Red Limit Freeway s-2

by John Dechancie

  Planet after planet rolling impassively by, barely glimpsed at as I keep my eyes caged dead ahead. But I do notice some. Here a gray-skyed leaden lump of a world in the loosening grip of Pleistocene ice-lock, looking crushed and glacier-scarred; here a tropical seraglio- blanketed in feather-plume trees; here relentless plains of pinkish grasses edged in distant blue-black mountains. Another: this one is all rolling hills of raw red clay landscaped in brush with mauve foliage. It looks like spring here, telltale yellow buds everywhere. Another world comes up, and we roll across the pale corpse of winter, powdery snow heaped in wisp-tailed drifts along the road (which, by the way, is completely clear of snow, as usual). Then, another portal, to the dark towers we come once again, hot-nodding blithely into the gap between the worlds, between here and there, wherein there is neither space nor time, wherein there is no now or then, no past, no future. And we come to a fairy garden of purple rocks with beds of multicolored flowers laid in between, set against a painted backdrop of violet sky.

  "I'm getting sick of scenery," Susan announced.

  "Already?" I said. "We've only been on the road, what?―a couple hours?"

  "Six," she told me. "Thought I'd be fresh after a five-week break, but it's already wearing thin."

  "Well, try bearing up. We only have ten billion light-years to go."

  "Great."

  This is good road―straight and flat. We were going along at a fair clip, making excellent time (as if we had some kind of schedule to keep―absurd, of course). The worlds went sliding by. Back in the breakfast nook, John and Roland were puzzling over the Ahgirr maps, now and then yelling out contradictory directions. They were very confused. So far, none of the planet descriptions matched what we were seeing out the ports. We were still in the Nogon Maze, that I was sure of, because we were still seeing their distinctive middle-tech vehicles with smiling blue faces behind the windscreens. We had a complete map of this maze, along with others, so John and Roland should have been able to figure out where we were. "I have no idea where we are," Roland admitted.

  "Sam," I said, "can you help those guys out?" "Not really. All I can do is display the maps on my screens. Nobody programmed me how to read them."

  "I thought Oni did."

  "She was supposed to, last week. But then we found Entity X

  "Oh, that's right."

  Roland had come forward and taken the shotgun seat. He was struggling with the many-folded paper map, trying to match a section of it with what was showing on the main screen.

  He had been growing irritable. "Why can't any race in the universe learn to make roadmaps simple?" he grumbled. "Now where the hell―?"

  "What's the problem?" Sam wanted to know. "Here's where we are on the star chart. See the flashing cursor?"

  "Uh…" Roland scrunched up one dangling section of the map, rotated the whole thing ninety degrees and looked back and forth between map and screen. "Yeah. Right.. Okay." He squinted at the map. "I think."

  "I thought you weren't programmed to read them," I said.

  "I'm not," Sam answered. "Sort of figured it out for myself."

  "Sam, what you didn't figure," Roland said, "was that the Ahgirr draw their maps upside down. Right is left and vice versa on these things."

  "What?"

  "I think."

  "Well now, that's crazy."

  "Sort of like an astronomical map."

  "But this is an astronomical map… more or less."

  "Mostly less," Roland said.

  "Gentlemen," I broke in, "exactly what difference does it make?"

  "Eh?" Sam said.

  "Where, exactly, are we supposed to be going?"

  "We want to enter a maze belonging to a race with an I unpronounceable name. Call 'em the Grunts," Roland said.

  "And how do we get to the land of the Grunts?" I asked.

  "Well… Sam, give me a 3D graphic on that maze, will you? And show our entry point, too."

  "Like this?" "Yeah. Now on this screen, can you give me the Nogon Maze, showing the exit point?"

  "There you go."

  "Now, rotate this one a little. No, counterclockwise."

  "How's this?"

  "Good," Roland said, sitting back and folding his arms officiously. "Now," he said, then frowned.

  "Now what?" Sam said.

  "Look," I said. "There's a fork ahead, isn't there?"

  Roland threw up his hands. "I really don't know."

  "Oh, come on, there has to be a fork. We just ingressed here. There should be a road leading to the double-back portal and one leading to a next-planet portal. Unless this is a threehole planet. Is it?"

  "Way I figure," Sam said, "it should be. There's a doubleback to the left fork, a next-planet to the right, and the middle road should lead to an interchange world. Big one, too, with about three major routes junctioning."

  "Great. Let's take the middle road."

  "Why?"

  "When we get to the interchange, we'll flip a coin."

  "Suits me."

  "I don't know, Jake," Roland said. "Don't you think we should try to get ourselves back on Winnie's Itinerary?"

  "'That means going back to the Outworlds, doesn't it?"

  "Well, I suppose."

  "No chance. We'd be dead as soon as we poke our nose through the portal. Besides, I have a very strong feeling that you can't get there from here."

  "Jake may very well be right," John said, leaning over our shoulders. "Ragna and Hokar told us that they've never heard a road story describing anything like Terran Maze. The Ahgirr have had their ears pricked for news of beings akin to themselves since they came to the Skyway. I gathered that the known mazes around here have some rather strange occupants. Harmless sorts, but you wouldn't be inviting them for tea."

  "Well, it's settled then," I said.

  Susan broke in, "Good of you men-folk to make all the heavy decisions for us women-folk."

  Roland showed a crooked smile. "Something tells me we're going to hear from the distaff side."

  "Do you see anyone spinning wool back here?"

  "You're showing your age, Susan," Roland remarked ascerbically.

  "You shut up. Jake, I just wanted to let you know that the quote-unquote distaff side would like to be consulted now and then in matters that may affect their lives and general wellbeing… or is that too much to ask for a truck-drivin' he-man like y'all?"

  "Shucks, ma'am," was all I got to say before Darla interrupted.

  "Susan, do you mind speaking for yourself?"

  "Certainly not," Susan answered, arching one brown eyebrow a bit haughtily. Or maybe it was just surprise.

  "I think we all need to be reminded now and then that this is Jake's rig. I think it's only right that he should have the final say in which direction he should steer it."

  "Well, excuse me, Darla-darling―"

  "Don't call me that," Darla cut through icily.

  "Pardon me. But may I remind you that I never asked to come along on this joyride. I was dragged."

  "That's neither here nor there."

  "Bullshit. I demand a say in decisions that affect me."

  Darla's voice was coldly ironic. "'Demand'?"

  "Yes, dammit, demand. I think it's my right."

  "The universe doesn't grant rights easily, dearie. You have to fight for them."

  "I'm not demanding them of the universe. Actually, I'm merely asking―"

  "You haven't offered an opinion on anything important up till now. In fact, you haven't done much of anything but complain. Why the sudden interest in the decision-making process?"

  "I'm tired of everyone taking it for granted that I don't have an opinion. Or not one that counts." Susan crossed her arms huffily. "And don't call me 'dearie'!"

  "So sorry. And what is your opinion?"

  "Thank you for asking. As a matter of fact, I agree with Jake. I think it's about time he finds his legendary shortcut back home―wouldn't you agree?".

  "I'm not sure," Darla said, her voice m
ore subdued.

  "Well, that's his Plan."

  "Plan," Darla repeated, a note of sarcasm returning.

  "Yes, Plan. Call it Fate, if you will. Use any word you want."

  "I call it merte."

  Susan's voice stiffened. "That is your privilege."

  "Anyway, if you're agreeing with Jake, why the sudden need for self-determination?"

  "It's not sudden, and it's not a need. It's a―"

  "Well, I do know you have plenty of those. Needs, I mean, and you're fairly systematic about meeting them."

  "Just what is that supposed to mean?" Susan said, voice tightened with rising anger.

  "Interpret it any way you wish," Darla said airily.

  "On second thought," Susan said, "I know exactly what it means and it's just the kind of shitty remark I'd expect from a scheming, hypocritical bitch who can't―"

  I heard a slap and looked back. Darla and Susan were tussling in their seats, inhibited greatly by their safety harnesses. Each had a handful of the other's hair, and Darla was trying mightily to land a left hook somewhere in the vicinity of Susan's nose, while Susan was blocking nicely.

  John rushed back and tried to disengage them,

  "Ladies, really," he said.

  "Hey, look," I said lamely.

  They stopped. Darla unstrapped, got up, and went aft. Susan unstrapped too but stayed in her seat, looking angry and frightened and somewhat hurt, all at once. Her eyes were moist.

  Roland thought it all pretty funny. I didn't and was very disturbed. Also surprised at how quickly the thing had flared up. I couldn't figure it. Darla had seemed very out of character; Susan less so, but I hadn't thought her capable of coming to blows with somebody. I hadn't seen who threw the first punch, nor had I seen Susan throw any, but she would have come away with a fistful of Darla's hair, roots and all, had the fight continued. I gave up trying to understand it and attributed it to travel fatigue… for the time being.

  I got on the radio and told Sean and Carl where-we were heading, and outlined the reasoning behind the decision. They all concurred, Liam and Lori included.

  The fairy garden gave way to open country gradually sloping to the right toward gray mountains. A small, hot sun, bluewhite in color, burned low in the sky to our left. Ahead I could see the road split three ways, as Sam had predicted. I upped our speed and headed straight.

  '`I'm still unconvinced we're doing the right thing, Jake."

  I turned to Roland, who was still puzzling over the roadmap displays.

  "I'm not convinced this is the best decision," I said, "but I think it makes a hell of a lot more sense than trying to find our way back to a place we don't want to go."

  "The Outworlds?"

  "Yeah. God knows what we'd stumble into. We could even wind up back on Seahome. Imagine having to board that island-beast again."

  "I don't want to imagine it. But have you considered the possibility that we might luck our way back to Terran Maze?"

  "Yes, I've considered it," I said, "but we won't find a backtime route following standard roadmaps."

  Roland sighed. "True. Still it seems that there should be some other alternative to just blindly shooting potluck after potluck."

  "If you think of one, let me know."

  Roland sat back. "I will."

  Chapter 15

  Interchange world.

  This one was big; bigger than most I'd seen. Like most, it was the desolate moon of a gas giant. Judging from the apparent distance to the horizon, I guessed this one to be about twice Luna's size, which made it a full-fledged planet. It had an atmosphere, a haze of biotic soup. No life forms were evident, but you never know; you could be walking along out there and some sapient crystal could tap you on the shoulder and ask the time of day. Or if you would like to rent his sister. Nevertheless, the place looked lifeless and bleak: flatlands of dirty white ice cut by an occasional low spine of dark rock running diagonally to the road. The sky was gray with a tiny molten point tow and directly ahead. A distant sun. Forty-five degrees to the right, the gas giant cut the grayness with a milk-white crescent.

  We hit some traffic as our ingress spur merged with others. Outr‚ alien vehicles overtook us, wiggling and weaving between lanes. The shapes were as various as they were strange, some rounded and bulbous, some starkly geometrical, others sleek, low, and lean. A few were almost indescribable. What looked like a loosely associated collection of giant soap bubbles wobbled by, emitting a tinkling warning tone. Farther along, a miniature contraption resembling a mechanical dog scampered past us like a runaway child's toy. A glowing blue polyhedron paced us for a stretch, then accelerated and lost itself in traffic.

  We were on a straightaway running across the icy flats. The first cutoff likely would be about thirty kilometers distant. Signs appeared, asquiggle with nervous lettering. We were in a civilized, organized maze. Whose, I didn't know; I did not recognize the symbols as Nogon script. We had probably left the Nogon Maze proper, and now were in the Expanded Maze to which it belonged. Ragna's crazy maps had not made the demarcation clear.

  "'What say we take the first cutoff?"

  "Fine by me," Sam said.

  "That all right with everybody?"

  It was fine. I called Carl and Sean, told them what was up.

  "Sounds okay to me, Jake," Carl told me. "Lori thinks it's a good idea, too."

  "All the same to us," Sean concurred. "We'd as lief roll the dice now as drive ten kiloklicks and do it then."

  "Okay, then," I said. "We take the first cutoff. Acknowledge."

  "Affirmative!"

  "Ditto!"

  I leaned back and eased off the power pedal. It's nice to have things settled. Roll them bones.

  "Sam," I said, "what about some music?"

  "'You must be in a particularly good mood. What'll it be?"

  I rarely play music while driving. Not that I don't like it-on the contrary, I love music and find it uncomfortable when I can't devote my full attention to it. I don't believe in using it as wallpaper. Other reasons: my tastes tend toward classical, which makes me singular among my colleagues in the fraternity of truck owner-operators. Though I don't really care what they think, being known as a bit of a flake can be a liability, and since can't stomach the glop that passes for pop music these days, I usually opt for silence.

  But in the wake of Darla and Susan's set-to, the silence had begun to feel a little stony.

  "What about a little Bach? Something from the Two-Part Inventions would be nice."

  "Comln' up "

  "Wait. On second thought, maybe we should have something more appropriate to the weird scenery. How about Bart¢k's Concerto for Orchestra?"

  Sam complied with the request.

  I looked back and found myself the object of bemused stares.

  "Bart¢k?" Roland mouthed silently, eyebrows arched in detached, academic surprise.

  "You're a strange man in many ways," John commented.

  "John," I replied, "how would you like to walk to the Big Bang?"

  "Apologies."

  I wasn't really miffed by the remark. Used to it by now. So I drive a truck and like serious music. So kiss my ass.

  "I've always wondered," Sam said, "how I ever managed to raise a longhair for a son."

  "Sam…"

  "What?"

  "Never mind," I said.

  Traffic thickened up a bit more and things got a little hairy as reckless alien vehicles swerved and skittered all around us. I thumbed the warning alarm a few times and swerved intimidatingly in return. Everyone decided to give us a wide berth. Wise decision, as I am not above making ham salad of roadhogs.

  "Roland," I said, "can you see the cutoff yet?"

  Peering out into the soup, Roland answered, "No."

  "Keep an eye out, okay?"

  "Check."

  I looked back at Susan. She was crying quietly now. She grew aware of my gaze and looked at me questioningly at first, then gave a quick shake of the head that said,
just leave me alone.

  Okay, I would.

  I was hugging the extreme right edge of the fast lane. The fast lane is actually two lanes wide by Terran standards. The rest of the road is taken up by the "doubleback" or return lane, reserved for opposing traffic, and two shoulder lanes on either side. The doubleback track is only about a lane and a half wide, since most traffic on the Skyway is moving in the same direction. There are no lines painted on the road; Skyway roadmetal doesn't take paint. But if you run over into the doubleback lane or onto the shoulder, you get annoying vibrations. Rumble strips, probably, though no grooves or projections are visible on the road surface. After many a klick of Skyway, though, you actually start seeing the lanes, oddly enough. I could, and can. Strange. Pushy alien drivers had been passing us on the right, using the shoulder lane, so I decided to run on the shoulder to prevent being blocked from making the cutoff. The vibrations can give you a headache after a while, but we'd be off the lane very shortly.

  "See it yet?"

  "No," Roland said. "This atmosphere's pretty thick, isn't it.

  "Sam, can you paint any blips moving off to the right up there?"

  "No, too early. Maybe ten klicks more. Keep your eyes peeled, though."

  "No need, really. If we miss it, we miss it. This is a dice roll, remember? Any portal will do."

  "You're the captain."

  "I like the cut of your jib, Sam."

  "The which of my what?"

  "The rake of your spinnaker, or whatever."

  "I think your terminology's confused."

  "Well, I never rubbed elbows with the sail set."

  "No? Seems to me you did go sailing with the nubile daughter of some bureaucrat or another, back in your college days. Long time ago-lessee, what was her name? Zoya?"

  "My God' do you have a memory."

  "Zoya. That was it, right?"

  "I think so. Sure, I remember. Zoya Mikhailovna Bubnov."

  "Talk about memory," Sam marvelled.

  "I remember she had great bubnovs. Beautiful girl. Wonder whatever became of her."

  "You should have married her. She was head over heels in love with you, if I recollect. She came to visit at the farm once."