"Hey, Carl? Ask Lori what it was like living here."
"Ask her yourself. She can hear you."
"Lori?"
"It bit the big kishko."
"I see."
"Jake?"―Carl again―"That's an Intersystem word I've never heard before. Does it mean what I think it means?"
"Yeah.
"Oh."
Behind me, Susan said, "I never understood what's so wrong with biting the big kishko."
Darla had to laugh.
I said, "Sam, what're they doing now?"
"I'm sure their drone spotted our drone. They've gained a little on us, but they're still hanging back. Probably waiting till we get on firm ground to make their move."
"Right, on the next planet up, which is supposed to be another desert world. Right, Darla?"
"Yes. And remember, Jake, you're to bear right at the fork."
"Got you. Should be coming up pretty soon."
A red light began blinking on the instrument banks.
"Son of a mother-punking bitch! Sam, it's that spare roller!"
"Yep."
"Dammit, I didn't know it was that bad."
"Well, I hate to say I told you so―"
"So don't say it!"
"―but I told you to spring for the new one. But nooo, you can get a better price down the road. Plenty of time, you said."
"Well, I could have gotten a better deal, dammit, if only ―"
"Out in the middle of nowhere, and you have to go windowshopping."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Sam, get off my back!"
"Son, it's just that you forget sometimes―"
"Sam, it would have cleaned us out! Look what that backwoods barracuda charged us for fixing the stabilizer foil."
"Well, we can't spend consols where we're going."
"I'm talking about our gold reserves! I could've bought half a new rig for what he wanted on that pair of newbies!"
"That right-front roller isn't in the best shape, either, you know. Ever think of what happens down the road if that one goes, too?"
"Ohhh, the hell with it."
"Very intelligent reply."
"Can it Sam!"
"Okay, I'll can it. That's what canned-up people do best." I felt horrible. I hadn't argued with Sam in… I didn't know how long. Recent events were definitely getting the better of me. I exhaled slowly and tried to absorb the adrenaline.
"Jesus, Sam, I'm sorry."
"So am I, son. My fault. This is no time for petty recriminations."
"No, no, you're programmed to advise on those decisions, and you were right. Should've sprung for the new pair-only thing, if we'd gone to a new size, it would've left us with no spare, and I didn't…" I scratched my head, remembering. "Oh, that's right. He said he'd thrown in a spare, the relayered one in the back. Merte. Sam, you were totally right."
"Forget it, Jake. You had a good point about the gold, and if people would stop chasing us all over the known universe, maybe we'd have time to think these things out. Actually, I thought for sure we'd be able to stop and shop around, too."
"Well, hell."
"Better get your helmet on, son."
"Yeah, I… hey, is that the fork coming up?"
"Looks like it."
"You know, Sam, I was thinking―"
I quickly forgot what I'd been thinking as the rig suddenly lurched to the left. The red light stopped blinking and a loud warning buzzer sounded. I fought the control bars, at the same time thumbing the trim tabs for the stabilizer foils. We were heading straight off the causeway, and the Roadbuilders didn't believe in guard rails. Letting up on the power pedal, I twisted the traction control on the right bar. The fork was dead ahead, and we were clear over in the extreme left lane. The rig straightened out just in time to save us from flying over the edge of the causeway. We wanted the right fork but I could see now that we'd never make it. With the failed right-front roller, I couldn't get back over to the other side of the road in time. The rig was under control for now, but… I angled my head toward the side port to get a view of the roller. It had turned the color of confectioner's sugar, trailing a plume of white powder. A flaky piece of it broke off, flew up and nearly hit the cab. I had to slow down; no choice.
And we had missed the turn-off. Turning around was going to be a problem for two reasons. The Skyway is four lanes across, counting the two narrower "shoulder" lanes. It's wide, but not nearly wide enough for the rig to turn around in without backing off the road. Only here, there was a two-meter drop to mud or water. And even if a dry patch came up, I was not about to give our pursuers a chance to catch us broadside to the road. I had to keep moving.
However, there was a problem with that, too.
"Jake! Jake, can you read me?"
"Yeah, Carl."
"What happened?"
"We had a roller go sugar-doughnut on us. That's why I missed the turn-off."
"Jake?" It was Sean.
"Yeah."
"Jake, according to our maps, this road leads to a potluck portal."
"I know."
And this time, it wasn't one on Winnie's Itinerary.
This time, It could lead to oblivion.
Chapter 9
"Don't look now," Sam told us, "but here comes a missile."
"Just one?" I said.
"It's presenting a weird image… can't be just one. Nope. Tricky devils. Pretty sophisticated stuff, Jake. I can't get a fix on them."
"Start hosing with the stern exciters."
"I already have. Little out of range. Wait a minute. Okay, here we go."
A few seconds went by.
"Merte! Can't hit a thing. They're still closing."
A few minutes later, a series of muffled explosions came from behind.
"Did you get 'em, Sam?"
"Somebody did. It wasn't me."
"Carl," I said. "Had to be."
"He didn't get all of them. BRACE YOURSELVES!"
Off the causeway to the right up ahead, the swamp erupted into a geyser of mud and dirty water, accompanied by a tremendous explosion that shook the cab. As we passed, it all came down on us, a shower of slop and debris. A chunk of shattered treetrunk slammed against the foreward port but didn't break it.
"They're playing for keeps," I said.
"That one was damaged or we'd have been goners," Sam said.
"Thank God for that Chevy, though I'm surprised it let one get through. I was beginning to think that vehicle was magic." I flicked the headset mike on. "Carl? Sean? You guys okay?"
"Check."
"Affirmative, Jake. A bit dicey, though, wasn't it?"
"Yeah. Carl, I was under the impression that buggy of yours didn't miss."
"It usually doesn't. Must've been a fluke."
"Here's your chance to prove it," Sam said. "A whole 'nother flock of 'em coming right at us."
This time the Chevy didn't miss a one. Seven quick bangs and the scanners were clear.
"Nice shooting, Carl," I said.
"You think that's the worst they can throw at us?"
"Don't know. Let's hope they quit and go back."
"No chance of that," Sam said. "Here they come."
"Carl," I said, "can you sic Fido on them?"
"Who? Oh. l call 'em 'Tasmanian Devils'."
We had tried to draw Carl out on his vehicle's strange weapons system, especially the horrific dust-devil-appearing phenomenon, designated "Sic 'im, Fido" on the fire-control panel. Carl had told us that he knew nothing whatsoever about how the weapons worked; he knew only how to use them.
"Whatever you call it, can you fire it on the run like this?"
"Yeah, sure. But I only have three Tasmanian Devils. You said you accidentally fired one back on Seahome. There are three blips back there."
"You mean one of those nightmares couldn't take care of all three of them?"