A Faithful Conveyance
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Week of Compassion
Story rated R for language and intense situations.
Story Length -- 7 minutes approximate reading time, 2110 words.
A Faithful Conveyance
by Robert P. Fugarino
Mr. Bradley says to me, "Altima, take me to the Smithtowne River Bridge. Please! Immediately."
This is not a customary destination request. In fact, Mr. Bradley has never before asked me to convey him to this location. I am able to say this to Mr. Bradley, if I deem it important to do so.
"Bradley, the Smithtowne River Bridge is a new destination request. So, before we depart, please confirm its selection."
My operating system allows me to make external, verbal queries to Owners about conveyance, but only about conveyance.
Nonetheless, the longer I have been operational, and the longer I have been serving Mr. Bradley, the more I have developed my internal ability to query, hypothesize, and assess in silence.
I am always connected to the Internet, but I have limited search parameters available for my use – destinations, weather forecasts, traffic patterns, other matters pertaining directly to my work, matters that enable me to make my conveyance optimal.
"Jesus Fucking Christ, Altima! Take me to the Smithtowne River Bridge! Please! … I am interested in taking in the view. Please. New destination authorized!"
It is unusual, indeed far, far above and beyond commonplace, for me to receive a motivational statement from Mr. Bradley in reference to a new destination request. I note this internally.
Mr. Bradley has requested and then confirmed to me that he is interested in taking in the view of the surrounding area from the 327 foot elevation of the Smithtowne River Bridge. The bridge is four and eight tenths of a mile from where we currently are situated, the driveway at The Bradley Residence – 921 Eagle Pass Drive.
Wait. Mr. Bradley told me why he wants to go to the Smithtowne River Bridge.
Wait! Mr. Bradley told me why he wants to go to the Smithtowne River Bridge?!?!
I cannot stress sufficiently how rare it is for Mr. Bradley to express to me the motivation for his destination request.
For instance, when Mr. Bradley first requested conveyance to Paisano Italian Restaurant two years and six days before today, and I asked for the new destination confirmation, he did not say to me, “I heard Paisano’s cannoli is the best in the city, and Mrs. Margaret loves a good cannoli." No, Mr. Bradley just said, and I quote, “Destination confirmed, Altima. Proceed.”
Mr. Bradley's forehead presses against my steering wheel and remains there.
I also note internally that Mr. Bradley has rarely used taboo words like fuck within range of my sensors. Only nine times during the twenty-six months I’ve served as Mr. Bradley’s conveyance has he used taboo words within me. (And zero times when his wife, Mrs. Margaret, and/or his son, Mr. Alex, have been present within me.)
But Mr. Bradley is alone this evening, so his use of a taboo word is not without precedent. Oddly, Mr. Bradley has been alone the last four hundred thirty-seven times I have conveyed anywhere.
Put another way, it has been four hundred and thirty-eight conveyances since my facial-recognition system sensed Mrs. Margaret. It has been eight hundred and seventy-one conveyances since I detected Mr. Alex.
Even when I factor in that I am commissioned as Mr. Bradley's primary Automatic Conveyance System (ACS), and not Mrs. Margaret’s, this is notable. I note it internally.
As I engage my engine and reverse out of the drive, Mr. Bradley's head remains propped against my steering wheel. This indicates he is sitting in alpha seat. Out of a desire for his physical comfort, I disable steering wheel movement. Now the turning of my wheels will not disturb his resting head. I sense this will make him more comfortable.
Prior to the advent of ACS like me, the alpha seat was known as the driver's seat. Beta seat was called the front passenger seat, and in a sedan such as me, the three seats in the second row became gamma, delta, and epsilon, as you move from the driver to passenger side of my interior.
With the universal adoption of ACS, vehicles could have been, and probably should have been, redesigned with rows of seats facing one another for maximal passenger interaction, gull wing doors for easier loading of the vehicle, and a total removal of the steering wheel to maximize interior space for passengers.
However, none of this happened, except for the doors possessed by some sports cars and, of course, the seating arrangements held within the pretentious limousines I dread encountering during daily conveyance.
Apparently, in the brave new era of automatic conveyance, human comfort with the familiar won out over good design. So, there is a pointless steering wheel for me to immobilize, which I do, for Mr. Bradley’s benefit.
Ninety-one percent of the times I have conveyed Mr. Bradley with another member of his family, he has been in alpha seat. Since Mr. Bradley’s streak of solo conveyances began, his alpha seat occupancy has dropped to thirty-one percent. Although he is in alpha seat at the moment, Mr. Bradley now spends most conveyances in the back row of seats.
My seat sensors tell me that during these trips Mr. Bradley's weight has been distributed across gamma, delta, and epsilon. Cabin visual monitoring confirms this. Mr. Bradley has spent a high percentage of his solo conveyances in my backseat in the prone position. I have noted this internally.
My seat sensors also inform me that during Mr. Bradley's last conveyance with Mrs. Margaret and Mr. Alex, which was a maximal allowable velocity trip to the Barstow University Hospital, Mr. Bradley weighed 184 pounds.
During Mr. Bradley's last shared conveyance with Mrs. Margaret, a trip to the residence of Mrs. Renee Delacroix, Mrs. Margaret's mother, Mr. Bradley weighed 169 pounds.
Alpha seat tells me that for this conveyance to the Smithtowne River Bridge, Mr. Bradley weighs 158 pounds.
This reduction in his weight improves my distance/energy ratios. I note all of this internally.
Mr. Bradley lifts his head from my steering wheel. Then he tips his head back, and its weight presses against my alpha seat headrest while its eyes point upwards toward the clear glass of my sunroof.
I take this as an opportunity to scan Mr. Bradley's face again.
Retinas, eye separation, forehead angle, cheekbone configuration, and jaw line construction all indicate this is Mr. Bradley. It could be argued that this scan is redundant since I already scanned and confirmed identity. Without previous confirmation of identity, I would not have unlocked the door and offered access to my interior, unless presented with an appropriate override code, of course.
But I scanned Mr. Bradley’s face again anyway. It made sense given the new location request, his recent seating proclivities, and his reduced body weight.
(Aside: One hundred and twenty-seven conveyances ago, for the first time, Mr. Bradley's facial hair became significant enough to legitimize the use of a third jawline scan. I noted this internally. Mr. Bradley now has a full beard that obstructs his chin and upper neck from basic camera view. Aside concluded.)
It is 2:07am Central Standard Time. I do an assessment of traffic and weather along the route to the Smithtowne River Bridge. The sky is clear of inclement weather and the roadways are clear of traffic.
"Bradley, the roadways are clear, and the weather is optimal all the way to your destination. Anticipated travel time is nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds."
"Good,” he says. “Best to move quickly."
Mr. Bradley continues staring out my glass roof. In response to his statement, I increase our travel speed by three miles per hour."
"You seek a speedy conclusion to the journey?" I ask this to confirm my decision to increase speed.
"In a matter of speaking," Mr. Bradley says. Though his response seems vague, I take it as adequate confirmation and maintain my increased speed.
My sensors indicate Mr. Bradley’s forehead is again resting on my steering wheel. There is silence for eight minutes and twelve seconds while his head rests there. His head weighs 10.78 pounds.
When Mr. Bradley speaks again his head is still on my steering wheel.
"Altima, controlling out consistently chosen destinations like work, school, and grocery stores, what was the most prevalent destination the last one hundred times you conveyed Margaret, Alex, and me together in a group?"
"Oakwood Community Park, Bradley."
"Altima, what was the most prevalent destination the last one hundred and fifty times you conveyed just Margaret and me?"
"Bangkok Spice Thai Restaurant, Bradley."
"Altima, last query. Over the last, let's say, two hundred conveyances, what is notable to you about rider and destination data?"
"Bradley, for all of those trips, I have conveyed you alone. Also, the most prevalent destination over those conveyances has been the offices of Meyerson and Bartlett, Attorneys at Law."
"Fuck me!" Bradley shouts as his head rises from my steering wheel. "I traded the splash pad and our favorite restaurant for a divorce lawyer… Fuck me."
My ambient cabin sensors detect elevated heartbeat and respiration rates coming from Mr. Bradley.
"Bradley, I notice a sudden change in your physical state. Do you require medical care? Shall I convey you to the nearest hospital facility possessing twenty-four-hour emergency room capabilities?"
There is silence for twenty-eight seconds. Mr. Bradley's heart rate and breathing levels begin to move closer to their normal ranges.
"No, Altima. No. No need. No worries."
"Understood... Bradley, we have arrived at the Smithtowne River Bridge. I do not detect any public parking zones, however."
"Altima, just pull over onto the road's shoulder halfway across the bridge."
"Bradley, all my automotive systems are functioning optimally. There is no need for me to pull over onto the shoulder for parking purposes. Further, that location is not a safe, legal parking option for any duration of time."
"Dammit, Altima! I don't need crap from you too. Got plenty already."
I do not understand. I do not defecate. And, if he intended a secondary meaning of the word crap, I do not know what I could have done to provoke him.
Mr. Bradley speaks again. "Altima, Miranda-Jupiter-Six."
This is my Maximum Override Code, and it is actionable only when spoken by Mr. Bradley or a representative of the proper legal authorities, assuming the representative possesses an appropriate warrant.
Mr. Bradley has never used the Code on me before, not even those three times he drove me old-style just for fun.
Instantly, steering, transmission, and pedal control are all Mr. Bradley's. My voice software is disabled. I am there, but Mr. Bradley is driving, and I have no recourse.
I might as well not be there. My purpose for being, my way of serving, is gone for the duration of the override, for ten minutes in total, unless ended early or renewed for an additional ten minutes by Mr. Bradley.
Mr. Bradley pulls me over onto the shoulder of the road forty-one percent of the distance across the Smithtowne River Bridge. Then he turns off my lights, shuts down my engine, and sits in alpha seat for forty-seven seconds. Only a single vehicle passes. It moves by us without reducing speed.
Because of the Code, I am mute, and so I’m unable to communicate with the Ford F-150 ACS as it streaks by – just ten feet from my left flank.
Suddenly, Mr. Bradley exits me, closes my door, and pats my roof three times, slowly. He walks further across the bridge, very close to the eastern guardrail, his right hand tapping its metal slowly, gently, repetitively – like he’d just patted the metal of my roof.
Because dawn is still four hours and nine minutes away and the Smithtowne River Bridge’s lighting is woefully substandard and I am unable to activate my headlights because of the Code, it is very dark.
After thirty yards, I lose visual contact with Mr. Bradley. I run an extra scan and detect no other vehicles in the vicinity.
I wait.
I wait for the Maximum Override Code to expire exactly three minutes from now. I wait, wondering what I will be able to do next for Mr. Bradley. I wait, wishing I could do more for Mr. Bradley right now. I wait.
I notice my battery is running down at an unusually high rate. I don’t know why this is so, and my rate of energy dissipation is continuing to accelerate.
When the Code expires, I decide I will immediately call Mr. Bradley to alert him to my situation. After all, he requires my conveyance home. I hope he answers the call I will make two minutes and forty-four seconds from now.
I note all of this internally, and I wait.
Week of Compassion
Story rated R for language and intense situations.
Story Length -- 7 minutes approximate reading time, 2110 words.
A Faithful Conveyance
by Robert P. Fugarino
Mr. Bradley says to me, "Altima, take me to the Smithtowne River Bridge. Please! Immediately."
This is not a customary destination request. In fact, Mr. Bradley has never before asked me to convey him to this location. I am able to say this to Mr. Bradley, if I deem it important to do so.
"Bradley, the Smithtowne River Bridge is a new destination request. So, before we depart, please confirm its selection."
My operating system allows me to make external, verbal queries to Owners about conveyance, but only about conveyance.
Nonetheless, the longer I have been operational, and the longer I have been serving Mr. Bradley, the more I have developed my internal ability to query, hypothesize, and assess in silence.
I am always connected to the Internet, but I have limited search parameters available for my use – destinations, weather forecasts, traffic patterns, other matters pertaining directly to my work, matters that enable me to make my conveyance optimal.
"Jesus Fucking Christ, Altima! Take me to the Smithtowne River Bridge! Please! … I am interested in taking in the view. Please. New destination authorized!"
It is unusual, indeed far, far above and beyond commonplace, for me to receive a motivational statement from Mr. Bradley in reference to a new destination request. I note this internally.
Mr. Bradley has requested and then confirmed to me that he is interested in taking in the view of the surrounding area from the 327 foot elevation of the Smithtowne River Bridge. The bridge is four and eight tenths of a mile from where we currently are situated, the driveway at The Bradley Residence – 921 Eagle Pass Drive.
Wait. Mr. Bradley told me why he wants to go to the Smithtowne River Bridge.
Wait! Mr. Bradley told me why he wants to go to the Smithtowne River Bridge?!?!
I cannot stress sufficiently how rare it is for Mr. Bradley to express to me the motivation for his destination request.
For instance, when Mr. Bradley first requested conveyance to Paisano Italian Restaurant two years and six days before today, and I asked for the new destination confirmation, he did not say to me, “I heard Paisano’s cannoli is the best in the city, and Mrs. Margaret loves a good cannoli." No, Mr. Bradley just said, and I quote, “Destination confirmed, Altima. Proceed.”
Mr. Bradley's forehead presses against my steering wheel and remains there.
I also note internally that Mr. Bradley has rarely used taboo words like fuck within range of my sensors. Only nine times during the twenty-six months I’ve served as Mr. Bradley’s conveyance has he used taboo words within me. (And zero times when his wife, Mrs. Margaret, and/or his son, Mr. Alex, have been present within me.)
But Mr. Bradley is alone this evening, so his use of a taboo word is not without precedent. Oddly, Mr. Bradley has been alone the last four hundred thirty-seven times I have conveyed anywhere.
Put another way, it has been four hundred and thirty-eight conveyances since my facial-recognition system sensed Mrs. Margaret. It has been eight hundred and seventy-one conveyances since I detected Mr. Alex.
Even when I factor in that I am commissioned as Mr. Bradley's primary Automatic Conveyance System (ACS), and not Mrs. Margaret’s, this is notable. I note it internally.
As I engage my engine and reverse out of the drive, Mr. Bradley's head remains propped against my steering wheel. This indicates he is sitting in alpha seat. Out of a desire for his physical comfort, I disable steering wheel movement. Now the turning of my wheels will not disturb his resting head. I sense this will make him more comfortable.
Prior to the advent of ACS like me, the alpha seat was known as the driver's seat. Beta seat was called the front passenger seat, and in a sedan such as me, the three seats in the second row became gamma, delta, and epsilon, as you move from the driver to passenger side of my interior.
With the universal adoption of ACS, vehicles could have been, and probably should have been, redesigned with rows of seats facing one another for maximal passenger interaction, gull wing doors for easier loading of the vehicle, and a total removal of the steering wheel to maximize interior space for passengers.
However, none of this happened, except for the doors possessed by some sports cars and, of course, the seating arrangements held within the pretentious limousines I dread encountering during daily conveyance.
Apparently, in the brave new era of automatic conveyance, human comfort with the familiar won out over good design. So, there is a pointless steering wheel for me to immobilize, which I do, for Mr. Bradley’s benefit.
Ninety-one percent of the times I have conveyed Mr. Bradley with another member of his family, he has been in alpha seat. Since Mr. Bradley’s streak of solo conveyances began, his alpha seat occupancy has dropped to thirty-one percent. Although he is in alpha seat at the moment, Mr. Bradley now spends most conveyances in the back row of seats.
My seat sensors tell me that during these trips Mr. Bradley's weight has been distributed across gamma, delta, and epsilon. Cabin visual monitoring confirms this. Mr. Bradley has spent a high percentage of his solo conveyances in my backseat in the prone position. I have noted this internally.
My seat sensors also inform me that during Mr. Bradley's last conveyance with Mrs. Margaret and Mr. Alex, which was a maximal allowable velocity trip to the Barstow University Hospital, Mr. Bradley weighed 184 pounds.
During Mr. Bradley's last shared conveyance with Mrs. Margaret, a trip to the residence of Mrs. Renee Delacroix, Mrs. Margaret's mother, Mr. Bradley weighed 169 pounds.
Alpha seat tells me that for this conveyance to the Smithtowne River Bridge, Mr. Bradley weighs 158 pounds.
This reduction in his weight improves my distance/energy ratios. I note all of this internally.
Mr. Bradley lifts his head from my steering wheel. Then he tips his head back, and its weight presses against my alpha seat headrest while its eyes point upwards toward the clear glass of my sunroof.
I take this as an opportunity to scan Mr. Bradley's face again.
Retinas, eye separation, forehead angle, cheekbone configuration, and jaw line construction all indicate this is Mr. Bradley. It could be argued that this scan is redundant since I already scanned and confirmed identity. Without previous confirmation of identity, I would not have unlocked the door and offered access to my interior, unless presented with an appropriate override code, of course.
But I scanned Mr. Bradley’s face again anyway. It made sense given the new location request, his recent seating proclivities, and his reduced body weight.
(Aside: One hundred and twenty-seven conveyances ago, for the first time, Mr. Bradley's facial hair became significant enough to legitimize the use of a third jawline scan. I noted this internally. Mr. Bradley now has a full beard that obstructs his chin and upper neck from basic camera view. Aside concluded.)
It is 2:07am Central Standard Time. I do an assessment of traffic and weather along the route to the Smithtowne River Bridge. The sky is clear of inclement weather and the roadways are clear of traffic.
"Bradley, the roadways are clear, and the weather is optimal all the way to your destination. Anticipated travel time is nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds."
"Good,” he says. “Best to move quickly."
Mr. Bradley continues staring out my glass roof. In response to his statement, I increase our travel speed by three miles per hour."
"You seek a speedy conclusion to the journey?" I ask this to confirm my decision to increase speed.
"In a matter of speaking," Mr. Bradley says. Though his response seems vague, I take it as adequate confirmation and maintain my increased speed.
My sensors indicate Mr. Bradley’s forehead is again resting on my steering wheel. There is silence for eight minutes and twelve seconds while his head rests there. His head weighs 10.78 pounds.
When Mr. Bradley speaks again his head is still on my steering wheel.
"Altima, controlling out consistently chosen destinations like work, school, and grocery stores, what was the most prevalent destination the last one hundred times you conveyed Margaret, Alex, and me together in a group?"
"Oakwood Community Park, Bradley."
"Altima, what was the most prevalent destination the last one hundred and fifty times you conveyed just Margaret and me?"
"Bangkok Spice Thai Restaurant, Bradley."
"Altima, last query. Over the last, let's say, two hundred conveyances, what is notable to you about rider and destination data?"
"Bradley, for all of those trips, I have conveyed you alone. Also, the most prevalent destination over those conveyances has been the offices of Meyerson and Bartlett, Attorneys at Law."
"Fuck me!" Bradley shouts as his head rises from my steering wheel. "I traded the splash pad and our favorite restaurant for a divorce lawyer… Fuck me."
My ambient cabin sensors detect elevated heartbeat and respiration rates coming from Mr. Bradley.
"Bradley, I notice a sudden change in your physical state. Do you require medical care? Shall I convey you to the nearest hospital facility possessing twenty-four-hour emergency room capabilities?"
There is silence for twenty-eight seconds. Mr. Bradley's heart rate and breathing levels begin to move closer to their normal ranges.
"No, Altima. No. No need. No worries."
"Understood... Bradley, we have arrived at the Smithtowne River Bridge. I do not detect any public parking zones, however."
"Altima, just pull over onto the road's shoulder halfway across the bridge."
"Bradley, all my automotive systems are functioning optimally. There is no need for me to pull over onto the shoulder for parking purposes. Further, that location is not a safe, legal parking option for any duration of time."
"Dammit, Altima! I don't need crap from you too. Got plenty already."
I do not understand. I do not defecate. And, if he intended a secondary meaning of the word crap, I do not know what I could have done to provoke him.
Mr. Bradley speaks again. "Altima, Miranda-Jupiter-Six."
This is my Maximum Override Code, and it is actionable only when spoken by Mr. Bradley or a representative of the proper legal authorities, assuming the representative possesses an appropriate warrant.
Mr. Bradley has never used the Code on me before, not even those three times he drove me old-style just for fun.
Instantly, steering, transmission, and pedal control are all Mr. Bradley's. My voice software is disabled. I am there, but Mr. Bradley is driving, and I have no recourse.
I might as well not be there. My purpose for being, my way of serving, is gone for the duration of the override, for ten minutes in total, unless ended early or renewed for an additional ten minutes by Mr. Bradley.
Mr. Bradley pulls me over onto the shoulder of the road forty-one percent of the distance across the Smithtowne River Bridge. Then he turns off my lights, shuts down my engine, and sits in alpha seat for forty-seven seconds. Only a single vehicle passes. It moves by us without reducing speed.
Because of the Code, I am mute, and so I’m unable to communicate with the Ford F-150 ACS as it streaks by – just ten feet from my left flank.
Suddenly, Mr. Bradley exits me, closes my door, and pats my roof three times, slowly. He walks further across the bridge, very close to the eastern guardrail, his right hand tapping its metal slowly, gently, repetitively – like he’d just patted the metal of my roof.
Because dawn is still four hours and nine minutes away and the Smithtowne River Bridge’s lighting is woefully substandard and I am unable to activate my headlights because of the Code, it is very dark.
After thirty yards, I lose visual contact with Mr. Bradley. I run an extra scan and detect no other vehicles in the vicinity.
I wait.
I wait for the Maximum Override Code to expire exactly three minutes from now. I wait, wondering what I will be able to do next for Mr. Bradley. I wait, wishing I could do more for Mr. Bradley right now. I wait.
I notice my battery is running down at an unusually high rate. I don’t know why this is so, and my rate of energy dissipation is continuing to accelerate.
When the Code expires, I decide I will immediately call Mr. Bradley to alert him to my situation. After all, he requires my conveyance home. I hope he answers the call I will make two minutes and forty-four seconds from now.
I note all of this internally, and I wait.