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consciousness.
    "No," she answered, unfazed.
    "Well, I was just wondering if we're forgetting about school for the day, since you seem to be heading for the exit," Ed said.
    Gaia stopped as the automatic door swung open with a loud buzz. "I think you should stay here," she said, glancing briefly at Ed's wide brown eyes.
    "No way," Ed said determinedly. "This is no time to become Independent Girl." He pushed his way through the door and out onto the street. Fortunately, the school administration was a tad lax about keeping an eye on the handicap exits.
    "Ed, I'm not
becoming
anything," Gaia said, stomping after him. A brisk October wind caught her hair and whipped it back from her face. "I just don't want you involved."
    "I'm already involved," Ed said, staring straight ahead.
    "Ed --"
    "Gaia."
    The tone of his voice made her pause. She might as well let him come home with her. She'd derail his efforts then. Somehow. She couldn't have him out on the street with her, where he was an easy target.
    "Fine," she said, unwilling to let him get the last word. "But stay out of my way." She sidestepped past him and walked a few feet ahead, making sure to keep up a fast pace.
    Gaia and Ed were halfway to George and Ella's house before either one of them spoke. Actually, she would have liked his advice, but how could she ask for it?
    A) That would make her look needy, and she'd rather be dead than needy.
    And
    B) He didn't have all the facts.
    As far as Ed could assume, George's computer files were most likely limited to bank statements and hints on preparing tangy marinades. He didn't know about George's past, which might in fact turn out to be continuing on into his present.
    The question: Was Gaia willing to turn over one computer disk, which might, perhaps (and that was one gigantic perhaps there), contain a bunch of classified government crap that could help some terrorist destroy the world?
    Or could she just let Sam die?
    "So . . . does this disk or file or whatever have a name?" Ed asked finally. "Maybe it'll give you some clue about what it is."
    Loyal
and
smart, that was Ed. Gaia scanned the remainder of the note and found the name.
    And stopped in her tracks.
    The file was called Scaredy Cat.

No Warrant
    ELLA HAD LEFT A NOTE. OBVIOUSLY Gaia had overlooked it in the commotion of the morning.
    She found it on the hall table when she barreled in.
Surprised George with a day trip to the country. We won't be home until late. Ella.
    "Finally," said Ed. "Something goes your way."
    "Lucky me," Gaia responded, crumpling the note and tossing it over her shoulder as she tore through the house toward George's office. The stupid note reeked of Ella's perfume -- some one-of-a-kind, New Age concoction she paid an arm and a leg for. Some freaky witchlike person in Soho produced it exclusively for her. It smelled like dead roses on fire and it made Gaia gag.
    Gaia headed straight for the disk organizer on George's desk and quickly flipped through the contents. Nothing promising.
    Like there was really going to be a disk marked Scaredy Cat in big red letters. Like anything could be that easy. Gaia pulled out a drawer and dumped the contents on the desk. Papers flew everywhere, and pencils, paper clips, and tacks scattered across the smooth wooden surface. A pair of worry beads hit the floor and rolled noisily into the corner.
    "George is gonna love that," Ed said, wheeling into the room.
    "Somehow neatness isn't my number one priority at the moment," Gaia said, rooting around in the mess. Again, nothing. Gaia groaned in frustration and went for the file cabinet.
    Ed hit a key on the computer keyboard, reviving the machine from sleep mode. "Listen," he said, not taking his eyes off the screen, "I've become pretty proficient on this little modern convenience lately. I mean, until Arthur Murray comes up with swing lessons for paraplegics, there aren't a whole hell of a lot of ways for me to kill time."
    Gaia didn't want to laugh, but for his