“What the hell!”
“What, what did you find?” Trent asked.
Genghis lowered the slip of paper and then with an exasperated tone asked, “What human year is this?”
“Well, the computers were never really able to pinpoint it exactly. But it’s somewhere between 2015 and 2025, give or take.” Trent looked at the big dog sitting next to him, “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Because according to this document,” Genghis waved it in the air, “We’re operating an auto-mo-bile that was manufactured in the human year of nineteen hundred and fifty-nine.”
“Oh! That’s not good.”
“No, no it isn’t!
“Nineteen hundred and fifty-nine?” Trent said unbelievably. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! Specifically, something called a Ford Thunderbird! The Replicator replicated the cruiser into a fifty-year-old auto-mo-bile.”
“No, possibly older!” Trent mused out loud. “This style of auto-mo-bile probably hasn’t been seen on the roads of this planet in more than thirty, forty years!”
Genghis sat there with a furrowed brow then said, “Ah, Geez O’ Cow! We’re supposed to blend in.” If he could, he would have had his arms crossed. “We’re gonna stick out like a wart on a monkey's ass!” he said, like a petulant child.
“We’ll have to make up some kind of scenario if we're asked,” Trent said, looking a little worried. “Something that will be plausible.”
“Yeah like what?” Genghis said in a huff.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to think of something!”
“What? What would possibly make sense!” Genghis said. Then in a mocking tone, “Oh, we bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn for the last thirty years and thought, ‘Hey what the hell!’ Let's restore it back to its original condition and drive it around.” He made steering wheel motions with his paws.
Trent thought about that for a moment. Then turned to look at his partner. Genghis was coming to the same conclusion and glanced back to Trent.
“Well,” Trent said. “That kind of sounds feasible.”
“Yah think?”
“I don’t see why not. I mean, people on our planet have restored old things like that before.”
“Yeah, you got a point there. Maybe humans do the same thing. Okay, that might work then,” Genghis agreed. “Until we can think of something else.”
Genghis’s nose twitched. He pointed his head straight up, above the windshield into the slipstream. “We’re about a mile from IPPT 964.”
“What?” Trent said in disbelief.
Just then, the computer made a five-second-long buzz, indicating that they were a mile from the transfer ship. Astonished, Trent looked over at Genghis. The dog looked back and with a smirk said, “Try that, biped.”
“You really do have a good proboscis!”
Chapter Eight
They drove the mile needed to get to the transfer ship. The computer started to emit a steady buzz. Genghis reached up and turned it off, then audibly turned off his holographic computer console. Trent pulled over to the shoulder of the road. The cobblestone crunched under the weight of the replicated 1959 Ford Thunderbird. Trent put it in park then slowly reached up and turned off the engine.
Twenty yards away, off to the right of the road, leaning against a tree, was Interstellar Police Prison Transfer vehicle 964. Trent reached into his coat and retrieved his PK30A from his shoulder holster. He slid back the mechanism, loading a round into the chamber. There was nothing said between them as they got out of the Thunderbird and started walking toward the transfer ship.
Genghis instinctively put his nose to the ground and started sniffing. He looked up, then over toward 964. “It looks as if the transfer ship was replicated into a human auto-mo-bile as old as ours.”
Trent was surveying the area. “See these faint black marks on the roadway. That means they applied the brakes too hard.” He started pointing. “And look at the disturbance in the earth here. They must have lost control, hit this small embankment, rolled a couple of times and ended upright against that tree. They had no idea how to operate a human auto-mo-bile.”
“We’re lucky the replicated generation field around the vehicle held,” Genghis added.
If the generation field had not held during the crash, Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan would be looking at the actual sixty-five-foot transfer vehicle. But, instead they were looking at a twelve-foot-long replicated 1948 Divco milk delivery truck with its two-toned yellow and white paint scheme and its distinctive short, rounded front end with two headlights flanking a narrow, once chrome grill.
IPPT 964 had been resting against that tree for more than eight months. Being exposed to the elements that long, the paint was fading. The lettering and logo showing a smiling cow's head framed by a daisy was almost completely gone.
After landing at around 220 miles per hour, the escapees did lose control of the replicated automobile, hit the embankment and rolled six times before stopping against the tree.
Trent, leading with his PK30A, cautiously walked to the bi-fold driver's door. It was rusted and opened slightly, making a squeaking sound every time the wind blew. He held his gun up, trained on the door, and opened it all the way with a loud screech. It had one seat, the driver's with upholstery that was torn and faded. The steering column and stick styled gear shifter were rusted. The black paint around the steering wheel was peeling off in spots. The right corner of the dashboard was covered with what looked like old nesting material from a long departed rodent or bird. Trent moved to the rear of the vehicle where Genghis sat waiting and pointed the gun at the closed double doors. Using his hind leg Genghis reached up and touched the Immobilizer to make sure
