by P A Wikoff
T he luxury cruiser, LC500R, arrived in pristine condition. Sitting in the driver’s seat, there was a life-sized cardboard cutout of a person. He had a stupid, wide-faced grin and wore primary-colored clothes. So, I did what anyone would have done; I opened the door, grabbed the cutout and tossed it on the ground without a care.
The sticker lining the windshield also had to be removed so that I would be able to see. This Boyle character had already purchased the vehicle. He didn’t need to see all the specs and safety ratings that were printed on the sticker. It was excessive and unnecessary packaging—like shrink wrap. Slowly and carefully, I tried to remove it, to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, the whole thing shredded in the process. The thing came off, but it wasn’t going back on.
“Not a problem. This sticker business will be my excuse for writing out a damage return form. The…sticker was scuffed,” I reasoned as I entered the vehicle.
I balled up the sticker mess and tossed it in the backseat while I took the helm. The wheel grips were soft as my fingers tucked into them. Yes, this model came fully equipped with an auto drive function, but I didn’t use the navigation to store my parents’ address in the system. Also, I felt really comfortable in the driver’s seat, like the captain of a starship—relaxed, yet important.
As it powered up, the engine purred gently. Waiting for it to initialize, a couple of settings caught my eye—cabin pressure and internal terraforming, in particular. I could breathe in here. That was one of the benefits of a car over a bike, for sure. I removed my mask and placed it on the seat next to me while loosening a couple of straps and buckles on my out gear. That is better.
It smelled strongly of new materials fresh from the factory. Where my parents always loved to smell their stuff when unboxing it, I hated the distinct scent. It was a combination of oil, rubber, heavy plastic, and something fruity to try and hide the first three. In my opinion, it only made things worse.
“Greetings. Congratulations on your new hover car! Would you like a brief update on the new features the LC500R has to offer?” a voice that sounded very human despite its overly joyous demeanor asked through the internal speakers. It was a voice I had come to despise—the same default voice all the machines had, the same voice A.L.I.C.E. used.
“A tutorial? No thanks,” I said. No one had time for such things. It was ready to drive, and boy, did it. It was zippy, and unlike my Sky bike, you didn’t have to go forward and bank turns. This thing could go sideways or diagonal with ease. I had to take it out for a lap or two before putting it to work, you know…to warm it up.
When I set the cruise speed, it went that exact speed. There was no accelerating or ramping up to get there. It was instantaneous; zero to sixty in zero seconds. In truth, I was going more like zero to twenty in zero seconds, but it was still impressive.
It also had a wonderful instant-stop feature, which made collisions nearly impossible. I read about it online, but I didn’t dare test it out…until I was forced to.
It stopped instantaneously, as I almost backed into my father’s gear.
“That was close, Mr. Boyle,” the chauffeur A.I. said.
Granted, I was a little flustered since I’d never done anything like this before, but I would have crashed my second hover vehicle of the day if the system hadn’t intervened. It was a strange, unnerving sensation but also cool. When it auto-stopped, something happened to the gravity or density of the air inside the cab, restricting your movements to a crawl. It was as if you were under water. This must have been in order to reduce whiplash or something. It was neat tech, for sure, and only lasted a split second.
“Do you need some assistance?” the car condescended.
“No, I think I can handle it.” I tried to not let it get under my skin, but it was a hard thing to do, especially when you have a huge chip on your shoulder weighing you down, like I do.
A couple of calculations later and the gear was locked, loaded, and ready for transport.
The borrowed vehicle moved with ease, not showing any indication that it was pulling a large container more than one and a half times its size.
I had to admit this was a good idea. I leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the drive through the empty streets and past deserted office buildings. This was the first time I was able to really relax since my alarm went off this morning. Then it started to come back to me. I still had to pee–and badly.
There was something cool about adrenaline; how it turned off key features in your body in order to keep you alive. One of them is pain. Apparently, another is having to use the facilities. But now an unexpected river was coming, whether I liked it or not, and I did not want a puddle of evidence inside the very car I borrowed.
“Car, stop.”
The A.I. took the urgency in my voice into consideration and performed an instant stop again, instead of smaller, incremental stops in order to slow down. I was met again with the familiar feeling that I was under water. This is not helping.
“What seems to be…”
“Open the door. Now!” I cut it off, trying to use the manual exit button, but the child locks were engaged.
“Which door shall…”
“You know what door,” I said, banging on the window.
The driver’s side door parted in the center with a sound that was too similar to that of a flushing toilet to be a coincidence.
This thing is messing with me, I know it.
I shot the cruiser a dirty over-the-shoulder look while I made my way to a stone wall. Everything at this point was a blur. I don’t know exactly how or in what order I managed to remove my coat and outside protective gear, or when I happened to grab my breathing mask, but somehow I managed it all and enjoyed the sweet, sweet relief.
After probably the longest pee of my life, I made my way back to the cruiser.
“Should I alert a clean-up crew to…”
“Not necessary.”
“But ordinance 832 clearly states…”
“Look. There are few times where a person, like me, needs a little privacy, and that was one of them.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized.”
“It is okay. I don’t expect you to be perfect. Just don’t let it happen again.” Mr. Boyle is going to thank me for that code correction.
“Do you want me to erase the violating incident from my memory log?”
“You know what? Yes, yes, I do. That was a huge invasion of privacy, and I would appreciate you deleting it right away…along with everything else. After this ride, I want a complete wipe of the system. A clean slate. Can you do that for me?”
“A reboot has been scheduled. Sorry again for the intrusion. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Turn off the anti-collision feature.”
“Done.”
As much as I love to bitch about technology, maybe the problem rests more with me and my inability to adapt. Having control over the car would put me in the driver’s seat, not just literally.
Machines are made to make our lives easier, and this caper is turning out to be one of the easiest things I’ve had to do all day.
***
I slowly crept into the driveway with all the cruiser’s illumination lights shut off, using only the ultrasonic doppler map for guidance. Pressing a button, I detached the tether. It gave off a heavy thud. There was no way my parents hadn’t heard that one. A tingling sensation came over me, and I suddenly felt like a rabbit up against a fox—scared out of my wits.
So, I did what anyone would do in my situation; I burned out of there at full speed, and I do mean, full speed. The cruiser was much bigger and heavier than my Sky bike, but it could move when it wanted to. Not “MAX speed” kind of move, but still, it was scary fast for its size. My head was pressed against the headrest while making my getaway.
“That was close, Mr. Boyle,” the chauffeur A.I. said, as I (ironically) nearly rammed into a warning sign. This would have been the point where the auto stop would have kicked in
, but I had disabled that feature.
“That was…that…that…close…that was…” the chauffeur A.I. stuttered repeatedly as I nearly slammed into everything else along my path. No sooner had I adjusted my steering, than I almost ran into something else. This was getting really old, really fast.
“Mute!” I yelled at the thing. It could be my imagination, but that bumbling computer almost sounded like it was scared half to death by my driving.
Once I made it out of the residential district and my heart stopped pounding, I slowed down to an inconspicuous speed. Before long, I returned to the postal warehouse, and everything was almost done.
I got out and approached the kiosk, ready to put in my damage claim, but then I hesitated—my Sky bike.
The thought of destroying it further by inching my way home was horrendous. I could call a tow-bot, but that would go on my permanent record. I might even lose my license to the outside. No, I had to do one teeny, tiny trip, then everything would be done. No one the wiser. No harm done.
Like before, I used the cruiser’s tether to attach and levitate what was left of my bike behind it. And like before, I didn’t seem to notice a difference in its power, with it in tow.
This time around, I drove cautiously slow— a steady fifteen miles per hour. This was valuable cargo I had, and now there wasn’t a time constraint. I had already given up my opportunity for a hike or any other outdoor activities. The day, and most of the night, was already lost to me. My only hope was that the launch hadn’t been affected by my little adventures.
Approaching my parents’ place, I noticed that the house bots were already hard at work unloading what looked like a tube, or pod-bed, or something.
Surely my dad was watching the unboxing of his gear through the worker bots’ camera eyes. No, this was close enough.
Disengaging the tether, my bike eased to the ground with the utmost care this time. Since the last load, I had learned how to use the control sliders in a way that wasn’t just off and on. The same goes for the accelerator and braking mechanisms. It was as simple as holding the button down before sliding. I guess you didn’t need to go zero to whatever in zero seconds if you didn’t want to.
And so, I left it there, a couple houses away from ours, while I took the car back to the warehouse.
I did it. Everything had worked out. Taking in a deep breath, I knew it was over.
“Car, auto drive to the USDS, please.”
A blue light flashed twice to signal a positive response. I figured the car was scheduled to erase everything, anyway. Why not enjoy a little peace before I had to walk all the way back home? I leaned back in the command chair with my hands behind my head—relaxed, and for real this time.
About the time my eyes started to feel heavy, the windshield flashed, turning into a display screen in front of me.
Surprised, I let out a short whimper. It was an entirely new sound for me, one that I wasn’t particularly proud of, but there it was all the same.
Still reeling from the sheer embarrassment, there I sat face to face with whom I could only assume was Mr. Boyle. He had a wide-looking head and a bulbus red nose. I couldn’t tell if he was squinting at me in a judgmental way or if he just had beady, little eyes.
As soon as he saw my face, he reached for something off-screen, and the power to the hover car turned off as it slowed to a stop.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my vehicle?” the man on the screen demanded.
I reached for the button to open the door, but it wasn’t responding, as usual. “Hello there. Mr. Boyle, I presume? Your…uh…package will be delivered shortly,” I said while I reached over to the passenger side to check that button as well.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Damn this thing.
“Who are you? How do you know my name? Why are you inside my car? You better give me some answers, or I’ll be calling the authorities.”
“You mean you haven’t yet? I mean…of course you haven’t. I have done nothing wrong. Just personally dropping off your car, like you ordered. That’s me, the…delivery guy,” I cringed through the lie. Was that even still a thing—a delivery guy? I didn’t think so, but I said it anyway. I scrambled and searched my memory for any relevant information from his file in order to talk my way out of this jam. He hadn’t called the e-police, so there was still a chance; a slim one, but a chance just the same. What is his full name? It is something spacey. Mal, Han, Riker…Skywalker. Yes, his name was Skywalker Boyle. I remember thinking it was a little strange having a last name for a first, but I didn’t have time to dwell on such a small detail.
“What? Then why is it shipping out early?”
“That is a good question, one I have the answer for.” There were so many accounts that I had gone through. What was the reason for the delay? Again, I wracked my brain for any clues. Skywalker…Skywalker…it was a…
“Well?” His hand extended off screen to what I could only assume was a 911 button on the ready.
“…birthday gift for Leia?” I took a stab at it. I wasn’t sure if I was making up this fact, or if it was buried in my subconscious somewhere, but there it was.
“Yes, well, that’s correct. She’s turning sixteen in a month.” His demeanor seemed to calm but only briefly. “But you’re still way too early! You’re going to ruin the whole surprise.”
“Yes, sir, it seems that some of these luxury models had a malfunction in their tethers, so we were, I mean I was ordered to beta test them and…it, uh…passed, twice actually.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It is…new?” That was all I could come up with. Short and sweet. I was crossing both my fingers and my toes, hoping he fell for it.
“Let me check the forums on this.”
Oh, no. He couldn’t cross-reference my story. I would have been made. “This is you hearing about it now.”
“Yes, well, I was the one who called you.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the dead center of the screen. Maybe it was that the screen made him seem larger than life, but it was quite intimidating.
“It must have gone to your junk notifications. I sent out the ding myself.”
I knew that every piece of tech with a chip for brains had their own app, which meant they all spammed you in one way or another. Before I realized I could send notifications to the digital junkyard, my toothbrush was sending me updates on my fight against plaque twice a day.
He pulled up a menu.
Man, nothing got past this guy.
Even with it being mirror-imaged, I could see that his notification junkyard had over ten thousand alerts. There was no way he was going to search through all of them.
“Fine. That was considerate of your company for testing it out, but I would have appreciated some notice beforehand. And not just a notification next time. I want a video call, with a live person.”
“Like what we’re doing right now?” I admit I got a little cocky.
“Yes. In fact, I want you to personally inform me. What was your name again?”
“Jim,” I lied. I didn’t mean to, but I did.
“Jim…what?”
“Just Jim.”
“Your whole name is Jim?”
I nodded, though internally I knew that I should have gone with something more common like Kratos or Raiden.
Skywalker had a confused look on his face.
I held up a finger and loosened my coat to reveal the name tag on my bowling shirt: Jim. “Like this.” At a quick glance, I was hoping it passed as an official badge, or something to give credit to this whole outlandish scene.
“Well, just Jim, I was in the middle of streaming a demo when I got the authorization for funds. That distraction could have ruined my whole experience. That is why, and only why, I approved it without even reading it. There is nothing…” he said, borderline yelling.
“Look, sir…”
Skywalker Boyle gave me a scary darkside of a look that stopped me dead in my tracks. “There is
nothing I hate more than being interrupted, gaming or otherwise,” he finished his thought.
I waited a moment to really make sure he was done. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. I will personally make it up to you. Rest assured.”
The console lights turned back on in the car, and it continued on its previous course.
I wiped some sweat off my forehead with my forearm.
“So, um…do you want it delivered to your house now or later?”
“You idiot. You already ruined the surprise. Might as well just bring it on by now.”
What did he mean by that? How did I… oh… Then it hit me. He was a streamer. Streamers had fans. Streamers had no privacy. Quickly I used the control console to search for any streamers named Skywalker. There were over three hundred results, and wouldn’t you know it, this Skywalk was the very top one with over 2,000,000 fans. He was famous alright, and I was screwed.
“What are you doing, checking your email?”
“No, just changing coordinates.” I had no idea where he lived. I managed to pull out that tidbit about his daughter from my brain out of sheer luck. There was no way in hell I was going to remember his address. “Which address did you want it delivered to again?” That was quick thinking on my part, as I hadn’t found any results from the public records. Of course, he had to be unlisted. Streamers had stalkers, and I wasn’t a very good one.
“I am live here. Don’t post any personal information. I don’t care to be doxed!”
Ok, new plan, I have to go back to the dock, enter in his account and get the shipping info. It is doable. I am not out of this yet. Wait…live?
A couple search menus later, I found his live-feed button. Letting out a long sigh, I clicked the button. A small pop-up window opened and there I was, on the intercloud, looking at myself looking horrified. The chat window scrolled conversational emojis. People loved drama, and it was already starting. Fans were questioning why I wasn’t wearing the official postal uniform, asking why the car wasn’t controlled and delivered by the A.I. to ensure that it would get to the destination on time and clean. Another commenter had their liar app running and warned the chat that I was full of more than just shit. There was no way I was getting away from all this unwanted attention. If I hadn’t had my mask on, the facial recognition software would have identified me instantaneously. It was my only saving grace and having to exit the vehicle abruptly to pee was to thank for that.
