"I might've," allowed Michael, reluctant to conclude anything before he knew if they were even talking about the same station and unsure that Paul Smecker's tech skills were up to trying to operate the virtual map and a telephone call at the same time. "Where're you holed up? How're you finding the accomodations? I haven't stayed in any of the derelict houses they've got around here -- I spent the night at the Sanctuary, then found where I am right now. I've checked for wires," he frowned, glanced at the ceiling, "otherwise I wouldn't be talking to you right now, but but I figure it's likely all our phone and video conversations are wired and recorded anyway: it's what I'd do if I were them. Hello, wiretapper." He tapped the phone with his finger.

"Anyway --" He let the line go silent for a moment or two, considering. There was professionalism and then there was making a friend in a place without a lot of friends. There was the chance reaching out a little would make Agent Smecker suspicious or take him less seriously. But there was always a chance, anyway, no matter what action you took. No avoiding chances in life. Just picking them.

Michael closed his eyes. "Volvo makes a nice car," he said. "I have a Charger back home, '73. Not much with the horsepower compared to what they put out these days, but she was a real beauty in her golden years."