She pulled away, limped to the train’s steps, and boarded. Ben watched as she disappeared. He stood on the platform for fifteen minutes until the train left, then turned and exited the station. Three days ago he had been an FBI agent with an unblemished thirty-two-year service record. Now he was a fugitive. He had one thing in his favor, at least. He had training that few fugitives could dream of.

Abby sat quietly as the train sped through the Jersey countryside. The next stop was Philadelphia, then Baltimore, then DC. Passengers were sparse. Traffic was always light, a traveler had told Abby when she’d taken the train a day earlier; people mostly traveled in VR.

The train stopped in Philadelphia. Three passengers in Abby’s car got off. Just as the train was about to start moving again, a woman got on. She was tall and dark skinned with black eyes and striking facial features. She looked to be in her thirties, though with the life span in the U.S. so different from what she was used to, Abby found gauging ages difficult. The woman was pregnant—about eight months pregnant, Abby guessed.

The woman walked down the aisle, one hand cradling her belly. She glanced at Abby, then sat across the aisle from her.

Abby couldn’t help but speak. “It looks like the baby is almost ready.”

The woman turned and smiled. “Yes. Three more weeks before he is due.” She spoke with an accent, perhaps African.

“He? A boy. How wonderful.” Abby beamed. It felt good to be having a conversation that didn’t include brain transplants or nanites.

“Yes.” The woman nodded. “We chose a boy.”

“You chose?”

“My husband wanted a boy first. I didn’t care really, so…” When she tilted her head, gesturing indifference, her long gold earrings tinkled softly.

Abby was curious, but it seemed impolite to inquire further. Another item to ask Creighton about. Both women were silent for a moment.

“You don’t sound American-born,” Abby said.

“I was about to say the same thing. We’re from Eritrea. We moved here—to Baltimore—three years ago.”

“Eritrea. Pretty beaches.”

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You’ve been there?”

“Oh no. I just remember seeing pictures when I studied about it.”

“Where did you go to school?”

Abby laughed. “In my parents’ hut. I grew up in the jungles of Papua New Guinea.”

“Oh, my…that must have been quite an adventure. Ah!” The woman looked surprised and moved both hands to her belly. “That was quite a kick. A moment ago he was quiet. He’s going to be a handful, this one.” She looked up at Abby, smiling. “Do you have children?”

Abby’s chest constricted, her throat tight. “I…I did. She passed away…recently.”

“Oh.” The woman’s face was etched with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. How terrible. What was her name?”

Abby offered a weak smile. “Miraba.”