They have reached a wall of glass doors (bulletproof), which separate the TPA area from the unsecured part of the terminal. Canine team member are breathing fire while being kept on a very short leach by their human guidance officers. Another dedicated officer, also human, inspects Chang’s counterfeit passport with a brief nod. Plan A (there would be no Plan B in this case). Next are the metal detectors. The detectors supposedly know about GPS locators, since many high-placed officials are obliged to carry them these days, so Chang should be okay with Yoo’s two detectors on his body, but you never know. And they might already have the new backscatter x-ray machines in use, which undress you radioactively before their eyes. Who knows how these machines would react to the locators. Yes, there’s one backscatter machine parked on the wall, two metal closets facing each other, space in between, blue marks on the on the floor where the citizen will surrender.
Commotion right in front of him. No, it’s not the gaunt gentleman who has jumped the entire queue by now, it’s a young guy. He’s asked to go to the backscatter. “Why me?” he protests. He has been selected at random, he’s being told right into his olive-toned face. He does not believe it, we’re all behavior detection specialists, aren’t we. “X-ray means cancer,” he says.
-“Not necessarily,” the backscatter operation officer comes back — there could be a grin in his eyes.
-“But sometimes.”
-“Stuff happens” — still the eventuality of this grin.
-“You can’t force me into this machine, I know my rights.”
The young guy is informed of the opt-out alternative, which means a full pat-down.
Chang, studiously ignoring the young man’s troubles, has placed everything metallic in a dirty plastic basket for the baggage screening tunnel and strides toward the metal detector. He stops, takes a deep breath (he’s ticklish), and marches through the detector’s arch. There’s a funny noise. He turns around. A digital display blinks: ‘GPS locator.’ Plan A. So far. Meanwhile, the young guy is led past the metal detector toward the scene of the patdown, an open cubicle next to the conveyor belt at the back-end of the screening tunnel. He’s asked to stand upright and raise his arms. “If you touch my junk, I’ll have you arrested,” the young guy shouts, so everybody can hear.
-“You gave up a lot of rights when you bought your ticket,” the officer replies.
Commotion right in front of him. No, it’s not the gaunt gentleman who has jumped the entire queue by now, it’s a young guy. He’s asked to go to the backscatter. “Why me?” he protests. He has been selected at random, he’s being told right into his olive-toned face. He does not believe it, we’re all behavior detection specialists, aren’t we. “X-ray means cancer,” he says.
-“Not necessarily,” the backscatter operation officer comes back — there could be a grin in his eyes.
-“But sometimes.”
-“Stuff happens” — still the eventuality of this grin.
-“You can’t force me into this machine, I know my rights.”
The young guy is informed of the opt-out alternative, which means a full pat-down.
Chang, studiously ignoring the young man’s troubles, has placed everything metallic in a dirty plastic basket for the baggage screening tunnel and strides toward the metal detector. He stops, takes a deep breath (he’s ticklish), and marches through the detector’s arch. There’s a funny noise. He turns around. A digital display blinks: ‘GPS locator.’ Plan A. So far. Meanwhile, the young guy is led past the metal detector toward the scene of the patdown, an open cubicle next to the conveyor belt at the back-end of the screening tunnel. He’s asked to stand upright and raise his arms. “If you touch my junk, I’ll have you arrested,” the young guy shouts, so everybody can hear.
-“You gave up a lot of rights when you bought your ticket,” the officer replies.
Stay tuned for the next installment on Friday, or read the entire story published so far here.
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