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time whatever information she felt she needed from the Students for a Fair World and from MicroMagnetics, Inc., and we would not linger unnecessarily in their vicinity.
    As we spoke, we could see Carillon at the end of the platform, where a road ended in a small circle. There was a dirty grey van parked there and behind it two other vehicles. One, I remember, was an elegant old Mercedes; the other, I think, was an American sedan, badly rusted. Carillon was talking to someone in the van through an open window. Abruptly, doors opened on both sides of the van and four or five people climbed out. Revolutionaries travel in bands, never alone. Several other people got out of the cars. I think probably two or three of them were girls, or women. I was not paying much attention to them — not nearly as much as I ought to have. I remember thinking that most of them looked like undergraduates and that all of them were dressed as something else — workers or peasants from other, more exotic cultures. They conferred in the parking lot for several minutes, and at one point I remember they all looked over at us. Then all of them except Chairman Carillon climbed into the sedans. He stood by the van and watched them drive away and then turned and waved to us to come over. The whole thing made me a little uneasy somehow. My instincts were good. I should have paid attention to them.
    The van had only two seats, and I graciously assured Anne and Carillon that I was delighted to ride in back on the floor, but it was clear that no one had considered any other arrangement anyway. The body of the van was filled with a jumble of cardboard boxes and what appeared to be building supplies and tools. I clambered awkwardly through the mess and found several loose cushions, which I tried to arrange into a seat for myself. When I sat down on it, I found that I could see nothing out the windows except patches of sky, and as soon as we started off, I felt myself being heaved from side to side with each turn. There seemed, moreover, to be an odd chemical smell in the van.
    In the front I could hear Anne and Carillon having an impenetrable discussion about the interrelations of various left-wing political groups, all of which seemed to be identified by initials, like government agencies. I could not have been less interested. I passed the time trying to figure out what the equipment next to me on the floor was for. I could see several coils of electrical wire and at least two large dry cells. Then with an unpleasant shock I realized that the smell all around me was of gunpowder. I was evidently about to take part in a bombing. This would put me in solid with the investment community. It would certainly be the breakthrough Anne was looking for. Put her right onto the front page, INVESTMENT FIRM LINKED TO LEFT-WING TERRORIST GROUP . My hands were trembling as I pulled open the top of one of the boxes and peered inside. More boxes.
    Carillon heard me and craned his head around to see what I was up to.
    “Everything all right back there?” he asked.
    Anne turned her head too and looked back at me.
    “Quite a lot of equipment you’ve got back here,” I ventured, as conversationally as possible. “Some sort of hobby, I guess.”
    “You might call it that. More an avocation. It would be better if you didn’t touch anything.”
    I was quite genuinely frightened. These people seem harmless enough when they mill around in public places haranguing each other about imposing a better world on the rest of us, but properly equipped they can be a genuine menace to themselves and others. I had a vision of Micro-Magnetics being blown to smithereens. This was quickly followed by what seemed a far more plausible vision of our van being blown to smithereens before it could get us to MicroMagnetics. I hoped my voice was not quavering.
    “Looks like you’re getting a head start on Independence Day this year.”
    There was a little pause. Then he replied, “You might put