Before he could find Sarah, though, he had to get himself situated. It took a few hours. Cab ride to a hotel; check-in with cash credits and a false name; food; last-minute scan of his new Net identity and then comparison of the data he’d stolen from Lifeblood to the maps of the area. All the while, he debated: should he contact Sarah, let her know he was coming? He kept going back and forth. On the one hand, it might lessen the shock, prepare her a bit. But on the other, he was terrified that for some crazy reason she’d tell him not to come. Or think he was some crackpot and disconnect. Or worse, block him.
He kept coming back to the same decision: he’d take his chances and confront her. He wanted to look into her eyes when he told her—even with his stranger’s eyes, which she’d never seen before. He was sure it was the one way to convince her. She’d be thrown off guard by how he looked, but that was normal for first meetings outside the Sleep. People usually created Auras in the Sleep that looked different from their actual selves, no matter what they claimed. But as soon as he recited everything they’d gone through on the Path and with Kaine, she’d know it was him. And in person she wouldn’t be able to block him.
And so it was that he found himself on Sarah’s front porch, afternoon fading to evening, the air crisp and cool. She lived in a suburb outside the city proper. Her family obviously had money—not only did they own a house, it was a big one. With a porch. As a city kid, Michael had always thought porches were things you’d only find in a VirtNet fantasy world. But what did he know?
He knocked on the door, his pulse quickening with each rap of his knuckles.
A few seconds went by, and they seemed to take an eternity. Then he heard footsteps. The lockpad started to beep and his heart leaped. He was tempted to turn and make a run for it, catapult himself down the stairs and hightail it around the corner of the house before anyone saw him. But the moment passed. The lock disengaged and the door opened.
A woman stood there, maybe fifty years old, blond hair, her plain but pretty face just starting to wrinkle with age. She smiled, almost disguising the question—the borderline concern—in her eyes as to why a complete stranger stood on her front porch.
“Hi,” Michael said, a little too quickly. “Um, my name is Michael.” Then, for some inexplicable reason, his mind went totally blank and he couldn’t think of what to say next. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Okay,” the woman finally said hesitantly. “Michael. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, um, yes,” he stammered. “I’m here to see Sarah. Is she your daughter?” He cringed—what a stupid thing to say. The answer was pretty obvious.
“Sarah’s my daughter, yes. Does she know you? What’s this about?” Michael wasn’t sure when it had happened exactly, but the smile had vanished from her face.
His heart thumped. He’d always used a mostly lifelike version of himself inside the Sleep, and Sarah knew that. And now he looked totally different. Still, it wasn’t so unusual to use a completely altered Aura. At worst, she would think he had lied about his appearance. He’d be able to convince her of who he was with words, and quickly.
Sarah’s mom was obviously getting worried. “Maybe you should come back later,” she said, trying to sound polite.
“I’m sorry,” Michael blurted out. “I’m sorry—I’m just nervous. Sarah is one of my best friends in the Sleep—I mean, in the VirtNet, and we’ve never met in the Wake before. I wanted to surprise her with a visit, and instead I knocked on your door and made you think I was a stalker. I’m sorry. Could you just tell her that Michael’s here? Mike the Spike? Please?” He smiled awkwardly.
The woman had taken a step back, her eyes wide. It seemed a bad sign at first, but then her face lit up with a smile, this time more genuine.
“Please?” Michael repeated, trying to show all the humility he possessed. I can be good at this human thing, he thought, making his own smile brighter.
“Come in,” Sarah’s mom said as she swung the door open wide. “We’ve heard more about you than you could possibly know, young man. Our daughter has wanted to meet you in person for years, but we didn’t expect such a … surprise.” Another warm smile. “My name is Nancy.”
Michael almost wished he had a hat—he felt like he’d take it off and wring it in his hands as he timidly stepped inside, like something out of an old black-and-white. He settled for nodding and keeping his eyes low. He didn’t want to screw up this one chance.
Nancy closed the door behind him, then stepped to the other side of the hallway, which stretched toward the kitchen. Michael was pretty sure he’d heard her engage the lock—or maybe it was an automatic mechanism.
“Gerard, you can come out now!” Nancy yelled. “It’s just a friend of Sarah’s!”
A side door along the hallway swung open, creaking on its hinges. A man stepped out, a burly, bald, gruff-looking guy holding a small gun with white-knuckled fingers, pointing it directly at Michael.
“Let’s go have a seat, then,” the man said.