Daughter of Zeus ✔

6.3

Blacktop rolled over into more blacktop. The next half-day blurred together into hues of black. For entertainment, Ada flipped through holographic books displayed from her wristlet. The occasional digital ad-board they passed gave her some laughs as well. One board advertised:

Strippers. Need we say more? As seen on interface walls nationwide.—Couples welcome.

The stay at the hotel was their last prolonged stop, battery charge-ups not included. An unspoken understanding between them agreed that stops led to trouble. All the intestinal problems in the world wouldn't get them to stop the car again.

Kressick kept to himself for the rest of trip, the message tone on his interface beeping on occasion.

She frowned. "Who do you keep messaging?" Ada asked.

He flicked the device into sleep mode. "How do you know I'm messaging someone and not reading a book?"

"Because your messenger alarm beeps, and that doesn't happen when you're reading a book."

"Right."

She kept on. "Are you messaging your daughter?"

For a moment, his face was blank. Instantly, recognition lit his face, and he seemed himself again. "Yes, my daughter."

But she'd noticed. "You're lying."

The sound of the car traveling at high speeds filled the small space.

"Do you even have a daughter?"

"She's in Cambridge, waiting for me to visit her. First, I'll help you, then I'll go see her." The smooth tone was convincing.

Ada chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating whether she should confront him about Cybil's warning. Finally, she decided she needed him for a while longer.

The long wait at the next interstate travel station provided distraction from the tense attitudes filling the car. They were the twenty-ninth car in line for the State agency booth. Ada swiped at the digital pages of a novel.

After twenty minutes, their car advanced only a few feet, and dozens of more vehicles lined up behind theirs.

"Jesus Christ, I should've taken a zeppelin," she grumbled.

"Too costly."

"Yeah, and then I would've had to rent a car when I got to Atlanta."

The wait brought out her nervous side. From the look of Kressick, he was calm.

"Why aren't you freaking out?"

A flush of heat bloomed along the side of her neck. She was sweating, but he seemed sweat-free.

Most of the interstate check-ins had been simple with no searches. A wait like the one they were currently experiencing signified a random car-to-car search. Given her emotional state, she was scared what her response to a pat-down would be.

She imagined having Cybil's abilities, and how damn easy life would be if she knew what was coming next.

Car-by-car, the station wagon crept closer to the agency station. There were six stations stretching along the length of the highway, though only two were lit for service. Citizens had become used to automated tellers and clerks, actually preferring their cold efficiency over the tedium of human contact. Honking, cursing, and yelling would have raged along the waiting caravans of vehicles, but for the large automatic weapons slung over the State agents' shoulders.

A stray word or action could anger an agent into firing their weapon. Mowing down an annoying citizen was not legal, but agents found ways around the law, citing imaginary grievances to justify their actions.

After another hour, Ada and Kressick were three car lengths from the station. They were close enough to see what was causing the delay: the agents were searching vehicles, handling passengers roughly if they protested in any way.
One man held tightly to a duffel bag. The agent ripped it from his hands and poked a baton inside of it, whistling in appreciation.

"Whoo-eee. This is a mighty sum. Anything over $3,000 must be declared when traveling across state lines. I'm going to have to confiscate this."

As the man bargained with the unyielding agent, Ada didn't just sweat, she saw through an ever-narrowing tunnel of panic.

Declare anything over $3,000? If the law existed before today, it was new to her. She was reminded of the corny, but catchy, signs in thrift stores,

It's new to YOU!

Her bag of $5,000 seemed to grow larger in the back seat. There was no way she could explain away her money. Maybe Sammies could tell the money was stolen; she'd heard of tagging procedures used on tech devices and even paper. Her quest for revenge might end at a roadside border agency sandwiched between Georgia and Alabama.

She nudged Kressick. "What are we going to do about my bag?"

He swiped at pictures displayed on the inside of his arm. "Nothing."

"What? They're going to search this piece of shit car and arrest me. We have to do something."

"We will do something. We'll wait."

Huffing out an aggravated breath, she sat back. Wait. The Brit was fucking nuts. Wait to be arrested was more like it. She'd welcome an arrest or death sentence, but only after she finished what she set out to do.

Maybe she could discreetly toss the bag out of the window...