Red Limit Freeway

by John Dechancie

  “Then what are all those fusion-monitoring readouts—the ones under the dash board?”

  “Oh, those? They’re dummies.”

  All I could do was grunt and scratch my face. Carl and Lori got out and walked over with me to the edge of the lot, where everyone was stretching their legs. Schlagwasser—this part of it—was a planet of marshlands and swamp, over which the starslab was borne by a causeway. The sky was a dome of slate. The world smelled of brackish water and wet, fetid things. In a pond of goo a few meters away, something sucked and gurgled. The undergrowth was a jumble of orange and purple, overhung by great brooding, purple-leaved trees.

  “These planets are getting less and less Earthlike,” I said. “And what happens when we get out of human-occupied territory?”

  “According to Winnie,” Darla said, “there’ll always be earthnormal planets along the way. There may be stretches where they’ll be few and far between, but we’ll be able to get out every now and then to move around a bit. Maybe even camp.”

  “But we should be prepared for hostile environments. Sean, did you guys pack full-pressure suits?”

  “Yes, they’re in the trailer.”

  “Fine. Now, I have two … Carl?”

  “Yeah, I got one in the trunk.”

  “The what?” John asked.

  “Storage compartment, in the rear, there.”

  “Oh, the boot.”

  “Boot?”

  “Boot.”

  “Boot,” Carl repeated. “You people sure talk funny.” Everyone looked at Carl for a moment.

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe we can make do with five. And if you guys have to exit your vehicles in an airless environment, we can use the trailer as an air lock.”

  “Maybe we should blow all our cash and outfit everybody,” Carl suggested, “just to be safe.”

  “A good idea,” Roland seconded. “How’re you fixed for money, Carl?”

  “Me? I got plenty of consols left. Might as well shoot the whole wad, since they won’t be worth anything outside the Outworlds.”

  “Well,” I said, “you could convert them back to gold.”

  “Oh, I’ve got loads of that, too. Really, I’m bankrolled pretty well. Let’s get everyone outfitted and squared away, so there won’t be any problems downroad.”

  “Well, maybe we should look for a general store, just to make sure we haven’t forgotten—”

  Sam’s key was beeping in my pocket. “Yeah, Sam?”

  “Jake, I’m painting three fast-moving objects coming from uproad.”

  “Aren’t you getting too much ground clutter? Oh, I see.” I hadn’t noticed, but Sam had launched an earlybird. It was hovering about a hundred meters above.

  “I don’t like the looks of ‘em. Maybe it’s best we skedaddled.”

  The service people were finishing up with the vehicles. The station sat on a slender finger of dry land in the middle of a vast marsh. There was no possibility of going off-road and hiding.

  “Right, Sam. Let’s move.” I turned around and faced my fellow voyagers. “You heard ‘im, people. We scramble.” We scrambled. We had the attendants disconnect immediately, and to save time, I paid Sean’s minuscule bill along with my own.

  “Thanks, Jake.”

  “You owe me a couple beers. Whoa, there!”

  I caught Lori by the sleeve of her pretty, but rumpled, redstriped sailor suit.

  “Jake, please let me go with Carl.”

  “Into the cab, hon,” I said firmly.

  Her attitude seemed to have changed. She gave me no lip, and started clambering up the ladder to the cab. But suddenly I remembered the Chevy’s astonishing capacity to absorb punishment and its stunning ability to inflict it. I grabbed Lori and yanked her down.

  “Sorry, hon. You were right. Go with Carl.” I swatted her skinny rump (though as rumps go, it was coming along rather nicely) and sent her on her way.

  “What made you send up the bird, Sam?” I asked when I was inside the cab.

  “Oh, a hunch. Thought I saw something sneaking around back there for the last hour or so. Seemed to be deliberately staying out of ground-scanner range. I’m painting a tiny airborne blip that could be their drone.”

  “Good work: Certainly sounds suspicious.” I put on the headset as I vectored the rig out onto the Skyway.

  “Carl, I’ll take the bow and you take the stern.”

  “Check. ”

  “Sean? You get in the lifeboat.”

  “Affirmative, and it’s a damn good thing I know a bit of starrigger’s lingo. ‘Lifeboat,’ indeed.”

  I kept one eye on the rearview screens as Sean and Carl configured themselves correctly.

  “Okay, here’s more starrigger’s lingo for you. We’re gonna squeeze hydrogen and let the neutrinos fly.”

  “We’re going to ‘grab slab,’ is that it?”

  “Right you are. Translation: let’s get the hell moving.”

  “Well, the spirit is willing, Jake, but Ariadne’s not herself today.”

  “Well, do the best you can.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Ariadne, I thought. Oh, my.

  I eased the pedal down and watched the groundspeed readout until it showed 240 km/hr. A good clip, but still on the sane side. Sean began to drift back, so I feathered back to 210. I could see that Ariadne would hobble us until she was overhauled or until I could talk Sean and Liam into stashing her in the trailer. And now that we were about to leave human-occupied territory, opportunities for accomplishing the former would soon be reduced to zero. I doubted that I could persuade two proud loggers to demote themselves to the status of starhikers. Our only hope was that the approaching blips weren’t hostile. But they were.

  “They’ve recovered the first drone and put up another,” Sam announced. “Which reminds me, I have to do the same thing.”

  Recovering a drone on the fly was a difficult proposition, and we had lost our share of them trying it. Damn little things were expensive.

  “Sounds like they’re very interested in what’s going on downroad,” I said.

  “Oh, they’re tracking us, all right. We’re getting scanned with everything in the spectrum.”

  “Pendergast’s cops, you think?”

  “Probably, though it could be anybody back there. We stepped on a lot of toes.”

  “Right.”

  The Skyway continued straight for a few kilometers, gliding over marsh and meadow, occasionally cutting across patches of dry land. The water in the swampy areas was a dark bluegreen, mottled with rainbowed oil slicks. The tall trees weren’t really trees. The trunks were masses of intertwined separate filaments, looking like a tangle of battling snakes. From the waters rose pink and purple grasses. Oval pads bearing evil yellow flowers floated on the surface.

  “Hey, Carl? Ask Lori what it was like living here.”

  “Ask her yourself. She can hear you.”

  “Lori?”

  “It bit the big kishko.”

  “I see.”

  “Jake? ”—Carl again—“That’s an Intersystem word I’ve never heard before. Does it mean what I think it means?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  Behind me, Susan said, “I never understood what’s so wrong with biting the big kishko.”

  Darla had to laugh.

  I said, “Sam, what’re they doing now?”

  “I’m sure their drone spotted our drone. They’ve gained a little on us, but they’re still hanging back. Probably waiting till we get on firm ground to make their move.”

  “Right, on the next planet up, which is supposed to be another desert world. Right, Darla?”

  “Yes. And remember, Jake, you’re to bear right at the fork.”

  “Got you. Should be coming up pretty soon.”

  A red light began blinking on the instrument banks.

  “Son of a mother-punking bitch! Sam, it’s that spare roller!”

  “Yep.”

  “Dammit,
I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “Well, I hate to say I told you so—”

  “So don’t say it!”

  “—but I told you to spring for the new one. But nooo, you can get a better price down the road. Plenty of time, you said.”

  “Well, I could have gotten a better deal, dammit, if only—”

  “Out in the middle of nowhere, and you have to go windowshopping.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sam, get off my back!”

  “Son, it’s just that you forget sometimes—”

  “Sam, it would have cleaned us out! Look what that backwoods barracuda charged us for fixing the stabilizer foil.”

  “Well, we can’t spend consols where we’re going.”

  “I’m talking about our gold reserves! I could’ve bought half a new rig for what he wanted on that pair of newbies!”

  “That right-front roller isn’t in the best shape, either, you know. Ever think of what happens down the road if that one goes, too?”

  “Ohhh, the hell with it.”

  “Very intelligent reply.”

  “Can it, Sam!”

  “Okay, I’ll can it. That’s what canned-up people do best.” I felt horrible. I hadn’t argued with Sam in … I didn’t know how long. Recent events were definitely getting the better of me. I exhaled slowly and tried to absorb the adrenaline.

  “Jesus, Sam, I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, son. My fault. This is no time for petty recriminations.”

  “No, no, you’re programmed to advise on those decisions, and you were right. Should’ve sprung for the new pair—only thing, if we’d gone to a new size, it would’ve left us with no spare, and I didn’t…” I scratched my head, remembering. “Oh, that’s right. He said he’d thrown in a spare, the relayered one in the back. Merte. Sam, you were totally right.”

  “Forget it, Jake. You had a good point about the gold, and if people would stop chasing us all over the known universe, maybe we’d have time to think these things out. Actually, I thought for sure we’d be able to stop and shop around, too.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “Better get your helmet on, son.”

  “Yeah, I … hey, is that the fork coming up?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “You know, Sam, I was thinking—”

  I quickly forgot what I’d been thinking as the rig suddenly lurched to the left. The red light stopped blinking and a loud warning buzzer sounded. I fought the control bars, at the same time thumbing the trim tabs for the stabilizer foils. We were heading straight off the causeway, and the Roadbuilders didn’t believe in guard rails. Letting up on the power pedal, I twisted the traction control on the right bar. The fork was dead ahead, and we were clear over in the extreme left lane. The rig straightened out just in time to save us from flying over the edge of the causeway. We wanted the right fork but I could see now that we’d never make it. With the failed right-front roller, I couldn’t get back over to the other side of the road in time. The rig was under control for now, but… I angled my head toward the side port to get a view of the roller. It had turned the color of confectioner’s sugar, trailing a plume of white powder. A flaky piece of it broke off, flew up and nearly hit the cab. I had to slow down; no choice.

  And we had missed the turn-off. Turning around was going to be a problem for two reasons. The Skyway is four lanes across, counting the two narrower “shoulder” lanes. It’s wide, but not nearly wide enough for the rig to turn around in without backing off the road. Only here, there was a two-meter drop to mud or water. And even if a dry patch came up, I was not about to give our pursuers a chance to catch us broadside to the road. I had to keep moving.

  However, there was a problem with that, too. “Jake! Jake, can you read me?”

  “Yeah, Carl.”

  “We had a roller go sugar-doughnut on us. That’s why I missed the turn-off.”

  “Jake?” It was Sean.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jake, according to our maps, this road leads to a potluck portal.”

  “I know.”

  And this time, it wasn’t one on Winnie’s Itinerary. This time, it could lead to oblivion.

  9

  Don’t look now,” Sam told us, “but here comes a missile.”

  “Just one?” I said.

  “It’s presenting a weird image … can’t be just one. Nope. Tricky devils. Pretty sophisticated stuff, Jake. I can’t get a fix on them.”

  “Start hosing with the stern exciters.”

  “I already have. Little out of range. Wait a minute. Okay, here we go.”

  A few seconds went by.

  “Merte! Can’t hit a thing. They’re still closing.”

  A few minutes later, a series of muffled explosions came from behind.

  “Did you get ‘em, Sam?” “Somebody did. It wasn’t me.” “Carl,” I said. “Had to be.”

  “He didn’t get all of them. BRACE YOURSELVES!” Off the causeway to the right up ahead, the swamp erupted into a geyser of mud and dirty water, accompanied by a tremendous explosion that shook the cab. As we passed, it all came down on us, a shower of slop and debris. A chunk of shattered treetrunk slammed against the foreward port but didn’t break it.

  “They’re playing for keeps,” I said.

  “That one was damaged or we’d have been goners,” Sam said.

  “Thank God for that Chevy, though I’m surprised it let one get through. I was beginning to think that vehicle was magic.” I flicked the headset mike on. “Carl? Sean? You guys okay?” “Check.”

  “Affirmative, Jake. A bit dicey, though, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Carl, I was under the impression that buggy of yours didn’t miss.”

  “It usually doesn’t. Must’ve been a fluke.”

  “Here’s your chance to prove it,” Sam said. “A whole ‘nother flock of ‘em coming right at us.”

  This time the Chevy didn’t miss a one. Seven quick bangs and the scanners were clear.

  “Nice shooting, Carl,” I said.

  “You think that’s the worst they can throw at us?”

  “Don’t know. Let’s hope they quit and go back.”

  “No chance of that,” Sam said. “Here they come.”

  “Carl,” I said, “can you sic Fido on them?”

  “Who? Oh. I call ‘em ‘Tasmanian Devils.’ ”

  We had tried to draw Carl out on his vehicle’s strange weapons system, especially the horrific dust-devil-appearing phenomenon, designated “Sic ‘im, Fido” on the fire-control panel. Carl had told us that he knew nothing whatsoever about how the weapons worked; he knew only how to use them.

  “Whatever you call it, can you fire it on the run like this?”

  “Yeah, sure. But I only have three Tasmanian Devils. You said you accidentally fired one back on Seahome. There are three blips back there.”

  “You mean one of those nightmares couldn’t take care of all three of them?”

  “No, you only get one to a target. When it completes its assignment, it disappears. Don’t worry, Jake, I’ve got other stuff I can use.”

  “The question is,” Sam put in, “what kind of stuff are they going to throw at us next?”

  “Don’t know, Sam,” I said. “They’re probably wary of Carl now. They know he has potent defenses. I have a feeling they’ll want to keep their distance. Are they still closing?”

  “Yeah, but it looks like they’re maneuvering into position for something. Probably lining up for a concentrated mortar barrage. Those have to be paramilitary vehicles. They’ve got far more armaments than your average civilian roadster.”

  “This isn’t Terran Maze. What road regulations they have here, if any, aren’t exactly enforced to the letter. I’m willing to bet it’s Zack Moore back there. Sam, give me a skyband channel.”

  “You got it.”

  “Breaker, breaker,” I called, using the age-old skyband hail. “Breaking for those three goodbuddies at our back door—come on?”
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br />   “Back at you, goodbuddy,” came Zack Moore’s voice. “Jake McGraw, is that you? Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Yeah, fancy that. Zack, old boy, you and me got something to settle. But what say we leave my friends out of it? This is strictly between the two of us.”

  “Negatory, Jake. Fact is, I have a personal grievance against a few of them. Especially the tall skinny bitch—what’s her name Darla? None too friendly, that one. Needs to be taught a lesson or two, and I have ten men here who are excellent instructors. The same goes for that other little whore of yours. Seems she likes to bite, too. And if you’re listening, Sean Fitzgore, be assured that I have a full lineup of entertainment planned for you and Liam.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Zack, boyo,” Sean said pleasantly. “Though you’ll be hard pressed to perform your juggling act after I tear both your arms off.”

  “We’ll have to see about that. Jake, it’s really only a matter of time. We have military-rated vehicles here. You haven’t got a chance.”

  I said, “Zack, my only regret is that Darla didn’t bite your kishko clean off.”

  “She’ll get the chance, Jake. And you’re invited to watch.”

  “Moore, I’ve decided that I will personally shut your merteeating mouth for you.”

  “You’re welcome to try, but you’ll have a hard time of it with that bad roller. Am I right? We scanned you veering suddenly back there, and I know you came to Talltree with a roller going sweet on you.”

  “Nah, I was veering to run over a slug crawling across the road. Looked like you, but the trail of slime wasn’t wide enough.”

  “Good one, Jake. Did you ever hear the one about the logger who had this enormous—”

  “Jake,” Sam said, interrupting the transmission. “Incoming mail!”

  “Sean! Carl! Take evasive action right now!”

  The rearview screen showed a stream of something bright and green shooting up from the roof of Carl’s automobile. Sean was swerving all over the road. The scanners showed a sky full of blips, hundreds of them, thousands, it seemed. Ninety-nine percent of them were false, but our scanners were sophisticated enough to show those up pretty well. Trouble was, there wouldn’t be time to shoot them all down, even as fast as Sam was. Moreover, our mortar rounds don’t follow a true trajectory—these came equipped with tiny gas vernier jets to vector them into their chosen targets. That would increase Sam’s “swing around” time as he used up precious microseconds to process continually changing data.