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try another maneuver of that sort! You are warned to keep to your lanes and the standard rules of
road courtesy!”
Then it queeped, and George felt the universe settling like silt over him. He was being killed
by the system.
He’d have to eject. The seats would save him and Jessica. He tried to tell her, but she had
fainted.
How did I get into this? he pleaded with himself. Dear God, I swear if you get me out of this
alive I’ll never never never go mad like this again. Please God.
Then the Merc was up on him again, pulling up alongside!
The window went down on the passenger side of the Mercury, and George whipped a glance
across to see Billy with his lips skinned back from his teeth under the windblast and acceleration,
aiming a.45 at him. Barely thinking, George studded the bumpers.
The super-conducting magnetic bumpers took hold, sucked Billy into his magnetic field, and
they collided with a crash that shook the.45 out of the rodder’s hand. In the instant of collision,
George realized he had made his chance, and dropped back. In a moment he was riding the Merc’s
tail again.
Naked barbarism took hold. He wanted to kill now. Not crash the other, not wound the other,
not stop the other--kill the other! Messages to God were forgotten.
He locked-in the laser and aimed for the windshield bubble. His sights caught the rear of the
bubble, fastened to the outline of Billy’s head, and George fired.
As the bolt of light struck the bubble, a black spot appeared, and remained for the seconds
the laser touched. When the light cut off, the black spot vanished. George cursed, screamed, cried, in
fear and helplessness.
The Merc was equipped with a frequency-sensitive laserproof windshield. Chemicals in the
windshield would “go black,” opaque at certain frequencies, momentarily, anywhere a laser light
touched them. He should have known. A duelist like this Billy, trained in weaponry, equipped for
whatever might chance down a Freeway. Another coded optional. George found he was crying,
piteously, within the cavern of his bangup hat.
Then the Merc was swerving again, executing a roll and dip that George could not
understand, could not predict. Then the Merc dropped speed suddenly, and George found himself
almost running up the jet nozzle of the blood-red vehicle.
He spun out and around, and Billy was behind him once more, closing in for the kill. He sent
the propellers to full spin and reached for eternity. 270. 280. 290.
Then he heard the sizzling, and jerked his head around to see the back wall of the car
rippling. Oh my God. he thought, in terror, he can’t afford a laser, but he’s got an inductor beam!
The beam was setting up strong local eddy currents in the beryllium hide of the Chevy. He’d
rip a hole in the skin, the air would whip through, the car would go out of control.
George knew he was dead.
And Jessica.
And all because of this punk, this rodder fuzzface!
The Merc closed in confidently.
George thought wildly. There was no time for anything but the blind plunging panic of
random thought. The speedometer and the tach agreed. They were doing 300 mph.
Riding on air-cushions.
The thought slipped through his panic.
It was the only possibility. He ripped off his bangup hat, and fumbled Jessica’s loose. He
hugged them in his lap with his free hand, and managed to stud down the window on the driver’s
side. Instantly, a blast of wind and accelerated air skinned back his lips, plastered his cheeks
hollowly, made a death’s head of Jessica’s features. He fought to keep the Chevy stable, gyro’d.
