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decision I made during that period, I would have embraced my father on the dock. He was gone before I pulled the goggles over my eyes.
    I slid the door wide enough to poke my head out for a look. The interceptor hung from the underside of a railway scaffold twenty feet above. I had to climb a fire escape, lower a causeway to the scaffold, cross it and lift myself into the vehicle.
    That was the trouble with the interceptor. Everything was a hazard.
    â€œRobert Pinkerton, halt!”
    Officers on the street saw me. Guns and clubs drawn, they came running.
    The fire escape was an easy scramble. A few of the officers followed. The rest stayed on the ground, which I thought was an advantage until they started shooting.
    I pushed the causeway down against the scaffold. Pistol balls rang on the frame. Police reached the top of the fire escape so I couldn’t wait for shooters to reload.
    I sprinted, maybe three or four steps in total, until a shot struck me on the heel. The pain was immediate. I cried out, full voice. With every stride, my leg got weaker.
    Officers were already crossing when I reached the end of the causeway. My face was wet with sweat and tears. I cursed God and jumped to the interceptor. Not strong enough to lift my legs around the saddle, I hung from the controls.
    Policemen reached the scaffold. There was only one thing to do.
    I engaged the thruster and was off in a shot. The strain on my arms was enormous. I rode the underside of the rail as Kate had done. The vehicle was designed to flip from top to bottom automatically. I let go with one hand and twisted the control. My other hand slipped off, too, and I fell away.
    The saddle tilted back as the chassis split down its center. The frame separated into halves and folded around magnets on the rail. Controls spun in their casing and locked into place. Two sides of the chassis swung together above.
    I wondered whether it would make any difference if I landed on a roof or on the street. The saddle caught me square in the chest. It was the last piece to rotate into position. The saddle lifted me, upside down, and dumped me into the control panel. One of my front teeth broke against the thruster.
    I collapsed into the seat. Every part of me was in pain.
    Getting out of Chicago was easy. Even a poor rider like me could use the interceptor’s retractable arms to grab hold of a local train and tag along to the edge of town where the interstate network opened up.
    Nervous as I was at the sight of four levels of track ahead, there was little to worry about at first. Though the rails were heavily travelled, trains only moved in one direction. The interceptor was fast enough to outrun any trouble.
    The real problem was at Columbus. There would be no time to slow down and maneuver through that exchange at a comfortable speed. Only a complete stop was comfortable for me at major rail transfers.
    I was there in two hours. No words of wisdom came to mind. I didn’t have a plan. I barreled to the exchange and hoped a good idea would occur to me when I needed it.
    With traffic picking up, I slipped under a row of homes on the side of a slow moving train. That was my first good idea. I took a pail of dishwater in the face from an open window. Wiping my goggles, I failed to notice that the track was dropping. I tried to winch an arm to the rail above. The whole mechanism broke away with a jolt when another train crossed my path overhead.
    I was rattled, clenching my teeth so hard my neck hurt. Less than a mile ahead, the straight line of track was replaced by rotating platforms. Trains charged through, not slowing down at all. The platforms spun, some rising or falling to catch trains at the lip. This was happening on all four levels. My mind went blank.
    No one will ever read this entry so I admit. I closed my eyes.
    I don’t know what I hit. It couldn’t have been too big because the interceptor wasn’t knocked from the rail, only off its line. Tipped