Core Punch

by Pauline Baird Jones

  That would imply absolute knowledge on its part that you are here. Could we, could I have made so costly an error and not know it?

  There was a pause as Lurch considered this. I do not believe it knows. I believe it is using the opportunity of the storm to force the kind of extraordinary circumstances that might expose my presence. It has shown facility for adjusting and adapting to changing situations.

  So it tries to force you to repair this craft?

  That would be one thing.

  Joe sensed there was more that Lurch could do that was extraordinary. They had not been companions long enough for Joe to be exposed to much beyond the nanite’s vast store of knowledge and a few sensory enhancements. It could also heal wounds and boost his energy and abilities. He had to assume those benefits were not available now, when they would have been most useful. Since arrival here, much care had been taken for Joe to not exhibit unusual abilities, but Joe had gotten used to having minor ailments eased. Even Lurch’s impressive data search ability had been limited by the need for extreme care. Joe suspected that Lurch had not shared all it feared its enemy could do if threatened. Or perhaps it expected Joe to know what it meant by “utterly ruthless.”

  It is possible we have been too careful. Outsmarted ourselves? Lurch’s mulling fluttered against the inside of Joe’s skin.

  Joe did not know how to respond. Other than to point out the obvious. Had they been “too careful” they would not now be stranded in the path of an incoming hurricane. Rather than stating that obvious, he opted to state a different obvious to Vi. “I will not be able to maintain this position for much longer.”

  And they were burning fuel trying. But she knew that. All three of them knew everything but how to get clear. It was ironic to know so much that was not helpful. A gust of wind caught Vi’s side of the skimmer and tipped them on their side. It was fortunate that their straps secured their torsos to the slings. Legs and arms did not fair as well.

  “Ow.”

  Cross-wind compensators fired the right thrusters and the skimmer righted, with more banging of limbs to metal parts.

  “Ow again.” Vi straightened. “Not exactly to regs, but needs must when the devil drives.”

  She rubbed her elbow through the protective gear. Apparently it had not been protective enough.

  She bends the rules most effectively.

  Once again Joe felt Lurch’s admiration, mixed with both fondness and a hint of nostalgia, as if Vi reminded it of someone. Occasionally Joe would catch a glimpse of a face when Lurch’s memories bled through. That woman looked like a rule bender. And—in the words of Vi—an ass kicker. There was much affection attached to that memory, which caused Joe to postulate that the bleeding occurred where such affection existed. It was when emotion was present—and the concurrent physiological reactions—that the nanite got insight into Joe’s most private thoughts, despite Lurch teaching him how to wall off the deeply private. Perhaps some day the nanite would trust him enough to share more of its past. Though it was possible that past had taught the nanite not to trust that much.

  “Let’s see if it worked…”

  Vi keyed in a command. A screen flickered, then a map of the floating city appeared, with a small pulsing dot where they had set down.

  “And there we are. It’s not a perfect integration, but we’ll have a better idea where we are. Wish I could put the weather map on top of it….” she keyed in some stuff on their weather tracking screen, trying to tighten it to their general area. Made a frustrated sound. “I can’t get a good fix on our location, without shifting controls again. We’ll have to use big stuff to try to get a fix on where we are, where we want to go. And hope it’s actually reasonably accurate. Memo to me: believe what you see.”

  It is true that tech can be used to deceive. Lurch felt inexpressibly sad.

  “Conditions will necessitate extremely slow forward progress,” Joe said. He shifted his gaze briefly, long enough to catch her widened gaze at the view out front, which had worsened while her head was down. “Course corrections will be somewhat challenging.”

  “No sh—kidding.” More tapping ensued. “Okay, I think I’ve got all the screens we need. We’re currently hovering about twelve feet above sea level. Give or take something. Which unfortunately doesn’t tell us how far we are above the actual ground. Keeping track of the abandoned city’s relationship to sea level has not been a priority for a while.”

  Her scanner would also not be tracking the debris left behind when the city was lifted, Joe acknowledged, as he fought wind through the attitude and altitude controls. How bad would it be when he had to move the skimmer?

  Bad.

  Joe made a note to himself to stop thinking questions he did not want answered.

  “I’m thinking we are about a foot or so above the water level. If we were higher I don’t think we’d get so much wave action against our hull. At least that’s the hope.”

  Joe echoed her hope. It was not possible to assess wave height in their current circumstances. Lightning flashed, briefly though imperfectly illuminating the area. “That tracks with my visuals.”

  “Such as they are.” She tapped more controls. “Okay, I can see several possible routes to the old airport that might still be more or less there.”

  Where the old airport had been when dirt side was now New Orleans New In-Atmosphere Intergalactic Docking Port, or NON IAIDP. He’d also heard it called the A-dip. He recalled the main transit routes, or rather Lurch did. Unlike Vi’s panels, Lurch could overlay their dubious storm tracking with the maps and provide some additional guidance, though not with its usual precision. It was not able to link to the data—data they weren’t sure they could trust—and input their position into that data without risking exposure. Nor could Lurch link to the under-city scanners—assuming they still operated—and use them to highlight terrain obstacles. If it had tampered with the skimmer, it could have left traps and triggers designed to alert it to Lurch’s activities. In their current vulnerable position, eliminating them would be ridiculously easy. As long as it toyed with them, as long as it was uncertain, there was hope.

  Perhaps it thinks it would be more amusing to see us eliminate ourselves?

  That was the other hope—and their only chance until they could connect with backup. It was possible that assistance already awaited them at the airport. All they had to do was get there.

  “I would postulate the wind is coming at it us almost due east to due west at present, though that will vary some as the winds bend because of circulation. We can see by how the trees move that the winds can shift suddenly. I think it would be unwise to take the full force of it on our—six.” That term felt like it came from Lurch. He felt Vi give him a look that was probably surprised. “We risk using up too much fuel if we attempt to directly oppose the wind.”

  “Yeah, with that much tail wind we’d probably end up in Mexico,” Vi said this almost absently.

  The heat inside the skimmer was bad enough to layer sweat over his body. He couldn’t take his hands off the controls long enough to wipe it away from his face. As if she knew this, Vi used her towel to mop it.

  “My thanks.”

  “Let me know when you need it again.” She frowned at her screens, then peered out. “Okay, I parked facing away from what is probably where I-10 used to be, so we need to reverse direction. If you can…that would put us heading straight toward it.”

  He eased the nose around, felt the wind most eager to take control. I am not sure this is possible.

  The impossible takes a little longer.

  There was no response to this that was not rude, so he fought his way through the reverse maneuver then started the skimmer moving forward. It was, he decided, more terrifying than trying to reverse direction.

  “How many miles to the airport?”

  “As the crows flies,” Vi appeared to consider the question, “it’s about twelve, I think. Maybe fifteen.”

  A pity they were not crows. In
normal conditions, such a journey would take minutes even in an old skimmer.

  Normal is overrated.

  Joe…appreciated Lurch trying to lighten his mood, or he would later. If they survived.

  “Why are the dirt-siders at the old airport?” he wondered, more to distract himself than from real curiosity.

  “It wasn’t lifted,” Vi said, her gaze fixed on her screens. “You’re drifting right a bit. Yeah, that’s better. It was too heavy for one thing. And it was still used for some years, until it became too expensive to keep up. Some hard core dirt-siders still use old planes to get around, but there are fewer and fewer landing strips being maintained.”

  That didn’t exactly answer his question.

  The terminal structure, while large, has not been maintained. The way WTF is tracking in has caused concern. If it makes the curve back to the east, as predicted, the airport will experience a direct hit, followed by additional flooding when the storm moves across the lake and pushes more water into the region.

  Vi offered more drifting alerts as the skimmer fought its way down what was left of the transit lane. Trees loomed up out of the rain on either side, but it appeared that the material used to create the streets had, to some extent, limited the area enough to provide them the illusion of a transit lane. Each break in the tree line caused him difficulty. The skimmer twice flipped on its side and once all the way around to back upright again before the cross-wind compensators could assert control. There were private transports that combined air and ground capability. A pity the NONPD had been unable to spare such a craft for their use today. It might have been easier fighting the water instead of the wind.

  “I’ve been thinking, when we reach the freeway, we might have a problem. You probably noticed the pieces of the old interchanges sticking up from the undergrowth as we were coming down.” She flashed him a quick, tense smile.

  Fallen chunks of the materials used to construct the freeway will be overgrown and, therefore, difficult to see.

  “If we head north, the cross-wind compensators won’t be as overwhelmed, and our track will follow the I-10 transit lanes and keep us clear of most obstructions. At least I hope so.”

  The skimmer shuddered and danced as a gust caught it, sending them perilously close to a stand of oak trees.

  “It might be advisable to tighten the weather monitoring. Look for smaller areas of circulation within the larger storm circulation,” Joe gritted out.

  “Circ—oh. Hook echoes on the radar. Tornados. Great. As if we weren’t already having fun.”

  She muttered something that Joe sensed was expletive in nature. He didn’t mention the high risk of downbursts slamming them into the ground without warning. She’d been watching the news vids, too.

  “I will require advance warning of upcoming turns. They are somewhat challenging.” He flashed her a quick look that he tried to make reassuring. It would be the last he dared take. “If you will monitor the large picture, I will endeavor to navigate the small.”

  Her smile was his reward. For her, he would attempt to make the impossible possible. He did not contemplate the larger implications of the realization. All that mattered was the here. The now. He could deny it later, if they survived.

  “Right. Big picture.” She turned back to her screen. “We should reach I-10 soon.”

  They must have hit a cross-transit area. The winds tugged fiercely at the small craft, trying to bring it around, and the sounds of debris striking them increased exponentially. They experienced additional lift as well. Thrusters fired as the cross-wind compensators fought to hold their course. The engines protested the battle, and he had to slow their forward progress more to stop it. “I am hoping we will be able to use the wind at some point, rather than fighting it.”

  “That would be good for our fuel supply.”

  The trees and undergrowth pressed close to the former road, narrowing it severely the closer they got to the freeway. The trees provided some protection, but they also increased the risk that a rogue downburst would bring the trees crashing down.

  “Keep on straight,” Vi said. “You’re veering right again…that’s better, no too much left…good. Keep doing that.”

  “Of course.” He made it sound easy. It wasn’t. The muscles in his arms were on fire. His legs ached from working the pedals. He’d strapped in, but the straps only secured his torso. He knew why Lurch did not dare help him, but it added to his frustration to know that help was out of reach. “I just had a most disturbing thought.”

  “What’s more disturbing than this?” Vi gestured forward.

  “We might be forced to find out what is contained in those 72’r kits.”

  Silence.

  “Beaucoup crapeau on a cracker.”

  * * *

  “Is it worse when a good plan goes wrong, or when a desperately bad plan doesn’t go right?” Vi finally dared take her attention off the merged screen to look outside and wished she hadn’t. Flashes of lightning revealed and concealed the scrambled piles of broken freeway that used to be I-10. Huge chunks tumbled across the soaked landscape in varying heights, the thick coating of green turning them into jagged hills in the fitful light. Waves lapped against all obstacles, and small eddies revealed currents forming wherever the terrain made that possible. No way to know what hazards were lurking below the rising waterline.

  A gust hit the skimmer. It righted itself.

  Again. Not that she was complaining. Too much. Righting was good. The whiplash? Not so much.

  Had she hoped against hope that they’d find a quicker way to the airport by following the old I-10? Up above, she took the I-10 transit all the time. She’d said more times than she could count that she could do it with her eyes closed. It was seriously freaky how much above had been matched to this furry green slice of the past. She had, she realized, half hoped to at least find the familiar in this alien. Looking at the wild, weather-lashed landscape, hope died with a painful tightening of her chest. Forget using it for transit, how were they going to get over it without getting blown who knew where? Or dying a fiery death when they ran into some part of it because they didn’t see it until it was too late? Unless they ran out of fuel first and sank into the rising water. She didn’t want to look at fuel consumption. Need-to-know did not equate to want-to-know. So she looked at Joe.

  He looked tired and tense, with sweat gleaming on his paler-than-usual purple skin. She mopped his face again, wincing at the thought of what she must look like. Bad enough to feel like beaucoup crapeau on a cracker, she didn’t want to think she looked the part. Never had she missed temperature control more—inside the suit and out. The news vids had been full of possible power outages in the wake of WTF. Her what-the-crapeau thoughts about that had centered more on access to news and entertainment. Maybe some cooking. She was spoiled. They all were. And what if they did have to abandon the skimmer? How good would their gear be? Based on current experience—about as good as beaucoup crapeau on a cracker. It was supposed to “protect in a variety of conditions,” but it wasn’t Superman’s clothes. Or even the Iron Man’s suit. If one of them got slammed into, oh, a pillar or a tree, it was going to hurt. Possibly fatally. Could have done without this opportunity to test it under field conditions. Later she’d worry about being dehydrated in one-thousand-percent humidity and having to explore the 72’r kit. If they lived long enough.

  “Based on current patterns of consumption and the continuation of current conditions, we will not have sufficient fuel to return to the city if we cannot reach the airport within two hours.”

  It was not a vid news flash. Vi studied her map, trying to hurry and also be thorough while rising panic tried to steal her concentration. It had a solid foothold in her chest. Right next to that, abandoned hope. She wasn’t just field testing their gear. She was finding out a lot of about herself. So far she wasn’t that impressed with either. She studied the screen like it had the answer to life’s most important questions. She frowned. It kind of did
if the question was survival.

  “If we can get over I-10, we could try sixty-one. I don’t think it was ever a freeway, but it does cut through that part of the city more or less directly, at least it does up top. Might go west too much, though.” It wasn’t a route she was terribly familiar with. Across the river might as well be the moon. She hadn’t been to the moon. Crapeau. She didn’t have time to mourn her unrealized bucket list because they hadn’t cleared the feeder band yet. Or they’d moved through one into another one. She’d never have made it this far without Joe on the stick. Zipping around in fair weather using tech did not a real pilot make. She was really just a little better than a taxi-skimmer driver, she decided bitterly. If they survived, she was going to learn how to fly, not just drive. Should she be adding to her bucket list right now?

  Joe was silent for what felt like a long time but probably wasn’t. “I think we must follow this I-10 until we find a break or least a lower profile barrier. Or the wind moderates. I don’t know, of course, but I would not like to risk a higher altitude until we have cleared the feeder band. Or try to fight a tail wind with our fuel reserves so low.”

  Based on their single turn back at the cemetery, and their progress down this fairly short street—yeah, they should look for a break. And pray for a miracle.

  Joe’s gaze turned inward, almost as if he spoke to someone. It was a bit weird and boosted his geek vibes, which of course she liked. Because she was clearly insane. Here she was thinking how cute he looked when they were about a millimeter from dying. Or maybe that was millisecond. Could she be any more shallow? Sadly, the answer to that question was probably a yes. Weren’t people supposed to go deep in near-death situations? See their life pass before their eyes? That hers hadn’t, was that a good thing or further indication of extreme shallowness? Should she add “try to be deeper” to her bucket list?

  “I wonder if there were lower transit lanes when this freeway existed here?” Joe asked.

  Since she was only other person in the skimmer, she considered the question. “Seems likely they’d need them and places to get on and off. It was elevated—my Grand Paw Paw called it the high rise—hence all the piles of debris when they collapsed. We don’t need anything like that up top, so they didn’t replicate that.” Or they had and eliminated them at some point? She tried to visualize this part of the upper city. “It’s possible we could follow along 1-10. Of course—” She decided not to say it, though she couldn’t stop herself thinking it. It might not be as “clear” as a former city street would have been, back in the day. “We’d have to go right sooner than we planned.”