After breakfast, Malibu decided to take a circuitous route to the library. She worked through the Financial District, North Beach, and Chinatown, where she naturally made a stop at the Memory Station. Once inside a room (number four), she teed up the movie she had dreamed up in her mind. She wasn’t sure the console would be able to locate the memory since it was a thought and not an actual activity, but there it was, in her memory bank. As she re-watched the images she had created—her eyes frantically twitching—it seemed to deliver the same mental cleansing effect that occurs while dreaming. Information was processed and filed away in her subconscious.
Afterward, she walked to Russian Hill, pointing herself toward the location she had conjured up in her faux dream, the location where a co
