His partner flopped off his scooter, and I ran for it, ready to speed off into the street, when three more cops entered the alley from the other side, heading right for me.
A bike chase was a no-win proposition for me. They could go wherever I went, and they were armed.
I glanced at the kermit. He’d managed to stop peeing, and steam was rising from his wet chest. Without thinking I knelt next to him, hitting the release button on his left knee, the clamps of the frog leg automatically opening up. Before I could second-guess myself, the spring stilts were on my own legs, automatically snugging themselves to a perfect fit.
Frog legs worked on two simple principles. Longer legs meant longer strides, and springs transferred energy. They were made of reinforced carbon slats, which curved backward in half-moon shapes. This allowed them to bend. Extra height plus extra bounce meant higher speed. I’d heard some folks could reach fifty miles per hour on them, which was faster than biofuel scooters.
But how in the heck did you get up once they were on?
The legs were lightweight but cumbersome. The added height made it impossible for me to stand because my knees were too high. I crawled to the alley wall and had to pull myself up on the ivy. Once erect, balancing was awkward, and I had no idea how anyone could walk in these things, let alone run.
The cops got within Taser range. I pushed myself off the wall, took three staggering steps, and then realized that the frog legs changed my center of gravity. Leaning forward corrected this issue. Head down, I sprinted at the scooters.
The rate of acceleration was surprising, blowing my hair back, the world blurring past me on either side. Each stride covered ten or twelve feet, and the bouncing-though it looked silly to an observer-actually felt steady and controlled. It was like regular running, only enhanced.
Time to try a jump.
The cops swerved out of my way, probably thinking I was just another kermit. Then one of them IDed me and raised his weapon, coming at me fast.
I bounced on my right leg and leapt up, clearing his bike easily. But my exhilaration was short-lived, because I actually kept going higher, as if gravity no longer had a hold on me, and when I looked down I was twenty feet in the air. If I landed wrong, it would break me, or possibly kill me.
After a momentary adrenaline surge of pure panic, I brought both legs together and leaned forward in a crouching position, clenching my teeth, ready to absorb the shock of impact.
I hit the ground hard, slamming into the greentop with incredible speed and force – and didn’t feel the impact at all.
The frog legs absorbed the kinetic energy, then released it, launching me into the air again. The relief that surged through me was fleeting; I was leaping into oncoming traffic.
I shifted my body in the air, trying to control my trajectory, even flapping my arms like a pigeon to prevent me from landing on top of a motorist. I managed to squeeze between two scooters, hopping on one leg, bending my knee so the next bounce wouldn’t be as high. My left stilt clipped a commuter’s helmet, throwing me off balance, and I did a bizarre pirouette, landed on both legs, and then did splits in the air like a freestyle skier, leapfrogging another two bikes and heading straight for a bus.
I had deja vu of the train incident earlier, except this time I didn’t have gecko tape, and the bus was coming at me rather than moving in the same direction. I bent into a pike, managing to get my legs out in front of me, my ass brushing against the vehicle’s green roof as I barely cleared the top. My stilts dug two trenches in the flowers, then caught on the internal irrigation system. My body continued its forward motion, my knees bent, and I bounced off the roof, just as a gigantic bolt of Tesla lightning split the night and struck the bus less than a foot behind me.
The TTS had locked on.
THIRTY-SIX
I wasn’t a fan of heights, so seeing the ground whir by thirty feet below me made my stomach do flip-flops. The frog legs had amazing stabilizers and shock suppressors, but all I could think of as I plummeted to earth was, I’m on a one-way trip to Pancake Town.
I brought my ankles together, feeling the impact this time-a bone-jarring shock that made me bite my tongue. But I managed to keep my balance, and the spring stilts performed as advertised, once again bouncing me skyward.
Another Tesla bolt singed some poor sap in my wake. I managed to get the next bounce under control, and hopped into the frog lane, spitting some blood over my shoulder, heading for Wacker Drive. My bouncing gradually became manageable and I began to run once again, weaving through other kermits.
I easily outsped the CPD bikes, which were stuck in congestion, but not without personal cost. Though quick, the frog legs required a lot more exertion than simple running, and after two blocks I was a gasping, sweaty wreck. Every time I slowed my pace, the TTS threw a Tesla bolt at me, each one closer than the last. I needed to find some shelter and catch my breath.
I darted through more powerbockers, several of whom got zapped in my stead, then ducked into an office building. It was a typical Chicago skyscraper-a green lobby, a security island, about two dozen utopeons milling about amid the chrome, mirrors, and ficus trees.
“Hey! No frog legs!”
The security guard’s only weapons were a harsh tone and a stern glance, neither of which cowed me. I sighted the escalator and bounded toward it, relaxing a bit; TTSs didn’t work indoors.
“I’m talking to you, buddy.”
The guard waddled over to intercept me, perhaps driven by an inner desire to keep his paycheck. I tried to go around him, but he cut me off.
“We don’t allow kermits inside. Lose the legs or-” The Tesla bolt hit him in the mouth, which must have stung like crazy. He flopped to the ground, and I ran to the right, searching for cops.
No cops. Which meant The Taser zap hit me in the stilt, making me fall over. I wasn’t stunned, at least not in the physical sense. The frog leg acted like a lightning rod, drawing the charge away from me. But color me shocked that TTS tech had advanced to the point where it now worked indoors.
Scooting backward on my butt, I reached the marble security counter and hoisted myself back up. Then I sprinted for the escalator, another lightning strike missing my nose by inches, so close I could smell the ozone.
The bottoms of the frog legs had rubber grips, about half the length of my feet. But I misjudged the moving stairs and began to topple on the first step. I grabbed the person ahead of me for balance. She swore, giving me a shove, pushing me out of the way as a Taser bolt struck her.
I fell onto my butt, then crawled like mad on all fours, over to the elevator. A dozen or so people in the lobby gave me a wide berth.
“Hold the elevator!” I yelled.
No one in the elevator made any sort of move to indicate they heard me.
Another zap in the frog leg. I was fifteen feet away from the elevator, and doubted I’d make it.
That was when ten cops poured into the lobby. They sighted me and began to fire their Tasers.
I put my palms on the floor, kept my legs straight, and then walked backward on my hands until I looked like an upside down V. Then I bent my knees and pushed forward, as if diving into a pool. In three quick steps I was on my feet, then back on my belly, sliding into the elevator as the doors began to close, a Tesla bullet hitting me in the back. I fought the pain, my muscles bunching up, until the elevator climbed out of range and the current cut out.