"We face these things our own way," Grant said. "If you're in a car, driving, maybe everybody can keep together. Keep going on. If we all stay at home, maybe . . . too. Also."

Please, you are powerful, you are Godlike, Arthur prayed to the Bosses at the top of the network, take us all, rescue us all. Please.

But the information already passed on to him made that prayer a hollow thing. And he had no assurance his family was going to be saved; no assurance at all, only a strong, living hope. He reached out for Grant's hand and clasped it between his own.

"I have always admired you," Arthur said. "You're not like me. But I want you to know that I've always admired you, and Danielle. You are good people. Wherever we are, whatever happens, you are in our thoughts. And I hope we will be in yours."

"You will be," Grant said, jaw clenched. Danielle and Francine came through the front door, Marty in tow. Becky did not come out, but watched through the front bay window, a small radiantly blond ghost.

Arthur sat behind the wheel again after making sure Marty was strapped securely into the station wagon's back seat. Grant held Danielle tightly with one arm and waved with the other.

Nothing so different about this, Arthur thought. Simple family leave-taking. He backed the station wagon out of the driveway and maneuvered on the narrow street, glancing at his watch. One hour to get where they had to be.

Francine's face was soaked with tears, but she made no sound, staring ahead, her arm hanging limply out the window.

Marty waved, and they drove away.

Winds from the ocean had driven the smoke of eastern fires inland, and once the mist had burned off, the air was fine and blue and clear. Arthur drove them across the heavy, gray-girdered San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, almost empty of traffic, taking the 480 off-ramp to the Embarcadero and turning south for China Basin Street and the Central Basin.

"Do you know where we're going?" Francine asked.

He nodded; in a way, he did know. He was following directions, but he had a picture of a fifty-foot fishing boat. Twenty passengers sat in the sun on the rear deck, waiting for them.

He parked the car in the lot at Agua Vista Park. "We're walking from here," he said. "It isn't far." "What about the luggage?" Francine asked. "My toys?" Marty chimed in.

"Leave them here," Arthur said. He opened the tailgate and pulled out the box containing Francine's disks and papers. That was the only thing he would insist they bring. He let Marty hold it.

The excitement was returning; he could feel sad later about those left behind. Right now, it seemed certain what he had most hoped for was happening. The network was not blocking his way, or telling him to go back; he was being urged on. Only a few minutes remained.