Black-and-white 2-D material and that’s it. Well, we can make do with that. This is a recent one, comparatively speaking.” The screen blurred, cleared, showed Uys coming down the steps from a plane door, presumably at home in South Africa, being greeted by his family and gesturing away a group of reporters.

“Let’s have color … holographic depth … yes, that’s better … good … we can abstract from that and blend it with Mayor Black and let’s see now … American location and b.g., better have some macoots … ah, that’s not bad for a start, is it?”

This was the part of his job which was genuinely creative, and he always enjoyed it very much: the adaptation of the most unpromising raw materials to generate a full-color, three-dimensional construct so convincing that only a person who had actually been on the scene of the event could point to inaccuracies.

“Christ, it’s like magic,” Diablo muttered, making no attempt to appear blasé. The screened image had evolved through a period of chaotic confusion into a fixed picture of Uys at a laboratory bench—unquestionably in America, not Africa, though it was the total impression and not any specific detail which made that plain—turning to speak to Mayor Black as the latter walked in accompanied by a pair of armed macoots.

“Nothing magical about it,” Flamen said offhandedly. “I just had the right data to draw on— typical genetic lab design, the proper computer printouts, the proper material in jars and dishes lying around, that kind of thing. The scenes are automatically weighted for weather conditions, clothing, angle of sunlight, and so on, and all we have to do now is add the sound.” He struck codes on the keyboard. “Voices— we’re bound to have something on tape, I guess, even for Uys, and even if we haven’t the machines will fake a South African accent. Characteristic phrase-weighting— let’s spice it with a few choice Afrikaner slogans … And here we go.”