NEAL STEPHENSON

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in toward the big ships in the middle of the Raft. You could almost skate here, but you’d have to be really good.

“Why are you different from the other people?” Y.T. says. She kind of blurts it out without doing a whole lot of thinking first. But it seems like a good question.

He laughs. “I’m an Aleut. I’m different in a lot of ways-“

“No. I mean your brain works in a different way,” Y.T. says. “You’re not wacked out. You know what I mean? You haven’t mentioned the Word all night.”

“We have a thing we do in kayaks. It’s like surfing,” Raven says.

“Really? I surf, too-in traffic,” Y.T. says.

“We don’t do this for fun,” Raven says. “It’s part of how we live. We get from island to island by surfing on waves.”

“Same here,” Y.T. says, “except we go from one franchulate to the next by surfing on cars.”

“See, the world is full of things more powerful than us. But if you know how to catch a ride, you can go places,” Raven says.

“Right. I’m totally hip to what you’re saying.”

“That’s what I’m doing with the Orthos. I agree with some of their religion. But not all of it. But their movement has a lot of power. They have a lot of people and money and ships.”

“And you’re surfing on it.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool, I can relate. What are you trying to do? I mean, what’s your real goal?”

They’re crossing a big broad platform. Suddenly he’s right behind her, his arms are around her body, and he draws her back into him. Her toes are just barely touching the ground. She can feel his cool nose against her temple and his hot breath coming into one ear. It sends a tingle straight down to her toes.

“Short-term goal or long-term goal?” Raven whispers.

“Urn-long term.”

“I used to have this plan-I was going to nuke America.”

“Oh. Well, that’d be kind of harsh,” she says.

“Maybe. Depends on what kind of a mood I’m in. Other than that, no long-term goals.” Every time he whispers something, another breath tickles her ear.

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