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  “Lights,” he said.

  Dull warm light filled the room, but it was no comfort. Mog stared at his faint reflection in the glass of the window and shivered at that phantom’s bloody uniform and dead black eyes.

  Chapter 5

  The upper bleachers were nearly deserted, and the aluminum bench seat was nice and warm against Morgan’s back. He hadn’t realized he’d been so stiff. He stretched out, sighing as the tension between his shoulder blades finally eased.

  A falcon circled overhead, riding the thermals. How would that be? Flying high above, taking simple pleasure from the winds, concerned only about what critter was for dinner. Did birds worry about their futures? Did they get nervous about what to say, or how they came across, when they met a beautiful lady-bird?

  Probably not. It must be nice.

  He checked his watch. It was now eleven o’clock. What’s taking her so long? The ten-o’clock demolition derby and the 10:30 dirt jump competition had come and gone. Now the food vendors were setting up, and the track was being re-groomed for the afternoon races. He sat up and looked towards the parking lot, then scanned the track and the grounds for what felt like the hundredth time.

  Where is she? Did she get a ride from someone else?

  He was about to call Mr. Lutstone to see if he had her number when he spotted an orange car with a crumpled fender parked next to the track’s garage. Ugh. Victor was leaning against the garage wall, his arms crossed. Mr. Lutstone was standing in front of him, waving his hands vehemently. Good, Lutstone grew a backbone. I hope he bans that punk.

  Victor didn’t seem to care. He leaned against the wall, staring nonchalantly at Mr. Lutstone.

  An engine roared. It was a strange sound, in a world where most cars used high-density battery packs and eletro-force propulsion. Morgan turned. The hovering robots that were grading the track scattered as a car rounded the final turn and charged down the straightaway. A few people on the bleachers below put down their hot dogs and onion rings to clap and cheer.

  Morgan nearly fell off the bench. “Hey, that’s mine!”

  He had forgotten all about his car. And now, someone’s stealing it!

  Engine roaring, the Scorpion was barreled down the home stretch. Morgan dashed down the bleachers, stumbling over discarded soda cartridges and foil wrappers.

  “Hey, watch it!” said a woman as he rushed past.

  The Scorpion broke through the holographic finish line and slid towards the bleachers. Morgan jumped the last three rows, vaulted over the barrier wall’s force emitters, and reached the car just as it came to rest. He grabbed for the door, but it flew open on its own, knocking his hand away.

  He gaped as she killed the engine.

  “You?” he stammered.

  Liz flashed him a grin as she climbed out. “That was whippin! I brought it back, hope you don’t mind.”

  Morgan stared at her, his mind piecing it all together. Finally, he managed to sputter a single phrase. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Her smile faded. “Hey, I was careful with it.”

  He eyed the gouges in the sand from the Scorpion’s tires. Locking up the brakes is not being careful. Bouncing it off the rev limiter is not being careful. “Sure you were.” He spat the words, as if he’d sucked venom from a wound.

  She held up her hands. “Hey, lay off, I was just doing you a favor.”

  “A favor?” He laughed bitterly. “I offer you a ride home, and you repay me by making me wait for over an hour. Then, you go for a joy ride in my car. How did you get in it anyway, break the door?”

  Liz’s eyes narrowed. “No.” She pulled Morgan’s keychain from her jumpsuit pocket. “It was unlocked. These were in the ignition.”

  “Give those here,” he said, snatching the keys from her hand.

  She glared at him. “If you don’t like what happened, then don’t make a habit of leaving your car unlocked.”

  Morgan squeezed the keys so hard his knuckles popped. “Maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of stealing cars. Now get lost.”

  Her lip was trembling. She looked furiously hurt. Morgan took a breath. I can’t believe this. Is she going to cry? What have I done?

  “I didn’t steal it!” she screamed. She turned and stormed off towards the parking lot.

  Morgan watched her go for a long time. He looked at his keys, then put them back in his pocket. Way to go, man. That was real smooth.

  “Just in case you haven’t noticed, Liz just isn’t into losers.”

  Morgan recognized the slimy voice immediately. “Get lost Victor.”

  “And you are a loser,” continued Victor. “Just like I said. The guys here say you’ve got no goods either. I should have known. What are you, Amish? I’m surprised you don’t drive a horse and buggy.”

  “Shut up,” said Morgan, without turning. He could feel Victor’s eyes boring into him.

  “You’ve got no goods and no game. Vanilla!”

  Morgan spun, his fist arcing upward. It found only air as Victor jumped backwards. Before Morgan could recover, Victor lunged, crashing into Morgan’s stomach and sending him to the ground. Victor landed on top of him.

  “Think you’re gonna hit me?” said Victor, straddling Morgan’s chest. He pulled the glove off his right hand and made a fist. A metal fist? Crap, he’s got a prosthetic hand. Gasping, Morgan tried to wiggle free. He raised his left arm just in time to shield his face. Victor’s blow struck his forearm. Morgan yelped, feeling as if his arm had been shattered.

  Victor’s mechanical hand grabbed Morgan’s wrist and squeezed so hard that Morgan felt his bones grinding together. Frantically, Morgan reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out the Scorpion’s key.

  Victor wrenched Morgan’s arm out of the way and punched him square on the cheek with his other hand. Morgan’s head snapped back and he saw stars.

  “Ahh!” screamed Morgan, pulling the key ball out of his pocket and slamming the Scorpion’s ignition key into the meaty part of Victor’s right leg. Victor screamed and pulled back. Morgan kicked out with both feet. He missed Victor’s groin but connected with his kneecap. Victor fell backwards.

  Morgan jumped up and tried to kick Victor, but someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him backwards.

  “Stop it,” said Mr. Lutstone. “Before I call the police.”

  Morgan squirmed, but the old man’s wiry strength held him fast. “Morgan, please stop.”

  He stopped.

  “Are you done?” said Mr. Lutstone.

  He nodded.

  Mr. Lutstone released him.

  Victor had regained his feet and was staring at Morgan, his eyes full of cold hatred. “I’m going to kill you, kid. I’m going to cut your head off and mount it on the hood of my car.” His lips turned up in a sideways smirk, as if he relished the thought.

  “That’s enough,” said Mr. Lutstone, stepping between them. “You’re banned from this track for life.”

  Victor’s smirk vanished. “What?”

  “You heard me. Now leave before I call the police.”

  Victor looked as if he would strike Mr. Lutstone. Then, he seemed to think better of it and spat at the ground. “Nobody here’s a challenge anyway.” He turned and started walking towards his car. After a few steps he looked back and shouted over his shoulder, “And stay away from Liz!”

  “What’s it to you?” said Morgan.

  Victor continued without answering.

  Mr. Lutstone turned to Morgan. “Are you ok?”

  Morgan felt his forearm. There was a tender spot where Victor’s metal knuckles had smashed into it, but it wasn’t broken.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  “I thought you were giving her a ride.”

  He looked over at the Scorpion, then at Liz. She was already a good way through the parking lot and had almost reached the main road that would lead back to Blairsford.

  “I was, until she decided to give herself one.”

  Mr. Lutstone
was quiet. Morgan looked away, unable to meet Mr. Lutstone’s eyes. He kicked at the dirt. He couldn’t give her a ride, not after what she had done, and certainly not after what he had said to her.

  “It’s a long walk to town,” said Mr. Lutstone.

  “Too bad,” said Morgan. The voice in his head wasn’t letting him off that easily. You’re being a fool. Come on, admit it.

  “Morgan, I don’t think she meant to anger you.”

  He bit his lip. The scab from earlier had barely formed, and he tasted blood. “It doesn’t matter what she meant to do.” Why can’t I let it go?

  Mr. Lutstone sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do. But think about it from her side. She’s new here, and she just wrecked her car. I know Ed Fowler, and he’s going to be furious when he finds out.”

  Morgan shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do about that. It’s not like my giving her a ride home will solve all her problems.” He winced as he spoke. That’s too harsh, and you know it.

  Mr. Lutstone turned to look down the track’s driveway. Liz was out of sight. “No, but being her friend couldn’t hurt. An hour ago, I was pretty sure the idea appealed to you.”

  “It did.”

  Mr. Lutstone smiled. “And it still does?”

  Morgan looked away. There was no point in lying. But he had treated her like shit. How could he take it back? “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

  Mr. Lutstone shrugged. “Probably. Now, are you going to let her walk out of your life, or are you going to man up and apologize, and give her a ride home?”

  Morgan gulped. “I’ll try.”

  “Ok then,” said Mr. Lutstone.

  Morgan trudged back to the Scorpion, got inside, and closed the door. Victor was driving towards the exit. What does he want with her? Pulse quickening, he started the car and took off.

  He caught up to them just after the bend in the road. Liz was walking along the shoulder. Victor pulled alongside and rolled down his window.

  She ignored him for a moment, then turned and shouted something. She started walking faster, looking straight ahead. Victor kept pace for a few seconds, then accelerated away. Morgan let his breath go—he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

  He swallowed, tasting bile. Now it’s your turn. If there was one thing he hated, it was apologizing.

  The Scorpion’s tires crunched over the gravel as he approached. Liz made no acknowledgement, but kept walking as if the rumbling dune buggy didn’t exist. Morgan leaned over and pushed up the passenger door.

  “Get in,” he said, a little too gruffly. He scowled, then added, “Please.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, her gaze unwavering from the road.

  For a second, Morgan though about hitting the gas. Don’t be a child. Talk to her.

  “Liz, I’m sorry.” It sounded mechanical and insincere. You can do better. Don’t be afraid. Liz walked even faster. He gave the Scorpion a little more gas, being careful to not run her off the road. “Look, I’m not going to let you walk all the way back. I said I’d give you a lift.”

  “You also told me to get lost, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I didn’t mean it.” He grit his teeth and looked down the road. “I…I overreacted. I’m sorry, I know you were only trying to help.”

  She didn’t answer. He looked back out and realized she had stopped walking. He put the car in reverse until he was next to her again. Liz was on the phone. Her face was grim as her eyes flashed.

  “My dad’s wondering where I am,” she said finally. “More or less.”

  “You tell him what happened?”

  “Yeah. He flipped out. Now he’s even more pissed that I’m not back.”

  “Then get in. I’ll take you home.”

  She hesitated, glancing down the driveway and then back at the Scorpion. Then, her face hardened and she slipped into the passenger seat. Morgan stifled a sigh. Finally.

  He accelerated down the rest of the dirt road and turned onto the paved road that led to Blairsford. Shuttles and air cars bustled through the sky, but the local ground traffic was light. There wasn’t anything for miles around except desert. He considered putting the Scorpion on automatic, but decided against it. If he wasn’t driving, the silence would be even more awkward.

  Liz was staring out her side of the car, and Morgan couldn’t see her face. They continued on for some time, until Morgan couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to try to make things better.

  “So, how did you like driving my car?”

  Liz started. “What?”

  “Did you have fun?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “First you get pissed, then you want to know if I had fun?”

  He nodded.

  She was studying him as if she didn’t know what to make of him. When she finally spoke, some of the tension had left her voice. “I didn’t mean to go so fast, at first. But it was addictive. The sound it makes, the vibration from the tires. And that steering wheel…I’ve only ever seen cars with steering wheels in movies. I’ve never driven anything like it before.”

  Morgan grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “So, you’re not mad?”

  Morgan thought for a moment. The only anger left was aimed at himself for being such a meat head. “No, not any more. I am sorry about that. I just, well, this car is just about the best thing going on in my life at the moment.”

  “Wow,” said Liz. “Your life must suck.”

  “Haha, yeah, a little.”

  Except for Liz’s occasional directions, they drove the rest of the way in silence. Morgan thought of things to say for when she finally had to leave, but the prospect of actually saying them was scary. Hey, want to grab dinner some time? No, well, how about coffee? No, ah, you’re not interested. Well, that’s ok. I guess I’ll just be going…

  No, it was better to say nothing.

  Modest two-story houses lined both sides of the street. “Which one’s yours?”

  “Blue one at the end,” she said, pointing at a modern structure with a triple garage.

  Morgan guided the Scorpion up the broad driveway, stopping behind a gloss-black POD 1200. A faint reflection of the Scorpion glistened in the hovercar’s glossy paint. He looked over at Liz. Come up with something, you idiot. This is your last chance!

  “Well, thanks for the ride,” she said, opening her door. “Sorry about earlier.”

  He shrugged. “No worries. Do you think it’s going to be bad? You know, with your dad?”

  “It always is with my father.” She paused, looking pensive. “Hey, do you think you could stick around for a minute? In case, you know, I need a wheelman?”

  “A what?”

  “An escape driver, silly, in case my dad loses containment.”

  Morgan tried to keep the schoolboy grin off his face as hope came rushing back. “Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll be your wheelman any time.”

  She beamed at him. “Great, thank you so much! I give it a fifty-fifty chance of needing your services within the next two minutes.” Her face fell. “You know, depending on if he’s been drinking.”

  Morgan tried to look unconcerned. No one had mentioned that Ed Fowler was a raging drunk. What if he came out and saw Morgan? “What do I do?”

  Liz got out of the car. “Just sit tight with this door open and be ready to floor it.”

  She walked towards the house. The entryway sensed her and opened automatically. Morgan started to sweat despite the air conditioning. What am I getting myself into here? The last thing he wanted was to get in the middle of a family fight. Man up, you pansy! She’s totally worth it. Do you want to see her again or not?

  The Scorpion’s computer beeped out a proximity alert. The navigational screen showed a blue dot turning onto Liz’s street. He sighed. He had forgotten to turn the settings down after the race.

  He looked in the rear-view display. It was a blue Porsche with a smashed-in front bumper. Lutstone’s mystery driver followed me! He had completely missed the unvei
ling of the driver’s identity in the commotion after the race.

  The Porsche slowed as it reached the end of the street. It drove through the cul-de-sac and stopped, waiting.

  Angry voices tore his attention away from the Porsche. Liz was running out, her face streaming with tears. A large red-faced man in a gray suit toddled out after her, bellowing. “You were told, and you didn’t listen. That track is too dangerous, and now you’ve wrecked the car and proven my point.”

  Liz turned to face him. “I knew it! You’re just mad because I smashed the car. You don’t care about me at all. You suck, dad. I hate you.”

  Smack.

  Liz’s head snapped around. Her father raised his hand again.

  Morgan gaped. The drunk bastard. How dare he! He reached for his door handle, but his hands were shaking and he couldn’t get it open.

  Ed Fowler stared at his open palm as if in disbelief. “Liz, I’m sorry,” he stammered. He pointed at the POD in the driveway. “I don’t care about the cars, they mean nothing. But you—hey, wait!”

  Liz was striding down the driveway towards Morgan.

  “Elizabeth,” wailed her father. “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want you to get hurt on that track. I couldn’t lose you, not after what happened to your mom. Marc Lutstone’s own son died on that track, did you know that? It’s not safe.”

  “Screw you,” shot back Liz over her shoulder. She ducked under the Scorpion’s open passenger door and slid in next to Morgan. Her dad, noticing the strange car in his driveway for the first time, began running towards them.

  “This can’t be happening,” said Morgan. He jammed the car in reverse the second Liz energized her restraining field. Her dad dived for the Scorpion, but he was too late. He hit the pavement with a dull smack just as Liz got her door closed.

  Morgan cut the wheel to the side and jammed on the brakes. The Scorpion whipped around, tires squealing. Morgan flipped it into first gear and mashed the accelerator, tearing out of the driveway and down the street. Neither one of them looked back.