“It happens in, like, every movie,” Karina says. “They get to the airport, they stand in front of the security checkpoint, and then all those dramatic moments happen. People win Oscars with airport scenes. That’s all they’re there for, really.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I, the suitcase mule, ask. Karina has a backpack and duffel bag, sure, but why am I the one lugging around three suitcases?
I hate coming to the Peach Towers food court on Saturdays, because it’s always filled with shoppers carrying a half dozen shopping bags (or having their robot servants do it for them), which means the lines to the restaurants are always three times as long. If I were smarter, I would pack a lunch when I work on Saturdays. However, I am not smarter.
After the police finished questioning me for potentially being an on-the-run murderer, they inspected those huge packages in front of my apartment and found trace amounts of explosive material inside. I’ve been highly encouraged to seek shelter in Karina’s house for the time being, a place further away from my normal routine and not somewhere that the Bidbay auction robots have much chance of finding me.
Being once again forced out of my place is what blows. And I’m going to be missing out on half of a paycheck because of this. Whatever trials the Cybermancer may have given me, I have certainly succumbed to them.