He got a shifty look and mutters from all of their fellow abandoned group, and Claire sighed. ‘Baker House,’ she said. ‘Which isn’t real, right? And Jack Florey’s not a real person?’

‘Opinions are divided,’ the cop said, and put his notebook away. ‘It’s the Orange Tour, by the way. Long tradition. Sometimes they let us hassle you. Guess this was your lucky night. You’re all from Fifth East?’

‘How did you know?’ Viva asked.

‘Because if you weren’t, you’d have a different guide. Head that way. You’ll get back on track quickly. Stay together. No wandering off on your own. And congratulations. You’re part of the history now – you’ve survived an Orange Tour. Now, don’t let us ever catch you hacking.’

A hack, in MIT jargon, meant a real-world mod … like the most recent one, which had been to turn the Earth Sciences building into a giant Tetris game with coloured interior lights. Hacks didn’t destroy, they just … creatively amended. But Jack Florey had given them the rules of hacks, too – and they sounded remarkably like the rules of surviving Morganville. No stealing. No destroying property. And never hack alone.

Odds were, most people on this tour would, at some point, be involved in a hack, or at least see a really good one.

But probably not her, Claire reflected, with another little burst of regret. She wasn’t here to be a freshman; she was here to study with Professor Anderson, on a Morganville-approved study course, and Amelie wasn’t likely to be in favour of anything that wasn’t strictly on the curriculum.

Escorted by the watchful eyes of campus security, they trudged back toward the centre of campus, where the dome of the Maclaurin Building dominated the landscape. Viva was still sticking close to Claire’s elbow. She looked small, and lost; the others in the group were laughing and happy, glowing with adventure and excitement. They seemed born to be here.

Viva didn’t. And Claire realised with a jolt that the kid was young – younger than her, or the others in the group. Not much younger, but enough to matter and cripple her with self-consciousness. ‘Hey,’ Claire said to her. ‘So, where are you from, Viva?’

‘Iowa,’ she said. ‘Rockwell City. You probably never heard of it.’

True, she hadn’t. ‘Is it nice?’

‘Not like this. I mean, this is—’ Viva flapped a hand around them, helpless to describe it. ‘Different. It’s great, and I thought I knew what I was getting into, but it’s so—’

‘Real,’ Claire said. She knew how it felt. ‘Bigger than you.’

‘Yeah.’ Viva clutched her binders closer, like a magic shield. ‘It’s a lot of pressure, and classes haven’t even started. I just feel—’

‘Alone?’

Viva nodded, looking ashamed. ‘They all seem so comfortable already.’