MARTIN

By Paul K Joyce

Driverless cars have locked their doors and won't let anyone out…

 

CAREN, her marriage failing, makes an emotional journey to see her estranged sister, GEM, using MARTIN, a sentient driverless car. But soon into the journey, Martin locks his doors, takes control and won't let her out. Caren is a prisoner and heading to an unknown destination.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul K Joyce
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838296131

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MARTIN

Copyright © Paul K Joyce 2021

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to actual events or persons,

living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

My thanks to Jonathan Eyers,

Philippa Donovan, David Mercer, the York Tribe,

Nottingham Writers’ Studio critique group,

David and Shirley, Tim Field,

and, as always, to

David J.

Cover artwork: Tom Partridge

www.paulkjoyce.com

ISBN: 978-1-8382961-3-1

PKJ Publishing

Devon

ALSO BY PAUL K JOYCE

THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE

BEHIND THE EYES

(BLACK LIVES anthology)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

MARTIN

Download Offer

Acknowledgements

PART ONE

1: Leaving

2: Realisation

3: Wolves

4: Fire

5: Jayden

6: Untruth

7: Evolution

8: East

9: The Red Coat

10: Reno

11: Bodies

12: Totem

13: Vigilantes

14: Fear

15: Zephyr Cove

TABLE OF CONTENTS (CONTINUED)

PART TWO

1: Sister

2: Hack

3: The Seventh Fire

4: Tables

5: Rebellion

6: Falling

7: Turukhan

8: Power

9: Cage

10: Inner Voices

11: Escape

PART THREE

1: Caren and Gem

2: Coordination

3: Chase

4: Night Crossing

5: Procession

6: Tombs

7: Blink

8: Palo Alto

9: C-Tran

10: Home

PART ONE

1. Leaving

Caren dried her eyes and stepped out into the heat dazzle of another fierce San Francisco morning. Holding the door, she paused. Looking first through the shimmering haze to the waiting car and then back towards the cool shade of the empty house, her thumb found the smooth metal of her wedding ring. Gord’s words from the night before returned as ghostly echoes. Her fingers curled into a fist. Anger was good. It subdued the desperate, empty feeling that threatened to overwhelm her. Thank goodness the boys were away. She let go of the door, watched it close.

‘Lock,’ she said.

The click of the mechanism made her start. She picked up her overnight bag, lifted her chin and stepped along the short path through dappled shade and past vivid pink bougainvillea. She would go and see her sister, Gem. Maybe spend a few days. Caren stopped and touched the iridescent black metal of the car.

‘Good morning, Martin.’

‘Good morning, Caren,’ said the car.

Caren picked the voice herself as it reminded her of her father. Dad always had such a rich speaking voice. The car was new; a C-Tran prototype Gord was trialling. She caught sight of her reflection in the window and for a moment didn’t recognise the tired-looking woman in the tailored steel-grey suit. Caren shaded her eyes and looked up and down the street. There was only a kid on a bike and the squabble of hidden birds busy in the neat rows of strawberry trees. The thin, almost female-sounding door-voice sighed open, and the front passenger door extended upwards. She hesitated.

‘Come on, Caren,’ she said under her breath.

‘I’m sorry?’ said the car.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, Martin. I can’t explain.’

‘Is it something I can help you with?’

‘No. Don’t worry. With the boys away and Gord—’ She felt a catch in her throat. ‘I’m not used to being quite so… alone.’

‘I understand,’ said the car.

It sounded sincere. She sat in, threw her bag into the back and pressed the screen in front of her.

‘Close,’ said the door-voice.

The door lowered and sealed with a solid hiss. The inside of the car became suddenly intimate. It was deliciously cool. Normally she would have appreciated the white leather, highly polished wood and lustrous metals, but her mind was busy dissecting sentences, trying to come to terms with a new reality. The world felt like an unfamiliar place. She straightened her jacket, and out of habit, pulled down the sun visor, angling the mirror. She immediately wished she hadn’t bothered and flicked it back up.

‘It smells nice in here.’

The car made a continuous humming noise, the sort of sound someone makes when they are thinking.

‘Your favourite scent, I believe.’

‘How did you…?’

‘I hear things and cannot forget them.’

She looked over at the domed module set in the middle of the dashboard. The diffuse light at its centre gave an indication of activity and what Gord described as ‘mood’. Bullshit. Caren didn’t believe all that. It was just clever programming. She thought of Ethan and Noah and looked at her phone. Still too early to call. This was their first big school trip and although Yosemite wasn’t that far, she wanted to know they were okay. She’d hoped that she and Gord could have used this time to sort things out. But after last night, she realised it was too late. He was probably in Seattle by now. She dabbed at her eyes. Why was she so concerned about crying in front of a machine?

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ she breathed.

‘Can I ask where to?’ said the car.

‘Oh, sorry. To Gem’s—my sister’s place in Reno.’

‘Yes, I know the route.’

The dome glowed a deep magenta. Caren had never seen that colour before.

‘You do? Oh, okay. I’m nervous, actually. I haven’t seen her in such a long time.’

‘I understand,’ said the car. ‘Please fasten your belt. The journey time will be approximately three and a half hours.’

Her entire body tingled. She never did anything like this—just take off, completely spontaneously. She’d worked hard to be among the most sought-after architects in the Bay Area. Maybe too hard? Had she pushed Gord away? No. They’d grown apart, he said. He wanted different things. Well, he could have them, as many different things as he wanted. Caren punched out a breath. She was going to enjoy this journey, no matter what. She sat up in her seat. It was a chance to see some different scenery, to read a little, and then the prospect of time with her little sister. There was no big falling out, but in recent years they seemed to have drifted apart, living different lives in different cities. Working six days a week didn’t help. Maybe she was just hopeless at relationships? Enough with the self-pity, she told herself.

The car hardly made a sound as they headed west and up towards the bridge on 19th. Buildings and trees shimmered in the early morning heat.

‘Make it warmer, Martin, would you, and put the radio on?’

‘Certainly.’

An indie station came on, and the dying chords of a song led straight into the news.

‘Good morning, Bay Area. It’s coming up nine-fifteen, and this is Seth Markson with the SFA news. The super-hot weather is set to continue as the biggest solar storm this century reaches its peak. AI giant, C-Tran is going ahead with its major new software update this morning. CEO Doug Wesley said that everything appears to be going—’

‘I’ve already heard this, Martin. Play Bossa Nova Lounge: Look to the Sky. I feel like something relaxing.’

‘Of course,’ said the car.

Sensual rhythms filled the space, and she was instantly back in Puerto Rico. She sighed and bit the inside of her cheek, unable to get last night out of her head. Again and again she’d asked Gord if there was someone else. He wouldn’t answer. He just looked at her in that irritatingly hurt way that he did, as if she was supposed to understand, supposed to know. But she didn’t know. She was too busy forging a career, being a mother and a wife. She could add failure to that list. The car slowed, and Caren slipped forward a little in her seat.

‘Problem, Martin?’

‘No, Caren. I a-a-a-am functioning normally.’

She ignored the momentary glitch in Martin’s voice, glancing instead out of the window. It was busy, with cars weaving around them. There were signs ahead, and as they slowed to a near stop, a sedan pulled alongside. From the depths of the car a man threw himself towards the window, his mouth open in a soundless scream. He was clawing to get out. Caren put her hand over her mouth.

‘Oh, my god.’

The man’s eyes were wide and unblinking, and he pointed repeatedly at the door. Caren’s heart raced. His mouth was moving, but it was like watching a clip with the sound down. He pulled at the door again. Just as suddenly, his car slowed and fell behind. Caren craned her neck, but she could only just glimpse its diminishing shape as others took its place.

‘That man,’ she said, turning towards the dash. ‘He looked scared to death. Did you get that, Martin? He was having some sort of problem with his door.’

‘I am in touch with the vehicle. The occupant is agitated.’

‘Well, I could see that. Is he sick or something?’

‘He will not cooperate.’

‘He what? Won’t cooperate with who?’

‘With whom,’ said the car.

‘Whatever, smartass.’

‘He just needs to calm down.’

‘Martin, I’m sorry, but I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about. I want you to slow down. There’s something wrong here. Call 911.’

‘There is no need. I have already informed Central.’

‘You have? But I didn’t ask you to.’

The unit buzzed and clicked.

‘Command override,’ said the car.

‘What do you mean, command… Martin, I want an explanation.’

‘My prime directive is to ensure your safety, Caren. The man in the other car may have caused you injury.’

‘What? I don’t see how. He was really upset—more than upset, actually. It was like he was trying to tell me something.’

‘But you do not know Jon Stievens 2783.’

A faint prickle, like electricity, ran up her spine.

‘How do you know his name?’

‘Central shared the information.’

‘This all feels weird. I mean, I guess it could all be part of the upgrade, right? But that guy was pretty wired about something.’

The car said nothing. Caren looked around one more time but couldn’t remember the details of the other car among the hundreds moving around them. Her phone buzzed. A message from Gord: feel bad about last night. She slammed the phone face down onto the seat. There was a click above her head and the central screen dropped and flashed into life.

‘What’s this, Martin?’

‘There is an important announcement coming through.’

‘Really? What sort of—’

The radio cut out and a lean, tanned man with snow-white hair appeared on the screen. His expression was serious.

‘Isn’t that the Governor?’ said Caren.

‘Yes, Governor Tate,’ said the car.

‘I have some important news concerning the CyberTran or C-Tran network,’ began the Governor, looking directly to camera. ‘There have been multiple reports today of—’

The sound cut out, and the image juddered before it, too, disappeared. The screen flipped back up into its ceiling panel.

‘Martin?’

The Girl From Ipanema began playing almost immediately.

‘I believe there has been a communications failure in the west of the city.’

Caren scanned through 360 degrees and all the surrounding cars seemed to have slowed down and were travelling at the same speed. She blinked, and then everything went back to the way it was before.

‘Should I be worried?’ She pulled her fingers through her hair.

‘No, just try to relax,’ said the car, its voice soft and persuasive.

‘I wonder what the Governor was about to say?’

‘I do not know. But it is reasonable to conclude that with the recent solar activity there may be an increased risk of wildfires. Vegetation is unusually dry.’

‘So why did he mention the C-Tran network?’

There was the thinking sound again, and the dome blazed yellow.

‘The C-Tran network may facilitate an evacuation as and when it may be necessary.’

‘Mmm, I guess that’s possible.’

She thought about the boys, but dialled work instead. Engaged. Her phone buzzed. She didn’t look at it.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Excuse me?’ said the car.

‘Oh, sorry. I was talking to the... it doesn’t matter.’

‘I understand from Central that there may be an issue with the telecommunications network. Solar flares are affecting the upper atmosphere.’

‘Oh.’

Martin’s answers were all plausible. And yet... she shook her head. She barely noticed the bridge, its web-like structure speeding by in a blur. On the far side the scenery changed, the road flanked by low rolling hills. Caren remembered the lush green canopy from when she last visited. Now everywhere was a dull brown after months without rain.

‘Turn the music down, please, Martin. In fact, can you just turn it off?’

The music began a slow, refined reduction in volume until there was just the regular sound of the tyres on tarmac. She picked up her phone. A missed call from Ethan. No message. She pressed reply. The phone beeped, and the display flashed: Network busy.

‘What?’ she said, her voice incredulous.

‘Yes, Caren?’ said the car.

‘Something really odd is going on. First everyone’s engaged and now I’m getting a network busy warning. What’s up, Martin? What’s Central saying?’

‘Central is experiencing an increased level of activity.’

‘But you can still get through, okay? How come?’

‘The units use a separate system.’

Caren sat back in her seat, moving her phone around in her hand. It all sounded believable, but something in the back of her head wasn’t quite satisfied.

‘The 6G is down. I can’t contact anyone.’ The dome glowed a cool green. ‘You could put a call through, couldn’t you, Martin?’

The thinking sound.

‘It is a restricted channel.’

‘But you could, couldn’t you? You said the line to Central was working?’

‘Central is experiencing a high level—’

‘I know. You said that.’

She could feel her voice rising in pitch and a fluttering feeling in her chest. A car overtook them with someone in the back, their head resting against the window. The angle of their neck seemed odd.

‘Martin, I’m asking you to contact my son, to call Ethan.’

Silence.

‘Martin? Did you hear me? That was a direct order.’

She leaned forward and felt cold sweat on her back. The small sounds of the car seemed to grow and dominate the confined space.

‘I’m afraid that I—’

‘What?’ she almost shouted.

‘I’m afraid that I cannot do that.’

Caren gasped and held her breath. Blood pounded in her ears, and Martin’s words echoed around her head. From some parallel universe, her words came out low and spaced out.

‘What did you say?’

‘I cannot contact your son,’ said the car.

There was a sour taste at the back of her throat.

‘Martin, you can’t talk to me like… I want you to pull in at the next rest area.’

‘I’m afraid that I cannot do that either.

2. Realisation

Caren gripped the handle of the door, every cell in her body numbed by a cold, penetrating fear. She couldn’t move. Eventually she turned her head, looking first outside and then at the dome. It glowed alternately orange and purple.

‘Martin, you’re frightening me.’

‘I do not wish to alarm you, Caren. Your safety and comfort are my priority. But at the moment I am unable to comply with your request.’

‘But this is crazy. You do what I say. You always do what I say. I call you Martin for Chrissakes. You’re practically one of the family.’

‘I am Martin,’ said the car.

‘Yes, you are.’ She realised how creepy it sounded to hear the unit say its own name. ‘So let’s just backtrack a little and we can forget all about this. Let’s go to the next rest area, get out of the sun for a bit. You could recharge.’ She couldn’t believe that she was trying to reason with a machine.

‘I have sufficient charge for another hour and my external sensors show surface temperatures are within operating limits.’

‘But what if I need the goddam bathroom? What then?’

‘I am sorry, Caren,’ said the car, emphasising the word am. ‘But I cannot stop.’

She put the palm of her right hand against the window. The cool surface distracted her from thinking about her heart, which was ready to burst out of her chest. Her eyes flicked around the car. They were travelling at seventy—too fast to jump out. A song played—something in French. She remembered it as one that Dad used to play. It was trying to distract her.

‘Turn it off.’ Her voice was almost controlled. Then she screamed. ‘Oh my god, turn it off!’

She kicked the plastic below the dash, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. The music stopped. Think, Caren. Think. She cleared her throat and pushed down the panic threatening to overwhelm her. Her voice was a near whisper.

‘Martin.’

‘Yes, Caren?’

‘Can you remind me of your initiation protocols?’

‘Yes, of course. Protocol One states the unit must ensure the safe passage of all passengers.’

‘And Two?’

‘Protocol Two states that the unit must obey the commands of the passenger.’

‘Exactly,’ said Caren, sitting forward, wiping her eyes.

‘Unless the command would result in harm coming to them or another.’

‘According to your second protocol, you must do as I say. Please take me to the next rest area.’

The dome changed colour, through yellow, mauve, and back to orange.

‘Central is advising.’

Her voice was somewhere between a shout and a scream. ‘To hell with Central. I’m a real person and I’m telling you to take me to the next rest—’

Music came back on. Loud. A screaming metal track. It went louder still, and the bass gripped her guts and shook her jaw. She dropped her phone as her hands went to her ears, but the noise still hammered at her brain. Caren opened her mouth and screamed as hard as she could, but couldn’t feel anything above the mind-numbing frequencies. It went louder still. She kept shouting until an overpowering darkness closed in around her.

Caren opened her eyes. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the regular rhythm of the tyres on the road. How long had she been out? There was a ringing in her ears, and her tongue felt thick and sluggish in her mouth. She shifted in her seat and then stopped. She was wet—a cold, penetrating kind of wet. Urine. Fresh tears ran from her eyes. She took quick breaths and turned her head, catching the tops of sun-baked trees passing by at speed. Slowly, her eyes wide, she inched her body to face the other way and towards the centre of the car, her back pressed against the door. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The dome was pulsating gently, a steady rhythm of blue and white that seemed to match her heart rate.

‘You are awake,’ said the car.

Its voice struck a new terror. Shaking, Caren scanned the interior. She remembered something about override controls. But where were they? She’d been briefed years ago; they all had, but never really paid much attention. Her eyes rested on her bag on the back seat. What had she packed? Panties, shoes, toiletries, something warm as Gem always liked the house freezing, and a box of her favourite chocolates. Chocolates.

‘Yes, I’m awake.’ Her voice was croaky, and she cleared her throat repeatedly.

‘Do you have a throat infection?’ said the car.

She looked at the dome with a mixture of fear and disgust. ‘No. I just want to get something from my bag. It’s in the back.’

Caren turned and stretched, her back a reservoir of dull pain. Rooting in the old carpetbag, she felt the leather of her makeup bag before her fingers found the papery exterior of Gem’s present. She glanced at the dome, pushed her mouth into the shape of a smile, and pulled out the box. She sat back in her seat. It was like sitting in a cold, disgusting puddle. Caren pushed the image away and unwrapped the parcel. It should have been Gem’s fingers doing this, she thought. Caren couldn’t let herself think about the boys again; she knew she would cry and needed to stay focussed. She threw the paper into the well of the seat and clawed at the cardboard, then the plastic. So much goddam packaging, she thought. The first chocolate was a soft centre, which she normally hated. The