Let's see now, if I remember correctly.. depress clutch pedal ― letting out the clutch ― and it should be in neutral. Where was the N? No N. Okay, the line connecting the two uprights on the H. Neutral. Now, shift into 1. First gear. Right, now…
The car lurched forward, and I felt the motor dying on me. I floored the pedal again and the car stopped, but something had been straining to hold it back. What was this, this handle over here? Ah, a mechanical brake. I guessed. Sure. I fiddled with it until the shaft popped back into its hidey-hole under the dash. The car rolled forward slowly, coasting down the gentle incline of the street. I finally got the car in gear, and we started moving. Darla was lying faceup on the seat next to me, showing signs of waking up. She moaned softly and moved her head from side to side.
As we pulled away, a tall young man with an odd haircut came running out of the store, yelling.
"Hey! Where the hell do you ―? HEY! COME BACK HERE!"
I depressed the accelerator pedal and the car shot forward with alarming speed, the sound of the engine rising to a high-pitched whine.
"You lousy bastards!" the kid yelled as we roared down the street.
Lousy? I hadn't heard the word in years. It was distinctly American and archaic.
The engine howled in protest, demanding to be shifted. I let out the clutch, and the engine raced wildly until I decided it would be a good idea to lift my foot from the accelerator. I wrestled with the gearshift until it found a notch to rest in, then tentatively eased up on the clutch pedal. The car gave a little shake and jumped forward in second gear. The owner had given up running after us and stood arms akimbo in the middle of the street. I waved.
The car had amazing power. More remarkable was how the guts of the machine had been altered to perform as if it were really an intemal-combustion-driven vehicle with a mechanical transmission. I turned a corner to the left.
"Jake!" It was Darla, snapping awake. She sat up with a jerk, braced herself with one hand on the dash, one on the seat back, looking around.at me and the car, her face frozen in wonder.
Finally, she gasped, "Jake, what happened?"
"Good morning. I don't know, but we're out of one pickle and into another."
"Where did you ―?" The strangeness of the vehicle hit her. "What is this thing?"
"Somebody's idea of history on wheels. I stole it, if you must know. But first, tell me how you avoided getting burnt to a crisp back at the ranch."
"Huh?" She "screwed up her face, rubbed her eyes, and leaned back into the seat. "Sorry, I'm still feeling a little strange. How did I…? Oh, yeah." She turned her head sharply to me. "They didn't tell you? You mean, you thought I was dead?"
"Thought you were scorched meat."
"Oh, Jake, I'm so sorry."
"Never mind. Well, how did you manage it? That bolt was dead on target." I clucked disapprovingly. "Little foolhardy to take potshots at a Militia flitter, don't you think? Silly girl."
She grinned sheepishly. "Dumb but proud, I guess." Her expression changed. "Damn it, Jake, I didn't want them to take you. I aimed for the impeller, thinking to send them out of control for a second so you could duck out of the light."
I turned into a side street, getting off the main boulevard. The tires squealed. They didn't crackle ― squealed like a puppy getting a paw nipped underfoot. "Wouldn't have made any difference. With their night-sight gear it was broad daylight to them. The searchlights were for our benefit. The human prey instinctively thinks darkness hides him."
"I never thought of it." She bit her lip and frowned, then shrugged it off. "Anyway," she went on, "the impeller had extra shielding, so the point's academic. I fired, then immediately hit the ground and rolled. Even so, I barely made it." She pulled down the wide collar of the jumpsuit to reveal a soft bare shoulder seared with angry red bums. "I had them treated. It's not too bad, really. Second-degree."
"Still," I said, "it was stupid, but I love you for it." I leaned over and kissed her shoulder.
She broke into a big grin and threw her arms around me. "Jake, darling, I'm so.glad!"
"Whoa! I have to steer this thing." Heedless, she covered my mouth with hers and blocked my view. My arms were pinned by her hug, and the car swerved to the right toward a rig unloading a pop-up dome at a vacant lot.
"Hey!" I yelled when my mouth was finally free, grabbed the shiny knob on the wheel, and shoved it to the right. A woman unloading the rig dodged out of the way, then cussed us out in what sounded like Cape Dutch.
"Whoops! Sorry." Darla climbed down off me. She went through her little straightening-up routine, then looked at me. "Where're we going?" she asked.
"If I knew where Sam was, I'd get out of town fast. I have a feeling that this thing could outrun any Militia vehicle, even an interceptor, maybe. But―"
"My God, I almost forgot," she interrupted, and reached into her right hip pocket, took out Sam's key, and handed it to me. "Petrovsky was trying to persuade me to call Sam in, lure him so they could immobilize him and search the rig. For the map, I guess. I managed to get the key in my pocket before I passed out."
I took the black oblong box and pressed the call tab.
"Jake! Where in the name of Jesus are you?"
"Tooling around Maxwellville, looking for you. Where the hell are you?"
"Out in the bush near the Skyway to the Seven Suns Interchange portal. Looking for that damn ranch, or John, or Darla, or anybody who can… [sputter]… what the hell's going on?"
"Everybody's in town. Can you give me your position more exactly?"
"Not exactly. There's no navigation satellite around Goliath. But I'm about twenty klicks north of the Skyway … [crackle]…"
The rest of the transmission got swallowed in static.
"Sam, you're fading out. Repeat."
"… ten klicks above the road… use the beacon…"
"Sam, t can't read you, but stay put and turn on your beacon. Repeat, stop and turn on your beacon. Acknowledge."
"… on beacon, rodger. I read you loud and…"
"Jake," Darla said. She was looking back through the oval rear window. "A cop car crossed the intersection we just passed through, going to our right. Don't know if he saw us."
"Right. Well, they're up and about. And that kid probably wasted no time reporting his horse-and-buggy stolen."
"I should have given you the key right away, but I was groggy as hell.'.,
"Doesn't matter," I said. "In order to slip out of town, we need a nondescript vehicle. Trouble is, if we steal another…"
At that moment we saw John and company in their Gadabout coming from the opposite direction. Winnie was with them. I rolled down the window and yelled to no avail, then remembered the hom. Where? A button? No, right here, the padded knob at the hub of the wheel. The nom tootled its absurd herald, and in the rearview mirror I saw John leaning out the driver's port, looking back. I did a fast U-turn, drew up to them and leaned on the hom. They pulled to the curb beside a vacant lot. Darla got out her gun and I looked around. Maxwellville reminded me of the little Jersey resort towns we used to vacation in when times were good ― flat, with low white or pastel buildings, but here there were numerous vacant lots and a great deal of open, space. I hoped this wouldn't take long.
Winnie scrambled out of the Gadabout and ran over to us. I got out of the vehicle and she hugged my legs, then jumped in to embrace Darla. I told Darla to keep a lookout, then went over to the Gaddy.