"One's opponent is, in a very real sense, an extension of oneself. While a successful combatant's vehicle and weapons must serve him flawlessly, it is the nature of one's opponent that decides the outcome of any engagement. Masters of the ancient art of kyujitsu, or Japanese archery, used to say that a successful hit depended upon the correct mixture of four elements: the archer, the bow, the arrow, and the target. The last element was said to be the most important of the four. This philosophy still holds true today, although, of course, the technology of personal warfare has changed dramatically."

Although Sammy Hughes was a self-proclaimed atheist, he hoped to Cod that he could wipe the sweat from his brow. He couldn't, of course, not at 115 MPH on one of the busiest lanes of the 14-lane Philly to D.C. Autobahn with two screechers; on his tail. He knew that taking one of his hands off the wheel would either send him into a spin-and-flip or the reinforced concrete of the center divider. Sure, selfsteerers had been on the Western automotive market for over three years now, but the Driver's BBS continually reported incidents in which they were proven highly unreliable in combat situations. If the other guy had an onboard Macintosh CV-40 or CV-50, he could conceivably tap into your self-steerer's computerized brain and control your vehicles' movements like he was operating a remote-controlled toy.

Besides, Sammy was leery of new technology ever since the multidirectional minedropper that a fast-talking Motortech salesman managed to talk him into buying laid an anti- vehicular mine under his own right rear wheel. If Sammy hadn't been monitoring his sideboard scanner at the time, he may very well have run over the damn thing and blown his car and himself to Kingdom Come. No, Sammy never bought anything unless it had been thoroughly tested in active combat by the other clowns on the road. He wasn't about to become a guinea pig for some hotshot auto weaponry manufacturer. Let the other guy do it. He didn't have the time or the money.

Sammy allowed the sweat to congeal on his forehead, thinking that the steady agony that it presented would provide him with the crazy man's edge which it looked like he was going to need to win this duel. One of the screechers; tried to pass him on the left side, and it was then that he noticed that the rider was an android. A screecher was ridden very much like its 20th century predecessor, the motorcycle, except that the rider sat in a seemingly unwieldy sitting position with one's legs high up near the front of the machine, very much like a dragster driver.

The screecher's robotic rider turned its chrome plated head towards Sammy's car, looking for a weak spot, as the screecher behind Sammy gunned it and tried to pass on the other side. Sammy didn't give him the chance: he veered sharply to the right, cutting the screecher off behind him while at the same time he triggered the rear-left mini-napalm rockets. The left-firing rocket missed the android completely, setting a small brush fire by the side of the road, but the rear shot was a direct hit. The rider of the screecher behind him must have been human, because Sammy could see in his rear scanner that everything above the rider's neck was aflame and blazing gloriously, and steel didn't burn that well.

The human rider flew head-first off the back of his screecher and hit the pavement with a loud crack. He must have accidentally hit a reserve power switch as he and his vehicle parted company, for the riderless screecher suddenly gained a burst of speed, rammed into the back of Sammy's car, and flew at least 20 feet into the air. A second later, Sammy heard the screecher crashing back to earth an eighth of a mile behind him.

There was still the android to deal with. Sammy quickly realized that the 'droid's electronic brain was on Independent Directive, since it had not broken off the attack when its master's screecher was removed from the picture. This robot was thinking for itself, following its main directive, which, of course, was to kill Sammy Hughes and turn his car into a pile of burning scrap metal.

The thought of being taken out by a machine, a product, infuriated Sammy. He knew that the chances were good that he would buy it some day soon, most likely in a burning wreck with the smell of melting plastic and charred flesh in his nostrils. He could live with that. All he asked was that his killer be a lover of the art, a fellow craftsman, an experienced duelist. Notsome pre-programmed thing with microchips in its head and no sex organs. Anything but that. He had spent too much time honing his skills against real duelists for that. However, machine or not, Sammy soon discovered that the thing he was up against now was anything but an unworthy opponent.

It wisely chose to remain near the left side of Sammy's car, counting on the theory that the napalm rocket was Sammy's only piece of left-firing armament. The 'droid's theory was correct. Sammy was now totally defenseless on that side. Sammy slowed down, trying to get the android's screecher in the sights of his front-firing 20mm cannons, but the 'droid realized what he was doing and slowed to match him.

"Goddamn chrome-plated bastard," Sammy growled. The 'droid couldn't hear him but it made Sammy fell better anyway.

Sammy suddenly heard a loud, electronic whine as his vehicle's interior began to rattle uncontrollably. The 'droid was using a sonic device on him. The whine reached a higher pitch, as a thin crack began to spread over Sammy's windshield. His teeth felt as if they were going to rattle out of his head as he reached for the Signal Scrambler switch on the dashboard.

It was no good. The sonic wave emanating from the 'droid's screecher had Sammy paralyzed and it was impossible for him to reach the Signal Scrambler. Even if he was able to Teach the Scrambler, he thought, chances were that it would do little good. The 'droid was simply too close and locked in too tightly.

The crack on Sammy's windshield grew larger.

The whine of the Sonic device grew louder.

Sammy played the only card he had: he increased the pressure of his right foot on the gas pedal as much as he could under the circumstances, as the speedometer's LED readout flashed from 115 to 125 to 140 and finally 160. The 'droid matched Sammy's speed, relentlessly continuing to batter Sammy's vehicle with pure waves of electronic sound.

At the moment that Sammy's gut told him was the right moment, he brought his left foot down hard on the brake pedal. His car's tires, screeching maddeningly, brought him to a long and violent stop. The unsuspecting 'droid roared past him on the left, and Sammy instinctively hit first the Signal Scrambler switch and then the 20mm cannons' fire switch. Streams of explosive shells left Sammy's unmoving vehicle at a speed of over 5,000 feet per second, smashing into the rear of the 'droid's screecher some 30 yards down the road. The screecher and its mechanical rider were ripped to pieces in a matter of seconds, and a heartbeat later the screecher's stored rockets blew, sending bits of debris in every direction.

The wreck burned for over 30 minutes as Sammy sat in his car and watched. Three control dials and his left goggle lens were cracked from the force of the screecher's sonic device. Sammy's hands were still shaking from the experience, and he knew that it would probably take at least 15 more minutes for him to regain his composure and get back on the road.

The Network 24 helicopter arrived after a few minutes, hovering over the scene of the road battle. As the whup-whup-whup of the chopper's rotors echoed in Sammy's ears, he recalled their all-too-familiar television jingle: "Network 24 with you all the way, serving duelists and fans 24 hours a day!" Sammy's radio crackled and sputtered as the Network 24 chopper contacted him.

"Good afternoon, sir. Are you responsible for this?" the voice on the other end of the short-wave buzzed.

"Yeah, I sure am," Sammy replied.

"Congratulations sir, for a successful road victory. Could I please have your identification code?"

"Zed-zero-two-four-five-six-eight-two-two, Hughes, Samuel M."

"Thank you, Mr. Hughes. You will be credited in the Network 24 master databank with one confirmed road kill."

"Only one? There were two screechers on my tail. I dusted 'em both."

There was a momentary pause before the Network 24 representative answered. "That is correct, Mr. Hughes, but our lifescan indicates that the rider of one of the screechers was an android. Our new policy does not count robotic opponents as 'confirmed kills.' They are generally thought to be weak and unworthy opponents."

There was no response from Sammy.

"Hello? Hello, Mr. Hughes? Are you still there?"

The only sound the Network 24 representative could hear on the other end was the sound of uncontrollable laughter.