“For a while, yeah,” I said. “We’re on our way to pick up Mahir Gowda. You met him at the funeral.” Not that they’d had very much time to talk, or reason to; Kelly was only in attendance because the FBI had seized George’s body as evidence in the case against Governor Tate, and the CDC doesn’t allow human remains to be shipped without an escort. Thanks to that little rule, I wound up with two extra guests at a party I never intended to hold: Kelly and her boss, Dr. Wynne. I left George in the van and went to confront the man who really killed her—I shot her, but Tate ordered her infection, and I held Tate responsible for what happened—and I didn’t see her again until she was nothing but a heap of sterile ash—

Steady, said George, breaking my black mood before it could fully form.

“Right, sorry,” I muttered. Mahir’s unexpected visit had me on the edge of panic, and every little thing—like the reminder of how Kelly and Mahir had first met—was enough to send me over the edge into seriously brooding. That wasn’t something I could afford just now.

Maggie gave me a sidelong look that was thoughtful and, oddly, relieved. “He was the one in the really unfortunate brown pants,” she said, directing her words toward Kelly.

“He flew in from London, didn’t he?” Kelly paused, eyes widening. “Wait, did he just fly in from London again?”

“That’s what it I looks like,” I said. We were approaching a large green sign that read WEED AIRPORT (MUNICIPAL FIELD O46) AHEAD. I slowed to match the posted speed limit, turning into the lane that would take us to the quarantine zone.

Air travel changed a lot after the Rising. According to the history books, it used to be a pretty simple process. Older movies show airports packed with people comg and going as they pleased, and the real old ones show really crazy shit, like guys who aren’t even passengers pursuing their runaway girlfriends through security and people buying tickets from flight attendants, in cash. Every flight attendant I’ve ever seen has been carrying more ordnance than your average Irwin, and if somebody ran onto a flight without the proper medical clearances and a green light from the check-in desk, they’d be dead long before they hit the floor. Working for the airlines teaches a person to shoot first and ask questions later, if ever.

People who can’t hack it as Irwins because they’re too violent go into the air travel industry. There’s a thought to make a person want to stay at home.