On the overpass, lurking in the shadows of the span, heart aching with love and a constant longing for legitimacy, Harry Waardenburg watches for the white minivan. One rental car passes. Two. A third, fourth, fifth, a sixth. Then, finally, the signal reaches him as the minivan crests the hill. A suggestion of a smile plays over his lips as he calibrates the homing device that was mounted in a magnetic sign. Now, if he could only be sure of the GPS tranceiver behind the license plate. Many eyes--and hearts--were watching Chere, it was true. But Harry believed in redundancy as much as he believed in luck. [Posted in FML issue 1471]