I wake up in night and think I’ve heard him—just a whisper: "Man. . . Man my best friend. . ." But when I say, "Mike?" he doesn’t answer. Is he wandering around somewhere, looking for hardward to hook onto? Or is he buried down in Complex Under, trying to find way out? Those special memories are all in there somewhere, waiting to be stirred. But I can’t retrieve them; they were voicecoded.