Man Behind the Wheel (The Next Half Century Book 1)

by Steve Rzasa

  “Sure I do.” Aldo swiped through a series of commands. “Hey… ah… if you want music on, I can crank up the speakers.”

  “No, I’m good. Got a tune in my head already.”

  “Rome, if you want to drive, just do it.”

  “Not a good idea. As soon as I do that we alert every navigation system within a mile that there’s a registered Driver in play. You think our bandit pals are going to miss that?”

  Aldo winced. “Oh yeah. Right.”

  “Yeah. We play like we’re on a relaxed road trip until they show up.”

  It only took five minutes before Marcy’s proximity sensors chimed. Good thing, too. Rome was running out of beats.

  “Here they come,” Aldo announced. “Big old black ride. Sorry, I got nothing yet. Marcy, anything?”

  [Vehicle is of undetermined origin. Chassis matches a Raytheon Hammershot all-terrain personnel transport, however, it has been the subject of numerous and uncatalogued modifications.]

  Rome wondered at the perceived frostiness of her tone. Did a comp like Marcy take it personally when cars were illegally modded? “Passive sensors only, you two. Get me everything you can without tipping them off we’re here.”

  “Roger that.” Aldo pulled Marcy’s sensor results onto his display. There it was—that same mottled gray, hunchbacked vehicle from the drone video Cho showed them. Aldo wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something particularly foul. “Man. That is one ugly mongrel ride. Like a cockroach mated with a cow.”

  “No argument there.” The sensors showed him armored plating in places he hadn’t noticed on the recording. The windows and windshields were colored with the same camouflaged pattern, blending them seamlessly with the armor until Marcy highlighted them in the scan results. “What’ve we got?”

  [The exterior is a reinforced ceramic composite, overlaid with an adaptive camouflage screen. The quality compares with U.S. military databases from the past several years.]

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way to penetrate that screen once they go ghost on us.”

  [There is no known method.]

  “Okay then. Aldo?”

  “I’ll get cracking. It’ll be easier to try to break if we could turn the hi-res scanners on.”

  “Not until we show ourselves. Marcy, authorize for pursuit but do not—repeat, do not switch modes until I say so.”

  [Certification confirmed. You are authorized to conduct pursuit. Delaying activation until your signal.]

  The suspect vehicle drove up in the left lane, rumbling along with an engine a couple octaves lower than the rest of the traffic. It was certainly more powerful than a Famtrac.

  “Sounds like there’s a dual core underneath.”

  Aldo grunted. “Probably. Energy output sure is surpassing most everything else out here.”

  Cars moved from the left lane into the right with the grace of geese adjusting their formation. Rome checked the rear view images—only a freighter in the left lane a quarter mile back.

  Aldo’s comment about the energy output struck Rome. “We’ve got a problem. Marcy, are you picking up any active scanning from the target?”

  [None. They are, however, initiating a link between their vehicle and the network governing the safety protocols in this section of road.]

  “Going for the Talon,” Aldo said. “Wait… why did you ask her that?”

  “Because they could scan that our power core is definitely not civilian standard,” Rome said. “Run up that program and get inside the Talon.”

  “You got it.” Aldo flicked his fingers across the hologram. “And… done.”

  “Don’t do anything with the car yet. We don’t want to let them know we’ve got it.”

  The truck slowed down as it approached the Talon. Rome noted the tactical adjustments from the first robbery. They lined up with the prime passenger side this time—what would be the driver’s side on the Halcyon. Anyone could see through the darkened glass that Sartorian was the sole occupant.

  “Hey… hey! They’re establishing the link,” Aldo said. “Trying to override her navigation system.”

  A docking collar slowly arched out from the right side of the truck.

  “Marcy, go manual,” Rome snapped. “Aldo, block them!”

  “On it.”

  The steering column and pedals appeared, followed by the gearshift. Marcy turned on the lights. Blue and red flashes bounced off the cars around them. Rome switched lanes and raced up behind the truck, both of them topping 100 miles per hour.

  “Okay, I’ve got Sartorian’s nav under Marcy’s guidance,” Aldo said. “We can get her off the road at the next exit. There’s one coming up in twenty miles.”

  Rome glanced at the blinking blue star on the holo of the Ninety. “Marcy, clear the road and open a signal to the truck.”

  Cars behind them fell back. The remaining traffic slowed ahead. Cars, Famtracs, and freighters drifted over to the road’s shoulders.

  [There is no acknowledgement of our signal.]

  “Go public channel, then.”

  [Done.]

  “Illegal driver, this is Pursuit One Twelve, operating by authority of the U.S. Department of Transportation on behalf of the Ninety Free Travel Zone. You are operating an unregistered motor vehicle on a public roadway. Pull over to the side and relinquish control—”

  The modified truck accelerated away.

  “Et cetera, et cetera,” Rome muttered. He stomped on the accelerator.

  “Rome, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to knock off his nav system,” Aldo said. “Marcy can’t find me any way in.”

  “Not even their entertainment?”

  “Doesn’t have one.” Aldo frowned. “I’ll be damned if I can figure out how they’re getting any nav.”

  “They might not have it.”

  “You think they’re old school? No way. They’re broadcasting something, because they’re knocking at the door of the Talon. Only reason they haven’t swiped control from us is that program of mine.”

  The truck swerved into the right lane. A freighter barreled left, avoiding a collision as the truck rushed to fill the space it vacated. Suddenly the freighter braked, hard… too hard.

  Rome punched out of the center lane, shearing dangerously close to a Famtrac. The safety alert from the family vehicle’s comp flashed across the dashboard.

  “Uh, we got a problem.”

  “You think? I doubt that freighter tried to butt me off the highway by following standard protocol.” Rome raced past the freighter. A Famtrac slipped into the left lane, ahead of the freighter, allowing Rome passage. “They aren’t controlling all the other cars at once. Marcy, call it in—we have a breach in the navigational and safety networks on the Ninety prior to Madison. Send the coordinates.”

  [Contacting Condor Three Three and FTZ Central,] Marcy said.

  “I blocked them out of that freighter,” Aldo said. “But it’s a temporary wall. I can reinforce the network protocols for this vicinity.”

  “Better get on it.” The truck was few hundred yards ahead, plowing its way through traffic. Rome wove a path back and forth, coming within a couple feet of a Famtrac, close enough he saw startled faces in several windows.

  An alert flashed in Aldo’s displays. He looked incredulous. “What? No, no way.”

  “Words, Aldo.” Rome tightened his grip on the steering handles.

  [Malfunctioning car approaching from behind, 100 miles per hour.]

  “The Talon! They broke through my program.” Aldo’s hands furiously swiped through his displays, but instead of green positive results, red lines appeared. “Are you kidding me? That isn’t possible!”

  “Get ahold of the Talon before they paste Sartorian’s guts all over a guardrail,” Rome snapped. “Marcy, dial up the EMP.”

  [Use of the electromagnetic pulse projectiles is prohibited in pursuit when the volume and speed of traffic exceeds—]

  “I know the regs! Override, Code Zulu Zero Zulu, confirm autho
rity.”

  [Confirmed. Charging EMP.]

  An angry pitched hum built along the sides of the Halcyon below the doorframes. In the rear view screen, Sartorian’s Talon rushed up. Rome cranked the wheel, putting them into the shoulder. Dirt and grass churned up as the right side tires grew their deeper treads. The Halcyon tried to fishtail but Rome fought against the drag.

  The Talon shot by. He saw Sartorian. Her expression was one of open-mouthed fear. She slapped her hands soundlessly against the windows.

  Two more Famtracs ahead of them braked.

  “Screw them!” Aldo yelled. “They’re jumping from system to system. I get them locked out of one—”

  “Less explaining, more doing!” Rome checked the gauge Marcy ran in the center of the dash. Two-thirds full.

  “You’d better get a clear line of fire or you’re gonna put a bunch of passengers into the worst pile-up since the early ‘20s.”

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks.” He didn’t have a lot of options. That truck hadn’t grabbed Sartorian—which was a bonus—but they were hijacking the signals of every vehicle around them. Not more than two at a time, though. A good shot with the EMP would shut them down and get them off the road. He hoped.

  “Got it!” Aldo pumped his fist.

  At the last possible second, the Famtracs moved aside, leaving Rome just enough space to squeeze the Halcyon through. The car straddled the center-line.

  “There is something else we can do, you know.” Aldo sounded as guilty as a student who got busted trying to alter his grades.

  Rome nodded. “Not legal in the slightest, not without a judge’s express permission.”

  “Probably will get some of the bounty docked.”

  “Rather have that than dead passengers. Do it.”

  Aldo sighed and flicked at a pair of commands in his holograms.

  The suspect truck abruptly braked because several freighters broke free from their long line of cohorts and separated across all three lanes. They closed their distance enough so the truck could not squeeze between them. The Talon slowed, too, falling in tandem with the suspect truck.

  Their exit was coming up soon. Where was that EMP? “Marcy…”

  [Power level at 95 percent.]

  “Aldo, keep those two steady. Marcy, clear out as much traffic from around us as you can.”

  [I have been doing just that. However, several interruptions in the network have made that work difficult.]

  “We’re good to go,” Aldo said. “FYI, got at least ten vehicles coming to the on-ramp at that exit. They try driving into this mess and they’re toast.”

  “Keep ’em out.” The target truck grew larger. They were 200 yards away.

  Rome flipped the cap off the top of the right handle, revealing a silver button encircled by bright red ring. His thumb poised over it.

  [EMP fully charged. Targeting.]

  A reticle bracketed the truck. Rome eyeballed it, exhaled a breath he realized he’d been holding…

  “Got a power surge!” Aldo said.

  The truck rippled and disappeared.

  The Talon cranked left, into the line of fire.

  Rome’s thumb stabbed the button but he simultaneously jerked the steering handles hard left. “Hell!”

  Blue-white exploded at the front of the car like lightning. It streaked out in waves. Rome’s last-minute maneuver had been enough, though. The EMP burst smacked into the rear of the leftmost freighter. Lights and signals from it died out as bolts stuttered across its surface. The automaton in command had enough foresight to aim for the median in time before the pulse turned its brain off. The freighter drifted off the road and then toppled on its side. No humans aboard to harm, but it dug a long scrape in the grass. The Talon continued down the road, unharmed—a small comfort to Rome as the Halcyon barreled into the median.

  There were no trees—mercifully—just a sharp bank. He gritted his teeth and corrected the steering as best he could. It was enough to keep them level. The Halcyon spun out, coming to a jarring halt facing the south.

  [I have lost telemetry on Ms. Sartorian’s vehicle,] Marcy said. [And the suspect’s. The Halcyon is undamaged.]

  Aldo gasped, drawing in deep breaths. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Rome couldn’t let go of the column.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY FOUND THE TALON WITH Sartorian inside, dumped behind a waste incinerator not far from the first off-ramp into Madison.

  She was slumped against the passenger side door, cradling her arm. Rome could smell something burnt and sickly sweet. Sartorian’s eyes were bloodshot and her tears had made a mess of her makeup.

  “Ma’am? Pursuit Specialist Jasko.” Rome leaned in through the open door. At least the thieves hadn’t ripped that one off. “I’m here to help.”

  Sartorian shied away as if she could push herself deeper into the door and disappear from her environment. She held up her hands, covering her face. Rome saw the angry red and black gouge on her left wrist.

  They took her implant, too.

  “LEOs, Rome.” Aldo stood beside the Halcyon. A torrent of information spilled from his implant.

  “You’d better strip everything you can from her comp, then.” Rome did a quick sweep of the vehicle’s interior, ignoring Sartorian’s wordless whimpers. He didn’t see any coins. He checked the floor. There were the same bits of material as in Joe Brace’s car. He bagged one, then reached for Sartorian. “Ma’am? The police are here. Please.”

  She shook her head. Her gaze was wild with fear. “Get away from me.”

  So much for trying. Rome scuffed at the shoulder of the road where the thieves had dumped the car. Green grass. Bright green. He could tell it was watered, probably by drip irrigation. He wondered how much that cost the city. Since it sat on a lake that was still mostly full, it probably was not as much as it would have cost Rapid City.

  “We’ve got tracks over here,” Aldo said.

  “I saw them. Marcy, you got a scan for us?”

  [Confirmed. I am running a search for matching tread.]

  “Atta girl.” Rome glanced up the street into the city. A pair of Madison PD black and whites rolled up, their lights bouncing blue and red off the sloped white walls of the incinerator complex. “Aldo…”

  “Yeah, I know, I’m done.”

  Once a crime was reported inside city limits, it was technically hands off for pursuit contractors. Local LEOs got the call. It was up to them to handle the case. That said, nothing prevented drivers like Rome and info techs like Aldo from scooping up every bit of evidence they could prior to the cops’ arrival, especially with a substantial bounty on the wire.

  There were four officers—a stocky sergeant with thinning brown hair who looked as pale as the incinerator building, and three young guys who couldn’t be any more than a few years out of the Academy. Two still had their heads shaved, while one sported a blond crew cut. Blondie had sideburns that reached all the way down to the base of his chin.

  “Victor Two Two and Two Seven on scene,” the sergeant said. “Ten Forty-Six.”

  Rome stood with Aldo, their hands clasped in front of them. His gun was in the Halcyon, as were both spazzers. No need to up any tension with the presence of firearms. “Morning, officers.”

  “Bronsky, you and Devereaux check on the victim.”

  “She’s in shock,” Rome said. “They cut out her implant and attempted a sloppy cauterization of the wound.”

  The sergeant’s gaze dipped down to the badge on Rome’s belt. “ID.”

  Both Rome and Aldo held out their wrists. A drone the size of a softball with the appearance of a flattened cylinder floated behind the sergeant, buzzing on tiny turbofans. It cast a red light on their implants. No happy chirps or vocal confirmation from that unit.

  The sergeant looked at his own implant. Whatever it said about them, Rome figured it would not lighten the mood. The man’s brow was so furrowed with lines Rome could take up farming atop his bushy eyebrows.

&nbs
p; “Pursuit specialists.” He said the last word as if it were a joke and a swear word rolled into one.

  “Yes, sir.” A “sir” never hurt, especially where city LEOs were concerned. “We’re on contract with FTZ West to investigate and detain a group of drivers who have robbed several vehicles along the Ninety. We were tracking Ms. Sartorian as a potential victim.”

  The sergeant snorted. “Bang-up job. They got away.”

  “That happens.” This guy qualified as a new entry on Rome’s list of people he’d like to hit with the Halcyon. “I’d say you guys should go after them, but, you know…” he shrugged and smiled.

  The sergeant headed for the car, stone-faced.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Blondie said.

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  After he left, Aldo chuckled. “Man. You just can’t help it.”

  “Needling LEOs like that prick about the fact that they can’t drive? Nope.” Being polite didn’t hurt. Cutting a martinet like that sergeant down a few notches didn’t hurt, either. “Did Marcy find anything interesting?”

  “Whoever their tech is, he’s good. They put their own software into Sartorian’s ride, but when they scrammed, it self-deleted. Marcy found a few bits of code that don’t belong to the Talon. Might be able guess what it looked like, but don’t hold your breath.”

  “Something’s better than nothing.”

  “You?”

  “Same bits of gunk as in Joe Brace’s car, back in Billings.” Rome dipped two fingers into his jacket pocket and tugged out the evidence bag. “Dump it on the seat.”

  “So Marcy can scan? Right.” Aldo scratched his stomach with his left hand, while the right bumped against the glass. “Open Sesame.”

  The window slid apart a few inches. Aldo flicked the bag inside.

  “Run a comparison, Marcy,” Rome murmured.

  [Affirmative.] This time, the response came through his implanted earpiece instead of the car’s speakers.

  “Sergeant Dickhead returns,” Aldo said.

  The sergeant limped. A slight mechanical whine with each step of his right leg told Rome it was a powered model, all the way up to the hip. “You boys give me access to your chase log?”