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He tried to wave a waiter over, with no luck.

“Ah well,” he said, “Gives me some time to dry off. Have I ever shown you my sister’s music?”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, her name’s Island.” He reached in his pockets. “I have a clip of her singing, one moment…” He pulled out a phone, which was kind of damp-looking, but he still managed to get it turned on.

The hologram he pulled up was indeed of a beautiful red kangaroo, dressed in gray and black and white, standing in front of a microphone. A few puffs of smoke came up around her as she began to sing:

“When Jesus wept, the falling tear
in mercy flowed beyond all bound;
when Jesus groaned, a trembling fear
shook all the guilty world around—”

The smoke was joined by a spurt of blue sparks, and the phone went dead.

Blake shut his eyes.

“That was amazing,” said a human at a table next to us. “I didn’t catch it in time, though—who is she? I’d love to download her.”

“Her name’s Darker Island,” Blake said. “But you won’t find her, she’s L & L. You’d have to go to Blantyre.”

“A Luddite, eh? I don’t even know where Blantyre is.”

Blake didn’t answer. He picked up the phone and gave it a couple of smacks. It didn’t respond.

“L & L?” I said. “That’s awesome.” The Live and Local movement avoided globalization and the Net, creating their own microcultures instead. “She must be really close with you, to have let you make a recording.”

“Yeah,” he said. “She was.”