We take a couple days to look around and hunt for fellow crusaders. The problem is that Danae is a tiny teenage girl, and taken just about as seriously as folks take bunny rabbits: “Oh that’s cute.” “What a sweet little thing.” “Do you need me to protect you?” They’re rarely taken seriously though. Even her prodigious skill as the ruler of rope doesn’t convince folks.

Then there’s me: I’m a drummer. Everyone knows I’m a drummer. Everyone cheers for my drumming when I occasionally show up at Fredo’s bar, but who really wants to go on a thousand mile quest with the drummer and the kid-sister? It turns out the answer is no one.

When Priya was leading the rescue, there were obligations felt from her prior work, and so some folks were willing to go along. She’s got the whole doctor authority thing going too, and that made more folks willing to travel with her. “I can heal you if you get hurt,” is pretty compelling enticement, not to mention there's a lot of folks in town with a vested interest in her making it back safely.

Miguel and Steve, being normal guys, didn’t hurt the expedition’s recruiting either. Most folks prefer to go do stuff with folks they can relax with. The chattering heads always used to call it the “have a beer test.” It works for politicians: In two way contests, mostly the one wins who normal folks would rather have a beer with. It also appears to work for adventures and crusades. Maybe it’s just a leadership thing. Folks want to follow a strong, leader that's like them.

Her highness of hair isn’t that guy. Neither am I. We plan to leave in the morning, just the two of us. For fighting, she may as well be a kraken, and if I can get the time rhythm running, I haven’t met anything that can stand against us. I go back to Fredo’s and play one more evening with Miguel and Priya. At the end, I make one more half-hearted entreaty for help, give handshakes and hugs to Miguel and Priya, and head back to the hotel.

The night is filled with drums and meditation, and at first light we get up and head out. Waiting outside the hotel is a guy. As soon as we come out, he speaks. “Umm. I want to go with you.”

The man looks like Hercules or Fabio or Atlas. Either Atlas: Charles or the guy who holds up the world. He’s probably closer to the Greek Hercules, with his curly hair and clean shaven face. Maybe a better explanation would be the Disney Hercules, all blond and stuff. He’s only a little taller than average--6’6”--but he is one of the most masculinely perfect guys I’ve seen. I’d drool if I swung that way. Checking Danae, she may actually be drooling. As it is, I’m just jealous.

Danae and I look at each other. “I’m, uhh, over here.” He raises one meaty arm up and gives it a little uncertain princess wave.

“Dude,” I say, “Those are some big arms.” Danae and I walk over.

He sniffs, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He goes to reach out and shake from fifteen feet away, but then realizes what he just did, and wipes the back of his hand on his pants; they’re blue jean shorts, and he's wearing a tight tee shirt that's nearly painted on his six-pack. Then he gets ready to extend his hand to shake again.

Stopping far enough away that shaking isn’t really possible, I ask, “Where did you want to go with us?”

“I wanted to go save people,” he says. He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. He runs them through his hair, sniffs again.

“Do you, like, have allergies, man?” Again, I derail the conversation.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I used to before.” I do the Spock thing with the eyebrow, and he stammers out, “In the old world. The plant fixed that.”

Danae goes from dazzled to aggressive in a flash. “Who are you? How do you know where we’re going? And why should we bring you?”

“Oh. Hi. I’m Murat. Murat Finkelmeier and I umm ”

“Dude!” I interrupt. “Did your parents really name you Rat Fink?”

He deflates a little. “No. I mean not really. Kind of? No one called me that until junior high.”

“Snake, let him finish.” Danae is acting protective.

“Um, and I can help fight. I can throw, I can’t really miss, and I’m pretty strong”

“Can’t miss?” Danae is wearing an expression of incredulity.

“I haven’t missed a throw th… ...” He fades to a mumble where even I can’t hear him. That’s impressive.

“Could you repeat that? I couldn’t hear you.” Dude's scared.

“Last time I missed my target was seventeen months ago.”

“How big of a target do you need and how far away?”

“Maybe something the size of a quarter. Not more than a mile away. I can’t hit if I can’t see it. I have pretty good eyesight now.”

Danae grabs a ringlet of her hair, looks at it for a moment, and throws it. It flies away for maybe half a mile like a frisbee. It stops and keeps rotating … or that’s what my sonar tells me. I can’t straight up see it.”

“First test. Hit the target.” Danae is a drill sergeant.

“That’s not so hard.” Ratfink picks up a rock, throws it, and it hits the hair loop from the side.

What? Reviewing what I seared, he seems to have teleported the rock

“Did you teleport the rock? Dude! That’s so cool.” I start gushing.

“No.” He says meekly. “It was a portal.”

“Portals?” Danae asks, “What are portals?”

“I can make holes in space, that go elsewhere.”

“That’s soooo cool,” I gush. “How far?”

“Line of sight.”

“How fast?”

“Instant, I think.”

“How big?”

“I can step through, but it’s a bit disorienting.”

“Can you cut things in half?”

“No. I’ve tried.”

Danae looks back and forth between our high speed conversation like we’re weird or something.

“Okay, Mr. Rat,” she begins …

“No. It’s Murat,” Murat corrects her helpfully.

“That’s right D.” I add, supporting my new buddy.

“It’s Danae.”

“Almost forgot.” I interject.

“Sorry. Mr. Moo-rat,” she continues, scowling at me, “Why do you want to come with us.”

“You’re freeing slaves. That’s a lot like being bullied. But worse. I want to help the people who are getting bullied. I mean slaved. I mean the people who are enslaved.”

I need some time to talk to Danae. "We’ll need to think about this some, and probably do a real interview tomorrow. We won’t leave today, though, we promise. Can you come back tomorrow at daybreak?”

“Sure. And here’s my address in town if you need to find me sooner. Umm. Thanks.” He hands us a piece of bark with an address on it, and all but runs off.

“That dude’s weird,” Danae mutters. “Why does a bodybuilder like him act so insecure.”

“That’s not his body,” I answer. “There’s a bunch of signs, but he switched bodies in the new world. I bet he was short, skinny, and ugly with allergies.”

“Oh. People do that?” Danae asks.

“Really? You didn’t notice that this place has more silicone than San Jose? What about Goro and Carter? My tail?” I ask. “Probably half of everyone here has body mods of some sort, and most of them are cosmetic. Problem is people learn who they are about fourteen, and then if their look changes, they don’t change how they carry themselves. Fink is the worst I’ve seen, but not the only one.”

“Wow.” D. pauses a minute. “So, you think we should bring him?”