I was reading a local paper; all I could get out of it was that some jerk AADA champion was challenging some poor slob to a road duel. I wonder what some people have to prove.
"Two cars in four months," Crazy Mary Konig said while meditating on a piece of pepperoni.
"I'm not paying my share," Colin dropped in.
I looked at him. "By calling it your share, you acknowledge an obligation to pay it," I rattled off.
Colin Walker's tail-end Charlie, driving a Bodyguard Shadrach variant. I'm point driver. Since I lost Doppelganger, the convoy's staked me to two cars. We were debating the third. I still don't know why Mary tried to find me after I left the convoy the first time.
"You're not a bad driver, Bialy. You just don't have enough respect for money and the amount your cars cost. You'd be great on the AADA circuit, but it doesn't pay the convoy to keep you around."
Mary was silent.
"Look at it this way, Walker," I observed. "Your share of a new point car will cost a lot less than the dental work you're about to need."
I don't usually say things like that.
Mary looked up as Colin opened his mouth.
"Colin, be quiet. Justin's on a combat high. I think he's about to cut you in half."
Frankly, I rather resent being treated as though I had no self control.
"Colin," I said, "if you'd care to switch jobs with me I'd be willing. I could use the relaxation."
That was really unfair. Colin is a good driver, but the Shadrach is equipped with dropped weapons only and his admittedly important role in an attack from the rear is to swerve back and forth over the road, giving it a thick layer of flaming oil and mines. He fights the twits who think it's a clever idea to attack a convoy from behind. The more dangerous threats come up with clever traps: As point driver, my job is to anticipate and defuse them. Sometimes, this involves trigger- ing them.
"Why did you split off from the convoy?" Mary interrupted.
"That was your idea."
"I said I thought you should act as an advance scout further ahead," she corrected patiently. "Why didn't you slow down and allow us to catch up with the fight?"
Fair enough. "I thought they were trying to chase me into an ambush. Something didn't strike me right. Nobody fights in a blizzard if they can avoid it."
"Do you still think that?" she asked.
"No. They felt their OR gave them enough of an advantage. There's a vigilante group back east that launches raids mostly in the middle of the night. They've got night fighting gear so their targets are usually worse off in darkness than they are. Same basic idea here; I'm surprised they didn't use snowmobiles."
"I've seen snowmobiles used in Saskatchewan," Mary added conversationally. "They can't go much faster than fifty, and the drivers have to lean way over to keep them stable on rough terrain. They don't give the driver as much protection as a motorcycle, let alone a trike."
"Do you think the Centaur is worth repairing?" I asked her.
She looked at me. "The car's repairable. Do you want it?"
I was about to say yes when Colin cut in. "You're giving the bastard a choice? Buy him a new car if he wants something to crack up?"
"Justin's the best point driver I've ever had," Mary said. "He can drive whatever he damn well pleases. Why do you think you've taken so much damage since you lost Doppelganger, Justin?"
I shrugged. It wasn't easy; I particularly dislike being called a bastard. "Doppelganger carried a lot of electronics. I think the radar and computer system gave me a big advantage over ambushers."
"How much would it cost to reproduce Doppelganger?"
"About forty-five thousand. But I don't want another Doppelganger. There are some new systems-" I stopped short. I was getting carried away; I was about to tell Mary about the Avatar design Jeremiah had sent me, and she would have insisted on lending or giving me the money for it.
"Where did you get Doppelganger?" she asked.
"I have a rich cousin." More like a twin, actually.
"Then write him for money," Colin cut in.
I would love to, I thought. But even though Justin Bialy's NorAm Chemical dividends might as well be unlimited so far as Nightsword is concerned, there's a problem with laundering the money. My twin sends me
I was reading a local paper; all I could get out of it was that some jerk AADA champion was challenging some poor slob to a road duel. I wonder what some people have to prove.
"Two cars in four months," Crazy Mary Konig said while meditating on a piece of pepperoni.
"I'm not paying my share," Colin dropped in.
I looked at him. "By calling it your share, you acknowledge an obligation to pay it," I rattled off.
Colin Walker's tail-end Charlie, driving a Bodyguard Shadrach variant. I'm point driver. Since I lost Doppelganger, the convoy's staked me to two cars. We were debating the third. I still don't know why Mary tried to find me after I left the convoy the first time.
"You're not a bad driver, Bialy. You just don't have enough respect for money and the amount your cars cost. You'd be great on the AADA circuit, but it doesn't pay the convoy to keep you around."
Mary was silent.
"Look at it this way, Walker," I observed. "Your share of a new point car will cost a lot less than the dental work you're about to need."
I don't usually say things like that.
Mary looked up as Colin opened his mouth.
"Colin, be quiet. Justin's on a combat high. I think he's about to cut you in half."
Frankly, I rather resent being treated as though I had no self control.
"Colin," I said, "if you'd care to switch jobs with me I'd be willing. I could use the relaxation."
That was really unfair. Colin is a good driver, but the Shadrach is equipped with dropped weapons only and his admittedly important role in an attack from the rear is to swerve back and forth over the road, giving it a thick layer of flaming oil and mines. He fights the twits who think it's a clever idea to attack a convoy from behind. The more dangerous threats come up with clever traps: As point driver, my job is to anticipate and defuse them. Sometimes, this involves trigger- ing them.
"Why did you split off from the convoy?" Mary interrupted.
"That was your idea."
"I said I thought you should act as an advance scout further ahead," she corrected patiently. "Why didn't you slow down and allow us to catch up with the fight?"
Fair enough. "I thought they were trying to chase me into an ambush. Something didn't strike me right. Nobody fights in a blizzard if they can avoid it."
"Do you still think that?" she asked.
"No. They felt their OR gave them enough of an advantage. There's a vigilante group back east that launches raids mostly in the middle of the night. They've got night fighting gear so their targets are usually worse off in darkness than they are. Same basic idea here; I'm surprised they didn't use snowmobiles."
"I've seen snowmobiles used in Saskatchewan," Mary added conversationally. "They can't go much faster than fifty, and the drivers have to lean way over to keep them stable on rough terrain. They don't give the driver as much protection as a motorcycle, let alone a trike."
"Do you think the Centaur is worth repairing?" I asked her.
She looked at me. "The car's repairable. Do you want it?"
I was about to say yes when Colin cut in. "You're giving the bastard a choice? Buy him a new car if he wants something to crack up?"
"Justin's the best point driver I've ever had," Mary said. "He can drive whatever he damn well pleases. Why do you think you've taken so much damage since you lost Doppelganger, Justin?"
I shrugged. It wasn't easy; I particularly dislike being called a bastard. "Doppelganger carried a lot of electronics. I think the radar and computer system gave me a big advantage over ambushers."
"How much would it cost to reproduce Doppelganger?"
"About forty-five thousand. But I don't want another Doppelganger. There are some new systems-" I stopped short. I was getting carried away; I was about to tell Mary about the Avatar design Jeremiah had sent me, and she would have insisted on lending or giving me the money for it.
"Where did you get Doppelganger?" she asked.
"I have a rich cousin." More like a twin, actually.
"Then write him for money," Colin cut in.
I would love to, I thought. But even though Justin Bialy's NorAm Chemical dividends might as well be unlimited so far as Nightsword is concerned, there's a problem with laundering the money. My twin sends me frequent updates; any more bank withdrawals and people will suspect he's financing a private army, a particularly dangerous rumor because it's true.
Besides, I want to see if Justin can do anything without Mom's money.
I gave him a dirty look instead. "Is the Centaur drivable?" Mary asked. She was being unusually dry and pragmatic tonight.
I nodded. "Certainly. At least as far as Rhinelander. I've only taken damage to the rear and both sides."
"Right. Kevin will take the point in the Ram Tonto and you'll follow him. And I do mean follow. You'll take Kevin's position if a fight breaks out."
Mary was able to find a load for us in Rhinelander; even with the repairs to the Centaur, we'd make a profit on this run. We would, however, be stuck in town for at least a month until the load was ready.
That was pretty much aces with us; we could always use some time off and I'd have time to catch up on my letter writing and reading. Besides, Mary's Bruiser tractor had been a touch sensitive recently in the steering department. Mary was slightly concerned it would get worse if left alone.
The Bruiser was inside a garage while Mary and I sat by the Wisconsin river and looked at the ice. "Why did you come after me?" I suddenly asked.
She looked at me. "You don't answer my questions."
I had been feeling a little guilty about that. "All right," I said. "Let's talk to each other."
She sighed. "Remember the village we found you in, where you lost Doppelganger? I was born somewhere like that, in the north of Georgia. There was a local cycle gang everyone had to support. I had a husband, two kids," here she sniiled softly and stared across the water. "A little girl, one and a half, and a baby boy. I was seventeen."
She was talking about them in the past tense. I knew what was coming. I squeezed her hand.
"One night, they dragged me out of our house, set it on fire. Still don't know why. I made it to an interstate and the third truck picked me up. Guy called Berserker Brian Calahan. Fifteen years ago last May."
At this point I noticed my arm was around her. The gesture seemed pointless to the point of absurdity, but I didn't move.
"My folks had to bury three of eight kids. I'll never forget the way they looked. Watching your parents die is bad enough, but your children . . . it's not just sad, it's wrong. Unnatural. The gang burned me, cut me, hurt me, and I barely noticed. All I could see was the fire."
My God, do you have any idea how common stories like that are? I haven't seen sanity since I got my MS at SUNY Binghamton. I remember a rather morbid radical feminist student friend of mine telling me that about fifty percent of all North American women over the age of twenty-eight were raped at least once; I even remember doubting it. Jerk.
"I looked for you because I couldn't imagine you in one of the trucks that drove past me. Then I found out how you lost Doppelganger."
"They probably exaggerated," I said quickly. "Neumann's army had the discipline and cohesiveness of a flock of geese."
She was about to respond when I heard someone clear his throat behind me. We turned. It was someone in a brown business suit, carrying an attache case.
"You're a secure courier," I said.
He nodded. "Are you Justin Bialy?"
"Yes," I said formally. I had received a message by secure courier before and I remembered the procedure. The message had concerned my mother's death; that sort of thing tends to make details memorable.
"Please state your full name."
"Justinian Belisarius Bialy." He checked an indicator on the attache case; I had passed voiceprint. He then took out a photograph, examined it and me carefully. I wondered if the photograph was of me or my twin.
"Belisarius?" Mary asked, looking amused.
"Your mother's maiden name?" quoth the courier.
"Bialy." Now you know why I particularly dislike being called a bastard.
"Under the law of the United States, the Free Oil States and Canada you will be liable to criminal prosecution for perjury if you are not who you claim. Do you choose to withdraw your right to read this message?"
"No."
He touched five switches on his case, too fast for me to see or duplicate. A small sign lit up; DESTRUCT DISARMED. It didn't open like most attache cases; it extended a small drawer with an envelope in it. He handed it to me and left; obviously not authorized to see what I did with it.
Inside was a three-by-five card with a phone number on it. Nothing else.
"Whoever sent it really knows how to make you curious," Mary observed.
She was right; not much would have kept me from running to the nearest phone booth. One of the things that would was the fact she and I had been talking and I hadn't fulfilled my part of the bargain. She knew that as well as I did.
"Let's pick up this evening where we left off," she said. And then, with forced casualness which might have fooled a two year old, "My room. Ten sound good?"
Momentarily stunned, I studied her for some indication I had misconstrued an innocent invitation. "Are you sure?" I asked, hesitant.
"Don't tell Colin. I think I saw a pay phone back at the repair shop. If you can make it back before ten-"
"I'll call."
"Don't bother."
She was walking while talking, thoroughly back to business and pragmatic. The courier's arrival had broken the mood irrevocably. For now.
"Hello?" I said, decided that sounded too timid. "I was given this number by a courier."
"You're Bialy? I'm Nathan Hays."
So far as the central region of North America is concerned, Nathan Hays is Conquistador Motors. NorAm Chemical supplies the reactants for Conquistador's fuel cells. Unimpeachable reputation for obligations, I've heard. I have never met him and I said a silent prayer that he's never met me.
"What can I do for you?" Smarter to pretend I've never heard of him. That way I could plausibly claim a coincidence in names if he brought up my other self - sorry, my cousin - back in Dutchess County. The family resemblance, I would agree, is rather amazing.
"How would you like to earn one hundred thousand dollars for an afternoon's work?"
Avatar and about forty thousand in change. "Sounds intriguing. Do you want me to wash your car or something?" I do have a reputation, but certainly not one hundred grand's worth, so he didn't want some sort of advertising deal.
"I want you to act as my son's proxy in a road duel."
Like hell I will, I thought. "Can we discuss this in person?"
He gave me an address. The mechs at the garage told me it was only two miles off, and I didn't feel like risking public transport, so I walked it.
I left my arms and the ballistic padding vest from my armor in the guardhouse. Have you ever noticed how much hardware the average person carries on a casual stroll? I carry a bit more; usually a Colt Python and a silenced Luger PO8. It makes for a very depressing pile.
I sat down, refused a cup of coffee, and waited less than five minutes before Hays was willing to see me. The man looked worried, tense. I would have jacked up the price if I had any intention of accepting the contract.
"Who challenged your son?" I asked.
"Christa Heyase."
I coughed. "Retired Lieutenant Christa Heyase, trained in the Japanese Self-Defense Force?" I try to make it a point to keep up on AADA state and national champions. "Why?" Pro autoduellists are not given to casual violence, as a general rule.
"She has a contract with Indra Motors. I believe this amounts to a legalized assassination." He was showing the strain.
If I remembered correctly, Heyase drove a slightly-modified Indra Scrambler to Wisconsin's Division 25 championship two years in a row. And frankly, it sounded like something Indra Motors would try to pull off. Some companies have reputations; I was inclined to believe Hays.
"What was her excuse for challenging him?"
He shrugged. "A minor road incident, an ambush my son was fortunate enough to beat."
"Could you have a custom vehicle built as part of my fee?" I asked. "It comes to roughly fifty-five thousand dollars."
"A dream car? Certainly."
"I'll want some time to think about this."
"Of course. Would you want to take it against her?"
I was thinking of the Scrambler. "No, I've got ideas for a car specifically designed to take her out. It'll probably do a better job than Avatar."
"My engineers are at your disposal. We'll build you a car for the duel with the understanding it remains Conquistador property."
No problem there. They'd get a free design concept from me but I didn't care much: It was strictly a one-shot anyway.
"I haven't accepted yet."
"Of course. But we might as well get started."
Old trick: he was hoping I'd get so wrapped up in the tactical challenge that I'd accept out of curiosity. I agreed to talk to his engineers.
I still hadn't accepted the contract when I left to walk back to the motel. It was late afternoon, and the sun was warm enough to take most of the chill off.
I have no idea what this part of Rhinelander looked like before the AD 2012 installment of the war to end all wars. Now it was virtually suburban: Magnificent until you noticed that all the snow-covered trees were plastic evergreens and that the lawns were astroturf. I had to kick some snow aside to find that out.
The sidewalks and road were clean of snow; I didn't even see any slush. It was only yesterday that I was fighting my way in an inadequate car through a blizzard against three trikes. Good road service department. A teenager on a bicycle headed towards me; it didn't look like he was going to swerve until I caught his eye and got ready to draw my Colt. Damn; you can't go anywhere any more without threatening to blow somebody's head off.
I passed a street sign and realized this was the street Heyase lived on. Had my subconscious done me a nasty? I never tried to negotiate with cycle gangers back in my vigilante days; why was I giving her the benefit of a doubt?
I was feeling dark and I wanted to reach Mary in high spirits. I'd have to cheer up somehow. Then, as I came to an intersection, I saw a florists' across the street and the romantic in me came to life.
I felt something slam, bricklike, into my shoulder and heard a crack behind me. I threw myself to the concrete, grabbing at my magnum and wishing I had been paranoid enough to cart along the Uzi. Before I hit, I heard the snap of a bullet whip past and a sharp crack from the other direction. Two people were shooting.
I hit and rolled; the kid was off his bike holding his arm and looking stupid and surprised. My gun was out of its holster when he turned and ran, leaving his bike and pistol behind. I could have got him but it didn't seem worth it.
"Are you all right?" asked a soft voice. I turned; a very short woman with black hair and an automatic pointed skyward was standing, quiet concern on her face.
I had lost my breath. "Yes," I gasped out unconvincingly. My armor had taken the damage from the ldd's shot and I was feeling the pain from grabbing concrete now that the adrenalin was wearing off.
I got to my feet, reflexively picking up the spent cartridge from her gun. It looked about 9mm, but something was wrong. I had to look twice before I saw it was an eight millimeter casing.
The only ammo that size I've ever heard of was 8mm Nambu. The gun in her hand looked roughly like my own Luger; I had never actually seen one before, but it was a Taisho 14. The Imperial Japanese Army used them in World War II and had recently reissued them as officers' sidearms.
"Thank you," I forced out. "Very kind of you."
"I don't think you actually needed my help-" she began.
"Of course I did. I've never seen someone shoot like that before." My God, she had put a bullet through his gun arm firing from fifty feet. Time to state the obvious. "You were an officer in the Japanese army?"
"Christa Heyase."
"Heyase. I'm Justin Bialy. Nathan Hays wants to hire me to proxy for his son."
Her face tightened up. "My house is right down this street. I think we should talk."
Her house was large, red brick. She had had paper and bamboo walls set up on the inside. Behind the shoji were lights attached to a microprocessor: they created the illusion that the paper walls were actually external and the sunlight was filtering through. I can't imagine a more beautiful way to light a room.
"Should I take off my boots?" I asked.
She laughed. "Please. Have you ever been to Japan?"
"No. That's about all I do know about-" a picture on the wall, an innocuous sketch grabbed me. "Is that an original Matsumoto?" I asked, genuinely excited.
"You've seen his work," she asked, nonplussed.
"Tochiro Oyama and I go way back," I asserted, completely forgetting the situation I was in, thinking fondly of anime parties in my dorm back at school.
"Have you accepted the contract?" she asked.
"Not yet. Perhaps I won't. I want to hear your side of it. Maybe that's why I walked this way, past your house."
"What did he tell you?"
"That you're trying to assassinate his son."
"Did Nathan mention his son killed my husband?" Very soft, very mild.
I felt stunned; I studied Matsumoto's sketch of Tochiro again, almost as though I was looking for a change in expression.
"James rode a motorcycle, a Santa Cruz," she said. "I often tried to talk him into driving something with better survivability. Andrew Hays drove a Conquistador Claymore."
"And nobody in a Santa Cruz would be stupid enough to take on a Claymore." Claymores carry twin forward lasers.
"These facts are fairly well known," she continued. "That's why he had to try to hire an out of stater to proxy for his son."
"Not to mention the fact you're state champion."
"I prefer to think my reputation has less to do with it than common decency." I used to think the same sort of thing before I became the misanthrope I am, but I didn't feet like contradicting her. "Besides, I've already killed two of his proxies. I have no quarrel with you, Mister Bialy. In fact, I respect your honesty in telling me that Hays had contacted you."
"Honesty is a rather rare trait, it seems." I was beginning to get angry, very angry.
I was still angry as I slammed back into Hays' office. He was on the phone. "You lied to me," I said, without preamble.
He hung up, softly.
"Are you going to tell me Heyase was playing a role?"
"I won't insult your intelligence."
"You know what you can do with your contract, I hope."
"Did you know that the government of the United States has an extradition treaty with the revolutionary government of Great Britain?" he asked.
"What do I care?"
"And that there is an outstanding warrant for the arrest of Sergeant Julia Donovan, a deserter from the Royal Commonwealth Off- Road Squadron?"
"Who's Donovan?"
"Your wife, Justin. Or rather, the wife of your clone back in Dutchess County."
I shrugged. "I don't have a clone."
"Why does Justin Bialy, major shareholder in NorAm Chemicals, have your voiceprint? Don't insult me, Bialy."
I looked at him, fury running cold and deep. "You lied to me. Now you're threatening me with someone you don't even know. I don't think it would be possible to insult vermin like you."
"Well, damn you and your nobility! You've never come close to losing a son. You've killed for your friends, and I'm a villain for lying for my son."
I thought of what Mary had said earlier and my anger left me. Completely.
"You're right. I don't blame you. How do we end this?"
"Either my son dies, or Heyase loses. She's already killed two proxies and renewed the challenge each time."
"When will the cars be ready?"
"Avatar will be finished in a month. The other car will be ready in three days. What do you want to call it?"
"Double Cross. I think that's rather apt. Also, I want to talk to your son. I promise to neither kill nor hospitalize him."
When Andy Boy came in, dressed the way you'd expect the boss's brat to be dressed, I put an armored arm affectionately around his shoulders.
"Hi, Andy. May I call you Andy? Daddy just hired me as your proxy next week." He opened his mouth. "Don't talk; I want to remember you like this. 'Hired' is an interesting word in this case, synonymous with 'blackmail.' Do you have a chauffeur, Andy? I think you should get a chauffeur. A good, even-tempered chauffeur who's killed too many people to get kicks out of shooting up motorbikes. Of course, you may want to ignore me." He was getting angry; good. "In which case, I'm going to call in every favor everyone I know owes me. And that's a lot of people. Did I tell you I'm in the Brotherhood? I'm going to ask them to get me your helmet. With your head still in it."
He looked at me in stunned silence.
"Before you think of having me killed, have a talk with your father. You see, it's a very big continent and there's a good chance I'll find out you're hiring guns long before any of them get close enough to me to open fire. Now make it a promise." He nodded, began to talk. I cut in. "Sorry, Andy. Just now, I'm not in a mood for a man-to-phlegm talk. You don't mind if I call you 'phlegm,' I hope? I'd call you scum, but scum floats, and I don't want to be accused of flattery."
I looked at his father. "Our deal stands," I said tightly. "Avatar, and the rest of the money. Also, you make certain your son never drives so much as an armed BMX for the rest of his life."
"I'll put it in my will," he said calmly. "Total disinheritance if he does."
I had the feeling Nathan wasn't terribly upset by this condition. My argument wasn't with him, anyway.
I smiled broadly, somehow, and left. I'm not sure how I did it, but I was able to remember the flowers on the way to Mary's room.
"They hired me," I said flatly into the phone.
Christa was silent for a moment. "How much?" she asked dryly.
"They've agreed not to tell the police about a friend."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Drive west on 47 about five miles. If you get to Monico, you've gone too far."
"Five days from now, about noon."
"I'll be there. I think you deserve an ambulance. I'll provide one. I hope it will save your life."
"Thank you. Or yours."
"I have twenty-five kills, Bialy. How many do you have?"
"Only sportsmen count."
"You'll excuse me if I don't wish you luck."
"Understandable, considering the circumstances."
"But there's a tradition before AADA group matches. I wish you second place."
"Thank you, although that doesn't really work when there are only two of us. I wish you life."
"Thank you. Till we meet again."
"Do zobaczenia."
Mary shook her head. "Justin, you're stupid."
"I've known that for years," I said. "Look on the bright side. At least you don't have to pay for repairing the Centaur."
She cracked me one across the face. For some reason, despite the salt blood on my lip, it didn't hurt.
"I love you, too," I said, not ironic or sarcastic.
"Say that after the fight," she said, voice tight and barely in control. "And you're crazy if you expect me to watch it. You're a good road fighter, but this is a duel."
"She'll be using a Scrambler, the same car she's driven for three years. Japanese version with a right-hand drive. Double Cross is designed to take out a Scrambler with minimum trouble." She didn't look comforted. "She has no idea what I'm driving, so I'll have full surprise. But do me a favor, okay? If she wins, don't bear anyone any grudge. Anyone. I don't want a circle of fire to start over me."
I've never heard a fighter ask what a circle of fire was. They seem to know it instinctively. It's a term an old friend of mine from college coined: You kill my friend, I kill you, your friend kills me. Circles don't end.
"All right," she said, grudgingly. "I promise."
One half mile was as clean of snow as bleached bones in a desert. Three cars were parked there already. The Ambunaught, and a Naginata. And Christa was there, sitting on the hood of a King Dragon. A goddamn King Dragon.
I parked. She walked over to greet me. I held out my hand, but she reached under my fender and removed a limpet beacon.
"I didn't know about this," she said quietly. "A friend assumed I'd be low enough to take this advantage."
"Would you?"
"If you were someone else, maybe. Do we wait for your patrons?"
"If you don't mind. Is that what the Naginata is here for, to balance the Morningstar they'll come in?"
"Yes. It's sad when precautions like this are necessary."
"I think it's sad when a fight like this is necessary."
"Sad? A fight for honor?"
"My honor can't be lost in a fight."
"Vengeance, then."
"Justice at least, please."
"And what does that make you?"
"Just another bloody mercenary."
The Morningstar pulled up, parked near the Ambunaught and Naginata. Christa and I got in our cars and tooled down the highway, in opposite directions.
When we were five hundred feet apart, we turned to face each other and halted. The Naginata fired a round from its recoilless.
We floored it toward each other. My strategy had been to get up to sixty as fast as possible, to get the advantage of my spoiler and airdam. Then, as I passed Christa, I was going to release a double jet of napalm onto her tire, probably igniting it. Then, immediately, a quick turn to stay on her tail (a turn which might have been impossible if they hadn't widened Wisconsin 47 back before The Big One) to give her Vulcan rounds in the back. I couldn't let her get behind me, because Double Cross had nothing firing to the rear. Now I had to assume she knew everything about Double Cross, and that she wouldn't blow the snot out of me before my first pass.
We were closing; my hand slipped down to the triggers. As we got closer, I suddenly noticed both her hands were on her wheel. I took my hand off the trigger. As we passed, close enough to touch, she flipped me a salute which I returned.
I slowed down gradually, came to a stop and turned around. I didn't think it would be right, somehow, to snap around on her tail after what was really just a test of nerve which I had barely passed.
The Naginata fired again.
I felt Double Cross's foil and dam bite into the wind and push me closer to the ground, as I saw Christa move her hand down to her trig- gers. I lunged for mine and missed, finally grabbing them like a drowning man grabs a liferope. Almost too late. I glanced up.
She took her hand off her triggers, spread her fingers in front of her face. Reflexively, I imitated her gesture clumsily, as we passed close and she gave me a smile, bone-chilling, which set my teeth to chattering against my mouthguard and sweat rolling down past my sodden headband. I tried to turn after her; but I couldn't. I had enough trouble slowing to a stop.
We turned, faced each other the third time. The last time, I knew with horrible certainty.
The Naginata fired again. We sped towards each other. Somehow, over the distance, through our visors, our eyes met and I felt a strange serenity flow into me, a quiet detachment. Startled, her hand dropped to her trigger. I moved mine up to my steering wheel, daring her. She followed suit. I saw fear.
I smiled, or rather, the thing in control of my body smiled. I'm not sure where I was. And then, I steered deliberately into her lane.
She accelerated, but it was plastic bravado at best. I read her face and savored when she started shaking. I closed my eyes and exhaled for the last time.
I heard the scream of tires and was shaken back to myself. She swerved wildly, oversteering, trying to get out of my way. I turned hard, but my front right fender slammed against her rear right quarter panel, and cracked armor flew into the air. I braked as quickly as I could, got to her car before anyone else.
She was on her feet, shakily smiling. "I guess I lose," she said, and tried to laugh.
"Toughest fight I've ever been in," I said truthfully.
We sat down and waited for the others, wondered if they could understand. And not really caring, ultimately.
Avatar rolled down the street, point car of a convoy made up of two other cars and an eighteen wheeler. A Scrambler in front of us pulled to the left to let us pass.
I passed very close to it and opened my left window while she opened her right. We looked at each other for a moment and shook hands, armored glove in armored glove, before she peeled off onto a side road.
Double Cross was a single-mission design, intended only to fight Heyase's modified Scrambler. It combined impressive high-speed performance with a fiery punch to the left. The King Dragon Heyase decided to use (which appears in the AADA Vehicle Guide) could have annihilated Double Cross easily, if she had not decided to make it a duel of nerves. By the way - Justin was using the alternate fire rules for this baby.
Double Cross: Mid-sized, X-hvy chassis, Large Power Plant, Hvy suspension, 4 solid tires, driver, 2 linked FTs left, Vulcan front, Hi-Res computer, radar, spoiler and airdam, 4x 10-pt Armored Wheel Hubs. Armor F 40, R 20, L 20, B 25, T 10, U 10. Acceleration 5, HC 3, 5760 lbs, $20,450.
The Scrambler is noted for carrying six MGs; Heyase's variant carries none. Calling it a "Scrambler" is more an advertising gimmick than it is a definition of the vehicle. This vehicle was designed to allow the driver to wear Improved Body Armor and still remain Division 25; only $19 has been wasted.
Heyase Scrambler: Mid-sized, X-hvy chassis, Large Power Plant, Hvy Suspension, 4 solids, driver, Vulcan (19 shots) forward; two MML (9 shots) R,L; Grenade Launcher loaded with CG B. Hi-Res Computer, Fireproof armor; F 56, R 36, L 36, B 55, T 25, U 25. Acceleration 5, HC 3, 5744 lbs, $23,481.
Heyase is Driver +2, Gunner +3, Handgunner +3, and Martial Arts +1. She has never refused to accept a surrender and is well liked in AADA duellist circles.