So do something ! "C'mon, Juan." She walked her bike out onto Gilman Drive, crossing the lanes slowly enough not to get a ticket.

Xiu and Lena drifted along. "Traffic is heavy," said Lena.

"It's the belief-circles clash. People are attending in person." The gaming buzz had come out of the blue, but Miri could not imagine that it was coincidence. Setting this up must have involved deep coordination. Even though the clash was still just rumor, there was a huge turnout. The cars around them were dropping off passengers. People were laughing and shouting and talking, and walking toward the library. The sidewalks on the other side of Gilman Drive were all but empty.

She reached the far curb and looked back. "Come on , Juan!"

Now the sky above the library was twisting violet, a very nice fractal effect from some art co-op in northern China. She glanced at network status… It wasn't just automobile traffic that was heavy. She could see network trunks lighting up all over California. There were millions of viewpoints being exported from UCSD's campus. There were hundreds of thousands of virtual participants. As Juan caught up with her, she said, "It's a whirlwind. Like a big game first-day."

The boy nodded, but he wasn't paying attention. "Look what I found in the street."

The gadget was half crushed. Metal fibers hung from one side.

She waved for him to drop it. "Roadkill. So?" If a node lost connectivity and then got into the street — well, something that small would get run over.

"I think it's still online, but I can't get a catalog match."

Miri looked closer. There was spiky flickering, but no response. "It's pingless wreckage, Juan."

Juan shrugged, then dropped the gadget into his bike bag. He had a blank look. He was still searching. "It looks like a Cisco 33, but — "

Fortunately, Orozco had not distracted everyone. Lena said, "Miri. I've found Robert and the Rivera fellow." There was a pause while Lena got the camera ID. There! Robert and Rivera were crossing the roadway a quarter mile west of them.

"We're on it, Lena!"

In Robert's time, this side of Gilman Drive had been Quonset huts. In later years, classic University of California concrete had housed the medical school. Now there was Pilchner Hall, which like almost everything else on campus looked as temporary as the old Quonsets.

The Mysterious Stranger led Robert and Carlos into the building. Real light followed them in concentrated pools, while farther down the hall the view was virtual. There might have been other people in the building, but the Stranger avoided them. He headed down a stairway, into a warren of tiny rooms. In places the floor was dusty. Elsewhere it was polished clean, or covered with streaky scrape marks. "Heh," said the Stranger, pointing at the scrapes. "Tommie has been at work. This whole floor has been rearranged for tonight. And there are parts that just won't show on the university's security plan."

Their path was now a trek through the maze. Finally, the Mysterious Stranger stopped at a closed door. He paused and spoke soberly. "As you may know, Professor Parker is not fully on board. For the sake of your various goals, I suggest you be careful not to enlighten him."

Robert and Carlos nodded.

The Mysterious Stranger turned and mimed knocking on the plastic door. His hand sounded like a hammer pounding heavy wood. After a moment, the door opened and Winston Blount peered out. "Hello, Carlos." His gaze passed less favorably over Robert and the Stranger. He waved them in.

The room was a triangular wedge trapped between slanting walls. A concrete caisson took up most of the floor space. Tommie Parker sat on the floor beside a handcart that was filled with plastic bags and backpacks. "Hiya, guys. You're right on time." He glanced at his laptop. "You'll be pleased to know that press and police did not notice your arrival. At the moment we're standing in a room that doesn't even exist. This — " he slapped the caisson " — is still visible to the university, but it will happily lie about what we're doing."

Robert edged round the blocky structure. "I remember this." In the 1970s, the caisson had been out-of-doors, covered with a wooden lid. He looked over the edge. Yes, just as before: iron ladder rungs marched downward into darkness.

Tommie stood up. He had his laptop in a sling that left the keyboard and display accessible, but also freed him to move about. In his own way, Tommie Parker had arrived at wearable computing.

Tommie reached into the handcart and lifted out two plastic bags. "Time to leave your Epiphanies behind, guys. I've got new clothes for you."

"You really meant it," said Rivera.

"Yup. Your old clothes will help me fake your location. Meantime the real you will be with me, and using far better equipment."

"Not laptops, I hope," said Winnie, giving Parker's laptop sling a doubtful look. But he and the others shed shirts and pants and shoes. They still had their contact lenses, but now there was nothing to drive them. The real lighting was bright enough, but without external sound and vision, the room felt like a coffin.

Tommie seemed genuinely embarrassed by all the naked flab. But not for long. He pulled open one of the plastic bags and passed around pants and shirts. They looked like plain gray fabric, working clothes. Carlos held his new shirt up to the light and peered at the weave. He folded it between his hands and rubbed the sides together. "These clothes are dumb."

"Yup. No infrared microlasers, no processor nodes. Just the good cotton as God meant us to wear it."

"But — "

"Don't worry, I have processors."

"I was joking about laptops, Tommie."

Tommie shook his head. "No, not laptops, either. I have Hurd boxes."

Huh ? Without his wearable, Robert was stumped.

Carlos looked just as blank, but then some errant natural memory must have popped up: "Oh! Hurd OS! But isn't that obsolete?"

Tommie was rummaging in the second plastic bag. He did not look up. "Not obsolete. Just illegal… Ah, here they are. Genuine Hecho en Paraguay" He handed each of his co-conspirators a black plastic box about the size and shape of a paperback book. There was a real keypad on one side and a metallic clip on the other. "Just snap it on your waistband. Make sure the metal tab is actually touching your skin."

Robert's new pants were too short, and the shirt fit like a tent. He slipped the criminal computer on his waistband and felt the cold touch of metal on his skin. He could see a faint overlay now. It was a picture of a keypad, and when his hand rested on the box at his waist, he saw markers corresponding to his fingertips. What a pitiful interface.

"Don't cover the box with your shirt, Carlos. All the comm ports are on it."

Winnie: "You mean we have to turn in just the right direction to make a connection?"

"Yup. While we're below, our only external routing will be through my laptop. And my laptop's only uplink will be through this." Tommie held up something that looked like a prayer wheel. He gave it a little spin. There was a glint in the air, sliding along a thread too fine to see, to a connector Tommie held in his other hand. He turned and plugged that into a box on the handcart. "Check it out."

Robert pulled his shirt back from his waistband, and turned so the box had a clear view of Tommie's laptop. Nothing. He entered a simple command, and now he could see through the walls again! North of Gilman Drive, there were even more people heading toward the library. Indoors… he drifted back up the hallway. Still deserted. No ! There was a fellow walking purposefully down toward their "secret" room. Then he lost the viewpoint.

"Hey, Tommie — "

"What?"

The Stranger's voice sounded in Robert's ear. The audio was as bad as his old view-page, but he clearly heard: "You didn't see a thing, my man."