Red Limit Freeway

Chapter 19

Corey Wilkes.

He and Sam had been friends and business partners once. Together, they had founded TATOO, the Transcolonial Association of Truck Owner-Operators. Years later, shortly after I started driving, Corey engineered a power grab that installed him as president more or less for life. Sam resigned from the board of directors and eventually from the organization itself. I followed suit. Sam wanted to retire to the farm, but I persuaded him to help me start the Starriggers' Guild, which he did. And that was the start of our troubles with Corey Wilkes. Wilkes harassed us, off and on, for the next ten years. Guild drivers kept disappearing. There were numerous suspicious mishaps, hijackings, and the like. It got so that some manufacturers refused to contract with Guild drivers, and most, while they would hire an occasional Guild member during peak periods, would not become signatories to the Guild's Basic Agreement, which had been the organization's raison d' etre in the first place. TATOO had become a combination private trucking company and labor union, run for the express purpose of lining the pockets of Wilkes and his friends in the Authority bureaucracy. Five years ago, Sam had died in an apparently unrelated Skyway accident. A few weeks ago I had learned from Wilkes himself that he had hired stunt drivers to stage the incident. I may have been the intended victim. Sam had been on his way to see a grain futures broker on Einstein, a meeting I had arranged and had intended to keep, but a job I couldn't refuse―times being what they were―had come up and Sam had gone instead.

"I thought you were dead, Corey," I said.

A faint chuckle came from the speaker on the instrument panel. "You know, Jake, I don't believe I'll tell you one way or the other. Right now I can't think of a good reason not to level with you, but you never know when a little datum like that could come in handy if held in reserve."

"I'd say you were dead. You took that.44 slug in the chest, as I recall. Looked like it hit near the heart if it didn't hit dead center."

"That very well may be. But let me preface this whole conversation by saying that you aren't talking to Corey Wilkes. I am an Artificial Intelligence program imbued with the personality and some, but not all, of the accumulated life memories of Corey Wilkes'. I have been updated on recent events, but not in detail. I have also been programmed with instructions."

"Which are…?"

"You'll forgive me if I'm not too specific, but generally I have been charged with the task of keeping an eye on you."

"And with leaving a trail of radioactive wastes," I added, "so we could be easily tracked."

Again, a chuckle. "Hard to put anything over on you, Jake. I don't know why I try."

I exhaled noisily and crossed my arms. "Cut the merte. What do you want?"

A sound like a sigh came from the speaker. "Yes, what in the world do I want? A very good question. Unfortunately, as a mere Personality Analog I lack the psychic underpinnings to answer that with any depth―I don't have the complete backlog of memory, the Freudian substrata, if you will. Something drives me; I don't know quite what."

I scowled. "The question wasn't philosophical. What do you want specifically? Now."

"Oh, of course. Sorry. Well, what with the facts that have recently come to light, I suppose I want the Cube."

"You can have it."

A short silence. Then, "That was easy."

"I mean it. Take the punking thing. It's yours."

"Well, that's settled." Another pause. Then the voice said cautiously and a little wonderingly, "You'd really hand it over with no fuss?"

"Absolutely. It's worth nothing to me. In fact, it's been nothing but a liability. Besides, no one has any idea what the thing is. Odds are it's not a Roadmap."

"Yes, there's no telling what it is. But it's worth a great deal. To me, anyway."

"Why?"

"Well, my original deal with the Colonial Authority still stands, I suppose, which is that I deliver you or the Roadmap or both to them in exchange for immunity from unpersonhood. But seeing as how the Authority wasn't entirely straight with me, I don't feel entirely obliged to hold up my end of the bargain."

"How did they doublecross you?"

"It wasn't a doublecross per se. More a matter of withholding pertinent information. They didn't tell me anything about the Black Cube."

"Maybe they didn't know about it," I suggested.

"I'm pretty sure they did. If Darla's story about getting the Cube through the dissident network is true, and if key people within the network have been subjected to Delphi scans, they'd have to know about it. Mind you, I've pieced this together from snippets of conversation I've overhead since I came on board. I'm fairly sure you think they know about it."

I saw no use in denying it. "You're right."

"And when the deal was struck, it was emphasized that they wanted you alive. And they wanted your truck, too. That tells me they were very interested in searching for something hidden on board or on your person. What I don't understand is why they didn't tell me about the Cube. I was ready to hand Winnie over to them, which of course would have elicited gales of laughter."

"It might be a question of timing, Corey," I said. "When did you cut your deal with the CA?"

"Several months ago. Two or three. There was a prolonged period of negotiation."

"Uh-huh. Well, according to Darla's timetable, they ran the Delphi on Assemblywoman Marcia Miller only a month or so ago. They could have found out about the Cube then."

"Yes, there is a time element to be considered here. Hmm." A long pause. "I think you may be right; Jake. When I bargained with them, they may only have had rumors to go on. Rumor had it that you were in possession of a Roadbuilder artifact, a Roadmap. They knew it wasn't Winnie―of course they neglected to tell me―"

"No one knew or could have predicted that Winnie would come along on this trip. Our picking her up was a total fluke."

"So I gather. As I was saying, at the time the deal was cut, the Authority may only have known that you had a Roadmap, nature unspecified. A few months later, they find out about the Cube."

"And naturally enough," I said, "they thought the Cube was the map."

"Naturally enough. But they should have told me, dammit." He sounded hurt.

I laughed. "And have you wind up with it? Tell me you wouldn't have demanded that your deal be renegotiated just a tad.

"I'm truly embarrassed: You're right, of course."

"You should be, you sneaky son of a bitch. When you had us aboard the Laputa, even I didn't know that Darla had the Cube. She seemed to have thrown in with you guys then."

"Yes, the cunt. I'd be wary of her, Jake."

"I am."

"But…" The voice did an imitation of a weary sigh. "But wouldn't I have wound up with the Cube anyway?" A thoughtful interlude. "No, I guess not. I never suspected for a moment that Darla had it."

"No, you didn't, and you wouldn't have as long as you had to string Darla's father along in believing that all the brouhaha was for the purpose of protecting your little drug-running scheme."

"I see your point. Talk about not being in the know. That fool… that contemptible idiot. And then he goes and shoots me, for Christ's sake."

"His finest moment."

"Really, Jake. But it still seems to me I would have found out about the Cube eventually. Wasn't the Authority taking an awful risk? After all, they didn't know Darla was carrying the Cube. Did they?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe they did. If not, though, I'll bet that when Miller spilled her brains they got really worried. That was probably when they dispatched Petrovsky to get the Cube. Your deal was rendered null and void then."

"Ah, Petrovsky. Yes, I see. I see." The voice clucked mournfully. "It all does seem to fit together, doesn't it? Marvelous bit of deduction, Jake."

"Elementary, my dear shithead."

"Please, Jake, it's been amicable so far."

"I don't feel the least bit amicable toward you," I said.

"I suppose not. Can't say that I blame you. And I must admit that I've bumbled through this whole affair shipping no small amount of merte in my cranial compartment. I made some bad moves."

I was amazed. "The real Corey Wilkes would never make an admission like that."

"No? I guess not."

"I have a question for you."

"Shoot," the voice said.

"Why did the Authority agree to hire you to catch me? Why didn't they assign Petrovsky to me in the first place? Or any other part of Militia Intelligence―or anybody else for that matter. Why you?"

"A couple of reasons," Wilkes' voice answered. "For one, I happen to be one of the highest ranking Militia Intelligence officers around, have been for years. I hold the permanent rank of Lieutenant-Colonel-Inspector. Plainclothes division of course, undercover section."

I smiled, nodding. "Sam and I always suspected you were an MI agent."

"So you see, all this has been in the line of duty, don't you know."

"Of course."

"Also, the road and everything that happens on it is my bailiwick, and what with my past association with you, I would have been the natural choice anyway."

"I see. Sounds logical enough."

"And Petrovsky… if he's still alive. He's in bad odor with the Authority generally, by dint of his lifecompanion's having turned up as a double agent. He was hardly their first choice."

"Right." I took my legs down from the dash, sat sideways on the chair and crossed my legs. "Well, what now?"

"Don't really know, Jake," the voice said. "I'm playing this strictly by ear. I suppose you hand over the Cube, then―"

"I want Sam back first."

The voice was placating. "You'll have him back, Jake. Don't worry."

"If you've done anything to him…"

"I said don't worry. He's fine. I simply erased him from main memory. His VEM is in perfect working order and you can load him back in anytime I give the word. In fact―" A long pause. "In fact, even as we speak, Sam is doing something strange down at the microcode level. Hmm. Now, how the hell…?"

I grinned evilly.

"I'll be damned," Wilkes' voice said in awe. "I sensed that this hardware had three-dimensional system architecture, but there was really no way I could… Well, look at that, look at that."

"Anything interesting?" I asked after waiting a few moments.

"Very. This is really strange. If they had only had more time back at the garage… Amazing. What could he be doing?"

"If you can't take a castle by escalade," I said, "you dig under the walls."

"Apt metaphor." The voice did an approximation of an admiring whistle. "Could he be setting up a simulation of his VEM in microcode? No, that'd take him years."

I laughed.

"No? I don't understand-" The voice made a noise like throat-clearing. "Well, I can see Sam is going to do his best to worry me to death at least, if he can't do anything else―so, let me do this… and this."

The voice was silent for about thirty seconds.

"There, that ought to hold him. I hope. Wily old Sam."

"I still want him back first," I said.

"Now, wait a minute, we still have some bargaining to do."

"Concerning what?"

"Little matter of that young man's automobile."

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that. You want it?"

"Yes, I think I do," the voice said after a slight hesitation.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think it has anything to do with the Roadmap affair, but it is an amazing artifact… and Carl's story about his abduction is very intriguing indeed. That machine of his should be worth something to somebody. I think I should have it to keep in reserve to sort of strengthen my bargaining position vis-…-vis the Authority, should I choose to deal with them again."

I got up and walked to the aft-cabin. Standing at the kitchenette, I loaded the coffee brewer and started it working. "The car doesn't belong to me, Corey."

"Well, I'm not asking your permission to take it."

I chuckled. "I'd like to see you try to separate that buggy from its owner. You know how young men are about their jalopies."

"Oh, I don't think he'll be too much of a problem."

I reached for the medicine chest, opened it, and took out the aspirin bottle. "Damn headache. Do you mind?"

"Let me have a look at what you're doing."

I held the bottle up to the camera-eye above the kitchenette, then shook two aspirin tablets into my other hand. "See?"

"Okay."

"You seem to feel in control here, Corey, ordering me about and all."

"I am, Jake."

"You also sound like you're expecting help. If the Roadbugs can't find us, your buddies back there are going to have a rough time. That is, if they followed us through that last portal."

"We'll see," the voice said.

"Answer me this, Corey. Say you get what you want from us. Where do you go from here?"

"Eh?"

"How the hell are you going to get back to T-Maze or wherever you want to go. We're lost."

"Indeed we are. But I'm really not all that worried."

I popped the aspirin into my mouth, took a cup from the small cupboard, and filled it with water out of the sink tap. "You're not? I am." I took a drink and swallowed the pills.

"I don't see why," Wilkes' voice said. "You know you're going to get back, if the Paradox is real."

"Then you're bound to lose in the end, Corey. I'll have the map."

"Maybe. I'm still thinking about that. Maybe I really don't want the Cube. Maybe just the Chevy."

"It sounds as though you really don't accept the reality of the Paradox," I said, placing the aspirin bottle back into the medicine chest, and successfully, it turned out, palming the small vial of chlorpromazine tablets as I drew my hand away.

"As I said, I'm still thinking about it, but emotionally I suppose I don't. The way I see it, a parodox is an impossibility. Look what's supposed to have happened in your case. Your future self hands the Cube over to somebody, who gives it to somebody else, and so on. Darla finally winds up with it, and she gives it to you. You go back in time and close the loop, handing it over to the first person again, etcetera, etcetera, Now, dammit, that Cube has to have an origin somewhere! But as long as the loop keeps recycling endlessly, there's no possibility. There's no entry point. The Cube just is, and there's a smell of unreality to it all."

I went back to the cab carrying a cup of black coffee. As I passed through the hatchway, an area that wasn't covered by any of Sam's camera-eyes, I slipped the vial into my pants pocket and cracked it open. I withdrew my hand, palming two tablets.

"I can't argue with you, Corey," I said, sitting in the driver's seat.

"I wish you would," the voice said. "You have an absolutely incisive intellect, Jake. Why did you ever want to drive a truck for a living? Seems a waste."

"I like keeping people off-balance. Nobody expects a truckdriver to have any brains. It amuses me."

"Hell of a price to pay for amusement, I'd say."

"Nah. Very small." I made as if to wipe the edge of the cup with my finger, and in doing so dropped the tablets into the coffee. Then I sipped from the cup.

"It's your life," Wilkes' voice said. "Anyway, getting back to the subject of where we go from here and why I'm not very concerned about it, let's consider this. We have Winnie's map and George's map. We have the Cube, which might be a map. There are two very good technicians riding with the convoy following us, the same ones who tampered with Sam. They have some equipment with them, and they just might be able to crack the Cube. I'm not banking on it, mind you, but it's a possibility. Last but hardly least, here we are on a Roadbug service planet. There has to be a portal leading back to Terran Maze, Reticulan Maze, or the Outworlds. Has to be. I'd be willing to bet anything on it."

"Yeah, but how are you going to find it?"

"Don't know that yet. Maybe we just ask the Bugs."

"They'll probably tell you to go inseminate yourself," I said, scoffing.

"Maybe, but then we have all those other options."

"I don't know why you think either Winnie's or George's map is an option. If we happen to luck back onto either trail, fine. But chances are we won't."

"It just seems to, me," the voice said irritably, "that with all these stinking maps around we should be able to come up with something, for God's sake."

I shook my head in pity. "That's your biggest flaw, Corey. You design these grand schemes and sit back and admire them, thinking the details will take care of themselves. You're a great strategist but a poor tactician. Wars are won in the trenches, my friend."

"Thank you Karl von Clausewitz." The voice gave a short, deprecating laugh. "Actually, you may not be too far off the mark. I've always tended to think big, big, big―and the bigger the thinking gets, the more my best―laid plans gang agley all over the punking place, Witness this current fiasco. But I'm not licked yet. Far from it. In fact, I feel I'm operating from a position of considerable strength at the moment. Most of the options may be iffy propositions, but they're options nonetheless."

I sat and drank, gaze fixed on the camera-eye, intrigued by the fact that this simulacrum of Wilkes' personality was far more introspective than the original. I wondered why.

"I have another question," I said. "Who put you together? Your programming, I mean. As far as being able to mimic emotions and personality traits, you seem to be the equal of Sam's VEM. That makes you pretty unique. Terran AI programs just aren't that good."

"Oh, I'm pretty good, all right, but I'm all homemade. By humans, that is. I was written and debugged in the Outworlds. I'm strictly domestic goods."

I worked one semidissolved chlorpromazine tablet into my mouth and swallowed it. "I'm surprised. Didn't know they had that kind of expertise in the Outworlds."

"You would be very surprised. Brain drain, Jake. We attract some of the best talent in every field."

"My impression was things are pretty primitive there."

"They are. But did you ever try to build a civilization from scratch? Takes time."

I nodded. "I see." I finished the rest of the coffee, and with it the remnants of the second pill, its bitterness sluicing over my tongue and down my throat. I set the cup down into a circular receptacle on the dash. "Okay, Corey. I think I've had about enough of you."

"Oh?"

I switched on the intercom and bent to speak into the dash-mounted microphone. "Carl, Sean… hey, everybody. Emergency. Everyone into the cab, please. Except you, Carl. Get in your buggy and stand by. Acknowledge." I switched to LISTEN. It was too quiet back there.

"They won't answer, Jake," Corey Wilkes' voice said.

"Roland? John? Darla?… Anybody?" I leaned and yelled into the mike. "Hey, back there! Everybody up! Rise and shine!"

Nothing except light snoring.

I rose and started aft.

"I wouldn't go back there, Jake."

I stopped in the aft-cabin. Susan was sitting up, looking at me blearily.

"What's the matter, Jake?" she asked. Then she shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. "Who were you talking to? Is Sam back?"

She looked at me even more strangely as I directed my voice toward one of Sam's speaker-mikes in the comer. "What do you have working back there, Corey? A dream wand?"

"No, not this time," Wilkes' voice said. "Just some knockout gas. Almost the same symptoms, though."

Susan's right hand shot up to cover her mouth, and she pulled the ratty blanket up to cover her chest.

"Hi there!" the voice said brightly. "Susan, is it? Last time we met, things were rather hectic. I'm Corey Wilkes."

Susan uncovered her mouth and rasped, "Jake, how?" She was shocked, eyes fear―rounded and disbelieving.

"It's okay, Suzie," I said, not very convincingly.

The bogey-alert gong sounded.

"We've got company, Jake."

I rushed to the ordnance locker, threw open the door, and rummaged through our stash of weapons. I tossed a pistol to Susan.

Just then the hatch between the cab and aft-cabin slid down. I lunged vainly to catch it.

"The whole rig's booby-trapped, Jake," the voice told me in an almost apologetic tone. "Really, I wouldn't move an inch if I were you. You're inhaling gas now. You could get hurt thrashing about."

I picked myself up and went over to the cot. I sat beside Susan. She threw her arms about me.

"Seems the Roadbugs have escorted my friends here, Jake, old buddy. I was pretty sure they would."

I said, "I take back that comment about your being a poor tactician."

"Thanks. I get better all the time."

I pushed Susan down on the cot and covered her body with mine, burying my face in her silky hair.

"Jake, I'm afraid," she said into my ear as the darkness closed in.

"Sleep, honey. Sleep," I said softly, gently.

With any luck, I thought, we'll never wake up.