Dudley Dern sipped coffee from the world's biggest mug as he watched his truck being loaded. Four titans carried the weight of the package on their shoulders like pallbearers. They shifted the weight until they could load the golden glowing box on the bed of his semi. They secured the payload with metal straps so it wouldn't move unless all five of the restraints snapped apart.

Dudley had never seen that happen on any run down the Highway.

He dug into his overalls breast pocket for a cigar to stick in his mouth. He snapped his red fingers. A spark ignited the end of the cigar. He puffed on it as a functionary worked the pad on the side of the bed. Metal walls sprang into existence around the load, protecting it from harm with inches thick regenerating armor.

If he lost the load, the thief would have to have the combination, or a cutter that could slice the armor apart before it healed the wound.

They certainly couldn't get the combination from him. Drivers weren't trusted with that.

The functionary floated over to where Dudley stood. He consisted of a coatrack body with a basketball head, floating horns over his brow, and a sheet of paperwork made of fire. He looked down at Dudley.

“Dern,” said the functionary. “I thought you had moved to some other line of work.”

“Hello, Titus,” said Dudley. He puffed on his cigar. “What am I taking today?”

“I don't know,” said Titus. He looked pained to admit that. “The paperwork doesn't have a label for the cargo.”

“Seriously?,” said Dudley. Top secret cargo meant trouble. Someone wanted whatever was being shipped from the Station, down the Highway, to the dreamer in question. They couldn't hope to get into the Station, but taking a truck on the Highway was no challenge for Pients with the knowhow.

He had seen a few trucks blown up over the years by bandits. He hadn't lost one yet. There was always a first time. And he didn't need the first time being something without a manifest. Heads would roll, and he liked his right where it was.

“All I have is a name, and a location,” said Titus. He handed over the burning paperwork. “A Christina Maybourne, at Mockery Lane.”

“Prime ambush country,” said Dudley. He chomped on his cigar as he read the sheets with squinting eyes. “All right. Let me get this show on the road.”

“Be careful, Dern,” said Titus. “We've lost some cargo in the last few months. Someone is out there hunting for something.”

“They won't get it from me,” said Dudley. He nodded to the functionary as he walked to where the cab of his truck waited to be united with the rest of the rig. As soon as he got that done, he could pull out.

“Hey, Dwarf,” said one of the Titans as the group went to get other cargo for other trucks waiting in the station. “This thing is heavier than a Pronouncement.”

“Thanks, Sluggo,” said Dudley. He walked around to the driver's side of the cab. It rankled to be called Dwarf even though he was the shortest devil in the yard, possibly the shortest driver anywhere across the existence of the Dreamlands. Getting mad at a Titan was like getting mad at a landslide. They didn't care if you were mad and they could bury you.

Dudley pressed the side of the cab with his wide hand. The side opened like a flower so he could clamber up in the pilot's chair. Plugs in his overalls lit up as the cockpit came to life around him. Screens of data floated in the air to tell him everything he needed to know as the cab accessed the location towers for the company's locators.

If something happened to a truck like the cargo exploding and taking the driver with it, then someone from the Station would come out and pick up the pieces of the truck, and whatever cargo happened to be laying around.

The driver was on his own. If he could make it back to the Station under his own power, he could maybe sign up to get another truck. Until that happened, he was put in some place and expected to wait his turn until something changed to help him out.

Some drivers never got that second chance to get back on the road.

Dudley checked his cameras and backed up to the links that would fit the cab to its trailer. He stopped when he seemed to be close enough to hook the two pieces of his rig together.

He put the mud in its holder as he concentrated. This was the worst part of the job in his opinion.

He extended mechanical arms out to grab on the trailer. He used those to slide back into place. Flexible rods extended between the two pieces and hooked them together. More screens came to life to show the trailer was telling him what was going on with it.

Dudley smiled. Everything looked ready to roll. He placed the paperwork in its crystal holder on the dashboard. A map popped up to show him where to go.

He didn't need a map to get to Mockery Lane. He needed it to find the particular individual to give them the cargo. He didn't know how he was going to unload it without Titans, but maybe the client had her own unloaders.

Dudley aimed his truck for the main gate of the Station. He followed the arrows to the giant barrier keeping random dreamers and other things out. HOPE TO SEE YOU AGAIN hovered over the exit.

He smiled as he waited. The truck had to be scanned and certified before they would let him on the road. He couldn't get back in if his truck didn't match the scan. The paperwork on identity verification was longer than his whole body, and a pain to fill out on top of that.

A few second later, three green lights appeared on one of his screens. He was free to leave as soon as the exit doors opened. The barrier split apart. He ordered the throttle to open. The jets under the truck propelled it forward through the gate.

Dudley followed the long onramp to the Highway. He kept one eye on the gate in the back cameras. They closed to prevent anyone trying to force their way through. Anything caught between them when they slammed shut would be crushed by the density of the gates.

Everything looked good. Mockery Lane sat in a bad section of the countryside, but he didn't expect any real problems until he got to that area. Most of the Highway never gave him a problem, but he kept an eye out anyway.

Too many drivers had problems because they didn't watch the road. That led to highjackings and pileups caused by dreams behind the wheels of vehicles they didn't know how to control.

Dudley spotted a black sedan following him. He wondered why it didn't move up and pass. He checked his speed. He hadn't reached Highway minimums yet.

He marked it with his weapons systems. It might be tough enough to go toe to toe with his rig. If it was, he hoped he could outrun it.

He kept an eye on the black car as he poured on the throttle. Other cars and trucks went by, but it stayed the same distance behind him no matter what.

He doubted he could outrun it. Something like that usually had an excessive amount of horsepower built in. Dreamers loved that kind of thing, but so did most Pients using the Highway.

He decided to see what would happen if he slowed down. Maybe the car would pass him if he did that.

Dudley throttled down. He let the systems watch the cars and trucks pass by in the fast lane. His shadow stayed on point, slowing to match him. What was his next move?

He saw a ghost walking on the side of the road. It wore some kind of uniform that he didn't recognize. It held up a lamp beside a sign that said High Hope Gulch two miles ahead. Then the spirit vanished as he passed.

He wondered if that was a trap, or a way out of whatever was going on. Spirits on the Highway were a random grab bag of problems in themselves. The thought he could leave the Highway and force his pursuit to stay on somehow appealed to him.

He looked for the exit as he closed on the mile marker. He spotted the ramp coming up. It didn't read on his navigation system anywhere. He checked behind him. The car was still behind him, but speeding up to keep him in sight.

He hoped he didn't turn the rig over with what he planned to do.

He poured the throttle on and jerked the truck over to the exit lane. He jammed the reverse to slow down at the bottom of the ramp. He turned left and gave the jets power to drag the truck through the light at the end of the ramp. He poured it on so the rig roared as it sailed through the streets.

He waved at some old thing waving a fist at him as he barreled through the traffic. The resulting honking horns could deafen the dead.

Dudley checked the rear cameras. The black car barreled after him. He thought he saw two presences through the darkened glass, but he wasn't sure. The driver didn't see the concrete truck until it smashed into the side of the car. The concrete poured over the car, enveloping it.

The driver smiled. Maybe that ghost had been a friend after all.

He checked the map. The run off the Highway had put him miles away from where he should be. He had to get back on track and get his load delivered before something else happened.

He sipped his coffee and checked his cigar. The coffee was cold. The cigar had gone out. He shook his head. He couldn't stop to get more coffee before he dropped his cargo off. If he stopped now, that would just give someone else a chance at him.

He snapped his fingers and relit his cigar. At least now he knew someone was interested in the load. All he had to do was deliver it before there was problems.

Dudley didn't like the questions that floated in his mind, but he didn't see any way to get answers other than stopping to question the next guy following him. He didn't want answers that badly.

He put on Waylon and sat back to enjoy the rest of the trip.