“What about the Internet Predator?” Evelyn asked.
“What about him? There are millions of us on the Internet. Tens of millions. There’s as much chance of meeting that nut as there is of getting hit by a meteorite.”
“So did you already send away some of your equipment?”
“A few things, yes.”
“And you mean to send him more?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’re quite the Samaritan, dear. And there aren’t many of those around.”
“That depends,” said Winona, “what you call a Samaritan. Some might say there’s one born every minute.” She glanced at the clock. “Listen, can we finish this? I got to get home and walk my Dodo before she does poopsies on my own property.”
At the Easy-Clip next day, after the tide of morning trade had swept the first wave of customers in and then subsided, Evelyn sank with a grateful sigh into one of the mauve swivel chairs and got back onto the subject of Dianne’s new acquaintance. She’d been thinking about it all night. It worried her. She couldn’t help herself.
“You know—” she was determined not to get into an argument “—now I think about it, maybe this computer craze isn’t such a bad thing after all.”
“It isn’t a craze,” replied Dianne without a hint of conciliation in her tone.
She rinsed her combs in the sink, laid them on a folded towel, then picked up that morning’s issue of the Sun and sat down herself in one of the customers’ chairs.
“No, no, of course not, dear. What I meant to say was—”
“A revolution is more what it is. Like the industrial one, when they converted everything over to steam.”
“I thought you said it was like the invention of the printing press.”
“It’s like a lot of things. It’s like steam because it lets one worker do the work of ten.”
“Hmm.” Evelyn stared blankly into space. “And that caused some unemployment in the world, if I remember my high school history correctly.”
“People got new jobs. They moved on to other things.”
“They moved to the New World, dear. Problem is, there’s no New World to move to this time.” She was arguing again, but she couldn’t help it. “What do you suppose will happen when they get computers to cut people’s hair? When folks only have to walk in, select the ‘do’ they want, and press a button. Dial-a-Style, they’ll call it. Whir! Zing! Done! There won’t be much for us to do. Except maybe change the oil in the computers once in a while.”
With an air of strained patience Dianne shook out the newspaper. “Computers don’t have oil.”
“Well, that proves my point. More people out of work. All your Texans and Arabs in the welfare office with their oil drills under their arms.” Evelyn hesitated. She wanted to make Dianne see the dangers of being impetuous. She laid her hand on the girl’s arm. “Dear, listen, what do I know? When it comes to computers — nothing. You know way more about them than I do, I admit it. But I do know something about life, and about people, and I’d be lying if I said that what you’re doing doesn’t worry me.”
“Why should you worry?”
“I just want you to be careful. It’s the Internet. And there’s a killer on the loose. You don’t know nothing about this person. You don’t know what his ethics are.”
“His ethics are fine. I trust him completely.” Dianne turned a page. “In fact, we’ve arranged a meeting.”
Evelyn gaped, stunned by this news.
“You mean to tell me this is a local person?”
“What did you think? That he’s flying in from China?”
“And you gave him your particulars? Your name and address and all that?”
“I told him a few things. I mean, I had to. How could we meet if we don’t tell each other anything?”
“But, dear, honestly! That’s the one thing you’re never to do — give out your identity on the computer network. It’s like shouting it to the winds. Plastering it in the newspapers. It could be dangerous!”
“So you do know all about it, don’t you? You are an experienced netter!”
“I may not go surfing the Internet, but I do have a lick of common sense.” Evelyn frowned at Dianne. “I listen to the radio and watch the TV, and I have a nephew who’s quick as cats about computers. And one thing I hear over and over again is how important it is to protect your identity. Especially with that Internet Predator skulking about. There’s no telling what might happen. No telling what kind of grief you might be attracting if you don’t take precautions.”
“I’ve taken precautions all my life. I’ve been too cautious if anything.” Dianne’s eyes flashed. “So maybe I want something to happen in my life. Has that crossed your mind?”
Dianne was admitting — what, exactly? That she was lonely? It had never occurred to Evelyn that a young woman with her attributes could have that sort of a problem, ever.
“Hon,” she said grudgingly, finding a softer tone, “I see where you’re coming from. Life can seem dull. I feel that way myself sometimes, Lord knows. All’s I’m trying to say is I wish you’d be careful. I’m sure this person is very nice, but for the moment at least, he’s a stranger. You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“I know this,” Dianne replied curtly. “The person I’ve been communicating with is kind and considerate. And generous — look at that charity work! And whether you approve of it or not, I’m going through with our f-2-f!” She flung down the newspaper and snatched up a hairdryer.
Evelyn watched her direct a gale of superheated air at the mirror. “Your f-2-f, dear?”
“That’s Net talk! It means face-to-face, all right?”
“Ah,” breathed Evelyn sadly. “Right.” On the countertop the newspaper headlines screamed CYBER-PREDATOR STRIKES AGAIN! ANOTHER NETTER MISSING! “You know best,” she said. “Of course you do.”
Sixty miles away, Big Heloise Walker had appointments to keep. The first was her meeting with a stewardess — a so-called stewardess — whom she wouldn’t be seeing till half-past nine, even though the girl had suggested an earlier hour for their first meeting. Lu had pitched hard for the later time, saying it was the best she could manage, there being a computer project for the underprivileged making heavy demands upon her at the moment.
The girl had bought it.
That was important.
It had to be well and truly dark at zero hour.
Her other appointment was of the electronic sort, with an individual who lived in Europe, a cyberholic like herself, known to her simply as Qwaz. Lu had never had an f-2-f with Qwaz. Nor did she know what the four-character name stood for. Probably nothing. Probably chosen because the letters were simple to generate, all grouped handily at the left end of the computer keyboard. She glanced at her Swiss Army watch and saw that it was time. She keyed into their usual chat room, and typed:
— Yo, Qwaz.
The response came back:
— Hi, Blu.
Blu was the shorthand Qwaz used for her. Like all netters, Qwaz loved shorthand. It saved connection time. Qwaz typed:
— Still interested?
— Y
— I’m waiting.
— I know.
— So what’s the holdup?