After three bad leads, I found my way into the Police Department’s main computer. There were security wards, but after my bout with Big Mac I was able to pass through these without slowing down. It was not really the police computer that I had set out to locate, however. Any of a number of others would have done as well. All that I actually wanted was a detailed map of the city…
I studied it for a long while, fixing in my memory the features that I thought I could use. Next, I memorized a few major thoroughfares—east-west and north-south—so that when I finally hit one I would be into a coordinate system…
I was about to disengage from the unit when it occurred to me to seek myself within it.
Ricktatack. Backadaback…
… Donald BelPatri—[description and photo repro code]. Armed and dangerous. Fugitive warrant, Philadelphia. Theft, Angra Corp. Attempted homicide, William Matthews. Auto theft…
I erased it. No sense in leaving things easy for them when the opportunity to meddle is handy.
Still, I’d a feeling I would be back into the machine pretty soon, once my nemesis at Angra got wind of the railroad report. Running that thing down and trying to erase it could take me all night, time I couldn’t spare. Besides, by now it was probably already in the system at Angra. In fact… Maybe I had impulsively just provided them with another clue by wiping my record. Well . . shit. Too late now. Think first next time…
Rackadack.
I found myself leaning against a tree. I only dimly recalled having halted. I began walking again, reviewing the street map, trying to fix it more firmly in mind.
Several blocks passed. Small streets. Nothing I was looking for. But up ahead…
An apartment complex, with a big parking lot.
I studied the place for long minutes, to see whether I could spot a guard of any sort, but I couldn’t.
I could not start any of those cars mentally, I knew, not when they were cold like that. I needed a little juice in a machine’s circuits to play around with.
However…
I entered the lot and began a long, slow stroll. The lighting was not always good, and if anyone saw me I knew that I must look suspicious, peering into car windows that way. Statistically, it just seemed possible that out of all those cars someone might have left the keys in one.
Twenty minutes later, I was beginning to doubt this, right before I located one—a black coupe, electric. I got in quickly, started it, backed it out of the parking place and got out of the lot fast. I didn’t breathe easily until I had gone several miles.
I was onto a fairly wide street, which finally took me into a business district. I determined to follow it until I hit one of my coordinates or ten miles, whichever came first. In the later case, I would then turn around and follow it in the other direction backtracking and passing on until I hit one.
I came upon one fairly quickly, however, and turned onto it. Just a couple of miles, after that, I intersected with another. At last I knew where I was.
My mental map now oriented, I headed in the direction of the feature I sought. When the police car came up behind me I almost did something foolish. But prudence ruled and I halted at the stop light rather than flooring it and crashing through. When the light changed, the car passed me and shortly thereafter turned off to the left. I found myself shaking, though I knew that I should have felt a bit secure in the knowledge that there was nothing out on the car yet. I drove very carefully after that.
I saw an open diner. It wasn’t on my schedule, but my stomach felt otherwise about it. I could see that the place was nearly deserted. I pulled into the lot, went in and had a club sandwich, a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. I washed up and repaired my self in the rest room, wishing I had a razor as I ran my hand over my now-stubbly chin. I took out my wallet and counted the bills. I generally carry a good amount of cash when I travel—I’m old-fashioned that way. I was pleased to see that I still had several hundred dollars. Good. That would be of help.
Driving again, and feeling much better, I continued along the rough route I had in mind, still wincing whenever I heard a siren.
While I did not know exactly where the place was, I hoped to come across signs as soon as I got into the vicinity. The city thinned out as I drove. Malls and building clusters came and went, and then there were only houses, farther and farther apart. Finally, a sign appeared, and I turned where it indicated.
A light plane came out of the north, circled and descended toward a bright area up ahead, my destination.
I slowed as I approached, locating the entrance drive and turning up it. The place did not seem exceptionally large or busy. It was just one of many small air transport services.
I found a spot in the uncrowded parking lot, turned off the engine, turned off the lights. I coiled then into the computer in the operations building which lay ahead and to my left. I flashed past the flights in progress information and the weather reports. There were eight ’copters on the ground, I learned. Two of them were being serviced and two had just come in recently and had not yet been gone over. Four were out on pads, fully serviced, fully fueled, awaiting use.
I studied what I could see of the field, trying to match eyeball with electronic information. The farthest one, of course, would be mine…
I left the keys in the car, the car in the lot, my footsteps on the lawn, bearing me far to the left, past the building on what appeared to be its blindest side. I kept to the shadows as much as possible, passing along behind a row of small hangars. Someone was in the first one, servicing a light plane.
Emerging near the pad I sought, I simply walked across fifteen meters of concrete and climbed into the pilot’s seat in the vehicle I had chosen. There had been no outcry. If anybody had noticed me, perhaps they’d thought I’d some business there. I don’t know.
I studied the controls. I had only the vaguest idea of what did what for anything. Still, there ought to be some simple switches for ignition or battery, something that would get some juice into the system.
I strapped myself in and experimented. After half a minute of fumbling, I got the engine to kick over. Simultaneously, the flight computer came to life. I was still vividly fresh on helicopter computers and automatic pilots.
I activated the takeoff program. The sound of the engine increased in intensity and the blades made a bullroaring noise overhead. I followed the operations of the various systems. Everything appeared to be in order.
As I rose, I wondered whether I should have any lights on on the vehicle. I decided against it. Why make things any easier for anyone else, just for a little safety? Of course, they would doubtless try tracking me on their radar, but I intended to get very low very shortly for what I had in mind, and I had hopes of losing them—at least for a while.
I didn’t cross the field. I headed away from it to the left, constantly scanning the sky for anything incoming, until I felt safely out of range of the place.
And then, to the northwest. I preferred skirting the town to flying over it I kept low as we passed above fields and farms, but high enough to avoid power lines as we chased the falling moon. Finally, the ground began to drop away, gently, and a little later I was given a view of the dark, star-shot river. Again, I reviewed the police map as I drove on toward it, and when I finally came to its bank and passed on out over the water I turned to the left and headed downriver.
There was an empty stretch of road about a mile from the place which I hoped would satisfy my needs. I set it down there, climbing out quickly, got out of the way and sent it aloft again. Having checked out a variety of pre-planned flight programs it possessed, I directed it to fly to Oklahoma City, maintaining a low altitude for the first twenty miles and then following its normal programming for the balance of the trip.