"Sounds like it. Sam, reprogram the missiles for a ballistic trajectory. All of 'em."
"Roger."
"Carl, can you keep that thing low to the ground so that the effect doesn't extend very far up?"
"It doesn't float too far off the ground, Jake. But it might knock out your radar… scanners, I mean."
"Just so it doesn't knock out the missiles' homing mechanisms."
"I can't promise that."
"We don't have much to lose by trying. Moore seems to have it over us in the black box department. Unaided, our missiles'll never hit him. So, stand by to fire that thing. Okay?"
"Will do."
"Sam?"
"Ready, Jake. All targeted."
"Fire away."
"Missiles off."
A series of loud whooshes came from the roof of the cab.
"Gimme the skyband again, and tell Carl to fire the Green Balloon when the missiles reach the apex of their trajectories."
"Gotcha."
"Breaker, breaker. You still back there, Moore?"
"Indeed we are. What can I do for you?"
"You can take a look at your scanners and see death."
"Jake, those old firecrackers of yours don't worry us at all. We're just waiting for that roller to go completely to pieces. Won't be long. You're leaving chunks of it all over the road."
"There's gonna be pieces of you all over the road, goodbuddy. Are you sure you see those missiles?"
"Clear as day. And you didn't fool us any by giving them a ballistic curve instead of cruising them. Actually, it doesn't make much difference―"
Suddenly, everything went out. The instrument lights flickered, went out, came back on. The scanner screens went blank for a moment. The engine powered down, groaned, sighed, and then came back to life.
"We just caught the edge of the effect zone," Sam said. "I zonked out there for a second."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Missiles seem to be on course. Looks like our friends are trying to take evasive action." Sam laughed wickedly. "Fat lot of good it'll do 'em. They're blind, and it looks like their engines have quit on 'em too. They won't be able to roll out of the zone in time. Unless…"
"What?"
"Damn."
"What, what?" I said.
"We were on a curve when Carl fired. I don't have an accurate fix on that thing, though I'm painting some fuzzy stuff that might be it. It looks as though it's drifting off. They may get out of the effect zone just in time."
"Oh, hell."
"We'll know in a few… Yeah, looks like they're back on full power, and they're starting to fire. Five seconds to impact.
"Four… three… two… Huh?"
I shot a glance into the rearview parabolic, couldn't see anything. "What happened, Sam?"
"Son of a brick. Those missiles detonated before impact. All of 'em, all at once."
"That's impossible."
"Yeah? How come it happened? I'm not entirely sure they detonated, but they all disappeared from the scope in a flash."
"Moore couldn't have done that," I said. "He would've got some of them, but not all of them in one clean sweep."
"I think you're right. They were just about to be hit hard when it happened. Two more seconds and we would've got 'em. Hell. There goes the fuel on the drone. I'll have to recover it."
"Send up Number Two drone," I told him.
"Going up right now,"
"I'm going to slow down." I reached for the band selector switch. "Carl?"
"Yeah."
"Feather back a little. Want to see what the hell happened back there, and this roller's going to go any minute."
"Okay."
"Sam, do you see anything?"
"They've dropped back."
"Maybe we did get 'em."
"Don't see how. Those missiles airbursting over them wouldn't've done any damage."
"Well, they're not following and that's all I care about."
I noticed that the terrain had changed. We were out of the swamps and onto rolling plains of purple grass. The portal cylinders were gray-black stumps against a gray horizon. We still had time to check on Sam and Liam without having to stop.
"Roland!" I yelled. "Unstrap, go back, and unbolt the hatch to the crawl tube. Get back to that trailer fast!"
"Right!"
"Hold it a minute, Roland!" Sam shouted. "Something coming up. Right, and I think this'll explain what happened to the missiles."
"A Roadbug?"
"Yeah, looks like one."
"You think it intervened?"
"Yup. They don't like rowdy behavior on their road."
"I hope it's in a lenient mood today."
Roadbug behavior was difficult to predict. They were traffic cops, theoretically with only one law to enforce: "Thou shalt not close the road, nor interrupt traffic in any way on any section thereof." As in any legal system, however, judgment sometimes turned on interpretation. Running battles on the road often were tolerated, but in some cases a Roadbug might blast one or the other of the warring parties if it detected a general pattern of illegal activity. In other words, you couldn't just gavel the Skyway taking potshots at anybody and everybody. Sooner or later the Bugs would get wise―there was no doubt that they kept files on specific vehicles, perhaps on all vehicles regularly using the road―and you'd get stomped. Flat. The Roadbugs were notorious for conducting quickie trials on the run, taking testimony from both suspects and witnesses, and rendering summary justice. These decisions were irreversible; there was no court of appeal.
Who were they? What were they? Roadbuilder machines? Or were they the Roadbuilders themselves? Nobody knew.
"It's a Bug, all right," Sam announced.
Since the rearview camera was out, I looked out the port at the parabolic mirror. Within the converging edges of the mad behind us, a silver blob was swelling rapidly to take on the shape of a Skyway Patrol vehicle. Their speeds were always fantastic. Sometimes they would overtake you at such a terrific clip that the shock wave would nearly send you sailing out of control. This one appeared to be decelerating, as usual at a bone-pulping rate. I slowed. Doubtless the Bug wanted a chat with us. Pass the time of day.
"Son, tell the truth. Always best when you're dealing with Bugs."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Don't get smart. Yep, here's his hailing signal. I'll put him on the cabin speaker."
"OCCUPANTS OF COMMERCIAL VEHICLE: YOU WILL PROCEED AT ONCE TO THE NEXT SECTION."
The Roadbug's voice was like a needle through the eardrums. Imagine all the unpleasant noises you can: the creak of chalk against a blackboard, the tearing of metal, the snap of bone, the crash of vehicles colliding, the buzz of a vibrosaw. Take those waveforms and bunch them up around the extremes of the audible range, then superimpose a ghastly, nonhuman voice over top. The description is inadequate. I suppressed a shudder, and tried to answer in a calm voice.
"Following your order will cause us hardship and put us in danger."
A pause. Then: "EXPLAIN."
"This portal will take us away from our planned route and leave us stranded. We have no maps for that section. Also, we have a dangerously defective roller."
The Roadbug pulled alongside us. It looked like an immense silver beetle, its surface featureless and glossy. Blotting out the sky to our left, it drew close for an inspection of the roller. As if to demonstrate, the roller obliged by throwing off another huge chunk of itself. Apparently satisfied, the Bug edged away.
"DEFECTIVE COMPONENT CONFIRMED. NEVERTHELESS, YOU WILL PROCEED TO THE NEXT SECTION. WE WILL ASSIST."
I squelched the mike. "Goddammit," I said. "Sam? Can you think of anything?"
"Ask him why," Sam said. "Ask nice."
I reopened the mike. "We respectfully request the reasons for your order."
"YOUR RECENT CONDUCT ON THIS SECTION HAS BEEN DEEMED POTENTIALLY DISRUPTIVE OF TRAFFIC FLOW. YOU MUST BE SEPARATED FROM YOUR OPPONENTS."
"We were fired on without provocation."