Tracking an object using quantum wave entanglement is either really simple or universally impossible. It’s really simple if you have a tracking receiver that is attuned to the signal being emitted by whatever you’re tracking. It’s extremely – no it’s impossibly hard to track anything without the use of such a device, or by using one that isn’t attuned to that exact tracking signal. In this case, Blitt was lucky in that there was only one package en route from that ill-fated warehouse this early in the morning and that there was no chance of another package leaving the same depot any time soon. The fact that every item within the shipping crate was tagged and Blitt had no way of knowing which signal was the one he was after was irreverent so long as the crate stayed on the truck. He only had to watch the glob of packages moving about on his tracker’s screen in order to determine the exact location of them all.

It was moving up the District Main Expressway. Blitt decided to simply watch it and see where the lift-sled exited. Perhaps the absolute BEST feature of quantum tracking tags was the ability to track from anywhere within the known universe.

Blitt decided that if he was going to steal back a shipment of – *sigh* – candy from a gun-toting gang who wanted whatever it for who-knew-what purpose, then he’d better be prepared. He drove his mag sled to his apartment to pick up some of the gear that he neglected to bring with him on what was supposed to be a simple candy fetch mission. First, his highly-modified plasma pistol, which he didn’t carry often due to its illegal status. It was a gray area, but if he ever got into trouble with the law he’d prefer to not have that little issue hanging over him on top of whatever he’d gotten himself into in the first place. Not to mention the fact that the modified blaster wasn’t nearly as reliable as the much smaller and less powerful factory stock one he normally, stowed safely away in the glove-box of the mag-sled.

Second, was what looked like a large, silver-metallic sheet of micro-thin cellophane. This device, currently folded up into a neat square, unfolded into a large 10 x 10 sheet which when activated would cling snugly to the body and display a projected image that could be used as a disguise visual, tracking beacon, or whatever the wearer had programmed. Of course, Blitt had personally modified his body sheet to react to tiny electro-static fibers woven into his clothing so that it clinged to them seamlessly. He mentally activated the sheet and it sprang upward from his hands, unfolding into a large silver blanket as it stuck to him like a thin layer of soap.

His desired effect was anonymity, and the body sheet would provide that and more. Although capable of rendering him in any of one of a thousand outfits, Blitt didn’t care which one he used and randomly picked casual street attire as he hopped back into his mag-lev and sped in the direction of the tracker.

They had exited with the package on Crest Street. Blitt trailed behind by more than eight miles, but since he was in a light and fast single-passenger sled the distance quickly closed. By the time he’d reached the exit, the big trailor-sled had come to a halt. Blitt zoomed in on the location. It was a garage. One of the shady places the local teenagers took their sleds to have stolen parts mounted and firmware serial numbers re-written.

Blitt didn’t want to drive up to the place and draw a lot of attention to himself, so he left the sled levitating down the street a way, near a row of office buildings. He footed the rest, thrusting the custom pistol into his shoulder holster and the smaller unmodified one into his waistband at the small of his back. He then mentally activated a body sheet program that camouflaged him against his surroundings. It wouldn’t fool anyone who was directly observing him, but it was the ideal thing for approaching a guarded location without being noticed. Still, Blitt kept low and clung to the nearby buildings for cover. The body sheet wouldn’t protect him from plasma fire as long he ran this particular program and he didn’t want to push his luck. It definitely wouldn’t protect him from bullets, if they were nasty enough to have some of the heavy fire mixed into their arsenal.

The garage was a row of three spaces on either side of the building. The metal doors on all the spaces visible to Blitt were closed, and he would bet that the ones on the other side were too. Outside there were a couple older model sports sleds, half taken apart, the now-abandoned dream visions of some maniac mechanic. Although the place was scattered with various sled parts it still managed to remain somewhat tidy by most chop shop garage standards. There were no signs of guards, or any other people. From his position, Blitt couldn’t even see the trailor-sled that was supposedly parked here. He reasoned, however, that it must be parked on the other side of the building and cursed himself for choosing this approach without checking the place out first. Note-to-self, Blitt thought, let’s see if Danathan will spring for an auto body sheet for any future mobile recon missions he may want to trick me into.

As he rounded the corner of the shop, being sure to stay low and close to the building so as to remain in the dark shadows, he wished he was under the protective shell of a mag-sled chassis. As he came round, however, the thought faded, and the lift-sled came into view. There were men unloading their spoil from it. One of them was guiding the forklift down the narrow, makeshift ramp that was leaned up against the trailor-sled bed while another, dressed in a smart gray suit, directed him cleanly off the lift-sled with hand signals. A third was unmistakably the thug toting the plas-rifle, which he still shouldered in a menacing manner, casually looking about, as if just waiting for something to jump out of the shadows so he could shoot it. Blitt wasn’t about to jump out and get shot. Not just yet.

He didn’t have a plan. Other than somehow obtaining the shipment, which would be considerably harder now that it had been unloaded from the trailor-sled, Blitt had not given much thought to how his re-commandeering of the cargo should take place. He was, however, certain that he had not been noticed since he hadn’t had to dodge a laser blast, which was as much as he could ask for at the moment.

He gripped his pistol and watched the forklift wiggle its way down the ramp. He thought about just popping off a few shots just to see if he could take out the rifleman. Then he might be able to hold the other two off from drawing their weapons while ordering the forklift driver to load the package back on the lift-sled. Given the situation, and the fact that his body suit camo just might grant him a few crucial seconds of cover, Blitt thought it was a decent plan. The gang was clearly willing to kill in order to get whatever was inside it, but they’d have to be crazy to strap off point-blank against a guy carrying a mod blaster and wearing ‘flect armor. Unless they had bullets. Blitt was rather sure they didn’t, but what he couldn’t be remotely sure of was whether or not there was only three of them, or if there were more armed persons inside the building.

As the thought occurred to him, something caught his attention that made him raise his weapon again. It was a sound, the sound of one of the garage doors opening up, meaning that there was a fourth person inside, possibly more. Shit, he thought as he pressed his back to the wall of the building. He peeked around the corner again. There was a woman, not the normal sort that ran with criminal scum, but some leggy goddess who carried every bit the untouchable air that her male associates did. She was dressed smartly in a short grey skirt and flowing green blouse that snapped about like a flag in the crisp morning wind. An older man had come out of the garage with her. He looked to be at least 50, wore glasses, a dark blue designer suit and a funny brown hat.

The man looked clearly pleased to see the shipment and clasped his hands together as he inspected it upon the forklift. He then escorted the driver into the opened garage with a sweep of his gloved hand and the entire group followed it inside. The garage door closed.

I should have brought more firepower, thought Blitt.