"Alan Dean Foster - With friends like these." - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

recalled. He smiled in reminiscence. Speed wasn't everything. And one large gold stamping. He ran
his hand over the impressions fondly. That big gold one, he'd gotten that baby on the legendary
drive out from Indianapolis, back in '83тАФno, '82. The Imperial had been rough and, face it, he'd
been lucky as hell, too young to know better. Ricochet shots were always against the odds, but
hell, anyone could shoot at tires! So he'd thought twenty-odd years ago. Now he knew betterтАФdidn't
he?
He wondered if Bob had tried something equally insane.
"Yes, well, you watch yourself, Mr. Merwin. A Marauder is bad news straight from the factory.
Properly customized, it could mount enough stuff to take on a Greyhound busnought."
"Don't worry about me, Hector. I can take care of myself." He was checking the nylon sheathing on
the rear tires. "Besides, the JJ. mounts a few surprises of her own!"
It was already warm outside, even at five in the morning. The weather bureau had forecast a high
of of 101┬░ for downtown L.A. He'd miss most of that, but even with air control and climate
conditioning things could get hot. He turned on the climate-cool as he backed the blue sedan out
of the garage, put it in Drive and rolled toward the Burbank artery.
It was still too early for the real rush hour and he had little company on the feeder route as he
moved past Van Nuys Boulevard toward the Sepulveda on-ramp. A Rambler at the light was slow in
getting away at the change of signal. He blasted the horn once and the frantic driver of the
heavily neutral-marked vehicle made haste to get out of his way. Theoretically all cars on the
surface streets were equal. But some were more equal than others.
The Sepulveda on-ramp was an excellent one for entering the system for reasons other than merely
being an easier way to pass through the Ventura interchange. Instead of sloping upward as most on-
ramps did, it allowed the driver to descend a high hill. This enabled older cars to pick up a lot
of valuable acceleration easily and also provided the driver with an aerial overview of the
traffic pattern below.
He passed the commuter car park at the Kester Trans station. It was just beginning to fill as the
more passive commuters parked their personal vehicles in favor of the public Trans. He felt a
surge of contempt, the usual reaction of the independent motorist to milk-footed driver's
willfully abandoning their vehicular freedom for the crowding and crumpling of the mass-transit
systems. What sort of person did it take, he wondered for the umpteenth time, to trade away his
birthright for simple sardine-can safety? The country was definitely losing its backbone. He shook
his head woefully as his practiced eye gauged the pattern shifting beneath him.
Mass Trans had required and still required a lot of money. One way in which the governments
involved (meaning those of most industrial, developed nations) went about obtaining the necessary
amounts was to cut back the expensive motorized forces needed to regulate the far-flung freeway
systems. As the cutbacks increased it gradually became accepted custom among the remaining
overworked patrols to allow drivers to settle their own disputes. This custom was finalized by the
Supreme Court's handing down of the famous Briver vs. Matthews and the State of Texas decision of
'79, in which it was ruled that all attempts to regulate interstate, nonstop highway systems were
in direct violation of the First Amendment.
Any motorist who didn't feel up to potential arguments was provided a safe, quiet alternative
means of transportation in the new Mass Trans systems, most of which ran down the center and sides
of the familiar freeway routes, high above the frantic traffic. Benefits were immediate. Less
pollution from even the fine turbine-steam-electric engines of the private autos, an end to many
downtown parking problems in the big citiesтАФand more. For the first time since their inception the
freeways, even at rush hour, became negotiable at speeds close to those envisioned by their
builders. And psychiatrists began to advise driving as excellent therapy for persons .afflicted
with violent or even homicidal instincts.
There were a fewтАФun-American dirty commie pinko symps, no doubtтАФwho decried the resultant
proliferation of "argumentative" devices among high-powered autos. Some laughable folk even talked