I moved my head a fraction to the left and right. No . But I knew we’d be dead if we stood there placidly, like cows waiting for the slaughter, until the Aztlan Border Patrol arrived. We might not be smugglers blasting through the border in a souped-up T-bird, but we were clearly entering the country illegally. The Azzies would know that there had to be some reason why two Seattle residents had chosen to bypass the months of datawork it took to legally obtain an entry visa to Aztlan—and why they were carrying fake resident alien ID. They’d stop at nothing to find out what that reason was, and how we’d gotten the ID. Their interrogation methods wouldn’t be pretty.