Highway Cowboys - CW fan fic in progress

[bosky]

Synopsis

The year is 2041 and fortress towns jealously guard vast algae farms. Between the lone bastions of civilization are the burning wastes. The new frontier of danger, excitement, and riches is home to...the highway cowboys.
Their steel mounts are souped up cars and semi-trucks loaded with an array of machine guns, missile launchers, and flaming oil. Whether looting and pillaging or defending the meek, their driving exploits are loved by all.

Our tale focuses on the adventures of three heroes of the road:
Sunny Miller, a skilled up-and-coming autoduelist with a quick smile and quicker trigger finger. Will his experience in the muddy derby pits help him survive the untamed highways?
Worn out and beaten down by the world, Preacher Pike is a man on the edge. Having replaced faith in the good book with faith in a good gun has kept him alive this long. Will his suicidal tendencies finally catch up to him?
The lovely Sassy Sass, a working girl with a heart of gold. Driving passengers between towns in her armored taxi pays the bills, and couriering illegal drugs keeps her in the lap of luxury.

When a critical job to carry a package across America drags these unlikely and unwilling companions together, an explosive rush of high octane excitement follows!

----

I don't know how many of you are familiar with National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo), but it's an event in November where anyone can try to write 50,000 words on any topic they want. Me and some friends did this last year, but got the writing itch again in the heart of summer. So we've decided to do a western themed event called Westwrimo for the month of August.

In my case I knew instantly that I wanted to explore the Car Wars universe with some fan fiction, titled Highway Cowboys. So I wrote the pulp sounding synopsis above and went to work. I try to write between 1,000 and 3,000 words a day, and you can see the story so far here: Highway Cowboys story.

I've never written fan fiction before (and don't really like the term, haha). So far I've tried to inject a relatively accurate depiction of the Car Wars timeline (from the 2.5 Compendium), weapons, and action. I'm 10k words in (as of the August 3rd), and already I'm having a blast writing a lighter, less serious style like this is.

If anyone knows of other Car Wars fiction kicking around I'd love to hear it. I've read the ADQs, and I know there were some kind of official choose-your-own-adventure books way back when, but unfortunately that kind of thing is hard to get a hold of now days.

Anyways feedback and critique is welcome!

[MattV]

Those were a lot of fun to read. I missed the heyday for Car Wars, so I never really got a chance to get into the back story or hear peoples take on the Car Wars world. I thought covering an arena event, a bounty hunter, and a transporter was a good way to really flesh out the Car Wars universe.


Make sure to post any more you come up with......I really enjoyed them.

[bosky]

Thanks for the kind words MattV. I'm also sad to have missed the days when new Car Wars material was being produced and they had annual tournaments and all.

This forum seems to limit post sizes so I can't paste the entire story in. However I thought I'd post an excerpt from the start of the story, concerning the autoduelist Sunny in his eighth match. In terms of the actual story I'm up to about 15,000 words (including a battle with a semi-truck towing three trailers), so again check out the full story for the rest.
Once I finish the story I'll post the full file (in a variety of formats like text, doc, pdf, etc.) somewhere and link it here. But for now...


Excerpt 1
The roar of the arena awaited him. Sunny could hear the cheering crowd fighting to be heard over the revving of engines. Occasional gunfire quickened his pulse as he waited in his vehicle.
Young and with an innocent gleam to his features, the rookie looked like an unlikely demolition derby driver. But seven victories in matches all across the southern United States proved that looks can be deceiving.
Agitated mechanics and backstage spectators edged around his car. The air vibrated with excitement and expectation as he waited for the ramp light to glow green. Many drivers confessed that waiting solemnly in their seat was the tensest part.
Grinning away the thought, the cocky youth tapped out a half remembered tune on the steering wheel. Instead of worrying about his upcoming conquest, the rookie reminisced about another victory from the previous night. She had been a blond, eager fan that Sunny was more than happy to "show around the garage". His mind drifted through the gutter as he imagined more followers throwing themselves at his podium.
The buzzing electronic voice overhead rudely shook him from the indulgent day dreams. "Sunny Miller on-ramp in five minutes. Final weapon check in two." He sighed at the return to reality. Restoring his grin the rookie waved over his loyal pit mechanic Ned.
"Well, I guess you can run another check on the guns," Sunny said, shrugging and not the least bit worried about technical difficulties. In fact he hadn't worried about much since his first two Division 5 victories.
Named for the limit of $5,000 a vehicle, such matches ended quickly in fiery explosions and overjoyed locals. Under armored, under gunned, and under powered death traps were the cake and biscuits of such matches.
The battles had provided him with an easy entry into the arena circuit. Drawing inexperienced drivers from each small town, Div 5 matches were normally a big seller for the sheer amount of carnage involved. Sunny was happy to be past that stage in his budding career and already well on his way to Division 20.
Short and stocky and clad in overalls, Ned nodded at the request. "I wish I could have talked you out of this configuration. You know that relying on ramming is a-"
The driver tuned the lecture out, having heard it before the past four matches. Pleasing the crowd and sponsors was part of Sunny's goal each night, and unique armaments and tactics helped achieve that. Besides, Ned was a good mechanic, but Sunny was a good driver. Ned didn't have a racer's reflexes or a gunner's aim, and all of his advice wasn't founded on experience.
Idly Sunny watched the man expertly run his fingers over the three weapons on the vehicle. A large bore machine gun dominated the lower half of the front hood. The rear of the vehicle sported two jutting rockets, painted in a checkered pattern of blue and white. Cleverly linked and bound to a sensitive bumper trigger, the projectiles would fire as soon as the back collided with a solid object.
Sunny tried to visualize the upcoming match. He wasn't certain of who he would face until they both drove out from opposite sides. Checking the gauges on his dashboard, he was at least certain of his car. Intimate knowledge of the limits and short comings of a vehicle could mean the difference between walking or being carried off the track.
Best known for a gaudy yellow paint job, custom of course, the Sunspot IV was a maneuverable sedan. Thick sheets of advanced plastics armored every side of the vehicle. The large engine and thick puncture resistant tires had sped Sunny around all different types of tracks. Tonight he'd have the pleasure of battling in Yuma, Arizona.
Sunny planned to chip away at his opponent with distant machine gun fire. Hopefully he could avoid any severe retaliation thanks to a sharp turn now and then. He figured once the armor was penetrated on a side he'd swing the Sunspot around and speed backwards into the exposed victim. A high speed collision coupled with automatic rocket fire should put an end to the festivities. The roar of the crowd reminded him that daring, dangerous skids were cheered more than slow cunning.
Ned successfully finished his checks. Cleaning his hands on a stained rag he herded the wide eyed crowd away from the vehicle. The start of the match was a minute away, and it was time for Sunny to focus.
The ramp light switched to a solid blue, prompting Sunny to flick various switches to activate his weapons. Without hesitation he cranked the ignition and redlined the engine immediately, much to the surprise and joy of everyone in the pit. With a barely audible click the light switched to flashing yellow. Sunny breathed deeply, put the car in gear, and smiled his self assured smile.
The signal pulsed yellow, yellow, yellow, and finally green.

[bosky]

Excerpt 2
His car snapped off the line and he clattered up the metal ramp. Blinking at the burning desert sun he emerged into the Yuma arena.
As far back as the year 2028 it had been an international airport, but when the autodueling craze swept the nation the town was quick to repurpose the tarmac. Old, heavily glassed viewports were converted into grandstands and staff offices became tacky gift shops. The airplane hangars were transformed into bustling garages. Asphalt was poured and levelled between each runway while thick barriers were installed to form a circular arena.
Driving from the south gate Sunny quickly scanned the area. To add excitement and strategy a variety of obstacles and mobile buildings were shifted before each match. A series of crossed metal beams ran down the left of the arena in a vaguely straight line. Five concrete blocks had been randomly spaced near the edges of the arena. The center was dominated by a large building bristling with TV cameras. Slightly south of that was a smaller, weaker wooden structure painted with a mural of horses. A set of crowd pleasing ramps were on either side of the building like a pair of bookends.
Spurring his vehicle to seventy miles an hour Sunny directed his senses to learning about his opponent in the shortest amount of time. His ears picked up the echoed, booming voice of a male announcer.
"Roaring in from the south gate is the yellow car...you know him, you love him, he's the man that brightens anyone's day...Suuuuunny Miller. Powering in from the north gate in the black and red car is his opponent, the one and only Kilgor Khan the Killer. Let the games begin!"
Ferocious applause drowned the announcer as he listed and thanked a series of sponsors. Squinting against the shimmering heat haze, Sunny sized up Kilgor's vehicle. He had seen the man compete once before and already liked his odds. His opponent tended to prefer resiliency and brute force over finesse and speed.
Spying the hulking black vehicle paralleling the line of beams just confirmed his suspicions. Ponderous slabs of armor that would make a turtle jealous shielded every facet of the car. The driver quickly identified the chassis as a stripped and modified Hammer.
A big red fist was painted on the jagged front, and Sunny smirked when he saw the middle finger was raised. His mirth turned to concern as he looked closer and saw three bronze nozzles of flamethrowers lined vertically up the flippant finger.
Heavy metal music blasted from a loudspeaker on top of Kilgor's vehicle. Sunny decided to please the crowd and win their support early on. Carefully judging the distance he eased the machine gun trigger down. His vehicle bucked slightly as the belt fed weapon coughed to life, throwing shells as big as his finger down the range.
Evidently surprised by the early attack, Kilgor was caught off guard. As hoped, the loudspeaker took the brunt of the fire. Piercing squeals of protesting metal echoed between the cars as the noisy music was silenced in a glorious shower of sparks.
Sunny could hear the fervent bellows of the crowd as he weaved between the concrete blocks and circled to a north west position. He hoped to keep some distance between Kilgor's flamers and his Sunspot.
For a few seconds the strategy worked. Shells repeatedly fountained from his gun to hungrily chew through Kilgor's armor. With such a heavy vehicle Kilgor was forced to lower speeds to prevent rolling over during sharp turns. This allowed Sunny to keep one step ahead of the probing flamers. A few lashes of burning jelly did strike his vehicle, but the exchange was clearly in the rookie's favor.
Their chasing, roving route tended towards circling the arena. Clearly growing tired of the cat and mouse game, Kilgor acted suddenly and unexpectedly. As both combatants were closing on the central building, the black Hammer swerved towards the structure and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The vehicle spewed black exhaust as it veered towards the ramp in front of the building.
The maneuver happened in a split second before the trailing yellow car had a chance to react. Already edging left to circle the arena, Sunny was caught off guard and could only watch in shock as Kilgor's vehicle leapt up the steep ramp and flew over the wooden building, the spinning tires barely scraping the roof.
Tilting nose down from the weighted armor helped line up the red middle finger with Sunny's vehicle. He slammed on the brakes as the airborne Hammer sent gouts of flame across the Sunspot.
Beads of sweat formed across his forehead as the car was engulfed in the blaze. The acrid stink of burning plastic armor overpowered the cockpit as Sunny continued to slow. Tires protested and suspension howled at the deceleration, but it was all part of a plan he had formulated before even touching the brakes.
While providing prime pictures for tabloids and newspapers, throwing a three ton vehicle off a ramp isn't the best strategy. This was painfully clear to the roaring crowd and shouting announcer as the Hammer continued in a predictable arc, unable to change direction in midair.
On the ground Sunny twisted the wheel as hard as he could with one hand while the other worked the emergency brake. Using the last momentum the vehicle grudgingly did a full 180 degree turn, swinging the rockets in line with Kilgor's landing spot. As soon as the turn was completed Sunny sped in reverse.
Finally the black Hammer smashed to the ground, shattering the concrete and shaking the entire arena. Before Kilgor could reposition himself or catch his breath from the daring leap Sunny was on him like an angry badger.
Adrenaline pounded through his veins as the bumper collided at forty miles an hour. There was a momentary hush through the arena before the thunderous bang of both rear rockets triggering into the damaged Hammer. Sunny was thrown forward in his seat, the restraining belts cutting into his shoulders as his helmet cracked the front windshield.
Super heated plastic exploded in all directions as the heavy rockets impacted across the helpless Hammer. Like a can opener the yellow car continued to plow through Kilgor's crumpled vehicle. Maintaining enough sense to angle his vehicle slightly, Sunny was able to slide under the top heavy vehicle and flip the burning wreckage over.
The sound of broken metal and secondary explosions dulled his hearing for a moment before the surge of cheers overpowered all other sound. His heart raced and his hands shook when his name flashed in scrolling marquee across the TV building.
"I gotta tell you I thought it was over when those flamers hit, but an incredible maneuver by the younger driver destroyed Kilgor and brought Sunny Miller his eighth victory!"

[bosky]

Excerpt 3
The hamlet of Primm was nothing more than a bump in the road between Las Vegas and California. Quiet desperation permeated the highway hugging casino and saloon. Flipping cards and rolling dice no longer kept the masses interested compared to vehicular destruction, and Primm had suffered accordingly. Unknown to the grubby drunkards at Whiskey Pete's pub, such destruction was closing in.
One particular patron could feel the looming cloud of danger. He constantly flicked nervous eyes across the room before feeling for the reassuring grip of a pistol. Having murdered five street girls tended to impose the attitude of a cornered rat. The Nevada Prostitution Guild, Inc. was not forgiving, and they would not forget the bloody hand of Trask.
The desert sun was high in the sky when he heard the engine. To a trained ear the roar of a combat car sounded terrifically different from the dull drone of commuter traffic.
Trask cocked such an ear towards Interstate 15 before rising from his chair to rush to the cracked bar window. Casually rolling towards Whiskey Pete's was a dusty armored car. Grit and sand beyond anything Trask had seen coated the entire vehicle. The original color may have been a dark green, but years on the road had browned the vehicle to a pallid shade of rust. Modern, sleek tips of dual lasers jutted from the top of the hood. Even though no other weapons were visible, the sight of such powerful equipment sent shivers through Trask.
Tinted glass shadowed the man inside. Weathered hands edged the car directly in front of the swinging doors, then cut the engine. Trask froze as the dull silence lengthened. His body screamed to flee or reach for his gun, but the murderer was locked with fear as the vehicle's door swung open.
A wide brimmed hat appeared first, shading an old face as worn and cracked as the car's mudflaps. Gritted teeth toyed with a toothpick as the driver emerged to his full height. Adorning his torso was a rustic black tunic marked with bullet holes had been stitched over. Cowboy boots worn beyond all creases scuffed slight clouds of dust.
Trask immediately noticed the ancient six-shooter comfortably resting on the man's hip. The gun was a police issued service revolver, likely top of the line twenty years ago.
The murderer coughed in surprise and fumbled for his own pistol. His time of reckoning had come, for a hired bounty hunter had finally caught up with him.

Pike surveyed the front of the saloon. Brazen neon flashed "cold beer" and the driver could see three spectators huddling in the broad front windows. His peripheral vision recorded these details, for his attention was locked on Trask.
Shifting his toothpick, the bounty hunter calmly walked towards the swinging doors. Ash colored spurs jingled as he mounted the creaking wooden stairs, his right hand resting easily on the holstered six-shooter.
Years in past police work had accustomed his voice to barking orders. Pausing outside the entryway, Pike shouted a booming command. "Trask, by order of the Nevada Prostitution Guild, throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up."
Feet shuffled inside, and for a moment Pike hoped the situation could defuse peacefully. Then he heard the telltale click of a gun being cocked.
The old man lunged through the door and dove behind the nearest bystander. Trask was waiting inside and fired a clatter of shots immediately, screaming "You'll never take me!" Wide shots shattered bottles and chipped into the wall, but the desperate fire continued. The wet thud of three impacts hit the patron Pike had taken cover behind, killing the unwilling shield.
Exposed, Pike was quick to return fire. Snapping the six-shooter from his hip he fired two shots that splintered Trask's wrist and upper arm. Crying out in pain the murderer dropped his smoking pistol and twisted to flee. The swaying target weaved between slouched drunks, blocking Pike's shot.
The bounty hunter cursed and swung out the door towards his car. Storming into the cockpit he fired the engine to life and reversed in a wide spin, expertly pointing his nose towards the alley behind Whiskey Pete's.

Hobbling from the throbbing pain, Trask pushed open the pub's back door and painfully went to his truck. Raised, oversized tires combined with his wounded arm made the climb up quite a feat. Trask breathed a sigh of relief once inside the safer confines of the cockpit.
Then two pulses of light slashed into the side of the vehicle, piercing the armor and nearly killing Trask. Panicking the screaming man floored the truck, his screeching tires chewing through the wooden pub in a shower of splinters.
Jostling in the cab, Trask managed to keep the accelerator down enough to finish plowing through the saloon and out onto the Interstate. Mangled, crushed patrons followed in his wake, and for a moment Pike was caught off guard by the suicidal maneuver.
A veteran to many combats, the bounty hunter recovered quickly and edged around the outside of the destroyed pub. His quad back tires chewed up desert scrub as he sped onto the cracked pavement of the highway.
Pools of flaming oil greeted him, for Trask had been spraying the deadly substance seconds after clearing the pub. Reducing his speed and swerving to avoid the hazards, Pike chased south after the truck.
Unhindered by road dangers, Trask had gained a commanding lead. Revving his truck to ninety miles an hour he continued to drop flaming oil as the town of Densmore approached. Adrenaline fueled his charge and helped him ignore his wounded limb.
Two miles outside of the town his rear oil ran dry. The automated weapon had desperately tried to keep a consistent flow of flaming oil, but at such high speeds the strategy quickly emptied the tank.
Flicking a button on the dash, Trask switched to his rocket launchers. The heavy tubes could rapidly propel up to ten missiles before requiring a reload. He gained some confidence at the empty highway behind him, and further still when he thought of the launchers on the front and each side.

More confident still was Pike as his long car streaked past stunted desert plants. Paralleling the truck from a safe distance he could tell by Trask's slowing speed that the target thought he had escaped. Blurred hills flew by, providing intermittent cover between the two vehicles.
Driving offroad at such high speeds was hard on his green car, but it was a necessary sacrifice to be able to bypass the burning oil and keep pace. Clenching his teeth he gently rubbed the dashboard, whispering "We'll get 'im soon Jodi, then we can rest." He eased the throttle back to eighty miles an hour to match the burly truck, and waited for an opportunity to strike back to the Interstate.
The town of Densmore provided such a chance. Boasting four streets and a small arena meant the place was a slightly larger bump on the highway. The arena was coming up fast to his right, between the desert and the Interstate.
"Perfect." Digging deep grooves in the soft turf, the bounty hunter turned Jodi towards the truck. A soft glow denoted the laser energy levels, but to Pike they looked like hungry eyes.

Slowing as he entered the town, Trask began to doubt the ease of his escape. Fingers twitched dangerously close to the triggers as he looked out all his windows, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer.

[bosky]

Excerpt 4
Screaming from behind the arena came the green car. The sun glimmered off the lasers and gave Trask all the glimpses he could want. Even through the tinted glass he could feel the bounty hunter's piercing gaze.
Pike approached from the left side, covering the open ground away from the arena as quickly as the terrain allowed. Splitting his mouth into a yellowed smile, Trask fired a double salvo from the left rocket launcher. A smokey tang filled the air as the missiles streaked towards his foe.
Reacting purely on instinct Pike swerved hard left, avoiding the first projectile. The rocket spiraled harmlessly into the concrete, exploding in a shower of rock. Luck was with Trask though for the second shot smashed into the oncoming vehicle. The ground shook as the hungry rocket exploded against armor, tearing apart a piece of Jodi's hood. Smoke leaked from the opening, but was quickly swept away as Pike continued to close.
As soon as he fired Trask sped up and tried to keep his left flank aimed at the bounty hunter. Pike continued his soft angled approach, which gave the murderer another chance to fire.
Pike now knew what the truck was capable of, and had been dodging rockets since before Trask was a child. The incoming missile didn't have a chance. A deft nudge right sent the explosive sailing past.
Still he did not return fire. Patience was one of Pike's favorite tactics. Lulling the enemy into false confidence before striking with the fury of a rattlesnake had served him well for many years.
Boasting to himself at the earlier hit, Trask returned to his ninety mile an hour speed and fired again. His smile turned to a cry of confusion as the green car braked and dropped from view.
Having closed to the ideal distance, Pike was done waiting and moved to attack. Nearly parallel on his approach, he drifted right and simply tapped the brakes to bring the lasers on a direct line to the rear of the truck.
Before Trask had a chance to swerve or counter brake, invisible beams of energy shattered his rear axle. Silently passing through the air like an archer's arrow, a second beam devastated the right tire.
Suddenly ninety miles an hour seemed eighty miles too fast for Trask. The split axle and popped tire sent the vehicle into a violent end over end flip. His truck groaned and protested as the roof slid along the concrete. Two hundred feet had passed before the wreckage slowed to a halt.
In full control came the green car, decelerating to bring it level with the flipped vehicle. Whimpering and barely conscious, Trask wiped blood from his eyes and heard the menacing jingle of spurs.
"Trask, by order of the Nevada Prostitution Guild, throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up." In a rare show of emotion, Pike, savoring the victory, added a taunt, "If you can."

----

"Well I just think you're being a bitch about this."
"Then I clearly have not explained myself, nor my situation, adequately."
"Who even talks like that? Nor? Adequately? Jeez man contract a word every once in a while." Fiery hair matched the fire in her eyes as the driver continued her tirade, "Hell maybe your wife wouldn't cheat on you so bad if you did."
The victim of the harsh words, a squirrelly young man in gray overalls, pushed up his glasses and sighed.
Rolling her eyes and matching the sigh, she continued, "You're just going to take that ****? From a total stranger?"
The unlikely pair had been driving through southern Colorado for close to two hours. Highway 160 was their trail, and Cortez their eventual destination. The driver was a plump woman named Sassy Sass. In her own way, in the right light, she was quite beautiful. She exuded energy and every motion seemed vibrant with life.
Beside her was an already balding passenger, although he couldn't be older than eighteen. Introverted and uncertain, he distantly looked at the rolling mountains out his window. For the small fee of six dollars a mile he was being safely transported in her armored taxi from the city of South Fork. The man, Pierre, would have paid far more to escape his wife.
"We are not -" Pierre caught himself and contracted the word, "aren't...aren't really strangers. I heard all about your childhood, and you know about my family situation."
"'Family situation' is right," was the gruff reply. All types of clients came through her cab, but some rubbed her the wrong way the entire trip. "Still", she thought, "$880 is $880 bucks".
Uncomfortable silence settled on the car for a handful of miles. Lakes, forests, and cold mountains drifted past as the taxi cruised through the winding turns and slight descents. The sun lazily settled on the horizon and prepared to retire for the night.
Feeling herself being absorbed by the simple pleasure of driving, Sassy tried to snap out of her trance and keep the conversation rolling. "Let me ask you this, if you don't mind." Pierre absently nodded his accord, "What stops you from driving this stretch yourself? It looked like at least one of the cars in your driveway was capable."
"I'm just not like you Miss Sassy. I've been an algae farmer for so long that I can barely drive the commute into work."
This time Sassy contained her eye roll and settled for a venomous thought, "What a loser."
An abandoned post office at the junction to 140 solemnly watched them pass. Sassy preferred to work in the safer, populated routes, so seeing the slumped building depressed her.
The emotion lead to a moment of weakness, and she finally apologized to Pierre. "Hey, I'm sorry for earlier."
Stoically tightening his lips and nodding, the man returned to his scenery watching.
"Say, tell me a bit about farming the pools. I don't eat the stuff as much as I used to, but I bet that's an important job." Flattery came hard to Sassy, and the words sounded strained to her ears.
Pierre however brightened immediately at the invitation and became rambling about algae growth, transportation, and other mundane details.
Sassy wasn't quite old enough to remember the devastating grain blight. Instead she suffered the after effects for most of her difficult childhood. Starting in Nebraska in 2012, the outbreak destroyed the staple food stocks in the world. Growing up during the ensuing food riots and gang warfare had been hard on Sassy. Her parents were tough, intelligent survivors and protected the girl until the age of sixteen. Then a road gang brutally killed them while driving across Montana.
Sorrow mingled with the wishful thinking of youth pushed Sassy to become a courier soon after. She figured if armored taxi services had been as plentiful years ago, her parents might still be alive.
Her attention drifted in and out of the conversation. Algae farmers were indeed important and gained respect far exceeding their pay grade. Without a steady supply of food, countries had squabbled and warred for the last scraps from civilization's table. Harvesting thick, gooey algae from vast pools had helped solve that.
For her first few years of driving Sassy had lived on the stuff. Eventually her reputation at making reliable, consistent deliveries landed her a job running the illegal drug Wish. From then on side jobs in black market goods kept her well fed on week old fruits and vegetables. She considered that a step up from algae soup.
"...and after losing that much product my company stopped transporting to the smaller towns. Fortress towns only now!" Pierre exclaimed, beaming with pride as if he was the CEO and not a muckslinger.
Pandering to the man, Sassy faked excitement. "Wow how interesting. I never knew gangs could be so daring."

She was swaying through the curving road before the ruined town of Mancos when the radar pinged to life. Instantly Pierre began fussing, "Who could it be? Some other travellers?" Silently biting her nails she checked the map, noting a solid nineteen miles until Cortez.
An additional four blimps on the radar made her look up, then firmly answer "I wish."