Part 2: "No I'm not."

The back door of Car 13 slams shut. "You're late!"

Seriously, in today's era, with wifi-everything constantly syncing to the orbitals, there's no excuse for lies like that. So I'm perfectly justified in my offhand reply. "No, I'm not."

Predictably, the stuffed suit huffs and puffs, having obviously expected that I'd be an actual people-person and grovel to him. I ain't his toady. I'm his taxi driver. I'm just as much a professional as he is.

I am Taxi. That's my handle, and uncontested by anyone who knows what I can do. When desperate people call for a taxi, what they want is ME. When someone else shows up, all they get is a pale imitation. You want to be there almost before you left? I do that. You want people not to see you going from A to B? That too. Want to be picked up from a dangerous spot? Well, there's an extra charge for that, but yeah.

I ain't the best, though. Don't get me wrong, I'm damn good. And proud of it, too. I ain't the top, but I've seen who is. You want to see a cab teleport? No, not really. Don't be ridiculous! But next best thing, and I mean it. I can pull some crazy stunts. I can put a car in places you'd never have thought possible. But her...? You wouldn't believe it even once you'd seen it.

Her handle is Red Light Sonja. And I'm still in love with that bitch. But that's a story for another time.

"Where we going?" I ask my grumpy passenger.

"The airport!" His voice gives off warning bells of urgency.

"When's your flight leave?" I keep my tone conversational, because I strongly suspect what's coming. Pull smoothly into traffic. No stunts yet, not until we know for sure.

"Thirty minutes! You need to step on it!"

Ah, yes. The old argument of 'I'm running late so it's YOUR fault.' This would be why I don't work for one of the big corps. The airport would normally be forty minutes away.

"How strong is your stomach?" The question catches him unaware. He stares at me in the rearview. I repeat the question.

"Uh, just get me there!"

I free up part of my brain to start calculating routes. Who am I kidding; it was already doing that. I just give it more leeway to do what it does best. Meanwhile, I text the office.

[Taxi: Auth for 2x fare? 30min/airport]

[RedLdr: Charge 90e.]

[Taxi: Copy that, Red Leader]

"It'll cost you ninety euro. You good with that?"

"Whatever! Just step on it. I'm calling the airport to see if they'll delay..."

"Don't bother. You'll be there. Hold on. I mean it."

I ignore his response. Deep breath. Include everything, focus on nothing. Here we go.

The noobs think it's about speed. Go faster and you'll get there sooner, right? That's not it at all, not in the city. It's about patterns. Burning rubber on one block won't help if you're stuck at a red light on the next. You have to know the patterns of lights, pedestrians, cops, everything. Know when businesses close. Know when the schools get out. Know when conferences are happening, when the ferries and container ships dock, when the trains run (and when they break down). Know when someone's pulled over, and where that fire just broke out.

Sounds exhausting, neh?

Not for me. It's always been automatic, even before the cyber. Eight channels of news constantly feeding in, and my brain always finding the patterns. Some people think it's a mental disorder. I call it free money.

The car sings and dances. The route is challenging, especially as we near the airport. There's lots of traffic, and more importantly, lots of security. They don't like vehicles that behave erratically, and there's only a few service roads that won't set off the alarms. But I still make it in twenty-two minutes.

I know the guy's in a rush, so I tell him to slot his card before we arrive. He probably isn't the type to run on a fare, but I don't like or trust people, especially the 'better than everyone else' types.

Yeah, I know, the irony isn't lost on me.

He doesn't say thanks (typical) before he yanks the door and runs for the terminal building, but I notice a 30e tip on the bill. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all. I pull away from the taxi stand at a more sedate pace; there's no need to rush, for now.

[Taxi: Hey Tbelt, wanna go for drinks tonight?]

[Tbelt: Same answer as every week, you ass!]

There's my Tinkerbelt. Never changes. What a sweetheart!