Carbon and Steel

Carbon and Steel

A thick blanket, or rather, a thick carpet of smog covered the entire ground level of New Quebec. Stacked atop the carpet was layer after layer of thick, purplish exhaust, reaching up for hundreds of feet. Only the lower classes and degenerates lived in those places, and only with the assistance of lung re-breather implants. Higher still was the Autoroute. Here, motorists piloted their flying automobiles through crowded airways, sending cascades of exhaust down to the lower levels. The Autoroute itself, even though it technically is only empty space, hummed as if it were alive, and glowed from the shimmering neon and xenon lights on the storefronts. Bright blues, and dark yellows, shapes and splotches, a stained glass still image of the human condition. In fact, the image was rather still around 15 PM. That’d be the rough equivalent of 9 PM Earth time. Gridlock.

“Move it! C’mon,” a motorist shouted into a device that broadcasted his voice outside of the vehicle. Though he was airborne, hundreds of feet above the ground, he had a relaxed posture in his seat, one hand on the steering orb, seat slightly reclined, his other hand dangling a cigarette over the disposal unit. In the co-motorist seat lay a dark brown duffel bag. On the navigation system, a gently pulsing lime green dot lay between the intersections of Chêne and 35th and Genévrier and 35th. He was currently on Genévrier and 26th, and the package needed to be delivered within the half hour.

At that moment, a woman, beautiful and devastatingly so, exited a small diner, snatching off her apron, and tossing on her overcoat. The sidewalk she stood on was a glorified taxi stop, and stopped at every intersection with a sudden drop hundreds of feet to the ground. In New Quebec, no one enforced the rules about jaywalking. It more or less enforced itself. She raised her hand, waving for a transport of some kind.

“Hey, buddy,” the motorist shouted, as a taxicab tried to merge into his lane directly ahead of him. “What are you doin’?”

“‘Eh screw you,” he shouted back. “I got a family to feed.” However, he didn’t quite have enough room to merge, leaving his vehicle at an askew angle inside of the gridlock. The motorist threw his hands up and looked to his right. He saw a woman, the one who hailed the taxi. Inspired by her beauty, and irritated in equal parts, he extinguished and stowed away his cigarette, and spoke into his communicator device.

“Hey, lady,” he started. “I don’t know what his fare is, but I’ll get you where you need to go, and for half the price.” The woman looked at the motorist’s vehicle, an old, antiquated, but still sleek and shimmering machine before she made her response. She approached the vehicle, and the motorist rolled down the window.

“This heap of metal isn’t going to fall apart with me in it, is it?” she asked first. The motorist was hurt to his soul, but he decided to let it go, seeing as how she was both attractive and about to pay him.

“Of course she won’t,” the motorist said. Now, the taxi driver was looking back in his rearview camera feed, wondering what had happened to his customer. With a smile, the motorist tossed the dufflebag in the back seat, before opening the door for the woman.

She hesitated for a second, feeling as if there was a chance this could be a very bad idea. Then she remembered how poor she was, and how much she needed to save every  crédit.

“I’m Charlotte,” she said, as she sat down in the smooth leather.

“No merde,” the motorist asked, more like a statement. It was a very Old American style of swear, and it didn’t sound quite as casual as he liked.

“Excuse me,” Charlotte asked. The motorist had a brief panic, due to the door still being open, and the taxi still being present. She could easily walk away from the whole deal still. He composed himself before speaking.

“Sorry. Just caught me off guard. My name is Charles,” he said. She smiled with her thin tired lips and shut the door. “So, where are you headed tonight, Charlotte?”

“3362 Bonhomme Parkway,” she said. “I know it’s in the opposite direction that you’re heading now. Will that be fine, Charles?”

“Of course,” he replied. “Also, call me Chuck.”

Chuck pressed the clutch and switched the vehicle into a higher gear. He nudged the accelerator, and scooted forward, sliding into the gap that the taxi created with his clutzy maneuver.

“Chuck,” Charlotte started. “What are you doing?” Chuck didn’t respond. He needed total focus for what he was about to do. He turned the machine so that it’s hull pointed towards the sidewalk. A devilish grin appeared on his face as he tapped the accelerator once more, climbing over the curb and onto the sidewalk.

“Chuck, this is insane!” Charlotte spoke. “I’m not in a rush!” Still, he didn’t respond. He wished he could at least say something to calm her nerves, but he knew better. Even a second with his eyes not glued to the monitors could mean a tragic accident. With solid ground under the vehicle, Chuck allotted extra power to the vertical thrusters, causing it to rocket into the air about 20 feet. Charlotte panicked and felt around for her seatbelt, which she had neglected to put on.

“Now, here comes the tricky part,” Chuck said, smiling with only his mouth. While high above the Autoroute, he spun his hands around the steering orb frantically, trying to put the machine in the right vector. He needed to merge back into traffic from above, a feat which seemed impossible and idiotic to even try.

“Alright. Just gotta merge back in, and we’ll be on our way,” Chuck said, with undertones of panic in his voice. Charlotte only stared at him, thinking that she had just gotten into a car with a maniac. Presently, a red light began to flash from under the dashboard, and the turbines began to lose their RPM. A pinging sound, shrill but musical, came from the same place.

“Damn it, Arke,” he said. “Too soon.” They began to lose altitude quickly. From below, a city bus had a persistent shadow looming over its roof. Gawkers began to notice the vehicle starting to feather down out of the air, straight for the bus.

“Pretend you didn’t see this,” Chuck said. He reached down and pulled out a small, pentagonal shaped box with a tube in the back it that went further back under the dashboard. He inhaled deeply and blew into it.

“Is that what I think it is,” Charlotte asked. The pinging sound stopped, as did the flashing light. Chuck put the box back and pulled back hard on the pitch column, making the car float gently over the bus. Charlotte looked at Chuck, wide-eyed and frightened.

“What? I’m completely sober,” Chuck said. He tapped the display of light lime green letters that read, “.001”.  Her face didn’t change. “I am! That’s from mouthwash, I promise.” He laughed, and put his eyes back on the road. There was a break in the traffic; a teen looked down for a second to check a holo-mail message from his sweetheart. Chuck pointed the hull down, and pounced on the spot like a falcon, surprising the teen, as well as every passenger in every vehicle adjacent. This lane of traffic was leaving the heart of the city, and therefore less congested.

“Atta girl,” Chuck congratulated, patting the dashboard firmly. Charlotte exhaled softly and looked herself up and down. Then she looked back up at the road and smiled. The two drove a few streets in silence, hearing nothing but the soft whir of the Autoroute. Chuck’s gaze, as it methodically went over the road ahead again and again, was intense and pervasive. Instead of focusing on one point like radiation from a laser, all of the world in his vision seemed to sweat and melt like hot wax. Here was a man, full of such mystery, Charlotte thought.  

“Earlier, you called the car a name,” Charlotte stated. “Ark? Arka? What was it?”

“Her. I called her Arke,” he responded, smiling like a proud father.

“Where’s that from? It sounds...” she began. Chuck cut her off.

“Greek. Arke was a messenger goddess.”

“How come I’ve never heard of...”

“She’s the sister they don’t like to talk about up in Olympus,” Chuck explained. He had a way of speaking from the corner of his mouth, while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Iris, and Hermes too. But there was a third, and her name was Arke.”

“What’s her story,” she asked. Chuck turned the corner before speaking again.

“Well, when the gods of Olympus went to war with the Titans, Arke...Well she picked the wrong side.”

“She fought alongside the Titans?” Charlotte asked. Chuck nodded.

“Not a bad choice. Just a wrong one. Who would have known? Anyway, long story short, she was locked up with the rest of the titans in Tartarus.”

“Interesting choice in names,” she responded.

“Oh, no, I didn’t name her. I only rescued her,” he said smiling slyly.

“From where,” she asked. “Some kind of car prison?” Chuck didn’t respond. He only kept driving.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you,” she asked.

“Nope.” The conversation ended like closed case. Chuck looked over, and he noticed Charlotte fishing through her satchel. She pulled out a tablet, and unlocked the screen, revealing a massive wall of numbers and figures.

“You’re at l'université?” he asked, using a slight uptown accent to try and sound more refined than he actually was.

“Dropped out,” was her reply.

“Really, now,” he said, genuinely surprised, but unsure of how to convey that in an unfamiliar accent.

“You don’t believe me,” she asked.

“That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one,” he replied. “No, I have no reason to doubt you, but I’m still shocked. I generally assume that everyone I meet is a bit smarter than I am.”

“A bit,” she said, smiling. “I dropped out when I ran out of money. I couldn’t handle the debt.”

“What were you studying,” he asked. Ahead, firemen were attaching their hoses to a vapor hydrant.

“Astrophysique,” she replied.

A small bakery on the corner of Pin and 17th exhaled sea-green flames. “Ooh, look at that,” Charlotte exclaimed.

“I hear that back on Earth,” Chuck started. “The flames were all yellows and reds.” The firemen hosed the flames down with an intense blast of water vapor, almost instantly extinguishing the blaze.

“I heard that too. They’re green here because of all of the copper in the air,” Charlotte responded.

“Thank you, Missus Rocket Scientist,” Chuck said with a smile.

“It’s Miss,”she began. “And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that.”

“To know what, that you’re not married?” Chuck replied, trying to place the conversation where he wanted it to be.

“To know what the atmosphere is made of.”

“Ah yes. That,” Chuck laughed. “Well, are you or aren’t you?”

Charlotte flushed red. “I’m not married. In fact I’m not even seeing anyone right now.”

“I meant, are you a rocket scientist,” Chuck replied, grinning like a fool. “But if you insist upon talking about non-universitaires, then by all means let’s talk about that.”

“Sneaky bastard,” she replied, refusing to smile, but failing miserably.

“Oh, you wound me,” he said. They turned into an intersection, and ahead, an entrance to the lower apartments. Chuck frowned at the sight.

“Don’t tell me,” he began. “You live in the smog?”  She nodded slowly.

“The only rent I can afford,” she replied.

“Normally, I wouldn’t try this so soon,” Chuck started, slowly approaching the entrance. He turned his full attention to Charlotte. “Voulez-vous venir prendre un café avec moi ce soir? This is unacceptable.”

“Wow,” was all she could respond before she burst into laughter. “You must be American.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you see what you live in?” Chuck started. “You’re literally shaving years off of your life!”

“How noble of you,” she began. “For you to ask me back to your place within literal minutes of meeting me.”

“That’s not fair,” he replied. “I only have honest intentions, I swear.”

“So you weren’t hoping for anything more,” she said, intentionally twirling her hair flirtatiously.

“I plead the 12th Tenant,” He said, kissing the crucifix around his neck. She glared at him, but not in an adversarial way. In fact, it was more conversational than anything.

“I’m not opposed to cruising around some more,” she said. “But you’ve got to slow your pony down, cowboy.”

“Slow down? During gridlock?” Chuck asked. “We’re lucky if we get to speed limit.”

“I wasn’t talking about the car,” Charlotte responded dryly. Chuck laughed.

“Forgive me,” he began. “I’m not a rocket scientist.”

They drove in silence again, yet this time it was almost intentional. They listened to the sounds of each other’s silence, all while the Autoroute hummed softly. Chuck, Charlotte noticed, always tapped his right index and middle fingers on the steering orb to the rhythm of his turning signal click. Chuck observed the way that Charlotte seemed to show appraisal things with a 3 tiered system of sighs. An arm of the close-by Orion nebula breathed on the sky, like a glowing, almost sentient splash of paint, only just now becoming visible from this side of the planet. Automatically, a special tint covered every window in the city  to deflect radiation.

“It’s already that late, huh?” Charlotte asked, already knowing the answer.

“That it is,” he said, nodding his head. “Listen, I need to drop this package off. It’s better if you don’t know what’s in it.”

Charlotte looked at the bag in the back seat, trying to guess what it could be.

“Don’t worry about it. It will be out of our lives in a minute,” Chuck said, turning a corner onto Chêne. Traffic was beginning to clear up now, and the drive was much quicker. Charlotte looked down, almost sad that her adventure was coming to a close. Chuck turned the vehicle into a garage at his destination. The screen in the dashboard came on, showing a squirrely looking man, sweating and almost shaking on camera.

“H-Hello?” he asked.

“It’s Chuck,” Chuck responded. “You alright, Dane?”

“P-p-peachy,” he said. Every few seconds, he would look out of the corner of his eye, up at something.

Chuck reached into the backseat, turning his whole body in order to speak. “It’s a trap,” he said, too quiet for the receiver to pick up. Charlotte tried to hide her panic as best as she could.

“Hey, Dane, you gonna be here tomorrow?” Chuck asked. “I can drop it off then. I just realized I forgot to activate my radiation blinds at home.”

“Msr. Reyer insists that you deliver it today,” Dane responded.

“How do you know?” Chuck asked. Dane looked up for a second.

“I just know,” he said. The second he spoke, the door to the garage closed behind the vehicle. Quickly, Chuck switched the motor off, knowing how quickly the tiny space would fill up with exhaust.

“I’m bringing it up now,” Chuck said, holding up the duffel bag. Then he turned to Charlotte and apologized. “Sorry you got mixed up in all this. Relax, I’ll be right back.” Then he left.

Charlotte sat in silence for what seemed like hours. The garage was tiny, built for one vehicle, and just enough space between the car and the wall to walk. She took the time to memorize every single aspect of the room. There were two cracks in the ceiling, stained sea-green, one severely deprived tool bench, a camera in the corner, and grease spills all over the ground. More time passed, and she felt the arms of sleep groping her inappropriately. She shook herself awake, only to be dragged off to sleep even faster. And then, there were gunshots.

“Huh, What?!?” Charlotte shouted herself awake. Chuck rushed out of the door, duffel bag in one hand, and an older model of the P3-79 handgun. He was followed by two muscle bound thugs, one of which had blood splattered, in a circular pattern, on his suit. Chuck threw the tool bench down to the ground in front of the door, making it difficult for the thugs to get past. Charlotte threw open the door, and Chuck dove in.

The keys were still in the ignition, which made getting away considerably less difficult. With one fluid motion, Chuck switched the vehicle on, sat up, and put it in reverse. He backed into the garage door and only dented it.

“Damn,” Chuck cursed.

“They’re getting in,” Charlotte pointed out. One of the thugs had his whole arm inside of the door. Smirking evilly, Chuck put the car in drive, and rammed the door, completely shattering bone and tearing up tendons. With more room to gain momentum, Chuck jerked the vehicle into reverse, and wrestled his way out of the garage, in a hail of sparks and exhaust. Now, the second problem,arose. The duo were backing  out into a busy road at a high speed, and there was no time to reverse thrust, and slow their velocity. What Chuck did was divert all available power to the vertical thrusters, making the vessel leap high above the Autoroute, and onto the roof of a building across the road. The police arrived, flying above the traffic, using the emergency lanes. In New Quebec, it was a crime to park on top of a building, and also, to pilot a vehicle outside of the designated lanes of travel. Not wanting to deal with the police, on top of angry thugs, Chuck whipped the antique around in a tight semi-circle, and rocketed off of the roof, completely clearing Érable and suddenly decreasing altitude in the alleyway. He switched off the engine, hoping that he wasn’t seen. It was more of a pipe dream than he would have liked, however; there were cameras everywhere. Charlotte was desperately clinging to her bag, staring ahead, and shivering.

“Now...I could let you out here,” Chuck began. “But you’re even farther away from your home than you started.” Charlotte didn’t respond, rather, she was totally unresponsive.

“Right...I’ll just drop you off, then?” Chuck asked. Still, no response.

“Well, off we go.”

Chuck merged back into traffic, almost seamlessly. It will always look a bit shady when one pulls out of a darkened alley, that’s just a fact of life. Within minutes,Charlotte came back to her senses. Still, she didn’t have much to say, only a few questions.

“What happened, back there?” she asked.

“They wanted to kill me, and take the cash. I had a better plan,” Chuck responded, calmly turning the wheel onto the next street. A pair of blazing blue lights from the prow of a police cruiser encroached the vehicle from behind, sending a wave of panic through Chuck’s bones. The red lights on the roof were not illuminated, so he knew that he was not being pulled over. Still, he always felt apprehensive when being approached by lawmen. He looked around, making sure he wasn’t doing anything illegal. As soon as was possible, Chuck turned off of the road, looking back in his rearview mirror, making sure he was not following. The officer kept straight, and the duo relaxed a bit.

“So,” Charlotte began. “What are you, some kind of criminal? Is this car full of drugs?” Of course, she was a bit frightened of Chuck, but her curiosity was much more potent than her fear.

“If I had drugs in here,” Chuck started. “I would not be on the Autoroute, during gridlock.” He hoped that this would make her relax a bit, which it did, to an extent. Then she realized that his answer was a very roundabout yes to the first question.

“So, you are a criminal, then?” she asked. He never took his eyes off the road, speaking from the side of his mouth, once more.

“Got involved with some bad people. Had to go to worse people to protect myself,” he said. There was no trace of pride in his tone. In fact, his voice was dreadfully somber with bits of shame.

“I see,” Charlotte said back. Chuck frowned, and spoke.

“What do you want to do most, in the world?” he asked. She gave it some serious thought for a moment.

“I think I want to build spacecraft, still,” she said. “Spacecraft saved humanity from extinction back on Earth, and I believe wholeheartedly that they will take us all back home, one day.” Chuck nodded at the statement, and they drove in silence for a while, heading to Charlotte’s home.

Lo and behold, parked in front of the entrance to the lower apartments was a large vehicle, the equivalent of an SUV, if they were ground vehicles. Standing outside of the vehicle, flanked on both sides by large, suit-wearing thugs, was an intense, stern looking man, face like a vulture.

“Merde.. Msr. Reyer,” Chuck spoke. Now, Charlotte began to panic. Instinctively, Chuck rocketed his vehicle up into the air, and zipped right past Reyer and his entourage. The three piled back into their vehicle, and roared through the air after them.

Chuck banked a hard left, around a corner, onto a one way street, into oncoming traffic. 7 lanes of oncoming flying machines, city buses, and even a few hover bikes, in the bike lane. The large, bulky vehicle following them rounded the corner, almost capsizing at the sharp turn. Chuck weaved in and out of traffic, going through it, as if he were playing a game. There were foul words, horns honked, and middle fingers thrown up, however Arke and her passengers made it through, turning off at the first intersection, without any harm. Reyer’s motorist was skilled as well, but when piloting so much steel at such a high velocity, things do not go very smoothly.. There was a sound of tearing metal, coming from behind them. Chuck checked his mirror, to see Reyer’s vehicle still approaching, fast, scraped to Hell on both sides, and the windshields beginning to shatter.

“Broken windshields, huh?” Chuck asked aloud. Then, he pointed the nose of the vehicle down, submerging into the smog. With a broken windshield, one could not hope to survive extended time in the smog. The duo flew through the smog, turning down street after street, attempting to lose the other vehicle totally. After a few minutes, Chuck merged into traffic from below, a task just as difficult, if not more so, as merging from above. The sleek beauty of a vehicle rose from the smog, nose first, tendrils of smoke cascading down the sides. They were at the outskirts, now. New Quebec was situated in a very deep trench on the planet, and here they were, at the top of a plateau. A thin, unkempt paved road snaked out of the trench, out of the smog as well, leading out into the wastelands.

“Charlotte,” Chuck began. “In one evening, I believe I just ruined your life. So, here’s what I’m going to do.” She looked at him, recovering from her panic. Chuck reached back, and held up the duffel bag.

“Two-hundred million. This should cover your university costs,” he said. She raised an eyebrow at him. “One condition, though,” he began again. “They’ve seen your face in this city. You have to leave New Quebec, or you won’t be safe again.”

“But where should I g...” she started, but was cut off.

“Can you drive?” Chuck asked.

“Yes b-” she tried to start again.

“Follow this road to the next settlement. She’s got plenty of fuel, and there are more than enough rest stops. Start yourself a new life,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he opened the driver’s side door, and got out, onto the plateau. “I’ll deal with Reyer. You just have to leave. Now.”

“Are you kidding? He’ll murder you!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Better me, than both of us. Now go,” Chuck spoke. She didn’t move an inch. Groaning, Chuck went to the car, one last time, and began typing away at his navigation system.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Just get in, we can run away together!” He didn’t stop typing.

“They’ve got their bugs in my body. If I go with you, they’ll find us,” he spoke solemnly. He pressed a button, as Arke’s  voice spoke.

Pilote Automatique Embrayé.

Chuck slammed the door, giving her a smile with only his mouth. Charlotte looked on in terror as the vehicle zoomed off into the cold, broken wasteland.