Cryptonomicon

Then the men from Goto join them, and it just happens that Eberhard Föhr and Tom Howard show up at just the same time. There is a combinatorial explosion of name-card exchanges and introductions. It seems like protocol demands a lot of serious social drinking--now Randy's inadvertently challenged these guys' politeness by ordering them beer, and they have to demonstrate that they will not be bested in any such contest. Tables get pushed together and everything gets just unbelievably jovial. Eb has to order some beer for everyone too. Pretty soon things have degenerated into karaoke. Randy gets up and sings "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo." It's a good choice because it's a mellow, laid-back song that doesn't demand lots of emoting. Or singing ability, for that matter.

At some point Tom Howard puts his beefy arm up on the back of Cantrell's chair, the better to shout into his ear. Their matched Eutropian bracelets, engraved with "Hello Doctor, please freeze me as follows" messages, are glittery and conspicuous, and Randy's nervous that the Nipponese guys are going to notice this and ask questions that will be exceedingly difficult to answer. Tom is reminding Cantrell of something (for some reason they always refer to Cantrell in this way; some people are just made to be called by last names). Cantrell nods and shoots Randy a quick and somewhat furtive look. When Randy looks back at him, Cantrell glances down apologetically and takes to chivvying his beer bottle nervously between his hands. Tom just keeps looking at Randy kind of interestedly. All of this motivated glancing finally brings Randy and Tom and Cantrell together at the farthest end of the bar from the karaoke speakers.

"So, you know Andrew Loeb," Cantrell says. It's clear he's basically dismayed by this and yet sort of impressed too, as if he'd just learned that Randy had once beaten a man to death with his bare hands and then just never bothered to mention it.

"It's true," Randy says. "As well as anyone can know a guy like that."

Cantrell is paying undue diligence to the project of picking the label off of his beer bottle and so Tom picks up the thread now. "You were in business together?"

"Not really. Can I ask how you guys are aware of this? I mean, how do you even know that Andrew Loeb exists in the first place? Because of the Digibomber thing?"

"Oh, no--it was after that. Andy became a figure of note in some of the circles where Tom and I both hang out," Cantrell says.

"The only circles I can imagine that Andy'd be a part of would be primitive survivalists, and people who believe they've been Satanically ritually abused."

Randy says this mindlessly, as if his mouth is a mechanical teletype hammering out a weather forecast. It kind of hangs there.

"That helps fill in a few gaps," Tom finally says.

"What did you think when the FBI searched his cabin?" Cantrell asks, his grin returned.

"I didn't know what to think," Randy says. "I remember watching the videotape on the news--the agents coming out of that shack with boxes of evidence, and thinking my name must be on papers in them. That somehow I'd get mixed up in the case as a result."

"Did the FBI ever contact you?" Tom asks.

"No. I think that once they searched through all of his stuff, they figured out pretty quickly that he wasn't the Digibomber, and crossed him off the list."

"Well, not long after that happened, Andy Loeb showed up on the Net," Cantrell says.

"I find that impossible to believe."

"So did we. I mean, we'd all received copies of his manifestoes--printed on this grey recycled paper that was like the sheets of fuzz that you peel off a clothes dryer's lint trap."

"He used some kind of organic, water-based ink that flaked off like black dandruff," Tom says.

"We used to joke about having Andy-grit all over our desks," Cantrell says. "So when this guy called Andy Loeb showed up on the Secret Admirers mailing list, and the Eutropia newsgroup, posting all of these long rants, we refused to believe it was him."

"We thought that someone had just written really brilliant parodies of his prose style," Cantrell says.

"But when they kept coming, day after day, and he started getting into these long dialogs with people, it became obvious that it really was him," Tom grumbles.

"How did he square that with being a Luddite?"

Cantrell: "He said that he'd always thought of computers as a force that alienated and atomized society."

Tom: "But as the result of being the number one Digibomber suspect for a while, he'd been forcibly made aware of the Internet, which changed computers by connecting them."

"Oh, my god!" Randy says.

"And he'd been mulling over the Internet while he was doing whatever Andrew Loeb does," Tom continues.

Randy: "Squatting naked in icy mountain streams strangling muskrats with his bare hands."

Tom: "And he'd realized computers could be a tool to unite society."

Randy: "And I'll bet he was just the guy to unite it."

Cantrell: "Well, that's actually not far away from what he said."