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Jande bolts. He does not wait to see who shows bloodthirst in their eyes. He
does not ask questions, or hope to hear other people’s questions. He just
takes off, needing to put as much distance between him and anyone who
might want to see him dead. Van and the producers are truly sick, not
only allowing deaths to occur, but actively encouraging murder. How are they
getting away with this? Killing is illegal in the stellar neighborhood, and
very illegal on the Core Worlds. It might be a clue that people
aren’t really dying, or an old law is so ironclad that it’s a loophole no
one can argue against. Either way, he just wants to survive. Even if it
means he’ll never be Superintendent, he would rather at least keep living.
They’re still in the vector stadium, though it’s empty of its audience.
Everyone is watching at home now. There is almost certainly plenty of smart
dust tracking his every move. He doesn’t have the equipment to destroy it.
It’s part of the competition, seeing him make it through...or not. He makes
it out of the stadium, though. He isn’t looking back because it will only
slow him down for precious fractions of a second. If someone catches up to
him, there is no point in seeing it coming.
Jande is in the parking lot now. It’s pretty dead, but there are a few
random ancient land vehicles scattered about. They may have placed them here
strictly for ambiance, which could mean they’re non-functional. But they
could also be the means of widening that gap between him and his opponents.
But which one to choose? He doesn’t know much about obsolete Earthan tech,
but some of these look nicer than others, which implies they would be
faster. Is that a trap? Should he choose the boxy-looking one with peeling
paint? Or did the producers guess that he would pick that, so they
intentionally discharged the battery. Do these damn things even
run on electricity?
Oh, it’s a crapshoot. Now he does turn around, but immediately feels a
shiver down his spine. Since he didn’t stick around, he doesn’t know if Van
provided the other candidates with weapons. They could have bows and arrows,
guns, or even rocket launchers. He has no clue. His only hope has not
changed since the moment Van said go. Jande has to let his instincts take
over, and pick a car without thinking about it.
He runs over to a sweet cherry ride. The door is unlocked, which is either
very good for him, or the trap he was worried about. Nope, it doesn’t
matter. Always forward, never back. He slides inside. It feels so good, the
seat wraps around him perfectly, like the designer knew he would be the one
to drive it. Maybe they did. Who knows how long they have been planning?
Even if this is a real model from the olden days, the producers could have
commissioned a synthwright to modify it, knowing he would be right here,
right now. Again, it doesn’t matter. He just needs to make it go. How do you
do that?
Jande stares at the console before him. There aren’t any buttons or levers.
It’s just a smooth, curved surface. He looks to his left. “Oh. That makes
sense.”
Jande climbs back out of the car, takes another look towards the stadium,
feels another shiver, then jogs over to get into the driver’s side of the
vehicle.
“Welcome to your new Starburst,” the AI voice says in what he has
heard described as an Australian accent. “Where would you like to
navigate to? Or if you would like, you may browse Aevum’s comprehensive
library of entertain—”
“Just get me out of here as fast as you can,” Jande interrupts.
“Posted speed limits require that I travel no faster than ten miles
per—”
“Manual mode,” Jande demands.
“Sir, I really must discourage—”
“Manual mode!” Jande screams.
The engine engages. The steering wheel adjusts itself to Jande’s dimensions.
A little graphic tutorial appears on the central screen, showing him the
basics of how to operate it. It’s not all that different from the vehicles
he uses on the farm. The pedals are new, but they look intuitive. And when
he presses down on one of them with his right foot, it feels so intuitive
too. It feels like this car has been waiting for him since it was invented.
It doesn’t even lurch. It knows exactly what he wants from it, even though
he’s quite inexperienced. He starts out by taking it a little slow, but he
can’t afford to wait much longer. He takes one more look in the rearview
mirror, and then he guns it.
He finds the parking lot exit to the main road, and then the highway. They
don’t have much infrastructure like this anymore, but if you’re looking for
it, the early colonies are the place to check, especially Thālith al Naʽāmāt
Bida. They pride themselves in being low-key and low-tech when luxury is not
necessary. Many worlds are building out their vactrain network, but it
doesn’t really fit the naturistic vibe of this one. The highway doesn’t
either, but it looks fresh and new. He still doesn’t know what continent
they’re on, but this could be a closed course built specifically for the
game.
Jande is smiling now, realizing how many miles he’s putting behind him. It
slowly fades, though. There were other cars in that lot. Maybe none of them
was a trap. Maybe they were there to even the playing field. He should have
taken the time to disable them. Of course, he wouldn’t have known exactly
how to do that, but he could have brute forced it by crashing one car into
all of the others before absconding with the only good one. Then again, that
would have taken a lot of time. Those people don’t likely know how to drive
either. They live in the same time period. Even if they were alive when
self-driving was more common, they probably lost those skills. Or he’s just
kidding himself, because there are plenty of simulations—both physical and
virtual—that will teach you legacy skills like this. The fact is, he is no
better off than he was before. All he can do is keep going and hope to run
the timer out. Except...the road abruptly ends.
It just stops. There are three little lozenge-shaped signs in a row,
sticking out of the ground where the asphalt meets the grass. Jande stops
the car and gets out. There was nowhere to turn off for miles and miles. If
he tries to double back, he could wind up running into someone who is trying
to kill him. The grass is tall, this thing won’t be able to make it through.
One of the cars in the lot looked like it was some kind of off-roader, but
what you get in versatility, you sometimes lose in speed, and he wanted to
go fast. The producers knew this. They knew exactly what he would choose,
and they designed the path so he would lose no matter what. There were a
number of ways he could have gone, but they probably all end like this. It
was inevitable.
Jande shakes his head, disappointed in how they rigged the game. He checks
the trunk for supplies, but finds nothing, so he reties his shoes, prepares
himself mentally, and walks into the woods. He doesn’t stop moving save for
periodic five-minute breaks. He doesn’t want to lose any lead he might still
have.
He’s exhausted, but he never lets himself sleep. While he’s delirious and
moving quite slowly, a drone descends from the sky right in front of his
face. “Sudden Death contest is over. You won, Jande Ter Avest. All other
candidates forfeited.”
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