“Well that’s remarkably unspecific and useless,” I reply with a flare of exasperation. “Informing me there are system errors doesn’t tell me what to do about them.”
“This might be a good time to test the Aerial Internet Ranger, the AIR,” ART suggests, and I can’t help but feel set up, manipulated, handled like a gaming character.
I’m more than a little suspicious that the communication breakdown is intentional, leaving me no alternative but to try out the AIR prototype, Ranger, as we call him. Still in beta testing, he’s possibly the most useful PONG Dad and I have dreamed up so far, a combo missing link and guide with a little police dog mixed in.
Ranger’s inglorious and hardworking purpose in life is to provide a faithful mobile network connection, riding herd on autonomous vehicles, in particular other Personal Orbs Not Grounded. They don’t do well when out of touch or unshepherded, and it’s an AIR’s job to avoid Ranger Danger by making sure signals aren’t interrupted, corrupted and dropped.
It wouldn’t take much of a disconnect or miscommunication for a flock of synchronized drones to fall from the sky, follow the wrong command or never leave the perch. Soon enough AIRs will empower and guide Swarms of Unmanned Device Systems, SUDS, which is rather much what it will look like when the self-flying orbs travel in crowds like migrating birds.
“Let’s try it,” I confirm to ART that it’s a go to give Ranger a run for the money, and the Tahoe is just ahead. “We’ll see how our flying hotspot does when put through his paces for real.”
I instruct that we should set him in GHOST mode, Ground Hosted Operating System Transparency, a techy way of saying a PONG will go clear or reflective, rather much like a bubble or a mirror. That ought to work fine in this afternoon’s improving weather as opposed to going Vanish Object in Darkness (VOID) mode, the orb’s light-absorbing skin disappearing in the blackest nights and places.
“To be on the safe side, we’re going to want the anti-ice function turned on,” I decide. “Should there be freezing precipitation, we can’t risk Ranger getting heavier and losing lift. I suggest we reset gyros and aerodynamic stabilizers,” as I reach my new take-home SUV. “And let’s go with force-trim mode to keep him on a steady flight path. We’ve got to be mindful that the wind’s still gusting pretty hard.”
“Currently out of the west. Calm aloft starting at 61 meters, 200 feet and higher,” ART lets me know as Raptors rumble and roar, taking off and landing from Runway 26.
“Then set that as the minimum altitude unless the conditions shift,” I direct, and at first blush my Chase Car, like my other new equipment, looks like nothing special except the paint job is a matte shark gray instead of the usual shiny black.
Reaching the driver’s door, I comment out loud that I’m surprised it’s locked while the engine is running. I wasn’t expecting that, and I try to remember which pocket I jammed the key into when I was walking out of suite 604, struggling with my bags, getting to know ART while lying to Joan on the phone and trying to cope.
“It auto-locks for security reasons,” his explanation. “This is necessary because the Tahoe is set to remote start from as far as 1.6 kilometers, a mile away.”
“Makes sense,” I agree. “We wouldn’t want someone else driving off in it before I get the chance.”
“Biometric sensors won’t permit anyone unauthorized to operate the vehicle.”
“Good to know. But can you open her up so I don’t have to dig out the key, please?”
“You can use your WAND.”
“Oh Lord, my what?”
“The Working Animated Networked Digit,” he says, and I look at my right index finger, assuming that’s what he means. “What gesture would you like set in memory?” he asks next, and I have to think about it for a second.
I’m trying to envision the best way to unlock my car without anyone (nosy Fran most of all) detecting my new abilities. It probably makes the most sense simply to do what I would naturally and without a thought, and I touch my thumb to my index finger as if clicking the button on a remote key.
The subtlest of gestures sends an infrared signal to release the Tahoe’s electronic locks. A quiet snap, and I open the back door nearest me, reinforced with steel, lightweight laminates and ballistic alloys if I had to guess, the tinted window glass layered and thicker than normal.
Dropping my bags on a rigid-shelled blast-resistant seat, I check out the cargo area, curious about the large storage box built into the ceiling. Two smaller ones on the floor correlate with the locations of the beefy dual exhaust pipes. And I do a walk-around, ART in my ear giving me a tour, describing everything I’m looking at . . .
The oversize all-terrain run-flat tires . . .
The emergency lights built into the front-mounted blacked-out steel grid and over the bulletproof windshield . . .
The stubble of antennas and domed signal jammer on the solar-paneled roof . . .
The hatch in the tailgate that reminds me of a doggie door, only this one’s for drone deployment . . .
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I face the overwhelming reality that when Dick was talking to me earlier, he knew darn well what was in store this afternoon. A trial by ordeal and a bag of tricks would be one way to look at it, an education by extreme immersion would be another.
Every detail has been carefully planned and calculated, I’m convinced. Whether it’s ART, a loss of signal necessitating an AIR, following a FIND across a hazardous parking lot or using my bionic WAND to unlock my Chase Car, I’m doing exactly what Dick or someone else divines.
00:00:00:00:0
“ALL RIGHT, let’s see what we’ve got here,” I begin surveying what looks more like the cockpit of a military aircraft than any law enforcement vehicle I’ve seen up close and personal.
Barely 300 miles on the odometer, and I have a feeling my Secret Service–inspired chariot with its new-car smell is another prototype like almost everything else, including Carme and me. The mileage probably is from racetracks, test-driving ranges, and for sure I’ll never figure out and manage all the systems without AI assistance, starting with the dark-gray pleathery-looking upholstery.
Based on transmissions I’m picking up in my CUFF, the material is woven with sensors, reminding me of the formfitting skin Carme had on at the Point Comfort Inn. I’m pretty sure my SUV’s smart materials are interactive, that they probably can self-repair, change appearance and are electrically conductive.