Files

A couple of weeks later, the seismograph crew was working through steep, difficult terrain. Pete’s ankles felt sore and wobbly. An hour later they were back at the Prineville motel. Car doors slammed as the men and women spilled out of the vehicles onto the parking lot. The crew split up. Some went straight to their rooms. A few diehards headed to the bar. For his part, Pete was famished. He walked to a diner in town. The streets were mostly empty. Streetlamps and dimly lit shop windows illuminated Pete’s path down the sidewalk. The night was cold. The peak dinner hour was already passed by the time Pete strolled into Al’s Diner. The place was almost empty, the only customers being a solitary man at one table and, at the other end of the restaurant, four high-school students who were talking and laughing. Pete recognized the man as Stu, the manager of the Facebook data center. “Hey, it’s the wanderer. Join me if you’d like,” Stu said. “The wanderer?” Pete asked as he drew up a c...