by Jack Vantage
Haltingly, he said, “I—I was on my way to visit my parents in Central Capital 23. I’d finished early in Central Capital 19.” He placed a hand to his forehead, like every memory had flooded his frontal lobe and was too painful to bear. His voice drowned in tears. “I was around ten miles away, traveling on sky-way 12788466, the highest around that area. Everything was going fine. The day was glorious. Then these lights or something started dancing around in the sky. They were beautiful at first, like colourful spirits were swimming in the atmosphere. Then suddenly everything just burst into flames, the entire city all in one go.” He started sobbing.
The presenter’s arm entered the screen, trying to comfort Matt with a hand on shoulder.
“My—my parents,” Matt choked. “My parents were in that.”
That was it. That was all that was needed for the crowd to gel and start demanding answers. Shouts of panic burst from all over. “It’s the sun! Something is happening to the sun!”
Dylan looked up to the sun, where it burned brighter than usual. It was a like it had swollen and its brightness forbid everyone to see the cause.
As more harrowing images of burning cities graced the screen, Fiona’s replied, “I think we’re all with Matt on this.”
Dylan couldn’t believe the moment.
More images splashed across the screen, high-altitude images of residential areas burning in an inferno of anger. The flames reached hundreds of meters upward as they immersed parks, buildings, and people in a furnace of devastation.
More and more shouts sounded around the crowd. “They’re lying to us. They know what’s wrong,” an angry male voice said from somewhere.
“What’s wrong with the sun?” another voice echoed.
The crowd grumbled with betrayal. The mood swung ominous and foreboding.
Dylan decided to leave, to slip away while all attention was on the screen. He walked along the rear of the crowd, their irate whispering growing to a fuelled frenzy, and moved towards the sky-way. He needed a vehicle, a means of transport. He scouted the grid-locked ground-level sky-way.
He spotted a machine of beauty, a sky-mobile built for speed. Its spoiler peeked above the sky-mobile gridlock. The silver rear end angled downward like the wind had crafted it, gleamed like it was polished by air Gods. It angled downward like it was a sprinter awaiting the starter’s orders.
Beside it sat a sky-bus, bright red, video advertising moving along its body, and laden with frustrated passengers who were spilling out and heading in the direction of the news screen.
Dylan looked back. More and more bodies were filling Central Square. People were grouping with intrigue, worry, and escalation. People hopped over the bonnets of stalled sky-mobiles, heading to the screen. The world was gridlocking, the cogs of life grinding to a halt until the problem of the sun vanished.
He neared the sky-mobile and smiled. It was running. The gravity prongs were still active as it floated the air in a quite bobble. He unclicked the door, popping it out slightly, and slid it upward with a soft hiss.
Inside it was dressed in fine glossy fabric as the driver’s seat bucketed beautifully to his body. The wheel controller was laminated a red and black tiger-stripe pattern. Everything accentuated power, ego, and trend. The dash was a collection of glowing dials, the speedometer a soft indigo centre view. Neighbouring the steering wheel, a monitor, in-built with the chromed dash, displayed temperature dials, music output readings, and other buttons that Dylan had never seen before.
“Who are you?” a feisty female voice said from behind.
Startled, Dylan turned.
Behind him was a tanned brown lady in a sophisticated silver dress that moulded her perfect body. She oozed sex appeal with long blonde hair and legs too toned to be real. Her dress cut across her cleavage with a statement that said, you wish. She was too good looking to be of any hindrance to him.
“I’m taking this vehicle,” Dylan said. He turned back to the dash to read the dials and work out its functions. He chose to ignore the beauty.
“Like hell you are,” she said. “When John gets back, he’s going to kick your ass.”
Dylan turned back to her. “Look lady, I’ve been framed for murder, my girlfriend has been kidnapped, and the sun looks like it’s going to explode. So, if you want to stay and join my misery, you’re welcome. I’ve never driven before, and I don’t know what I’m doing, so now’s your chance,” he said hitting a button with a door symbol. The passenger seat slid forward and the door beside her opened with a hiss.
“You little freak. John only bought this a week ago.”
“You have five seconds to get your prim and proper butt out.”
She complied. “Wait until John finds out.”
“If it’s any reassurance, I’ll crash the mobile and you can claim a refund with the accident report,” Dylan said. He needed her out quick.
“You little prick.”
“Nice bod, by the way,” he said, flicking his eye lids upward with a cheeky smile.
Dylan hit the button and sealed the door, then looked at the controls again. The wheel was simple. Pull it towards you and up you went, push it away and down you went, and of course left and right. The power control was right of his body on the chrome panel next to his leg. Push forward for power, back for slowing. He felt one peddle at his feet, the brake.
He composed himself—it couldn’t be as hard the sky-bike—and he pushed the power bar forward a touch. The vehicle jumped and bumped the sky-mobile in front, an old thing, estate like blue.
“Shit,” he cursed himself.
A grouchy and meek looking man with a small moustache perching his lip, got out of the vehicle in front. His body language said it all. He wasn’t big, but his anger enlarged his stance. The man was pissed, and his arms were curved at the side like he was carrying something under them.
Dylan looked at him. “Oh shit. Hurry Dylan.”
“Get out the car, sir,” the man said.
Then bang! went the window next to Dylan’s head.
This time the man was large, gigantic. His arm was as thick as Dylan’s head. John and the shunned beauty were glaring at him.
“Get out my car, you little shit!” John said, pointing his thick finger at him. His short black crew cut revealed a tanned head that was shaped like a block. Veins pulsated like he’d picked up the world’s heaviest weight.
“Is this your car?” the moustachioed man asked the Goliath.
John glanced at him. “He’s trying to steal it.” Then he peered through the window again. “Get out, worm!”
Dylan pulled the wheel towards him and thrust the power. The vehicle angled and pulled away with a thump. What was that thump?
He hadn’t travelled ten feet when he realised he’d hit the moustachioed man, who was dangling off the bumper.
“Oh shit!” Dylan shouted.
He slowed and angled the vehicle downward. The man clung by his hand and appeared in font of Dylan on the bonnet. His face bore a picture of stunned terror.
“Sorry!” Dylan shouted as he lowered the man to ground level. When the man let go, Dylan sped forward, skimming over the gridlocked sky-way.
“Computer?” he asked.
“Please input coordinates to the sky-nav system,” the sultry lady’s voice said.
“Longitude 2344788hgf, latitude 223388mmnbh, declination 6.”
“Route calculated. Trail path enabled.”
The windscreen tinted a deep, transparent orange, and the sky-ways above lit up like a Christmas tree. Their lanes, defined by spherical lights, were like a million LEDs. One was a deep blue, the other a deep red, the other green. Buildings whizzed by, scrolling like someone was rolling a reel, and he flew over a cross-way full of people. Hats and paper scattered either side of him as he passed overhead. Dylan could see the blue trail line below him. He travelled above the ground level sky-way where it ran.
The computerized voice said, “Location suggests you are traveling outside of
the sky-way. Authoritarians have been notified. They are en-route to your location, ETA one minute.”
“Here we go again,” Dylan said.
Ever since he’d picked up the case, his life had changed. Narcotics, drugs, they certainly were as dangerous as he’d been led to believe. It was like a curse haunted his perfect world, holding to him like restraints. Why did he have to take that case?
Lecodia was in their hands. His imagination ran riot again, and he imagined her pain and anguish like he was an empath. He couldn’t bear it. He was falling in love around a situation and environment of extremity. He could see her beauty, her soft shine, and hear her strong voice. It was vivid, like a powerful memory implant. He’d never felt like this before. The care he held for her ran deeper than he could understand. Everything about her—her looks, personality, eyes, legs, mouth, lips—all rushed him at once with ecstasy. If she held a deadly weapon at him threatening to kill him, he’d be unable to retaliate. He would just look into her eyes and fall deeper. His heart warmed like she was holding it, beat like she was willing it, softened like she’d kissed it.
He’d contemplated handing himself in to the Authoritarians, but the risk of losing Lecodia was to great, he needed to get there quick. By the time he’d gotten through to the Authoritarians, the madmen would have already killed her. He saw only saw one goal: save the girl he felt so strongly for. It felt like a part of him had been taken, torn away by the monsters of society. He wanted revenge. He wanted his life back, and he wanted her back.
A loud voice blared from behind through speakers, “Stop the vehicle. You are speeding outside of the sky-way.”
Dylan eyed the mirror. Top right of the windscreen, an Authoritarian mobile bounced along behind, its chunky, square design muscling close. Through the windscreen the skimming sky-way underneath paced along, and the blue trail line arched right around the corner of a building. The building was a white, thick-stoned structure with recessed green windows. The blue trail line arched gradually upward towards a higher sky-way as it curved the building.
His vehicle straightened around the building and faced him toward a miracle of city design. The street reached forever, block after block of high buildings, like a giant gridded domino rack that was mirrored. The sky-ways moved swiftly at each altitude along its length, crossing at block intersections like neural networks of an internal computer delivering power to the city. Enderain, the third moon, stared Dylan from the streets end as it sandwiched between the tall buildings. Its pale, yellow and orange surface was a heated world of swirling methane, like an artist had mixed various shades of orange on his paint pallet. Dylan learnt about it in intake, learnt how the planets gravity tugged and pushed at the small ball, warming the moon like a piece of metal under rub. It cast a hazed orange glow, which softly reflected off the buildings glaze at the streets end, fading as it neared Dylan’s distant position.
Dylan pulled at the wheel and angled the mobile upward at a building. “Oh man. I got a death wish or something,” he said, as he pulled harder on the wheel. He and the mobile were now in a vertical climb. Gravity pulled at his body.
“Turn around, turn around,” the computer ordered as the sirens chased from behind.
Dylan manoeuvred his vehicle level to the nearest building, driving it upward like it was the sky-way. The building was a fabricated glass giant with flush thin beads of chromisan separating each tinted window, floor, and storey. His gravity prongs tore into the building like the mobile was being dragged up the skyscraper.
He looked to his mirror. A trail of carnage showered the Authoritarians with glass and shrapnel. The ground moved rapidly away below. The engine whistled like it was the happiest machine alive.
The sky-mobile was fierce, like a cheetah on the open plain. It sped fast and smoothly, it was as if it had a relationship with the building. He turned the wheel to dodge a large diamond white satellite, and then nipped it back with no loss of control or waver. The building’s damage continued raining on the Authoritarians’ vehicle, sprinkling them with shards in the windscreens mirror as they chased.
Dylan eyed right, where layers of skyways whizzed by, knowing he had to join one before the building ran out. He turned hard right while maintaining his speed and the vehicle turned on a pin head.
The building disappeared from under his feet, and the sky-mobile lost its hold on gravity as he flew sideways off the building. For a second, he thought that was it, he would plummet to his death, but the sky-mobile twisted level with the skyway he’d aimed for, and he speedily joined it. Gravity supported him again like an invisible harness.
“Get out the way!” he shouted. “Get out the way!”
Erratically his speed machine swerved into the sky-way, which was teaming with mobiles. Horns and beeps sounded as he ducked in and out, crossing lanes. He raced along with the Authoritarians hot on his tail, sirens blaring.
The surrounding buildings were enormous. It felt like he’d shrunk to miniature, and the buildings were larger than normal. The sky-way passed each large block, its light spheres marking the way, and stopped at an intersection ahead. Dylan could see the congested jam approaching, could see the traffic lights ahead that floated the air like a buoy would the ocean.
He pulled at the wheel, elevating his mobile upward and over the stationary vehicles that waited for the green light. The four buildings that created the intersection compressed the traffic, reflecting it from their dark glass windows. A few clear glass panes revealed office meetings and corporate events.
The intersection neared, and a stream of mobiles flew across his path from the right at pace. He needed to lose the Authoritarians, so he dipped the front end and quickly dropped his mobile under the moving intersection. He held his breath and prayed he’d make it. He missed a collision by millimetres and pulled back up level with the sky-way on the other side of the intersection.
“How am still alive?”
He checked his mirror and watched the Authoritarians collide hard with two moving vehicles. One was a large square sky-truck, its body solid, stern, and yellow. The other was a small single-person fly-mobile with a clear bubble carriage. A thick chrome ring circled its body horizontally. Dylan had seen them at Intake. The circling ring was its gravity prong. The vehicle was cheap and unsafe, and it obliterated when the Authoritarians hit it side-on. The chrome ring flew free and rolled over other vehicles, like a runaway tyre.
The sky-truck slammed into the Authoritarian vehicle hard. The explosion was loud and fiery, which caused other vehicles to veer from the intersection and crash into the surrounding glass structures. Pandemonium ensued. A sky-biker slammed into a mobile and flipped like a gymnast, body limp and open, twisting hard before another mobile ended him by smashing him. His bike was an explosion of flame.
He continued his drive as two more Authoritarians entered pursuit.
Ahead the sky-way offered a left turn that led into a tunnel carved through one of the tall glass buildings. The windows were clear opaque, and he could see thousands upon thousands of office people at work inside. Routes like this appeared often, giving quicker links to blocks and sky-way connections. Dylan followed the blue sky-lane spheres into the tunnel at a hundred and twenty miles per hour.
He sped up, brushing past the condensed traffic. He looked left and watched a family move by in a large estate-like brown vehicle, the boys on board waving at him. He gave them a wave back as they giggled.
Something hit his mobile. It shuddered.
“Damn,” he said. The Authoritarians had snagged him.
Dylan had seen the technique on the news broadcast. It was highly dangerous and only ever used on the most wanted of criminals. It was essentially a powerful magnet that the Authoritarians shot from their vehicle. He was now connected to them and unable to pull away. The link was a strong flexible metal. He could see it flexing the air behind, a fifty-metre lead. The leash held him like he was a pet dog that could bite.
The tunnel was low, a smoothly built s
hortcut. The walls and ceilings were grey, forming a rounded rectangle. As Dylan sped one way, the opposite sky-lane sped right side, condensed, fast, and busy. White support pillars appeared between both directional lanes, their chunky width randomly whizzing by every so often.
Dylan had to think of something. The Authoritarian engines were better equipped in low gears and power. They would easily overcome his sprinting machine in this tug of war.
He applied more power and the line jerked taut. A flexing, whipping sound echoed in the tunnel. He needed to act fast.
Dylan manoeuvred right and into the fast lane. He sped fast, whiskers from the oncoming traffic and tunnel pillars. Horns sounded as they zipped by. The line swung centre sky-way as the Authoritarians pulled and reeled from the inside first lane.
Dylan was at maximum power. The engine strained like it was pulling something unmovable. It was going to give. His vehicle bumped around as the line nudged innocent vehicles from the sky-way. Then it close-lined a sky-biker. Before he fell to his death, he gripped the line and hung on for dear life. The bike snaked the sky-way and crossed Dylan’s path into the oncoming lanes.
Dylan wanted to close his eyes. The bike, with flame graphics all over its body, charged into the side of a home-mobile, which was a large white and blue moving-apartment that folded over its front cab. Its windows exploded as the bike ploughed through like a bullet. After obliterating the back end of the home-mobile, it u turned and snaked back onto the sky-way in front of Dylan.
Disarray and carnage hit the lanes ahead as the bike triggered swerves and collisions. A black van-transporter flew into the line’s path, clipping it.
Dylan’s vehicle was yanked from the outside lane and into the middle one. His vehicle spun uncontrolled before it straightened and gained control.
The transporter crashed to the floor of the tunnel in a fierce explosion, and the line flexed again. The dangling biker was catapulted from his sight in a tremendous fling, like an arrow would from a bow.