Red Limit Freeway

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."

"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 scanning 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."