Free Taking the Highway by M.H. Mead

you?” Kosmatka said. “A general announcement of some kind—”
    “Would have the exact effect we wish to avoid,” Madison said. “Panic.”
    “It wouldn’t work anyway,” Bernstein said.
    “Because of the NFA thing?” Kosmatka asked. “Sure, some fourths are NFA, but only a small percentage of them. Besides, they read—”
    “It wouldn’t work because of the fourths themselves,” Bernstein sniffed. “You know what they’re like.”
    “No, Mr. Bernstein,” Andre said evenly. “What are fourths like?”
    Sofia sucked in a breath and Talic mumbled, “Here we go.”
    “The Minimum Passenger Requirement Act was intended to encourage people toward public modes of transportation and away from personal-use automobile travel. It was a strategy that worked in every major American city, except Detroit.”
    “What do you expect?” Sofia asked. “We’re the Motor City.”
    “Yes,” Bernstein said. “The independent streak regarding modes of transport is now deeply rooted. One factor has allowed it to endure in Detroit, even flourish.”
    “Fourths.” Heads turned to look at Andre, but when he didn’t elaborate, Bernstein continued.
    “Just so. In the case of Detroit, the Minimum Passenger Requirement Act had the unfortunate side-effect of creating these so-called fourths.”
    Unfortunate? Andre scribbled on his paper. He was so tired of pundits claiming that fourths were ruining the city, as if their presence was the cause of people commuting long distances in their own cars, instead of the effect of it. Carpools were great in theory, and most of the time, they worked fine. But there was always someone out sick or someone on vacation. Things happened. And when they did, fourths got everyone to work on time. Safely.
    Bernstein ran his fingers over the tabletop, leaving streaks on the glass. “The number of registered badges fluctuates constantly. It’s rarely the same people from year to year. However, studies show that a four-person carpool lacks one of its members an average of once every twelve working days. With approximately a hundred thousand carpools using the Detroit highways, that means there are over eight thousand fourths plying their trade on a daily basis.”
    Wrong, Andre wrote. He assumes every fourth rides every day.
    Damn lies and statistics, Sofia wrote back.
    “How could there be that many?” Talic eyed Andre. “No one can support themselves doing this.”
    Bernstein spoke again. “For most, fourthing is a secondary source of income. Many jobs have flex time or telepresence capability, so fourths can spend their days in town, waiting to ride back out, and still hold down a job.”
    “If you can call it that,” Talic mumbled.
    “A job,” Bernstein said. “Not a career. Most are marginally employed, at best. Some are college students, some hold part-time jobs, most stop fourthing when they grow up a little.”
    “Excuse me?” Andre cut in.
    Sofia spoke up. “Isn’t there a connection between the presence of fourths and a city’s productivity, or even its whole attitude? They make us look better. After all, nobody would pick up a slovenly fourth. They’re encouraged to be—” Her eyes flicked over to Andre for a bare instant. “—presentable.”
    “Don’t forget witty and charming,” he added.
    “More to the point,” Sofia continued. “If these fourths are truly working for pocket change, and they learn that there’s a killer out there targeting fourths, they might stop riding.”
    Bernstein leaned back in his chair. “Good.”
    Bad! Andre’s stylus dug into the paper. Very, very bad.
    “We license too many paid riders as it is. Economic models show that Detroit could lose up to half its fourths with no loss of productivity.” Bernstein leaned forward, leading with his double chin, as if to tell them a great secret. The others at the table angled toward him. “You know what I think? It’s a turf war. Fourths killing other fourths, eliminating the