I shoulda known it wouldn\u2019t be a simple run. It never is. The minute they call it a no-brainer, you know somethin\u2019s gonna go wrong. Bad wrong. Real, real bad wrong. And it sure\u2019s hell did on this milk run. Double-crossin\u2019 Johnson, not enough homework, whatever-somebody somewheres fragged up good, and we all pretty near paid for it in blood.<\/p>\n
But at least I\u2019ve still got Demon. It\u2019ll take awhile \u2018fore she\u2019s patched up and runnin\u2019 again, but she\u2019s still among the living. A survivor, that\u2019s what she is. Like me.<\/p>\n
It started when we met the Johnson\u2014fella in a Vashon Island knockoff suit and a porkpie hat who smelled like cheap cigars. Said he was a private detective, working for some small-time CEO wannabe who was tryin\u2019 to buy out another itty-bitty corp. Wanted \u00ab\u00a0evidence of business fraud,\u00a0\u00bb which the detective said was in the computer systems of the little corp\u2019s HQ. Natch, the system was closed off from the Matrix, so the Johnson needed us to bust in and sit our decker down in front of the boss\u2019s terminal. I guess we shoulda asked why he couldn\u2019t hire himself a decker solo and sneak the both of \u2018em in through a window\u2014but we\u2019d all gone a time between jobs, and cred was gettin\u2019 tight. A milk run looked like a good deal, so we took it. And my part looked easiest of all-drive my buds \u2018cross town, drop \u2018em off in the warehouse district, keep an eye peeled outside while they got down to it inside, and then drive \u2018em away fast. No trick atall for a rigger like me, with ten years of street smarts and the fastest fraggin\u2019 Leyland-Rover in the \u2018plex. Souped up her engine my own self, and did a fraggin\u2019 good job. What could go wrong?<\/p>\n
So I jacked into Speed Demon that night and roared down Intercity 5 toward the rendezvous. Round midnight on the open road\u2026 my favorite place, my favorite time. There is nothin\u2019, but nothin\u2019, in this world as free and easy and flat-out wonderful as jacking into your wheels and flyin\u2019 down the highway at whosiwhatever-klicks-per-hour. Felt lighter than air with just me in the van; I knew that\u2019d change once my buds were on board, but for now I soared down that road like I might take off at the end of it.<\/p>\n
\u2018Cept for the occasional cold wreck, the highway was empty\u2014not a heat sig in sight for klicks. Just as well, considering\u2014at oh-dark-hundred hours, anybody sane\u2019d know better\u2019n to hit the highways. Roving go-gangs like to prowl late, lookin\u2019 for unsuspecting drivers to play with. \u2018Course, I don\u2019t claim to be sane. Sane\u2019s just another word for boring as dirt. \u2018Sides, there was other prey for gangbangers tonight. The Spike Wheels, who claimed turf on my side of the I-5, were busy huntin\u2019 down Eye-Fivers in revenge for last night\u2019s rumble. They weren\u2019t likely to come messing with The Stuntman.<\/p>\n
So I flew on down the road toward the night\u2019s run. Demon\u2019s visual sensors spun a rainbow around me; I saw sodium-yellow lamps flittin\u2019 overhead and blinkin\u2019 neon billboards of every color flashin\u2019 by. Off leftward I spotted the industrial district, glowin\u2019 red as a hellhound\u2019s eyes on the thermo-sensors. Flashes of chlorine green lit up the car\u2019s microwave radar-spikes from solar flare eruptions, which mess up E-M profile like nobody\u2019s business. But little drek like that didn\u2019t bother me. Me an\u2019 Demon were roadrunnin\u2019, and by the end of the night I expected to have my hands on enough cred to finally buy the new set of tires I\u2019d been promisin\u2019 her for weeks. Ain\u2019t nice to make promises and not keep \u2018em, especially to the bundle of bolts you depend on to save your hoop.<\/p>\n
I shoulda known it was too good to last.<\/p>\n
I reached the rendezvous and picked up the team\u2014two sams, a decker and a street shaman. With me driving getaway, Rocker and Punch packing guns and chrome, Zipdrive to surf the electrons and Catseye to take care of any magical drek (best to be prepared for everything if you want to spend your pay), we figured we were all set. And we woulda been if the set-up had been what the Johnson advertised.<\/p>\n
Demon took us crosstown to the warehouse district, which useta be a decent workin\u2019 neighborhood until the jobs dried up and the big-money boys quit paying taxes. It\u2019s been slidin\u2019 down the scale from \u00ab\u00a0blue-collar\u00a0\u00bb to \u00ab\u00a0wasteland\u00a0\u00bb for years, but seems to have stopped for awhile at \u00ab\u00a0seedy.\u00a0\u00bb The only folks \u2018round the district these days are outfits just like the one we\u2019d been hired to crash: little mom-and-pop corps with big ideas, bigger hopes and small cash flow. It\u2019s cheap rent; it\u2019s also bad roads with holes and litter and broken glass. I could feel every crack in the pavement through Demon\u2019s tires, like you can feel bumps in the sidewalk through thin shoes. For sure, I told myself, for damn-fraggin-sure I\u2019m buying those tires. First thing tomorrow. And a full tank of gas, too. I was feeling hungrier than I had any right to be, considering I\u2019d snarfed down a whole bag of Hot\u2019n\u2019Ched\u2019r cayenne-and-cheese-flavored soychips before starting out. So I knew Demon could use a refill, even though the monitors told me she had enough gas for tonight.<\/p>\n
I turned off at Milton and Third, right where the Johnson had told us, killed the lights and coasted half a block to a decrepit-looking brick rectangle surrounded by cracked concrete and a chain-link fence. As I pulled up and stopped, I keyed Demon into stealth mode. The ruthenium fibers on her outside, electric blue when she wasn\u2019t on a job, faded to clear. I\u2019d paid a nice chunk of change to get a radarbane paint job underneath, and this run was Demon\u2019s first since her makeover. The area around the Tacoma docks ain\u2019t as bad as either of the Barrens, but that just means that late at night you\u2019re risking small ordnance \u2018stead of large. Plus, the few Lone Star patrols sniffin\u2019 around tend to ask lots of nosy questions. So stealth seemed like an extra-good thing.<\/p>\n
The rest of the team bailed, Punch in the lead and Rocker bringin\u2019 up the rear. Rocker gave me a wolf\u2019s grin as she slipped her headset on and leaned in the driver\u2019s-side window. \u00ab\u00a0I\u2019ll be listening, Stunt. You see anything, give a holler.\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
\u00ab\u00a0Chill,\u00a0\u00bb I said, and watched \u2018em go. Four little reddish blobs on thermo, bobbin\u2019 toward the big, empty building like some kinda giant fireflies. I didn\u2019t wish \u2018em luck; didn\u2019t wanna jinx \u2018em. Might as well have shouted \u00ab\u00a0Good luck\u00a0\u00bb at the top of my lungs, as it turned out. But right then the night was quiet, and seemed likely to stay that way.<\/p>\n
I settled in to wait. Didn\u2019t jack out, of course\u2014Demon\u2019s zoom lenses, magnification and external audio sensors made better eyes and ears for trouble than mine. I turned the diskplayer on, with the volume low enough not to scrag the audio feeds from outside. I had an old-style R&B recording I\u2019d been dyin\u2019 to listen to, and this seemed like the perfect time. The music would keep my brain from being lulled to sleep by the silent night, much more pleasantly than the cold rain that had started to fall. ASIST can be damned inconvenient when it comes to the weather-whatever touches your wheels, you feel just like the metal body of the car or whatever is your own skin. I tuned out the pinpricks of cold and wet as best I could\u2014you learn to, when you\u2019ve hadda rig through snowstorms a time or two\u2014and kept the sensors peeled for danger. Didn\u2019t see a thing \u2018cept the occasional passing pigeon and a ripped paper bag tossed by the wind; didn\u2019t hear a thing \u2018cept for that same wind and the dim roar of passing traffic streets and streets away. Far off in the distance, some drunk was shouting at his girlfriend. Just the normal night noises of the city.<\/p>\n
Then the sky started to howl, and I knew we were hosed.<\/p>\n
Wasn\u2019t really the sky, of course. It was the building\u2019s own alarm. Howling like a herd of banshees, loud enough to bring the Star down on us right quick even if nobody inside had managed to push a PANICBUTTON. Every fraggin\u2019 po-leece patrol within a klick of the place was gonna come a-runnin\u2019-we needed to bug out right fraggin\u2019 now. So I fired up Demon\u2019s engine, just as three little red blobs came tearing outta the building. That\u2019s right, three-one of \u2018em big and shapeless, which meant somebody\u2019d got hurt and somebody else was haulin\u2019 \u2018em along. Followed by four more blobs, a little ways behind as yet but catching up waaay too fast for comfort. I switched from thermo to visual sensors and saw Punch pounding toward me, with Zipdrive slung over his shoulder. Rocker and Catseye were close behind, stopping every so often to shoot or sling a spell at the sec-squad following. And I saw two sec-drones, the vidcam kind with a homing beacon that\u2019ll film your sorry hoop in the criminal act and follow you all the way home. The corps love those; they can track you to your safehouse and send the footage straight to the ten-o\u2019clock news. A one-two punch.<\/p>\n
I popped the doors open as Punch came up. Without missin\u2019 a step, Punch slid Zippy off his shoulder and into the back seat, then threw himself in beside him. Rocker and Cat jumped in the middle. I slammed the doors and took off. The sec-boys behind let loose a hail of gunfire, none of which hit. I could hear Punch\u2019s FN-HAR talkin\u2019 back, but didn\u2019t dare look behind Demon to see if he\u2019d got anybody. Then I heard some more shots that didn\u2019t come from Punch, and somethin\u2019 smacked me hard on the back of the head.<\/p>\n
I thought I was dead. Just for a second I really thought one of the sec-skags\u2019d plugged a bullet right through my meat skull. Then my brain caught up with me, and I realized I was still runnin\u2019 Demon down the road. Which meant I was still alive. With a killer headache and a weird, itchy feeling across the back of my scalp that told me the fraggin\u2019 bastard had punched a hole through Demon\u2019s rear windshield. I didn\u2019t have to see it to know that the whole thing was crazed with fracture lines. Have to replace it, I thought, while the rest of me concentrated on the road ahead. And also on the sirens that were startin\u2019 to wail all around as the neighborhood Star patrols twigged that somethin\u2019 was up. I shunted a smidgen more mental energy toward the audio sensors to sharpen the pickup; I needed to know what direction the sirens were comin\u2019 from.<\/p>\n
The sensors gave me bad news. The Star was headin\u2019 toward us from the north and east. The place we\u2019d hit, with its sec squad on full alert, was behind us to the south. That left just one direction for a getaway-west, toward Puget Sound. Which meant Demon and me\u2019d have to head west far enough to slip past the Star and hope to highway hell that we didn\u2019t hit water first. Then we\u2019d have to make a sharp turn southwards, then pedal-medal it back crosstown to the safehouse. All the while keepin\u2019 the Star off our trail, or else losin\u2019 \u2018em somewheres in the maze of city streets.<\/p>\n
I always did love a challenge.<\/p>\n
First thing, though, I hadda take care of the drones. They were clingin\u2019 close, buzzin\u2019 \u2018round Demon like gnats. I opened the roof and raised the Vindicator from its inside mount, braced my hands on the wheel so they\u2019d stay steady when the ASIST recoil hit me, and fired at the nearest drone. Blew the fragger to dust, and didn\u2019t hardly swerve atall. The FN-HAR barked again as Punch sent the second drone spinnin\u2019 into the side of a building. A little puffy fireball told me the second drone wasn\u2019t a problem anymore. Which just left the Star\u2014and they were gettin\u2019 closer.<\/p>\n
Demon and I whipped around the corner hard enough to make me dizzy for a second. The street ahead was clear, the sirens all behind us or a ways off to the side. As I gunned Demon\u2019s engines, I snuck a peek at the gridmap. Seattle\u2019s traffic grid, superimposed in bright yellow lines over a detailed map of the city, flickered to ghostly life across the top of Demon\u2019s windshield. The bright orange dot that was Demon showed up just four city blocks shy of a main drag. If I could get to it, I could take it to the I-5 and on home.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t counting on the three patrol cars that suddenly shot into the intersection half a block ahead. They\u2019d been runnin\u2019 silent, caught me off guard. Smart bastards, the Star. Don\u2019t underestimate \u2018em if you want to live long. So now I had a choice to make-fast. Stop and surrender, whip around or run backwards straight into the patrol I could hear closin\u2019 in behind us, floor it and hope Demon could crash through the blockade without takin\u2019 too much damage to keep goin\u2019 or find me an alley to fly down in the next couple seconds.<\/p>\n
Luck was with me. A patch of empty dark appeared in the solid wall of plascrete to my right. I aimed Demon\u2019s nose toward it and floored the gas. I was gonna pay for this later on\u2014I could feel the burn in my calves from too much redlinin\u2019, like a distance runner who starts out too fast and burns up his reserves\u2014but so long as I got us out of immediate trouble, I\u2019d deal with the consequences.<\/p>\n
The dark hole was an alleyway, dirty and stinkin\u2019 and narrow. We took the turn a hair too sharply; my right arm caught fire as poor Demon scraped a fender against the side of a crumblin\u2019 factory. Now she\u2019d need a new paint job along with everything else. Rubber screeched on pavement as the patrol cars caught on to the change of plan; I knew we didn\u2019t have much time to get ahead of \u2018em. So I poured on more power and ignored the charley horses that were formin\u2019 in both legs. The only thing that mattered was getting to the end of the alley before the Star did and then findin\u2019 us a fast route outta there.<\/p>\n
We\u2019da made it clean if the fraggin\u2019 hole in the road hadn\u2019t slowed us down. A real axle-breaker-big as an oil drum and so deep I swear it went halfway to China. Hurt like hell when we hit it. Think of the worst sprained ankle you ever had, then multiply that by ten, and you\u2019ve got some idea. Luck was still with us, though; the internal sensors told me Demon\u2019s axles were still intact. So I floored it and we shot toward the alley\u2019s far end.<\/p>\n
And fraggin\u2019 near collided with a patrol car. Just one\u2014lucky again!\u2014and a glancing blow at that; otherwise I wouldn\u2019t be tellin\u2019 this story. Demon\u2019s right front fender got up close and personal with the front left fender of the Starmobile. Spun the cop car all the way around; when a Leyland-Rover argues with an Americar, even the razzed-up kind the Star drives around in, the Rover almost always wins. Hell of an impact, though. Felt like I\u2019d smacked my head into a brick wall. What with all the other hell I\u2019d been through on this joyride, the crash nearly blacked me out. But I hung on to consciousness by my fingernails, stopped Demon\u2019s fishtailin\u2019 on the slick pavement and managed to turn us in the right direction. Then I burned rubber and sent us flyin\u2019 down the road.<\/p>\n
The Star followed, of course. For awhile. Demon and I dodged and wove and bumped across sidewalks, even crashed through a coupla flimsy fences, before we finally lost the last cop car. My head felt like a thousand little guys were beatin\u2019 on it with hammers, my feet were freezin\u2019 from the icy asphalt under Demon\u2019s baldin\u2019 tires, and every wild turn made me want to throw up\u2014but I gritted my teeth and kept goin\u2019. That\u2019s how you survive in this biz. Me and Demon didn\u2019t stop until I pulled her up in front of a clinic near the safehouse, where we knew a street doc who\u2019d patch Zipdrive up quick. And me, too. Wild rides take their toll on a rigger\u2019s meat even if lead and fireballs don\u2019t. I had a lump on my head the size of an egg from where I\u2019d hit Demon\u2019s roof bouncin\u2019 outta the pothole, and I was so fraggin\u2019 tired that my hands were shakin\u2019 on the steering wheel. I popped the doors so Punch could take Zipdrive out, then jacked out and just sat for a moment. Just sat and breathed, and thought about how nice it was to be able to do that.<\/p>\n
After a little while I got out of the van. Almost fell over when I tried to stand up; just for a second, my brain had some trouble with the difference between wheels and feet. Like gettin\u2019 your land legs back after you\u2019ve been on the water a time. Then I started walkin\u2019 and that was even worse. Every muscle was screamin\u2019 at me, and my calves were threatenin\u2019 to go on permanent strike. I told \u2018em to save it and staggered on. The pain was a good thing in one way; it kept me from thinkin\u2019 too much about the size of Demon\u2019s repair bill. Not that I grudged her any of it, mind-but like I said before, cred was tight. And after this hose-up, I knew we wouldn\u2019t get so much as a plugged nuyen from the Johnson unless we took it.<\/p>\n
Which we did. Well, Rocker and Punch did. Rocker don\u2019t like bein\u2019 double-crossed, and Punch\u2026 well, sometimes he just likes to break stuff. Specially the heads of people fool enough to rip him off. My share of the \u00ab\u00a0insurance payment\u00a0\u00bb was enough to fix Demon up, mostly-though she\u2019ll have to wait awhile for another stealth paint job. Those things cost.<\/p>\n
Hell-maybe I\u2019ll just send the bill to the Star.<\/p>\n
\nCette nouvelle a \u00e9t\u00e9 \u00e9crite par Diane Piron-Gelman et Robert Cruz, d\u2019apr\u00e8s une histoire de Jonathan Szeto et publi\u00e9e dans le suppl\u00e9ment Rigger 2<\/cite> en 1997.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n
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