Secret handshake, indeed.

I was on my way to PlattePort in one of those annoying robot groundcabs. You know, the kind that insists on actually checking your prints before processing the fare. I hate those old heaps. It'd be nice if this sleepy burg could afford something from this end of the 23 rd century.

Usually, joblead bots follow routine and set up whatever conferences might be needed, but this one took the gothic route: it sent me a letter, actual pen on paper. I admit I was intrigued, but also a bit paranoid that the place was so out of touch that they didn't know how to use tech. Turned out they wanted me to come to the capital in person. Not the Lake Platte regional capital, the world capital: NullArbor. If it was Platte City, I'd be willing to spring for the ride, but Australia's a bit pricier.

So when the letter said there was a ticket on a suborbital waiting for me, I knew I had to take the trip.

All the retro hype about the upcoming 500 th anniversary of the old US was really wearing me down, and being far away was the best thing I'd heard in weeks.

PlattePort was its usual orderly self. Concealed gear IDs you at the door, and your travel plans are confirmed before you've gone two steps.

Retinal projection units show you where to go if you glance in their direction, and courtesy audio reminders whisper in your ear if you're too busy or unable to use the vid. In short, comfortingly convenient.

I hadn't been on a suborbital before. Most of the travel I'd done was intracontinental, so levitrain was my usual ride. I can't imagine what it must have been like before they tore up the rails and finally ditched all that 19 th century crap. It was just so dangerous. They wrung that last bit of life out of twinrail in a deathmarch race to see how fast they could go using friction, at least until the magnitude of the disasters forced the issue. People wanted safety, of course, and they weren't getting it.