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A blast from the past.

The results were far more esoteric, but I still came up with nothing promising.

"You have to realize," Stan said. "The nicknames usually showed up after a model was in production for a while, and some of them weren't invented until after the Ban. It could even be that the agency didn't know what to call her and just picked a name at random."

"Yeah, you might be right," I grudgingly agreed. I gave up after a few more tries and let Wendy use the terminal.

Later that morning, Sasha came down to see us. She asked how I was adjusting to my new home, and I was gracious and told her that everything was fine. "Would you like to go out shopping with me this morning?" she asked. "My mother will be at the doctor's office for a few hours and I took the day off from work."

"I-can I do that?" I stammered.

"Sure," she said, with a faint smile. "I checked with the agency to be sure. You're safe as long as you don't break any laws or say the wrong thing in public. No one is going to be looking for you here."

"Okay," I said. "I'd like that." At the same time, I felt oddly guilty about it, knowing that the others were trapped down here, able to leave only once the agency managed to smuggle them out.

I dressed in the closest thing I had to winter clothes and then followed Sasha upstairs and out to the garage. "I need to pick up food rations and toiletries," she said as we got into her SUV. "Have you ever been to Seattle before?"

"No, never," I said.

She started the car and it's automated systems flashed ready after a moment. The garage door automatically began to rise. "Well, now you have. Your name for the time being is Jeff Kimmler. You attended college at U-dub, but you moved out east for a job after graduation."

I smiled. "Wow. I never knew that about myself."

Sasha's eyebrows went up. "This isn't a joke."

"Sorry," I said, chastened by her tone.

"Now repeat it back to me."

"I'm Jeff Kimmler. I went to the University of Washington and moved back here from the east coast."

"Good," she said. "Car, set destination: North Seattle FEMA Food Bank." The screen on the dash plotted our map to the destination and the car backed smoothly down to the street to merge with traffic.

Sasha let go of the steering wheel and shifted in her seat to face me. "Let me do most of the talking if anyone stops to engage us, but go ahead and answer any direct question posed to you as long as there is a innocent and obvious answer you can give. I'll get a fake ID for you in a day or two."

I tried to absorb everything she told me. I realized that, despite the casual manner in which she had invited me along, that she was taking a risk and placing great trust in me. I was as much a fugitive as the others. The only difference was that I could pass a DNA test where they couldn't.

"Have you told the others yet why you're here?" Sasha asked.

The question took me by surprise. "The agency told you?"

"It's my position as a host," she said. "It's more dangerous for me not to know the risks I'm taking on. So, did you?"

I sighed. "No."

"Good," she said. "I thought about it a lot last night. I think it's better that you keep it to yourself. Those people have enough to worry about."

"I won't tell anyone," I promised. I felt relieved that the choice had been taken from me. We passed the next minute or so in silence. "Miss Gray?"

"Oh, you picked up on that, did you? Wendy started that. You can call me Sasha if you prefer. What's your question, Mr. Kimmler?"

"Do you trust me, Sasha?" I made it a point to try out her first name.

Now it was her turn to sigh. "Honestly, I don't know, but I'm sort of stuck with you. You can tell me your side of things if you think it will help."

I thought about all the ways I could spin it, to make myself look better. But that would be a lie. "I screwed up," I said. "I broke the rules and a lot of good people got hurt."

"I appreciate your honesty. And it will not happen again," Sasha said. Her voice was steel. "You understand?"

"I understand."

We wai

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