by Rob Buckman
“Please insert your credit stick in the slot.” The cab’s computer accepted his credit stick and took off. “As a visitor to London, would you like a tour…”
“No!” Both said at once. The electric cab cruised out of the terminal and onto the motorway and picked up speed before transferring to the twin mag-lift rails.
They sat back to enjoy the two and a half hour trip to London and enjoyed the farms and fields rushing by once they’d exited the city. Here and there they passed houses, or small villages, once or twice a town. On the elevated mag rail, to Mike’s eye, the sun-dappled English countryside gliding by reminded him of a John Constable painting: pastoral, and idyllic. A place of peace and tranquility, where none of the trials and tribulation of the real world ever intruded. A place where childhood dreams went on forever, the stolen apples always ripe and juicy, the sun and wind always soft and warm on your skin, the golden wheat fields a symphony of motion under the gentle hand of a passing breeze. Twenty minutes later, Jenks opened his eye and looked at his captain, seeing him relaxing back with his eyes closed. Jenks eyed the speedometer, a puzzled frown scrunching up his face. Something wasn’t right.
“Skipper?”
“What’s up, Jenks.” Mike asked, sleepily.
“I hate to say this, but this cab is going a little fast.”
“It’s supposed to.” Mike yawned.
“Yeah, but not 125 miles an hour!” Mike instantly sat up and looked at the minimal instrument panel. “Last I heard the top speed was about 100 miles an hour.”
“Now that you mention it, we do seem to be traveling a tad fast.” Mike felt his stomach tighten as the cab rocketed around a long curve, leaning over like a roller coaster, the speed indicator reading 125 MPH.
The mag-lift rail stretched out ahead of them into the distance, banking and curving here and there, but relatively straight as it looped across the open countryside. This section was about sixty feet up on ‘A’ frame pylons so even if they could get the door open jumping out wasn’t an option. Mike took a quick look behind only to discover they had an additional problem. Besides another robo-cab behind them about a quarter mile back, there was another car about the same distance under slung on the maintenance rail and moving closer. Only the maintenance crew had access to one of those, and the line was usually closed to other traffic for safety reasons while they did maintenance or repair work on the rail. There was no reason for one of them to be on the rail while it was in service.
“I think we’ve got problems, Jenks,” he muttered as he reached for his weapons. Jenks took a quick look and did the same.
“So, we shoot out the control panel, Skipper?”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now.” Mike murmured, seeing the maintenance car catch up and go underneath them. At the speed it was going it should have appeared in front of them very quickly if it was just a maintenance run, it didn’t and stayed out of sight beneath them.
“Shit!” Mike stood, bent over, and pressed his back against the side window, motioning Jenks to do the same.
“What’s their plan, Sarge?” Jenks pressed his back against the side window, a worried look on his face. They were trapped, and he didn’t like the feeling. His instinct said to blow the shit out of the instrument panel, but for some reason Mike had nixed that idea.
“This has me puzzled, my old son. The cab’s going too fast and I suspect we have nasty guys underneath us…” As he spoke, several high-velocity needle rounds punched their way through the floor, the bench seat and roof of the cab with an explosive crack. As they both had their backs pressed against the side windows, the rounds missed. “…Okay, so the first part of the plan is to kill us.”
“Oh, I think I got that part of the plan, Skipper. Then they crash us into something hard like the steel buffers at the end of the track to destroy the evidence?”
“Could be, but the cab comes off the mag-lift rail before that.”
“Wait… if I remember Sar… sorry, Skipper,” Jenks grinned sheepishly for a moment. Old habits die hard, “The line dips at the end where the cab slows and goes back on its wheels.”
“So, we hit the last downturn at what,” Mike looked at the instrument panel, “better than 200 miles an hour, and then what?” Jenks blinked and searched his brain to think what was at the end.
“Oh yeah. Above the mag-lift station is the fusion plant, transformer, and sub-station for the line.”
“Oh nice. We go…” Mike pushed himself back and moved his feet as several more needle rounds punched up through the floor, “…as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. We go out in a blaze of glory as we take out the sub-station and maybe the fusion reactor as well.” Nice plan, if it works.” Even the people in the cab behind them wouldn’t know there was anything wrong. Mike pointed his service blaster down at the floor.
“On my mark, fire.” He started timing the pylons as they shot by. “Mark!” They both fired at once for a split second, and the floor of the cab disintegrated. “Shit!” It hadn’t killed the would-be assassins, only revealed their position.
“Alternate fire plan, you shoot for the car hanger, and I’ll shoot at the bad guys.”
“Oh, yes, just like old times.” Jenks laughed, and started blasting away at the hanger strut that held the maintenance cab to the rail, while Mike took pot shots at the shooters. “The only thing missing is Taffy moaning and groaning about something.”
By now, what with the robo-cab and the larger maintenance car traveling so fast, their shooting was a hit or miss situation as he couldn’t get a clear shot through the hole they’d blown through the floor with the pylons flicking by. The bad guys also had a lot more space and places to take cover in the larger car below them. At least it made them keep their heads down, but it was taking too long for Jenks to cut though the steel strut.
“Damn it! Shoot around the junction point between the strut and the car roof.”
They did, gradually stitching holes all the way round. When the car let go and crashed into the cross beam of the pylon, it happened so fast they almost missed it. Both looked out the rear window in time to see flames and smoke billowing out and up between the rails when the car hit the ‘A’ frame and exploded.
“Well, so much for that. What now?” Jenks asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.
“I don’t know… maybe.”
“Come on, Skipper, we don’t have much time left for maybe.”
“Quit being a nag. I’m thinking.” He growled.
“Nag, me? Now would I do that to my old mate, no sir, you must be confusing me with that dozy Welshman, but even so you’d bloody well better hurry up is all I can say.” Jenks looked way down the line imagining, more than seeing, the end of the line in more ways than one.
Mike leaned into the front of the cab and hit the emergency stop button, but, as he suspected, nothing happened. Next he tried the emergency phone then his comm unit. Of course, the phone was dead and he couldn’t get any signal on his comm unit. Whoever had set this up had thought of everything, but the question was, was it directed at him specifically or just anyone from Avalon? If someone could make it look like a terrorist attack perpetrated by Avalon, that might just be the tipping point in shifting the public’s off-tilt attitude towards Avalon and its people. So what to do now? The mag-lift cab didn’t have any motor to shoot out just the AG mag-lift plates at each corner. These in turn were powered by an electronic pulse the pulled and pushed the cab along each discrete section of rails. So where did the power for the pulse unit and the computer control come from? Mike stripped off his overcoat and got down on his knees.
“Hold onto my belt.” Jenks did, wrapping one arm around the safety cross bar, and the back of Mike’s pants, belt and all.
Mike carefully bent the edge of the blast hole down so as not to cut himself to bits as he lowered his upper body through the hole. That made Jenks raise an eyebrow, never realizing until now just how strong his friend was. A normal man wouldn’t be
able to bend quarter-inch aluminum plate like it was made of paper. Immediately, as Mike stuck his head out the one hundred and fifty mile an hour wind hit him like a living force trying to pull him all the way out of the cab. He looked through watery, slit eyes, and tried to make heads or tails out of the electrical conduits running between the ‘A’ frame pylons. Each ‘A’ frame had a cross bar on top of the A with the mag-lift rail attached to each end. In the split second each pylon whipped by Mike could make out a group of conduits running from the rail along the crossbar and then down the ‘A’ frame. Just shorting out the one they were about to pass wouldn’t do any good. By the time it lost power they’d already be past and onto the next discrete section of pull/push rail. Mike knew he’d have to shoot ahead and take out section after section ahead of them until they came to a stop if it was even possible. All without blowing the rail itself away in the process. Pulling himself back into the cab, Mike wiped his streaming eyes as he explained the situation to Jenks.
“Skipper. I hate to say it, but you’re daft! There no way you, or I, are going to hang upside down in a…” Jenks glanced at the speedometer, “…one hundred and seventy-five mile an hour wind and shoot out flipping conduits!”
“If you have a better idea, Corporal Jenks, I’d bloody well like to hear it!” Mike snapped. In answer, Jenks tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. Mike suddenly realized that he wasn’t the smartest man in the room. Running alongside the mag-lift rail was the main electrical power line with transformers every few miles. They sat on a short extension to the upper cross beam on top of the A frame.
“Oh… right. Now if only we had a Marine sniper…: Mike stopped talking and looked around, hearing the familiar sound of a rifle being assembled. He cocked an eyebrow at Jenks, who looked at him and shrugged.
“What? He demanded, “you think I’m going anywhere without adequate firepower?”
“It’s no wonder the immigration officer crapped his pants if that frigging monster came up on his screen.” Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, thankful he hadn’t known what Jenks was carrying.
“Well, with all the goings on around 'ere right now. I for one am not taking any chances.” Jenks sniffed.
“Jenks, we are supposed to be sneaking into London all nice and quiet like not storming the bloody Tower of London…”
“Give me a keyhole to shoot through will you…” Jenks punctuated Mike’s diatribe by blowing a four inch hole in the corner of the front thermoplastic windscreen.
“…and another thing…” where the hell did you get that cannon from?”
“My dear old Mum sent it to me for Christmas.”
“Right, Christmas,” he snorted, “and I suppose you put up a Hanukah bush in the living room and decorate it with matzo balls and Hanukah lights?”
“Lord love a duck, no. What would the Rabbi say?” Jenks shot back in mock outrage. “And, might I remind you that I am a qualified sniper?”
Trust Jenks to sweet talk someone on the Orion Dawn to letting him borrow the sniper rifle. As he spoke, Mike carefully worked around the hole in the floor so Jenks could rest the tripod on the small dashboard and poke the barrel through the hole in the windscreen. Even so there wasn’t much room to maneuver around the hole in the floor, and the one hundred and eighty mile an hour wind didn’t help as the increased air pressure in the cab made their ears pop. The cab was gradually picking up speed suggesting they were nearing the end of the line. To make matters worse they quickly entered the outskirts of London seeing houses, streets, cars, people, buses and trucks flash by. Mike watched Jenks close his eyes for a moment emptying his mind of those distractions. He only had to hit three, maybe four, transformers ahead of the cab to kill the power and bring it to a halt.
Jenks in the meantime eyed his electronic scope and calculated how long before they reached the end of the line. As much as he wanted to, Mike kept his mouth shut seeing Jenks settle down and concentrate on taking the shot. Either he could do it or they were both dead. Mike jumped as the blaster shot rang out, normally soft, but loud in the confines of the cab. Ahead he saw a bright blue and white flash as the transformer blew, and without a pull/push on that section the cab noticeably slowed. Jenks missed the next shot hitting the side of a house instead. The cab picked up speed again throwing off his aim. Ahead, the cab rounded a long right handed curved section, and looking ahead, Jenks saw his chance. He fired four times in quick succession as each transformer came into view, all backed by a solid brick wall of the old railway embankment. The cab hit the dead sections and slowed rapidly, but just to make sure he took out three more with one miss. Just as they hit the last dead section the rail it straightened and they could see the end of the line and the terminal. As Jenks had said the mag-rail took a steep downturn before ending two hundred yards further dipping into the ground so the surface wheels could take over the last part of the journey. The shooting hadn’t gone unnoticed, and even as the car slowed for the final drive into the station they were surrounded by armed men, APC’s, and hovering police ’copters. Jenks didn’t wait, but quickly stripped down the sniper rifle and packed it away.
“Let’s hope your diplomatic immunity holds up now.” Jenks muttered.
“Oh, yea of little faith.” Mike answered, pulling his suit jacket straight and shrugging on his overcoat. Jenks just snorted in answer.
“Go tell that to my Rabbi.”
“The passengers will exit the cab with their hands raised!” A gravelly voice boomed out over a loud speaker. “Any resistance will be met with lethal force!” As the cab came to a gentle halt the door slid open and the computer came back to life.
“Due to damage, this unit is unable to transport you to the Free Traders Guild Hall. Please transfer to another cab for the last part of your journey. Welcome to London and enjoy your stay.”
“Leave the bags for the moment, Jenks. I’ll have the cops deliver them,” he laughed.
Ducking out the door with his hands raised he immediately stood to one side so Jenks could exit and the police could see him all the time. No sense in taking chances at this point. The moment Jenks cleared the door and stood up straight, the combat equipped police SWAT squad closed in with lots of shouting orders for them to get on their knees, and now, now, now being shouted at them. Reluctantly, they complied as the alternative was getting stunned or shot if they didn’t. Once they had them hog tied, in the kneeling position they were searched and stripped of weapons. The police searched the cab, dragging out their bags, searching them and discovering the additional weapons.
“What do we have, Sergeant?” The Captain asked as he walked up.
“From the look of it a couple of terrorists, sir.”
“What’s your name?” The Captain shot at Mike.
“Tregallion. Please check my I.D. before you go any further, Captain.”
“And why should I bother checking your I.D. It’s probably forged. Besides, that will be done at the station after you have been charged and booked.” He snapped.
“You might save yourself and your men a whole lot of embarrassment by doing it now, Captain. Inside coat pocket.” Angrily, the Captain jerked his jacket open and reached into the top pocket to pull his I.D. chip out. Jenks looked on in interest, wondering what was going to happen next.
* * * * * *
Captain Harrison thrust the identity chip into his reader and waited for it to scan and verify the identity of the terrorist. He held his wrist unit out so it could scan the suspect’s face. It beeped and he glanced at the screen. He then did a double take as what he was seeing couldn’t be right. With a soft growl of frustration, he punched the number displayed on the screen in bright flashing letters.
“Yes?” A soft, Avalon accented female asked. Her perfect face filled the small screen of his wrist unit.
“This is Captain Harrison of the London Metropolitan Police. Can you authenticate this I.D. and that of the person holding it?”
“Yes, I can, Captain. Would you
be so kind as to hold your mobile unit camera where I can scan the person's face?” Harrison did, hoping the I.D. was a forgery, but he’d been told that was impossible with an Avalon ident chip.
“Yes, Captain, the identity chip you are holding is authentic, and the person I just scanned is the person to whom the chip was issued. One, Max Tregallion, ambassador at large from Avalon.”
“Well, would you mind telling me why the hell he and his companion are loaded down with… well, illegal weapons, and shooting up the mag-lift car and rail line?” A slight frown marred the woman’s perfect face.
“As you well know, Captain Harrison, neither I, nor the government of Avalon, can comment nor offer any explanation for any action taken by the diplomatic staff and especially Mr. Tregallion. All have diplomatic immunity, guaranteed by your Government, and the Crown.” Captain Harrison blinked. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.
“But… but… We can’t have people like you going around shooting up… Diplomatic immunity doesn’t cover…” He spluttered, but he knew it did.
“Did you just say, people like me?” The woman’s voice suddenly got hard, her expression one of anger.
“I beg your pardon. A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was, we can’t have citizens of a foreign country… world, running around shooting up the countryside with illegal weapons as they please!”
“Have you ascertained the reason why Mr. Tregallion thought it necessary to take such drastic action?”
“Well…um… no, not yet.”
“Then I strongly suggest you do and let him and his companion proceed on their way. You can, of course, lodge an official complaint with the ambassador after you have found the reason for his actions.” With that, the screen went dark.
“Arrogant bitch!” Harrison muttered as he walked back to the kneeling pair.
“Remove the restraints, Sergeant.”
“What!... I mean… are you sure, Captain?”
“They are diplomats from Avalon.”