Mercenary at heart
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George had an earpiece with a built-in microphone attached to his ear, connected wirelessly to both the Logiste and the phone. The driver could use it to talk to customers and his staff. Occasionally, Mariana would call the same way, to see how her husband was doing at work. The route was routed through several villages and towns with bronze and silver status. The terminus was New Hampshire. It was a platinum status town. Michael had never been to towns with status higher than silver, so this was quite the journey for him. Not only would he get to see new small towns, but he would also get to visit a giant metropolis.
Villages and towns were connected by roads with nothing living around them. Either desert or impassable thickets of bushes and trees. The reason for this was clear – ownerless territory that no one had ever taken care of. According to such rules, the borders of settlements were divided, leaving neutral, ownerless territories between them. It was in these ownerless areas that the outcasts, unwanted and despised by society, existed. Some of them banded together to try to survive, occasionally raiding passing traffic or attempting to storm towns. True, they usually didn't pose much of a threat. After all, before they were driven out of town, all their possessions were taken from them. So they didn't have any weapons. The most they could attack with was fists, stones, or sticks they had gotten on the road. And considering the fact that cargo and transportation were most often guarded by well-armed mercenaries or private guards, the outcasts had no chance of success. It was more like certain death.
George drove up to the checkpoint at the exit from Ounvilshen and joined the smallest queue. Since no documents had to be stamped, but only personal cards scanned by a special bar code, the line moved quickly enough. Only heavy trucks were subjected to special inspection for the presence of prohibited goods on board, but a separate lane was allocated for them so as not to impede the movement of other traffic.
Finally it was Michael and George's turn. They stopped in front of the inspector's window. It was on the right side of the car. In front of the checkpoint was a barrier and a license plate scanner built into it, which recorded the license plate number, and a computer program extracted all the other data on the car and its owner. In the booth sat a city policeman with a laptop computer at his desk. He was dressed in a long-sleeved service uniform in the color of the city's yellow and purple flag. Underneath his police uniform was a bulletproof vest in the form of thermal underwear. Such body armor was very lightweight and was considered the most common protection for city police officers because it covered most of the body.
Policeman: “Where are you going?”
George: “Making a delivery to a customer.”
Policeman: “What kind of goods?”
George: “It's an auto.”
The policeman looked out of the window and looked at the car, formally inspecting the car.
Policeman: “Your papers.”
Michael held out his personal cards to him. The police officer scanned them, then handed them back to the boy.
Policeman: “You can go now.”
George: “Thank you officer, have a good day.”
The barrier turned green and went up. The path was open and the car moved on, following the designated route. After a while, having traveled about 150 km, the transporters stopped in a large village at the gas station through which their route passed. Both got out of the car while the gas station attendant filled the tank with fuel.
– Well, are you ready? – George put his hand on Michael's shoulder.
Michael: “Sure!”
George: “Then get behind the wheel. You drive from here. Just don't drive too fast! You know my rules.”
Michael nodded, then opened the door and got into the driver's seat. George settled into the front passenger seat and leaned back, taking the Logiste in his hands.
George: “All right, let's go, no need to linger at the transfer points. We're wasting time. After the parking lot, turn immediately to the right. Gerri has changed the route as there will be a traffic jam ahead. Probably some kind of accident.”
Michael adjusted the seat, started the car, shifted gears, and they headed in a new direction.
George: “It's a dirt road that runs parallel to the main highway. According to the map, we should get onto the main highway just after the jam.”
The quality of the road was terrible. It was strewn with small stones and shallow potholes. The weather was sunny and dry, which made it easy to navigate due to good visibility and no impassable mud. On the right side of the road was a vast desert without a single plant, and on the left side of the road could be seen the nearest residential buildings belonging to the village from which the carriers had left. Rain was a luxury for this region. Michael moved slowly, afraid of damaging the wheels and suspension of the car. The bypass was only eight kilometers long, and it was rarely used, so there was not much time to wait. Given the poor quality of the roadway, the low popularity of its use was understandable.
A passenger car appeared ahead, standing on the side of the road. It was surrounded by a group of three men. They were dressed in tattered and torn clothes and armed with metal cylinders about 50-70 centimeters long. The group behaved aggressively and occasionally hit the body of the car with their weapons.
– Outcasts! – George hissed through his teeth and leaned forward, trying to see what was going on.
George: “Michael, whatever happens, don't stop. If they get in the road, push them. Go around them on the opposite side of the road.”
The Silvers gradually approached the damaged car. Michael did as he was told and drove into the oncoming lane before his car was on the side of the road. None of the assailants, to Michael's luck, got into the road. They only cast an angry glance in the direction of the Silver's. So Michael could drive safely past without getting into trouble. It was at this point that the cars came together. In the driver's seat of the other car was a man in his 40s. He was immobilized: his head was hanging down, his arms were down. The windshield of the older sedan was shattered. In the back seat was a boy about ten years old, no more. He sat with his legs up on the seat and his arms wrapped around them. He cast a pleading glance in the direction of the Silver's passing car, then rested his head in his lap.
George: “Michael, there's a baby in there! There's a baby inside the cabin! Pull over!”
Michael moved to the right side of the road and abruptly stopped the car about 150 feet from the victims. George opened the glove compartment, put the Logistician in there and pulled out a gun.
Michael: “Where did you get the…”
– Fred gave it to him. Michael: “Stay where you are and keep your head down. I'll be back. Lock the doors after I get out! If the outcasts attack, chase them away. – George interrupted his son. He got out of the car, standing in a fighting stance and aiming his weapon at the attackers, starting to slowly approach them. Michael didn't have time to say a word. All he had to do was obey and do as his father told him. After all, his intervention would be of little use. So the boy stayed in the car, locked the doors and half-turned to watch what was happening.