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The boy did a handstand in the surf, laughing.  He walked on his hands, then
flipped out of the water.  His eyes were Riviera's, but there was no malice
there.  'To call up a demon you must learn its name.  Men dreamed that, once,
but now it is real in another way.  You know that.  Your business is to learn
the names of programs, the long formal names, names the owners seek to conceal.
True names...'

'Neuromancer,' the boy said, slitting long gray eyes against the rising sun.
'The lane to the land of the dead.  Where you are, my friend.  Marie-France, my
lady, she prepared this road, but her lord choked her off before I could read
the book of her days.  Neuro from the nerves, the silver paths.  Romancer.
Necromancer.  I call up the dead.  But no, my friend' and the boy did a little
dance, brown feet printing the sand, 'I am the dead, and their land.'  He
laughed.  A gull cried.  'Stay.  If your woman is a ghost, she doesn't know it.
Neither will you.'

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