Red Limit Freeway

Chapter 2

We got through.

The ailing roller was still intact, but the flashing red warning stayed on. I shut off the holo array. Then I lowered our speed to 50 km/hr, took my crash helmet down from the rack behind the seat and put it on. I rarely wear it, though I should. The bulky thing is more than a safety helmet; it has submicron chips in it for just about everything-CPUs, communications, short-range scanning, even encephalo-teleoperator circuitry, though I never did buy the rest of the hookup. I prefer to operate machinery hands-on. The thought of just sitting there, steering the rig on a whim and an alpha wave makes me a little nervous.

We had arrived on a world that didn't look much like Winnie's jungle home, and I was beginning to think that her Itinerary Poem contained some misinformation, until the Skyway plunged from the high plateau we were on into a series of hairpin turns, winding its way down a range of heavily forested mountains. I worried about the roller all the way, taking the curves at a crawl, not wanting to juice up the traction to high grab and aggravate the condition of the bad one. At full charge and maximum traction, I could have roared down there at 80 km/hr, had I a wild hair up my fundamental aperture.

The forestation was luxuriant, but not tropical. The trees looked vaguely Earthlike from a distance, but the foliage was radically different, and the colors varied from deep turquoise to brilliant aquamarine, with lots of stray pinks and reds mixed in. The effect on the eyes was slightly disturbing, colors shimmering and shifting as the retinal cells vacillated over what wavelengths to take first.

I didn't have much time to look. The curves were getting dicey, and I bad my hands full. Everyone else gaped out the ports, marveling at the strange palette of colors.

I did notice that the trees were enormous, with thick straight trunks shooting up as high as a hundred meters.

"Great logging country," Sam said.

"I hope there are loggers," Susan said," and I hope they have restaurants to eat in, with clean restrooms, and I hope the food is good, and I hope there's a place to stay with nice big beds, and―" She broke off and sighed. "Don't mind me."

"We could all do with a break, Suzie," John commiserated.

Lori yelled something from the back.

"What was that, Lorelei?" John called.

"I said I have to piss so bad my back teeth are swimmin'!"

"Hey, Carl―" I began, then realized something. "Hey! What the hell is your last name, anyway?"

"Chapin."

"Oh. Why. don't you let Lori up and let her use the… oh, hell. Suzie'?"

Suzie started to unstrap. "Sure."

I slowed down almost to a stop while Susan went back to make sure Lori didn't re-bang her head on the way to the john. Chapin came up front, as there was no privacy back there.

He had joined our group rather recently; lastnight, in fact. Since that time he'd kept pretty much to himself, when not keeping an eye on Lori. I didn't know if anyone really knew who he was, or why he was with us. For that matter, I was not completely straight on the facts myself.

The trip across Splash had taken most of the day, and the trek across Snowball and Nothing-to-See had eaten up the rest of it. Everyone had been trying to get some sleep, and there had been little conversation. What there had been, Carl had not participated in beyond pleasantries, except when cussing out Lori.

"About time you were formally introduced to everyone, Carl. Don't you think? Have you met everyone?"

"I remember you from somewhere," he said to me wryly.

I smiled. "And I seem to have a distinct recollection of stealing your buggy."

"Oh, my God, that car," John remembered, slapping his forehead and rolling his eyes. "Where in the name of all that's unholy did you get that thing?"

"That's John Sukuma-Tayler," I said. "John, meet Carl Chapin."

"Hello. A little belated, but nice to meet you."

"Don't get up. Nice to meet you, too, John. And… it's a little late, but thanks for the help last night."

"You're very welcome. But Roland, here, was responsible for engineering it."

Roland unstrapped, got up, and took Chapin's hand. "Roland Yee. It's a pleasure. Where the hell did you get that car?"

Chapin laughed. "I get asked that a lot. I bought it from a custom vehicle manufacturer."

"Alien, I suppose."

"Yeah."

"Who?" Roland asked pointedly.

"Well…"

"The technology was fantastic. You couldn't have gotten it from any known race on the Skyway." Roland's tone was a trifle accusing.

"Roland," John interjected, "I think you're being a bit―"

"I'm sorry," Roland was quick to go on. "It's just that our whole experience with your vehicle was… well, disconcerting to say the least."

John nodded. "To say the very least."

"I can imagine," Chapin said, "but you shouldn't go around stealing things that don't belong to you."

"I stole it, Carl," I said. "They were kidnapped."

Chapin winced, a bit embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry."

"Natural enough mistake," John said good-naturedly. "You couldn't possibly have known."

I had pulled off toward the side of the road and had stopped, waiting for Lori to get squared away and for everyone to decide to continue the chitchat sitting down and strapped in. Finally, everyone did. We were short a seat and harness for Chapin, but he wedged himself in behind my seat, squatted on a tool box, and hung onto a handgrip. Suzie even managed to persuade Lori to bed down again. Lori didn't protest this time, not much anyway.

Something occurred to me. "Where's Winnie?" I hadn't seen her in hours. I yelled for her.

We heard the sauna stall door open. Winnie came into the cab, rubbing her eyes scratching her furred tummy, and giving us all a grimace-smile. "Here! Winnie here!"

"This is Winnie" I said to Chapin, twisting around to him.

"Winnie, Carl."

"Hi Winnie."

"Hi!"

Chapin held out his hand and Winnie took it, her double thumbed grip enfolding it warmly.

"Where are you from, Winnie?" Chapin asked her.

"Winnie extended an arm aft making a far-off motion. "Way back!"

Everyone laughed. We had all come a long way.

Winnie sat in Darla's lap, but when she saw that Darla would have some difficulty bearing up under the weight, she jumped over to John's, hugging him. Winnie's compactness was deceptive; she had a good deal of bulk on her.

"You've met Carl, then?" John asked Darla.

"Yes we talked last night, But I didn't get much out of him" She smiled at Carl.

"Neither did I," Susan said, strapping in.

"I notice he made a point to meet the women," I commented.

"Don't mean to be so secretive," Carl said. But he left it at that…

"Here we go," I announced. I goosed the engine and eased the rig forward down the steep incline.

Traffic whizzed by, two roadsters hot-rodding through the curves, braying annoyance at the big lumbering rig in their way. A little farther down, the curves got easier to handle, and I got a chance to look at the scenery. The sky was dark with a thick covering of greenish purple clouds. Here and there, big winged creatures soared just above tree level alighting now and then on lofty branches. No other large lifeforms in sight.

It was all very pretty and very alien. The road bottomed out and went straight following a long tree-lined corridor. Between the massive black tree trunks, undergrowth grew thickly even in the dim light. And a few lines came to me

If road yarns contained any truth, I had light-years to go.

For some unfathomable reason, I had become the protagonist of the wildest Skyway story yet. I knew only the outline of it; no one had related it in detail. It was the tale of a man, yours truly, who followed the Skyway clear out to the end. And came back. But in doing so, I returned paradoxically before I left.

There was more to it. I had come into possession of an alien artifact, the Roadmap, which delineated clearly and for all time the extent of the Skyway system and revealed a path leading to the lost civilization of the Roadbuilders and the secrets of their phenomenal technology.

And where did the Skyway lead, if followed out all the way to the "end"? ―As if an 'interconnected road system could have such. It led, so the stories said, to the beginning of the universe. Not to the end, mind you, in either sense―not the physical limit of the universe, or its final destiny, but to the beginning.

When I heard that (from Jerry Spacks, an old friend and former member of the Starriggers Guild), I'd asked if there was a good, motel there.

The beginning of the universe.

Bang.

Pack your sunglasses. And bring plenty of suntan lotion. That primeval fireball can bum you right through your pretty new beach outfit.

As farfetched as it all was, I had every reason―now―to believe it. True, I had only Darla's word that she had met me before―a meeting I did not remember―but I also was now in possession of a very strange object, the nature of which was not clear even to Darla, who had given it to me. I had the Black Cube. That was all it was, a palm-sized cube, black as the devil's heart, origin and purpose unknown. It might be the Roadmap; or it might not be.

There was other evidence: Back on Goliath, I had made good my escape from the Colonial Militia with the very timely help of what could only have been my doppelganger, my paradoxical self. I was fairly sure of that. I had seen him… me. True, a, tiny wisp of doubt still clung to that image of my own face hovering above me as I lay in my cell, being administered the antidote to the effects of the Reticulan dream wand…

I sat up in my seat. Where did my double get the dream wand he had used to knock out everybody at the Militia station? I opened the glove box under the dash. There it was a shiny green shaft with a bright metal ring around one end.

Of course. That's how "he" got it. I have it now!

I closed the box. Jesus, it was spooky.

Maybe there was no doubt after all.

"Hooray!"

A sign beside the road.

"Oh, God, a bed," Susan said dreamily.

"The sign's in English," John said. "Oh, here's the Intersystem one. Odd, it's not as friendly in 'System."

"Frumious Bandersnatch," Roland muttered.

"Route 22" (I nearly missed it, even going at a crawl) was a dirt trail which intersected the Skyway, then meandered off into the forest. I turned off and followed it, bumping over mound and rut, stone and fallen log, for what seemed like 20km with no bandersnatchi evident. Nothing was evident but a kind of hokey enchanted forest scene, as in the animated epics you see in museum mopix programs. Except of course there was nothing ersatz about it; this was the real, otherworldly thing. Out there was the demesne of elves, dryads, unicorns, and nymphs-or their funny-looking alien counterparts, and they'd be doubly eldritch for that.

We came upon it suddenly. It was a big, rambling three-story building slapped together out of immense logs and raw board lumber, roofed over with half a dozen gables, a spacious canopied porch going all the way around, lots of small windows on the upper floors, all of it anchored by four or five huge stone chimneys coughing thin black smoke. There was a big parking lot hacked out of the forest on three sides, crammed with unusual off-road vehicles.

All in all, it had a great deal of charm. Right then, though, a holey tent with no ground cloth would've looked like home. Smells of grilled food were in the air―I had been about to check instruments for air content and quality when I saw two husky fellows reel bare-headed out the front door and stagger to their funny-looking land jumper. I let down the port and sniffed. Pleasant odors, some nameless, some familiar. I rather liked this place already.

"Anyone hungry?" I said.

"Hold out your arm," Susan answered, unstrapping hurriedly, "and don't bother with the salt."

I was pretty tired of hotpak dinners and moldy stuff from the cooler, too.

We were all packed up and out of the rig in nothing flat.

The bad roller looked pretty grim, afflicted with leprous white patches of crystallization. From here on in, every meter it rolled would be a risk. No matter; I was fairly sure there'd be a garage nearby. We'd put on the spare, and not give too much thought to how bad it was.

I stood at the edge of the parking lot, checking out escape routes. Habit. A second highway intersected Route 22 here, another logging road, or rabbit trail, I couldn't tell which. Sam had a clear path to leave on short notice, if necessary, unless someone parked next to him blocking the road. From the looks of these vehicles, though, he'd have no trouble nudging them aside if he had to. You'd have to see Sam up alongside your average four-roller buggy to appreciate how big he is.

I opened a channel on Sam's key, an oblong orange plastic box that was a radio, among other things. "Okay, Sam, I guess we're staying here overnight. You be all right?"

"Sure, have fun. And call me every so often. Leave the beeper on."

"Right. I'll patch you through when we go in to eat and lift a few cold ones. We'll have a lot to talk over."

"Good."

I closed the key. Susan was beside me, clucking and shaking her head.

"Poor Sam," she said.

"He always has to stay behind, doesn't he? It's sad."

I reopened the key. "Hear that, Sam? Suzie thinks you've got nothing to do all by your lonesome. She's all worried."

"Hm? Oh, hell, don't worry about me."

Susan reddened. "I didn't… I meant―"

"I got a stack of crotch magazines I haven't looked at yet, and let's see, there's that model ship I'm putting together… have to write thank-you notes for the shower gifts… should wash my hair… and I can always wank off."

Susan scrunched up her face in pain. "Oh, you two are terrible!" She ran off, laughing.

"Welcome to Talltree!"

"Thanks," I told the big-boned, flannel-skirted man at the desk. "Good name."

His eyes twinkled. "We stayed up all night to think of it."

I looked around the lobby. It was big, fully two stories high with an open-beam ceiling. The rugs were sewn animal hides; the furniture looked handmade. The appointments were rustic yet tasteful. "Quite a place you have here," I said.

He swelled visibly, and his grin was broad. "Thank you! It's my pride and joy. Built most of it with my bare hands." He winked. "And a little help."

"Well, you did a good job. I was expecting something more primitive on a planet like this."

"This is one of the most sophisticated log structures on Talltree," he informed me. He pointed upward. "I designed those cantilever trusses myself. You can do a lot with the local wood, though. Strong as iron―high tensile strength."

"Interesting."

The lobby was filled with people, young men mostly, joking, hooting, jostling each other. They drank from pewter mugs, sloshing beer onto the floorboards. The crowd appeared to be the overflow from the bar, called the Vorpal Blade.

"I hear a lot of English being spoken," I said.

"Mostly English speakers here," he said. "English, Canadian, Aussie, lots of Irish, a few other breeds. You American stock?"

"Yes, but it's been a long time since I thought of myself as American."

He nodded. "Time marches on. One day we'll all be sabra." He turned the registration book around. "Anyway, I do hope you enjoy your stay here at the Bandersnatch―if you'll sign right here. You all together?"

I signed. "Yes. What's the local industry around here?"

His eyes twinkled again. "Would it surprise you if I said logging?"

"Not a bit." I looked back at the crowd of burly young men. Everyone seemed cast to type.

He gave me our room keys. They were made of hand-wrought iron. Only two; Winnie and the women in one room, the men in the other. It was my idea. Talltree was part of the Outworlds, and my leftover Consolidation Gold Certificates were still good, but I wanted to economize. I had only a limited amount of gold to trade. The nightly room rates were fairly cheap, though.

"Any way of getting a bite to eat?" I asked.

"It's a little early for the dining room, sir. Our cook's building a flume this week. But the Blade has a separate kitchen and plenty of food. Most of the guests take breakfast and lunch in there. However, you might find it a bit crowded now."

"What's this?" I asked above the noise. "A luncheon party?"

"No, today's a holiday. Feast of St. Charles Dodgson." He gave me a knowing wink. "The celebration got started early. Like three days ago."

"Feast of St. Charles…" John began, then broke out laughing. We all did. On the multiple nationality-ethnic-religious worlds of the Skyway, nobody could agree on what holidays to celebrate. Back in Terran Maze, those officially proclaimed by the Colonial Authority were scoffingly ignored, except by bureaucrats, who took off work. A tradition had arisen to celebrate spurious ones, silly ones, just for fun. People need excuses to goof off, though the thinnest will serve.

"Soon as you freshen up," the clerk continued, "you can join the festivities, if you

I was looking at the merrymakers, then turned back to the clerk. He was staring at the registry book, into which I had just signed my name.

He looked up at me. "Is that really your name?"

"The alias I use most." When he didn't laugh, I said, "Just kidding. Sure, it's my name."

"You're Jake McGraw? The Jake McGraw?"

Again, my inexplicable fame had checked in before I had. "I'm the only one I know of."

"You have an onboard computer named Sam?"

"Yup."

"I see," he said, nodding thoughtfully. He turned away, but kept eyeing me askance, as if he weren't sure about something.

That was his problem. But what he would finally believe might be mine.