Do they really? I’m curious to see how ideal this Maker lifestyle actually is, beyond the advantages they have purely as a result of hoarding their resources.

Michael continues. “The Atlas may not transport anywhere near millions a day, but it can get you from New York City to the Globe Theatre in less time than it takes to perform Hamlet.”

Okay. That’s pretty mind blowing. I wonder when it will hit me that this is all real.

My attention catches on two people sitting together a few seats away from us. One is a woman with an intricately braided hairstyle and a beaded bodice with puffed sleeves, but instead of a sweeping skirt as might be expected, the bodice is tucked into jeans that she’s paired with tall riding boots. The man next to her has on a leather jacket over a high-necked blouse and voluminous short pants with tights, and combat boots. I bite my lip to keep from gasping. They look uh-maze-ing. The clash of styles is, somehow, incredibly chic. A blend of classic and modern that rivals anything I’ve seen during New York Fashion Week. I’m dying to take a picture of the woman’s hairstyle so I can try it on myself.

“Are my clothes not going to fit in?” I ask Michael, looking again at his long jacket, then back to the beautifully dressed couple, and then at my own jeans and hoodie ensemble that is my go-to most of the time.

“Don’t worry. Maker fashion is varied enough that whatever you have will be fine.” He looks at his clothes with mild distaste. “This is faculty dress code. Anyone not on duty wears what they want.”

Right. He’s faculty.

And a distraction from my reason for being here.

“Can I explore a bit?” I ask, getting up from the chair. I should investigate more of the train. Espionage and all that.

“Sure. I’ll show you around.” He starts to unfold his long limbs.

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “You’ve been shuffling me around all day. I can wander on my own.” Then, to be safe, I add, “Plus, I need to use the bathroom.”

Ugh. Why did I say that? Now he must think I always need the bathroom. He’s gonna think I have stomach issues and start associating me with diarrhea.

“I have a small bladder,” I clarify, then immediately regret it.

Shut up, Ada.

He clears his throat, settling back down. “There’s a lavatory through there.” He indicates the adjoining car, and I grab my bag and scurry through the door, my face aflame.