Noir Ellison, black and white, crisp. Clues put together, the detective. But the slinky femme fatale is not about sex. Surveillance footage, watching watchers watching, Ellison watching Cromartie, Weaver watching Ellison watching Cromartie. The reflections in glass, the images through tanks of water, the images on screen; the picture skipping like stuck tape, the gravestones running like film strips. Future and present and past colliding, merging, running into each other, movies displayed on the monitors and images showing through layers. Heaven's hardware problem spelled out in equations and blood.

Computer logic is predicated on Or, on definites, on black and white, on the individual squares of color that deceive the eye into seeing shades. But Weaver is And and One, liquid, changeable, water, invisible, reflecting back what is around her, showing the reflection of the eye, looking back.