way, but he hadn't met a woman who shared the sense of being caged. The ones he knew seemed to enjoy their security. "The streets can be a maze. I run a lot. I thought maybe I could help you find your way."
"I'm trying to lose my way."
He stopped again, uncertain how to respond. Tiny beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead and she took off her cap, shaking her hair. It was thick and jet black, lustrous. Who was this woman?
"What's your name?" he asked.
She considered. "Is that important?"
He thought a moment. She was expecting an intelligent reply. "Some cultures named people for what they were, like Smith or Baker," he said. "Some thought you became your name. Some were named for things observed at birth."
She shrugged. "It's Raven."
"Raven…?"
Her caution was understandable. "That's all you need to know."
"Okay. Named for your hair?"
She smiled. "If I was named for what I looked like at birth my name would be Prune. Raven was a creature of legend. Smart, elusive."
"Like you?"
"Maybe. You said we become our names."
He nodded. "And what do you do?"
"I think a better question is why do you do."
"Why?"
"Think about it." She turned to begin running again.
"Wait!"
She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"I want to see you again."
"So run. Maybe we'll meet."
"No, see you where we can talk."
She turned to face him. "Are you asking me on a date?"
The question was so challenging he thought she was about to say no. "There's a good new restaurant…"
"Date restaurants are overpriced and pretentious."
Jesus. This was a hard one. "Well, I know a club…"
"I don't like clubs. It's too loud to hear, and when the music stops there's nothing worth hearing."
He took a breath. "What do you like?"
She looked at him, judging in a way he didn't entirely like, and for a moment something in her eyes passed like a shadow. "I like cyberspace," she finally said. "People have time to think before they communicate, and they have the anonymity to be themselves."
"I have to talk to you by e-mail?"
She laughed. "I like exploring."
"I do too. The cyber underground."
"The what?"
"Free thinkers on the net. They question things. Lead you to new places." His offer was implicit: I can show you.
"Ah." She nodded but seemed unimpressed. "I've heard of that, I think. Unhappy people."
"Independent people."
She studied him again, his clothes stained with sweat, his manner betraying an underlying frustration, and came to a decision. "How about a different underground?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know the Pitney Tube stop?"
"Yes…"
"Meet me there tonight at nine."
"Tonight?"
"Yes." She smiled encouragingly. "Come hungry. Bring a light."
"A light? For what?"
But she was already sprinting for a corner before he had a chance to consider or change his mind. "Bring a sense of adventure!"
***
A sense of adventure. Daniel slipped off his opti-glasses, rocked back in his cubicle chair, and stared up at the acoustical cones which jutted like stubby beige stalactites from the ceiling of Level 31. When had he lost his? When he realized the planet was so thoroughly mapped that a palmtop and satellite could pinpoint your location to within a few feet of every rock and tree? When he was cut from enough teams that he went from playing sports to watching them? When he was bruised in enough relationships that he went from looking for commitment to avoiding it?
Adventure happened to other people. He'd realized by age fourteen that he was never going to be an astronaut or mineral aquanaut. Those anointed were special, their talent and selection by means mysterious and exclusive. How had their lives taken such turns? He was repeatedly urged to be ordinary, to fit in, to join groups. So he'd earned grades that were good but not special, made friends who were fun but not close, bought toys that were expensive but not meaningful. Taught that the universe was trillions of miles across and billions of years old, he came to the private
"I'm trying to lose my way."
He stopped again, uncertain how to respond. Tiny beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead and she took off her cap, shaking her hair. It was thick and jet black, lustrous. Who was this woman?
"What's your name?" he asked.
She considered. "Is that important?"
He thought a moment. She was expecting an intelligent reply. "Some cultures named people for what they were, like Smith or Baker," he said. "Some thought you became your name. Some were named for things observed at birth."
She shrugged. "It's Raven."
"Raven…?"
Her caution was understandable. "That's all you need to know."
"Okay. Named for your hair?"
She smiled. "If I was named for what I looked like at birth my name would be Prune. Raven was a creature of legend. Smart, elusive."
"Like you?"
"Maybe. You said we become our names."
He nodded. "And what do you do?"
"I think a better question is why do you do."
"Why?"
"Think about it." She turned to begin running again.
"Wait!"
She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"I want to see you again."
"So run. Maybe we'll meet."
"No, see you where we can talk."
She turned to face him. "Are you asking me on a date?"
The question was so challenging he thought she was about to say no. "There's a good new restaurant…"
"Date restaurants are overpriced and pretentious."
Jesus. This was a hard one. "Well, I know a club…"
"I don't like clubs. It's too loud to hear, and when the music stops there's nothing worth hearing."
He took a breath. "What do you like?"
She looked at him, judging in a way he didn't entirely like, and for a moment something in her eyes passed like a shadow. "I like cyberspace," she finally said. "People have time to think before they communicate, and they have the anonymity to be themselves."
"I have to talk to you by e-mail?"
She laughed. "I like exploring."
"I do too. The cyber underground."
"The what?"
"Free thinkers on the net. They question things. Lead you to new places." His offer was implicit: I can show you.
"Ah." She nodded but seemed unimpressed. "I've heard of that, I think. Unhappy people."
"Independent people."
She studied him again, his clothes stained with sweat, his manner betraying an underlying frustration, and came to a decision. "How about a different underground?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know the Pitney Tube stop?"
"Yes…"
"Meet me there tonight at nine."
"Tonight?"
"Yes." She smiled encouragingly. "Come hungry. Bring a light."
"A light? For what?"
But she was already sprinting for a corner before he had a chance to consider or change his mind. "Bring a sense of adventure!"
***
A sense of adventure. Daniel slipped off his opti-glasses, rocked back in his cubicle chair, and stared up at the acoustical cones which jutted like stubby beige stalactites from the ceiling of Level 31. When had he lost his? When he realized the planet was so thoroughly mapped that a palmtop and satellite could pinpoint your location to within a few feet of every rock and tree? When he was cut from enough teams that he went from playing sports to watching them? When he was bruised in enough relationships that he went from looking for commitment to avoiding it?
Adventure happened to other people. He'd realized by age fourteen that he was never going to be an astronaut or mineral aquanaut. Those anointed were special, their talent and selection by means mysterious and exclusive. How had their lives taken such turns? He was repeatedly urged to be ordinary, to fit in, to join groups. So he'd earned grades that were good but not special, made friends who were fun but not close, bought toys that were expensive but not meaningful. Taught that the universe was trillions of miles across and billions of years old, he came to the private
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