by Steve Rzasa
Aldo stared, wondering if he was about to get pounded. Rome gave him a 25 percent chance of laying a few blows on Joe before the bigger man snapped him in half. Rather than wait for it, he inserted himself between the two so he was nose to nose with Joe.
“We’ll do our job. Right now, stay out of the habit of hauling your valuables around. We’ll see ourselves out.” He gave Aldo a shove, before Joe could.
~
“That guy was fun. By fun, I mean rude.” Aldo leaned against the front of the Lexus. His eyes were glued to his data stream.
Rome had the red plastic pulled back. The inside of the car smelled new, fitting with its appearance. The seats were so plush they didn’t look like they’d ever been sat in. The wood paneling he took for faux until he caught the scent of actual oak. There was black and gold trim on white surfaces. Even the dash was top model.
“You know, that questioning session would have gone better and lasted longer if you’d kept your trap shut.”
“Hey! You wanted me in there. I tried what you were doing.”
“Being an insufferable prick is not what I was doing.” Rome took out a pocketknife. He used the three-inch blade to slit part of the upholstery under the footrests and pry up the edge. He wore a pair of black gloves. “You can’t punch his buttons like you’re searching for data. The man’s traumatized—even more so because his wife was there and he was unable to protect her.”
“What, you’ve got a brain link to that guy?”
“It’s the same way I’d act and feel if it were Kelsey.” Nothing under that side. Rome pushed the carpeting back into place, and dug around the wrecked frame.
“She isn’t even your wife.”
“Used to be. And that’s complicated.”
“Can’t be that complicated.”
“How about after you get married and divorced, you get to lecture me on what’s complicated and what’s not?” Rome snapped. He caught a whiff of something. Tropical. He cut off a chunk of the upholstery. “Joe’s recollections were right, though. Smell this.”
Aldo took the swatch from him and sniffed, his hands sheathed in identical black gloves. “I got nothing.”
“You’re holding it out like a dirty sock, Aldo. Press it to your nose.”
“Okaaaay…” Aldo sniffed with great exaggeration, sounding as if he would inhale the piece of carpet. “I don’t get what… oh. Hey… Coconut?”
“Yes, dumbass. Bag that.”
“Sure. What about the lubricant smell?”
“I couldn’t catch anything but hopefully Marcy can tell us what’s on that carpet.”
Something else was stuck in the frame. It was in a deep groove left from where the door ripped out and the collar clamped on. Rome aimed his right wrist. Tiny implanted beacons in his sleeve cast bright circles in the darkest spots. Well now… “Get me a smaller container, too.”
“Another one? Hang on.” Aldo shuffled through his pockets, doing it all one-handed while trying to read his implant. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Rome took it. With the care of a surgeon—or what he imagined the robotic equivalents exercised—he slowly prodded the object from the gouge mark with the tip of his knife blade. He held it up. It was barely a half-inch, brown, and crumbled at the edges. When his wrist lights shone on it, the surface glittered.
“Prairie dog turd?”
“Funny guy.” Rome climbed out of the car. “Run a scan of the entire interior. Every surface.”
Aldo rolled his eyes. “Really? Their automaton Cliff would have done it.”
“His systems were screwed up. Whatever results he got were compromised by the robbers’ intrusion. Do it again.”
“What about the cops’ scans?”
“Good idea. Get them requisitioned from their department. Don’t forget to check with the leasing company, compare any anomalies with the service and repair record for the Lexus,” Rome smiled. His implant buzzed gently against his wrist. Incoming text only. “Then run the scans.”
He let Aldo grumble all the way back to the Halcyon for the portable scanning unit. As soon as his partner ducked inside their car, he checked his own implant.
The implant sprayed light onto his sleeve, projecting a keypad. Rome typed out his responses as fast as he could.
“Wonderful,” Rome muttered.
Rome wiped away the holographic keypad. Aldo trudged back from the Halcyon to the Lexus, carrying a smooth-edged box in one hand. “I checked. Local LEOs didn’t do a scan. Marcy’s getting Cliff’s records downloaded now. She should have a better idea of what they did to him, what data he’s got, and whether any of it is reliable.”
Rome nodded. “You still got friends in DOD?”
“If by friends you mean a handful of people I trust in three different state National Guards? Then, yes.” Aldo let go of the box. It hovered in place three feet off the ground and hummed. Five red lights blinked, one on each end and one on top. The container unfolded into a small aerial drone, complete with ducted fans and sensor posts. “Doubt they have access to stuff that’s Special Forces grade.”
“But they may have heard something. Get them to work.”
Aldo smirked. “Already did on the trip out from Seattle.”
The scanner flew through the passenger side of the Lexus. Beams of light played over every surface.
“Oh, and that list? The one of cars versus old coin owners? Got some potential matches.”
“Spill.”
“There’s a gal who rides out from Pierre to Madison every couple months. Next trip is in a few days.”
“Good work. We can get there in plenty of time to shadow her, provided there’s no dust advisories.”
“Gabriela didn’t wait around?”
“Couldn’t. She’s taking Thad to his drop-off.”
“Right. The mysterious destination.”
“Not so mysterious,” Rome said. “He’s headed onto the same job.”
Aldo tugged at his beard. “Okay then. It’s a race.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HALF HOUR STOP ON the way to the Wisconsin border increased their travel time to twelve hours. Rome heard nothing from the Pennington County Sheriff’s Department at Rapid City, which made him wonder when they’d bother to let him know about Alexis Ruiz’s hearing.
“Knowing our luck, they’ll signal us right out of sleep at six a.m. and demand a video link.” Aldo had his eyes firmly pressed shut.
The sun was just beginning its crawl over the eastern horizon. The Halcyon drove down the steep stretch where the Ninety followed the Mississippi River for a few miles before it crossed sharply over the bridge at French Island. Rome decided that calling it an island these days was a misnomer. The river’s level was so low there wasn’t a drop of water between French and neighboring Onalaska—just some dried out former marshes.
Traffic swam along the highway under a huge gray arch that spanned from one guardrail to the other. Iridescent solar panels lined the top, shining purple and pink with the dawn. On the underside, sensors dedicated to each lane made note of every vehicle that passed underneath, going both east and west.
The Halcyon’s dash pinged softly as they drove under. A notice glowed, informing Rome that the toll for using the Ninety in Wisconsin had been paid. It even showed the percentage breakdown between the state, federal DOT, and FTZ West charges.
“Wake up, Aldo.” Rome elbowed him. “Marcy, time to intercept.”
[Indicated vehicle is traveli
ng east at a speed of 85 miles per hour. Estimated intercept time based on rates of travel for both cars is sixty-eight minutes.]
Aldo cracked open an eye. “See? I got an hour.”
“No, you don’t. Get your brain up and running. I don’t need you climbing out of a fog when we’re driving later.”
Aldo groaned. “Okay, all right.” He straightened, working a kink out of one shoulder. His seat shifted from a reclined position to upright and relaxed its grip. “Here we go.”
The holographic display gave Rome everything he would ever want to know about Eve Sartorian. A full body image of her rotated. It was from a benefit mobile art gala in Minneapolis earlier this spring. She was an inch taller than him and had her blonde hair cut shorter than his. Eyes like ice—a blue so pale they were almost gray. Her jacket and skirt were bright red, though they shifted from a deep vermilion to a soft violet before turning red again as she walked through the crowd of wealthy elites,
“Evelyn Harper Sartorian,” Aldo said. “Age 36. Civilly united to Daniel Trong since 2056. Second union. No marriages. He lives in Modesto. Runs the HR department of a farm tower conglomerate at Reno.”
“Less on him, more on her.”
“Well, she mostly likes spending money. Parents run Solo Source, a power core manufacturer—started it themselves back in ’39. Sartorian has a degree in marketing from SUNY—never set foot there, but makes sure they get healthy donations every summer.” A list of financial transactions scrolled by Sartorian’s smiling image. “Between her trust and her partner, she’s loaded.”
“So, what’s with the coins?”
“Nobody can hack into coins,” Aldo said with a smirk. “By my estimate, she’s sunk a million and a half into rare and valuable mints. I say ‘estimate’ because she’s one of those people who still makes banknote withdrawals.”
Rome frowned. “You can’t get cash anywhere. Federal Reserve dropped them way before it was disbanded.”
“Not cash. Banknotes. As in, issued by individual banks, backed by precious metals, redeemable across state lines thanks to the Interstate Finance and Commerce Accord. You only use them if you want to buy something completely off record. So, I get the million and a half based on those withdrawals. She could be using them for something other than coins, but considering her purchase records, I doubt it.”
“Meaning what?”
Aldo waved a hand, fingers rippling through the holo as if it were water. “I mean, look at all the junk she buys! Perfumes, bags, clothes, paintings, sculptures, enough shoes to put a battalion in heels! My dad always told me stereotypes exist for a reason. Well, she’s one of them.”
“What’s her ride of choice?”
“Ah. That’s the good news.” Aldo reached into the holo and grabbed a line of text. It expanded outward like an inflated balloon until it showed the full registration of a very sleek, wide car with a silver body and white trim.
Rome thought it looked flatter than most cars on the road, and certainly several feet longer.
“Ain’t that gorgeous? A 2050 Rishi Talon. Sure, she’s seventeen, but Rishi made some of the best cruisers around. Smart automatons, superb guidance systems, and whisper quiet. Riding in one of those is better than your bed rolling down the road.”
“I don’t suppose it helps our case that Rishi’s been out of business for five years now.”
“Actually, it does. Tesla took over the codes and maintenance for all Rishi models when they bought out their remaining stock… not to mention the handful of manufacturing plants.” Aldo magnified the car. “Makes the automation easier to crack, for a genius like me.”
“With Marcy’s help.”
“Yeah, sure, I guess she’s a decent guide, but this…” Aldo touched his implant. “And especially this…” He tapped the side of his head. “Make the magic happen.”
“Please tell me that never works when you’re trying to pick up a girl.”
“Every time.”
“I need holographic evidence.”
“You wish.”
Aldo spent the next hour working with Marcy on a program that could subvert control of the Rishi Talon away from its comp and over to the Halcyon. However it worked, Rome didn’t care. He just wanted to get Sartorian out of harm’s way when and if these bandits showed.
He watched the westbound traffic blur by and admired the trees that lined the far side of the Ninety. Most were green, though he saw scattered, rotted trunks with decrepit limbs and leaves that turned yellow at the core. They were tattered. It was a miracle this part of Wisconsin had as many left as it did, considering how fast the Palser Blight spread along the travel lanes across the continent.
Something about Aldo’s actions bothered him. Whoever the robbers were, they could seize control of a car’s systems. They proved that when they knocked over Joe Brace’s automaton Cliff and kept the Lexus right where they wanted it. So why not do what other thieves were known to do? Why not hijack the car right before a destination and steer it off course to waiting thieves?
No. Wealthier travelers had top security systems. Even if it got hacked, the Rishi Talon would still alert local law enforcement, and if Sartorian spent nearly as much on her ride as she did on herself, she’d have it equipped with a stun system to keep intruders out. So maybe that was it. Maybe this crew did their work en route, like a handful of other gangs to minimize those risks.
“Rome.”
“Hmm?” He realized he’d been staring out the window for a long enough spell he’d missed Aldo making a face at him.
“Are you gonna answer or do I get to slap your wrist and tell them you’ll call back?”
Rome glanced down at his implant. Kelsey had signaled him for the last few minutes. “Right. Thanks.”
“No problem, clueless Driver.”
Rome keyed the response. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. I wanted you to know before FTZ buzzed in—Jake and his friends were cited for protesting last night.”
“Protesting? Protesting what?” Here he thought his son had shut off his tag because he wanted to go drinking.
“Corporate greed. Federal decline,” Kelsey’s tiny image shrugged. Even at this small resolution he saw dark circles under her eyes and could tell her hair was unkempt—the hallmarks of a mother waiting up late. “His friends are apparently all-in with the New Federalists.”
Rome rolled his eyes. “Perfect. Last thing we need is our eighteen-year-old screaming at people about how more of our taxes should go to putting the federal stranglehold back in place. Roads, parks, and the military are enough.”
“Some people would rather the central government were stronger.”
“Those people aren’t the states. I think every capital from Augusta to Juneau is happy enough with the status quo.”
Kelsey wrinkled her nose. It simultaneously made Rome want to kiss her and kill the signal because—as cute as it was—it also meant she was getting pissed off.
“You know what? I… never mind. I didn’t call to argue. He’s going to wind up with this stamp on his record.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll get community service. It’s legal to protest, as long as it’s nonthreatening.”
“Well, FTZ decided it was threatening.”
Rome made a face. “It was on FTZ property?”
“The toll gate on the Massachusetts border. They painted it… with eagles.”
Aldo broke out into a laugh. Rome glared at him. The laugh quickly morphed into a coughing fit, with words like “superb” and “dashed” among the intelligible parts.
“I’ll put in a signal to the director at East. See what he can do. They’ll have him wipe down maintenance drones for the next month or two.”
“You need to talk to him about this. I can’t keep tabs on him anymore.”
“You don’t need to. He’s an adult.”
“Except he’s still living here and we still have to pay for his mistakes!” Kelsey sounded exasperated. Rome figured it was wi
th him or Jake. “I got a fine and a notation on my record because he’s listed as a taxable resident at my home.”
“Okay, relax. I’ll talk to him.”
“You always say that, Rome.”
“Look, I said I will.”
Kelsey shook her head. “Don’t let me down… again. And make sure you’re in town for the concert—”
“I know, Friday night, seven.”
“Vivian will be heartbroken if you don’t show.”
Just Vivian? Rome didn’t say it aloud. Instead he nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you all later.”
“Right. See you.”
The cabin went silent. Rome stared at the frozen image of Kelsey’s face.
Aldo cleared his throat. “That right there? Why I’m never getting married or unioned.”
The Rishi Talon registered to Sartorian appeared on the tracking display precisely when Marcy calculated it would.
“Keep us at a reasonable distance, Marcy,” Rome said. “No more than ten car lengths and no less than six.”
[Complying.]
The Halcyon proceeded as an ordinary member of the herd of cars that trekked the Ninety, changing lanes when necessary to form long lines for more efficient travel. Huge freighters rushed by in packs of threes and fours and—in one instance—twelve in a row.
“Okay, we should be all set.” Aldo squirmed in his seat. “I’ve got the program ready to upload. Marcy, how’s the link look?”
[Nominal. The Rishi Talon’s operating system is compatible with our own. I am anticipating less than 5 percent likelihood it will fail.]
Aldo grinned. “Atta girl. See, Rome?”
Rome’s hands itched for the steering column. Rather than grasping for something that wasn’t there yet, he drummed out a beat on his legs. “Good deal. You have a backup plan if we hit that 5 percent?”