Memory Traffic

Chapter 11: The Return

When the train arrived at our station, we shuffled with the slow but steadily moving crowd to the stairs taking us to street level. The adrenaline in my system coursed when we saw our faces on the giant displays, the text warning the public that we were wanted and dangerous.

The crowd didn't seem interested in the display, but that did little to soothe my nerves. I watched Sharon expertly steal two hats from a street merchant, one of which she handed me a second later. She plopped hers on her head, the wide brim shading her face. I pulled the bill of mine low over my eyes and willed myself to blend with the crowd.

We didn't have much time, and we were afraid the wait for the transport to Alpha Centauri would be long, so we needed to move quickly. We made our way to the flying car station and fed our tickets into the automated system, which gave us access to the platform. At one point, guards threaded through the crowd, but we managed to keep people between them and us, and they moved on about their business after a few harrowing seconds of alarm. When it was finally our turn to board a car, we hopped in and settled quickly. The car sped by another group of guards as it launched from the platform into the air.

The streets below us were crowded with people and creatures flowing along defined lines creating the city's lifeblood. Every now and then, we caught a glimpse of uniformed guards. My system was overloaded, amped up by the fight or flight chemicals dumping into my blood as we made our way toward the gate system. I focused on keeping it together while Sharon took a few moments to adjust the look of her clothing.

Getting out of the car and back to the street was tricky, but the morning rush helped disguise our movements. Sharon used her sleight of hand to grab us sunglasses that were perfect against the glare of the rising sun in our faces. We'd blend well with the people around us if we had different clothes.

We arrived at the gate system and were relieved to find a short line. But, we had a problem—our IDs would no longer get us in. We were flagged in the system and would be taken into custody as soon as we attempted to check in. We were trapped.

We stood to the side, trying to formulate a plan, when Juno appeared out of the crowd.

"How the hell do you keep finding us?" I demanded.

He tilted his head and wrinkled his brow. "You still have your IDs on you. I inserted tracking devices before giving them to you."

I grumbled, angry with myself for not thinking of the possibility. A simple solution to a simple problem should have been obvious.

He shoved another messenger bag at Sharon while motioning for me to give him the one I carried. I complied.

"Wait for the distraction," he murmured to me before disappearing into the crowd again.

Sharon searched the bag. "We've got wigs, clothes, tickets, and new IDs."

I pulled her further behind some trees and flowerbeds where we could change quickly out of sight. She donned a bright blue wig in a short bob and a loose-fitting matching blue dress, removing her pants last to preserve her modesty. I wasn't paying much attention, of course, my attention focused on my own transformation.

Juno had also packed a pair of low shoes for her. For me, there was a longer wig, a form-fitting suit with a long jacket. Loafers polished within an inch of their lives completed the outfit.

"Security was lax last time," she pointed out, "but they'll be more careful this time. I think we should ditch our weapons."

I reluctantly agreed and tied everything from the former disguises into the shirt I'd been wearing. I shoved it deep into the bushes under the trees, and we stepped back into the crowd, calmly making our way to security.