Thicker Than Blood | Page 5

coming by tonight?" Mark asked.
"No... Well, maybe. What are you doing?" Joe sputtered. "I don't know
yet. I'll call you when I do." "I made a mess here. It's gunna be a half
hour before I can leave." Joe was still a bit dazed by his near miss. "So
I'll see you in thirty-five minutes then." Joe could hear Mark smirking
on the phone. "I don't drive that fast." Joe grinned. "I thought you were
going to strap a jet engine to your car this month?" "Nope. No jets in
the scrap this month." Joe smirked. "Talk to you soon," Mark uttered in
his almost singsong accent. "Later." Joe looked at the pile of tools and
broken parts on the floor and shook his head.
Chapter 2
Why was Mark in a silly mood? Perhaps he has good news about our
entrance into the next cyborg wars. Joe walked out the shop door

scanning for strangers in the shadows. Satisfied that no one was lurking,
he let his mind wander. The name cyborg wars was inaccurate, even
funny, he thought. The main factor differentiating the cyborg war from
the other robot battle shows, was the two-legged, two-armed nature of
the machines. Not that these robots actually used the legs to walk, they
typically had tracks for oversized feet. The key Joe had inserted into the
shop door refused to turn. He examined the keychain and inserted the
right one. Pay attention, he thought to himself. He had to be careful. He
was physically large and possibly even intimidating, but his baby face
revealed his age. If he were attacked he would be in trouble since
ambulance response times were slower than ever. Joe walked
cautiously through the cool foggy night toward his classic Camaro. The
'73 Camaro looked strange with its red door, silver body and black
hood. The air intake system stuck up through a hole in the hood,
hinting at the power it might conceal. Joe thought it was probably a
good thing it looked like a junk heap, otherwise it might not stay in the
parking lot. The suspension groaned as Joe climbed in the car. He
started the engine and the whole neighborhood knew it. This could
never pass an honest inspection, he thought. Joe smiled. He turned on
the stereo, loud, but then reached up and shut it back off again. He
reached under the seat and retrieved a small computer and a pair of
glasses. He strapped the computer to his arm, and put the pair of Clark
Kents on. Clark Kents or "clarks", as the computer savvy liked to call
them, were thick framed non-prescription glasses. They weren't just
any glasses. They had a thin film display inside each lens and two
simple color cameras embedded in the bulky frames. Joe tapped the flat
panel screen on the small bland rectangular com15 puter strapped to his
arm. This activated the binocular heads up display in Joe's clarks. Some
text flashed by as the computer booted and synchronized with the
computer Joe had retrofitted to the old Chevy. A semi-translucent
tachometer, speedometer and nitrous oxide gauge appeared on the
lenses of Joe's clarks. Joe preferred the style of gauge used in the
elderly game Wipe Out, because it matched the graphics on his LCD
stereo readout. Sensors on the car's hood and doors fed information into
his Heads Up Display to visually enhance possible obstacles. Most
modern cars had HUDs built in, but Joe couldn't justify the windshield
projector since he had a decent pair of clarks. He looked at the

wireframed objects on the street, scanning for police. He attracted a lot
of negative attention with his Chevy, so a little patience was needed.
Joe tapped his computer's screen and made an arching thumbs-'up
motion in front of his clarks. A symbol shaped like a double clef
flashed by. He turned the black knob on his 80s style car stereo. Static
was followed by a few clicks and then the Rolling Stones. Joe mashed
the gas, and the tachometer displayed on his clarks redlined. He
couldn't hear the tires squeal over the music and exhaust. Joe scanned
for cops as he drove. He was cranking along the Southern State
Parkway at about seventy-five miles per hour. The inverted pitches
built into the road made the Southern State the most challenging to
drive. It was the only local parkway whose speed limit was not raised
from the once mandatory fifty-five miles per hour. The highway patrol
had lost some funding after the Seaford Oyster Bay Railroad line was
opened, so there were considerably more speed traps. Lots of people
used mass transit now, so the police had to work harder to meet the
once reasonable quotas. Blue blobs of varying intensity flickered across
Joe's clarks.