“How the heck did you learn to drive like that?” My eyes widen on her, as if in a trance. Maci hits the brake and the vehicle spins 180 degrees and then Pix fires his taser at Maci’s command.
“ImaTech training.” She swerves the vehicle back around and pushes Pix’s foot over the accelerator before sliding out of her seat and over the window slit on her side of the Rover. She crawls onto the roof, her left hand gripping the inside of the vehicle while her legs bend underneath her body on the roof and her right arm stretches to aim at both Spheres.
She fires the taser, and with a direct hit the closer Sphere explodes, just as the Sphere behind it slams straight into the eruption. Both metal balls burst upon impact as shards of their metal shoot crazily across the sky, and one stray shard hits the roof of the Rover just as Maci reenters. Her slim body slides back into the front passenger seat as she returns her left foot over Pix’s foot.
“I got it,” Pix says, a tad shaken, and then Maci releases her foot, but keeps her left palm on the steering wheel.
“I don’t want us to get hit again. We have to make it to ImaTech,” Maci implores, her tone a mix of commitment and sharpness.
I slip my head between the front seats. “Did we get ‘em?”
Maci turns her head, releasing the steering wheel. “The SectorSpheres have been destroyed, but I detect two Trackers a half kilometer in front of us. They have been tracking us for several minutes.”
Jerking the steering wheel left, Pix pops the right front tire off the ground as he skirts us around a hill. “How are they keeping tabs on us on foot with us taking so many sharp turns?”
“My sensors detect two vehicles approaching at the same speed as the Trackers. They will intercept us in…”
Just before Maci calculates the time we collide with more ImaTech drones—two ImaEnzyme motorbikes as dark as night catapult toward us, one hitting our roof before landing on the ground behind, and instantly spinning around to keep in the chase. The other slides in beside us.
With encased wheels on either side of the motorbike, the numbers 599 are etched on the front rims to denote the top speed in kilometers. The ImaEnzyme creators like to brag about their creation. The Rover can only go 250 kilometers per hour. I don’t need Maci’s calculations to know we don’t stand a chance of outrunning them even if they don’t reach their top speed in this terrain.
With the Trackers positioned in deliberately low backseats and their arms stretched over each side of the chromium bike to grip the handles, I can barely see their faces, let alone their heads. I’ve been told about these bikes—outsourced through a French company, but utilizing all of ImaTech’s technology for the perfect two-wheeled weaponized transport.
The Tracker beside the Rover pulls out a gun known as the SonicIma; held with two hands, the mouth of the gun looks like a disk and the body much like a thin black stick. Sergio Sagar of InterLock designed this weapon, which up until now I’d only ever seen on my HV screen.
“Look out!” I shriek, and duck my head while covering my ears. The loud sonic boom from the weapon can cause deafness. Fortunately for the bots, their ears won’t ring, but the Range Rover pops up sharply on the left from the force of the boom. Then, the two wheels on the right side lift just as the left side hits ground. Pix drives on, trying to balance us without crashing.