The contract cops’ dark blue Nissan Interceptor sends blips of red and blue
across the face of the trees flanking the road. Other cars and other police will 
soon be coming. Perhaps even airborne vehicles. Raman’s recent work in Atlanta
seems to have roused half the Confederated American States. He glances around 
quickly, then gives the snapblades a shake before retracting them with a soft 
snick of gleaming metal. Obviously, he must continue his headlong rush to 
safety. His record is too long to risk being snared by the authorities. Arrest 
would surely be followed by conviction, imprisonment and death, and that must 
never happen. It is his promise to himself.