Free Fog Bastards 2 Destination by Bill Robinson

using something resembling a backstroke so that I can look behind, but I can't find the little devil. I pop down over the 91 freeway, then play tag with myself across a couple hills and canyons, but it doesn't help. I assume the drone has stayed in the clear air above me.
     
     
I drop into the wooded area beside the apartments, and take my clothes off. Rather than leave them, I decide to throw caution to the wind, and simply ball them up in a hand. If the drone can read that small a radar signature, I'm screwed eventually anyhow.
     
     
For a couple minutes, I see nothing, then a shadow passes over the woods, too big for any local bird. And, sure enough, as I follow it, I make out the outline of one of the larger drones. I move a few feet over, and manage to get both drones, the little one over the apartments and its big cousin, in my view. They aren't as coordinated as they should be, and occasionally the woods are out of sight.
     
     
The next time it happens, I rocket skyward at maximum subsonic velocity until I am well above the two devils. Nothing about their patterns changes during the next couple of circles, but to be on the safe side, I fly away to the north. No feeling of being followed follows.
     
     
I turn north, skirting downtown again, then cut south into Orange County before making a loop and approaching Anaheim from the opposite direction I used leaving. I drop down behind my favorite Chinese restaurant among all Chinese restaurants I have never eaten at, become me, put my underwear back on, and jog over to Starbuck. A half hour later we are pulling into my garage, apparently safe, but maybe still not sound.
     
     
At 7:30 I am walking into the LAPD Main building, and over into Terminal 7. Perez is already there. I'm expecting some comment about Celeste, but instead she has a question.
     
     
"That was you who called in the alert about the container on Tuesday?"
     
     
I nod.
     
     
"Another 20 kilos, which the lab says is from the same source as the first 20. First shipment came in from Dallas, second shipment from Houston."
     
     
"We been able to trace it back?"
     
     
"Nope. Has to be airline or airport employees getting it on the flights, but no clues so far. Two different airlines, two different airports." She stands up, and walks off into the terminal. I decide I'm supposed to follow and do, needing my warp speed thrusters to catch her.
     
     
We enter the food court just in time to see Celeste Nortin's face on one of the TVs, not on the usual sports show, but on the network morning show. Behind her is a photo of him pulling a miner out of the ground. Perez looks at me.
     
     
"Yes," I say in my best ‘it's not my fault' voice, "I talked to her again last night."
     
     
"Talked?" My face must have immediately given me away, because she hits me on the arm, hard, much harder than normal, and gives me her seriously disappointed in me look.
     
     
We're in the bar now, so we can hear the sound. Celeste is talking about how I feel so responsible for the three men I could not save, how much I want to fix the world, and how she wishes I would accept the value in what I do.
     
     
Perez hits my arm, not quite as hard as the last time, but given that I am still throbbing from the first one it makes me jump.
     
     
A newswoman who I recognize, but not by name, is doing the interview. She asks Celeste about my going after the drug dealers, asks her what she thinks my life is like, and asks her about action figures. Celeste gives a truthful account on each, truthful based on what I told her, not the actual, minus any mention of the Army. They talk about how I might react when I find out the shopkeeper in Chile got $100,000 for my swimsuit, and the BMW owner sold his new convertible for $600,000. Then the final question, what am I really like? "He's a great guy, someone you'd be happy to take home to your mom even if he couldn't fly." And with that, they try to sell their viewers some stuff they