The intra-dental communicator had been silent for 2 years while Pitcher was away in JDC. It was abuzz the last 3 hours. The Black Cruiser, an ostentatious and conspicuous standout had to be ditched in Juno Station’s outer hoods. The inner checkpoint would be impassible.

“What’s your name FOGman?

Bates fumed at that but answered dryly, “Bates.”

“OK Bates, we have to dump this hot ride and take the tram downtown.”

“What? Look convict, I actually don’t want to be plugged into your big plan, got it? Remember, I just crashed a stolen shuttle, ventilated your friend, and look like a mummy.”

“Your point being…”

“I ain’t taking no fucking tram downtown.”

Pitcher waffled between his orders to wax Bates and his instinct to let him wreak havoc in JS. “Ok, suit yourself, either way we get out here.” He pulled over the vehicle behind the first outbuilding of the Station. “Out, now!”

Bates uncharacteristically did what he was told. Pitcher took a satchel from the hatch, assessed the street and walked off alone.