Ms. A behind the wheel. Abe now awake looking straight ahead into the wooden air of the grainy night. Mellow? Or aesthetically autistic? He felt addicted to the ever-present Ms. A, ready to reconvene what he could only hope was actual live circumstance with his intuitively-rendered personality complex.

"Abe," Ms. A said, rather flatly, trying to trigger a response.

"You know Ms. A," Abe went right into it, teasing her as much as he could, "we're going to see Cynthia now and she's not going to want to have you on board. She's dead serious about this Prague-23 stuff and insists that you're only my guide and that guides are useful but not necessary for the revolution. Do you know what she means by revolution?" He was testing the code.