The party
had only been on for a couple hours, but it had already balkanized into
inward-facing groups: merchants, kids, hackers. Kurt kept turning the
music way up ("If they're not going to talk with one another, they might
as well dance." "Kurt, those people are old. Old people don't dance to
music like this." "Shut up, Lyman." "Make me."), and Andy kept turning
it down.
The bookstore people drifted in, then stopped and moved vaguely toward
the middle of the floor, there to found their own breakaway
conversational republic. Lyman startled. "Sara?" he said and one of the
anarchists looked up sharply.
"Lyman?" She had two short ponytails and a round face that made her look
teenage young, but on closer inspection she was more Lyman's age,
mid-thirties. She laughed and crossed the gap to their little republic
and threw her arms around Lyman's neck. "Crispy Christ, what are *you*
doing here?"
"I work with these guys!" He turned to Arnold and Kurt. "This is my
cousin Sara," he said. "These are Albert and Kurt. I'm helping them
out."
"Hi, Sara," Kurt said.
"Hey, Kurt," she said looking away. It was clear even to Alan that they
knew each other already. The other bookstore people were looking on with
suspicion, drinking their beer out of refillable coffee-store thermos
cups.
"It's great to meet you!" Alan said taking her hand in both of his and
shaking it hard.
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