a dirty coal miner being visited by the apple blossom goddess. Her smile radiated boundless love and unconstrained acceptance- a healing tonic for a man needing relief from the spiritual constipation of a diet of morally tainted nutrients. They hugged for a long time, and she breathed deeply, as a practiced therapist at times must, feeling her healing energy flowing into the hungry veteran.

"Thanks so much for coming," he finally said.

She kissed him. "I'm so happy to be here. Let's celebrate everything good. I know you've been living in purgatory. And I'm always sending you good energy, but I don't think much of it gets through."

Tom just looked at her, soaking in the fountain of love. And tears started as his psyche relaxed into the safe harbor of true goodness. She hugged him again, knowing that no further words were needed. After a while, he stepped back, wiped his eyes, and said, "Hey, let's have some fun." He took her bag, wrapped his other arm around her, and they headed out.

On the curb, he nodded in the direction of his parked car, and they waited for a chance to cross the roadway safely. "I thought we could do a couple of the museums on the Mall tomorrow morning, have an authentic Native American lunch at the Indian museum. Maybe do the National Gallery after?"

"Sounds great. But how about some exotic food for now? I'm starving."

"I've got reservations at a very sophisticated Turkish place I think you'll love."

They dashed across the road through a break in traffic. On the far sidewalk, Diana pulled Tom to a stop, facing her. "You know, I didn't come here to see great paintings, clever inventions, or Abe Lincoln's bible. All I want to do is remind you that love rules and that truth wins, in the end."

"I don't know. That could just as well be a self-comforting delusion. Small town fairy tale that flies in the boonies but not where the real power moves."

"Tom, if this project seems to be entrenching that perspective, we should go get your stuff and get back to a small town today." She looked around at a few nearby faces. "These people don't look very happy. Nothing like the average people back home. "

"These people aren't the power brokers," he said, looking briefly at some passing faces. "They're just schmoes, like me. But I am getting closer to power. I feel it, in spite of being given zero help by our own fine congresswoman."

"What did she say? How can someone in law and government not want to see Truth as an unassailable standard?"

"I'm afraid they all have something to hide, whether big or small. She claimed it would be an invasion of privacy if the subject didn't consent. Recommended I stick with situations in which the subject would agree to the test."

"Well, maybe you have to go back to working at that level, if that's what it takes to get recognition. Can you keep going with the CIA?"

"They may very well want to get rid of me soon, especially if they catch on that I don't approve of their activities much at all. They've probably got their own people making vericams. Not to mention other countries getting in the game. Even the Mafia seems to have one now."

"I'm sorry, Tom. You must feel terrible. You are so good. I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I do feel horrible about some of the stuff that's happening with this thing."

"Honey, maybe we should head straight to the temple of affection. I think you need immersion in the all merciful love bath," she offered warmly.

"Well, we could, but I think it will work out better if I let the primal drive hormones stew for a few hours while we fine tune our spiritual resonance with some cultural stimulation."

"OK. I guess I can wait a little while longer."

"Thanks, honey. It's hard for me to get my mind off the project. I'm going to try talking to some other legislators this week. Dave turned up a couple who may actually be honest enough not to be worried about exposing their own dirty deals if the vericam goes public."

"Sounds promising. Who are they?"

"I'll tell you later, OK?"

Diana cocked her head. "Do you get a buzz off this spy stuff?"

"Not the least. I'm just trying to play the game the way it's done around here."

"Ok. Let's agree to table all talk of such matters for a while."

Tom turned to lead the way toward the car. "Good idea. The car is probably bugged."

"OK. We give them a nice show of how refined you are at your core and how dedicated you are to your loving wife."

Tom laughed. "Maybe. Most of the guys listening probably ate their kids and think professional wrestling is the proper successor to kabuki."

"Ah. Maybe you need to consider tapping off some pent up resentments. I know some good therapists. You don't want repressed anger distorting your judgement."

"Maybe back home. In this town, I wouldn't trust any therapist for a minute."

"I guess that's understandable given the crowd you've been hanging with here. I sure hope you're going to come home soon."

"You are like a candle in the window, honey. And I don't think it's going to be much longer." He gave her a long, warm hug.

The plan for a fun weekend worked pretty well. They wove an engaging tapestry of museums celebrating the wondrous accomplishments of humanity in the study of science and nature, sumptuous expressions of art, live music both grand and intimate, all manner of international cuisines, and no small amount of good old fashioned sex. When Tom drove Diana out to the airport Monday morning, they simply held hands on the ride, not feeling any need for talking. They had renewed their essential harmony, brought into the forefront of consciousness, and there just wasn't anything to say that could improve on their equilibrium.

Tom pulled over at the curb for her terminal and hopped out to get her bag from the back seat. Diana got out of the car and stood up, hugging him in a final blessing beyond words. He gave her one short kiss, looked calmly into her eyes, and promised "I'll be home soon."

She managed to say, "OK," before turning to head inside. She didn't want to spoil the moment with him seeing any tears, and she gave him one cheery wave just before disappearing into the stream of travelers entering the terminal.

The visit had given Tom a restored sense of spiritual connection and purity of purpose, which allowed him to return to his work comfortable with the feeling that he wasn't being tainted by his proximity to the imperial forces. He was ready to ride this train a ways further and felt content to focus on refining the science of his invention without worrying about how his current associates were planning to employ it. He knew that, just as with the birth of psychedelics, every intelligence agency in the world would be trying to develop applications of the basic discovery to serve their own interests. That covert motivation hadn't totally erased the beneficial public cultural impact of mind expanding drugs, despite the legal prohibitions intended to retard the revolutionary influence of the blessed substances. And Tom expected similar broad social benefits to somehow arise from the presence of vericams around the planet.

A couple days after Diana's visit, Tom was cranking along in his office when Mark Harmon stopped by. "Hey, Tom. How's it going?"

"OK over all. I haven't made any headway on figuring out how an agent could fake this test though. I think I may need some live testing sessions with some of your people."

"We can look at that. But right now, could you break away to come up for a meeting?"

"Sure. No problem. One minute." He closed his programs with a few keystrokes, leaving his computer screen occupied only by the wallpaper photo of Diana he had taken the past weekend.

"That is your wife, I take it?" asked Mark, studying the image which radiated purity, wisdom, and kindness.

"Yep. Had her down for a visit last weekend. She's a real angel."

"Looks the part. Nice that she could visit. Shall we go?"

Tom followed Mark's brisk pace through the corridors and up a stairway. They entered a conference room with about a dozen people seated around a large table. All conversation stopped instantly.

"Gentlemen, this is Tom Trumbull, inventor of the vericam." Mark pointed Tom toward one empty seat, while he dropped into another one.

The apparent senior official started right in. "Sit down, Tom. Everyone here is very impressed with the work that you've been doing, and we all appreciate that you entrusted your amazing discovery to our Agency, I assume in the hope that justice and democracy would be the senior beneficiaries of your work." Heads around the table were nodding briefly in confirmation.

Tom ventured, "I certainly appreciate the research support you have provided. But I assume this meeting suggests there is something further that I might do for you."

"Well, unless you have also invented a time machine, I'm not sure there is anything you can do for us at this point."

Another man smoothly picked up the narrative. "It seems that your machine has gotten into the hands of some god damned, short-sighted, two bit dictator who decided to use it to ferret out some of our agents who had infiltrated his organization."

Yet another voice began, "Apparently after first uncovering several other key people whose loyalty to him was in question."

"So he conducted some kind of purge?" asked Tom.

The head man responded, "Exactly. Two very good operatives were arrested, tortured, and executed. One of them managed to get word out before she was detained."

The other speaker finished the allegation, "And that's how we know a version of your camera was in use."

"Suddenly, Mr Trumbull," resumed the senior man, "our field agents are at an unprecedented level of risk, and we are now going to have to take extreme measures to protect them. The intelligence world has operated for decades in a state of delicate balance with most governments, including ours, willing to tolerate a certain amount of covert activity in their back yards."

His associate picked up, "But now your invention may have given some of its users an illusion of superior capabilities. We didn't care too much about the reports of the mafia using this thing to extinguish disloyalty, but this new threat to our agents is intolerable. We understand you've been working on ways to try to fool the camera. You haven't come up with anything, though, have you?"

Tom took the time to scan the circle of faces, apparently his jury. "I am deeply sorry for the loss of life. And I certainly wish I could exonerate myself by offering the antidote. Unfortunately, I am skeptical about finding any way to avoid detection."

"That seems to be the consensus of our other people working on it as well," said the leader. "We're just going to have to accept this technology and restructure our way of operating."

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to promote truth in the world."

"I don't think this world was designed to be run on truth, Mr Trumbull. And I am sufficiently upset about this invention and the naïveté behind it, that I am unable to avoid directing resentment at you for failing to understand that this is earth, not heaven. I want you out of this building directly. Mr Harmon will get you a final check for your services while you are packing your equipment." Pointing to the door, he said, "Go."

Mark Harmon hopped up and led Tom out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Sorry it came to this, Tom. I'm going to go get you a check. I'll be at your office in twenty minutes to escort you out. You'll need to be out of the apartment by noon tomorrow. Just leave the car there."

Thirty minutes later, Tom had his gear loaded into the car, and was leaving the vast parking area of the complex. Instead of returning to the apartment to pack up, he headed directly for the US capitol, hoping to try one more doorway before the inevitable freeze out descended. He parked and walked to the senate office building, then made his way through the busy hallways to the suite of the senior senator from Maine. To the receptionist he explained, "Hi. I'd like to speak with someone on the Senator's staff regarding a national security matter."

"May I have your name please? And are you a citizen of Maine?"

"Thomas Trumbull, from Portland. I'm here because the Senator is allegedly a man of the highest moral character, and I am privy to matters of key significance to national security."

"Thank you. Will you have a seat, Mr Trumbull?"

Tom sat down in the waiting area, while the receptionist rose and went into another room. Tom started thumbing through a book of artful photos of Maine scenery, and the receptionist quietly returned to her desk. A minute later two beefy looking security guards cruised into the office, parking on either side of Tom. The receptionist said, "Mr Trumbull, no one is going to be able to see you today. Could I ask you to write us a letter with your concerns? We'll give it our careful attention."

Tom laughed briefly, then looked at the guards calmly to show that he was not dangerous. He stood up slowly. "Yes, I will now leave quietly and send you a letter. I'm impressed that the warning already went out that I might appear here, and I hope you will inform the Senator that the level of CIA concern about my role is indicative of the importance of this matter." He turned to the guards. "Shall we go?"

As he settled into his plane seat next morning for the flight back to Maine, Tom felt a sense of brightness. He was apparently not going to be snuffed out by the CIA. And while working for them, he had made great progress on the vericam's ability to analyze and interpret aura energies. When he had called Dave Mazzeo the evening before to let him know of the return from Washington, Tom was delighted to have the conversation ignite into the tone of a pep rally as Dave reeled off a summary of recent progress on the expanding dialog in the legal community regarding the use of the vericam. Opinion seemed to be coalescing that use of a vericam with consenting subjects was no different than using a lie detector. Dave expected that the injunction would be lifted soon, although Tom's recent experience with the CIA left him worried that legal obstructions might yet appear like potholes on the rosy road that Dave was envisioning.

Tom was feeling a strong current of love for Diana and was energized at the prospect of being safely back in orbit around the beacon whose purity was the antithesis of the shadowy world he had tried inhabiting in Washington. He realized that his best shot at accomplishing a contribution of enduring value without getting burned up in his own excitement was to stay carefully in tune with Diana, respect her judgement, and honor her intuition- which provided far better intel than any technology the CIA might be using. As the plane accelerated for takeoff, he imagined between his body and Diana's a magical silver cord that was pulling him gently back to her.

When he landed in Portland, he knew Diana had a couple more hours of clients to see, so he called Dave, then took a cab to Dave's office to check on the planning for the next phase of the campaign to bring the vericam out into the light of day.

Tom had just stepped into the small reception area, wrestling his two suitcases, when Dave burst out of his office with a huge smile and arms open wide for a big hug. "God, you're back alive. And safe," he crowed while squeezing the breath out of Tom. Then he opened the grip enough to step back and gaze closely at Tom's face. "And you don't appear to be under any hypnotic influences. How are you feeling? Just leave that stuff there and come on into my office." He led the way in, waved Tom to the visitor seat, closed the door, and sat down on the desktop.

Dave looked closely at Tom, then said, "You know, you're looking surprisingly good for a guy who just quit dancing with the devil."

"Well, they do a nice job of trying to ensure their people are comfortable to keep them in line. And I didn't quit. They kicked me out. They were always pretty pissed that I put the design out on the internet. But when the inevitable repercussions started showing up, they apparently found my continued presence in their midst too irritating to tolerate any longer."

"Well, the timing may work out nicely. I've been getting about twenty emails a day since I posted the issue on a couple of legal forums on the net. Most legal minds are pretty touchy about privacy, but nobody can seem to find any reason to disallow use with consenting subjects."

"So is that turning up anybody interested in actually hiring us?" probed Tom.

"I would say yes, but with reservations. They're all waiting for the legal precedent to be set before jumping in. So we've got to find a pioneer to actually petition a court to allow use in his case."

"Well, that shouldn't be hard. Some people pleading innocent must be telling the truth."

"Right. So I sent out a mailing to about a hundred criminal defense lawyers in the region. And I put together the presentation we'll lay before the court to demonstrate the reliability of our device. We're ready. We just need that one client who's truly innocent but happens to have very little in the way of proof. Until then, we just wait."

"I'm OK with a little waiting. But meantime, can I talk to you about something that's been bothering me?"

"Well, how much connection does it have with the business at hand?"

Tom took a big breath. "Well, I'd say quite a bit. It's about truth and lies."

Dave looked at his watch. "Tom, is this perhaps something that a trained therapist might be more helpful on? I'm willing to give it a few minutes, but I'm no expert on untangling emotional issues."

"Very perceptive," Tom allowed. "But just a few minutes might help a lot."

"OK. What is it?" Dave moved off the desk and around into his chair.

" While I was in Mexico I had sex with a woman in the CIA."

"One shot deal?" queried Dave.

"That's right. Nothing sticky."

"Do you still love Diana?"

"Absolutely."

"And you haven't told her yet?"

"Right. I just can't seem to do it."

"Perhaps you should try putting it in writing. Lay out the whole case. Control the spin."

"Tried that, but I can't write well enough to get the right tone."

"So what exactly is holding you back?"

"I'm extremely embarrassed. I feel like I degenerated to the level of an animal. I mean, having sex with somebody you barely know is not very refined behavior."

"True. But it is fairly natural."

"Yeah, if you're an animal."

"As we all are."

Tom explained, "No. Diana's closer to angel than animal."

Dave leaned forward. "Look. You got seduced by a professional spy on orders from the CIA."

"Handy model. But it's not working. It was weak and stupid to fall into the obvious setup."

Dave stood up. "Time's up, Tom. I think you need to take a deep breath and talk this over with Diana. I'm sure she'll be very understanding. I really can't offer you any other advice."

"Ah, you're probably right. Well, thanks for listening. I'll let you know how it goes."

"OK. Now, I've got to get back to work. I'll talk to you tomorrow. OK?"

Outside on the sidewalk, Tom was waiting for a cab to take him home, and trying to come up with a way to open the wretched topic with Diana, when he saw a familiar face walking toward him. It was Jason Rydell, the arsonist he had exposed with the vericam at the insurance company- the guy behind the injunction on the vericam, who was probably also harboring intentions of a hefty lawsuit for invasion of privacy, libel, loss of income, and whatever else he could throw in.

"Mr Rydell?" Tom threw out.

Rydell stopped. "Have we met?"

"In a way. I was the guy operating the camera that discovered your true role in the fire."

"Lawyers are handling all of that. I have nothing to say." He started to resume his march, but Tom set his suitcases down and hustled beside him.

"Well I do, you scumbag. Whatever legal maze your lawyers are weaving doesn't negate the fact that you burned your building and killed that little girl."

Rydell stopped walking and turned to Tom. "Your allegations are worthless. And furthermore, such unfounded public accusations leave you open to a libel suit, which I would be only too glad to initiate."

"You're hiding behind laws that are obsolete. You better get ready for some real justice, because it's coming soon."

"What are you?" challenged Rydell. "Some kind of saint? You're nuts. You're guilty about something you're trying to hide. If you could stand up and tell the whole world that you are absolutely untainted, then maybe you'd have some business investigating other people. You want purity? Start with yourself." He turned and walked away.

Tom stood silently, feeling hollow. There was no center to his being. Just an echo of awareness that there used to be a guy named Tom in that body. A guy who thought he was committed to truth and honesty. Not a worm who would lie to his understanding and forgiving wife just to avoid the embarrassment of confessing that got wild on coke and booze and had sex with a woman he didn't know very well. Maybe this was why progress with the vericam wasn't what it should have been. Maybe he was just too flawed to be the champion of honesty.

Fortunately, his cab showed up just then, and practical matters of the moment plucked him out of the bowels of guilt. Tom put his two bags in the back seat, hopped in the front, gave his home address, and immediately initiated an engaging discussion of the driver's home country and the guy's adventures adapting to life in the USA. By the time the cab pulled up in front of his house, Tom was back in a more composed mode and ready for a pleasant homecoming with Diana. He texted her that he was back and making reservations at one of their favorite restaurants. He checked the fridge for cold wine and cheese for cocktail hour, then put away his clothes and set up the vericam equipment in his office.

When Diana came in the front door, Tom hustled out of his office to greet her.

After hugs and kisses, he said, "God, it is good to be back home."

"Home is good," she agreed. "And it sure isn't the same without you. Welcome back, honey. How are you feeling about the project? Are you discouraged?"

"Hell no. I'm pumped. Do you want some wine? Reservations at seven."

"Absolutely. Tough day at the mill. Seems like some days half my energy goes into billing fights with insurance companies."

"Well at least I didn't have that undertow to deal with. They gave me ten grand as a little severance gift."

"That's a nice gesture from people who are so displeased with your services."

"Oh, no. If they were really displeased, I'd be sleeping with the fishes."

"Well, can you talk about what happened there? I mean, the vericam works, right?"

"Of course it works. Better every day. But they'd probably prefer that it didn't work at all. They have no control over who else is developing this now. And some of their own agents are getting caught. And killed. And that's what they're really pissed about."

"Ow, that's terrible. Are you feeling at all responsible for those deaths?"

"Not in the least. I'm trying to give the world a device that will making spying nearly obsolete, along with all kinds of other nasty stuff. There's likely to be some collateral damage to people who live in the shadows. But life moves forward. Now, could I get you a glass of wine?"

"That would be wonderful. Thanks."

A couple hours later, they were back from the restaurant. Having parted ways with the CIA, Tom felt much looser about discussing the refinements he was working on for the vericam. Diana's experience as a therapist and a long time student of spiritual practices generated a stimulating flow of insights and questions as they discussed his evolving model for translating the complex vericam images into a lexicon. Diana was quite pleased to see her engineering oriented husband having to incorporate such an extensive consideration of emotional dynamics into his project. She had seen several journal articles over the past few years covering research using magnetic resonance imaging equipment to discover which parts of the brain were involved with different mental functions. But the vericam seemed to be looking at an entirely different level of the mentation process.

They were both intrigued at the prospect that some aspects of consciousness might arise independent of neurological activity, interact with pure physiological currents, and only then constitute the full interface between the sentient individual and his surroundings. Tom was excited at postulating a psychological construct somewhat akin to the dark energy model that astrophysicists had to concoct to explain the huge disparity between accepted dynamics of mass and gravity and the recent observations suggesting that the motion of galaxies couldn't be explained by the "known" laws. As the conversation touched on quantum mechanics and the influence of human observation on atomic events, Tom was feeling his fascination surging and pulling him back to his lab.

Diana's biological clock had its own set of natural laws, though. "I'm starting to fade, honey. But it looks like you might want to get back to your desk to follow up this inspiration. I wonder if you might consider a little conjugal experiment first." She started kissing him gently, and he responded by leading the way up to the bedroom.

A few minutes later they were in bed, caressing. But Diana pulled away. "You don't seem too interested in this. Maybe your inventor's mind is too fired up. Do you want to wait?"

Tom sat up and took her hand. "This is very hard for me to talk about."

"Well, what's the topic? Are you suddenly impotent? Didn't seem to be any problem when I was visiting."

Tom took a couple of deep breaths, trying to compose himself. "This is about sex with other people."

"You want to have a threesome? Not happening."

"No. Sex I did have with another woman. It's hard to talk about it because I feel like I allowed myself to follow very immature urges."

Diana sat up and said, "Much of the reason it's good to talk about that kind of situation is to bring some objectivity into the process. So, here it is, maybe a little awkward, but you have brought it out in the open where it can be dealt with in a healthy manner."

"God, I can't believe you are so accommodating," he said with much relief.

"I just think it's a realistic attitude. Your sexual attitude is not the barometer of my happiness. I think we have a very high degree of basic resonance. But I know that many, if not most, men have a drive to pursue novelty, at least once in a while. It goes back to caveman days. I just need you to handle it in a way that doesn't hurt anyone."

"Well, are you hurt about it?"

"It's a bit of discomfort."

"I'm sorry. I feel like I behaved like a dog. And I'm ashamed. I see that in myself and just don't want to expose you to it. I don't want your spirit guides floating around in that kind of energy."

"What do spirit guides have to do with it?" she challenged.

"They're watching over you, right? So they see what we're doing. I'm uncomfortable having sex with angels watching me."

"Whoa, Whoa. I think I've got it now. It's not just about me, Tom. You just aren't comfortable with your physical body and its natural drives. And that's something you're going to have to work on. Not for me. But for yourself. And unfortunately, I don't think that focusing your attention on that vericam every waking minute is helping on this issue."

"How so?" he asked.

"That camera makes the physical world disappear, replaced by electrical patterns. It's far removed from the natural way of things. You're dancing on the verge of an addiction. Look at yourself right now. Your brain can't wait to get back to that stuff." She rolled onto her side, facing away from him and pulling the covers around her. "Goodnight."

He got up. "I am sorry. I love you, and I don't ever want to hurt you. And this will settle down soon. I promise." He picked up his clothes and quietly left the room, closing the door gently.

In the hall, he pulled on his clothes, breathing deeply to center himself, and then headed for his office. He thought about video gamers who act like they're addicted just as bad as somebody into heroin. And kids who spend way too much screen time. Maybe he could come up with some kind of cyber methadone. Yeah. Worthy goal, but nothing flashed into his mind for how that could work.

Instead of a beeline to the office, he stopped in the kitchen and made some soothing hot milk and honey. Then he went to his desk to work reviewing the archived images of Juan, the agent from Chiapas, looking for visual indications of conflicted loyalty. Lying in simple situations where the good and the bad were easily identified was now relatively easy to discern with the vericam. But penetrating the more complex context of hierarchies of morality was a far more subtle challenge for analysis. A couple hours of effort without any payoff left him deeply tired and ready for the merciful haven of sleep.

About nine next morning, his cell phone woke him with a call from Dave. Tom reached for the phone while willing his consciousness to come quickly into focus. He cleared his throat to make a reasonable semblance of an alert greeting. "HI. Tom Trumbull."

"Hi. It's Dave. How awake are you? Late night?"

Seizing the honorable excuse for not being fully alert at that hour, Tom said "Yep. Worked really late. Got some insights from Diana over dinner, and couldn't wait to integrate em."

"Excellent. Love to hear about inspiration stirring the pot regardless of the limitations of these old carbon brains. I'm out cold by eleven these days, and then trying to catch the dawn wave to get a head start on the day."

"Coffee makes a great surfboard."

"Ha. Good point. So get some and come on over. We got a client for the vericam."

Tom sat up. "Fantastic. Nice work. I'll be there in an hour. OK?"

"No rush. Eat a good breakfast, would you? We need you in top form. See you later."

About an hour later, Tom had made it to Dave's office, having blended up and powered down a super healthy breakfast shake to comply with Dave's suggestion. Dave was feeding the bonfire of enthusiasm. "I've just read the attorney's complete report on the case as it stands. It looks perfect."

Tom was stuck on the negative side. "But this guy's a gangster, Dave. A murderer. Why can't we wait for a more deserving client?"

"Let's keep our eyes on the big picture, Tom. This guy's going to get nailed someday. But not on these charges. In this particular instance he seems to actually be innocent. He's offering us fifty thousand bucks if we win. And the case will get huge amounts of publicity."

"Dave, that money's got blood all over it. I don't want a nickel from a guy like that."

"Come on, Tom, The guy's probably got some legitimate business interests. Those guys are always diversified these days."

"It just puts a bad flavor on us. If we're trying to build a positive public image, we should be staying far away from this guy and anyone like him."

"Tom, this is just a way to get out of the rut we're stuck in. Once a court accepts the vericam, we are in business for ever after. And we can steer this invention to the fate it deserves."

"OK. So we have to go to New York?"

"Yeah. He can't come to us."

"When do you want to go?"

"I believe we've have tickets for 3 o'clock. We'll get his statement tomorrow morning and stick around to persuade the judge to allow it in court."

"So, we'll be there a few days?"

"Yeah. Probably two or three days. So go home and pack your gear. I'll pick you up at two. OK?"

"OK. I'll have everything ready to go. "

On the drive back to his house, Tom called Diana at her office, but got the voicemail. "Honey, I've got to go to New York today with Dave. Probably two or three days. We got a chance to get the vericam into court there. Great opportunity for the breakthrough we need. I'll call you tonight."

Two hours later Tom and Dave were settling into their seats on the shuttle flight to New York. Dave was brimming with excitement. "You know, I haven't been to the Big Apple for, oh, three years. And that was for a pretty busy convention. We should have some decent free time between appointments this round. You interested in the Museum of Natural History?"

For once, Tom put forward the more practical perspective. "I think it would be better to spend every free moment visiting the liberal press. Get in to see some editors. Try to explain why we're defending a known gangster."

"I disagree. Better to have a fresh victory to work from. We need to find out if this guy is really innocent first, and then see how the judge rules. If we hit mud with either one, we want to just quietly go home. So, Natural History or fine arts between fine restaurants?"

"Actually, there's a guy I'd like to see at Columbia School of Engineering. I think he's been testing a vericam, and I'd like to check in on whether he's encountering the same kind of trouble we are."

"OK. Let's call him and find out. Sounds productive."

The next morning, Tom and Dave were at a holding facility in New York with Henry Sullivan, the defense attorney for Joe Capoli. The two lawyers had been discussing the case while Tom was setting up the vericam equipment for the interview session with Capoli. Two guards brought the alleged murderer in and sat him down at the table. He looked over the small camera and the laptop. "That's it?" he asked in disbelief. "Henry, you got to be kiddin me. This little camera thing is going to prove I'm not lyin? Maybe we should just use the old hot knife on the tongue test. More precedent, as I recall."

Henry responded patiently. "Well, perhaps more historical use, but I don't believe it was ever proved to be accurate by modern science. Let me introduce you to some real scientists. Tom Trumbull here is the inventor of this amazing apparatus. Dave Mazzeo is his partner and also an attorney. Tom's just back from testing this device with the CIA, and they love it."

Joe looked hopeful. "OK. So that baby's gonna to get me outta here?"

Dave advised him, "Maybe. This camera is just going to show if you are lying or telling the truth."

"That is all I need. Fuck the hot knife. Let's do it. Whatta ya call that thing?"

Tom answered, "We call it the vericam. I think you'll be impressed."

"When I'm impressed, you'll see me smiling."

Henry said, "OK. OK. Let's find out. Ready to roll it, Tom?"

"Ready here," said Tom confidently.

Henry continued. "Joe, I'm going to ask you a list of questions. At first they'll have nothing to do with this case. Then we'll move into the criminal charge. Don't elaborate on any question. Just give a brief but complete answer. OK?"

"Go ahead," said Joe, now looking at the camera.

Tom glanced at the image on the laptop screen and gave a slight shiver at the general tone of what he saw of Joe's aura.

Henry began, "What is your name?"

"Joseph Capoli."

"And where do you live, Mr Capoli ?"

After a few more questions to establish a base line, Henry got to the matter at hand. "Did you suspect that Toni Silvestri was responsible for bombing three of your laundromat businesses?"

"I didn't suspect it. I knew it."

"How did you know?"

"I talked to him. He thought I had caused him some trouble with his business and he said he was going to even the score with me within three days. Next three days, I had a laundry burned every night."

"Did you order or ask anyone to kill Toni Silvestri?"

"No, I did not."

"Did you hire anyone to kill him or in any way try to arrange to have him killed?"

"No, I did not. I had nothin' to do wid him getting shot."

"Do you know who killed him?"

"No. I don't know nothin' about who killed him."

Henry looked over at Tom. "What's it looking like? Can you tell?"

Tom spoke with chagrin, since he considered his subject a despicable person based on the general look of his aura. "Looks perfectly clear, Henry. All true. Every word."

Joe hollered "Of course it's true." And he started smiling. "Fuckin' A. It works."

Henry asked Tom, "So do we need any further testimony?"

Tom pointed a finger at Joe and asked "Mr. Capoli, have you ever killed anyone yourself?"

Joe's smile disappeared instantly. "No. I never killed anybody."

Tom looked at the monitor, which showed a large red spike, indicating a brash lie. "I think we're all set," he announced.

"Great" said Henry. "Joe, that's it for now. I hope we'll have you out of here in short order."

Joe stood up and reached out to shake Tom's hand. "That's a great invention, man. I wanna to buy one of those after I get outta here. I'll pay you plenty."

Henry signaled the guards, who led Joe away. Tom started to pack up the equipment.

"So, we are in chambers with this at one o'clock?" asked Dave.

"On the nose. So, why don't we have some lunch while we go over the presentation you're going to do? I watched your video about the camera last night. That was a damn good idea to put the demonstration of validity together that way."

"Yeah, we thought it would have a strong impact," said Dave.

"I'll tell you, I don't readily subscribe to oddball stuff like this. But if Judge Kupstas finds that video as persuasive as I did, we are all set to make legal history."

At 1 pm Tom and Dave, with the vericam and laptop, were in Judge Clifford Kupstas' chambers, along with the judge, Henry Sullivan, and prosecutors Catherine Sawtelle and Frank Simmons. All of them watched the first video, about three minutes in length, which explained how the vericam worked.

As soon as the video ended, Ms Sawtelle stood up briskly. "Objection, your honor. This may be a great invention someday in the future, but a first degree murder trial is not the place for untested equipment of this nature to be put into service in the court."

"Sit down, counsellor," said the judge. "I have followed the development and use of lie detectors for decades, and this looks like the ultimate phase of that astounding technology. Brilliant work, Mr Trumbull. The fact that you spent a considerable amount of time refining your vericam with the CIA provides a superior precedent. I don't think there is any agency anywhere in the world better qualified to test this device."

Catherine tried again, "Your honor. My head is spinning at the change this device could bring to our system of due process."

Frank Simmons added, "If I may, your honor. Absolutely agreed with my colleague. It will be huge. And it is a shame that the premiere application of this device may involve turning a vile gangster loose to go back to his usual activities. But may I suggest that we all now watch the footage of his testimony on this particular charge?"

Kupstas quickly directed, "Most definitely. Mr Trumbull, proceed."

Tom checked again to make sure the laptop with its oversized screen was positioned so all present could see clearly. He stood, tapping the keys to ready the edited testimony. "I've set the computer to display a single still image capturing the central response to each question. You'll hear the question while we observe the image, starting with some neutrals to establish a baseline."

They all watched with fascination as the sequence of questions was played, culminating with the direct query on the murder. The aura images remained free of anything like the indicators of lying that had been clearly shown in the first video.

As soon as Capoli stated that he had nothing at all to do with Silvestri's death, Henry stood up boldly. "There it is, your honor. My client's statement of innocence, verified by the vericam."

Catherine stood up quickly. "Wait a minute. How do we know that this machine under these circumstances with this particular individual would even show something if he did lie?"

Tom said, "There's a little more," and hit another key.

Tom's recorded voice said, "Have you ever killed anyone yourself, Mr Capoli ?" The computer put up a fresh image of Capoli's aura, with a large red spike, just as Capoli claimed "No, I never killed anyone."

Tom pointed to the still image. "There is Mr Capoli's lie. Quite clear."

Frank couldn't refrain from spitting out, "That bastard."

Henry addressed the judge, "Well, your honor. Are you ready to make history by allowing this device in your courtroom? And if so, does the DA want to consider dropping the charges?"

Kupstas mulled for a minute before speaking. "Amazing device. I've spent a lifetime pursuing justice through the maze of the legal system. But this is the first time that I have ever believed that we might actually vanquish crime. I will most likely allow this, but I'm not going to issue a ruling until tomorrow. I want it to hold up firmly if challenged in a higher court. The judge stood up and walked around his desk to Tom, who stood up. Kupstas took his hand. "Mr Trumbull. I will never forget this moment. It has been a great honor. Thank you for bringing this wonderful technology to a troubled society."

Tom and Dave packed up the equipment and left the judge's chamber with Henry. Outside in the hall, Henry ventured, "I'll see you in court tomorrow at ten. I think you've done it. Fantastic." He shook hands with each of them vigorously.

"That's what we came for," said Dave. "See you tomorrow."

"I hope you're ready for a flood of publicity. I'm putting the press on alert," added Henry before heading off at a brisk clip.

Tom wasn't elated. "First, I'm waiting for that ruling before declaring victory. And then, if we win the case, we could still get smeared in the press for helping a gangster to go free."

"OK," agreed Dave. "Prudent to hold off, just in case. But I can't think of any legal impediment that Kupstas is going to come up with given his attitude. I'll print up something on background to distribute to the press, so we'll get the right spin with the hot news. I don't think they'll have any trouble seeing how this baby is going to change things for the better, regardless of a tough birth. A couple days from now, our challenge is going to be how to handle all the offers that'll be pouring into the office."

"Sounds like we're going to be crazy busy then," said Tom, nodding. "So how about we soak up a little culture today? Natural History or maybe the Met?"

"Either. Or both. Let's go."

The next morning at 10 am, Dave and Tom were seated in the courtroom, right behind Capoli and Henry Sullivan. Judge Kupstas entered, took his seat, and started to announce his ruling. "In the matter of The People versus Joseph Capoli, charged with first degree murder, the defense has petitioned the court to allow as evidence the results of use of a new type of lie detector, which is called a vericam. The court finds that the function of this apparatus is sound and legally comparable to the use of a traditional lie detector. The defendant gave his consent for the use of this vericam, as would be required for any court to accept the results of a lie detector test. The court will therefore allow the defense to present analysis of testimony by use of the vericam to be considered as evidence."

Prosecutor Sawtelle stood up briskly. "Your honor, in view of this ruling, the district attorney has no choice but to drop the charges against Mr Capoli." She sat down.

The judge addressed the defendant, who stood the moment his name was spoken. "Mr Capoli, you are free to go. I expect you realize that the technology responsible for your release today will soon be widely employed in law enforcement and will greatly enhance the ability of our justice system to find and convict those guilty of breaking the law."

Capoli was smiling broadly. "Oh, I appreciate that big time, your honor. And I think this vericam is going to bring the whole country a new respect for the truth. A lot of people in high places been hiding things too long. It's gonna be real interesting seeing it catch up with them."

The judge stood to leave, and the bailiff called out, "All rise." Which was an unnecessary directive since everyone in the room except the prosecutors was already jumping up with excitement. Capoli shook hands with his lawyer then reached over to shake hands with Dave and Tom. "I wanna thank you for helping me straighten things out here today. Henry will take of of the fee right away. And I definitely want to buy one of those cameras as soon as you got 'em ready to sell. Just let Henry know. I'll even invest if you need some cash."

"We're happy to bring truth into the courtroom," affirmed Dave.

"Yeah. This is an important day for us too," allowed Tom.

Capoli said "Take care now." And he turned to greet his friends, who were beaming with delight, apparently not yet concerned at the long range implications of the ruling for their own futures.

Dave leaned over to Tom and said, "Let's go. I want to try to get to the press before Sullivan does." They immediately headed out and saw several reporters in the lobby, none of whom recognized the two as being the key to the outcome. Dave went right over to them, brandishing the handouts and announcing, "Charges against Capoli have been dropped because the court accepted a new kind of lie detector. It's called the vericam. And it's going to change everything. Here's the inventor right here, Tom Trumbull. Pretty soon, no one will ever be able to get away with lying in court again. Or anywhere, for that matter. This is revolutionary. And you are lucky enough to be here the first time it was used in court." Dave started handing out the sheets. The reporters were speechless at first, trying to grasp what they were hearing.

Tom jumped into the silence. "Video camera lie detector. Tested by the CIA. And now today, right here, securing the legal precedent to be used in courtrooms everywhere."

The reporters were still trying to grasp the news. One asked, "So it's an improved lie detector? How so? How's it work?"

Another didn't wait for the answer. "So you got a Mafioso off the hook for murder with this thing. Sounds like it came right from the devil."

Dave took over. "Mr. Capoli may be in the habit of engaging in plenty of illegal activities. But in this case, he is absolutely innocent. We needed a case to establish a precedent for admissibility of the vericam in court proceedings. And with that now accomplished, we expect to see a rapid proliferation of use of the vericam, a video camera lie detector. All the background you need is on the handout. Doesn't anybody want a picture of the inventor?"

Cameras began clicking as the reporters started to understand the significance of the event, and the flow of questions quickly thickened. "So, no wires on the body? Just a camera?"

"Does it work on anybody?"

"How's it really work?"

Tom replied, "It captures the person's aura while they are speaking, and the software analyzes the image to identify when the person is lying."

"What if the guy won't cooperate? Does it still work? And will that be legal?"

Dave said, "Yes, it would still work. But that would not be legal at this time. Maybe someday. But for a while, use with consenting subjects only, same as a regular lie detector."

At that point, Henry Sullivan arrived with his client, but the reporters now had little interest in Capoli. They were focused on the astounding invention. And Capoli wanted to disappear back into the shadows anyway, rather than being paraded by Sullivan to promote himself. Capoli did stay just long enough, though, to holler to the reporters, "Trumbull and his vericam is the real deal. I was set up, but he proved I was innocent. His lie detector camera is the big story here. That's what you wanna write about." He hurried off, though Sullivan lingered to capture whatever good publicity he could.

He announced to the reporters, "I am proud to have recognized the potential benefit of this recent invention, and I persuaded the court for the first time ever to allow its use in a case perfectly suited to demonstrate the amazing capability of the vericam. I expect we'll be seeing a lot more of it in the near future, and Henry Sullivan is predicting right here that it will be one of the biggest advances in justice that we have ever seen." Satisfied at having attached his name to the story, he headed off.

Dave leaned over to Tom and said quietly, "Yep. Saved his ass."

Late that afternoon, they were on the plane back to Maine. Dave was working on publicity and marketing plans. Tom had his laptop opened also, reviewing some aura images. He nudged Dave. "Hey. Want to see a picture of my wife?"

"What? Oh, sure."

Tom turned his laptop toward Dave. On it was a large aura image.

Dave took it for a closer look. "Boy, she's got some neat color patterns. Look at those blue waves running up the center."

"Yeah. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Wonderful woman. I hope you got everything straightened out."

"I think we did." said Tom, sliding his laptop back. "What are you working on?"

"Press release on the big event."

"Great. Can you put in something about how it's a totally harmless form of energy?"

"Already covered that. I'll let you read it in a few minutes."

"Sure." Tom turned his attention back to admiring the fine points of Diana's aura and tweaking the software settings to bring out different elements of the image.

The trip home was quick and smooth. Tom put his clothes and equipment away and was catching some evening TV news when Diana came home from work. He jumped up to greet her, but approached with reservation, wondering what her attitude toward him would be. She quickly gave him hugs and kisses. "Are we going to celebrate?" she asked.

"Absolutely. We made the network news. I've got some champagne in the fridge."

"I heard part of a report on the way home. Sounds amazing. Champagne definitely in order." They headed into the kitchen.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked.

"Pretty good. Won't make the news. But I did my good deeds."

"I'll bet." Tom hugged her again. "You are a wonderful creature. And all your deeds are good."

Diana set out a couple of glasses, while Tom got the bottle out of the fridge.

"I think we're going to be catching up on our travel deficit now," he said. "There's a lot to see out there on this planet you've come to."

"Oh, I'd love to. But aren't you going to be extremely busy for a while?"

"Not all the time." He popped the cork and poured. "Let's get out the maps and the calendar later and plan a couple of expeditions."

"Bali?"

"Bali. Sure. But, ah, first I would like to know if you have forgiven me."

They clinked their glasses and sipped the elixir. "You might call it that," she allowed. "I'd say that I came to terms with your behavior."

"That sounds pretty positive. Thank you."

Tom stopped by Dave's office late the next morning. There was a sense of excitement in the air. Wanda, the receptionist, was busy on the phone, as was a clerical temp who had set up shop in the small conference room. Tom held up a hand of greeting to Wanda, who waved him to just go into Dave's office.

Dave was talking enthusiastically on the phone and waved Tom into a chair. "Absolutely. If you can get approval, we'll be glad to set up a system for you. All right. Talk to you soon. Bye" He hung up.

"Little busier than usual here," Tom started. "That was pretty quick."

Dave got up to stretch. "Yeah, things are moving fast Tom. That was Senator Darin McPhee. He's interested in having a system available for congressional hearings."

"What about consenting subjects ?"

"I gather that the senator has been lied to at hearings one too many times. He put the matter quite clearly: truth is more important than privacy, and the only people who'd be upset are the ones planning to lie."

"He's got a point there."

"It's been like this all morning," said Dave happily. "Time for us to get organized, lad. We have numerous requests for immediate work, and we've got to decide about building more vericams and training other operators. We're going to need a bigger office."

"Just a minute, partner. I'd like to hear your humble thoughts about possible backlash. I'm worried that somebody's going to lose everything he's got due to our vericam, and then decide to seek revenge on us or our families."

"Well, that's not an impossible scenario, my friend, though I believe it's highly unlikely. I think we could structure our activities to divert attention from ourselves personally."

"Licensing the equipment so lots of other people are using it as soon as possible will pull attention off us, too" added Tom.

"Of course. My plan exactly. Hey, how did it go with Diana?"

"All smooth and a house full of love."

"Wonderful. You gotta have things solid at home. Cause it's going to be a wild ride for a while."
