By Kevin J. Phyland

Friday night drinks were an institution at SecuriTech, the largest artificial intelligence module supplier on the east coast. The cocktail bar was called 'Slow Times' but the actual time just flew. Things got hazy as the hours progressed and Friday night slipped into Saturday morning almost unnoticed until somebody, probably a barperson, called me a cab.

The cab slid silently up to the kerb. All-electric and driverless it opened its side door and asked me my destination. I fell unceremoniously into it and seated myself on the rear seat, facing forward.

“Home please James, and don't spare the horshes!” I mumbled.

The cab sat there. “Please place your credit plate on the screen, Mr. Dorffman,” it said in a very polished male voice. Was it Pierce Brosnan? 

I did as requested before it occurred to me that I hadn't given it a destination or my name.

“How do you know...” I began, but was smoothly interrupted by the voice: “Sweat, expectorant and palm print, Mr. Dorffman. Detectors in door handles and seatbelt clips. Facial recognition algorithms. I presume you meant your home address on Midway Avenue?”

I muttered something about Big Brother and promptly dozed off. 

I was woken suddenly by a boot rapping me neatly on my shin. Blearily I contemplated the figure now sitting opposite me. Balaclava-clad, black skinsuit which appeared to wobble in and out of my vision. It could have been glitching chameleonware or I could just still have been pretty drunk.

“Hi there,” he said. “If you'll just be so kind as to transfer your bank account to my skimchip here,” he brandished a small device attached by a thin cable to his wristcomp, “I'll let you continue on your way.”

The voice was reasonably calm, so I assumed he'd done this before. Then I noticed the voxmod near his mouth. This could be any gender, the voice was digitally altered. Physique suggested a man though.

I started to get a bit annoyed at this point. A carjacking in this day and age? And why hadn't the emergency restraints activated, and how did they get into my cab in the first place?

While these thoughts sluggishly organised themselves, the jacker started to get a bit agitated for the first time.

“I haven't got all night,” he said, “and I do actually have a taser with me. So let's just do this the easy way, eh?”

He made a very salient point.

Then the cab spoke up. “We are approaching some roadworks gentlemen, so please engage your seat safety restraints.”

The thief now looked visibly shaken. “How the fuck?” he asked. “No way this cab's brain can override my RF blocker.” 

Clearly the cab hadn't gotten the memo. There was a definite surge of acceleration as I was pressed into the seat quite firmly. I estimated about half a gravity.

The jacker frantically went for his seat restraints, then thought about what that meant for his ability to leave the cab and left it off.

“Stop the cab,” he ordered.

Autocabs tend to be fairly literal but this one seemed to have pretty wild and broad interpretations.

“Place your head down please Mr. Dorffman and try to relax,” it said.

The thief finally twigged as to how the cab was going to stop. As did I.

There was a horrendous crash as the cab ran into something. Airbags and crash foam deployed on my side in front of me and the restraints distributed the shock across my body fairly evenly, but I was still out for a few moments.

The thief did not fare as well. His last minute attempts to use the restraints had failed and a lot of his internal fluids were now external on the cab wall next to me. I couldn't tell whether he was dead or just injured.

“The illegal passenger is now incapacitated,” said the cab. “He had immobilised the gas emitter that would have put you both to sleep, so more creative efforts seemed appropriate.

“An ambulance and a police van have been summoned and the cost of the fare has been reimbursed to your account.

“Thank you for using AutoCab.”

The police were scratching their heads about the whole thing. The ambulance concluded I had some strained back muscles but nothing serious. They didn't treat me with anything as my alcohol levels were still a bit high.

“What I can't figure is how the cab did it,” I heard a police officer say. “These cabs don't have AI chips, just basic level programming.” They looked over at me with a salty eye. “And they sure as hell don't have conversations with passengers.” I shrugged.

There were definitely some odd things about the trip. As somebody with at least a passing knowledge of expert systems, I was convinced that the generic cab programming did not have the capabilities shown by my rather exuberant ride. Somebody or something was watching over me. It comforted me for a moment. 

On an overpass ahead the electronic advertising screen briefly flashed up a message:

YOU'RE WELCOME, MR. DORFFMAN! 

before returning to its original advertising screed: 

SECURITECH – KEEPING THE CITY SAFE FOR TWO DECADES...AND COUNTING.

But then a different thought intruded. One which made me uneasy.

What if I’d been bait?

About the Author