Chapter Three
Fifteen minutes later, Jia and Erik sat in the MX 60 on their way back to Erik’s apartment. Their flitter was safely cocooned in the standard afternoon metal swarm that was Neo SoCal traffic.
Jia incessantly checked the sensors and cameras, a firm suspicion now lodged deep in her mind. Erik didn’t appear to notice as he rambled on about the relative merits of karaage versus different styles of American fried chicken and a fried chicken masala dish he’d had a couple of times in the last week.
“I’m saying the spices make a bigger difference than I thought,” Erik explained. “I don’t know. I spent so many years out on the frontier, let alone stuffing my face with rations, that I kind of trained myself not to care as much as I should. I’ve really learned to appreciate food sinc
