Tashi’s friends tend to giggle about the arrangement, but Tash doesn’t mind. His home is part of his larger theory, which goes like so: The less you are plugged into the machine, the less it controls you. Money is the great plug, of course; need money, need job. Since most jobs are part of the machine, it follows that you should lead a life with no need for money. No easy task, of course, but one can approximate, do what is possible. The roof is a fine solution to the major money problem, and it even helps with the other major need: he has vegetables growing in long boxes, most of them set in rows next to the railing, to provide a margin of safety. Neat. And he’s out in the weather; has a view of the ocean, a great blue plain to the southwest; and above him, the ever-changing skyscapes. Yes, it’s a fine home.

He washes down his wetsuit, showers. As he’s finishing up in the bathroom the elevator door opens. Sandy and Tash’s ally Erica Palme emerge. “In here!” he calls as they pass the bathroom headed for the tent. They look in. “We’ve brought some lunch along,” Erica says.

“Good.”

Sandy starts laughing, “Ah, hahahaha— Tashi! What are you doing?”

“Well—” He’s about to brush his teeth, actually. It’s obvious. “I’m brushing my teeth.”

“But why are you tearing up the toothpaste tube?”

“Well, it’s about out. I was just getting the last of it.”

“You’re tearing open a toothpaste tube to get out the last of the toothpaste?”

“Sure. Look how much was left in there.”

Sandy looks. “Uh-huh. Yeah, that’s right. You should be able to brush several teeth with that.”

“Hmph! Oll sh’ oo!” Tashi brushes triumphantly. Sandy cracks up while Erica drags him off to the tent.

Once inside they go to work on the bags from Jack-in-the-Box. Tashi finishes well ahead of the others, starts to work on a broken carbrain. He buys the little computers from car yards, fixes them and sells them to underground repair shops. Another part of OC’s black economy. Income from this alone is almost enough to pay the bills, although it’s only one of many activities that Tashi pursues, in a deliberately diffuse way.

Erica watches this work with a sour expression that makes Tash a little uncomfortable. A vice-president in the administration of Hewes Mall, she never seemed to mind Tashi’s semi-indigence before; but lately that appears to be changing. Tashi doesn’t know why.

Sandy notices Erica’s stare and Tashi’s discomfort under it, and says, “Last week I made a connection with my supplier at Monsanto San Gabriel, and I was tracking back home with about three gallons of MDMA on the passenger seat, when I ran into a Highway Patrol spot-check point—”

“Jesus, Sandy!” Erica purses her mouth.