RenderLux locked them down on the benches. The interior was poised to intercept a flying rag doll of a human. But an accident was unlikely. There was confident bravado in Otto’s surge.
Still, she was nonplussed. The car was ignoring her in favor of William. They should all be able to give it voice commands. Outside, the guardrail was a silver streak flecked with tiny green mile markers. The road was devoid of traffic, one of those freak highway segments that made you feel like you were the only car on a postapocalyptic jaunt.
She pulled her hand from her head, where it had been raking her scalp, and told herself that this was fun. This was what it was all about. Daniel’s and Melissa’s white-knuckled hands were intertwined in Melissa’s lap. A sign for Exit 19 flew past, over their shoulders, gone. William sat hunched on the edge of his seat, elbows on his knees, head thrust forward. He caught Christina’s eye. She tried to shake her head in disapproval but laughed instead. He grinned, wild-eyed, ecstatic. His teeth were crooked gravestones; he’d never had braces. Sometimes she dreamed that she was running the tip of her tongue across them.
Otto funneled the sound of the wind through the speakers so Katy Perry sang with the rush of the highway.
She fell into a delicious trance. What if they really were the last people on earth, adrift in their cozy Driverless pod? Oh well, guess it’s up to us to reproduce. Speeding wheels on pavement and a distant notion of skin on skin became one in her mind. She was an indoor girl who hated roller coasters and motorcycles and diving boards. And yet there was something transcendent about blazing down the highway at fuck-the-world miles per hour. Part of her was instantly grossed out by this—what was she, some insecure groupie who hung out with muscleheads in souped-up cars? But her lizard brain understood the thrill.
The final chorus of the song was shot through with sirens. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer that floated above the windshield.
97 mph.
Her head swiveled to look behind the car. Two New York state troopers were on their tail, one big Dodge Charger in each lane. There was something furious about their approach, inexorable law-enforcement machines that could not be reasoned with.
William turned to Christina. There were storms in his eyes, the roiling surfaces of gas giants. She knew what he wanted: to keep on going. Otto could outrun the cops and then they would be gone, really and truly on the run. She took his hand. Her heart double-timed the song’s beat. She was with him, whatever he decided. The voice in her head that told her she was being crazy, that they had to pull over and stop, was drowned out by wind and sirens.
The stillness was like a new piece of furniture in the car. They sat on the shoulder of the highway. There was no wind and no music, only the occasional whoosh of a vehicle slowing down as it passed the two police cars parked behind Autonomous.
Melissa had screamed over the cacophony for Otto to pull over. Much to Christina’s surprise, the car had obeyed. Maybe it was programmed to respect police cruisers, or some fail-safe prevented it from trying to outrun cops. That was the likely scenario, but Christina couldn’t help but think Otto chose to obey Melissa just to spite her.
The two state troopers approached cautiously: lanky mustached guys with hands resting on holstered guns. Their eyes were shaded by hat brims. Christina watched them closely from behind the tinted glass. The cops were basically gawking at the car, wondering what kind of experimental military craft they’d just pulled over.
“They seem a little on edge,” Christina said.
William was up and off the bench. “I got this.”
Daniel’s arm shot out, blocking the way. “I’m not trying to go to jail. I’ll do the talking.”
Melissa stood up and separated the boys. “Everybody relax. I know how to deal with cops.”
Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the front and sat down in a little nook where the bench curved inward, allowing her to face forward and put her feet on the floor like a normal driver. She rolled down the window. “I am so sorry about that!”
Christina marveled at the sheer wattage of her smile. It was as if a marquee had been installed in her front teeth.
The state troopers paused alongside the car, halfway to the front, one on either side. If the glass hadn’t been there, Christina could have reached out and grabbed one of their guns. Her proximity to the cold black pistol made her feel light-headed. Dierdrax was skilled with a variety of projectile weapons. Christina was squeamish around kitchen knives.
One of the troopers leaned down to peer into the car. The brim of his hat doinked the glass.
The other trooper spoke. “Miss, I’m gonna need you to step out of the car.”
“No problem, Officer.” Melissa’s voice dripped with politeness as she opened the door.
Inside, Daniel spoke in a low voice. “I’ve seen her get out of two different tickets before.”
“Because boobs?” Christina asked. She thought of the selfie Melissa had sent via Epheme to that Ash person, now stored in an encrypted document on her laptop—a work in progress that she could unleash when the time was right. She felt a complex twinge of guilt, simultaneously feeling a little bit sorry for Daniel and at the same time thinking of his own Epheme chat with PixieDust.
Fremont Hills’ Hottest Couple, everybody.
Daniel shrugged. “One time she cried.”
“Cops are gross,” Christina said.
A trooper knocked on the passenger window. It rolled down, and Daniel scrambled to the front, leaving William and Christina alone.
“What were you going to do, make them chase us all the way to New York?” She tried to make her voice neutral so she wouldn’t sound like she was being accusatory. “Try to ditch the fuzz
