The maglev ride to the baggage concourse was short, but surrounded by the flicker of myriad holographic color advertisements and filled with the scents of a hundred different perfumes and colognes. No one spoke. Few looked at anything other than some reading screen, one of the ads, or some undefined spot on the car wall. All wore custom, corporate-cut suits of one style or another, except for one leather-clad joker-boy who stood with his back against the doors, arms folded, grinning at anyone who would meet his gaze. The joker was out of place, knew it, and wanted to have fun. Chase looked down and held back his grin: twenty-five years ago he might have behaved the same way.