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.