This wasn’t my first car chase on Sunset Boulevard, but it was the first where every other vehicle on the road automatically slowed to a halt and pulled over, as their radar told their A.I. that police and some maniac were racing up behind them.
It took some getting used to, but soon I was slaloming around these autos like a gold medal skier. I’d have preferred a straight shot down La Cienega, but now I was grateful for the twists and turns of Sunset, because keeping ahead of the law required I take the curves at top speed—the lighter, driverless cop cars couldn’t quite grab the road the way the Firebird did. I glanced in the mirror and saw the lead one spin out and end up in an expensive hedge.
“Dead Man’s Curve...!” wailed Jan and Dean in my head, foretelling teen tragedy on this stretch of road.
In the back Ariyl was whooping it up like she was on Twisted Colossus at Magic Mountain. Synthia, on the other hand, kept burying her face in my arm, which made negotiating the hairpin turns even dicier.
We skidded and almost left the road on that centrifugal right curve past Whittier Drive—I suddenly remembered that was where Jan nearly went to glory in his Sting Ray. Luckily, Ariyl was sitting on the right side of the Pontiac and those two wheels returned to the pavement as we careened up the hill. She woo-hooed all the more.
My cell phone rang.
WTF? Nobody but Ariyl knew my number.
I passed it to Ariyl as we sheared some unnecessary trim off a parked car.
“Answer this. I don’t want to get a ticket.”
Ariyl laughed and took the call.
“Yo.” There was a pause and she got serious. “It’s Ludlo,” she told me.
“How’d he get my...”
Ariyl put the phone on speaker and held it up near my ear.
“It only took a few minutes on the ’Net to find your bank, and check with the store in their lobby that sells burner phones,” drawled Ludlo.
And that hands over the numbers to any big shot who asks? Some burner phone. The world of 2057 was getting Orwellier by the second.
“You didn’t by any chance put the Crystals in your safe deposit box?” Ludlo asked.
Dead wrong, but it helped me if he thought so.
“If I did, what’s your point?”
“I’ll have men covering the bank in ten minutes and a warrant to open up your box inside an hour.”
“Maybe,” I shouted at the phone mic as I whipsawed down the winding road. “Then again, it’s after five on a Friday. Even you may not have enough juice for that.”
“It would be easier if we split the difference. How about, you get one Crystal, and I get one?”
“How about you blow me?” I said, clicking off the phone. My face was really starting to hurt.
“I never heard anyone talk to him like you do,” said Synthia, admiringly.
Suddenly I heard voices in the backseat.
“We’re live at the White House, waiting for the president to make his remarks on these persistent rumors about a Near Earth Asteroid.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Ariyl stuck her arm over my shoulder so I could glance at her phone, whose screen showed attractive male and female anchors with an inset of an empty lectern in the White House press room.
“The button says SV,” she said.
“Streaming video.”
“We’re told that the president will be out very soon,” said one anchor. “Meanwhile, we have some breaking news in Beverly Hills.”
The anchors were replaced by helicopter footage of a gold-toned car weaving in and out of traffic with cop cars on its tail.
“Another freeway chase?” I scoffed. “Where do these idiots think they’re running to?”
“David, isn’t that us?” asked Ariyl.
Duh. Of course she was right. I just never thought of myself as one of those idiots. Rockford’s ride may have been officially “copper-mist” but it photographed gold.
“We’re on TV!” laughed Ariyl.
On the screen, I saw Ariyl’s head poke out the rear window and wave at the sky.
“This is incredible, Ken—there’s a passenger in the rear seat waving at our copter. She must think this is all a big joke!”
SCREECH! BANG! A car that had stopped while backing onto Sunset lost its bumper to the Firebird’s front end.
I resolved to keep my eyes on the road, but I could still hear the news audio:
“Ooh, that was close, Stefany! That guy just sheared off the rear bumper of that car.”
“Luckily, it doesn’t appear there was anyone injured, Ken. But this driver is clearly irresponsible and we’re all hoping he doesn’t cause any more damage.”
“Oh, please,” I groused. “The possibility of a crash is the reason you’re broadcasting us to all of Southern California.”
“For viewers just joining us, we’ll be back to the president’s live address in just a bit. But right now, believe it or not, we’re bringing you a good old-fashioned police pursuit.”
“Seriously? We just bumped a speech by the President?” asked Ariyl.
“Yep,” I replied. “I once asked a TV news producer why her show always cut away from real stories to pointless pursuits. She said, ‘Because if there’s a chase on another channel and we don’t cover it too, their ratings go up and ours go down.’”
I swooped past the gate to Bel-Air.
“Stefany, I don’t think I’ve seen one of these since I was a kid. They must be doing sixty miles an hour. Wow, they just squeezed between those two stopped trucks with an inch to spare!”
“Incredible, Ken. It’s been twenty years since A.I. software became required for all vehicles—including a kill-switch that police can activate.”
“You were right, David!” gasped Synthia, deeply impressed.
“Ooh, David, you are smart!” put in Ariyl, with the same breathy voice.
“Shaddap,” I suggested.
“Which is why we don’t see these pursuits anymore, Stefany. Also, this is an antique internal combustion car. A 1960s Ford, I believe.”
“’76 Pontiac,” I snapped as we zoomed past the turnoff to UCLA. (I couldn’t believe they’d found room to squeeze in a dozen more buildings on the north campus, but they had.)
“We just have to wait for these individuals to run out of diesel fuel.”
“Gasoline, you idiot!” I yelled
“Ken, some viewers may be wondering why the police don’t just shoot the tires.”
“Shoot?!” Synthia gasped. “No!” she yelled at the anchors. “Don’t give them any ideas!”
“Well, Stefany, police are being very careful not to endanger lives. People used to be killed in these pursuits. So police have to worry about stray bullets, or a car losing control and hurting innocent bystanders.”
I shot across the 405, went right on Church Lane into a 270-degree loop, and wound up southbound on the San Diego Freeway.
It was oddly comforting that in 2057, “rush hour traffic” was still an oxymoron, but cars and trucks were automatically sidling over to let us slip by. Unfortunately, they were also letting the cops by. I was now doing ninety, weaving my way down the 405 toward the Santa Monica Freeway.
“David, what’s our strategy here?” asked Ariyl.
“Get to the Crystals and jump the hell out of here. That’s about it.”
“To when?”
“Back to the day we left Sven, April first, 2019. Or as close as we can get.”
“What about Synthia?”
Synthia turned to me, her eyes searching mine.
“We take her with us,” I said.
“We can’t,” replied Ariyl.
“Why not?” Synthia pleaded.
“We take her with us because I promised and because we can’t leave her here!”
“You want to take an advanced A.I. in the body of your most famous movie star, who knows your future, back to your era?”
“When you put it that way, it sounds like a bad idea,” I admitted.
“It’s a terrible idea!” insisted Ariyl.
Synthia burst into tears.
I had to cut off a modular house on an eighteen-wheeler—its brakes began screeching even before I made the move—to get onto the westbound 10.
Ariyl’s phone chirped. She took it back to answer it.
“She saved our lives, Ariyl. She’s coming with us,” I insisted. “That’s final.”
“Oh, thank you, David!” sniffed Synthia. She hugged my arm.
“Do what you want. That’s what you always do anyway,” said Ariyl coldly.
I looked up at the rear view mirror—what was up with her? I was shocked to see Ariyl had tears in her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Go to hell,” said Ariyl.
“What did I do now?”
Ariyl dropped her phone in my lap.
When I saw the video on Ariyl’s phone I nearly drove off the on-ramp. It was me and Marilyn Monroe—well, Synthia—in bed. I almost wished that I could remember it, because it looked like we were having a great time.
“Oh, my God they’re going to hit that big rig!” said the anchorwoman.
I looked up and yanked the wheel left just in time to avert catastrophe.
“Fucking Ludlo,” was all I could say.
“That’s not him doing the fucking,” said Ariyl.
“Don’t you get it? He sent you this because he wants us to fight!”
“I’m not fighting. You want Marilyn the sex-bot? You can have her.”
“My name is Synthia!” said Synthia, offended.
“Ariyl, Ludlo arranged this...he drugged me!”
“How?” she demanded. “You didn’t take a drink from Ludlo?”
“No! I’m not an idiot!”
“Then how?”
“Well, I’m not sure.”
“It was in my lipstick,” admitted Synthia.
“Oh, that’s so much better!” seethed Ariyl.
“Ken, they’re about one mile from that road closure at McClure Tunnel.”
“Road closure? Shit! When am I going to catch a break?” I exclaimed.
“Well, you got lucky once today,” sulked Ariyl.
“Sh!”
“Don’t shush me!”
“Can we have this fight later? We have a goddamn asteroid to stop!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“My guess is they’ll get off on the surface streets before then.”
“Stefany, I was monitoring the Highway Patrol band, and it seems CHP has a trick up their sleeves from the old days of police pursuits. They’ve pulled out of mothballs something called a spike-strip. It’s designed to blow out a car’s tires and bring this chase hopefully to a quick and safe end. If they can place this across that Fourth Street off-ramp...”
“Ken, maybe we shouldn’t report on things like that, since the people in this car might be following our coverage.”
“Good point, Stef. Let’s just hope they’re not loyal streamers of this channel.”
“I watch them all the time,” said Synthia sadly. “I even call in to their show. I never ever thought they’d be talking about shooting at me and blowing up my tires!”
“David,” said Ariyl, “I think we need to ditch this car.”
“We’re at least two miles from the bank!” I said. “What do you want to do, run the whole way?”
“If I have to.”
“I can’t run that fast.”
“I’ll carry you.”
“Oh, God.”
“Again with the manly pride?”
“Wait a sec, what did you say, Synthia?”
“David, I’m not carrying both of you!”
“Ariyl, let her talk!”
“Me? Oh, I just said I call in to Ken and Stefany sometimes.”
“Do they ever put you on the air?”
“Yeah, a lot. Don’t tell Octavius, though. He’d kill me.”
I grabbed my phone off the car seat.
“Call them now! Tell them you’re in the car they’re watching!”
Ariyl looked at me like I’d lost my last marble.
“What can you possibly tell them?”
“The truth,” I said.
It took a minute, but the anchors knew her, and actually put her on the air. I mean, how could they not?
By this time, traffic had slowed due to the closure. I was down to thirty miles per hour, still threading my way around stopped autos, heading for the Fourth Street off-ramp. The cop cars’ strobes were blinding in my rear view mirror.
Synthia held the phone up to my ear.
“Who are we speaking to?” asked Ken.
“David. But my name isn’t important. Your covering this chase is distracting people from the president’s address on that asteroid.”
“Well, we actually have that address on video and we’ll be running it as soon as this chase is over. Are you going to surrender, David?”
“No. Because the three of us are the only hope that this world has of surviving that asteroid impact eighteen months from now.”
“Eighteen...? Is this some kind of joke?”
“Synthia tells me you have an audience of a million people. There must be viewers in Santa Monica listening to me right now, who will believe me. We need that spike-strip off the road, so we can get to the Clock Tower at Second and Santa Monica. There are hired thugs with guns there, who will try to stop us. I’m asking everyone within the sound of my voice to get over to the bank and surround those thugs. We need a big crowd to protect us from—”
The line went dead. We could still hear the anchors discussing it.
“Sorry, folks, we had to disconnect that call.”
“Ken, sometimes we take calls on the air, and Synthia was always a welcome voice. But she really misled us this time. We apologize for that, and of course, please stay off the streets and do not get in the way of law enforcement. That’s the last thing we need right now in this dangerous situation.”
“Great. Now I can never call in again,” sighed Synthia.
“How many people are going to get in trouble for a total stranger?” asked Ariyl.
“All we need is one,” I said.
We were headed up the off-ramp. The spike-strip was right in our path. It looked like Ariyl schlepping me over her shoulder would be our only option now. If we didn’t get gunned down first.
But at the last second, a gangly kid who had that homeless look sprinted down the side of the off-ramp and dragged the spike-strip halfway out of our path!
I gunned it. As I did, some cops leapt out of their car and swarmed the kid. I couldn’t avoid the strip entirely—the front right tire exploded. But I kept racing up Fourth Street.
The flat tire was going WHAP-WHAP-WHAP! The Firebird was a bitch to steer now. Finally the tire tore clean through and we ground on, throwing sparks from the wheel rim and breathing the acrid smoke.
“Will people really show up?” asked Synthia.
“If only one percent of a million viewers believed me, that’s ten thousand. If only one percent of them are in walking distance of the Clock Tower, that’s a hundred people. Fingers crossed.”
At Third and Santa Monica, I skidded the Firebird into a Brodie turn that hit a parked bus and blocked most of the street. By now, Rockford’s car looked like his pal Angel had borrowed it for a con gone bad.
“Sorry, Jimmeh!” I said to myself as I grabbed Synthia’s hand.
“I’ll meet you at the fountain!” said Ariyl, leaping out of the backseat.
“But—”
“Go!” she yelled. Ariyl ran to a small car headed the other way. She yanked off the lone passenger’s door.
“Out!” she ordered. He bailed, and with a grunting heave, Ariyl overturned his car to complete the street blockage.
The cops were now arriving, but they had to clear a path through a huge crowd of rubberneckers from the Promenade. A lot of them looked homeless. It seemed my appeal on the newscast had found willing ears.
Outside the bank stood four more Tinys, or whatever they were named. They were clearly expecting someone trying to enter. Instead Synthia and I sauntered over to the fountain, as inconspicuous as a guy walking with Marilyn Monroe could look.
“Better wait over by the palm tree,” I told her. “Don’t make eye contact.”
I fished around in the fountain.
The Crystals weren’t there.
At least, not where I’d put them.
Maybe the flow of water had shifted them. Or maybe I’d misremembered the stone. I was such an idiot. God, we were so screwed.
Suddenly, Synthia was beside me.
“Let me help!” We both fished around in the water. Finally, she pulled one up.
“Is this it?”
“Yes! Synthia, you did it!”
“I did, didn’t I?” she said, beaming with pride.
I felt around where she’d found it, and pulled up the other one.
“Aw, Synthia, I think I love you!”
I kissed her full on the lips. It was nothing sexual, just pure, joyous gratitude.
But then I recalled our last kiss, and felt my lips for the telltale numbness.
“I wiped it off,” Synthia said. “I’m sorry, David. Ludlo ordered me to sleep with you. But I wasn’t pretending to like you. I really do.”
“It’s okay. I don’t know how, but I promise I’ll find a place for you where you’ll never again have to pretend, for anyone.”
Her eyes welled up.
“Hey!” One of the torpedoes at the bank had spotted Synthia.
“He works for Octavius,” gasped Synthia. “We have to go!”
I gripped the Crystals.
“Ariyl, where are you?”
The goon aimed his gun at me. There was a collective gasp from the gathering crowd.
“Hand ’em over. Now!”
“Run!” I told Synthia.
She turned and dashed into the crowd. I followed her.
“Stop!” yelled the gunman. I heard screams of panic from the crowd and a shot that exploded the bark of the palm tree beside me. I got some in my eye, tripped and fell.
Where the hell was Ariyl?
The thug now had a clear shot at me. Game over.
The next second, Synthia ran past me and flung herself at him shrieking, “Noooo!”
The gun went off.
A spot of red appeared on the back of Synthia’s dress.
Suddenly Ariyl was behind the gunman. She grabbed his head and twisted it sideways. I heard a snap and then he was just a limp pile of expensive clothing.
I ran to Synthia, and pressed my hand over the gushing chest wound.
“Hang on, Synthia!”
Then I turned and screamed at the crowd, “Somebody get a doctor!”
The other three toughs were now rushing over. Ariyl turned to meet them. In seconds, they were all on the ground like their colleague.
Synthia looked up at me, eyes wide, as if she didn’t feel a thing. I couldn’t see her clearly because I was crying.
“I told you to run!”
“David, don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t let him shoot you. I had such a wonderful afternoon with you. Best I ever had...”
“Shut up. You’re not going to die!”
But she was. I could see her life draining away.
“Silly, everybody has to die. Even I know that. But Octavius never told me how you die. How do you do it?” she said, her voice very tiny and far away.
I wiped my face with my sleeve, and took a breath.
“It’s easy. Just close your eyes and trust me,” I said.
She did. I kissed her forehead, and then she was gone.
Ariyl now stood beside me.
“David, I’m so sorry.”
I handed her the Crystals.
“Just go.”
“I can’t do this without you. And I won’t leave you.”
Sirens were all over the place now. Those robot drones were clomping closer. Santa Monica police and LAPD and CHP officers were trying to push the crowd back. They checked the bodies of Ariyl’s victims.
“David, please. Billions of lives depend on us.”
She put out her hand. Numb, I mopped my face once more and got to my feet. She hung my Crystal around my neck.
“Link Crystals,” Ariyl told hers. “Previous destination.”
We didn’t go anywhere.
The cops had noticed us now. They approached with drawn weapons.
“Put your hands behind your heads!”
Ariyl tried again, giving Sven’s address, and adding “April second, 2019.”
“Ma’am, I’m only going to tell you this one more time!” barked a female cop with a ponytail, her automatic pistol trained on Ariyl.
I raised my palm as I held my Time Crystal in my other hand.
“Officer, it’s all right, she’s been a little hard of hearing since we were at...Cape Canaveral on New Year’s Day 2051!”
We didn’t move an inch or a second. We couldn’t get back to Sven and we couldn’t stop Aaron King’s space flight.
“Down on the ground now!” bellowed a male cop.
I figured I had one last chance before they opened fire. I went for it:
“Nassau, Bahamas, Christmas Day, 1717.”