Red Limit Freeway

Chapter 18

You would have thought that George (as I came to call him) and Winnie were long-separated lovers. I feigned looking around for a crowbar to pry them apart. We learned that they had not known each other back on Hothouse, hadn't even been neighbors. I guess they were just glad to see a fellow species member. Horny too, probably.

I wasn't surprised to learn that George had maps, and that Yuri and Zoya's expedition had been following them. The cartographical knowledge of the native anthropoids of Epsilon Eridani II was one of the Colonial Authority's most closely guarded secrets. Rather, it had been. Leaks had probably caused the flood of roadmap rumors. George's maps were almost identical to Winnie's, but his journey-poem didn't jibe with hers. Each poem charted an alternative route to the same destination: Red Limit Freeway. Neither of them were of any use to us now.

Almost from the moment of its departure, the Voloshin Expedition had been beset by a series of disasters. Two weeks into the journey, a high-speed head-on collision on the Skyway had killed four out of the nine members who had started out, wiping out two vehicles. Nonetheless, the expedition continued. They had no choice; they were on the never-never side of a potluck portal. Following George's tour guide, they made their way along the Orion arm of the galaxy and were just about to hit a junction of the Galactic Beltway when a misreading of the journey-poem caused them to make a right when they should have done the opposite. Thereafter they wandered blindly, shooting potluck after potluck. A fifth companion died of an unknown viral infection fourteen months into the journey. A sixth was lost when a flash flood had swept through a campsite on an uninhabited planet. George and the Voloshins wearily set out in one vehicle to find a way back home. They traversed maze after maze, encountering every sort of planetary environment and inhabitant. Some races were friendly, some indifferent. A few were openly hostile. They managed to find suitable food, though it was scarce. Despite the catastrophes, the expedition had amassed a great deal of scientific data, and Yuri and Zoya carried on the work. They reported discovering vast mazes of Earthlike planets, all uninhabited. These they observed, recorded, and catalogued. Additionally, data on nonEarthlike planets of interest were dutifully compiled. Zoya, a trained astronomer and astrophysicist, made frequent observations of the local galactic neighborhood, canvassing star population for spectral class and other characteristics. Yuri, a theoretical physicist and expert on the phenomenon of the Skyway and its attendant wonders, took readings on cylinders and noted variations in road structures―bridges, causeways, interchanges, and the like. Doggedly, they kept at it, sometimes going for days without food. In a civilized maze, they could buy suitable protein, synthesized to order―awful stuff if sophisticated flavor additives are unavailable, which they were. In the bush they had to forage for what they could, sometimes nearly poisoning themselves in the process. Serious illness struck the Voloshins several times during the journey, but they survived. Scurvy became a constant problem 'When supplements ran out.

"My gums bleed every time I brush them," Zoya complained. "When I brush them," she added sardonically. "Unfortunately the strains of a long journey can induce neglect of personal hygiene."

"Have another apple, Doctor Voloshin," Sean offered, reaching into the barrel. "Good for what ails ye."

"I've had three, thank you. Save them, by all means!"

Yuri looked around the crammed trailer, admiring the stacks of crates filled with victuals. "You seem to have everything here." He turned to his lifecompanion with a look of rue. "We should have taken one of these. A trailer truck! Why didn't we think of it?"

Her expression was a trifle ironic. "Our ties with the working masses have been stretched rather thin, Yuri. We simply wouldn't have thought of a trailer truck."

Yuri gave a sarcastic grunt, then chuckled. "I suppose not."

"By the way, please call me Zoya. With two Dr. Voloshins about I should think there'd be some confusion."

"Very well, Zoya," Sean said.

I was still staring at her, comparing the face I saw now with the image of a seventeen-year-old Zoya I had retrieved from memory. The comparison was favorable. She had held up well. Antigeronic treatments had halted her at around thirty-eight, maybe forty on a bad day. Perhaps the trials of the expedition had added a few years. There were a few strands of gray in her hair, a few lines of character graced her features―otherwise she was as beautiful as I remembered her to be. Hers was a broad Slavic beauty: brown eyes spaced wide apart, firm straight nose, generous mouth with full plum-colored lips, and a well-defined cleft chin that gave her force of character without coarsening her features. Her eyes were keenly intelligent; this was her most distinguishing attribute. Her gaze was, most of the time, incisive and penetrating, probing levels of meaning around her to find the core of what was significant. The rest was not worthy of attention. There was a sense of humor implicit in her face, the kind expressed in throwaway lines delivered deadpan.

Her figure had held up well, too. She still had great bubnovs.

She grew aware of my gaze and turned to look at me. She smiled. "Do I seem like a ghost?"

"A very good-looking one," I said. "You haven't changed one iota."

The smile broadened, though turning a little abashed. "You're very kind. I must look a fright." She passed a hand through her tangled curls. "Yuri sheared me like a sheep, and then he refused to let me cut his hair."

"I saw what the result would be," Yuri explained. "Besides, mine grows out to a certain length and stops." He stroked his untidy whiskers. "The beard grows like cabbage, though."

"Neither of you looks at all frightful," I said. "You seem to have come through your troubles remarkably well."

"You haven't changed either, Jake," Zoya said. "I remember you as one of the most charming men I've ever met, in your own inimitable, rough-hewn way, and I see the memory is accurate."

"Thank you," I said, "though I must warn you that the years haven't smoothed me around the edges. I've even been known to fart at state dinners."

This drew from the Voloshins far more laughter than the joke was worth, the result of fatigue, no doubt.

"And I remember your sense of humor," Zoya said, sitting down wearily on a crate of pickle jars. She leaned back, giggled a little more, then said, "Oh, it's so good to laugh. It's been so long since there was something to laugh about… people to laugh with." She looked around at everybody. "We're so happy to have found you."

John said, "I'm afraid our situation doesn't have many humorous aspects. Overall, we may be in a worse way than you were, and you may want to reconsider throwing in with us when you learn the whole story."

"I would be very interested to hear your story," Yuri said. "But my first question is… what is that strange vehicle, there?" He pointed to Carl's Chevy.

"That's a tale I'd be interested to hear," I said, casting a sidelong glance at Carl. "What do you say, Carl? Want to spill it now?"

Sharing a wooden crate with Lori and munching a pickled egg, Carl thought it over and said, "Let me work up to it."

"I saw it operate in a vacuum," Yuri said, "so I know it's Skyway-worthy, but it's simply fantastic that it could be, since it doesn't even have…" He threw up his hands. "What am I saying? It's hardly fantastic compared to what it did to the barrier." Yuri turned to Carl. "Wherever did you get this vehicle?"

"I keep telling everybody," Carl said through a mouthful of egg, "but nobody believes me. I got it from some aliens who kidnapped me on Earth and brought me out to the Skyway."

Yuri shook his head. "On Earth, you say? But very few aliens have ever gone to Earth―a few diplomats, a handful of tourists. How could―?"

"They picked me up in a starship," Carl said, and when Yuri looked blankly at him, he shrugged and added, "See?"

Susan interjected, "He forgot to tell you that all of this happened a hundred and fifty years ago."

Noticing Zoya's puzzled stare, Susan laughed and threw out her arms helplessly.

"I see," Zoya said.

"I'm afraid it's not at all clear to us," I said. "I'd like Carl to elaborate at some point, but while he's working up to it I think we should assess our situation. Anybody got any ideas as to what we should do―for now, at least?"

"Maybe we're in a position to bargain with the Roadbugs," Roland said. "After all, we can defend ourselves―at least Carl can―to some extent. And I've seen the offensive weapons on that Chevy." He turned to Carl. "What do you call them? Tansanian Devils?"

"Tasmanian Devils. Just a nickname. Call 'em anything you want."

"Appropriate, in any case. Anyway, perhaps we can negotiate our way out of here."

"That's a thought," I said. "The Roadbugs seemed not to want to harm us, and it did look as though they wanted to talk to us. They even may have tried, but the audio amp wasn't taking a feed from the Roadbug channel at the time―" I thought of something and snapped my fingers. "Sam should have recorded it on ten-second delay, and he would have told us and played it back. He didn't break down until we got into the tunnel." I chewed my lip, trying to remember.

"Maybe the balloons were mucking with the Bugs' communications," Liam suggested.

"Maybe," I answered. "If there was a message from the Bugs, it's been erased. Sam may have been in the process of going haywire right then." I sat down on a metal barrel. "Any other ideas?"

"We could simply sneak about until we find a way out of here," John said.

"We'd get caught again for sure on the surface," Sean countered.

"Very likely," John said dourly.

"That doesn't leave us much choice then," Carl put in. "We either shoot our way out and make a break for the nearest portal, or we give ourselves up."

"I didn't say anything about shooting," John said. "I don't think that would be wise."

"They know we're in here and they'll be looking for us. We may have to tangle with them eventually."

"Well, we've successfully avoided them so far. The place seems empty."

"That may be," I said, "because it's so big. But for once I agree with you, John. The Bugs seem to want something from us. Let's talk with them first before we contemplate any gunplay. We'll always have that method as a last resort."

"Shall we get on the Roadbug channel and put out a call?" Roland asked.

"Not just yet," I answered. "Instead of just munching, why don't we all sit down and eat a good meal. Then we can talk business."

"Aren't we vulnerable like this?" Carl said. "I should be outside in the Chevy standing guard."

I sighed and leaned back against a stack of wooden crates. "Yeah, you should, I guess. But if they wanted to stomp us they would have done it topside. And since we've decided on diplomacy…"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Carl said. "Look, I'm done eating. Why don't I go up into the cab and keep an eye out, just in case?"

"No need," I told him. "I've got the bogey alert on and piped through to the trailer speakers. We'll know when they arrive."

So we quit munching and broke out the heavy-duty foodstuffs: smoked ham, bread from hotpaks, cheese, pickles, crackers, more not-so-fresh fruit (the apples we're getting bruised and pulpy by that time), and peanut-butter cookies for desert. They'd been kept in the freezer.

"These are good," I said. "Homemade?"

"Liam is a master pastry chef," Sean said.

Zoya had eaten lightly, saying she didn't want to overstretch her stomach, but Yuri had dug in, ignoring Zoya's warnings, and now looked as though he were paying the price.

Yuri massaged his midsection, smiling queasily. "A little too much too fast. Again, I should have listened, Zoya."

"Strange that you never seem to learn," Zoya replied stiffly.

"I said I was sorry," Yuri snapped back. "I was hungry."

"You were perfectly aware of the consequences, yet you went ahead anyway. It's behavior I can't fathom."

"Hunger, my dear," Yuri retorted, "is hardly difficult to comprehend. If you can't fathom it, as you say, you had best refrain from making judgments on human behavior in general, and on the behavior of this human in particular." He crumpled an empty hotpak and stared at it moodily.

After an uncomfortable silence, Zoya sighed.

"I must apologize for both of us," she said. "The strains of the journey…" She looked at me. "Please understand."

"It's completely understandable, Zoya," I said, "and you don't have to apologize. We've been biting each others' heads off lately and we haven't had half the trouble you've had."

"Thank you, Jake. Still, we should not have quarreled in public."

"Think of us as family, Zoya. For better or worse, all we have is each other. It's better to get these things out in the open. We don't want to let resentments fester."

I finished off my bottle of S & L and set it aside. "I'd rather ride with a truckload of brawlers than a bunch of smoldering volcanos. Besides, when the fists fly, it's kind of fun to watch."

Both Darla and Susan reddened slightly.

John recited,

"I was angry with my friend,

I told my wrath, my wrath did end;

I was angry with my foe,

I told it not, my wrath did grow."

"Blake, I think," he said, smiling, "though you might amend that second line to read, 'I punched him up, my wrath did end.' "

"Or," Roland said, "'I kicked his arse, and that was the end. ' "

This drew a laugh from everybody and generally eased the mood.

In a rich dramatic tone, Sean recited:

"And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium."

"Yeats," he said, cracking open another bottle of beer.

John regarded him sardonically. "Was that apropos of anything in particular?"

"No," Sean answered, "but when someone starts quoting bloody English poets I feel the urge to reassert my ethnic heritage."

"Some animosities never die," Roland said.

"Surely you don't disapprove of William Blake," John said to Sean.

"Of course not. But we Irish never forget."

"Not even since the Reunification?" Roland asked.

"Fat lot of good the Reunification does us out here. I'll never walk the streets of Derry again,"

"Why did you emigrate?"

"Why does any Irishman leave the Old Sod? To get a bleeding job."

I said, "Maybe that line about Byzantium is apropos. This place isn't exactly my idea of a holy city, but it's some kind of big deal, and we've come a long way to get here."

"The Holy City of the Roadbugs," Sean intoned. "A veritable buggy Mecca, and here we are stranded, infidels to a man. Bloody dangerous spot to be in."

"That may be," I said, "but I'm inclined to doubt it. I don't think for a moment that we're completely safe here, but it seems to me that there's only one way to wind up on the wrong side of a Roadbug, and that's to break a rule of the road. As far as we know, we didn't do that."

"We did a bit of vandalism, didn't we?" Liam put in.

"And there were witnesses," John added.

"Good point. But since no one up to this point has ever been able to do damage to a Roadbuilder artifact, vandalism may not be against the law. Understand? In other words, the Bugs aren't programmed to deal with it."

"But can we be sure of that?" Sean asked. "And can we be sure that someone at some point didn't manage to blow a portal to smithereens?"

"Yuri's our newly resident Skyway expert," Susan pointed out.

Yuri thought a moment, then said, "So far as I know, Jake is right. Any damage we encountered was due to geological forces… damage to the roadway, that is. I can't imagine what would damage a portal."

"But geological forces don't really destroy the road," I argued. "Do they? I mean, they just sometimes make the road impassable."

"True. Now, I have heard of stretches of Skyway where the portal is missing."

"We've run into that," I said. "A planet named Splash in the Consolidated Outworlds."

"I'd be very interested in visiting it someday."

"If you ever do, don't go near the water."

"A low-landmass planet?"

"Yeah. Parts of the Skyway are submerged, and one spur, I was told, is a dead end. No portal."

"Is the spur submerged?"

"I believe so."

"I see. Very interesting indeed."

"Very," I said. "The seas rose, and… What happened? Did the portal short out? Explode?"

"Well, if the machinery that suspends the cylinders were to fail…" Yuri smiled and chuckled. "Well, according to conventional thinking, the cylinders would drop and burrow themselves to the center of the planet, where they would do some very nasty things."

"Scratch one planet," I said.

"Eh? Yes, absolutely. But I have my own theories on what would happen."

"I'd love to hear them, maybe later. But to get back on the main track, let me ask you this: Can the roadbed be damaged, or is it impervious to any known force? Everyone knows the road surface doesn't seem ever to wear."

"Not impervious," Yuri said. "There have been some experiments…"

"Results classified, I suppose," Susan said.

Yuri grunted. "Of course. I have seen them, however, and I somehow don't feel constrained to maintain security, under the circumstances. A small fusion device could do considerable damage to a Skyway roadbed."

"Then vandalism is possible," John said.

"Nonsense," Susan scoffed. "Who'd do it, and for what reason?"

"You have a point, Susan," John said.

"I rest my case," I said, "if you can call it that. Which brings us back to what Carl's Green Balloon did to the barrier."

We all turned to face Carl. Lori was asleep in his arms, resting her head on his chest.

Carl grinned. "Lori's last comment was, 'These people sure talk a lot.' "

"Let's talk a little more," I said. "Carl, who built your car?"

"I don't know."

"You don't? But you said―"

"I never saw them. They never showed themselves to me, never told me who they were or why they were doing what they were doing to me… which was to abduct me―kidnap me, dig?" Carl's jaw muscles tensed. "Y'understand what that means? Have you ever been kidnapped, taken against your will? Do you know what it's like to be so scared…" He stopped and lowered his head, nestling his face in Lori's short blond hair. Lori stirred but didn't awake.

"Yes, Carl," I said gently, "I do know what it's like."

Carl raised his head and looked sheepish. "You're right. You do, don't you? I completely forgot. Sorry."

"It's okay. Go ahead, Carl."

"It's hard."

"I know, but it could help. Us as well as you."

I got off the metal canister and sat on the floor, stretching my legs and crossing them, propping my back against a crate of freshwater jugs.

"You said something before about a flying saucer. Did you mean an alien spaceship?"

"I guess that's what it was," Carl answered. "It was night, and I couldn't really see it. All I really remember is this huge thing in the sky blotting out the stars, coming down on us."

"You weren't alone?"

"No. My girlfriend and I were out in my car… up on Mulholland. You know, messing around."

"Uh-huh."

He threw his head back and gave a sudden forced laugh. "God, it was like right out of some monster flick. Teenage couple necking, and this slimy thing comes creeping out of the darkness. The girl screams." After a short bout of giggling he shook his head back and forth. "Jesus, Jesus, it was weird. So weird."

"You said you could see the ship's outline against the sky. Was it saucer-shaped?"

"Nah. It was irregular, and it was big. Had this really complex structure. I couldn't describe it."

"It didn't have any running lights, markings, anything like that"

"Nope. It was just this huge dark shape. The part of it that got near the car was this big rounded thing that opened up to look like the neck of a soda bottle. That's what sucked us up."

"Your girlfriend was abducted with you?"

He shook his head sharply. "Nah. She―" He sighed. "They didn't take her. I mean―" He leaned his head back against the bulkhead and gazed upward. "I pushed her out of the car. I think I might have killed her in doing it. Hard to explain exactly what happened. I guess I'll never really know if she made it."

"Sounds like you tried to do the right thing," I said.

"Maybe," he said dully.

"Was there any sound? Did the ship make a noise?"

"That was the weirdest part. It all happened in complete silence, except for Debbie's screaming." His face contorted with the pain of the memory. "God, I'll never forget her screaming. Never."

I paused before I continued probing. "Now, you said you were in your car."

"Yeah, my Chevy got sucked up with me in it."

"That Chevy?" I asked, pointing to the burgundy-colored oddity parked between the stacks of supplies.

"No, the original from which this copy was made." He shrugged. "I think. This thing looks exactly the same, down to the little nicks and scratches in the paint. But it can't be the same car I was driving that night. Right? So…"

"I doubt it," I said. "Okay, now, you're inside the ship."

Carl drew his lips together, pursing them into a thin line.

"What's the matter?" I said.

"I don't want to talk about it any more."

"Why, Carl"

"Because I'll go crazy if I do."

"It was bad?"

He considered it a while before he answered, "Not bad physically. They didn't do anything to me. But inside the ship, it was… I dunno, strange. I was disoriented. Scared. I couldn't figure out what was going on."

"That's not surprising," I said. "Did they communicate with you at all?"

"Yeah, they talked to me. Somebody did. Some guy. I never saw him. I'll never forget his voice, though."

We were all surprised. "The voice was human?" I asked.

"Yeah. He had kind of an accent. English, maybe. A little like the way John talks―but not exactly. Actually, he sounded like a fag."

" 'Fag'?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I mean… you know, a homo. Er, homosexual."

"Oh."

"Hell, I don't know. He just sounded strange." Carl looked at John. "Sorry, John. I didn't mean to imply that you were strange or anything."

"Quite all right," John said affably.

"Okay," I said, "so this guy was talking to you. What did he say?"

"Not too damn much that made sense. He didn't say much except that I shouldn't get upset and that everything would be all right and that they weren't going to hurt me in any way. I remember I was pretty hysterical at first. I mean, I thought Debbie was dead. They told me she wasn't, but I didn't believe them. I still more or less don't."

I nodded, waiting for him to go on.

Presently, he did: "I guess I can talk about it to a degree. But I don't want to go into what went on in the ship. It was like a dream. I have trouble remembering most of it. Next thing I knew… I mean, when things got a little clearer and it wasn't like a dream anymore, I was driving my car down this strange road… and I saw a portal for the first time. But I knew what it was! Boy, it was weird. I'd never seen one in my life, but I knew exactly what it was and what I should do. Stay in the guide lane, maintain constant speed, all that stuff. And I knew where I was―out in space somewhere. I didn't find out when I was until later." Carl took a deep breath and looked down at Lori's face. He smiled. "She looks like Debbie. A little bit anyway."

"Maybe Lori would like to hear this," I said.

"I've told her a little of what I've told you." He looked up and grinned. "For some reason it was easier to talk to her."

Lori's eyes fluttered and opened; then she sat up suddenly and said, "Huh?" She looked around at everybody, frowned disapprovingly, and yawned. "You people still jawing?" she said huskily.

"I was telling them about, you know, the crazy stuff that happened to me, about how I got out here and all that," Carl told her.

"Oh, that." She looked at us. "I think he's fibbing."

"You should try out the whole story on Lori first," I said, "then spill it to us. If she believes you, you know we will."

"Oh, I was only kidding," Lori said, snaking a possessive arm about Carl's neck. "I don't really think you're lying, Carl. It's just that it's so hard to believe."

Carl nodded. "Sometimes I think I'm dreaming this all up."

Lori yawned again, then complained, "I'm tired."

"So are we all," John said. "Perhaps we should turn in."

"I'm for that," Roland seconded.

So we did; rather everybody did but me, after we had stowed all the comestibles back into their, pressurized packing crates and had generally cleaned up. We also had to work Zoya and Yuri into the sleeping arrangements, split up the bedding and such, but we got it all squared away, and I took Susan forward with me, tucking her into the bunk in the aft cabin. I would take first watch, she the second.

I went out to the cab, slid the shotgun seat over in front of the keyboard console, and sat down to have a good look at what was going on with Sam. I had run a cursory check before the Voloshins had boarded, making sure the life-support monitors were working. Everything had seemed okay. Rechecking now, I found all systems functioning normally. I coded some diagnostic programs and went into main memory to see what was up, though I had a strong hunch what had happened. More than a hunch. Entity X had come out from hiding and had done his dirty work, that much was clear. I just wanted to know exactly what dirt had been done. Sam's Vlathusian Entelechy Matrix, that semimysterious thumb-sized Read-Only Memory component which was the seat of Sam's intellect and personality, had been completely bypassed. The phantom Artificial Intelligence program was in complete control. Hunched over the keyboard for two migraine-provoking hours, I tried and tried to alter that situation.

And failed miserably. There was little I could do but shut down the CPU―but you can't run and monitor a nuclear fusion truck engine without a computer, at least not very well.

Entity X was calling the shots.

I folded up the console, slid the seat back, sat down on it, and put my feet on the dash.

"Okay," I said, addressing the unseen malevolence that hung in the cab like a bad odor, "who are you and what do you want?"

"What have you got, Jake?" Corey Wilkes said.