The volcanic rock path fell away behind the truck at a rate that only rewarded stubborn pressure on the accelerator, and Proxy had been keeping that pressure steady ever since he entered the zone.
The road ahead was solid. The road behind was lava. That made the point without asking for commentary.
The truck in front of him had been sitting in the middle of the narrow path since the second curve after zone entry, and its method was simple enough to insult.
Stay centered, then slide into Proxy's lane whenever the road bent, using the turn itself to force him into either braking or the lava.
The driver had done it twice already.
Proxy had answered both times by steering away, reading the drift in the shift of its weight before it became a problem.
The third bend was coming, and the other truck was already preparing the same move, its nose beginning to slide left with the confidence of something that had worked twice and mistaken that for wisdom.
