Rivers of Orion by Dana Kelly (best detective novels of all time txt) 📗

two. Mike twisted around to look out the back window, and he studied the trailing vehicle. “I think it’s a pickup, or maybe a van,” he said. Clearing his throat, he offered, “They probably just set their autodrive to follow… on a deserted freeway… in the dead of night.”

“Yeah, right,” said Orin.

“Okay, I admit it’s a little strange,” said Mike, “but who on Rhyon would be following you?”

Orin shrugged. Before he could respond, the headlights grew closer at an alarming rate, and a black panel van nearly rear-ended them before merging at the last second. Unaware of who she was, Orin caught a glimpse of Casey in the driver’s seat as she and her crew shot past them. “Wow,” he said, “what the hell was that about?”

Mike studied the van as it pulled away. “I have no idea.”

“You can go back to sleep,” said Orin, and he watched the vehicle’s taillights vanish around a bend. “You were right; I was being paranoid.”

“Yeah. Sure,” whispered Mike. With a look of concern, Mike settled back into his seat. He closed his eyes for a moment, but slumber remained elusive.

As they neared Van Alder’s city limits, streets crossed under the curving highway, and business parks appeared in greater numbers. The path inclined as it straightened and cut through a mountain rise. Orin’s truck easily ascended the final pass.

Van Alder unfolded, a glittering skyline of colorfully lit skyscrapers. Needle-like spires rose from major intersections, aglow with a dozen levels of traffic lights. Flying cars streamed slowly overhead as they traveled along and merged between layers of air lanes. Delivery shuttles made berth at elevated docks, while scattered street traffic navigated the asphalt grid. At ground level, along the darker byways, neon signs advertised eateries, game rooms, and massage parlors.

Mike whistled quietly. “I’ll never get over just how big this place feels.”

“It’s a little crowded for me,” said Orin. “I’ve never seen the air lanes empty, no matter what time it is. Makes me glad to be down here on the streets.” Orin guided his truck along a gentle curve, but the vehicle sent him lurching forward. “The hell?” The engine regulator cheerfully engaged, halving their speed as a bright orange traffic network indicator lit up his dash near the speedometer. “When did they put the brakes on street traffic?”

“Last month, I think. Traffic Ministry’s giving Velocity Pass another try, which is one of the many reasons I don’t drive.” Mike downed the last of his coffee and spilled a drop on his jeans. “Come on,” he huffed, and he dabbed it dry with a paper napkin.

“The hell with the Traffic Ministry,” Orin spat. “I’ll never pay for the ‘privilege’ of speeding.”

Mike raised his brow. “Actually, I have an idea.” He tapped the dash. “Nimbus, wake up. We need your skills.”

Nimbus switched on and printed, “How can I help?”

“Can you reprogram the engine regulator? Disable it?”

“Affirmative.”

Orin looked nervous. “Can’t I get arrested for that?”

Mike shook his head. “You won’t. Trust me.”

“It’s not a matter of trust. I’ll lose my scholarship if I go to jail!”

“You’re not going to lose your scholarship. On the off chance we get pulled over, I’ll say I’m the one with the Velocity Pass. Since I’m a Falcon citizen, they’ll have weeks of red tape to wade through, and I can definitely get an actual pass by then.”

Orin said, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

With a wink, Mike said, “I know, but I do. Nimbus, if you please.”

The eyestalk dispersed, and the cloud of nanobots flowed into the truck’s dashboard vents. A gentle haze formed around Orin’s engine block. As they drove at sensible speeds, Nimbus got to work on the vehicle’s computer systems. A moment later, a series of cheerfully descending notes chimed, and the traffic network indicator light blinked off. Nimbus returned to the confines of the cabin and coalesced on the bench between Orin and Mike. This time, he took the form of a four-legged, clockwork spider. Cogs and gears ticked slowly at the joints as he hunkered down. From an embedded speaker, using a synthesized voice, he proclaimed, “Orinoco Webb, congratulations on your upgrade!”

“Thanks, Nimbus. All right then, here we go!” Orin exhaled, fighting the urge to grin. Gripping the wheel with renewed focus, he raced along the roads. Mike smiled as he swayed with the tight turns and sudden changes in speed, the weightless moments when Orin took a hill just a bit too fast.

“With the connections you made at the spaceflight center,” said Mike, “you really should try for your pilot’s license.”

Orin cast his friend a sidelong glance. “You know I can’t afford it.”

“That didn’t stop you from leasing this truck you never drive.”

“I’m driving it now,” Orin countered, and he jammed a hard left, pressing Mike firmly against the passenger door. “Besides, even if I did get my license, I’ll never be able to afford anything that can fly.” Up ahead in the distance, Nostromo’s Descent crept into view, a gloomy brick edifice wearing a crown of stone gargoyles.

“You could always pick up some extra work with my dad.”

Orin shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t have any skills he could legitimately pay me for. It’d feel like a handout.”

“You could switch your major to biochem.”

“I have a humanities scholarship, remember?” He stared off for a moment. “Had, anyway.”

“He might pay for your tuition.” He regarded Orin expectantly. “My dad’s obsessed with forensics.”

His mood heavy, Orin said, “I barely passed regular chem. Biochem would kill me.” He slowed down and parked next to the curb. “Look, I don’t have a job, and my scholarship’s suspended until next semester. I just found out yesterday that means I’m on the hook for paying my own tuition, even though I’d be getting it right back, and there’s no way I can afford that either.”

“I wish you’d let me help you.”

Orin smiled slightly. “It’s still your dad’s money.”

Mike exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

Orin switched off his truck and opened his door. “I’m going