Having a roommate, especially a beautiful one who slept on the floor, was an adjustment. I hadn’t lived with anyone since graduate school, and I was used to my own schedule. My eating and sleeping times were anything but routine, to say nothing of lying on the couch for hours at a time while in VR. Accustomed to wandering around my house in boxers, I now refrained from stepping outside my room half-dressed.

I’m not sure why I assumed going shirtless would offend Abby; after all, the men in her tribe, I imagined, wore virtually nothing. I suppose I considered her mores traditional and therefore modest, regardless of her tribe’s customs. I admit, my adjustment to her had to be easier than her adjustment to me. She didn’t complain, though.

I was lying on the couch the next morning, checking the Grid, when Abby came bounding down the stairs, sporting a ponytail that gave her a playful look. She sat in my recliner and brushed the bangs out of her eyes.

“You slept late this morning.”

“Catching up,” she quipped. “The floor in the prayer chapel wasn’t the most comfortable.”

“I’ve waited on you to do a tap.”

“To Papua New Guinea?”

I shook my head. “It’s nighttime there. If we tap late tonight, they’ll be back at work. First I want to tap Inland Tribes. Didn’t you say it was in Africa?”

“Yes, Cameroon.”

“Alistair, in what city is the headquarters for an organization called Inland Tribes?”

“Yaoundé, Cameroon.”

“What time is it there?”

“Six fifteen p.m.”

“Hmm. Too late, probably. Alistair, please send a message requesting a contact from their office administrator. My moving image.” I looked at Abby. “And Abby’s. In both of our names, my Grid address.”

“Certainly.”

Abby leaned forward. “What are we asking?”

“Where the message from Ray to your father was sent from.”

“Can someone determine that?”

“Usually, yes.”

She thought for a moment. “Where was the message to your father sent from?”

“I don’t know. The records were erased from the Grid.”

“Is that normal? Who would do that?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out.” I stood up. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

I steered her to the table and reached for plates. “What did you usually have for breakfast in the jungle?”

“We always had kwa and sago.”

I looked at her. “Kwa? Sago?”

“Kwa is a breadfruit, and sago is the fruit of sago palms, made into a paste and cooked.”

“Hmm. I’m all out of kwa and sago. How about some bagels, cream cheese, and juice?”

“That’ll have to do. This time,” she warned.

The lighter mood, after the previous night’s intense discussion, was welcome. I gathered the food and joined her at the table.

“Abby, have you given more thought to your grandfather’s message? What he may have meant?”

“Yes.” She had a bite of bagel.