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We’re ready. I take the driver’s seat this time. If we’re lucky, I’ll talk us through the checkpoint. Even if they search the van, they won’t find anything amiss unless they deep scan our SafeGuards. That could get dicey. I’m not going to give them any reason to do that.

I start up the engine and pull back onto the highway, only to slow my speed for the checkpoint that’s a mile up ahead. A large metal apparatus hangs over the road and takes pictures of the van as I drive under it, registering our speed, license plate, scanning for weapons, not that they’ll find anything.

We should be in the clear. Everything has been arranged in the PS system for this “work trip” and there will besomeone bringing the van back with workers, keeping the whole mission seeming legitimate.

I slow down further as soldiers, women in white, stand along the road, watching the vehicles in line, their braids hanging down their backs. Will Amity Bloome enter training to become one of them? The “CSOs” as they call them?

Or will she sit behind a desk somewhere, married to some dumb, harmless man, sheltered in a suffocating PS city? I remember the flash of her eyes and her sharp questions.

She could be more than that. I can see her holding her own up north. She’s wasted here. But there’s nothing to be done about it. Why am I even thinking about her again? I shake my head and shoulders as I try to throw off the nagging feeling, the connection I felt to her. I’ve got eleven men to keep safe and get through this checkpoint right now.

I roll down the window as I bring the van to a slow, gentle stop next to a small security booth. I’ve also changed into a WPA uniform. It’s a normal, everyday work trip. We’re over the moon excited to plant tulip bulbs in Morgantown.

“Hi there.” A woman stares at me from the booth. She smiles, though not with her eyes.

“Hello.” I’m friendly, but don’t offer anything. Let her be in charge of the interaction.

“What’s your name and where are you headed?” she says approvingly. These women are so predictable. They love it when you submit to them.

I give the fake name I’ve been assigned and describe thework trip we’re taking. The soldier nods as she listens. She holds out a scanner and I present my wrist for her to scan my SafeGuard.

This is where everything could go sideways. Things should be in order with my fake identity, but we only filled in a year or two of back information, so if she scrolls too far she’ll run into a blank slate. As her finger flicks and flicks I hold my breath.

Her eyes finally raise to mine but they are bored, unimpressed. That means they did a great job with the fake identity. I want to tell her who I am just to get her reaction, but I keep my expression dull, my eyes down.

“We’ll just have to take a look in the back. Twelve of you in all?” she asks.

“Yup.” I leave it there. I don’t know why she needs to check the van. Maybe it’s a new thing.

“We have a record of a couple of stops you made,” she says, checking a tablet.

“Yeah,” I hesitate. “Just getting the crew together.” She doesn’t answer, just steps out of her booth, bringing her scanner and coming around to the passenger side of the van. She scans Mark, a grunt from the Forge, and skims his bio before giving him a curt nod and shutting the passenger door, but not before her eyes sweep the interior. These guys better follow my instructions and stay quiet and still.

Breathe, relax, you’re heading on a work trip, I coach myself. I’m sweating, but I’m able to keep my breathing slow and relaxed, and my heart rate mostly cooperates. The gravel crunches as the woman walks around to the back. A soldier with a stun baton strapped to her back steps out to joinher. Maybe they don’t look in the back of unfamiliar vehicles alone.

The two of them sigh about a meeting they have to attend at lunch and talk about plans for later. Then I hear the sound of the handle and the door to the back of the van squeaking as they pull it open.