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