"Nobody's ignoring you," Roland said sharply. Susan was exasperated. "There you go again!" "People, people…" John intoned placatingly. Darla was looking back at me, as if to say. What gives? A good question. I had my own moral decision to make, and time was running out. I fingered the handle of Petrovsky's pistol inside my pocket.
"We must approach this rationally, as always," John told his congregation. "Now, there's really no big hurry to get back to the ranch. I suggest we go into the diner… and not leave the key ― Jake here being the resourceful sort that he is…" He looked at me for support.
"That'd be fine," I said. But it would mean more time wasted, time to hot-chip the antitheft systems. And tools? Where would they come from? "One thing, though," I said, "Do they give you a handikit with one of these things? Tool kit, for emergencies?"
Roland opened the storage drawer under his seat and began to rifle through it.
"That way," John continued, "we could claim we had no intention of helping Jake get away. Aiding and abetting, and all that noise." He turned to Susan hopefully. "Is that acceptable?"
"Lots of debris in here," Roland said, hunting frantically.
"Can't seem to find… what's this?" He held up a greasy thing-amabob with a stray wire hanging from it.
"Old engine part," I told him.
"No, it's not acceptable, John, and you know it," Susan said huffily. "They'll never believe us. I'm getting out of this car right now."
"Now, wait a minute, please," John said.
Roland looked up. "Oh, she's not going anywhere," he scoffed.
"Watch me," Susan retorted frostily, and started sliding toward the curbside door.
John reached.back and grabbed her arm. "Susan, please," he pleaded.
And I grabbed John's arm. "People, I really don't have time for this."
John turned to me, a bit annoyed. "Uh, wait Just a moment, will you?" Susan tried yanking her arm free but John held fast. "Roland, talk to her!"
"No tools," Roland said to me.
I grunted. Well, no choice, really….
Susan had the door open and one leg hanging out, trying to pry John's fingers from her arm. "Let me go," she said through clenched teeth.
"Roland, please, talk to her!"
"Quit acting like a child," Roland snapped, glancing up at her while still trying;to find something useful in the drawer.
"Go to hell. John, let go!"
"Suzie, please," John said, his voice low and appeasing. "We'll sort this out. Just wait one more minute before you―"
"Oh, let her leave," Roland told him, disgusted. "Where's she going to go?"
"Anywhere! If I can get out of here. I'm warning you, if you don't―"
"Susan, sometimes you're a complete shit. Do you know that?"
She stopped struggling and glared at Roland. "You bastard! How dare you say that to me!"
"Well, you tell me how we're going to make a go of this colony when people bugger off at the first sign of trouble."
"The first sign of ―?" Susan's rage turned to disbelief. "As if this expedition hasn't been a disaster from the day we left Khadija! Three of us are dead, for God's sake."
"Yes, I know," Roland said, "but we've lost others. A i planet, new dangers―"
"Ever hear of trying to prepare for those things? First silly breakdown… and whose idea was it to disturb those nests of whatever the hell they were? Isn't the first rule you should follow on an unknown planet ―?"
"Yes, the first rule is 'never assume,'" John said, "and I broke it. I take complete responsibility."
"And that makes it all right?"
"No, it doesn't."
"Let her go." Roland was fed up. John sighed.
Susan took advantage of the slack and jerked her arm free. Roland immediately reached back and gripped her wrist.
Darla was saying with her eyes: What are the morons doing now? I shrugged helplessly.
"Look, damn it, I want everyone to stop grabbing me… this instant!" Susan slapped at Roland's fist.
This was getting out of hand. On top of it, I was coming down with the creepy itches again. I brushed off both shoulders. What was it? Nerves? Bugs?
"Susan, please, please calm down," John was saying.
"Let go of me."
"Roland, let her go."
"Where exactly do you think you're going?" Roland asked her.
"To the motel where Roger and Shari are staying."
"We'll drive you there. All right?"
"No, thank you. I prefer to walk."
"Susan, be reasonable. Let her go, Roland."
"Don't be stupid," Roland told her.
'Take your bloody hands off me."
"No, I won't take my hands off you until you listen to reason for one goddamn minute."
"I said take your hands off me!"
"JAKE!" It was Darla, standing beside the car with the door open, pointing with urgency to something behind me. I whirled and saw the front end of a squad car peeking from behind a pile of junk in the vacant lot across the street.
"Everybody down!" I dove over the engine housing of the Gaddy, glided over the slippery finish, went end over end to hit ground with a turned shoulder, and rolled to a crouch. The Teelies looked at me as if I were insane. I crawled over, opened
Roland's door. "Get down! DOWN!" Roland got the idea first, grabbed the collar of John's funny-looking gray cassock and pulled him over down to the seat. I was reaching for Susan when the first salvo hit. The aeroglass windscreen of the Gaddy erupted into crushed ice. Susan still sat there ― miraculously unhurt ― shaking her head, baffled.
"Why… why are they shooting at us? We're not―"
I yanked her out of the car and down to the pavement just as the next salvo slammed into the Gaddy. The air was alive with high-density slugs, their hypersonic cracking louder than the report that sent them on their way. The Gaddy shook like green jello as slugs chunked into it from at least three directions. John and Roland tumbled out of the front door in a pile.
"Stay low!" I told them. Looking around, I saw no cover. The lot on this side had nothing to offer but dry scrub brush and a few Wurlitzer trees.
I heard Darla gun the automobile's engine. The tires wailed as she popped the clutch pedal and jumped the curb. She came toward us swerving crazily. A steering wheel's hard to get used to. She crossed the paved sidewalk and ran the car into the loose sandy soil of the lot, sideswiped a Wurlitzer, then straightened out and came at us, the tires shooting streamers of dirt behind. She pulled up alongside the Gaddy and slid to a halt, racing the engine noisily. Then she accidentally let up on the clutch while in gear and nearly stalled the engine, but managed to keep it going. As she opened the driver's door an HD slug whanged off the Chevy, screaming away in ricochet. I didn't have time to be surprised at that. The door now effectively blocked the cops' angle of fire from one vantage point. I helped John get past me, then Roland.
"Everybody in!" I said. "Stay low!" I shoved Susan through the door, Darla helping inside. The antique vehicle was now attracting most of the fire, but it was partially blocked by the Gaddy, which was flying apart in frayed pieces. Roland crawled through, then John hauled his lean frame up and over the seat. Right then another shot hit the door, spanging off as well, but the impact nearly knocked me aside. I pushed and shoved John's skinny bun up and into what I now knew to be an HD-proof vehicle, miracle of miracles. A high-density slug is hard to stop.
The front seat was a tangle of bodies. I pulled myself in, wedging myself into position, trying to force my foot through a snake pit of arms and legs to the accelerator pedal. I got to it and pressed down. The engine howled, but the buggy didn't move. I had to shift into first but couldn't reach die clutch pedal. My left foot was lodged between the door and the front seat. I bent over and ducked my head under the wheel, painfully contorting myself down to where I could push me pedals with my hands. Someone drove an elbow into my ear.
"Darla, shift! Put the thing to number one!"
"Steer!" I shouted. Out of the comer of my eye I saw her leaning over the back of the seat with her hands on the wheel.
A sudden flash and an explosion. They had brought up exciter cannon. The Gaddy was no more. It also meant we didn't have a chance. Seconds later a white-hot cloud of brilliance enveloped us ― and just as quickly we were out of it. An exciter bolt had hit us dead center and we were unharmed.
The vehicle shook with impact after impact, shots bouncing off like stones from steel plate. Darla wheeled to the left and we hit something, but it didn't stop us. The engine was shouting for second gear, but I didn't want to chance it.
Then I suddenly realized we had time. We had taken the worst they could throw at us. "Everybody off!" I hollered, stupidly, because I was the one on top. I let up on the accelerator and untangled myself.
"Ouch!" came Roland's voice. A hand clawed at my face.
Darla took her hands from the wheel and helped pull me off the pile of Teelies.Susan got free and crawled into the back seat, leaving Roland, John, and me to sort ourselves out. We finally did and I came up for air, cracked the door to get my foot free, slammed it closed again. We were coasting through the brush on the other side of the lot. We reached the sidewalk, bounced over the curb, and by that time I had the transmission rammed into second. I floored the pedal and we roared out into the street, the tires yipping like hounds at bay.
"Which way to the highway?" I asked, but didn't get an answer. Two squad cars angled out into the street presented a more pressing question. My answer was straightforward. With all the confidence in the world, I blithely aimed our anachronistic vehicle for the apex of the triangle the blocking cars formed.
"Hang on, people."
Shots caromed off the glass ― which wasn't glass at all ― and coherent beams played over the curving, glossy hull. Impervious. We hit the squad cars with a loud bang but a mild jolt, shoved them carelessly aside, and raced on down the street. We passed other cop cars, an armored personnel carrier, then broke through the perimeter the Militia had secured. Their second line of defense was negligible: wooden barriers. I made toothpicks of a few of them, screeched around a comer to the right, hung a left, then a right again, then debouched onto a wide boulevard mat seemed to lead away from town.
Frightening power throbbed beneath my foot. I'd never driven anything with comparable performance. And it was still in third gear. The "speedometer" read ninety somethings per hour. Miles? Sure. Appropriate to the period.
For the next twenty minutes I drove with nothing in my way but air. Maxwellville thinned to suburbs, then to development tracts, then to nothing but open road with bare land on either side. No roadblocks; they hadn't had time. Everyone sat in dazed silence. The Teelies were stunned, blank faces staring at the mesa rolling by.
Flashing barriers ahead, a new section of Colonial highway, and a sign. TO SKYWAY AND SEVEN SUNS INTERCHANGE ― ROUTES 85, 14 AND POINTS SPINWARD. I managed to avoid hitting the barriers. We shot over the entry ramp and out onto new Maklite surface six lanes wide. I called Sam.
"I got a fix on you now, boy."
"That's good," I said. "Where are you?"
"Out in the bush by the starslab. But don't worry, I'II pick you up. What are you driving?"
"You won't believe it, but you'll know it the moment you see it. Old Terran automobile. A replica, of course. But, Sam, I'll need to know where you are. We have to make the switch off the road somewhere, out of sight. Everybody in the galaxy's hot on my trail."
"Really? Hold on." A pause. "Yeah, I'm painting them now. Too far away, can't tell exactly how many… Hey! What're you trying to do, bum up the road?"
"That's the general idea."
"What's your speed?"
'Two hundred miles per hour."
"What? Oh, I understand. Wait a minute. If it's a true replica, the speedometer wouldn't read that high."
"The needle buried itself at 100, then came up the other side again, and the numbers changed. This buggy's a replica as far as looks, but under the engine hous ― I mean the hood ― she's something else again. I'm waiting to get to the Skyway to see what she can do."
"Better step on it now. Something's gaining on you."
"Okay." I thought it was about time for fourth gear. I slid it in smoothly and the car surged ahead, pressing us back into our seats. The numbers on the speedometer now ranged from 200 to 300. I urged the car onward and the needle crept up to 250.
"God, I can't believe this old rattletrap―" I looked at the speedometer again and did a take. "What? Now this thing reads like a machometer!"
"You sure?"
"Yeah. It is a machometer."
"And it's not a reaction-drive vehicle?"
"Negative. I'm at Mach point three five and holding. Sam, how's the Skyway up ahead for high-speed travel?"
"It's all straightaway to the portal, but be careful. You know what they say. No ground vehicle is safe anywhere at over Mach point five."
"Right, but let 'em eat my dust for a while back there."
"They're still gaining."
"They are? Sam, get moving!"
"Say again?"
"Get rolling now. If they're still gaining, it's a Militia interceptor, and I know exactly who's driving it." The ambush hadn't been Petrovsky's doing. That had been Elmo reasserting his authority. But Petrovsky was on his own now, that wide Slavic nose pushed to the scent. "No chance of us meeting anywhere on Goliath. Get moving toward Seven Suns and we'll play it by ear from there."
"Hold on, now, I'm getting more than one blip. There's the fast-moving one, and then there're two behind him, a little slower."
The Reticulans, with a backup vehicle?
"And tailing them at a fairly good clip is another one."
The Ryxx, maybe.
"And behind them…"
"More?" Well, hell. "Move it out, Sam. You'll have a lot
more speed on the other side. Vacuum."
"You don't know what Stinky did to me. Feel like a new man. I haven't opened it up yet, but my cruising speed's up by at least thirty percent. Stinky outdid himself this time."
"Good, but get rolling!"
"Okay, okay!"
In no time we reached the old Skyway, pointing straight and true toward a limitless horizon. The machometer crept upward ― but what about aerodynamics? The vehicle's shape was rounded, "streamlined" was the word that came to mind, but the surface didn't look capable of slicing an air mass at Mach one. There were no stabilizer foils, no GE flange, nothing. There'd be heavy turbulence ahead if I kept pushing, and possible disaster. But how was the car staying on the road at the speed we were doing now? And in Goliath's soupy air to boot? To say there was more to this vehicle than met the eye was an understatement by several degrees.
"Sam, are you grabbing slab?"
"That I am, son. I'm tracking you at Mach point four. Where's the fire?"
"Up my kazoo. By the way, what happened at Stinky's?"
"Well, it's a long story."
"Edit it severely."
"Right. Stinky worked on me all day yesterday, then into evening. He said it was a challenge. It was 'way after dark when he finished, and I insisted he rehook me to the trailer and let me squeeze into the garage. I hadn't heard from you, and I thought it best. He balked at that, but gave in. It was a tight fit. Anyway, about an hour later I hear somebody breaking into the place. So I took off, not bothering to open doors. Stinky's garage is now naturally air-conditioned."
I winced. Stinky would go for the jugular next time he clapped eyes on me. "Got you. Then what?"
"Then nothing. I took off in the general direction John had said his farm was in, but couldn't find anything. I had half a mind to give you a buzz, but it just didn't seem like a good idea."
"You were
right. Would've given you away. Besides, I had the beeper turned off. God knows why, but I thought it'd take them a while to trace us to John's place, thought we were safe. But, go on."
"Well, there isn't much more. Wandered all night in the bush. Spotted a couple blips once, powered down and made like a rock. Airborne bandits, and they passed right overhead The cops?"
"The same. Sam, you were nearer than you thought. But if that's true, I can't understand why I had trouble reading you."
"Probably because I hid in a deep arroyo. Had a hell of a time getting out of there. What's more, you called on FM."
"Merte. Remind me to have the key redesigned so that the AM and FM select tabs are on opposite sides."
The silence in the car was getting me down. "Anyone for Twenty Questions?" I asked, and felt immediately inappropriate. I glanced around to find Susan glowering at me. "Sorry," I said lamely.
"Now you tell me your life story."
"That is much too long a tale, Sam. Later." "Damn it, you never tell me anything."
"Okay, a synopsis. The cops nabbed me, then someone sprang me. Don't know who, but I think it was the Ryxx." "The Ryxx? What the hell do they have to do with this?"
"Don't know that either, exactly, but I have an idea. As I said, later." '
Roland surprised me by asking, "Jake, how did you get… uh, sprung?"
I told him about the neural-scrambler field. "Then someone tickled me with something to bring me around, and I got out."
"Can you describe the symptoms?"
Darla and Winnie began talking in the back seat as I told him.
Roland smacked fist into palm. "Then, I didn't fall asleep on watch!"
"Yeah?"
"I knew it! I've never done that, and I've stood watch more than most soldiers."
"You're telling me the same thing hit us last night?"
"No question. I remember sitting there by the fire, feeling a headache coming on. Then a buzzing sound… and then there was a strange interlude there. I wasn't asleep. It was like an extended daydream. A reverie. And the next-thing I knew you were kicking me and the flitters were on us."
Which meant that it had been the Reticuians who had en-" gineered my escape from the station. One more unfittable piece in an ever-growing puzzle.
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