"Shall we try and log in to Cynthia Kitchen's remote site?" emoted Ms. A.

"Yes, of course," Golam responded. The apparent seamlessness of the various worlds he was now floating through was creating a kind of psychogeographical disorientation that he couldn't tell if he liked or not.

"Why don't you do it?" he suggested.

Ms. A opened up the window-box and keyed in the address sending a Signal Inquiry out toward the site that Cynthia was transmitting from. Within seconds, Cynthia's face appeared on the screen. She looked older, a few grey streaks running through her blond hair which was pulled back into a ponytail. She was more beautiful than ever.