The Misbegotten

They had just reached level twelve, snaking between a huge flatbed-Glider and a municipal Glide-bus.

Flavia said: “Negative on the signature. The damned car isn’t registered in Angel Free Town. It’s here without proper I-Dent.” The fact she could pay attention to her Neuro-Nanoswarm and not cause an accident was the stuff of a master-driver.

“Interesting,” muttered the Heavy. “Well, at least we lost them.”

“Who do you think it was?” wondered Flavia with an offhanded flick of her wrist. She slowed the Glide-car down to a speed congruent to the traffic around them.

Traffic was still moving over 275kph, but all nine northbound lanes were full. The twelfth level of the highway was busier than the one on the ground level. Commuters chose the broad vistas and pseudo-open air over the massive pylons supporting the structure. It as a rather mundane, if not monotonous, view of the thousands of farms they were passing. Only the Keeper could appreciate their intrinsic beauty.

When he glanced to his left, Estefan could see the southbound lanes were just as packed.

Not much different than rush hour in 2020…

“It could’ve been anybody really,” he answered, glazing over his shoulder. He peered through the curved plane of Diatainium reinforced Plexi-glass at the back of the Glide-car. The hulking Glide-bus obscured much of his view, but from what he could see, he saw no sign of the extra-long sedan. “There may be many parties interested in what Dr. Ahmed had to tell us. This includes the other members of the Board, those not employed by us. And the clans, the Burhka’s, even the Yaku Alliance and the Trû-Knights have the tech capable of cracking Optic-mail security protocol. That shit has as many holes as a hundred-year-old whore. It seems only natural someone could’ve infiltrated his security measures. Finding out about our little rendezvous would have been easy.”

The Keeper’s emphasis on the good doctor’s mode of communication belied his unshakable belief in their own. They had, after all, invoked the highest degree of countermeasures for this meeting. Maybe their contact hadn’t been as thorough as they? As a matter of fact, he knew so. None could firewall information better than the Synod.

She half-smiled at nothing. “You don’t think it might have come from our end?”

It was like she was reading his mind.

“No,” he retorted, his voice clipped. “Jake would’ve detected any intrusion into our webs. Before the software or the security bots, he would’ve known. You know how anal his is about that shit.” Stop being such a brat, Flavia!

“Sonofabitch,” said Flavia under her breath, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

“What?” he asked, anxious. His one-time step-sister never cussed unless she had good cause.

She pointed at 3 o’clock.

He followed her long, narrow finger. His eyes bulged in their sockets. The same sleek, dark colored Glide-car pulled onto the same level as them, using one of the many onramps. It was streaking down the wide thoroughfare, double their speed.

“How in the hell could they’ve followed us?” asked Flavia, incredulity and anger filling her tones. She didn’t like anyone outwitting her, especially if it involved Estefan. His wellbeing was her foremost directive.

“It doesn’t matter. They haven’t spotted us yet… just do like Han Solo told Chewbacca – drive casual,” was Estefan’s reply. Being flippant seemed to focus them when they needed it most.

At his side, the long-legged vixen sniggered, following suit. “He told him to fly casual, Eff, not drive, you dipstick.”

“Whatever…”

“Jeez, one visit to Disneyscapes and you’re already quoting the ancient movie lexicon,” remarked Flavia. The play was back in her voice.

Beside her, Estefan leaned forward.

She turned a part of her attention toward the extra-long Glide-car. “Is it slowing down?” she asked.

His mouth hung slack. How in the fuck…?

“Yeah, they’re slowing,” concluded Estefan, reactivating his Neuro-Nanoswarm. His fingers typed complete words atop a keyboard that existed only for him. “I’m gonna shut down this section of the highway and allow you to drop us as many levels as you deemed necessary to lose these assholes. But the moment we do, I want you to put the car in stealth mode. You got it?”

“Just give me the countdown,” was all she said. Her pretty brow furled with concentration.

“Ok,” went on Estefan, “now remember, a system shutdown, even a partial one, is going to raise a lot of attention. So, be the fuck ready to do what you have to do to get us free and clear.”

She smirked with ire. “Estefan, I wasn’t born yesterday. We’ve done this shit before.”

He ignored her snide comment. His eyes locked on the dark sedan. It continued to cut its’ forward momentum, easing it’s’ way ever closer to them. It was changing lanes every twenty seconds or so. Their pursuers were definitely searching for them now.

He waited.

She waited.

The extra-long Glide-car made to change lanes yet again. For a moment, a construction-Lift blocked the view. It was a bulky contraption used to lift heavy objects from one place to the next.

It’s a fucking crane, thought Estefan, angry at the situation now.

“Now!” he shouted, tapping the holographic “execute” key just as Flavia waved her hand over a small sensor above her head.

Three things happened at once. The highway Grav-accelerators stopped functioning. Their Glide-cars’ micro-scales shifted to full-reflective mode. And, they fell like a stone.

Along a twenty-mile stretch of highway, the twelfth level came to an instantaneous halt. The deceleration was severe, abrupt. Anyone not secured in their seat straps was dashed to quivering pulps upon the windshields of their given vehicles. This wasn’t the day and age when people got thrown from cars or buses upon impact with another object. Materials used to manufacture vehicles didn’t fail anymore. Anyone coming into violent contact with a command consul or a wind-shield was usually dead within seconds.

In the moments following, Flavia let their Glide-car plummet to the fourth level. Somehow she managed to find her way through traffic without smashing into another vehicle. This made things all the more problematic, because no one could see them. They were in full stealth mode. To those driving around them, they did not exist.

Estefan knew he could never have done what she had just done. She was the driving genius, not him.

Before he could even divine a thought, his one-time step-sister turned the wheel of the Glide-car hard over. They rocketed across lanes. They streaked down the nearest off-ramp. She was heading to the third level, in the opposite direction, using a series of twists and turns. She dialed the accelerator hard over, pushing their speed over 380kph.

“Take the old 91 freeway,” directed Estefan. “We can head toward the coast and the spaceport using the South Bay Artery, heading north. Contact our people at the Synod Hangar at the port. Have them prep a Skycar for us as soon as humanly possible.”

Flavia didn’t respond. She did as he told her, focused on her ‘Swarm, while avoiding the traffic that kept swerving into their lane. The Glide-car was still invisible to everyone around them.

They drove in silence for a few minutes as Flavia edged them toward the right-hand side of the highway. She slowed their rate of speed, preparing to take the connecting bridge to the old 91 freeway, called thus by the people of the city. Much of its original concrete foundations remained intact. The massive pylons that held up the multi-level highway were built on top of them. The thoroughfare itself wasn’t old. It was state of the art. But the fact a part of the structure was old - everyone called it “the old 91 freeway”.

“We’re good to go at the spaceport,” informed Flavia within minutes.

They had just exited the 5 and were snaking their way through the throng of connection bridges when Flavia pointed toward one.

It was lower than their position, but routed traffic the same way they were going. It was the same long Glide-car, keeping pace with them. Yet, there was no way possible they could see Estefan and his one-time step-sister.

“This is getting ridiculous,” mumbled Flavia, real anger making her enunciation harsher.

“Something’s wrong,” the Keeper said. From his Neuro-Nanoswarm, Estefan opened an encrypted line of communication. He used their private channel – one they had imbedded within Angel Free Town’s CommNet years ago. Only they could access it. What should’ve been an ultra-high definition transmission was fuzzy with white noise and a warping image. This was normal. This back-channel line they had shielded on many levels. There was little else they could’ve done. They had installed it this way back when he’d been the King of Angel Free Town.

“This is technician #768971, how may I route your communiqué?”

Before he said a word, Estefan entered the tech’s Badge Number into another database on the screen before him. A small grin developed over the fact the number was only six digits long. He’s been with us for a while, mused the Heavy. Most of the Badge’s he saw these days had seven numerals. The newest ones had incorporated a letter at the end as well. He was likely an Old-Timer from back in the day…

The tech’s information checked out. He was Michael Walkins-Rollins. He was born August 19, 2205; currently residing in Angel Free Town… etc., etc.

An Old-Timer indeed!

Through it all the technician hadn’t said a word, which was a secondary measure. A real employee of the Synod would know whoever was calling on this channel could only be a big-shot within the organization. They would assume whoever was calling would be verifying everything before moving forward. It was standard Synod procedure.

“Initiate Alpha-Omega 1, Priority Delta, Serial Number 01. This is not a test. I repeat this is not a test,” said Estefan, his voice monotone.

The technician on the other end of the line paused. His eyes going wide for a split second, realizing his was talking with the Keeper himself.

“H-how may I be of a-assistance, M-m’Lord?” stuttered the tech, fear creeping into his visage.

“I feel like four scrambled eggs,” he replied, an odd request.

The technician didn’t give any outward sign, as though he expected it.

“Have them routed to my position by back-tracing this transmission. Do not use the regular protocols. Someone might have compromised our Comms. Do you understand?”

Michael nodded and began typing, furious, onto a keyboard Estefan couldn’t see. Half a minute later, “Done, Sir, do you need anything else?”

The Keeper shook his head. “No, I’m switching this signal to passive, have them follow it.”

“Roger.”

Estefan twirled a finger in a counter-clockwise motion. The distorted display of the technician shrunk and then disappeared altogether on his screen. Only a single pixel continued to blink – a tiny indicator the signal was still open, but barely so.

He glanced over at Flavia. “Disengage stealth mode. We’re gonna try some good old fashion deductive reasoning instead.”

There was a gleam in the woman’s eye. She loved it when Estefan was being mischievous. It turned her on. She didn’t speak. She waved two fingers over the correct sensor. The Glide-car returned to its normal ebon color, startling the drivers of the vehicles around it. Some of them swerved back and forth a few times, before regaining control. It wasn’t everyday one saw a whole car pop into existence, out of thin air.

They merged onto the fourth level of the Old 91. The extra-long sedan did so from a lower ramp. It’s’ driver gunned the Grav-lifts. The vehicle shot forward like a cannonball. It closed the distance between the two Glide-cars in seconds.

“If they can find us in stealth mode, then let’s resort to speed and see if they can keep up,” urged Estefan. He raised and lowered his eyebrows in rapid succession.

“Afterburner?” asked the long-legged beauty.

“Why not?”

He hadn’t even finished speaking, when the adaptive seat curled about his heavy form even more. The Glide-car rocketed down the freeway, leaving their larger, more ponderous pursuer behind.

“You gonna use the auto-avoidance counter-measures?” wondered Estefan. He was a little nervous his one-time step-sister was driving without aid at such tremendous speed for a mere highway. Sure Skycars flew as fast, even faster when their Grav-scrams kicked in. But, dodging through traffic at more than 1,100kph was downright crazy.

“You gonna pee your pants?” kidded Flavia, a wide grin etching her narrow face. She didn’t engage the avoidance computer and continued to drive with nothing but her wits.

“You never know…,” he replied in kind, peering about for the decoys he had requested. “Where’s the nearest mobile Null-Unit?” he asked on a hunch.

“Null-Unit, why would we need one of those?” she queried. Her brows knitted.

He stared over at her, reducing the size of his ‘Swarm screen. “Because if the decoys don’t work, then I have a good feeling what’s following us in that fucking car.”

She thought for a moment, pursing her thin lips. “They’ve got a Fermonist? Is that what you’re hinting at?”

“Uh-huh,” was all he said.

That explains a lot, thought Flavia. She sent another command to her ‘Swarm and the processing nanites began to execute her search in an instant.

A Fermonist was a specialized sort of Celeste, a sort of super-tracker, but not in the usual sense. A Fermonist doesn’t use scent as would any other creature following the unique smell of a given quarry. Rather, he hunts by some sort of mental triangulation that homes in on a given person’s genetic markers. All he (or she) would need was to have smelt his prey in person, once. After that, the genetic markers were hard-wired into his brain. The Fermonist would never forget it. This gives the Fermonist a huge advantage. No amount of masking or shielding, even distance in some cases, can foil this Mutation once it has homed in. They can track for years, if need be.

And that was what Estefan was beginning to suspect was tracking them now. There was no other way their pursuers could’ve foiled all their attempts to dislodge them.

How did a fucking Fermonist get a whiff of my ass? wondered Estefan, testy over some past indiscretion.

The Keeper’s ‘Swarm screen began to bleep, but its’ display didn’t change. It was just a signal. “Ok, Flavy, slow down. Let’s make for the South Bay Artery. Our decoys are a mile out,” he said, killing the beeping on his screen with a flick of a finger.

She nodded, slowing them back to the velocity of the traffic around them. “What shuffle maneuver are we doing, so I’m on the same page as the other drivers?”

He told her and she nodded.

They drove on for another thirty seconds. Then four box-like vehicles pull onto the freeway and surrounded them in rapid succession. From whatever side was facing them came a flimsy looking radio dish. It was much more than a mere dish though. Appearing more like flowers than anything mechanical, each of them began to flex and pulse. They swung in all manner of direction. For ten seconds nothing happened. Then, of a sudden, the boxy Glide-cars began to change. They pulled inward and reformed, a glowing sort of clay, unlike anything on the freeway. Until, over time, they began to take on the attributes of the Glide-car Flavia and Estefan were riding within. It began with color, then texture, then the shape and at last the details they replicated. In less than a minute, there were five of them, hurtling down the Grav-road. They appeared so alike they could’ve seemed manufactured, one after the other, on an assembly line.

They began to weave and swerve around one another. Slow at first, but gained in speed as time progressed, as each driver acclimated to the others. Before long they were changing position so fast, even Estefan was having a hard time keeping track, and he was in one of the Glide-cars.

Just as fast they stopped.

Flavia counted to ten.

Nothing happened.

They repeated the act again.

Then, she saw it – the sedan, coming on fast. The driver was pushing the Grav-lifts as fast as they could go. Its’ occupants must’ve seen them, because it slowed without warning. It swerved across three lanes – the very same the five duplicate cars were weaving through.

“Do the last shuffle right before the connecting bridges to the South Bay Artery. I want a wide dispersal. I want to be certain there’s a Fermonist back there and not some lucky bastard,” said the Keeper. In firm tones, he spoke through the U-GUARD channel. It was a high-frequency comm-link exclusive to Synod vehicles.

Ahead the monstrosity that was the South Bay Artery loomed. It was by far the largest throughway in Angel Free Town. It towered an incredible thirty-six levels on each of the fifteen levels of the city. Every single “artery” was twelve lanes wide, in either direction. At ground level, it was the only highway with on- and off-ramps reaching up and out of the four lower levels of the city. It connected traffic on a whole different scale than all the other highways of ‘Free Town.

Estefan’s smile was tight as he gazed upon the giant structure, remembering when it as the 405 freeway. Even way back in his youth, the 405 had won the title of the Busiest Freeway in the World.

If only they could see it now…, he thought.

A second later, he sent the “go” warble over the U-GUARD. Like dancers in a ballet, the five Glide-cars weaved around one another four more times. Then, they rocketed away from one another. Each used a short burst of afterburner, attaining maximum speed within seconds. Each driver took a different connecting bridge to the South Bay Artery. One even got off the highway system altogether.

Their car could’ve gone faster, but Flavia didn’t want to make things easy for their pursuers. Flavia knew this. She did not need telling and made sure they went no faster than the others.

Estefan used his Neuro-Nanoswarm screen to feed him the live shot from behind their vehicle. He watched, waiting for the curvature of the bridge to end, so he could see if the dark sedan still followed them.

Flavia reduced their speed to match the traffic. She merged, tucking into the flow of vehicles on the lowest level of the Artery.

Just before they wedged between a Transport skiff and a gaudy looking street racer, Estefan saw the extra-long Glide-car. It rounded the last curving section of the connecting bridge in plain view.

“It’s a Fermonist alright,” said the Keeper. “The cocksuckers are still on our ass.”

“Crap!” cursed the woman in black.

“The mobile Null-unit, where is it?” asked Estefan through pinched lips.

Flavia’s eyes followed something on her ‘Swarm screen he couldn’t see. Her brow creased at first, but then seemed to go wide with surprise.

“What is it?” asked her one-time step-brother.

“You’re not going to believe this, but it’s parked in the VIP section of parking bay 167 at the spaceport.”

“What the fuck it is doing there?” demanded Estefan.

She shrugged. “How the hell am I supposed to know? Those things run completely autonomous, complete with hard-coded programming. They have localized sub-routines remember?” she lectured. “I seem to recall it was you who wanted them built that way. Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong, god damn it! But the fucking VIP section, do we even have access to it?”

She turned to stare at him with both eyes.

He wished she’d keep her eyes on the damned road. Then, he held up a hand to forestall. “I know, I know, stupid question.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “Is it a quiet place, right?”

“Should be, it’s freakin’ VIP parking. What the hell do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think right now, Flavy.” He rubbed his bald head with his hand. “I’m getting too old for all this madness.”

“Oh, bullshit, stop acting like a baby,” admonished Flavia. “Come one we got work to do.”

At her side, the Keeper sighed. “Make for the Null-Unit. Hopefully, we can make the transition from the car to the unit without everyone in a two-block radius getting shot to pieces.”

“You never know, the night is still young, my dear.”

“Ppsssh!” hissed Estefan through his lips. It still didn’t stop him from running a quick inventory of the weapons they had with them. One didn’t get to the ripe old age of three hundred and eighty-four by acting like an idiot.

He didn’t have more than half a second before he caught sight of the first contrail at the corner of his eye. Contrail? he had time to ask himself when a second missile erupted from the extra-long Grav-car. Who the fuck uses missiles anymore?

Neither Flavia nor he moved, though.

They didn’t have to. Their vehicle acted for them.

“Threat Ten! Threat Ten! Modified Stinger Block Nine SAM inbound,” chimed the –car.

He was only half-listening. His fingers were flying across the virtual keys only he could see.

The pervasive use of gravity could thwart technology as outdated as “seeking” missiles of any sort with ease. The latter half of the twenty-fourth century was a time entrenched by the manipulation of that force… in every sense of the word.

At the rear of their Grav-car, a small, circular hole snapped open. A spindle-like, four-inch appendage shot forth. It’s’ tip was nothing more than a super-condensed version of the Grav-lifts keeping them afloat above the surface of the highway. Once arrayed, it went from dull gray to a brilliant cerulean.

To either the driver or the passenger in the car, there was nothing they could see. To the missiles though, the effect was immediate. As if grabbed by an invisible giant, both streaking projectiles stopped in mid-air. Their twin-rocket engines screamed in protest. So loud, Estefan could just make out the sound through the atmospheric insulation of their Grav-car.

The missiles only remained static for a short moment. Before he could follow, the gravity-well holding them in place flipped. And then, just as sudden, it evaporated. This sent the non-ballistic darts hurtling back the way they’d come.

The driver of the other car must’ve anticipated this. He was swerving, air-brakes deployed to full, the instant the Grav-sensors caught the missiles.

Both rockets flew past. One smashed into a Grav-hauler, pulling four containers, the other flew off into the night. The blast from the first sent the entire –hauler molten in a hundredth of a second, debris and shrapnel exploded every which way. Estefan watched through a thickening brow as scores of vehicles were unceremoniously tossed aside. Dozens of secondary and tertiary blasts rocked the massive superstructure of the Artery.

To the Keeper, they looked like toys.

“Sonofabitch!”

“We making much too big of an impression in Angel Free Town, Effy,” remarked Flavia.

He grunted, then squinted when the second missile detonated five miles out over the farms. Its’ proximity fuse must have gone off. Why hadn't their enemies removed the safety measures on the missiles before launching? Why? They weren’t conscientious bad buys if they were content to blow up the entire goddamned highway. Who were these guys, fucking amateurs?

He received his answer a second later.

The front quarter-panels of the long Grav-car unfolded, smooth, fast. Two sets of weapon’s racks emerged. They bristled with dozens of dark and very modern looking pointed cylinders.

The Stingers had been a diversion.

These guys were well-funded professionals.

Estefan felt his stomach tighten. “Flavia!” he called.

“I see them!” She waved her hand over yet another sensor. She put their vehicle into “full-auto, maximum defense/evasion-mode”. She spun out of her adaptive seat. Faster than the Keeper could follow, she dove for the backseat, a Command Stick gripped in the palm of her right hand.

Command Sticks created state-of-the-art Weapon Modules out of thin air. In just about any space they’d work, provided there was three cubic feet of it.

“You’re gonna have to move your ass, girlie! We got bad news coming.”

“You don’t think I know that!” yelled Flavia as she held the Stick before her. She touched both sides with the tips of her pinky fingers.

“Threat One! Threat One! TARP launch! TARP launch!” wailed their Grav-car. A high-pitched warble gave them the impression the conveyance itself feared for its' life.

Well, it should be…

“Fuck,” groaned the Keeper aloud.

TARP’s (or Triangulated Replicant-Grav Projectiles) were the absolute worst. Their design was specific to penetrate all gravity-related defenses. They had made all countermeasures obsolete the moment of their deployment.

It had been a triumphant day for Milandry Enterprises - one of the Synod’s most voracious competitors. For the first time in many years, the Synod’s own weapon’s division had been “one-upped”. TARP’s had sent thousands of the Keeper's engineers, scientists and specialists scrambling.

The sensors within a TARP itself could nullify any gravity-well used against it. The programming of these sensors applied a similar “well” in response. Only this “well” was set in direct opposition to the one used against it. This was effective in “cancelling-out” the defensive measure. Propelled at hyper-sonic velocities, there was only one mechanism capable of safeguarding against a TARP. Even then, it wasn’t one hundred percent reliable.

“D-Shields deployed!” screamed their Grav-car’s ‘Swarm.

“This better work,” urged Estefan.

Flavia was too busy to respond.

D-Shields were “genius level”, self-duplicating preventative measures. They were the only technology that could hope to stop a TARP. In actuality, they didn’t stop them in the true sense of the word. Rather, they deflected them until they contained them.

D-Shields were remarkable beyond belief, manufactured only by the Aegis Synod. It was the use of next-generation, smart Diatainium that made it so. This was a neat way of saying the ‘Swarms programmed into the Shields were so mighty, they were borderline self-aware. Their probability matrices were so fast, they fired almost as fast as the Neurons of a Human brain.

Once a TARP struck the deflecting field of a D-Shield, the ‘Swarm within the Shield would predict where the hyper-sonic bolt would head next. Immediately, it would move to deflect it again. By every third or fourth deviation, the Shield would be able to duplicate itself. Thus, it left yet another surface to “bounce” the TARP away from its’ intended target. Over a short duration, a complete “cocoon” will develop about the TARP. This was effective by containing it within. When the dart finally lost velocity, it would merely “fall” to the bottom of the now spherical D-Shield – harmless. At least that was the hope.

Problems developed when the probability matrix of a given Shield predicted a ricochet in an improper fashion. Since TARP’s are so dangerous, the outcome of such a miscalculation was always horrendous.

Estefan’s orbs remained glued to the virtua-HUD on his sim-screen.

Eight TARP’s, four from each weapon rack, burst to life and streaked from the pursuing –car. A quarter of an eye-blink later, eight D-Shields “popped” from the rear bumper of their vehicle. At once, the Shields expanded. They oriented themselves fifteen degrees upward relative to the oncoming missiles. By now, the TARP’s were no more than molten slag within a high-powered electromagnetic field set to disengage upon impact.

The Keeper braced himself as everything seemed to happen at the same time.

All eight TARP’s struck a corresponding D-Shield.

Their Grav-car swerved across seven lanes of traffic. It went afterburner to complete the maneuver without hitting anything.

Flavia settled into a new-formed Weapons Control Module. It hadn’t been in the backseat seconds before.

The Heavy counted as all eight D-Shields “caught” their respective TARP’s. Each began their intricate dance of deflection. Each slag-bolt ricocheted off the impenetrable Diatainium surface of the Shields. Then, they ricocheted off another – again and again. The D-Shield spheres began to form almost at once. They trapped the TARP’s, lifting them up into the night air, above the flood of traffic on the highway.

Then, eight more flashes caught his attention. The extra-long Grav-car banked of a sudden, bringing their conveyance into range. Eight more TARP’s catapulted toward them.

“D-Shields deployed!” quailed the ‘Swarm.

The scene before him repeated. Eight more interceptions, eight more containments. The D-Shields lifted TARP’s above the congested freeway.

“Flavia, do something!” he ordered, accessing the city-grid. He was trying to see if their mini-battle on the Artery had alerted Public Safety. They had! There were at least two score ground units dispatched and double that in the air. Shit, things are going to get bad, real soon.

“I’m trying! What do you think I’m doing here, picking my ass?”

Eight more TARP’s flashed.

Fuck!

Their enemy was done playing games, hoping to overwhelm their D-Shields. Eight more TARP’s fired on the heels of the second volley, followed by eight more, then eight after that.

Estefan re-opened their private channel on Angel Free Town’s CommNet. He felt the back of their Grav-car vibrate as an equal number of the Shields “popped” to block the incoming slag-bolts.

“Michael, you still there?” he asked into his sim-screen.

The first D-Shields began to interact with the TARP’s.

“Never left, sir,” came the clipped reply. The blinking pixel once again turned into the fuzzy video feed from before.

More Shields “caught” their targets.

“We need Synod security forces down here at once,” commanded the Keeper.

More interceptions, more deflections – their enemy fired another round, then another.

“Already en route, Lord Keeper – ETA: twelve point two minutes.”

More Shields arrayed – a lot more! Their Grav-car’s ‘Swarm must’ve anticipated the enemy’s tactics. It was jettisoning many more of the countermeasures than was necessary. It was smart, though. It was the only thing to do.

More TARP’s screeched from the weapon racks behind them.

Estefan frowned. “How is that possible?”

The entire freeway behind them was now clear of vehicles, all twelve lanes were filling with Shield spheres. The TARP’s were bursting with brilliant cascades of light each time they rebounded off a Diatainium surface.

“Lord Keeper, Synoddess Cervantes has been monitoring this transmission for the past four minutes. She’s using a passive trace. Designated as Alpha-Omega 1, Priority Delta, Serial Number 02. That makes her Aegis grade…” He paused to clear his throat. “…Just as you, my Lord.”

Still, more TARP’s came.

Estefan didn’t reply. He minimized the video feed back down to a single pixel, shaking his head. Well, she was only in orbit above the earth…, he was thinking when one of the D-Shields misinterpreted the course of its’ TARP.

The molten slag streaked upward into the underbelly of the highway above them. The electric storm that followed was as bright as starlight.

It hurt Estefan’s eyes – and that was a hard thing to do to a Heavy.

It was a horrific thing to see. The slag-dart ripped through the two middle lanes of the twelve-laned freeway. The explosion and the bolts of generated-lightning struck into the traffic below. There were hundreds of electrocutions, all cooked alive in their –cars or –buses or –skiffs.

The Grav-fields failed at once. This sent every vehicle down into the emergency suspension-nets a meter or so below the former surface of the road. Most of them were saved.

A few, the heaviest of the transports overwhelmed the system. Unseen generators squealed in protest to keep those ponderous monsters aloft – to no avail.

Another round of deflections flickered behind them. Huge Glide-haulers, over-long bus-trains, Grav-trucks and many, many more specialized conveyances fell from the upper level and onto theirs. Collisions, explosions, pulverized bodies, tremendous heat and flames stretched back as far as the one-time brother and sister could see.

“Do you have them?” asked the Keeper through clenched teeth. Though they had left Angel Free Town years and years ago, it was obvious Estefan was still possessive of it. It had been, after all, his hand that had raised it from the ashes of war and famine.

Flavia didn’t answer. Her fingers, like a pianist above his keys, never stopped moving over the Weapons Interface.

Then, their Grav-car shuddered beneath them.

The Keeper watched as single Mark 97-Super G, anti-Grav Torp ejected from a hard-point somewhere within their vehicle. Its’ warhead was already searching for the specific gravitational signature of the elongated chase car. The Guardian had been imputing its frequency the entire time.

The chasing Grav-car turned aside, pure violence, trying to avoid the large weapon. In moments, its occupants raised a Beam-Shield. It was their hope its electronic “thrum” would be enough to confuse the Super G’s homing mechanisms.

It worked – almost.

Instead of a direct hit, the torpedo slammed into the rearmost section of the –car. It wasn’t a killing blow though. It exploded for the most part in the storage compartment of the vehicle. Unfortunately, this was well armored. Thus, most of the Dia-Therm Hybrid warhead’s detonation remained within. But, it did serve to disable one of the rear Grav-lifts. The other three had to compensate for it. This was no easy task. It forced the extra-long Grav-car to hover at an angle ten degrees to the right. It also meant their enemy couldn’t travel any faster than one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour.

Within a heartbeat, Estefan and Flavia left them behind. There were few vehicles that could keep up with their modified Merc-Ford 5500 at full capacity. A hobbled –car could not manage it.

“Someone’s going to feel my foot up their ass for this,” grumbled the Keeper.

His one-time step-sister extracted herself from the Weapons Module. She snaked her way back to the driver’s seat. She flipped her hair behind her ears, settling into the adaptive chair. “Fucking audacious,” was all she’d say.

“Imm-hmm,” agreed the Keeper through pursed lips.

She didn’t take over navigation of the Grav-car right away. She left their conveyance in auto-mode and began checking all its’ many systems instead.

Estefan had anticipated this. “Our course is still true. We’re spot on for the Null-unit.”

“We gonna need it,” she said. She nodded her head at the hundreds of flashing lights. Public Safety had at last descended upon the scene.

“Go stealth, Flavy. Get us the fuck out of here.”

She flicked her fingers over the correct modulator and took control of the –car. The Spaceport was already in sight, though it was still some ten kilometers away.

A long silence ensued. They were both immersed in thought. Who could’ve done this? Why? Who had the means? Who had funded a Fermonist and such advanced weaponry like the TARP? Who had compromised Dr. Ahmed’s security?

What were they getting into?

Flavia breathed a few heavy breaths, then sighed, a huge exhalation. “They killed a lot of people, Eff.”

He nodded. He looked out the window, trying to find solace in the farms. He failed.

“They’ll pay. We’ll find them and they’ll pay.”