The Lost Puzzler Page 13

  The room fell silent almost immediately.

  “I’m leaving now, heading southeast with a hull half full,” he said, surveying the bar. “So there will be more business for you and there’s no need to thank me, unless you want to buy me a drink.” Sporadic laughter rippled among the truckers.

  “Now, there may be a few men coming here later, might be looking for people who resemble my companions here. I would see it as a personal favor if you not cooperate with these men, even if they are persuasive with coin or otherwise. Have a nice evening.”

  Without waiting for a reaction the trucker turned and strode out of the bar. When they were out of the Backside Burner, Khan asked, “Do you trust them?”

  The Captain shrugged and said, “Trucker’s honour.” He shoved more chewing leaves into his mouth, his grin as black as it was mischievous. “And besides, we’ll be driving northeast.”

  21

  Though it was close to impossible to steal a SuperTruck, the parking area was heavily guarded by guild members, who also doubled as bouncers when fights got out of hand in the Backside Burner. Each parked truck was guarded by at least four armed guards.

  Rafik was mesmerized by the sheer size of the SuperTrucks and the fact that they were as different as they were big. No one thirty-wheeler had the same pattern. He mentioned that fact to Captain Sam as they walked towards Sweetheart.

  “Ah, they do not look the same, boy, because every trucker puts a little of himself into his ride. But wait until you see Sweetheart, boy, she is magnificent.” He patted the boy on the shoulder, urging him gently to move on.

  “Is your truck the biggest?” Rafik asked, but the Captain shook his head.

  “There are three things you never really own, boy: women, liquor, and a SuperTruck. You just get to have them for a while. And you don’t start your driving on a SuperTruck, either. You work your way up, learn the lingo, earn your wheels the hard way, and then one day, if you’re lucky, you get to place your hands on the wheel of a real SuperTruck.”

  Rafik thought about the Captain’s answer as they walked among men and machines, then asked, “Why are you called Captain?”

  “Well, boy, have you ever heard of ships?”

  “No.”

  “They were like Trucks, but they floated on water and roamed the seas a long time ago. We do have some boats left today, on the coast, but no ships. Anyway, long ago, ships were manned by a group of people called sailors and led by a captain. Every ship had a unique name, and the sailors and captain lived and died on its deck and took pride at keeping her the ship in excellent condition. Sweetheart told me that many times the ship would be treated by the crew like a lady. Sailors would talk or sing to her, and the captain would treat her as his missus. When that happened, the stories say, the ship would never take water and sink or lose a battle. I’m called a captain because—”

  The trucker stopped in his tracks.

  “Well, water my oil and flatten my tyres,” he said softly to no one in particular. He strode towards a huge silvery truck guarded by six men. They all shifted position on their feet as he walked past them, saying, “Good evening, lads. At ease, just checking on her now. I see all is well.” He passed five of them, and when he reached the sixth guard, who was leaning on one of the machine’s large wheels, Captain Sam suddenly charged and landed a heavy fist into the guard’s jaw. The man went down with a heavy, if somewhat surprised-sounding grunt, where the Captain proceeded to kick him, accentuating each strike with, “How . . . many . . . times . . . do I have to say . . . never . . . ever . . . touch her.”

  On any other day, such violence would have branded Rafik’s soul, but this day had been too full of bloodshed for Rafik to care—and besides, there were interesting patterns on the SuperTruck. Eventually Captain Sam stopped kicking the guard and turned to the other guards, who had stood watching. He threw a small bag of coins at one of them, pointed at the guard at his feet, and said, “Take care of him, and tell him that when I get back, if I see him guarding any of the SuperTrucks again, he’d better have a spare set of legs.”

  The men helped their friend up and walked away without another word. When they were far enough away, Captain Sam brought out a small rectangular object and pressed it once. High up, the door of the truck opened with a hissing sound and a ladder extended itself down.

  “Here she is,” he declared with pride, and spat aside the chewing leaves before ordering them to “climb aboard.”

  They climbed up into a surprisingly spacious cabin, which had two levels—one with a seat for the driver and a passenger, and a second, lower level, with three comfortable-looking seats. At the back of the cabin hung a row of dried sausages and a stack of several barrels, which reminded Rafik of the cellar of Dominique’s bar. The very same thought must have crossed Khan’s mind, because he swore softly as he leaned back into a chair and closed his eyes. Before Rafik had the time to take it all in, a pleasant woman’s voice filled the cabin, startling both Khan and the boy.

  “Good evening, handsome,” the voice said.

  “Hello, Sweetheart,” answered the Captain, climbing up into the driver’s seat with surprising agility. He turned and said to Khan, “She wouldn’t move without checking it’s me.”

  “I see you have guests with you tonight.”

  “Oh, this is Khan and his little pup, Rafik. They’ll be travelling with us.” He leaned over in his seat, beaming with pride, “She can detect a fly on the back of the hood.”

  “How was your steak tonight?”

  Captain Sam’s face turned serious as he said in an even tone, “It was very tender, dear, albeit a bit too spicy for my gut.” He winked at Rafik.

  A strange-looking slate with glowing numbers drawn on it slid forward towards Captain Sam. “Please enter the code, Captain.”

  Captain Sam hid the slate with one hand and touched a series of numbers with the other. As the slate slid back and the floor began to slightly vibrate, he turned back to Khan. “Press the wrong code, and Sweetheart would know this was a kidnapping and act accordingly. And trust me, you do not want to see her angry.”

  “I’m warming your seat up just the way you like it.” The SuperTruck’s voice was calm and pleasant.

  “Thank you, Sweetheart. Set a course for Regeneration, love.”

  “May I remind you, Captain, that I am half empty, and our schedule tells me Regeneration is our destination in a month and three days.”

  “I know, darling,” Captain Sam said as he busied himself pushing a few more buttons, “but we must change the schedule and travel early this time. Look what I have for you.”

  He fished a glowing power tube out of his pocket and shoved it gently into a compartment in the machine’s enormous steering wheel. “I was waiting for a special occasion, but I thought this would be a good time.”

  “You are so considerate, Captain,” the truck’s humm increased slightly, “I assume you want to drive manually until we reach the Tarakan highway?”

  “Not this time. Sound the horn, dear, and take it all the way.” The Captain leaned back and crossed his hands behind his neck as lights of various colours began flashing all around them. The engine roared into life, and as the SuperTruck began to move forward an ear-piercing horn was sounded. It was probably much louder outside, but it was enough to startle Rafik and Khan yet again. The captain laughed in merriment and said, “Need to tell them all we’re leaving.” He swivelled his chair back to Rafik. “So, you never been on a SuperTruck before?”

  Rafik, lost for words, could only shake his head.

  “Well hang on, boy.” Captain Sam grinned and wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “You’re in for the ride of your life.”

  22

  The SuperTruck called Sweetheart moved its incredible bulk slowly but with precision and ease. Inside, there were more than half a dozen slates—Captain Sam called them screens—from which they could see what was going on outside the SuperTruck. The images changed every so often, from the back of the vehicle
to the sides and bottom, and even to the roof. Rafik watched, fascinated, as alien symbols crossed the top of the screens. Captain Sam explained they were measurements and distances and “other stuff you don’t have to worry about. She’s taking us nice and easy to the highway, ain’t it so, Sweetheart?” He thumped the enormous steering wheel fondly.

  “Of course, Sam,” the soothing woman’s voice filled the cabin from all directions, “and I suggest you relax and rest and let me navigate. Analyzing your breath, I detect that you’ve had too much to drink to be able to drive safely.”

  “Nonsense, lass, I’m as sober as an . . . an . . .” Captain Sam was momentarily lost for words. He covered the embarrassment by releasing a mighty belch.

  “Exactly,” said Sweetheart calmly with only a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

  Despite the horrors of the day, Rafik’s excitement surged. He’d woken up in the morning thinking his life would be filled with backbreaking chores, and here he was, inside a SuperTruck. It was more than satisfactory to imagine what Eithan, who got all round-eyed at the sight of a simple six-wheeler merchant wagon, would say about that.

  Rafik wanted to look out from the high windows. He tried to climb on his chair. To his uneasy surprise, he found himself bound to the chair by two straps which looped around his middle and across the chest.

  “Relax, boy,” the Captain said when he sensed Rafik’s discomfort. “It’s for your own good. If we make a sudden stop it’s either you’re strapped down or we have to scrape you off the windshield. But look over there, you see that set of buttons? You can move your seat up and down and sideways.” The Captain was right. After a bit of experimenting, Rafik figured out how to raise his seat so he could look outside. They were as high as a two-story building, perhaps even higher, and already travelling at unimaginable speed.

  After turning away from Newport, the SuperTruck steered itself onto a wide road that was lit by powerful Tarakan lights perched on impossibly high metal poles.

  “Those are still working,” Captain Sam said, pointing at the metal towers from which the light emanated. “Almost no other place has them anymore. They used to be everywhere, but now this row is a wonder of the world.”

  “Why is that so?” Rafik asked, turning his head from the window.

  Khan, who’d been quiet for such a long time that Rafik thought he was asleep, suddenly answered, “In many cities they were taken apart by looters, for the metal, but in Newport there are many truckers who drive at night and want an easy ride in and out of town. So the guild hires guards to make sure no one tries to steal the poles.”

  “Yeah,” grunted the Captain. He pointed at one of the poles as they passed by. Rafik could clearly see there were several skeletons hanging from it.

  “Every once in a while, some bandits get ballsy and try and steal one of them. We catch them, cut their balls off, hang them by the straps of their belts and leave them to rot until there’s nothing left of their bodies. Sends a message, if you know what I mean.”

  This quieted everyone for a while, and they drove in silence until they reached a part of the road that was completely dark. The Captain said chirpily, “Time to light up the gloom, Sweetheart.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” said the SuperTruck, and the vehicle’s surroundings were suddenly bathed in bright light.

  “Any company?” asked the Captain.

  Sweetheart answered, “One type-three class, seven miles ahead, heading north an average of ninety-seven miles per hour. We will not meet it unless one of us alters course.”

  “Can you scan it?”

  There was a short pause, after which the answer came: “I bypassed the vehicle’s elementary firewall. It is an artificial platinum-plated fourteen-wheeler, carrying wood, three weapons systems, one heat-tracking missile, one male driver, a female companion, and a canine whose exact breed I cannot define. The vehicle’s height and weight are—”

  “That’s enough Sweetheart, that’ll do,” the Captain said, his hands resting on the steering wheel, but only following its movement not controlling it. “That dumb rust-arse trucker,” he said to Khan. “He spent half his life’s savings getting a Gadgetier to install enough salvaged Tarakan weaponry to start a war, wasted half his hull space on it, too, but didn’t bother to turn his antiscan system on. I know when he scratches himself and where.”

  “Why is that important?” Khan’s voice was flat, as if he was keeping the conversation going but was preoccupied by something else.

  “Well, first of all, you should never let the bad guys know what you’re carrying in your hull, and second, all the weapons in the world won’t help you if the bad guys hack into your system and turn it off.” He busied himself stuffing more leaves into his mouth. “At least that was the explanation Sweetheart gave me. Been with her for years, but I still don’t know all the technical terms she uses.”

  “Who are the bad guys, do they ride great bicycles?” asked Rafik, suddenly anxious again. He’d already convinced himself that they’d left the bad guys back in Newport.

  “’The great what?” Captain Sam chuckled, “No, no no, kid. Two wheelers can’t scratch a SuperTruck. What we have here, we call them pirates, like the ones who used to attack ships on seas, but they’re nothing more than bandits on wheels, really. Some are ex-truckers who think they can do it the easy way—they do the driving—the others are just thugs who do the killing and looting. But don’t worry, son, we know how to deal with those road roaches if we ever come across them, don’t we, Sweetheart?”

  “We do, my Captain,” answered the SuperTruck, and the Captain laughed, exposing blackened teeth. As the heavy truck rumbled on, Sam took pleasure in showing Rafik some of Sweetheart’s secrets, pointing out screens and quoting numbers and measurements that meant nothing to the boy but were fascinating nonetheless.

  “Did you build this truck . . . I mean Sweetheart, yourself?” he asked.

  The Captain laughed and shook his head.

  “Me? No, boy, I did not,” he said ruefully. Then he lowered his tone and added in a pretend whisper, “She doesn’t like to hear this, but she’s older than you and me together, and not a simple lass, either. Hell, I laid my hands on every part of her and I still don’t understand how she works.”

  “Is she really . . . alive?” Rafik was fascinated. The people in his village used weapons and a few primitive machines, like the generator that powered a cooling storage device, or the dangerous harvester used in the fields during the spring. The machines had a tendency to break down, needed constant attention, and none of them were even close to having the sophistication of a SuperTruck. Rafik was repeatedly warned of the dangers of attaching, mixing human and machine, yet here he was inside a machine that seemed to be part human, running away from a human who was part machine.

  The Captain didn’t seem to mind the question, or perhaps he was just indulging Rafik.

  “She’s alive to me,” he said in all seriousness, “and I never tell her how or when to talk to me, like some of the other boys do. She speaks when she wants and says what she wants, and believe me, boy, she has a large, what d’ya call it, vocabulary. She speaks better than I do, that’s for sure. So yes, I think she is alive, as alive as she can be.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments before Captain Sam began talking again.

  “I never really bought Sweetheart,” he mused. “Sure, there’s an old trucker out there who never needs to worry about coin again, but it wasn’t about her price. His name’s Brinks; we called him Brinks the Brick because he was as flexible as one and could hit you as hard.” Sam snorted a laugh. “He used to call her ‘little daughter,’ and believe me, boy, I had to get on his good side before he even let me touch her. Before Sweetheart, I drove a fourteen-wheeler for twenty seasons, and thought I knew what I was doing. Then I met Brinks. He needed a second, and I made good of an opportunity. It took one trip with Brinks the Brick for me to realise I’d stayed alive on the road out of pure luck. He taught me how to drive and
how to take care of her. We spent forty seasons driving together, Brinks, Sweetheart, and I.”

  “And you don’t have a wife, or kids?”

  “Well . . .” Captain Sam said into his beard, “you can’t be a trucker without having a few offspring spread all over your route, if you know what I mean.” He glanced over his shoulder at Rafik and added, “Actually I’m guessing you didn’t know that. What I mean is that Brinks and Sweetheart, they were my real family, and when Brinks got so blind he couldn’t see the road no more we struck a deal, but like a father-and-son deal. He retired, and now I drive Sweetheart and send him a third of my earnings. Now, Brinks was a man who knew his rig, every last metal coil in her, and he knew his roads, and let me tell ya, he knew how to handle himself in a tight spot. But even Brinks didn’t build Sweetheart.”

  The Captain drummed a slow beat with his fingers, “Now my Sweetheart ain’t talking much about her past, but I reckon she is a mix built of Tarakan and human know-how. I don’t know how the SuperTrucks survived the Catastrophe, but they’re built for resilience, especially Sweetheart’s type”—he thumped his hand lovingly on the wheel—“the SuperTruck Z class, and not many of them left. There are a few good truckers and mechanics out there who have the skill to piece back together a normal fourteen-wheeler, but most of ’em wouldn’t know much about SuperTrucks.”

  The Captain shot a glance at Rafik. “I know that some people don’t like the tattooed very much, but other than the SuperTruck’s self-repair systems, Gadgetiers are the only ones I know that could do serious maintenances on a SuperTruck, and I know a few who could even add a weapons system to it. That makes the tattooed solid in my eyes, but no one can really build a SuperTruck no more. That knowledge is gone, dead, and don’t let anyone flatten your tyre with nonsense about the coming of the Mechanic or other such religious crap.” Captain Sam pointed a stubby finger at Rafik, “No matter what they say about them Tarakans and how evil and terrible they were, remember that they built the SuperTrucks and those roads, boy, I am sure of it. They must have been very similar to us, and how bad could they be if they built Sweetheart, eh?”