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Two deliveries in, I remain disappointed, still dwelling on a simple coffee mishap. I study the can in the cup holder. The label and colours match what I ordered, but the taste is wrong. This seems to be the fault of the food manufacturing, prompting me to feel ashamed for blaming the cajeros. They are simple workers like me, who take pride in our work, no matter how menial. Humans make mistakes, but not like this...
… I stop myself thinking about this. I have a long day of driving ahead of me, and I can't afford to go crazy pondering trivial things.
I pressed an icon on the dashboard, summoning the artificial intelligence lurking within the virtual brain of the Cyberstar. Arguing with the autoMIND known as Avocado 200 seems like a healthier option. At least I won’t be talking to myself.
The cabin lit up with soft blue light as the autoMIND came to life. “Do you want me to take over navigation?” it asks.
Tired, I decide to give the autoMIND a turn, reaching out and pressing the blue steering wheel icon on the screen. The Cyberstar responds with grace, a surge of electric power propelling it forward, the autoMIND’s driving style drastically different from mine. Under its control, the acceleration is so seamless and exhilarating that it makes my heart race. The sensation of speed melds with a symphony of subtle hums that resonates through the sleek interior of the truck, and I am pressed back into the comfortable seat.
As we cruise along the highway, Avocado maintains our position in the fast lane, bypassing the sluggish commuters who clog the desert road. The Cyberstar's precise handling defies not only the laws of physics but also any expectation I had. Its tires grip the road with ferocity, giving the impression of a predator in hot pursuit.
The road begins to descend into the heart of a valley, and the world outside blurs into a sea of ochre landscape peppered with grey patches of urbanisation.
“We will soon hit more traffic,” Avocado informs me. “The delay will cost us two hours all up. There should be a lesson in there somewhere.”
“I pledge to never again skimp on tolls, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes, but we have a more pressing issue.”
I anticipate the worst news. “What? A sandstorm?”
“I have completed an analysis of the residual data, and it appears we have an unauthorized interloper.”
The sinking feeling in my gut deepens. The situation has taken an unexpected turn, leaving me in a state of unease.
“Pirates are boarding us,” reaffirms Avocado.
Snapping looks at both side mirrors, I see nothing but an empty highway. I’m tempted to dismiss it as glitches in the autoMIND’s brain. “I don't see anything. Show me the cameras.”
“They have disabled the rear sensory array.”
“Show me cameras.”
The dash flicks over to the camera video wall. Of the nine feeds, two are black. The news hits me hard. I stretch out my neck to examine the side mirror further and catch a glimpse of it. Thundering along the highway, a white utility truck tailgates the Cyberstar extremely close. A masked man stands on the bonnet of the utility with one foot on the Cyberstar's under-ride guard, messing with the door lock mechanism.
“What the hell is this?”
“This stretch of highway,” Avocado informs me, “is infamous for its association with the Vipers. They are notorious for their daring and unorthodox tactics.”
These types of hijacking manoeuvres are precisely the kind I try to avoid. In this sun-scorched region, a ruthless and audacious motorcycle gang has earned a fearsome reputation. I’ve heard of them, mostly from pop culture. The Vipers had established dominance, treating the vast desert highways as their own stomping grounds. Their dark leather-clad figures and menacing bikes have become a staple of these desolate roads, striking fear into the hearts of anyone who ventured through their territory.
What set them apart is their boarding tactics instigated on unsuspecting auto-driven freighters and their sleeping pilots, which are as daring as they are dangerous. They would tail their prey, closing in like a pack of wolves stalking their prey. Then, with fearless precision, they would move in alongside their target, attempting to board and commandeer their cargo. It was a move as audacious as it was lethal, and those who fell victim to it often found themselves at the mercy of the insurance companies.
As we continue down the highway, the repercussions of this road pirate encounter loom over me. No implants means that my cover comes at an exorbitant premium, which I haven’t paid. And even if I did pay it, the insurance company will find a way, some excuse to disqualify me from making a claim. Ridiculous, since road pirates specifically target these lazy, slumbering cybernauts whose implants can be easily circumvented. People like me, are far more attentive and possess a higher situational awareness but go figure.
A panic burns in my eyes. I know navigating this next treacherous stretch will require not only caution but also a quick wit to outmanoeuvre these ruthless predators of the desert. I grab the steering wheel. “Hand over control.”
“I recommend you allow me to take care of this.”
“Just fucking give me control. Don't make me activate the kill-switch.”
“Slowing down or stopping abruptly will play into the pirate's hands.”
I hold back, but time is running out. “How the fuck are you going to handle this?”
Avocado explains, “I have formulated a plan of attack.”
“We’re running out of time. Once they hack their way to the cargo...”
“Should I execute this plan?”
I'm reluctant, but... “Execute, for fuck’s sake.”
The Cyberstar accelerates, its sleek frame humming with power as it races alongside the massive eighteen-wheeler freighter.
“You are not going to outrun a lighter, faster vehicle that's probably piloted by another autoMIND.”
“That is not the plan.”
The Cyberstar picks up further speed. I see its course. “You're not going to cut in front of that haulier.”
“We will not be held responsible for the collision,” explains Avocado. “Whatever damage occurs is on the road pirates. This will not affect our insurance.”
“That is a command. No. Abort.”
Zachary leans over to reach the kill-switch.
Avocado explains, “That action will affect our insurance premium.”
I pause. The statement is true.
I pull at my seat belt, tightening it, and braces for impact.
It is a calculated move to get closer to the front of the massive vehicle, to get the interlopers cornered into a deadly predicament. But the utility truck behind us isn't so easily outwitted. The driver anticipates our move, and with precision, they begin to slow down, forcing Avocado to adapt quickly to maintain our position.
I glance at the side mirror, my heart pounding with adrenaline and anxiety. The highway pirate, a brazen and defiant figure, disengages and crouches onto the utility’s bonnet. His posture, with a hand resting on his hip, blatantly displays an audacity I’ve never witnessed before. His presence on the bonnet appears surreal against the backdrop of the relentless highway. It is a clear challenge, a statement that they are not easily deterred, and I know this dangerous encounter was far from over.
The utility accelerates, swiftly closing the gap with the Cyberstar until we're parallel. I catch a glimpse of the pirate's eyes peeking from under his balaclava as he clings to a bracket securely bolted onto the bonnet. The utility swerves, colliding with the Cyberstar and slamming into the siderail. The cacophony of grinding, twisting metal fills the air, yet the impact registers only faintly amid the adrenaline rush. The utility sustains critical damage, succumbing to the collision, limping off and careening towards the medium strip before crashing into the concrete divider.
“They won't be making a second attempt,” says Avocado.
“No shit,” I respond.
Avocado asks, “How would you rate the success of this countermeasure?”
“Depends on the damage we’ve sustained,” I answer, still in a little state of shock. “What’s our E.T.A.?”
“While I can acknowledge the gravity of this issue, you are evading the question. It is not possible to assess such countermeasures without your input.”
Not in the mood for an argument, I ignore Avocado. “What is our ETA to the Rosefield Interchange?”
“Twenty-three minutes,” says Avocado.
“How about the Depot?”
“That is another twenty minutes.”
Another setback.
Damn it!
“Would you be interested in the Waycaster updates?”
“Not at this time, Avocado. Just get us home.”
177Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGiTm5jHc1N
