"Road Runner, if he catches you you're through.” Road Runner Theme - Barbara Cameron

Disclaimer: This is fiction. All the characters and events portrayed here are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely accidental and unintentional. I as the author reserves all rights. A big thanks goes out to Cathy who proofed and generally made this readable. Any remaining errors, or mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Cue music: "Road Runner, if he catches you you're through.” Road Runner Theme - Barbara Cameron

The 426 Hemi roared, as I pushed the engine up to the magic number, 100 mph. Why Gloria decided that was the push point for activation of the AI, I still haven’t a clue. Well read in Sci-fi, and reasonably intelligent I might be, but no matter how many times she tried to explain it to me, well, let’s say there were geniuses, and then there was Gloria.

Tears stung my eyes. Gloria, my friend, was dead. Maybe to the rest of the world she was known as Gary, a cross-dressing freak, but the fools never knew the precious gifts they threw away when she died. To them she was just a pervert who deserved the horrible death she received.

The heads up display flickered, becoming clearer and more detailed and I breathed a little easier. The HUD displayed my current speed, but glancing down at the original speedometer, the needle was peaking its max of 150 mph. I had picked the best time for this stretch of highway to be as deserted as it ever was, but even at this time at night, I could see the startled faces of the people I passed as I blew by them. Driving a truck for a living never taught me how to handle a hot machine like this one that Gloria had restored.

The 1970 Plymouth Superbird Roadrunner had been a near total loss, after her last owner had wrapped it around a tree. Capable of speeds pushing 150mph, it was just too much for most drivers. It's high, wing-like spoiler, retractable headlights, and fighter jet nose cone, always made me of two minds as to whether it was butt ugly, or cool as hell. Perhaps it was so damn ugly it was beautiful.

Even with the tall tail keeping me firmly on the road, when the AI started refining the ‘Drive by Light’ control system, the Roadrunner’s ride smoothed out so softly you would never know we were hurtling down the interstate at 150 mph plus. Although the speedometer had pegged out at 150, the HUD had us at 165 mph and accelerating.

When had the old car’s restoration turned into something else? I guess it started when Gloria couldn’t find a replacement nosecone for the one that was completely destroyed in the original accident. Only a few hundred Plymouth Superbird Roadrunners were ever produced in the first place, so parts for the rare car were precious. Using her know how, she built one of those 3D copiers in her garage and fabricated her own. Being a genius, she just had to make a few improvements. Later it was for other reasons, but that was how it began.

In my rear-view, I saw the blue flashing light at the same instant the HUD lit up with its threat warning. I shakily exhaled. This was not unexpected. It was going to happen when you were blasting down the super slab like a rocket.

A light flickered in the passenger seat, before materializing into the see-through image of a slim woman in a sexily snug racing suit. She looked backwards over her shoulder at the bubble gum machine flashing lights of the Highway Patrol behind us, and then gave me an amused expression. “Nice. What are you going to do for an encore?”

I kept an eye on the progress bar labeled Phase Two inching its way across the HUD. Anytime now would be real nice, I told it. The enhanced information now feeding in giving speed and location of every car in front of us for twenty miles made it much easier to whiz around them. Dryly I replied, “I love you too. Can you speed things up a little?”

Cue music: “I fell into a burning ring of fire.” Ring of Fire
— Johnny Cash

You know, it was steaks that got me in the middle of this. I came home from work at the county landfill after the usual double shift, stinking to high heaven, and tired. All I wanted was to hose down and get into something clean.

I shucked off my badly soiled work clothes on my enclosed back porch. It, and the attached laundry room, gave me privacy from my neighbors, and kept my house from smelling like a garbage dump.

So there I was when I heard a jovial voice yell out, “Anybody there?” Followed by an, “Oops,” as I got my first look at my new neighbor, and he, red face embarrassed, got a look at me, all of me!

Cue music: “When his engine roared, they called the highway thunder road.” Ballad of Thunder Road — Robert Mitchum

My passenger’s eyes got distant for a moment, but I observed the status bar’s progress got distinctly faster.

Sliding around a pair of tractor trailers, I remembered my manners. “Thank you.”

Refocusing her eyes on me, which I know was a gesture strictly for my benefit she said, “You know this was supposed to be done out on the salt flats. Do I dare ask why we are playing Steve McQueen?”

Cue music: “Well I got one foot on the platform and the other on the train.” House of the Rising Sun — The Animals

While I covered myself up my blushing neighbor introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Gary. I can see this is a bad time, but I’m grilling some steaks. My expected guests canceled out on my housewarming, but I have more food than I can eat. Want to join me?”

Normally a ‘no’ would already be out of my mouth, but damn it I was hungry. I figured, what could it hurt. “Well Gary, I’m CJ. As you can see I just got home, but if you give me 5 to wash off I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Little did I know it would be the start of one of the best things in my life. The steaks were second to none and, catching a glimpse of stacks of classic Sci-fi books still waiting to be unpacked, I realized we shared a love of the genre. “So Gary, what brings you to this little piece of the South?”

Flipping a sizzling steak, he sighed, “Believe it or not, I’m a laid-off scientist, slumming as a software engineer.”

Cue music: “There's a world where I can go and tell my secrets to.” In My Room - The Beach Boys

The progress bar blinked ‘completed’ but I had a few problems to take care of. I had no intentions of letting anyone else suffer because of my headlong charge into hell. However, traveling like a bat out of hell put us into an urban area complete with entrance ramps and slowly merging traffic. I am sure we left a few drivers behind us with pants full of, hmmm…. Waste, but no one was harmed.

My companion raised a shapely brow as we danced though the traffic into a clearer stretch.

Taking a deep breath, I fought my tears away because her expression was exactly like Gloria’s. There was good reason for it because, she had, after all, programmed the mannerisms of the young lady sitting next to me.

She gave me a strange look. “What's going on CJ? Where is Gloria …” She started to ask., but she got that faraway look in her eyes again. Then a great sadness enveloped her. Gently her phantom hand touched my racing suited shoulder, “I’m sorry. I know you two were close.”

I could do nothing but nod as I blinked away my tears. Now was not the time.

Her voice was soft as she asked, “What happened to Gloria? Who killed my creator?”

Cue music: “You got me rockin and a-rollin, rockin and a-reeling, Barbara Ann ba ba.” Barbara Ann — The Beach Boys

I was not the only one Gary had roused out to eat some free food, but the two us just seemed to hit it off.

A life long space and science fan, I had to find out more. “Wow, what field of study?”

He gave me a crooked smile, “I’m multi-disciplinary, but in general, Nano-technology, and the difficulties involved in developing true nanobots like we have both read about. The problem is, working in that environment is like being on a completely different planet. The forces and conditions are brutal, and there are great technical challenges.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “But look how far we have come. How about the nano-scale sculptures we’ve seen in the last several years?”

Gary took up a pair of delicious smelling T-bones. Holding up his spatula for emphasis, he pointed out. “That’s my argument. We are only just now learning how to manipulate matter at that scale. How long did it take for us to go from the Egyptians craving statues, to the Japanese building stair climbing robots? Thousands of years?”

“Even if you take our current rate of progress as an example, being able to make nano-bot swarms with true transformational capabilities, is decades, perhaps even centuries, away. Just building them is not enough, you have to be able to control and direct them. How? Radio is out, because they are smaller than the wave lengths. So how do we work around these problems?”

I had to keep my disappointment from my face. There were real good reasons why I wanted to see affordable nano-transformation technology in my lifetime.

Cue music: “She makes the Indy 500 look like a Roman Chariot race now.” Fun, Fun, Fun — The Beach Boys

Trying to change the subject, I suggested, “Since we’re ready for Phase Two, can you save the old girl’s profile so she can be restored at a later date? She is a classic after all.”

My companion dropped her ghostly hand, giving me a small but distinctive look, making sure I knew her question had not been forgotten. However, some things had to come first. “Confirmed,” her soft voice replied. “Phase Two is prepared for activation. The first generation is ready for deployment.”

My Gawd it was hard. Her every gesture so like Gloria’s, but then again, my friend had put her heart and soul into the creation of the vision next to me. All that Gloria had dreamed and wished for herself, she had used her genius to bestow upon this remarkable, one of a kind person.

To the best of my knowledge, she was the world's first true Artificial Intelligence, designed and built by The Maverick Genius of the century, in his backyard, using parts from junkyards and landfills.

I failed to keep my tears away. “Make it so.” Those words brought back the happy times my friend and I had spent together.

As soon as she said, “Stage Alpha deployed,” the HUD’s slowly creeping faster, speedometer surged. Behind us, the blue, blue lights got smaller as they fell away, unable to keep up with us.

Despite my sadness, I couldn’t keep from tapping the horn. The Roadrunner’s distinctive “Beep, beep!” scorned our pursuers as we left them in our dust.

Dodging the legitimate traffic became harder, but the sirens had helped clear the way somewhat. I knew that, in front of us, the long arm of the law would be preparing for our coming. Like the old joke said, “You can outrun Ford, you can outrun Chevy, but you can’t outrun my Motorola!”

My companion reported, “Drag coefficient reduced from .28 to .14, and articulation of aerodynamic surfaces implemented. Stage Bravo underway, efficiency of mechanical components increased by 50 percent and advanced safety protocols initiated for crew compartment.”

I could feel the seat underneath me alter and conform to me like a glove. A barely perceivable wave swept across the dashboard and the steering wheel I held. Hell, I knew that right now, it was the AI who really controlled the rapidly changing old Plymouth. Just like modern fighter jets, I simply told the machine where I wanted to go, but using hundreds of subtle movements a human never could match, she was the one that guided us there.

That’s not to say I was obsolete. My years on the road taught me what the panicked drivers in front of me were likely to do as I roared by. Working together, The Superbird Roadrunner and I danced though the interchange like an unstoppable force of nature.

Cue music: “And I can give you lots of reasons why. You've gotta help me Rhonda.” Help Me Rhonda — The Beach Boys

I said after I’d finished chewing, “Damn, that is some good eating, but I’ve got a question for you. Just how did you end up getting laid off? You seem like a smart fella, so who in their right mind would give you the pink slip?”

My host gave me his sideways smile again, “That’s a long story, but the short version is, I got shafted. I used to have a controlling share in the company. We had some ideas that seemed promising, but lacked capital to test them. Against my policy, my partner started looking for funding from other sources.” He said, making ditto marks with his fingers.

You mean the government, like DARPA, Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency?” I asked.

Gary shook his head. “Nope. Hell more than half the scientific advancements in the world have come about because of military investment. What I’m talking about is Black Projects for agencies with no names. At least with DARPA there would be a public record, and our discoveries would eventually reach the public. These others,” He made ditto marks again, “Would bury our discoveries so damn deep they would never ever see the light of day. That is not what I worked for my whole life.”

“My partner came to me with this proposal, and I shot it down. Don’t get me wrong here. I know inventors and scientists have damn little say in how their inventions are used in the end. No matter what you do someone will figure out some angle you never intended. However, I do feel that they have responsibility to at least try to make sure that as much good comes from them as possible. My partner disagreed.

“I found that I had gotten out maneuvered, bought out and kicked out, before I knew what was going on. The door hadn’t even finished hitting me in the ass, before I got served with court orders, telling me that all the work and patents I had developed were property of the company and not mine.” He said, taking a long drink of his beer.

I shook my head, “Damn that’s tough! How did you end up down here?” I said, waving my hand at my blue collar neighborhood.

He smiled again, “Just like with Famous Amos, the cookie guy, I lost everything, but at least unlike him, I got to keep my name. The blood sucking lawyers even took that away from him, claiming it was the trademark of the company.”

“I took my buyout, and sold everything I didn’t need. I took this place because I could buy it outright, and because it has one hell of a large workshop and garage.”

I nodded. “The Browns, who used to live here, were big into racing. Built their own cars and all here. They never did make into the Pros, just a hobby.”

Gary smiled again, “Me too. Well, not the racing, but I do like to restore old cars. You know the classics that, back when we were kids, we would drool over as they went by: the GTOs, Corvettes, and the other muscle cars.”

His smile was contagious. I replied, “Never much been into cars, but I do understand where you’re coming from. They were some sweet metal back then, weren't they?”

“Yep,” he said. “I’ll come and get you in a few days. I should have something to show you.”

Cue music: “We're gonna do what they say can't be done.” East Bound and Down — Jerry Reed

The HUD showed the traffic disappearing in front of us, undoubtedly due to the Smokies clearing the way for a surprise just for us.

“Well,” I asked, “I know you’re kinda new just being born and all, but have you picked out a name yet?”

My companion replied, “Yes I have, but you haven’t answered my question yet.”

A moment of silence ensued, with nothing but the sound of the road, as we ripped though the early southern morning.

I spoke, “I doubt there’s a web connection way out here. So I guess you’ve already leaped to a satellite. From there to the police servers, right?” I asked.

She nodded her virtual head.

“There's probably not much there, but if you look back a ways, you can see where there were some other break-ins before that last one.” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

“Yes,” she replied, “The police reports indicate nothing more than robberies of opportunity.”

The HUD suddenly lit up, forming a grid, highlighting strips that had appeared across the highway. The system identified it as road spikes.

“Suggestions?” I asked. At our speed we did not have long before impact.

She said, “Take them square on. I’ll compensate.”

Swallowing hard, I acknowledged, “That’s a 10-4.”

Pointedly, I did not look at the triple digit speedometer flashing ever faster.

With an act of will I kept my eyes open as we hit the twin spiked strips.

Cue music: “But parked in a rickety old garage is a brand-new, shiny, super-stock Dodge.” Little Old Lady From Pasadena — Jan and Dean

A few days later, I got home from work and saw Gary’s garage open. Not wanting to assault him with the stench, I washed up before ambling over.

There blocking the folding door was a huge pile of junk. Gary was there sorting though it like a kid at Christmas time.

Seeing me, he grinned. “Hey CJ! What do you think of her?”

“Her?” I asked, trying to figure out just what I was looking at.

Standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans, he explained, “Of course! Ships and fine machines are always ‘she’!”

“Just what fine machine is this one supposed to be,” I asked?

Grinning like a father at his daughter’s birth, he proudly proclaimed, “What you see here is a 1970 Plymouth Superbird Roadrunner!”

Seeing my confusion Gary laughed, “Why don’t I fire up the grill, and I’ll tell you all about this lady?”

Raising my brows, I made a counter offer, “Seeing as how you’re the one that needs cleaning up this time, why don’t I fire up my grill while you get cleaned up?” I said, pointing at his dirty, greasy clothes.

If possible, his patented grin got wider. “Even better!”

We were both kicking back after stuffing ourselves. Since my fiancé left me high and dry I had not much of a social life. I found myself enjoying these little cookouts with my neighbor.

Just like with any devoted hobbyist, if you give them their head, they will talk your ear off. That really did not brother me any. All my life I had been a sponge for trivial information.

Enjoying himself, Gary filled me in. “The Roadrunner series of cars was like budget muscle cars. No frills, with power to spare, but built tough. The Superbird came about because Plymouth was trying to get the King, Richard Petty, back into the fold. The adage back then was, ‘Win on Sunday, sell on Monday.’

“Like the original Dodge Daytona, it had these huge fins and a wing-like spoiler. The front end had a rounded cowl with retractable headlights; pretty racy by 1970 standards. It worked because they did get the King back, and his blue Superbird, number 43, sits in the Richard Petty Racing Museum.”

“However the model itself didn’t sell well. In a lot of ways, it was before its time. Now, they are hot items, and I was lucky to find this one. Only a few hundred were produced. Even fewer with the 426 Hemi in this baby.” He said, finishing off his steak.

Smiling again, he held up the small door I guessed to be for the headlights. On it was this picture of the Roadrunner, holding a racing helmet. “It really is a great find! I’m surprised no one else had stumbled across it, but I’m not complaining!”

Putting his prize away, we sat for a few moments, relishing our beers.

Then I recalled something I saw earlier in the week that I wanted to mention to him. “Gary, you remember when you were telling me about the communications difficulties nano-tech machines would have?”

Looking over at me from the top of his beer he nodded, “Sure.”

I asked, “You mind if I babble for awhile?”

He shrugged, “It’s not as if I’m in the biz anymore. Cut loose.”

I took a deep breath. “Well seems like what you were probably working with is something like the way viruses communicate with each other. That's not too unlike the way insects do it. I was wondering, if the way higher order insects like bees talk with each other, could be a step in the right direction?”

Gary stopped and gave me a really hard look that made me wonder if I had gone too far. “Why do you want to know?”

Sighing, I had boxed myself into a corner. There was a real good reason why workable nano-transformation was very important to me. I decided that giving him part of the answer wouldn't be lying, because it would be the truth, just not all of it.

“Gary,” I said. “If the human race is to survive we have to get out of the bowl of planet Earth. This green environmental stuff is a load of crap. No matter how careful we are, everything we do damages the biosphere in some way. Only out there, “ I said, throwing my head up at the stars just beginning to sparkle, “can we be sure we’re not making things worse.”

“What’s more, I want to be there. Because of one reason or another I’ve thrown my life away. It’s too late to reasonably expect me to be able to make it up there. I need a second chance. Getting nanos to work can give me that with their ability to rebuild and transform. Give the whole world another chance.

Gary sighed, “It’s okay CJ. I’m just a little paranoid after that mess of losing my company. I thought for a moment you were some spy, here to pump me for information for my know-how, after my partner found out the hard way that, when I said ‘I was running the research and development,’ I really was the man. We had some good people, but it was me that they ran to when a problem had to be sorted out. Sorry about that, CJ.”

I waved off his concern. “Think nothing of it, no worries.”

“What were you watching when you saw this? If you don’t mind me asking.” Looking puzzled, he had a quizzical expression.

I found myself smiling this time. “You mean, since I drive a truck, and work in the county landfill? I keep telling people that what I do, isn’t who I am. Besides, like I told you last week, I’m a big Sci-fi fan. The real ones watch more Discovery than Syfy channel.”

His trademark grin broke out again. “You got that right. Still I do like catching some of the old classic series like Trek and Star Gate.”

I laughed, “That is about the only reason, because Gawd knows those made for TV, direct to video movies, sure as hell aren’t!”

We both opened another beer, and I answered his question. “Well, there was this PBS program about great discoveries. One of the things they covered was the doctor who worked on that one. When they started talking about chemical triggers, that made me think of how bee scouts, returning to the hive, do their dance and pheromone release, to tell the workers where to go. It seemed like to me, that might work for nanos as well.”

Gary rubbed his chin in thought. “You know it would still be complicated, but better than trying to include the entire blueprint inside each nano, or something like phone lines running between each one. Kind of like a messenger service, with the central processing unit sending out wranglers, or guides, to direct the workers. That way the individual units could be simpler to construct. You would need only a few processing nodes to run the swarm, maybe only one.”

He continued musing, “You would still need some serious processing power to come up with the design to start with, but that is a given anyway. Still, following nature’s lead in doing things has worked before. Why reinvent the wheel?”

That big ole grin of his reappeared, “CJ you’re a genius. I tell you what. In the unlikely event I ever get control of my company again, you’re hired!”

I shook my head, chuckling. “No need for that. Just give me the first shot when you’ve got the transforms worked out for humans.”

My friend laughed, “Deal. I could stand to lose a few years myself.” Then looking down at his midsection somewhat distended from all the food, he added, “Not to mention a few pounds too!”

Cue music: “My buddies and me are getting real well known.” I Get Around — The Beach Boys

Then, suddenly, we were through! Outside views popped up on the HUD, showing the remains of the spikes, whipping high into the air from our passage.

My companion leaned over and hit the Roadrunner emblem horn, “BEEP, BEEP!”

Again, I knew it was a show for my benefit because, by this time her real self controlled nearly every molecule of the car. Yeah, up to and including yours truly. However, Gloria and I, in one of our many talks, agreed that if you never took chances in life, then you might as well have gone ahead and climbed into the coffin, saving yourself some trouble. Playing it safe would never let our dreams come true. You had to go out there and make them come true.

The display enlarged the shrinking image, as we raced away, of the Smoky Bears shaking, and scratching their heads at the ripped and torn barrier meant to tear the Roadrunner’s tires to ribbons.

Wondering myself, I asked, “Just what just happened?”

Tossing her mane of hair playfully, she smiled. “I accelerated Stage Charley. Using the nano-bot swarm, I transformed our racing tires into smart wheels that compensate for adverse road conditions. When the spikes penetrated, the smart material flowed around them, preventing any damage.

“I could have left it there, but I used the swarm still in the area to harvest what I could for raw materials. This vehicle is very robustly built, but I don’t want to weaken the structure any more than necessary to continue my upgrades.

My breath caught in my throat, because preventing easy access to materials was one of the reasons Gloria had given for setting up our experiment in this way. Neither one of us was ignorant of the Gray Goo, fears of out of control nanobots disassembling the entire planet into raw material, to make even more nanobots, leaving the world nothing but a lifeless ball of nano-goo.

Seeing my pale face, she laughed, “Oh lighten up. It was only a little extra metal. I’m not out of control.”

Then her face turned serious as she said, “The police reports said those robberies were unconnected to the one where my creator was killed. You say they were?”

I sighed, as the unpleasant memories came back to me. “Yeah. Our neighborhood is a little off the beaten path. We tend to look out for each other. If they were that random, why did no one else in the area get hit? No, whoever broke in knew what they were doing, and targeted her specifically.

A red, flashing grid outlined another set of strips up ahead. The Smokies had decided to try again. A quick study of the GPS HUD linked map gave us an estimated two hours before reaching our destination. I had really hoped to be a bit further along before they got really determined to stop us.

“Same as last time?” I asked.

She said, “Exactly.

At near 200 mph, we blew though them.

Looking at the ruined strips tumbling behind us I knew this was the last easy attempt at us. Next would come the serious bad stuff.

My companion relentlessly asked, “Back to my inquiry, how are the robberies, and Gloria’s death connected with our destination?”

Cue music: “I keep a close watch on this heart of mine.” I Walk the Line — Johnny Cash

Coming home that evening and seeing the police cars in front of Gary’s place was a shock. Concerned, I went right over, just as the cops were leaving, Poor fella was trying to put his home back together after someone had trashed the hell out of it.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

He looked up with a put out expression on his face, “Some asses broke in and messed up my place.”

I could tell he was upset. “Why don’t I fire up my grill, and you can take it easy tonight?”

Dropping the handful of papers on his desk, Gary nodded. “That actually sounds pretty good. However could we skip the steaks tonight? I’m packing on a spare tire with all these cookouts of ours.”

I smiled, “Sure no problem. I don’t normally eat this much beef either. How does some grilled chicken and veggies strike you?”

My friend gave me a shadow of his usual grin. “That does sound good, but would you please do something for me first? Now I know why you always insist on getting cleaned up from work first thing. Whew!” He said waving his hand in front of his nose.

“Oops! Sorry about that.” I said stepping out.

He just shook his head at me. “Don’t worry about it. You take care of business, and I’ll see what I can do here.” He said, turning back to the disaster.

A little while later the coals were nice and hot, ready to start cooking. The weather was finally cooling off some from the summer, and fall was around the corner. The seasoned chicken sizzled as I threw them on.

Gary was sprawled out in the patio chair.

“What did they take?” I asked, aware that I was treading on sensitive ground.

He shook his head. “That’s the thing. Nothing of any real value that I can find. They mostly just broke in and tore everything up. If I was still working on sensitive projects, that I could understand, but I’m not. The programs I’m working on where I work now aren’t anything special, just troublesome.”

I remembered he had said something about his old partner who backstabbed him, and who may have found out that he had slaughtered the Golden Goose when he stole Gary’s company and forced him out. Hell he even thought for a moment that I was some sort of plant, sent to milk him for ideas.

Flipping a savory chicken breast, I pointed out, “If they didn’t take anything out, maybe they brought something in?”

He blinked at me a few times and cursed as he worked out my meaning. “Sonofabitch!” he said jumping up.

Hey!” I spoke sharply, to get his attention. “No use going looking now. If they put you under surveillance, they probably did a good job, considering how they planned this. Give yourself some time to work out how to deal with these assholes. Besides, I could be wrong. Maybe it was no more than a bunch of punk kids having one last fling before going back to school.”

Gary shook his head. “No. This is a classic. Take just enough to make me think it was a theft, but not enough to make me strip the place out and start over. If they have stuff hidden in there, that would be self-defeating.” He sighed, “You are right. It’s going to take some thinking to clean the place up if they did place listening devices. If I just hired some professionals, they would know something was up and try something else. At least we can be reasonably sure we’re okay here,” he said, waving his hand at my backyard.

This being the south, my bug-zappers and Mosquito magnet always got a workout. Now I’m a big fan of do no harm to any living creature as long as they do no harm to me, even bugs. However, since the damn critters come in sun darkening clouds in this part of the country, I have little sympathy for the bloodsuckers. This does mean that the busy machines are busy zapping away, and generating an EM field. You know, stuff that tends to interfere with listening devices.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Not only are we in my yard, but the EM should give us a little privacy. Although, if anyone is in the woods spying on us, I almost pity the poor bastards, given our robust wildlife.”

He gave me another interesting look, but laughed, “I remember. What you do, isn’t who you are!” He said laughing.

Sending him a hurt expression back, I tested a tasty morsel for doneness. “Hey, my being paranoid doesn’t hurt anyone and it keeps me out of trouble!”

We both laughed.

He gasped out, “Yeah! The doctors say I’m much better now!”

Laughing, I slapped some hot food onto our plates. We were both soon enjoying good food, and good company, under the early fall stars of the southern sky.

The next day as I trudged to my back porch to hose off, I found a note with magic markered BIO-CONTAMINATION tri-foils on it.

Hey CJ! Come on over when you’ve decontaminated yourself!
Gary

I shook my head at the humor, but I could see his point. The landfill paid pretty good, because no one wanted to work there. However it gave a whole new meaning to the word, stench.

Cleaning up and feeling human again, I went over to see what my friend had found. Peering inside of his opened garage, he was in the middle of a chaotic pile of junk. On a huge monitor screen, bigger than my TV, he had all these little animated bits running around.

While I stood there, wondering if I dared to enter, he looked up. “Hey come on in! I’ve been thinking about what you said, regarding using insect social models for nano-machines. We might be onto something! More, you mentioned evolution, and that got me to thinking about the old idea of using one machine, not only to build the next smaller one, but to design the next smarter one too.” He excitedly explained.

I had to shake my head. “None of that is new. Folks have been experimenting with using nature’s designs for awhile, and machine evolution is kinda old too. Of course getting it to work is entirely another matter.”

Gary’s wide grin lit up his face, “Hah! However, there are computers that have successfully come up with new ideas that have been patented. I think I’ve come up with a way to bootstrap the process!”

Tired, and a bit steamrollered by my friend's enthusiasm, I asked, “What happened to searching for any spy stuff your visitors might have left behind yesterday?”

He waved a hand, dismissing my question. “Oh, I found those. Rather than destroy them, and maybe create another problem I reprogrammed them, and took over their systems. They won’t send out anything that I don’t want them to. No problem!”

Then he went on talking about queen bees and other specialized castes for his nanobots. I guess that is why he’s called a genius.

That’s the way things went for awhile, I would come home, mosey over to Gary’s place, to see all those Plymouth parts slowly start to look like a car, or him working on that machine evolution program of his.

It was amazing, watching him fully engaged in a project. Before, it was as if he was just sitting in idle. But now he was in gear and tearing down the track. Somehow I had turned into his sounding board for his ideas. It was during one of those visits that I asked, “Not run a subject into the ground, but what are you going to do if those guys who had you bugged start smelling a fox in the henhouse.?”

Gary stopped for moment as his ‘gee whiz, do it yourself’ 3D copier, fabricated the Plymouth’s distinctive nosecone. Most car manufacturers call it a fascia nowadays, but this car was from a time when the only thing out front of a car, was a bumper.

Normal 3D copiers use silicon, or some other pliable substance, to build up micro layers of materials, to make a 3 dimensional form. Normally this is a prototype giving the engineers the chance to see and touch their computerized design. Somehow, Gary had gone a step beyond that, making real usable parts with his skipping across prototyping, straight to finished product.

Looking around at all the incriminating evidence about us, he sighed, “CJ, you are the best damn assistant I’ve ever had. I get stuck on something, and a little talk with you shows me just where I need to go. Unfortunately, you’re right again.” He said, running his hands though his hair.

I rubbed at my chin as I surveyed his workshop. It would be hard to imagine anything more like a modern mad scientist's laboratory. Every surface was covered in parts or tools. Monitor screens hung all about, and wiring ran in thick cables along the walls.

“I can’t see how you could possibly cover it all up, or hide it,” I said, trying to work my way though the problem. “Perhaps you could mislead them about what this is all for. You know, like the Soviets were fond of doing during the Cold War. Maskirovka I think is what they called it. It was all about deception, and hiding stuff in plain sight.”

Gary looked around and then that big grin of his came out. “The car! We can say this is all for the car.”

I must have looked a little dubious, because he took off explaining.

“People do it all the time. They restore vintage cars and then take them out, to try and set records for that particular model. Everything has to be absolutely perfect for the record attempt to be valid.

Looking at all the high tech equipment, I was still unconvinced. “I don’t know, Gary.”

He, however, was on a roll. “It’ll work! Like that movie they made, ‘The World’s Fastest Indian.’ I’ll just have to reconfigure stuff in here a little. Hey, I can do even better. With all the room in this baby, I can hide my work inside her.” He said, slapping the Plymouth’s exposed frame.

I eyed the partially reconstructed car. Compared to modern wheels, the thing was huge. It was nearly as long as a Ford Excursion, or Chevy Suburban, but it was only a two door coupe. “That is a good point. You could hide your whole workshop in the trunk!”

We both laughed!

As the seasons tend to do, the fall changed into winter, and along with it came a little bad weather. The cold, wet, icy stuff doesn't happen often in our neck of the woods, but when it does things grind to a stop. The infrastructure isn't set up to deal with it and, since it's such a rare event, it's better to have a snow day, than invest in equipment that will maybe get used once or twice a year, if that.

Pulling into my snow covered drive made me exhale in relief. At least I had a clue how to drive in this stuff, unlike everyone else around here. However, no matter the number of close calls, I was home.

I was off work after barely a half day and looking forward catching up on my own hobby. Now, if only the power stayed on, I could get caught up on my writing that I had been falling behind on, because of spending so much time hanging with Gary.

Not only was I a Sci-fi reader, but a writer as well. Perhaps, a hopeful wannabe writer is more like it and, just as much fantasy as science. However I had gotten a book published. Okay, it was self-published and had way too many grammatical errors, but damn it, I had a dead tree edition book with my name on the cover. Better yet, I had even sold a few.

However, it was something, I had never shared with my friend, Gary. I had thought about it a time or two, but it simply revealed too many things about myself that I was still wrestling with. Opening up to fellow authors and readers online was one thing, doing it in person was another. Of course I wasn't afraid at all that I would chase away about the only friend I had still had. Not!

Crunching though the snow, I decided to visit Gary before I hermited-up to write. Knowing how he could get wrapped up in his project, he might not have even noticed it was white outside. It was a good thing that he could take care of his day job blindfolded, given how much time he put into that wreck he was restoring.

Fortunately, for once, I did not smell like a garbage dump, since he could've smelt me coming. I spent so much time at his place, I lived there as much as I did at my own. Not to say, I wasn't keeping an eye on him since that last break-in he had. I worried about Gary. If his ex-partner had sold his soul to the forces of Black Projects, and had found himself unable to deliver, the fool could be a little desperate. People like that might try anything, and I didn't want my friend becoming a victim.

Turning the corner into his living room, my mouth dropped open. Standing there before me, with that deer in the headlights look in her eyes, was my first sight of Gloria.

Let’s get something straight first. If a person is presenting as a guy, then he is a him. A no brainier, right? So if they present as femme then, guess what? She is a her.

I was not thinking about any of that at the moment. What was going though my head was how badly I'd screwed up. How was I going to handle this without hurting my friend? No doubt I could've done better than what I did, but I’m, after all, only a flawed human being.

I whipped around, turning my back to her. Before she could flee I apologized. “Ooops! Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to catch you unawares. We have a Snow Day, and I’m back from work early. Wanted to tell you I was going to be busy, at least for a few hours, unless the power goes out. Even in this weather we might end up grilling tonight.”

I paused, “You alright?”

A small voice answered, “Hmmm, I’m fine. I was …” She stuttered.

As gently as I could, I interrupted. “If, and when you’re ready, we can talk. Okay?”

She answered softly, “Okay.”

Without another word we parted. As soon as I walked inside my house, I broke down crying, as the melting snow from my boots puddled about me. The carpet of this place of broken dreams soaked up the fallen tears, as it had so many other times. Alone, as the snow whispered from the sky, I cried for my cowardice. I cried for my friend, and my own lost dreams.

Cue music: “When something comes up to me he don't even try cause if I had a set of wings man I know she could fly.” Little Duce Coupe - The Beach Boys

My electronic oracle, the HUD, read our velocity as 250mph. Once again my companion must have upgraded its capability, as it forecasted conditions 50 miles in front of us. Judging from the image in a picture view box gave us, she had tapped into a satellite, possibly military, from the crispness of the picture.

At our current speed we would reach that location in about 12 minutes. From the harried pace the crews were nearly throwing those concrete barriers off the tractor-trailers they knew that as well.

Sighing, I answered her, “We believed that, yes, Gloria’s old partner was trying to spy on him. I guess it's, in a way, my fault because my ramblings gave her the inspiration for all of this,” I said, waving my free hand to indicate her and the rapidly evolving Plymouth.

“The reason this car is here at all, is because it started as a cover for Gloria’s whole Queen Bee, nanotech thing. Somewhere along the way it changed into this. But,” I asked. “Since we’re back on the subject of this car, what are we going to do about that barrier we’re going to hit, in about 10 minutes? Any ideas?”

My heart almost seized up as she gave a big grin, so like Gloria’s. “Sure I do. Go right through them. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I showed my doubt as to that wisdom. “Are you sure about that? Running though spikes was one thing, but those are reinforced, concrete, traffic barriers. This old lady might be made of good American steel, but hitting one of them at this speed would make us look like a crushed out cigarette.”

Still grinning she said, “Trust me! Ain’t no stinking concrete gonna stop us!”

Pausing, her image flickered, becoming seemingly more solid and realistic. “Besides, I have yet to learn what Gloria’s old company, Paradigmatic, and partner, had to do with her death.”

We were bearing down on the roadblock at better than 4 miles a minute, and I admit that, despite her reassurances, this had a pucker factor that was off the scale.

Grinning at my discomfort, she made as if to strap her own self down in the five point safety harness. Being just a hologram, I knew she was just messing with me again.

“Do you know,” she asked, “What the most difficult task is for a car, at this velocity?”

I had some ideas, but was afraid to ask, as we streaked forward. Suddenly I could see the mass of flashing lights, concrete, and vehicles. “No, but you’re going to tell me aren’t you?”

With my eyes locked forward, somehow I just knew she was still grinning.

Small speed-brake panels snapped open around the Superbird, and the huge spoiler turned into an aircraft elevator. “Keeping it on the ground! Yee hah” She yelled, as we went airborne!

“Oh Shiiiit!,” I screamed out of clenched teeth.

In slow motion, I could somehow see the shocked faces of the Highway Patrolmen, as we literally sailed over the roadblock with barely an inch to spare. To add insult to injury, I heard her giving them the infamous Dukes of Hazard’s Dixie salute, as we disobeyed the law of gravity, along with all the other ones we were breaking.

Like the paratroopers, I used to hang with, back in my army days, used to say, “It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop at the end.”

However, though the bump was a bit rough, we had all four tires on the ground and was back on our way. Lacking wings we couldn't fly, but that was one helluva touch and go! The speed-brake-like aero-panels dotting the Plymouth, flicked in and out, constantly controlling our direction and stability with a smooth precision.

Giving a smug expression she said, “See? Nothing to it!

My frantically beating heart disagreed!

Cue music: “The taste of love is sweet when hearts like ours meet.” Ring of Fire — Johnny Cash

A few weeks passed and, while we both tried to pretend nothing had happened, that I hadn't seen what I did, it wasn't the same. All the while I damned myself as a coward, because I'd my own secrets. I knew that if I shared them, it would help heal this breach between us.

That was something more easily said than done. I spent decades ignoring, and hiding those secrets from everyone, including myself. Oh, they always were there, but sometimes I could pretend otherwise. It was only the disintegration of my happy dream with my fiancé that brutally rubbed my face in the truth that it wouldn’t stay buried.

Okay, maybe that was a lie all along, but for a brief time it had made me happy for the first time in years. However, now my cowardice was threatening one of the closest friendships I ever had. Each time I tried to tell Gary, I choked. I just could not, no matter how much he and I were hurting.

Finally, I came clean with one of my online confidants. She suggested a simple solution. There was no beating me up about my lack of strength, because she had gone though something like this herself. It was hard, telling those we cared for, about this secret we shared. She suggested a letter, but I thought about it, and came up with something similar, yet different.

That weekend I invited him over for dinner. We were both still on tippy-toes around each other, separated by our own misperceptions.

As nervous as I had ever been in my life, I slid the book across to him, after we had finished eating. At the time, he was getting ready to leave, since both of us were so uneasy. Taking my fears firmly under control, I said, “Hey, I have something for you.”

Gary took the book, turning it over to read the back cover. He was still uncomfortable, but he asked, “Any good?”

Nervously, I replied truthfully, “I don’t want to give away any spoilers, but I highly recommend it. To tell the truth, I would like to know what you think about it.”

He nodded. Before my faux pas, we'd spent many evenings discussing our favorite authors and books.

Smiling sadly, he said, “Sure I’ve run into a problem with the car anyways. I can use something to read until I can work it out.”

Watching him leave with my book, my knees felt weak. I had written and posted that story online and then, after many troubles, had gotten it published with the help of the website where I'd posted the story. Near twenty years of disuse had not helped my writing or grammar skills at all, but I did it. I got it written, I posted it, I got it published, and I even sold a few of the damn things. Hell, I'd even come up with the cover art myself, even though that was almost as torturous as writing the story.

And, as I watched Gary shut his door, that book told the whole world a hell of a lot more about me, than part of me was remotely comfortable with. The bevy of online buddies who had helped me with my rusty grammar, assured me that I was reading way too much into it. That anyone would love the story. It was just fiction, after all. On the other hand, I had poured feelings I had kept bottled up for decades into those pages. My heart and soul were between those covers.

I just gotten cleaned up from work the next day, when Gary showed up at my front door.

“Hey CJ. I thought, since you had me over for dinner last night, I could return the favor tonight.” My friend said, firmly.

“Hmmm… Sure,” I stuttered my uncertainty and self-doubt.

Not taking a chance on me backing out, he walked me over to his place for dinner.

The aroma from entering his front door gave me the impression he had been cooking all day. While Gary could grill up some truly delicious steaks, the truth was he was just one hell of a cook.

Dinner was beyond belief, for he had gone all out. Spaghetti had never tasted so good. I suspected that it, in fact, had another, much fancier name, but my lack of knowledge about Italian food didn't do it justice.

Gary had even gone whole hog with a wine and dessert. I found myself blushing from the attention and was even a little worried that something sexual was being implied by it all.

Being unsure where all of this was going, I insisted on helping clean up. The dishwasher started its chugging, while both of us sat down at his kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, Gary handed my book back to me. “I liked it. I was only going to glance at it last night, but ended up reading the whole thing. It is really good.”

I blushed again.

He asked, “You wrote this didn’t you? You’re Clarence, with a small ‘c’ isn’t you? You‘re a TG author.”

Hardly daring to nod, my head jerked. Swallowing hard, I took out my pen and opened the cover. “Who should I make this for?”

I learned what a deafening silence was, in that endless moment.

“Gloria” He answered.

I had to make my hand stop shaking so I could autograph the page

Leaving the cover open so the ink would not smear, I slid it back to Gary.

His eyes meeting mine, he sighed, “We’re a pair of silly bitches aren’t we?”

I could only agree. “Yes we are.”

We ended up finishing off that bottle of wine, and crying a few tears. Along the way we learned a little more about each other. Gary had cross-dressed nearly his entire life. He was happy to remain male, but enjoyed dressing and presenting as femme. Wisely, my friend had never torn himself apart internally over the matter.

Unlike me. I was, only now, recovering from the shambles I had made of my life. My writing, dear online friends and, of course, this friendship with Gloria had all pulled me from the black void I had been a footstep away from.

Now that we had pulled away our veils I hadn't a clue where to go from here. I did know that, being non-drinkers, that bottle of wine was enough to get the pair of us drunk. The hangover sucked.

That evening Gary was back in his old form, perhaps even more intense than ever before. “CJ,” He said grinning. “I think I’ve got this thing licked. It came to me last night. You ever heard of Quantum physics?”

Just knowing I was going to soon be way over my head I held two fingers an inch apart. “Just a little bit. I know it is very counter intuitive and drives most of you scientist fellas nuts trying to understand it.”

Wiping his greasy hands on a rag, he nodded, “You got it in one. It tries to describe what happens at the submicroscopic level. What I think I’ve got a handle on is, how to build a computer that operates at that level. If it works, that gives us the computing power we need to begin designing the evolving, ever smaller machines for our nanobots. Even better, she will be exactly what we need for our Queen Bee controller, for the nano swarm. ”

I blinked trying to keep up with him. “You mean you think you can actually build a nanobot swarm? What about safeguards?” I asked, gesturing at his workshop, lab, garage. “We don’t exactly have clean rooms and all here.”

He looked around too, at the unlikely combination of computers, old car parts, and who knew what else. Scratching his head he replied, “You do have a point CJ.”

“Yeah and don’t forget about that weasel who stole your company. The greedy bastard would dearly love to have you do all the work and then use those damn fancy lawyers to steal it all.” I reminded him.

Then his eyes lit up as they fastened onto the old Plymouth that over the months was starting to look more like a car than a collection of parts. I swear I could see the light bulb light up over his head. “The car! We can use the car. It’s perfect!”

I looked over at the piebald, primer painted car that my friend had been hiding the fruits of his research within. That did not help me at figure out just how that was going to provide a safe environment for testing a dangerous new technology that, just like when Oppenheimer and friends had set off the Trinity Atomic Bomb, had the potential for ending the world.

So I couldn't be misunderstood, I carefully replied, “Huh?”

His enthusiasm bubbled over. “We’re already have compartments for hiding our project within it! All we have to do is just refine it some. Since my idea for the Quantum computer won’t need that much power, we can run it off the car’s generator. If it goes crazy, and tries to take over the world or something, the car crashes and, with no power, no more problem.

“If we get far enough along that we have actual nanobots, without the Queen Bee to give instructions they’ll be inactive. See? All the safety precautions we need!”

I rubbed my chin. “Except for the driver. Okay, I guess I can see it, but what did you mean about having nanobots? I thought this thing was just going to design them.”

Trying to talk with his hands, Gary was really excited. “If we add facilities like a small version of my 3D copier onboard, it can build its own set of tools for that first generation. Then the evolution process should happen very quickly. Say in the time of just a hour or two.”

Thinking about it, I pointed out, “You’ll have to take it to somewhere like the Bonneville Salt Flats, where they do speed runs. However, what do you do if some of the nanobots get loose while you’re testing this thing?”

He grinned at me. “That’s the beauty of it all. The Queen Bee gives its instructions by messenger service. Without the constant updates from her, they go inert.”

I gave him that much. “How about if this Queen of yours tries to design her own power supply, or set up some other kind of communications with the nanobots, since she will be doing all the designing by that stage anyways?”

Gary shook his head. “I believe the parameters will do much of that for us. I’ll also do all I can to program our girl to be nice, and not a crazed military designed, Artificial Intelligence that sees everyone as an enemy.”

I nodded vigorously. “We sure as hell don’t need a Skynet, or a Matrix. You really think it‘ll work?” I asked.

Putting his greasy rag aside, he put his hand on my shoulder. “Yes I do. I haven’t forgotten our first conversation about all of this. You will get the first shot at a nano makeover.”

Sighing, I returned his smile. “In that case I guess I better be the one to drive this thing, once we haul it out to the salt flats. I’m not much of a race car driver, but I do better than you. I’ve ridden with you, remember?”

Gary put his arm around my shoulders. “I'm glad you volunteered!”