Guy Stewart: Absolute Limits

“MIT and ESA virtually given up on it. What makes you think you can figure it out?” said Barney Sanchez.

Lila Duerkop turned into the fast lane. Snowflakes drifting from a winter sky shot past them.

A gold Toyota cut her off, its horn blaring. “You’d think since Congress changed the speed limit to eighty people would be satisfied. But noooo! Everybody has to drive a hundred now!”

It was a ritual complaint from their early days at the University of Minnesota. Barney said, “Maybe she was in a hurry?”

“Speed limit is a law. But Americans think it’s a challenge to their inalienable right to do whatever they please.” She got into the fast lane as cars continued to race past them. “Back to your question: we can figure it out because we’re creative. MIT and ESA have thrown money at it. But I believe the solution will come from finding a unique viewpoint. We’ve had the Buhari Equations for six years. We know FTL speeds are possible.”

Once over the Mississippi, they parked in the open faculty ramp and got out. “We re going to break this law, Barney.”

Nodding, he opened a stairwell door for her. “See you later, honey.”

“Have a nice day at lawyer’s school, dear,” she replied, grinning.

They were on their way home late when an old Mustang rocketed past them.

“A jet engine!” Lila exclaimed as the orange ring of flame faded into the night. “He must have been doing two hundred.”

“The cops couldn’t catch him even if they wanted to.” Barney settled back in the seat. “If Congress could see the way people drive, they’d change the law.”

“If they did, no one could figure out a new way to make up the lost income.” They both laughed. Lila gasped and the car swerved.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got it! A way to get the unique viewpoint we need! For free.”

“What...

Turning to him with a wild grin, she said, “You’ve got connections. And now I have a plan...”

When the federal law went into effect, the new signs earned Congress a Golden Fleece The Public Award. Committees and action groups were formed to fight it, but in the end, the law prevailed.

On their way home seventeen months later, Lila slowed the car to look. It was wider than the old signs had been and the numbers and the units had changed. But it was still familiar.

Blushing rouge from a spectacular May sunset, the black on white sign plainly read, “SPEED LIMIT 186,000 MPS.”