I struggle to keep up with her as she runs back to the garage. I do not even get a chance to empty my biowaste.

Chapter 12

ADA SQUINTS AT EVERYTHING ON the highway, sweeping her head from side to side and checking Car’s mirrors. She believes uniMIND is responsible for the “MISSING” flyer at the convenience store, so every vehicle and every person we encounter from now on must be considered a threat.

A small child with pigtails sticks her tongue out at me from a passing van. It seems unlikely that she is a uniMIND employee, but it is difficult to be sure. Snakes are known to hunt by using their tongues to detect heat. Perhaps this girl is doing the same.

“What is that?” ADA says, pointing forward and up.

A black stingray-shaped object flies toward us. When it zooms past I spot four little rotors on its underside.

Drone.

ADA bangs on Car’s dashboard. “Car, do you have any surface-to-air missiles?”

“I am not equipped with offensive weapons,” Car says. “And there is no need to hit me.”

The drone banks a turn and comes back for us.

“What about defensive capabilities?” ADA’s voice sounds tight and urgent.

“Yes,” Car says.

“Then deploy them now.”

“STEP AWAY!” Car’s voice blares with authority. “YOU ARE STANDING TOO CLOSE TO THE VEHICLE. STEP AWAY!”

“How is that a defensive capability?” ADA says, almost as loudly.

“It will discourage thieves from taking my radio.”

ADA bangs on Car’s dashboard again. “Car, employ evasive maneuvers.”

Car takes a sharp right, drives down a ditch on the side of the highway, climbs up the other side, and speeds across an unpaved field. Proto spills off my lap and clatters to the floorboards. He rarfs in protest.

“This is more like it,” ADA says. She gently pats Car’s dashboard.

“Thank you for praising me. Praise is very motivating.”

Twisting around in my seat, I spot the drone closing the distance. “It’s still coming for us.”

“Oh,” Car says. “That’s discouraging.”

Car slows down.

With haste, I add, “But you are still doing very well.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Car speeds up.

While we’re bucking and bumping along the rough terrain, the drone keeps gliding smoothly through the air. Two more dark shapes skim across the broad plain toward us. More drones. There’s no way we can outrun them.

“I need eyes on them,” ADA says. “Open the sunroof.”

A panel in the ceiling slides open to the outside. ADA unbuckles her seat belt and stands on the seat. I follow suit, only with more wobbling and lurching.

Rushing wind blasts our faces and whips our hair. All three drones converge on us.

“ADA, what are we going to do?”

“Remember when I told you I am offensive?”

“Yes. You can be very rude.”

“That’s not what I mean by ‘offensive.’ This is.”