“Take a seat,” Fang invited him, pushing one out with his foot.
The guy looked around suspiciously. “Where’s your girlfriend? The one with the chip inside her.”
“Not with us.”
He seemed to relax, fractionally, and edged warily into the seat, looking around. Fang smiled to himself. Finally, someone more paranoid than they were. It was refreshing.
“What are you doing here?” Fang asked, gesturing to the coffee shop. “Above ground. On the West Coast.”
The guy shrugged. “I get around. I see people here, there, all over. I just like to hang in New York mostly—it’s easier to blend.”
“Yeah,” Fang agreed.
Then the guy’s eyes fell on Fang’s closed laptop, and Fang saw him shift his alert level from yellow up to orange.
“Nice ’book,” he said.
“Thanks.” Fang waited.
“Don’t usually see one like that around.”
“Guess not.”
The guy seemed to make a decision, and he leaned forward across the table. “Where’d you get it? Or do I not want to know?”
Fang almost grinned. “You probably don’t want to know.”
The guy shook his head. “You people get into some serious stuff.”
“Yeah,” Fang acknowledged with a sigh. He looked up. “Would you know how to get a message through to every kid on the ’net, everywhere in the world?”
92
The guy looked at Fang. “Maybe. Probably. Guess it depends on the message.”
“Would you need to know the message?” Fang asked, seeing a big wrinkle looming. This guy was, after all, pretty much a nutcase. Who knew how he’d react to Fang’s message?
The guy thought about it, then said, “Yeah.”
“There goes that plan,” said Iggy, sucking down the last of his latte.
“Can I have a muffin?” the Gasman put in.
Fang pushed some money across the table. The Gasman took it and headed to the counter, keeping an eye out around him the whole way.
“What’s your name?” Fang asked.
There was a long pause while the guy considered.
“Man, this guy’s more paranoid than we are,” Iggy said. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
The guy looked at Iggy and seemed to notice for the first time that Iggy was blind. He turned back to Fang. “Mike. What’s yours?”
“Fang. He’s Iggy. The little one’s the Gasman. Don’t ask why.”
“Sit here long enough and you’ll find out,” Iggy muttered.
Mike’s eyes went wide, a