"Delphia." The man’s space-black eyes showed no emotion, but he seemed to be intently studying the background of the image she was sending him. If he was looking for a way to ID her location, he’d need precog to do it. The VR doss shown was totally false, a composite from hundreds of the more interesting layouts offered by decades of Architectural Digest chip. No way a gutter samurai could know those. She sat up straight in her chair and stopped herself just in time from tugging on her earlobe thoughtfully. Her other self would have copied the action and Erika didn’t want this Delphia person to know her telltales. Possibilities were opening here, most of them unpleasant. Did he somehow know this was a VR telecom?