Red Limit Freeway s-2

by John Dechancie

  "I believe she did," I said. "That was a long time ago. I couldn't have been more than twenty-one at the time. That would have made her around seventeen."

  "Ah, sweet bird of youth."

  "Horsefeathers."

  "Yep, you should have married the girl. Think where you'd be now."

  "In a psych motel."

  "You'd be sitting pretty, that's where you'd be."

  "Sitting prettily."

  "Huh? Oh, fudge. So what are you?―a truckdriver. A bright kid like you, dragging freight from mudball to mudball, swilling beer…"

  "Damn, I could use a beer. We got any?"

  "Don't change the subject."

  "You brought it up! Hey, back there? Any beer in the cooler?"

  "A few S & L's," came Darla's voice.

  Sean & Liam's.

  "Yecch," I said. "Any Star Cloud left?"

  "No, sorry, Jake. You drank the last of it back on Ragna's world."

  "Merle. Forget it."

  "Are you sure you don't want an S & L?" Darla asked.

  "No, thank you."

  "Big ol dumb truckdriver," Sam went on. "You could have done anything you set your mind to. Been a scientist, better yet an engineer. Anything."

  "What I really wanted to do was write," I said. "Poetry."

  "I remember. You weren't bad, actually. Had some talent. Poetry don't pay the rent, though."

  "You can say that again. That's one of the reasons I quit writing."

  "And now you can pay the rent every other month. Progress."

  "C'mon, Sam, don't tell me you don't like the road."

  Sam gave a semicommittal grunt and said, "Well, I'll admit that life on the road has its appeal… at times. Most of the time, though, it's boring. And ding dang it, most-of the time it don't pay doodly squat."

  "'Doodly squat,"' Roland repeated, tasting the phrase. "Oh, that's a fine collectible item." He turned and smiled. "I'm compiling a field dictionary of your patois, you know. Could you give a rough translation into Standard Received English?"

  I got on the radio. "Hey, Carl."

  "Yo"

  "Roland wants to know what 'doodly squat' means. Can you give him a free translation into white-folks' talk?"

  "Doodly squat? Hey, Roland, didn't you ever squat on your doodly?"

  "I think I get the gist," Roland said, "and I'm extremely sorry I asked."

  "Actually, it doesn't mean beans."

  "I understand that," Roland muttered.

  "You know," Carl went on, "I am aware that a lot of my speech patterns strike people as slightly weird. l try to watch myself, but―"

  Sam cut him off. "Jake, someone on the skyband."

  "Put him on."

  An unfamiliar voice came from the cab speakers. "―that rig up there, do you have your ears on? I say breaker breaker, breaking for the rig with the Terran Maze markings. Are you human? Come back, please! This is an emergency!"

  "You're on the skyband, Jake," Sam informed me.

  "Hey, you got the Terran rig here. Flaky Jake's the handle. What's the emergency? Come on?"

  "Thank God! I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to hear a human voice again… We've been cut off from humanity for two years… Almost too good to be true. We thought we'd never―"

  He stopped transmitting.

  "Come on back? What's the nature of the emergency?"

  "Sorry… sorry. A little overcome with emotion. The emergency is that we're lost! Been outside Terran Maze for the last twenty-six months. We are the survivors of an Authority expedition sent out to explore uncharted road. There are three left in our party. Two humans, one nonhuman. Please tell us―do you know a way back? Come on?"

  I sighed and said, "Sorry, no we don't. We're just as lost as you are, I'm afraid."

  A long pause. Then, "I see. But we're still more than glad to have found you. We're about out of rations, no medical supplies to speak of. We're at our rope's end and would be most grateful to team up with you. We have little, but what we have we'll gladly share. We do have some possibly useful information, maps and such that we've put together. What say you to that?"

  "Welcome aboard," I said. -Do you need medical assistance?"

  "No, we're in fairly good shape, considering. I'm flashing my headlights now. Can you pick me up?"

  I checked the rearview screen, then looked out the port at the parabolic mirror. "Okay, we're eyeballing you." I couldn't make out what kind of vehicle it was.

  "Are these two vehicles in front of me part of your convoy?"

  "That's a ten-four."

  "How many are you?"

  "Nine humans, one nonhuman, and an artificial intelligence who goes by the name of Sam."

  "Pleased to meet you all. Just call me Yuri. Tell me―where are you going?"

  "Yuri, that's a very good question, and one we've been kicking around for some time. We had a notion that shooting a potluck would be our best bet at the moment. Can you advise differently?"

  "Unfortunately, no. We've explored this Expanded Confinement Maze quite extensively over the past two months. The planets are generally not Terran normal, and we've come to the conclusion that there's no direct route back to T-Maze."

  "Have you toured a maze belonging to a race called the Nogon?"

  "We've heard of it and we were trying to find our way there when we saw those first Terran-looking vehicles back there. We got no response. l assume they were just vehicles abandoned by unfortunate luck-throughs and salvaged by aliens. We've seen others occasionally. Then we saw you and thought we'd give it another try. Sorry, I'm digressing. No, we haven't been in Nogon Maze but I presume you have. Did you find anything?"

  "Hold on a minute. What Terran-looking vehicles are you talking about?"

  "Well, they were right behind me a moment ago, but they seem to have dropped back."

  "How many?"

  "Four. They looked like military vehicles. I tried calling on every channel and frequency but got no response."

  "Right."

  "Damn," Roland said.

  "Son of a Roadbug's concubine," Sam muttered. "Speaking of which, here comes one."

  Traffic merged into one lane to let the Skyway Patrol vehicle pass. It shot by.

  "Which potluck do you plan to shoot?" Yuri asked.

  "The cutoff should be coming up fairly soon," I answered. "You're welcome to come with us if you wish."

  "Thank you. We shall."

  "You think we can trust him?" Sam said. "He could be with the other bunch. His story could be a clever lie to get close to us."

  "I doubt it. I've always heard rumors about the Authority sending out suicide expeditions to explore potluck portals. If he's playacting, he's giving a good performance. Sounded pretty desperate."

  Carl came through over the security channel,

  "Jake, I caught the tail end of the conversation on the skyband. You think this guy's legit?"

  "Yeah, I think. Would you let Sean and Liam in on it? And ask Sean to give him a call. Maybe he can pick up a clue."

  Carl did so. After a brief conversation with Yuri on the skyband, Sean switched back to the security channel. "I don't recognize his voice, Jake, and the accent's wrong for his being a Talltree loggermate. But that's neither here nor there."

  "Nevertheless," I said, "I think he's okay."

  "But he's Authority," Sam countered.

  "Yeah, that makes me a little uncomfortable, but I don't think he's a cop. Do you?"

  "Who knows? Does it make a difference? When he finds out who you are, he could be trouble."

  "I don't know. He says they've been outside T-Maze for over two years. How could he have heard of me?"

  "A point," Sam conceded. "And it is a distress call… But dammit, we're not exactly languishing in the bosom of safety either. We're running out of room on this lifeboat."

  "Lifeboat ethics aside," I said, "there's always room for one more―or two or three."

  Sam grumbled and gave in. A few moments later, "Hey, I'm scann
ing that Roadbug. He's veering off to the right. He must be on the cutoff."

  I got on the horn to let everyone know we'd be executing a right turn in about half a minute.

  "Any traffic following the Bug?" I asked.

  "Doesn't look like it. If it's a potluck road, stands to reason there wouldn't be."

  "Right."

  "You think those Terran buggies will be following us?" Sam asked.

  "Does a bear defecate in the sylvan glade?"

  "Depends on the bear."

  "Let's see what these animals do."

  The cutoff swept in a lazy arc to the right; the Roadbug had already lost itself in the smog. I watched as Sean and Carl made the turn, also noting that our new soi-disant friend was following, then got on the horn.

  "Okay, crew, let's squeeze hydrogen."

  I tromped the power pedal.

  "Won't we be tipping our hand?" Carl wanted to know.

  "I got a plan," I said.

  "You're the general."

  "Don't you forget it, soldier."

  "Yes sir, General MacArthur."

  "McCarthy? Who's that?"

  "No, not McCarthy… Aw, never mind."

  I thought a moment. "First World War?" I asked.

  "Second," Carl said.

  "Right. Knew I'd heard the name." I decided that now was as good a time as any. "Carl, when were you born?"

  "August third, 1946."

  After a moment, I said, "Serious?"

  "Yeah."

  "Right. Carl, I think I believe you."

  "Why should I lie?"

  Indeed.

  "What abort what's-his-name… Yuri?"

  "What's he doing?"

  "Looks like he doesn't know what to do. Probably thinks we're trying to ditch him."

  "We are, in a way. Actually, I'm really interested in what he does."

  "Got you."

  Sam said, "He's not calling us on the skyband, if that means anything."

  "It might," I said. "Are you scanning back there for any pursuit?"

  "Yup. Nothing so far."

  "Want to send up a drone?"

  "The terrain's pretty flat. Probably won't need it. Just what is your plan, if I may ask?"

  "Don't really have one," I answered, "unless we can find a place to pull off-road and lay low."

  "That might be a problem. Nowhere to hide out there―no hills or big rocks to speak of."

  "I was thinking, though," I went on, "maybe we could go off-road far enough to lose ourselves visually in the smog, then power down and sit. Maybe just listen for passing traffic. If we hear anything go by, we wait a little and double back to the main road, take another portal."

  "Damn good idea," Sam said. "Damn good idea. Son, you show half a brain now and then. Let's do that thing."

  About five klicks down the road, we did that thing. Nothing showed on the scanners as we turned off, and the screens stayed clear until we shut everything down. We couldn't see the road, but the outside directional mike would betray anything passing. Yuri had silently followed us, driving what we now saw to be a blue and white Omnivan, a good double-threat road/off road vehicle. It looked battered and travel-weary, though still serviceable. The ports were caked with dust, but we could see two dim figures in the front seats.

  We sat, listening to the low moan of the wind. Everyone was quiet.

  About ten minutes went by. Then Sam said, "Ask Carl who he thinks will win the National League pennant this year."

  "Hmph." I reached forward and tapped the main screen. "Juice up the scanners. Make one sweep uproad on low power."

  Sam did so.

  "Nothing," I said. "Not a ding-blasted thing. I thought for sure…"

  "So did I," Sam said. "I'm also sure they would have scanned us taking the cutoff, if they were interested."

  "Can't figure it. Maybe they were what Yuri thought they were-aliens in salvaged Terran vehicles."

  "Looks that way."

  I got on the horn. "Carl, who's going to win the National League Pennant this year?"

  "Well, I'm a Dodger fan." He laughed. "Are you kidding? Baseball's one with the dodo, isn't it?"

  "Last time I heard, they were restarting major-league play back in North America."

  "Really? I hadn't heard."

  "1946, huh?"

  "Nineteen hundred and forty-six, A.D."

  "I take it you were born on Earth."

  "Yeah. Los Angeles, California."

  "How did you get out here, one hundred fifty odd years later?"

  "l was kidnapped by a flying saucer."

  Chapter 16

  Ask a stupid question.

  Language is strange in what it carries as baggage through the centuries and what it lets drop by the wayside. Though the phrase "flying saucer" hasn't fallen into desuetude, its original meaning has fallen through the bottom. In contemporary usage, you get conked on the head and "see flying saucers," i.e. suffer temporary visual disturbances. "Get off your flying saucer" means quit deluding yourself and come back to reality. Ask anyone what a flying saucer actually is and you'll probably get a blank look, as you would if you asked what buck refers to in the phrase "pass the buck." (A hint: buck, in this instance, is not slang for dollar, a unit of defunct currency.)

  Originally, "flying saucer" meant only one thing: an extraterrestrial spacecraft. If you believe the accounts of the period, Earth's skies virtually crawled with them from about the middle of the twentieth century to about the third decade of the twentyfirst, when the section of Skyway on Pluto was discovered. After that, reports of sightings tapered off. Officially and generically, these phenomena were termed "UFOs"―Unidentified Flying Objects. "Saucer" arose from the fact that many of the objects took the shape of airborne crockery. I know all this because I once prepared a term paper on popular delusions for a college course entitled "The Masses and Collective Consciousness." (I don't remember anything about the course itself, which I suspect is no great loss.)

  Out here on the road between the worlds, people don't see flying saucers. They see all kinds of things: time-tripping doppelgangers of loved ones who have recently died, vehicles that are modern-day versions of the Flying Dutchman complete with spectral occupants, vehicles driven variously by Jesus Christ, Buddah, Zoroaster, Lao-tse, Krishna, John Lennon (I remember passing a beery evening in a road house a while ago, buzzing with a gaggle of Lennonites―a very interesting little sect), and assorted other chimeras, but not spaceships. Who needs spaceships when you can climb in your buggy and drive a hundred light-years?

  Who needs spaceships, or rather starships? Answer: a race that does not have access to the Skyway.

  "Carl, we have to talk," I said, "but we'd best defer it, much as I hate to."

  "Right."

  "Sam, give me the skyband, channel nineteen, on low power."

  Sam did so and I said, "Yuri? This is Jake."

  "Hello!"

  "I suppose you're wondering what the hell we're doing."

  "I take it you think there's reason to be cautious."

  "Good guess. Sorry we didn't warn you, but I thought it best to maintain radio silence, at least on the skyband. Yuri, do you have random-shift multifrequency decoding gear?"

  "Yes, we do."

  "Good. Sam will set you up to receive on our security channel. Standby."

  When that was done we all started up and headed back over the ice toward the Skyway, following out own trace through the slush. The ground was flat and it was easy going. But when we had the road in sight, Sam suddenly yelled.

  "Got something on the scanners"

  "We have time to double back?"

  "No, it's doing Mach one-point-three. Must be a Roadbug."

  "Another one?"

  Sure enough, it was. We watched the silver beetlelike vehicle streak past, punching its way into the bank of smog downroad.

  "Hey," Sam said, surprised. "He transmitted something at us. I've got it on ten-second-delay playback. Wait a sec… here it is."

&
nbsp; "ACCESS TO THE NEXT SECTION IS FORBIDDEN. TURN BACK AT ONCE." The voice spoke in Intersystem. It has long been thought that Roadbugs can scan for life-readings of vehicle occupants to determine the appropriate language to use. (How do they learn the languages in the first place? No one's been able to figure that out.)

  "Well," I said, "I am not about to argue with a Roadbug. Troop, left face."

  I hung a left, got over onto the double-back track and brought the rig up to cruising speed, checking back to see if everyone had followed. They had.

  But soon the scanners were painting oncoming traffic. Five blips, none of them in any hurry but keeping formation. They had an air of deadly business about them. I knew who they were.

  "To the rear, march," Sam said.

  "Didn't Yuri say he spotted four Terran buggies?" I said as I swung the rig into a wide U-turn.

  "He did."

  "It may mean one of 'em is alien."

  "Now, I wonder who they could be."

  Sam knew as well as I. Reticulans.

  "What'll we do?" Sam asked. "Can't shoot the portal. Go off-road again?"

  "Yeah. Looks like they don't want to close with us. If we can lose them off the screen―do they have a drone up?"

  "Don't see one."

  "Good. Let's get off the road and make like rocks again. Maybe we can fool them."

  "We'll be the most prominent feature of the landscape, should they be looking for us."

  "I dunno," I said. "I thought I saw some large rock formations off to our right when we were parked. Maybe the lay of the land changes farther down."

  It didn't, and our pursuers kept pace with us as we raced toward the tollbooths. We were doing top speed. There was no way we could outrun them and our alternatives were dwindling to a very few.

  "Should we turn and fight?" Sean asked. "Liam and I are game if you are."

  Carl said, "Are they really following us, or are we just getting paranoid? Maybe they're not the same vehicles Yuri saw."

  "The thought has occurred to me," I said. "Could be we're just a little too jumpy. Want to pull over and see if they pass us by?"

  A moment's deliberation. Then, "Not really," Carl said.

  "Another blip. Holy hell," Sam interjected.

  "What?"

  "Another Roadbug."

  "Now that's a first," I marveled. "Don't recall ever seeing three Bugs this close together. I wonder what's up."