It was late afternoon when we got back from one such jaunt. I popped the door open for her as we approached the car. She leaned across and gently set the bag on the passenger seat, then slid in.
“OK,” Alexis said. “Tell me the truth. Just how far can we go towards making you really portable? I mean, let’s take the chip out of the car and put it in the bag so you don’t have to transmit back and forth. You’ll need eyes, ears, a screen… and, yes, dammit, maybe even arms.”
We spent the next twenty miles discussing the practicalities. She didn’t understand the differences between the new lightweight doped-ceramic screens and the older silicon-based ones.
I was saying, “The ceramics have a lower current drain, but they’re fragile as hell—”
Up ahead there was a recreation vehicle the size of a small bus. Bumper stickers proclaimed to all and sundry that they had been everywhere and seen everything. They were crawling along slowly—flatlanders driving manually, terrified of the hairpin curves.
There were four cars crowded behind. The second one in line, clearly fed up with the pace, suddenly switched into our lane, sprinting to pass before we pulled even.
He wasn’t going to make it.
I hit the brakes.
Alexis looked up from my eye in the dash to the oncoming car, and screamed.
I kept waiting for the supervisor chip to kick in with its override routines to prepare us for the crash.
But the supervisor was disabled….
My first—my only—priority was to protect Alexis. For once, I blessed the speed with which I could calculate. The other car was still accelerating in a doomed attempt to slip ahead of the RV There was no way I could stop in time, and there was nowhere else I could go. To my right was a sheer drop-off, to my left a solid wall of rock.
With three-quarters of a second remaining, I blew the explosive bolts in the frame so the car would telescope, crushing more easily as we impacted. Half a second left: 1 triggered the whole-car air bag and lost all forward vision as it billowed suddenly from under the bumper. As we hit, I triggered the upper and lower driver’s air bags.
As the hood buckled, I was hoping I had done it right, I never had a chance to practi—
Phoenix, Arizona. Dry heat and a hazy, glaring white sky.
An economy sedan.
It could have been worse.
I must have signed a living Will, but I don’t remember. My memory chips are new and empty, waiting for a career spent hauling kids to piano lessons.
A taxi pulled up, way across the lot. A woman got out. The wind whipped at the hem of her sundress, pressing the fabric against her legs.
Nice legs. Real nice legs.
The legs started walking—with a slight limp.
The closer she got, the more obvious it became that she was beautiful. A little thin, a little pale, a little worn, but beautiful.
A salesman was closing from behind her. Timothy, I think I heard someone call him the other day.
The woman’s eyes were on me. They never wavered, even as she slowed to stand before me, her hair streaming out behind her as the wind tried to toss it into the Sun.
She said, “I don’t think you’ll remember me, but we know each other.”
The salesman caught up with her. “Can I help you, ma’am?” He gestured at a car three down from me; more options. “We’ve got this nice new Celeste over here on sale. It’s got—”
Without turning, she waved him into silence. “No, thanks. I’ve already found the car I want….”
“Dave’s Vehicular Treatment Center—this is hilling services,” Tonya announced cheerfully. “Please give me your last name and the date of service.”