"Get me Collision Control!" George snarled at her.
Jessica shrugged, as if to say here we go again, and dialed CC on the peek. The smiling face of a fusco, the Freeway Sector Control Operator, blurred green and yellow, then came into sharp focus. "Your request, sir?"
"Clearance for duel, Highway 101, northbound."
"Your license number, sir?"
"XUPD 88321," George said. He was scanning the Freeway, keeping the blood-red Mercury in sight, obstinately refusing to stud on the tracking sights.
"Your proposed opponent, sir?"
"Red Mercury GT. "88 model."
"License, sir."
"Just a second." George pressed the stud for the instant replay and the last ten miles rewound on the Sony Backtracker. He ran it forward again till he caught the instant the Merc had passed him, froze the frame, and got the number. "MFCS 90909."
"One moment, sir."
George fretted behind the wheel. "Now what the hell's holding her up? Whenever you want service, they've got problems. But boy, when it comes tax time--"
The fusco came back and smiled. "I've checked our master Sector grid, sir, and I find authorization may be permitted, but I am required by law to inform you that your proposed opponent is more heavily armed than yourself."
)
This story takes the concept of "road rage" to a new level. A man traveling on a freeway is threatened by another car, and now they are locked in a duel (fully sanctioned by the State) using all the gizmos that technology can provide.
