Chapter 7: These Legs Are Made For Running

My attorney and I were passing the time in the courthouse lounge. I wanted a cup of coffee but I was too wired and nervous already! It had been over two hours since the jury had retired to choose a foreman and begin deliberations. I asked my lawyer what it would mean for my chances if the jury returned a quick verdict or took a much longer time.

He explained to me that if things dragged on too long, that meant the jury was probably deadlocked. That, in turn, could lead to a compromise verdict where they would convict me of the lesser charge, so that I would be indentured for ten years to SlendaBond instead of becoming their outright slave for life. He said my best chance for keeping my freedom intact would be if they returned a quick verdict.

When it was three hours, the judge called us all back in and announced that court would be in recess until tomorrow when jury deliberations would continue.

That night in my condo I was so scared I couldn't sleep! My heart was pounding! My breathing was labored! The muscles of my torso and shoulders were very tense. What if they did enslave me? If it was going to happen it would probably happen tomorrow. It would be an unthinkable and intolerable calamity! I simply could not stand being enslaved! It would go against everything in my nature to be stripped of my freedom and dignity in that way!

Worst of all would be the forced sex that would be sure to follow! I simply could not stand that! So many women were being forced into prostitution these days that prices paid by the johns were very low. The very idea that I might be made into a public whore— that every Tom, Dick and Harry with $20.00 to spare on payday could stick his dick into me! How could I live with that? Or maybe I would be made into a private prostitute to service exclusively the needs of some rich bastard! Some obese pot bellied son-of-a-bitch who could diddle my clitoris whenever or wherever he chose! How could I live with that?

I was wearing short shorts. I looked down at my legs. They were beautiful legs! Too pretty to be pawed by strange men I hated! Swift legs! Runner's legs! They had carried me to a second place finish in the Boston Marathon last year! I thought of that old Nancy Sinatra hit "These Boots Are Made for Walking". Well just maybe 'These legs Are Made For Running'! Maybe these legs could save my life — so to speak!

What to do? Was escape my best answer? I knew this would be hard. I was wearing an electronic ankle bracelet. Escaping slaves were nearly always caught, and usually faced severe punishment and public humiliation for the attempt.

The ankle bracelet was made of hardened steel. The judge had said it could not be cut off. Yet the ankle bracelet's lock could be picked open surely? I just needed to find someone with the rights skills and tools. Then what? Where would I go? How would I live? If I made one mistake they would have me back in their clutches in no time. For all these difficulties it seemed to me that a life on the run would be infinitely superior to being stripped of my freedom and dignity and becoming someone's sex toy!

I would need identity documents under a fictitious name to survive. Who could help with that? I would have to concoct a fictitious resume to get hired somewhere. No one would hire me if they knew I was a fugitive.

One step at a time! There was Tom Murphy. He was a locksmith and he and I had often played tennis. Usually I beat him. He had come on to me a couple of times and I had turned him down. Clearly he had the hots for me! Maybe I would have to sleep with Tom to make it worth his while to help me? But what if Tom turned me in instead of helping me? I would have to take that chance, but there was something I could do to improve the odds. I got the small stun gun out of my night table drawer and slipped it in my purse.

Then I called Tom. I pleaded with him for his help. I told him I was in a real jam, without saying that I intended to run from the court. I did not want to say too much on the phone. I hoped he hadn't heard anything about my case and had no reason to suspect my true purpose. I just told him I had a job of lock picking and asked if he could meet me at an address in lower Manhattan. He said he would.

I scooped up what cash I had in the condo, some candy bars, a change of clothing and my prescription meds. An hour later I was meeting him at the address I had given, one that I knew to be an abandoned building. I had taken the subway there.

"Hi Tom!"

"What's up Steph? Why this meeting in the middle of the night at an abandoned building?"

"Tom, you must promise to keep my secret! I am in trouble with the law. I am probably going to be enslaved tomorrow unless I can skip town, but first I have to get this damned ankle bracelet off me so I can't be traced!"

"Oh I don't know Stephanie. I could be in a world of trouble if you were caught and they found out I had helped you escape!"

"Do you know how much trouble I could be in without your help tomorrow? I could well be human livestock, someone's property! Do you think I could ever stand that?"

"Knowing you, I doubt that you could!"

"Then help me PLEASE! If I am caught I will never betray you. I will never let them know you were the one who got the bracelet off me! Besides I will make it worth your while!"

"How will you do that Steph?"

"What do you want Tom? A blow job?"

"I would want more than that Steph! I always wanted to get into your pants! That is my price now!"

"OK, OK, already! If that is what you want, that is what you shall have! Now please help. I don't have a lot of time left before morning to make my getaway!"

"Put your foot up on that block. I want to examine the bracelet"

I did so and he examined my bracelet ankle and leg for some time. His hands began to play with my left calf and feel the muscle there and the under knee tendons. He kissed my knee. He caressed my left thigh. I was hardly in a position to object to anything he wanted to do!

"Can't you just pick the lock?"

"Opening the lock, or even attempting to open the lock, would immediately transmit a signal to police that the lock had been tampered with! It would also report our exact location to police!"

"Is there no hope then?"

"The bracelet is hardened steel. But I could cut it off with my diamond bit power drill. That would not cause any alarm signal to go to police."

"Fine. Do it then."

"Not until I have been paid, sexually speaking!"

I nodded my agreement and we found a way into the abandoned building. Tom brought a blanket from his truck to lay down on the floor. We fucked until Tom had climaxed. Then he agreed to get on with the job. He went to get tools from his truck. Twenty minutes later he had cut clear through the bracelet in two places so that the two halves could be separated.

Tom saw a small stray dog nearby. He got some meat out of the truck and used it to tempt the animal to within capture distance. He wrapped a piece of cloth around the dog's belly and used that, in turn, to attach the two halves of the bracelet. He told me as long as the GPS sensors keep picking up a moving signal from the bracelet there would be no alarm to alert police that the bracelet was no longer on me.

"Steph, there is an organization here in New York City called the 'Underground'. They are some very courageous volunteers who take huge risks to help people escape slavery. I know a guy who would know how to contact them. They can help you. Would you like me to call?"

"Sure Tom. That might solve a lot of problems I thought I would have to solve all by myself!"

Tom left me for a few minutes and called his friend from the truck. When he came back he said a representative of the 'Underground' would meet me in the heart of Greenwich Village in one half hour. He named an intersection that was 10 blocks from our warehouse location. He said I would have to walk there by myself. Everything was on a 'need to know' basis with this group. They wanted me at the meeting place, not Tom and me together.

"Steph, these clothes that you are wearing — were they purchased with a credit card?

"Very likely, Tom. I don't like to carry large amounts of cash when I shop, so I use the card."

He went out to his truck and returned a few minutes later with an old shirt.

"You will need to take off all your clothes and put on this old shirt instead. All clothing these days contains RFID threads that can be picked up by government or business scanners. The thread scanners can identify precisely what the article of clothing is, who manufactured it, what retailer sold it on what date. If you used a credit card to buy these articles then the scanner will also have your identity linked to each of these items of clothing!"

I did as he said. I found the shirt a couple sizes too big for me, but at least it came down to mid thigh on me so it protected my modesty. Tom and I parted and I began the walk of 10 blocks. I was scared as some of the blocks I had to walk down were poorly lit and sometimes frequented by a rough element. Also it was a bit windy and I had to struggle to keep Tom's shirt from blowing up and revealing too much of me!

Soon I was in Greenwich Village standing on the corner where I was supposed to wait. It seemed like an hour but was probably only ten minutes before a young man asked me for directions to the theatre district. As he came closer he was soon whispering to me to just stay put for a couple minutes, then follow him down a subway entrance. I did so and soon I was following him into a subway car. We rode it for several stops, then he signaled me to exit the car with him. When we reached the street there was a car waiting. We got in and I was immediately blindfolded and the car drove around for a while. Finally we got out and he guided me into the front entrance of a building. Only then did the blindfold come off. He rang a bell and drove off, leaving me to wait for someone to answer the bell.

I had no idea where we were, but I soon learned we were at the 'safe house' maintained by the 'Underground' in lower Manhattan.

A matronly woman in her forties opened the door and ushered me inside where I also met an athletic man about her age and a nerdy looking young man about my own age.

"You may call me Jan, the older man John and this young man Jeff", the woman said, "although these are obviously not our real names. We will be the team that will help you alter your appearance, give you a paper and electronic identity, a past to go with that and equip you with necessary knowledge of computer security systems. Our team goal is not to have you live here but to prepare you for a new life a long distance from New York City. We plan to put you on the 6 am mag-lev train out of Grand Central tomorrow morning, westbound for Chicago. My own role is the appearance stuff. We can't have you looking like the "Wanted" poster the police will post in the next few days, now can we?"

"No, I guess not" I replied. Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt these people knew the ropes and were going to solve a lot of problems for me that I thought I was going to have to work out alone. They would help me avoid all the pitfalls that could cost me my freedom.

"Why don't I do my magic first? " she said as she led me to a different part of the house.

"Let us see what we can do with those eyes first". As Jan said this she reached for a pair of contact lenses and had me try them on.

The contacts fitted perfectly and changed my eye color from brown to blue. She added a false nose, did a makeup job, had me color my red hair blonde, and provided me with two sets of clothing. She then took a typical head and shoulders photo of me suitable for a driver's license photo.

The second member of my team, John, then worked with me first on choosing a name. He showed me a short list of possibilities.

"I think I would like to be Rebecca Stevens", I told him.

"We can arrange that", he replied, "but it is also important that we create a past for you to go with that name. You will need to be able to tell people where you grew up, how many brothers and sisters you had, what high school you attended, what jobs you have had, and so forth."

"Couldn't we just give me enough paperwork for me to flee to Canada or to one of the southern states that is still part of the old United States? After all, they don't have slavery there so I would be safe, right?"

"Not quite so fast young lady. It is true they don't have slavery there, but they do have extradition treaties with Capitallia. If you were matched to Capitallia's 'Wanted Persons' list, you would be sent back! Since the precautions you would have to take to protect your new identity would be just as great in those countries, you might as well hide in your own country."

"Ok, I get it!" I sighed, realizing the enormity of the task ahead of me.

Then he worked for many hours with me creating the details of my past. He drilled me on these details until he was satisfied I knew them cold. He proceeded to create the paper documents I would need including a driver's license, a social security card, photos of my supposed family members, of a boyfriend I supposedly had back in my hometown and two alternative resumes ... The third member of my team, Jeff, then indicated I was to follow him into the computer lab in the basement of the house.

"Rebecca, and I may as well start calling you by your new name, my job is to tutor you in what you need to know about electronic identification of persons in our society. You wouldn't want to be picked up by police because you walked by the wrong scanner would you?"

"No way!" I was beginning to feel like it was all going to be just too much knowledge for me to master. I had never been a top student in high school math or science and had never taken a computer course.

"Good. Then let us get started. All clothing manufactured in the last 50 plus years in Capitallia contains special RFID tags or threads. Other common objects people usually carry on their persons may also contain these tags."

"What does RFID stand for?" I asked.

"Radio Frequency Identification." Jeff continued, "When you pass by the right kind of scanner, radio frequency waves are sent out by the scanner which can read information from these threads."

"That must be what Tom meant — why he made me put on his old shirt instead of the clothes I was wearing?"

"That's right. You were lucky to have a friend that knew about this stuff helping you before you came to us." I breathed a sign of relief hearing this.

"When clothing is manufactured a tag or thread is inserted somewhere in the fabric that uniquely identifies that particular article of clothing. Something like a serial number. Shows who the manufacturer was, date of manufacture, etc. The identifier would not be the same for any two pieces of the same type of clothing even from the same manufacturer."

"How does that identify a person?"

"When you or I walk into a retail store and buy an article of clothing with a credit card, or perhaps a whole shopping cart of articles on one purchase, the store's computer creates an account for us with our name and address and other personal data pulled from the credit card account. It then reads the RFID tag of each article we are buying as the cashier scans them for price and attaches those "serial numbers", if you will, to our personal account in a process called "imprinting". The next time you or I visit that store, as we walk in the front door we pass by a scanner that reads the RFID tags of every article of clothing we are then wearing. If it finds some articles that are already linked to our customer account, it uses that link to identify who we are. Such identification may be used to target specific advertising messages to us that is likely to be of interest to us as individuals based on our previous buying patterns."

"But what if we had originally bought all our clothing for cash?"

"Good point. If everything was bought for cash and the clerk could not otherwise identify us at time of purchase, then there would be no account for the scanned RFID threads to be imprinted upon."

"The new clothing we provided you had been purchased for cash and would therefore not have RFID threads coded to match any particular person. That way if you passed any government scanner or retail store scanner, the computer lookup on your clothing would return 'Name Unknown'. That will be safe enough for now."

Eventually they would get me some articles of clothing with RFID threads coded to my new identity, but that would take some time. He explained that the "Underground" also had computer programmer operatives working in federal and state law enforcement. These operatives would eventually fix the federal law enforcement database so that any biometric scan of my fingerprints or retinas would link to my new identity rather than my old identify.

In the meanwhile he stressed that I must not carry anything at all that had been purchased with a credit card under my original name and address. All kinds of objects, in addition to clothing, contained RFID threads. Most important of all, he said, was that if a scanner ever picked up on my original identify because of one or two articles on my person that had been bought with a credit card, then the computer would register all the RFID threads in my clothing to that identity as well! They would then no longer scan as "Name Unknown" but scan my original name and address! This process was known as "Re-Imprinting" and would result in all my clothing becoming "hot", as he put it! He gave me precise instructions what I should do if that situation ever arose.

As he was explaining all this to me, I thought about the small stun gun I had earlier slipped into my purse. I knew I had purchased this for cash so any RFID thread or chip it might contain could only scan as "Name Unknown" and not possibly be linked to me. That should be ok and I didn't have to tell them I was carrying it.

He told me of a place in the foothills of the Catskill mountain range. It was on the mag-lev railroad to Albany about two hours north of New York City. He spoke of a cabin used by hunters during deer hunting season that was walking distance from the town railroad stop. He directed that I was to proceed to Grand Central Station, board a train for upstate New York, disembark at Saugerties and walk to the place. He said I could lay low there for a couple of days while he made up my new ID documents.

There was one minor difficulty with this plan though. The mag-levs all used biometric identification of passengers to thwart criminals and fugitives on the run from the law. My biometrics would give me away at this point since they would not have time to fix that in the federal database for at least a week. To get around this difficulty I would be escorted on the train handcuffed as a "prisoner" by two uniformed "policemen" who would flash badges at the train conductor. These "policemen" would ride with me to my stop at Saugerties and get off the train with me there. The conductor, seeing me handcuffed and in custody already, would not require a fingerprint scan!