Chase sat on his bed in the Amhurst Hotel in North London, or north of what was London, and pulled out the cotton pajamas he had, only two hours earlier in Heathrow baggage claim, imagined was a silk evening gown. He wondered if that whole gender change story had done the trick – had it fooled the scanners? Had he mashed his thoughts enough? The simple airport scanners relied on brain activity patterns only, not actual thoughts, so it would have been sufficient to light up unrelated brain regions in crazy patterns – did he pass as just one more jet-lag junky? Had his joice of Amhurst Hotel here been enough to avoid inadvertant sparks about Amherst University back home and the plot being constructed there, of which he was now a component.
The mission was impossible, he knew. But he didn’t recall the phrase, “should you choose to accpet it”, coming up in the conversation. He knew it wasn’t fair. ‘Course he hadn’t wanted it; who would. How long can you keep up the pretense in your head, enough to fool yourself?