by Steve Rzasa
She was still living out here.
Nil, to his credit, didn’t say anything to spoil my reverie. In fact, he might have dozed off. Couldn’t tell you what kind of sleep cycle the qwaddos had. At one point it looked like his orange light blinked inside his ear, but it was probably the late afternoon sun glinting off a mirror or something. Either that or he let his brain phone go to voicemail. That same sun made me drowsy. It got real warm in the car even with the AC running.
I got us onto I-25 north in Cheyenne. There wasn’t much traffic. Saw a handful of driverless cars. You know the ones: a Lexus here, a Lincoln there, with guys sitting in the backseat yapping on their cell phones while the pile of computer screens and navigating devices in the front seat did all the work. Very weird.
I was just wondering how much of a pain it would be to convert an oldie like the BMW into a driverless model when Nil blurted out in a louder-than-necessary voice, “My superiors inform me the Jinn are sending surveillance to watch over the museum staff.”
“Whoa!” I jerked the steering wheel a bit too far to the left. The driver of a blue Ford Explorer passing us honked his horn. His wife was kind enough to flip us off. “Yeah, nice to meet you too, lady.”
Nil stared at me.
“Since when were you awake?” My heart slowed back to its normal speed from breakneck.
“I have been awake for the past five minutes. My superiors communicated with me in that time.”
“Communicated?”
Nil tapped his ear.
Oh. So I really had seen the light. My palms were sweaty on the wheel. “So how’s about you let a guy know that next time you spring loud noises on him? Were you asleep?”
“In a manner of speaking. The oxygen content on Earth is lesser than my homeworld. It is not enough to bother our people but it does make me—sleepy. So I must meditate and focus.”
Meditate. Great. A hippie qwaddo. “What do you meditate upon?”
“The Lexicon from Outworld.”
The what? “Sounds like fun.”
“The Lexicon is the book of my faith.”
I glanced sideways at him. He didn’t seem to be pulling a fast one on me. Of course, if he was, I wouldn’t have a clue what that’d look like. “So. You, uh, got religion?”
“Do you?”
Ah. Here we go. “Yeah, come to think of it, nobody ever told me why you guys wanted a Christian on this job. Doesn’t seem it matters one way or the other.”
“It does. There are some among the Ghiqasu—too few, I believe—who recognize the importance your planet plays on a galactic scale.”
That made me laugh out loud and hard. It wasn’t really funny. “Yeah, right. Earth’s about as important among the Consociation as Tatooine was to the Republic.”
“What Republic do you speak of?”
“Hey, you don’t know Star Wars, go hunt that one down on Wikipedia. Seriously, we’re like the back end of your galactic federation.”
“There is more than Earth’s position as a key nexus on the trade slipstream through the Nor-i-Nanq gateways to consider.”
“That slipstream thing is the only reason your kind are even here. If it weren’t for that Big Ring and the Consociation’s own laws regarding exploitation of sentient species . . .” I shut my mouth and grumbled. No nice words were gonna come out. It was best to shut down the flow now before I really got in trouble.
Nil nodded curtly. “You know your politics and history, I smell.”
“Always have. That doesn’t mean I like you and your four-armed brothers any better.”
“Fortunately for you we do not have to ‘like’ each other for this mission to succeed.”
Nil turned his attention to the passing scenery. We were leaving Cheyenne behind, the last of the subdivisions disappearing behind low hills. Nothing but grass, sagebrush, and the occasional cell phone tower to come. The land seemed painted in place, framed by the Bimmer’s window.
I swore at myself. Here that qwaddo was, talking about his religion—which they never, ever do from everything I’ve read—and I shut him down. Man. The rational part of my brain that craved information above all else smacked me hard.
“Look, you hungry at all? I’m good for a while. You know, too much snackage on the plane ride out. But it’s almost quarter of six.”
“I only need to eat twice a day, but yes, a few hours from now I will be ready. Perhaps . . .” He let the words trail off.
“What?”
Nil held his lower right hand before his nose, cupped as if he were covering it. Reminded me of when a person covers their mouth. But he didn’t answer.
Back to being my usual pesky self. “What’s up?”
“Would we be able to dine at—a place that serves cow?”
I laughed. Nil removed his hand and turned away again. Ah, you big baby. “I forgot all about you guys being partial to beef. And by ‘partial to’ I mean ‘obsessed with.’ ”
“It is a delicacy unlike any other.” The corners of Nil’s mouth shifted. Smiling? Well, he was showing more teeth. Here’s hoping he wasn’t hungry right now. “I and many other Hounders serving on Earth have also grown fond of buffalo.”
“Wyoming must be like an open pit barbecue for you guys.” We drove right by a pasture full of cattle—way more than I remember being here years ago. “No wonder ranching’s been such a hit since your kind showed up. I read something on Yahoo about it the other day, about how the demand is insane—”
“Please.” Nil held up his upper left hand. “Let us speak no more of it. The scent of those cattle was enough to make me salivate.”
Nice. Alien drool. I chuckled. “Sure, we can get some burgers in Wheatland or Casper, if you can wait that long.”
My phone, set in its case between the seats, buzzed. And who was the lucky contestant? Good thing I set up the speaker. I glanced at the caller ID.
“Awesome.” I tapped the “SEND” key. “What’s up, loser?”
“Good to talk to you too, man.” Isaac’s voice didn’t sound as deep on the phone, but just as smart-alecked. “How’s the scenery?”
I glanced sideways at Nil. Do aliens glower? Or was he hungry? What a cheerful guy. Not. “Lovely as always. What do you want?”
“Your vouch looks good. Thought you should know it’s already generating some traffic.”
He meant my Facebook profile. Where I do most of my contacts for Lancaster Foss’s, ah, business. “Good to hear. Nobody got spooked by me getting pinched at Beverly, I take it.”
“Nope. Some muttering about Janos, but he’s incommunicado so he won’t blow it.”
“Also good. No need to scare off our target long before he’s willing to deal.”
“You sure he will? Deal, that is?”
I sneered. “They always deal, Isaac. You don’t steal something as fantastic as this sculpture if you didn’t want the cash.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Hey, just so you know, we’re all going out to the Cactus Club tonight for margaritas and you can’t.”
“Wow, you’re a pal.”
Hmm. There was barely any traffic out here—one semi way up ahead dragging a Walmart trailer and a couple cars zipping by southbound. But a blue Chevy Tahoe with Colorado plates back there was staying awfully close to my bumper. What, was he a New Jersey driver? Like me?
“I know.” Isaac chuckled. “We’re tracking the individuals who are stopping by your page, Caz, but so far no more than the usual small-time bugs. Let you know if anyone with big dollars behind their name shows up, especially if they show up with a fake login and user ID.”
Yeah, that truck was definitely coming up closer. And there were still no other cars around. Great. My heartbeat picked up, and my stomach churned. Always does when I get nervous. “Hey, yeah, that’s great. Keep me up to speed, man.”
“All right. Good luck and God bless.”
“Yep. You too.”
Nil glanced sidelong at the “God bless.”
“Was
that a fellow believer of yours?”
“You bet. Uh, could we maybe do this conversation later?” I tapped the rearview mirror. “We got a problem.”
He swiveled around. “Ah. Yes, there is a man in the vehicle.”
Duh. I could read the guy’s expression. Make that expressions because there were actually two. One guy had a full-on beard and the other was clean shaven. Both looked ticked off. Nil’s vision didn’t seem up to par with mine. Good thing to remember.
“Here they come,” Nil said.
You could hear the roar of their engine through the BMW’s windows. They got into the passing lane and lined right up with us. The passenger window was down. Captain Moustache, ball cap and all, hollered something muffled by the glass.
Okay, I’d bite. I cranked down the window. “What’s up? You guys lost?”
He glowered. “Qwaddo-lover!”
He flashed a sign with his right hand—four fingers spread wide, thumb tucked back, hand held down against the door.
Oh, great. “You see that, Prime Nil?”
“I do indeed. It means these men are intent on causing us harm.”
“No kidding.” I flexed my hands on the steering wheel. Just try it, boys.
The truck’s engine gunned as it swerved suddenly at us. I tapped the brakes, just enough to drop us two car lengths behind them. They stayed in our lane, weaving slightly.
Next they pulled over to the far side of the lane, slowing a lot.
I gritted my teeth. “They want to play games.”
“I would suggest we not let them.”
“You think?”
“Are you practiced in evasion tactics?”
Seriously? I just smirked.
Fourth gear. Here we go.
The BMW raced ahead, skittish as a jackrabbit trying not to get eaten by a coyote. We zipped right past them. But they weren’t totally dumb. They took off after us, kicking up dirt from the side of the highway.
“Come on, baby.” I wasn’t sure how much acceleration this old Bimmer could handle. The tachometer was not happy with me. Neither was the engine. But we were keeping up a good clip for a six-cylinder.
“Can they catch us in their vehicle?” Nil seemed to be taking all of this in stride.
“Dunno. Looks like their Tahoe’s older.” V-8? The body had taken a few dings. Probably from running aliens off the road.
The truck zoomed up on us, coming right for the rear this time. I waited. Waited. Waaaaaited.
I jerked the wheel. We scooted into the left lane just in time for the truck to flash by. You could see their blank expressions as their faces flickered in the window.
“Well done,” Nil said.
“Thanks. That’s about the third time Skip Barber training’s paid off.”
“Skip Barber? A man who cuts your hair?”
I had to laugh, even with those guys braking again up ahead of us. Persistent. “Take their driving lessons sometime. You gotta do Limerock, Connecticut, in the fall, with the leaves on the racetrack.”
“Our species did not develop ground transportation until after we made contact with other sentient life forms.”
“Really?” We were almost on the truck. But the semi was just visible going into the next turn in the highway.
“Our planet is primarily arboreal and mountainous. We traverse from tree to tree or on climbing assisters. You would say they were walkers. Air transport came next.”
“Cool. Oh and, uh, you might want to brace yourself.” I floored the accelerator.
We passed the truck again, but they’d learned their lesson. They hadn’t braked as much. In a second they were catching up to us, still in the right lane as we were in the left. All they needed to do was nudge our rear tire and we would probably spin out.
I didn’t do so hot in that Skip Barber class. But I didn’t tell Nil.
Good thing for me that semi was a whole lot closer than a minute ago.
“This seems a perilous course of action—”
“Shut up!” We were headed right for the rear bumper of the Walmart truck. Somewhere along the line we passed the safe following distance. Okay, I admit I have no idea what that really is. But in a second we were following at New Jersey distance. You know, a car length.
I swerved us to the left and pushed that gas pedal for all it was worth. Man, you shoulda heard the Bimmer’s engine holler at me. That puppy growled and grumbled but raced us right up alongside the semi.
Tires squealed behind us. I hazarded a look in the rearview. Yeah, they almost hit that semi. Put ’em back behind us a ways. A dust cloud rose from where they’d almost skidded right off the highway.
Nil turned his head. I guess that’s what alien disapproval looks like.
Whatever. All he got from me was a grin. “That, my four-armed traveling companion, was awesome.”
“If you are certain.”
We sped by the big rig. Couldn’t tell you what the driver said, but it probably wasn’t rated PG, if his hand gestures were any indication. He laid pretty hard on the horn. I gave him a thumbs-up. What a baby.
That stinking Tahoe! It came right back up from behind the semi, like we hadn’t almost sent them up to see Saint Peter. “Okay, those guys are nice and enraged.”
“One would think they are displeased with your lack of cooperation.”
He said it with such deadpan I had no idea if it was a joke. “You’re going to have to explain what passes for humor on your planet.” I watched the tachometer. There was that red line. Oh, boy, she wasn’t happy.
“In good time.” Nil glanced behind us. “They return.”
Yeah. I’d figured that. We were well in front of the semi now. Still no traffic around. Man, at this rate I’d give up my cell phone for a couple of cars to play four-wheeled dodge ball with.
This time, though, our tail didn’t bother trying to ram us. They roared right up next to us in the passenger lane. Close enough you could see Captain Moustache had a gun: a black and silver Ruger SR45.
Great.
“Pull behind them when I say.” Nil unclipped his seat belt.
“What? No way. Put your belt back on.”
“No. Do as I say and we will live.”
I gritted my teeth. Didn’t really have much of a choice. These guys were playing for keeps.
The gunshots came rapid fire, BLAM BLAM BLAM. My reflexes put enough swerve into the Bimmer that two shots scraped off our hood. The third one blew the driver’s side rear view mirror into bits of blue metal, silver plastic, and glittering glass.
“Stop shooting us up! It’s a classic!” I shouted. Okay, so my priorities are messy.
“Do it now!” Nil’s shout filled the interior of the car like an explosion.
Scared me so bad I did exactly what he said. I dropped the car into third and tapped the brakes. Just enough.
The Tahoe shot ahead, and his brake lights blinked on.
Good. I put us into their lane, popped the clutch back into fourth and gave it gas. We drove right up to their bumper.
“Well done.” Nil nodded. “Stay close to him. I may need your help.”
He grabbed the door handle. “Hey, wait just a—”
Anything clever or sarcastic I was about to say got lost in the roar of wind as my pet qwaddo shoved that door wide open. On a car doing eighty plus on a windy Wyoming interstate. He moved so fast I only caught a blur of all his arms and the back side of his boots before the door slammed shut so stinking hard the car tried to dump us off the embankment to the left. Good thing I have mad steering skills.
So . . . “Where’d he go?”
The only answer I got to my painfully obvious question was footsteps. On the roof. I looked up. Verrrrry slowly.
Yeah. The roof sagged. In two places. The dents looked kinda—well, shaped like a qwaddo’s feet.
Suddenly the car lurched. The roof popped, like a plastic bottle that you’d squished and then blown air into to re-inflate, you know?
Nil landed
on the roof of the Tahoe. The roof!
I got myself off the bumper of that truck. Bad idea. As soon as the Bimmer was back in the other lane, Captain Moustache went back to taking potshots at the car. Even odds whether I was more ticked he was shooting at me or the car. Again, it’s a classic ride!
Nil crept forward, pushing along with his feet and using his lower pair of arms to steady his transit. He switched from left to right, grabbing and releasing a side of the truck’s roof rack as he went. The occupants must’ve figured out they were in trouble because the truck started making wild and unannounced lane changes. Tried to shake Nil off.
He wasn’t budging.
I could tell when he reached the front windows. That was right about when he angled sideways, held on to the rack with both left arms, and used his right ones to pummel the passenger window.
Didn’t take much pummeling.
Once it broke, Captain Moustache must’ve gone ballistic ’cause he about emptied his magazine overhead. Get it? Ballistic? Bullets? Yeah, I know, bad one.
Nil swiped that gun from his hand before he’d even finished firing. I swear the guy’s trigger finger was still, uh, triggering as the pistol went sailing over the truck into the sagebrush.
You’d never seen anyone as cool as this qwaddo. He shifted himself to the other side of the truck and smashed in the driver’s side window. Next thing I knew, his left arms were inside the driver’s side of the truck.
It was like someone had dropped a wasp nest on their laps. The truck swerved insanely across both lanes, barely pausing one way before it wrenched itself back across to the other. I backed off, an eye to the speedometer ’cause they were definitely losing velocity.
Suddenly the truck turned almost 90 degrees and started to tip onto its right wheels. Dust roiled. Nil looked like he was gonna get himself pancaked under those idiots.
I swore. A lot. Nothing you or my mom needed to hear. Gunning the engine put me right up close which, in retrospect, was probably a dumb thing to do. Those kinds of things fill my resume.
