The Maya 1.44

Previously On The Maya...

Amara Barclay flees Paloma's home, overcome by emotions she normally holds in check with little effort. Why? What is it about George Kirkegaard, a rather unassuming, failed businessman, that invokes such emotions? Why should she care that he loves Paloma and she him? He's barely known him for a couple of days. Is it because she's not used to being denied things she might want, including her choice of men? Amara finally manages to calm down, concluding that Eugenio Stavros was right—her short stay on the Isle of Use is affecting her somehow.

Suddenly, Amara notices a dark sedan pass by. Again. In the time she's been there, hiding on the side of the freeway, it has passed twice. Is it looking for her? She realizes that it's the same car that she saw parked near Paloma's home. Kirkegaard might not be a spy, but she was definitely being followed, and probably since she landed. To be free to act as she wanted, she would need to do something about the tail, and discover who was behind it. Without a plan, she takes off after the vehicle, and after determining that it is a robo-car, she ditches the expensive motorcycle she's riding in the car's direct path and hurls herself into the ditch.

---

The Maya—a living legend covert operative-for-hire that no one she encounters can remember.

George Kirkegaard—a former newspaper owner forced out of business by state government.

Eugenio Stavros—a shipping magnate on a trip to the mysterious Isle of Use to renegotiate a steel contract.

Amara Barclay—a savvy, independent multi-millionaire entrepreneur and socialite with unparalleled beauty.

Mr. Tic and Mr. Snake—two U.S. government officials running off-the-books dark ops involving The Maya.

---

And now...the next installment of The Maya.

---

_{Image Source}

As she landed below, she heard the horrific wrenching of metal. Sparks lit up the night. Mercifully, the din was over in a few seconds, as the vehicle came to a controlled rest. Looking up from the ditch, she saw the car as it idled, black smoke clearing from around the mangled motorcycle. It was refracting oddly where the acrylic treatment had been sheered off, making part of it visible, some of it not, and the rest flickering in between. She waited a heartbeat, two, then bounded out of the trench when no one came out of the car.

She had no idea if she could even get inside. A robot car might not even have an inside, let alone functioning doors. She tried the door handle, felt it come toward her, but the latch did not release. Her next thought was to force her way in. She knew she had a wrench in one of the bike's pouches, but she didn't think she could reach it. She thought about removing her helmet, using it to smash the window, but did not attempt it. Car lights were approaching, and looking out from in front of the car, she could see there were three vehicles pulling off to the side of the road.

Instinctively, she headed back to the ditch, but then refrained. It was dark, her own acrylic suit was still very much intact, so she would be able to walk among the rescuers without detection. Maybe one of them, or all of them, were associated with the robot car. If so, she could still get answers. If not, hopefully one of them had enough curiosity and a heavy instrument, like a crowbar, to either break the window, or force a door.

Almost in unison, the three cars parked, and a total of five people got out. Three women, two men, and they all rushed to the wreck. Upon viewing the motorcycle, a man and a woman crouched down, apparently looking for its rider. "No one here," said the man, who was closest to Amara. "All clear here, too," the woman said from the other side. She then dropped into the ditch, followed by a second woman.

Amara watched them closely, listening to them talk. None of them were wearing uniforms or other clothes commonly worn by security officers or law enforcement. Other than a pronounced efficiency, there wasn't anything in their conversations with one another that indicated they were anything more than concerned Good Samaritans.

"Can anyone see inside?" It was the first man. The second man, along with the third woman were cupping their eyes trying to peer in through the different windows.

"No," the second man said.

"Me neither," the third woman said.

"Any of you have something we can use to get inside?" After trying the handles of the doors on his side, the first man started pounding on the metal. "Anyone in there? Hello? Can you hear me?" No one answered, or attempted to open the doors.

There was a loud bang, as something, a piece of the motorcycle, shot out from underneath, narrowly missing the first man. As he hit the deck, he yelled out to the others to be careful. With the car still running, it was trying to lurch forward, and it was still grinding on what was left of the bike.

"I may have something," the second man said. He ran back to his car, and before he returned, the engine of the robot vehicle sputtered and stopped. "Signal jammer," he said, holding up a flat oblong electronic device.

"You think this car's a drone?" the first man asked.

"Must be," the second man shrugged. "This doesn't work on normal cars."

"Good call."

"There's no sign of the biker," the first woman said. She got help out of the ditch from the third woman, then turned to help the second woman out.

"Do you think it's possible they flew to the other side of the road?" asked the third woman, visibly disturbed by the idea.

"Might as well be thorough," the first woman said. She and the second woman looked for oncoming traffic, and seeing they had plenty of time to cross, ran to the other ditch.

"So, what do you think? Is it federal?" the first man said.

"Probably," said the second. "Might be IPB."

"Unmanned?"

"That would be my guess."

"Can that jammer of yours unlock doors?"

"No. There might not be much to look at, anyway."

"Anyone call the police?" the third woman asked.

"I did, when we got here," the first man said. "Shouldn't be too long now."

"I wonder what happened to the biker," the third woman said. "Kind of strange they would just lay down the bike and take off."

"I'm wondering why the proximity sensors in the drone didn't work," the second man said. "It should have easily avoided the bike."

The first man squatted down in front of the car, inspecting the remains of the motorcycle. "Kind of hard to tell now, but the logical explanation would be the proximity system on the bike was disabled." He dared to move the fender away from the engine block. "You see that flickering?"

---

'The Maya' publishes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

<-----First-----> <-----Previous----->

_{Copyright © Glen Anthony Albrethsen, 2014-2018. All rights reserved.}