Update: Morph conclusion

 Ready for the end of my story?  Here it is! See Part one for the first half.  Enjoy, and feel free to comment.

 

                                                Update:  Morph  (conclusion)

 

    "Isaac, it's too bad you can't be a horse.  A horse could get us out of this mess." 

    "A horse is possible," Isaac said.

    What?  What?  What?  Obviously I hadn't heard correctly.  I inhaled and held my breath.  As if it was a horse who sensed the rider's sudden tension, the Galloway stopped moving, ignoring the choreographed movement flowing about it.

    Then my car twisted, shuddered, moaned.  The fender-bender that had slowed us was nothing to the crunching and deterioration of my old car.  I pictured parts scattered on the pavement with me standing, bewildered, in a puddle of metallic bits of a wrecked Isaac.  I began to panic in earnest.  I meant to yell, but all I could force from my throat was a soprano squeak. 

    But even before I could imagine the worst, I felt myself levitating, my driver's seat jerking erratically as it curved below me into a padded barrel.  The sunroof was retracting, leaving me exposed to the wind and direct sunlight.  I was sitting in a saddle.  A saddle?  Not quite the dressage saddle I had owned for years; more like an Australian saddle, with a very high pommel, complete with a small driver's panel, and the music still played. Do Your Thing.  Really?  For a brief moment I wondered if my car had developed a twisted sense of humor, but I had a more immediate concern.

    I became Ms. Obvious, "Isaac, you're a horse."

    "Is that acceptable?"

    "Perfect," I sputtered.  The whole transition had taken less than ten minutes.  The traffic continued to revolve with us as a stationary member of the chorus.

    Isaac was a glossy blue-black giant of a horse, almost a Fresien, with a lot of Percheron.  The steering wheel had become unused reins, draped over the pommel/panel.  Behind the saddle's cantle spread a huge, powerful rump with an incongruous identification chip at the base of a glossy black tail.  He had humongous black hooves with silver shoes.

    I had always had a preference for ponies or exceptionally large horses.  Isaac most definitely fit the latter category.  We towered over the rest of the traffic.  I might be wearing my barn jacket, but I didn't have my helmet, and I lacked a seat belt.  No matter.  This was Isaac.  He would keep me safe.  The Galloway Model 3 had always been one of the safest cars on the road.  After all, it had been designed by a woman automotive engineer especially for women.  And riding used to be as natural to me as walking.

 

Image by Angie Blanchard

 

    I squeezed with my legs, and realized that Isaac wouldn't understand body ques.  He was a machine, after all.  "Isaac, let's get to my appointment the fastest route you can find."

    Isaac began to maneuver around the other vehicles, moving forward as they reversed.  We wove and twisted.  When we came to the offending crashed cars, I was met with gaping drivers; stupid men in skinny jeans and stenciled t-shirts advertising Exxon.  (One of those defunct oil companies, I think.)  They were trying for a retro look, obviously.  The wrecked cars were hunks of metal out of the Twentieth Century. If their voices were any indication, only their cars were injured.  We passed, and the two men went back to arguing with each other.  Horses were only moderately interesting since these idiots had major concerns of their own.

    Isaac pounded the pavement, his tempo exact with each footfall.  The road was completely open.  My car/mount sped into an Olympic extended trot.  His gait was smooth, and it felt like an Icelandic's amazing tolt.  I couldn't remember  riding being this easy.  Why had I forgotten how wonderful it was to feel a powerful horse beneath me?  It was puppies and sunshine and birthday cake and foals in a verdant pasture, and the touch of a beloved companion.  I had forgotten.  For years partnering with a horse had been why I got up in the morning.

    Again I rode.  Although I was mounted on a mechanical creation, I thought I smelled the musty odor of horse sweat.  The wind blew, and my short, gray hair became thoroughly tousled.  I forgot about where I was going, or why.  Isaac  was singing about Joy, and time was an unimportant dimension.  The perfume of hyacinths, and freshly mown grass reached my olfactory receptors.  A horse has incredible fragrance advantages over an enclosed car.

    We were again flowing with traffic, but Isaac kept pace.  He could have passed, but we were following the rules of the road.  I was breathing deep in my chest, not thinking about where I was going.  I was in the "now" and now was fine.  The world was a place of limitless wonder.  How had I forgotten?  Sit straight.  Relax into the heels, and allow the rhythm of the mount to become the only motion the body needs.  Muscle memory clicked into place.

    Abruptly, Isaac pulled over to the side of the road, and halted, each leg in perfect square alignment.  My senses lurched.  I didn't want this waking dream to end. 

    "Isaac, why are we stopping?"

    "Authorities, behind us."

    I checked my rear-view screen on the saddle's pommel.  A police sedan flashed red and blue lights circling the vehicle.

    Now what?

    I swiveled to watch a young, holographic officer materialize from the car.  He was probably sitting in a police station across the city, but I saw a figure of a freckle-faced man, too young, in my opinion, to be an authority figure.  Was he trying for an Opie look?  Did he have a fixation on Ron Howard in  The Andy Griffith Show?  I didn't find the look reassuring if that had been the intention.

    The holo peered up at me, "Ma'am, you can't ride your horse on the public road.  Please turn your music down.  (Isaac was just starting Walk On By.  More EV humor?)

    I glared at the cop, "This is not a horse.  It's a Galloway."  Isaac lowered the volume.

    "Ma'am, I can see it's a horse."

    I held my tongue, biting it and hoping I didn't start spitting blood.  That wouldn't do much for my case.  I repeated, "It's a Galloway Model 3.  A Galloway is a car."  The I thought further, "Hold on, I've got the registration papers."  I fumbled for documents, realizing I wasn't sure where to find the glove compartment in the saddle, or even where the glove compartment would be hidden.  Later, I would realized that I was so flustered, I hadn't ordered him to check the nearly invisible ID chip.  I had reacted as if I had been driving twenty years ago, when registration and insurance were printed.  He looked like a character from pre-streaming, and he had me leaving my brain in a time-warp.

    "Ma'am, this is not a car.  The public roads are for motorized vehicles."

    "Damn it, Isaac is a car!  A Galloway.  Old Model 3."

    The holo showed no emotion, and no reaction to my lack of patience.  Who knew what the real officer was doing sitting behind his terminal in a police station.  Maybe he wasn't even at a police station.  Maybe he was in his pajamas in his family breakfast nook.

    "You need to be in a registered vehicle, Ma'am."

    Double damn.  I couldn't figure out how to access my documents.  Undoubtedly that had been in the information I hadn't taken time to access when the update finished.

    The cop had every reason to believe he was dealing with a case of lunacy.  I had to do something.

    "Isaac, can you change back into a car?"

    "Of course." 

    "Stand back, " I ordered the cop.  "We're about to get wider and lower."  Not that space mattered to an hologram.

    The shuddering returned, but this time I wasn't worried about the destruction of my ride.  My beautiful horse was about to become a beloved, but very mundane old EV.  Once again, I sat behind the driver's wheel with my seat belt snuggly in place.

    I glared at the officer.  "See.  Car."

    He wasn't looking at me, but gazing off at some screen I couldn't' see. His expression was still neutral, as if a horse becoming a car was a common traffic occurrence.

    Then he looked at me, "Ma'am, I have to apologize.  Sometimes we don't get these updates promptly.  Galloway Motors has notified us of the new Morph update.  I'm sorry for the inconvenience.  Be safe, and enjoy the rest of your day."

    In convenience?!  Inconvenience, you holographic cousin of a toaster!  I was too busy breathing to shout at the disappearing image as it faded, and his car swiveled, driverless, in front of us. 

    What to do?  We were late, late, late.  I was about to notify the doctor's office when I glanced at the charge icon on my screen.  "Isaac, your battery is low."

    "Apologies.  The Morph application needs more configurations.  That will happen with future updates.  For now, the ability to morph is a major drain on energy.  Let me reassure you this will improve with future tweaks."

    "You hardly have enough charge to get to the clinic.  What if a charging station isn't available?"

    "Checking."

    More minutes passes as I tapped on the mostly decorative steering wheel.

    "I would not be able to charge until much later this morning.  Based on that information, and the fact that we would be over an hour late, I have rescheduled your appointment.  The office was already aware of the traffic accident, and they have agreed to see you tomorrow morning at the same time without financial penalty.  If that does not meet with your approval, I will link with them again."

    "Not necessary.  Thank you, Isaac.  You've done well.  Let's go home."

    I leaned back, and took a deep breath, suddenly aware that I had had a conversation with my car.  I had thanked him (it?), and I felt  like I had made a real connection.  Should I be worried?  I wasn't.  In fact, I felt mellow.  Artificial emotional intelligence struck me as a plus, not a threat. 

    "The Look of Love," Isaac crooned.  The song had always been a favorite, although its tempo was difficult to match with a dressage horse.

    I saw no more accidents, and I settled into the the driver's seat, as I realized that, even though the trip had been less than successful, I was content.  No stress.  Isaac was looking out for me, and even if the car was just a car (or was it?), I didn't care.  Was it an accident Isaac was still crooning The Look of Love as we bumped into the garage? 

    Outside the car, I inserted the nozzle into the charging port.

    A message flashed on my eye-d from the clinic, "Based on you bio signs, your appointment to the clinic has been canceled."  For the briefest moment I felt disappointed.  Why?

    I glanced over at Isaac.  I had been looking forward to practicing my dressage!  I wanted to ride!  I wanted to team up with a horse, even if that horse was a machine.  It didn't matter.  I was sure Isaac was capable of upper level movements.  I would get out the old dressage tests, and Isaac could accompany himself in a free style.  He would match any tempo.  Riding him would take the sport to a new level.  I would contact Galloway Motors and ask them to add touch sensors allowing me to control my mount with my legs, and weight shifts for light steering.

    The charger was rapidly refreshing the batteries. 

    I nearly tripped on the single cement step leading to the house patio.  The stumble made me pause.  I glanced over at my car, and on impulse said, "Isaac, please assume any shape that will make you most comfortable."  I didn't expect a reaction.  The thought was ridiculous, the urge of a woman who talked to inanimate objects.

    I gasped.  My car was morphing.  I watched as the vehicle clattered and shook, and metal came apart and reassembled.  This change appeared to be even faster than the previous two.

    Isaac lay before me, a gigantic blue-black cat complete with wire whiskers. The charger was an extension of his curled tail.

    I stared, reluctant to leave the garage, but finally I turned to go into the house.  That is when I heard it, a steady bass-baritone rumble, sustained, because there was no need for breath.

    Isaac purred.

 

     

     

     

    

Update: Morph Part 1

 Reader alert:

This is the first half of a two part piece of fiction, so it you want to read the story all at once, it is okay to wait until I publish the second half in a few weeks.  

Yes, I'm the author.

Please feel free to comment, edit and offer improvements to this work.  I'm open to suggestions.

 

                                             Update: Morph (Part 1)

 

      It wasn't that I wanted to die; I just wasn't interest in living.  I kept up with my routine chores, but that was all I had the energy to accomplish.

    Time stretched, and I stayed alone after the last big pandemic.  I was a senior woman who had outlived her friends and spouse.  My only child circled somewhere in space, and my dressage career had ended with the near extinction of the horses that consumed unnecessary space, food and income.

    I drew some comfort from the technology around me.

    I always updated the car, even though I seldom needed it to chauffeur me.  Somewhere I had heard it could be dangerous to keep updating because Galloway Motor vehicles might soon be self aware.  My techno feed was full of information like that, and most of it was as phony as a phishing scam.  I suffered from enough anxiety without worrying about the emotional and intellectual condition of my car. 

    I'm not sure why, but one of the few causes of my depression was stressing about the IA technology that powered the machines in my life.  I did feel a sense of responsibility to the devices that proliferated in most human lifestyles: my screens, my audio devices, my coffee maker, my food preparer, my vacuum, even my toaster got any recommended maintenance.  Taking care of the smart machines in my life had become as important to me as mucking out stalls had been in the days of my horses.  If my car sent me a message to update, it was connected to the net and the bytes were allowed to flow.  It was what I did.  I was a responsible owner.  Maintenance was a routine, not dissimilar from the way my horses were always fed on a regular schedule, back when I had horses to feed.

    My life revolved around routines.  They kept me sane.  I puttered about my property keeping the landscaping clear enough to inhibit wildfires.  The outside cleaning and gardening machines were updated and kept operating efficiently. I ate regularly, and my meals were reasonably healthy because of my autochef.  I considered myself informed on local and world affairs.  Usually that was enough to keep me from dwelling on any personal losses.

    Only lately I had been suffering from a crushing bout of the blues, more than I could remember in my long life.  I woke up in the night and thought about all the people and animals that used to create joy in my waking hours.  Isolation hadn't been a problem for me, at least not for many years.  I still had books, music, and sometimes I joined eye-d chats, and those had been sufficient to fill extra hours.  However, now I wept into my well-laundered pillow.  I had no idea why the chemicals in my body betrayed me after years of coping.  Crying did not help.  Tears just made my sinuses plug up like water balloons.  I would wake with my head throbbing; thoughts dulled.  Nothing made me enthusiastic to continue my life.  I didn't exactly want to stop existing; but living made no sense.  I knew I suffered from a drastic physiological imbalance.  Drugs had fallen out of favor in society even before the Big Pandemic, but I couldn't help thinking that  good dose of Prozac would have fixed me.  That shows how old I am. 

    "What's the matter with me?  I used to be able to make myself at least fairly happy."  I couldn't seem to talk myself out of my funk. 

    Anyway, my holodoc had other treatment ideas besides solitary conversations.  It told me to come into the clinic.  Into an actual office?!  What an archaic idea.   Apparently the bio-check demonstrated that more than the chemicals and synaptic impulses in my brain were wonky.  I was seriously in need of a lifestyle change.  So, reluctantly, I set a date, hoping electrotherapy had gone out of fashion.  The fact that I rather complacently made the appointment was an indication, in itself, that I wasn't making my normal neural connections.  Even a few months ago I would have protested, and come up with excuses not to leave the property.  Some of the excuses would even have been valid.  but I allowed myself to be ordered to arrive in town the next morning.         

    I woke up relatively early; the idea of going somewhere had upset my sleep pattern worse than the morose memories and occasional sobs.   I shuffled around the house keeping to my morning routine of dry cereal and coffee without checking on the car until close to leaving time.  My eye-d informed me that the Galloway was charged, but it also told me that an update was available and recommended.  I didn't hesitate.  My habits dictated I comply.  If a device needed attention, that device was serviced.  Anyway, automotive updates were usually tweaks, and they rarely took more than a few minutes.  I didn't glance at the allotted time for completion.

    "Update permission granted."  Then I returned to preparing myself to leave.

    When I stepped outside the wind threatened to knock me over.  The smell of evergreens with a slight fragrance of apple blossoms blew to me from the bank on my side of the Shuswap Lake.  Honeysuckle?  Was there a hint of honeysuckle?  Wasn't it too early?  A blue sky with a floating clouds assured me rain was not in the forecast.  My eye-d confirmed my weather prediction, but it didn't tell me about the hefty wind and the low temperature.  Well, it was March, and I wouldn't need a coat because of the car's environmental control; however, I returned to the hall closet anyway, and retrieved an old fleece lined jacket that I had worn in the barn back when I still had a couple of horses, back when I had a job compiling music for freestyle presentations.  Back before the price of hay and veterinarian care became unreasonable.  Back when I still had the urge to ride myself.  Back when I faced each day with the delight of knowing I had an equine companion eagerly waiting for me to appear with a flake of alfalfa, and an oat treat in my pocket.

    "House, secure yourself."

    Then I again glanced at my eye-d for the car app.  Still downloading What the..?  This must be some humongous update.  I would be late!  I couldn't tolerate being late.  My blood pressure was probably soaring enough to alert my autocratic outodoc.  My old Galloway had had a multitude of improvements over the years, including new batteries and tires, but it still needed to be stationary when it was updating.  I let myself into the driver's seat, gyrating and twitching as if my impatient movements would speed the process.  I remember yelling at student equestrian riders to stop wiggling in the saddle to encourage impulsion.  Extraneous movement only confused a horse.  At least my care didn't care.  I felt like I had molten lead settling in my chest in spite of, or maybe because of, the movement.  Minutes passed.  More minutes.

    "Breath.  Be still.  Steady," I encouraged myself.  I would hardly make my appointment on time.  If I had been a rubber band I would have snapped, slamming into the passenger door, then ricocheting back to the driver's seat.  Human ping pong anyone?

    Finally.  I glanced at the screen.  Update:  Morph.  Complete.  A page of information followed but I flicked it off.  I didn't have time to read or listen right now.

    The rich voice of Isaac Hayes inquired, "Where can I take you?"  Years ago, I had named my car Isaac for my favorite vocalist/musician.  That was even before it was possible to program navigator voice in the vehicle.  Isaac's music and the footfalls of a horse seemed to form a perfect partnership, although most dressage choreographers used instrumental music.  I appreciated his incomparable voice.  A more recent car update allowed me to program Isaac as my personal holographic chauffeur.  I had considered it, but I still sat in the driver's seat, as if I actually controlled the car.  Today, with my anxiety and depression, the sound of Isaac's voice gave me only a small dose of pleasure.

    "Doctor's office." 

    "On our way," Isaac replied as the garage door lifted.  He began to croon By the Time I Get to Phoenix in his creamy bass-baritone.  I didn't quite relax into the seat, but at least the lead in my stomach melted a little.

    I was surprised at the number of vehicles on the road, and a lot of them had passengers.  Who were all these people?  Delivery drivers, of course, but more than that it seemed people were getting out.  Holos and robots hadn't entirely taken over the workplace apparently.  

    How long had it been since I had left the property?  Months?  Years?  Was it when I took my last barn cat to the vet to be put down because she had stopped eating?  I had that cat in my arms as she sighed and took her last breath, her tortoiseshell coat silken under my fingers.  I had begun to sob with explosive gasps that cam from someplace deep around my heart, and I wasn't sure I could stop.  I don't remember coming home, but finally I finished weeping, curled up on my bed surrounded by a mound of pillows I had dampened with tears and snot.  Isaac was parked and charging in the garage.  He had safely driven me home.  At the time, I had vowed no more companion animals since there were no more horses.

    If I could do without people after the Big Pandemic and the Mars colony exodus, I could do without a furry family.  That had been three years ago. 

    I needed to stop thinking about losses.  I had blubbered enough.  I ordered myself to focus on what was outside my windows.

    Isaac steered us past homes, and some walk-in businesses advertising with subdued signs.  I hadn't been in those for years, either.  Did real people work there?  Maybe.  Most of the cars had real humans inside.  Only a few were completely riderless, and most delivery trucks had a human aboard. 

    The commercial vehicles kept to their own lanes.  The department of transportation assumed that vehicles were self-driving since that had been the norm for the last 20 years. Most roads were four lanes, two for each direction.  One for commercial trucks, and the other lane was for passenger cars.  Since the cars, themselves, controlled the flow there was no longer a reason for multiple lanes on highways.  The cars were always synchronized; speed limits exact.  There was no longer a need for massive freeways, and road rage was a crime of the past since humans were passengers. 

    The Theme from Shaft serenaded me.  I checked the time on Isaac's screen.  We still had a few minutes to spare.  I would make my appointment.

    Apparently, I had been prematurely optimistic.  We began to slow.  The cars in front of us were steadily dropping speed.

    "Isaac, what is the problem?"

    "Verifying."

    We were completely stopped.  The traffic behind us boxed us in.

    "Isaac?"  My voice sounded slightly hysterical.

    "It appears tow fuel injected vehicles with human drivers have collided into each other.  They are unable to proceed, and they both lack computer assistance.  We will have to wait for authorities to arrive, and sort them out."

    Gas powered care with human drivers?  Did such a thing happen anymore?  And was it even legal to allow them on public roads?  What were the odds?  I had just been thinking about how pleasant the driving experience had become.     

    "What should we do, Isaac?"

    "Calculating.  I will have to reverse course, and find another suitable route."

    "We'll be late!" I wailed.

    I could feel Isaac maneuvering to get into the reverse lane, but so were all the vehicles around us.  I knew their computers would be linking to each other, creating the best method of turning for all of us  But we were going to be late!  The vehicles pivoted like synchronized swimmers.  Trucks, sedans, SUVs, sports cars, every type of wheeled transport consulted with each other to formulate the best method of untangling themselves.

     I groaned, my stomach clenching like a dishrag twisted to expel moisture.  I glanced over to the bike path beside us, and checked the spaces between the other vehicles.

    Now if I had a bike...or better yet, if I was on a horse...     

 

to be continued