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

by Steve Rzasa

  “Oh. Right, those.” Aldo fiddled with the power level on his spazzer until its gauge reached red. “Any idea whether those things will stop a focused neural burst?”

  “You’re the one with the Army, pal. You tell me.”

  Quiet, measured footsteps. Whoever moved was disciplined. They were not some thugs, shifting cover.

  Rome leaned to the edge of the fabrication unit and peered around.

  The figure bolted across an aisle and ducked behind a support beam.

  Rome made eye contact with Aldo. He pantomimed shooting, then repeated the gesture lower with his hand positioned near his waist.

  Aldo grinned. He scooted into the same aisle, firing the spazzer as he moved. Ripples of air, like heat waves over pavement, shot out, tracing along a faint white stream of plasma.

  Rome thought it looked like clouds surfing a lightning bolt. The metal steamed where the bolt struck.

  No sooner had Aldo made it to his new hiding place, then a black-clad figure leaned out and fired what Rome’s sensor-eyes helpfully identified as a Dragge Arms Javelin-60 rifle. The shots hit Aldo’s support beam. Each one moved closer to his actual position without penetrating the metal. The shooter never changed his stance.

  Great. They had trackers, too.

  The man—Rome could tell by the sheer bulk of the shooter—was mid-firing when he shot him center mass with his spazzer. The plasma discharge skittered all over his body, crackling like tongues of fire. Grunts emanated from the mask. The man twitched, and then collapsed.

  Rome burst from hiding and hurried toward him. It was good to know the spazzers disabled a person’s voluntary nervous system through the suits.

  Except, the man didn’t stay down.

  He staggered upright. His left hand propped against the support beam. The right aimed the J60 at Rome’s chest.

  It didn’t matter.

  Rome shoved the muzzle skyward, pushing the man’s right arm against his left. Shots fired. The sound was deafening to Rome, making his left ear ring. He swept the stock of his gun across the man’s mask. There was a hard clack of teeth against teeth. Rome let go of the man’s J60 rifle and struck him again across the right side of the face. That time, he toppled like a tree.

  Aldo joined them. He slapped magcuffs around the man’s wrists and secured his ankles with a zip strap.

  More footsteps echoed in the plant. Behind the rumble and hiss of the machinery, Rome heard voices shouting.

  “So much for spazzers,” Aldo muttered.

  “No kidding. I had mine set on max, just like yours.” Rome passed Aldo the J60. “Hold this for me.”

  “Um… yes, please. Did they bio-lock it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Morons.” Aldo tucked the spazzer into its holster and hefted the rifle. He examined the magazine. “Trackers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Super.”

  “Don’t worry too much. With all the obstacles in here, it’s a Hail Mary to even use one.” Rome hurriedly tapped at the selector on his gun. “Program for appendages.”

  [Sir, Pilot Soares has contacted FTZ Central authorities and local law enforcement for additional support.]

  Marcy’s pleasant, normal-volume voice made Rome start. “Hell, Marcy, dial it down!” he hissed. “Tell them these people are heavily armed. If local PD’s coming in, they’re going to want their heavy gear, like a patrol mech!”

  [Understood, and already determined from the sensor results.]

  Figured Aldo would have fed her everything from the scanner drone and the sensor-eyes from the moment they stepped inside. “Where are you?”

  [Approaching the perimeter of the property.]

  “Stay put until I signal. You’re not a hundred percent bulletproof.”

  [Observing safety protocols.]

  Suddenly, an overhead view of the warehouse appeared in the corner of Rome’s right eye. It was imaged from somewhere high up. He realized Aldo’s scanner hovered at the pinnacle of the ceiling. Rome clearly saw the three remaining attackers. Two men, one of whom was 20 feet to their right, and the other who was on the far side of the warehouse moving toward the entrance Rome and Aldo had used. The third was a woman. She could be the one from the video, unless there were more underneath.

  Another shout. The woman and the furthest man aimed their guns straight up… at the scanner drone.

  “Move!” Rome shouted.

  They swept from their hiding place. Rome led them right toward the nearest man. He must be the one who gave the order, because he didn’t shoot at the drone.

  Rome targeted him.

  The man hid behind a six by six foot column of processing material that glowed pale green. As soon as they reached it, Rome and Aldo split up, moving to either side.

  The black suit leaped at Aldo, brandishing a gun.

  Aldo tumbled behind a conveyor belt. Bullets stitched a line across the top, each one curving closer to the edge.

  Rome aimed for the man and fired.

  He had his back in his sights, but having programmed the gun’s tracker projectiles, the shots went for their intended targets—the man’s arms. Rome wanted him disabled, unarmed, and in pain. They pierced his shoulders, and ripped through the elbows. There was no spray of blood. Instead, sparks and hydraulic fluid spattered the man’s suit.

  The man turned around, face still hidden by a featureless mask.

  Rome did the only thing he could from that range—he barreled into the guy. He successfully knocked him down, though it took twice as much effort as Rome judged necessary for a man of that stature and build.

  It also hurt a ton—like he’d hit the support beam instead of flesh.

  The man slapped Rome aside. The J60 lay discarded beside him.

  Rome brought himself upright, onto one knee. “Pursuit specialist! Don’t touch the weapon!”

  The man ignored him and reached for it.

  “Head!” Aldo shouted. “Shoot him in the head!”

  Rome adjusted his aim and fired.

  The man’s head exploded into plastic, wires, and circuitry. His body slumped, as dead as a bot with its control shorted.

  Aldo emerged from hiding, face red and dripping sweat. “A bot?”

  “Android frame.” Rome pulled a chunk of the fabricated “skull” off. A blinking blue light greeted him, mounted on a thin black wafer. “Remote operation.”

  Shouts from behind Aldo drew their attention.

  The remaining man and woman came at them. They moved in tandem, laying down suppressive fire with J60 rifles.

  Aldo took a round to the thigh. He screamed as his blood sprayed out the other side. He went down, writhing and grasping for the wound.

  Rome took shelter and fired back, hoping to halt their advance. It worked temporarily, but he knew his gun didn’t carry nearly the capacity as the J60 magazines.

  The entire front door of the warehouse flew up. A pair of familiar cars skidded to a halt just inside, near the lip of the lowering elevator—the Halcyon, and the blue-gray Panther. Behind them, four police black and whites raced up, accompanied by a bot that rolled on triangular tank treads. It stood twice as tall as the car, with a pair of mounted spazzers on both shoulders and two arms as long as Rome’s body. It, too, was painted black and white, sporting the same emergency flashers as everything else.

  Overhead, the roof shook with the reassuring sound of Condor 33’s engines.

  “Attention!” The voice boomed from a speaker.

  Thad’s voice. Rome ground his teeth.

  “Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up!”

  All gunfire stopped. Rome took a chance and slid over to Aldo. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, great.” Aldo’s teeth were clenched. He’d torn a strip of cloth off his shirt and tied it near the wound. “You know what? Feels like somebody shot me.”

  “Hold still and quit whining.” Rome tugged a First Aid sealer from his pocket. “Use this.”

  “Thanks. Anybody tell
you you’ve got the bedside manner of a med-drone?” Aldo applied the sealant to his wound. Foam oozed out. He sighed as the pain reliever seeped into his system.

  Rome moved in on the suspects. Both knelt with hands clasped behind their heads, their guns cast aside. Rome reached for his magcuffs.

  “No one move!” Thad was there, with Enrique. Both had spazzers, and though Enrique looked as bored as if he collected groceries, Thad wore the most blinding smile. “Good thing we arrived when we did, Roman. A collaborative effort, yes?”

  Rome replied by placing his magcuffs on the two suspects. He’d be damned if he shared the bounty with Thad Mancos.

  The woman muttered something, her words distorted.

  “Speak clearly.” Thad tugged the mask away.

  Brown hair spilled out, strands sticking to a sweat streaked face. Her eyes were blue as the waters off Seattle. She ignored Thad, focusing instead on Rome.

  Rome stared, his brain not quite catching up to the image. Talk about lag.

  “Not unlike you to be struck dumb, Roman,” Thad said.

  Rome cleared his throat. He only had one awkward thing to say. “Hey, Sara.”

  She shook her head. “Not what I envisioned for our next date, Rome.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE ROOM ON THE SECOND floor of FTZ West headquarters was labeled “Confidential Interviews.” Rome had been inside one often enough to know it for what it was—interrogation space. The similarity to a police interrogation room, however, ended with the name.

  This was no barren square of concrete and drywall. It could have been an FTZ staffer’s office, denuded of art and plants. The floor was the same polished stone as the lobby and most other rooms in the building. Walls were a uniform shade of eggshell white with soft blue highlights. Light panels in the walls suffused everything with a warm glow.

  There was a single, oblong glass and metal table in the center. Three people sat on one side—the crew of thieves, including Sara to the far right. Rome and Aldo sat opposite them.

  “Where is he?” Rome leaned back in the chair, hands folded in his lap. His seat was as comfortable as the Halcyon’s upholstery, and it contoured to his body even better.

  The three responded with stoic glares. The guy Rome had knocked out sat in the middle, his jaw sporting a bruise the size, shape, and color of a plum. He was a tall, powerfully built Latino with a buzzcut and thin moustache. ID came up as Jorge Cuellar. The man to his right was shorter, blond, his hair thick and matted from being inside the stealth suit. He was tattooed all over. He, Robert Brand, and Cuellar wore identical black sleeveless shirts.

  Sara glanced at the men, but her jaw was shut tighter than security for Director Cho’s office. Rome did his best not to stare at her—Sara Haig. She, too, was clad in black, though Rome found her tank top far more flattering than either of the men’s. The curve of her neck was way too distracting. The last time Rome saw it, the graceful body that went with it was totally naked beneath the sheets of his bed.

  Almost a year ago. He hadn’t heard a word from her, until Thad ripped that mask off. He kept his face studiously neutral.

  “Think these guys like playing dumb, Rome.” If Aldo had noticed his partner’s introspection, he didn’t let on. “Funny, though. Their records can do all the talking. Between local LEO charges and stuff from the other FTZs, you fellas—and one lovely lady, I should say—have had enough scrapes to fill… well… three criminal records.”

  “Stop trying to be funny, Aldo.”

  “I’m not trying. I am. And if my humor’s glitching it’s because, wait for it, I got shot by these dopes. Okay, let’s see. Aggravated assault. Forgery. Larceny. B&E. And the big boss of them all, robbery. Plus, you know, theft and possession of federal property. Namely your cloaked ride, and Special Forces stealth suits.”

  No one gave evidence for surprise or chagrin—or any other outward emotion for Rome to detect. “There’s a fourth person on your crew. Someone was in control of that android, we know that much from the booster in its skull. Tell us who’s heading this up and we’ll cut a deal with FTZ.”

  Sara stared at him, her expression cold. It was a far cry from the laughter and amusement he’d seen over glasses of wine.

  “FTZ is not going to let this slide. If you don’t cooperate, you’re looking at reconditioning at the best, and cryo at the worst.”

  “There’s always the lunar mines,” Aldo added cheerily.

  Rome nodded. “Hear they’re always looking for fresh help.”

  He had to give this crew credit. They were not about to turn on their fourth member, which only reinforced his suspicion that the fourth one was the leader.

  “Where’s the truck?” Aldo asked. “Security and LEOs swept the building top to bottom.”

  “Found the mites in the basement,” Rome said. “Quite the Batcave you had down there.”

  Aldo frowned at him. “I don’t think we found any biologicals that big on the scans, did we?”

  “Big as what?”

  “Bats.”

  “Never mind. Look, we know the truck went somewhere. Give us the location so the Army can have it back, no mess.” Rome was better off talking to an old car—one of those pre-automation classics.

  The room’s door slid open. Director Cho came in, flanked by Thad and Enrique. “Driver Jasko, Mr. Burns, a moment, please.”

  “Sure thing.” Rome smiled, rather than do what he really wanted to, which was kick all three of them out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, Aldo voiced a similar opinion.

  “What are you doing?” he scowled. “That’s our interrogation! Sir.”

  Cho’s composure never slipped. “The disposition of the bounty has yet to be determined, Mr. Burns, and as such, Driver Mancos needs to be in on the questioning.”

  “There shouldn’t be any question about the bounty,” Rome said. “Aldo apprehended one suspect, I cuffed the other two. We tracked their location, we got into their base of operations. All within the specs of the contract.”

  “You two would have been perforated if I hadn’t brought in the local police,” Thad pointed out. “That capture is as much mine as it is yours.”

  “Strange definition.”

  “Ah, but public perception is stronger than legal definition.” Thad presented his implant flourish. The holographic projection showed the messages and titles of eight news items, which scrolled into even more. Each one of them made some mention of the arrest of the robbers.

  “The Ninety Bandits?” Aldo made a gagging sound.

  “Director, that’s a clear violation of procedure.” Rome’s hands tightened into fists. “Leaking arrests prior to the formal filing of charges… should be enough get Thad kicked off his contract.”

  “I never said anything about Driver Mancos having his own contract.”

  So, it’s like that. Rome had been lied to, straight to his face, on more than one occasion. It was especially galling when he knew the truth ahead of time—and from Freddie, who would have the inside story. “Not going to argue that point. Whatever’s going on, Thad’s got no call to step in on my questioning.”

  “I’m not stepping in, señor, I’m taking over.” Thad flicked imaginary lint off Rome’s shirt. “How do you think it will look if Driver Jasko is known to have a romantic interest among the suspects?”

  Aldo choked—and this time, it was real. He’d produced a granola bar from his coat and ate halfway through it. The man’s stealth with obtaining snack food was on par with the thieves’ ability to go invisible. “His what, now?”

  “Ex-interest. Sara and I were… together. It’s been a year.”

  “Ten and a half months. But who is counting?” Thad smiled.

  Cho looked less than enthused. “If that’s true, Driver Jasko, we’re going to have to re-evaluate your access to the suspects.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Sara… Ms. Haig and I are no longer involved. Does it look like I’ve been going easy on her? I’ve run all
the offers from FTZ as per your authorization. But you’ve seen that on the HD feeds, no doubt.”

  “I have. This casts a new light on the questioning, however,” Cho nodded at Thad. “You and Mr. Bassa conduct the negotiating from here on out. Standard offers apply. We want the stolen goods returned to their owners—or barring that, arrangements for financial recompense.”

  “Yes, Director.” Thad clapped Rome on the shoulder. “Sorry about that, compadre.”

  Rome grabbed his wrist, stuck his foot under Thad’s ankle, and had him pinned to the hallway wall in a blink. He pressed against the back of Thad’s neck with his forearm. “Don’t know how you knew about Sara, but here’s fair warning. My personal life? Not your hobby. You got that?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  Rome released him.

  Aldo whispered at his side, “Ease up. Cho’s goon squad’s waiting.”

  And they were, 15 feet down the corridor.

  Rome smoothed his jacket. “Good luck in there. You’ll need it.”

  Thad brushed his hair with the heel of his palm. “Doubtful.”

  As soon as they were in, Cho departed. His goons fell into formation behind him. “We’ll meet later to finish out your contract for the assignment,” Cho said, without looking back. “Expect my signal.”

  Rome glared after him. Damn Thad and damn Cho.

  “Come on, man.” Aldo chomped down the rest of his granola bar. He brushed crumbs off his jacket onto the immaculate stone floor and scuffed at them until they smeared flat. “I got something that’ll cheer you up.”

  ~

  Marcy had parked the Halcyon in one of the repair garages for a power core recharge. Dome Four was divided into six wedges, with a central common area for parts and power stations. Overhead skylights let the gloomy, mid-afternoon light into the stark, gray and tan slices.

  The entrance scanner of Pursuit 112’s rented bay checked in Rome and Aldo via their implants. A small timer tracked the hours and minutes of use, adding the cost to Rome’s account. He grimaced. Never let it be said that FTZ was anything other than precise when it came to bookkeeping. There was an upside. Their slice was completely free of surveillance. There were no sensors, no cameras, no nothing. Security was the scanner at the door and at the main entrance to Dome Four, but it was up to the Driver and info tech to safeguard the rest.