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leak is essential,” Joe said. “If you were issued an ID, the checkpoints have access to it, but they need to know where to look. They don’t have biometrics to help them.”
    â€œBiometrics?” Cole asked.
    â€œYou know, fingerprints, iris scanners, facial-recognition software,” Joe explained. “Those advancements might be coming, but they hadn’t hit when I left. All a troublemaker would have to go on is a seventy-year-old picture of a five-year-old. Miracle Pemberton is supposed to be dead. We’ll make up fake names for all of you, just in case word of us has spread. Considering you’re all minors, and outsiders coming to Zeropolis for the first time, I should be able to get fresh IDs for all of you.”
    â€œWhat about my mark?” Dalton reminded him.
    â€œYou’ll play the role of our slave,” Joe said. “Technically we should have papers to prove ownership, but that sort of detail gets missed all the time. If it comes to it, we’ll try a bribe.”
    â€œDo you have an ID?” Jace asked.
    â€œI’ve got three,” Joe said. “A luxury of having friends in the Unseen.”
    â€œFake IDs?” Cole checked.
    â€œOne is authentic,” Joe said. “Two are false. Top quality. The real one is no good to me anymore. As long as nobody has combed through the millions of other ID photos on record to find the duplicate faces and flag the false names, I should be fine. Wanted members of the Unseen get away with it all the time.”
    â€œWhat should my name be?” Jace mused.
    â€œSomething you’ll remember,” Joe said. “Something that’ll roll off your tongue.”
    â€œDrop the J ,” Cole said. “Be Ace.”
    â€œToo close,” Jace said.
    â€œMaybe Face?” Cole went on. “Or Vase. Or Outer Space.”
    â€œYour name is going to be Black Eye if you don’t watch it,” Jace threatened.
    â€œThen you’re going to be Mr. Overreactor,” Cole replied. “Or maybe Sore Fist.”
    Joe pulled out a couple of ID cards. Dark blue and metallic, they looked about the size of driver’s licenses and had different pictures of him. One had a mustache.
    â€œShould I be Harvey Michaels?” he asked. “Or Walt Boone?”
    Cole held out a hand. “Let me see one.” Joe placed an ID in his palm. Cole found the thin card heavier than it looked. The name Walt Boone was printed in silver letters above a long number sequence. A fancy insignia in the upper cornerlooked like three overlapping moons behind a tall, slender building.
    â€œSweet ’stache,” Dalton said, checking out the ID. “Be Walt.”
    â€œIf I’m Walt, then Cole, Jace, and Mira will be my niece and nephews. We’ll all be Boones to keep it simple.”
    â€œAnd who am I?” Dalton asked.
    â€œThe slave,” Jace said. “Rupert.”
    â€œI vote you name yourselves,” Joe said. “We should get going. You can think about it while we walk.”
    â€œWe still don’t know much about Zeropolis,” Jace argued. “I don’t want to go in blind. What if somebody questions us?”
    â€œSecurity is loose in the outposts,” Joe said. “Things aren’t as organized. If somebody gives you trouble, just be vaguely honest. You came from Elloweer and don’t know anything. We won’t have much to worry about until we try to board the monorail.”
    â€œUnless the Hunter sent a message to watch for us,” Mira said. “Don’t forget, he nabbed Ansel, who drew pictures of Cole, and probably the rest of us too. Our faces could be public knowledge.”
    â€œIt’s possible,” Joe said. “I just don’t see Enforcers working directly with local authorities. They seldom cooperate with legionnaires or guardsmen. They prefer to operate quietly.”
    â€œWhat’s the shaping like in