My Way or the Highway
“It’s a nice house, Dusty? ... Really? It’s at the base of a cliff? … Cool! Not worried about rockslides I take it? … Ha, ha, ha… A party, you bet I’ll be there! When? … Tomorrow night, eh? … Sure, I can make it. … Pft! Nah, don’t trouble yourself with directions, I can find my way there. … Okay Dusty, I’ll see you tomorrow… Yep… Oh, you’re address, right, I’ll need that… Forty-seven, Cliffside Lane… where? … Richman Hills? Where’s that? … Gonna be a bit of a drive for me then… Ha, ha, no I’ll manage– you know how I like goin’ fast … Hey, if Sally’s gonna be there, there’s no way I’d miss it! … Yep, bye!”
Chris Colting hung up the phone. Remaining in his beaten up recliner, he stared unseeingly into the room; the only moving things present were thoughts flying through his head.
Ol’ Dusty Natlack and his wife finally got into a new house! Barely twenty-seven and his long-time college buddy already got himself a wife, a good-paying job and a fancy new house to boot. Chris certainly needed catching up– he was single, still worked behind the counter at the food market and lived out of a cheap, two-room apartment on Main Street. Chris Colting, who always wanted to speed ahead, was falling behind. Chris Colting hated falling behind.
He glanced at the address he scrawled on the post-it note on the small table in front of him: 47 Cliffside Ln., Richman, Montana. Dusty had said it was somewhere in Carter County, in the far south-east of the state– a fair distance from Great Falls, to say the least. Chris guessed it would be about a day’s drive. Or maybe a little over. Or… Chris glanced up. How do I get there?
Chris Colting was a tall man, shy of both twenty-eight years in age and six and a quarter feet in height. He preferred a clean shaven face, and kept his thick, brown hair trimmed short. At first meet, a stranger could say Chris was “ambitious” or “demanding,” possibly even “hot-headed.” All these are right, and can be summed up in one word: fast. “Get there quickly” was the basis of Chris’s needs. His friends nick-named him “Race-horse,” and they would always remember him by his favorite catchphrase: “I don’t mind slowpokes unless I’m stuck behind ‘em!”
Leaping up the steps two at a time, Chris sped back up to his apartment from his car with a road map. Sitting in his chair, he scanned the cities and towns. No Richman. He glanced hurriedly through again. No Richman. Maybe he missed it… With monotonous deliberation he started at the R’s: Radersburg…Ramsay… Rapeljie…Ravalli… Raymond… Chris clenched his fist furiously. This already taking too long. If he couldn’t find it the first time, that should have been enough to conclude that the map was obviously outdated. Well, what next? The Internet! Yes, Chris thought, look it up and print out a map there. Chris didn’t own a computer in his own home, so, without a second thought (not that Chris had many of those) he dashed out of his apartment once again.
Driving into the library parking lot in his fender-bent, electric blue Honda, Chris got out, wasting no time to get to the door. Pulling hard he found it stuck fast. Chris fumed, only just then remembering that it was Friday; the library was closed on Fridays. Swearing to himself, he stomped back to his car. He needed to know! He needed to know how to get there. More importantly, Chris Colting needed to know now.
As he opened the door to his car, another drove into the lot. The man inside rolled down his window and pulled up next to Chris and his car.
“’Scuse me, mister!”
Chris glanced at him, still sour. “Yeah, what?”
“How’d do get to West Avenue from here? My damn GPS broke down and I don gotta map.”
“Turn outta here and take a—wait, your GPS broke…” That was it. That’s what he would do. Chris Colting would get himself a GPS.
Chris scampered back into his tenement with the box just picked up from the electronics store. The ‘Automated Travel Locator Assistant System’ the man behind the counter called it, or A.T.L.A.S. It was the best GPS system available on the open-market (at least locally) and was the last in stock at the store. Though aware of the lack of change in his bank account, Chris bought it without hesitation. And with this equally unhesitant attitude, he tore open the package and stared at the device inside. It was a small but un-flimsy device, regarded as a little extra bulky by a GPS standard. But what it could do in return was worth what little extra weight it had. The box read, ‘The smartest GPS ever! Finds routes quicker than any other! Finds your way so you don’t have to! You can rest easy on A.T.L.A.S.’s shoulders!’
Chris took out the device. The screen dominated the front face of the charcoal gray machine; there were no buttons. That was the other gimmick the electronics man had mentioned: “It’s one-hundred percent voice activated.” As Chris held it, the screen flashed into life without provocation and the letters A-T-L-A-S swam around the display.
“Welcome. I am your Automated Travel Locator Assistant System, but you may call me Atlas. I am programmed to see to your needs of global mapping and positioning. Don’t forget: you can rest easy on Atlas’ shoulders.” The voice that emanated from the device was robotic, almost ethereal, yet with the faintest twinge of human quality. It was a sound in the middle ground between sentience and artificiality. “What do you command?”
Chris cleared his throat officially, wasting no time. “Alright, Atlas, find me the quickest route to from my current location to forty-seven, Cliffside Lane, Richman, Montana, now.”
“Processing…” the GPS stated. A detailed map of the Earth appeared on the screen, and soon Montana was zoomed in upon, its major roads running like arteries across the state.
“Well?” Chris Colting asked. “How do I get there?”
“The route you have requested… has been computed. The way to get to your specified location in the least amount of time will take approximately: seven hours, twenty-eight minutes.”
“What?” Chris asked. “Seven and a half hours? Can’t I get there faster?”
“No faster route on any accessible roads available.”
“Would I get there faster by… oh, forget it…” Chris sat back in his arm chair and scowled. Seven and a half hours was a long drive. Too long.
“Prepared to answer the question proposed,” quipped Atlas.
“Tch… Like you’d know…” Chris muttered. “You probably wouldn’t factor in how much sooner I’d get there if you knew how much I speeded on the highway…”
“What is the estimated speed you plan to travel?”
Chris glanced down at the screen staring at him from the table in front of him. “Oh, I don’t know. About eighty-five I suppose…”
Atlas beeped. “Assuming you travel over fifteen miles an hour past the legal limit, and you are not caught by the local law enforcers, you will cut your arrival time by: one hour, four minutes.”
Chris smirked. “Ok. I’ll buy that, Atlas. Six hour drive then. I’ll leave at about eleven tomorrow morning. Five-o’-clock party. We won’t be late, right?”
“Correct. Precisely thirty-six minutes will be saved if–”
“Alright, Atlas. I got it. Get there right at five; fine by me.” Chris picked up the GPS. “How do I turn this thing off…?”
“My power source is internalized to remain constant at all times. I can enter hibernation modes after extended–”
“Whatever.” Chris plopped the device on the table once more and went to get himself ready for bed. Atlas’ screen remained bright for a moment, the Montana map still glowing, before it reverted to a neutral blue glow which gradually faded and went out.
“What the hell, what the hell…” It was 11:01. Chris scrambled through his apartment, preparing what he could for the long drive. Having slept in late, taken much too long going to get his morning coffee and found a line at the ATM machine at the bank, Chris Colting was running late. He hurriedly stuffed a small knapsack with some candy bars and a water bottle and, at the door, almost forgot to pack his newfound guide system. Hurrying to his blue car, he soon had Atlas mounted to his dashboard and in a moment he drove out of the driveway. Atlas’s screen, after momentarily flashing blue, brought up a map grid and road with a digital clock in the corner.
“The time of departure has been delay–”
“I know I’m running late, dammit! Let me just get to the highway”– the car screeched around a corner– “and I’ll be on my merry way.” At his velocity, Chirs was not long before he boarded the ramp and began to accelerate. His hands anxiously tightened the steering wheel. A minor setback, not one unable to catch up on.
Atlas suddenly beeped alarmingly. “Report: a car accident has occurred on this highway–”
“WHAT?!”
“–recalibrating an alternate route.” Chris rolled his eyes angrily.
“Yes, get that alternate route, and it better be as fast as this one, got it?”
Atlas paused before responding. “Affirmative. Computing.”
“Hurry up!”
“…Alternate route recalibrated. Time delay: fifty-six minutes. Turn off at exit–”
“What! No way! There’s got to be a faster way, rather than delaying this trip another hour.”
“No alternative. Turn off at–”
“What if I waded through the accident?”
“Time delay would be longer than you’d want it to be.”
Chris opened his mouth to retort, taking a moment to realize that Atlas just talked back to him. Swallowing his impatience the best he could, he looked up and said, “Ok, Atlas. Tell me where that exit is at.”
“We’ve been driving along these backroads for two hours, Atlas,” Chris snarled at the machine. “When are we going to get back to the main road so we can get moving?” The trees sped past around them as Chris zoomed along at sixty on a forty-five mile an hour road.
A complicated network of map lines appeared on Atlas’ screen. “Negative. According to time calculations and travel estimations, the highway will be a slower route to take. Confirm: preferred travel route was requested to be the fastest, correct?”
“Yes, but… Oh, fine!” Chris glowered in his seat, glancing at the car’s digital clock, which read 2:49, as he continued muttering darkly to himself. “Stupid little… thinks it knows best…”
“Repeat previous question, please.”
“Nothing, nothing! Just… tell me which way to go.” Which was a foolish question in itself: they had not passed a turn or side road for the past hour.
Noting this, the faintest note of sarcasm was dropped in Atlas’ next statement: “Continue on present course.”
Silence fell over the car. The radio reception had dwindled to practically nothing some time ago. Only Chris’s occasional, angry huffs resonated whenever he looked at the clock, which seemed to add minutes faster and faster as time wore on. One thought raced through his motionless head: I will not be late… I need to get there now… I will not be late. Glancing at his A.T.L.A.S., he felt a growing resentment. Damn thing… doesn’t do its job. I needed to get there quick and look what its done! But his thoughts were only meet with a glowing screen with a single, computerized image of an arrow directing his every move.
Clearing the woods they arrived at the outskirts of a small town, a random little place content to live in the nothingness of southern Montana. Chris glanced out the window as they drove through the main street, with quaint little tourist shops, local diners and the town offices astride the road.
“Where did you bring me?”
“Current location: Rockland Falls. En route to desired location.”
Chris seethed as he picked up speed. “You’ve brought me out to the sticks and you think this is faster than the highway?!”
“Correct.”
“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” None too slowly, Chris pulled over to the side of the road near the glade outside of town.
“You have stopped the vehicle, delaying travel time by–“
“SHUTTUP! Shut up you stupid thing!”
The GPS fell silent, the screen shimmering slightly.
“You’ve slowed me down every mile of this trip and you know it! I could’ve doubled back to the highway and cut this ride time in half but you said to come this way.” He grabbed Atlas from its place in the dashboard and held the screen in front of him. Little drops of spittle from Chris’s mouth sullied the display as he ranted. “I wanted to get to Dusty’s place fast. Like quickly. I was told you could map the best route to get there. Looking at where I am to where I’m going, the road in between is like a god-damn snake. I wanted you to get me a straight shot there, the fastest, most direct route possible. Instead you’ve brought me on this… this joy-ride though the country-side.”
The map vanished and was replaced by a turquoise-blue screen with little dots flashing on it as the GPS loaded. “Processing your request,” it declared.
Shaking with fury, Chris brought the screen closer, his hands grasping the sides of it. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t take scenic routes, you hear? I aim to get there, and get these fast. And… and I’m sick to death of your advice. It ain’t worth a penny of what I bought you for. So that’s why your joy-ride stops here, Atlas.”
“Processing your request.”
Grunting angrily, Chris flung open the car door. “I’ll get there ten times faster without you driving this car, so you can just stay here!”
Without a second thought, Chris hurled Atlas to the opposite side of the road, where it rolled a little on the grass before stopping. “I’ll get there! I’ll make it faster than you can, now!” Chris shouted at it. “I don’t need your help no more!” Chris stared at it a moment, a mere hesitation to hear a robotic response from the machine. The turquoise glow of the screen stared longingly across the road at him, the dots still blinking. Then he faintly heard it again, in the same, monotonous tone:
“Processing your request.”
Chris hopped back in his electric blue Honda and zipped away, trying to force the image of the gleaming display from his mind, only because it reminded him so eerily of a pair of green, flashing eyes.
Chris sat in the small diner, pouring over the state map. He had kept a spare copy in his car, but it had received little use since he crammed it in the driver’s side door pocket. He looked it over as carefully as his inarticulate mind allowed him, zipping from one dot and road to the next, trying to find where he was, where he was going and how to get there simultaneously. He was having little luck. In fact, he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to even read the map. Especially with one thought nagging in his mind: the menacing fact that he hadn’t a clue where he was and that there was only one way to find out how…
But I can do this, he thought. I can! I’m a human being. I know I’m smarter - faster – then that chunk of metal will ever be. I’m human! I can think! I must think! A small, unrelenting bead of sweat slid down his forehead as he stared at the map. Faster! I must think faster! Why on Earth can’t I figure this out?! Suddenly, he glanced up. That Atlas got me into this mess. That’s why I’m stuck. He set the map on the table; all was clear to him. Yes, it’s that… thing’s fault that I’m here. It’s steered me so far off that no one can hope to find themselves here. Yes, that’s it! He glanced at a clock on the wall and downed the rest of his coffee. It’s not my fault. My brain is capable of solving this; I just can’t without it’s help since it brought me here, and ‘here’ can’t be on any of these maps since this region is just so remote. His confidence swelled as he stormed out the door and hopped back into his car. That’s it. I’ll have it get me back to the highway by the route it knows and is keeping from me. I will tell it what to do and I will get there on time. And then I can get along without it. But the fear remained present, the underlying and ignored horror of the fact that he was helpless with out that little gray machine.
Dusk began to settle as Chris Colting retraced his path to where he threw out the device. It was still there, an eerie blue glow on the twilit ground. He stepped out of the car and picked it up. “Well…” started Chris. “Here I am again.” He stepped back into the car, the GPS in hand. The green dots were still flashing, indicating the device hadn’t stopped processing. However, it remained silent, as if waiting for him to speak. “Look, I’ve decided you can come with me. You just get me back to the main drag right now, and get me to where I need to go as quick as possible. I don’t want any more of this back-road-shortcut crap. I want to get there; yes I may be a little late. Just get me back to civilization and then we can–”
Atlas let out a loud beep, and the lights solidified into solid red dots. “Request mapped!”
Chris glanced at it quizzically. “What request?”
“It was requested that a ‘straight shot’ and ‘fast’ trip to the desired location be completed. This route has been mapped.” And with that, southern Montana appeared on the screen and a red line wound across the chart. The route was similar to the first half except for nearer the end. It slowly deviated at a certain spot and then followed a near straight cut straight to the flashing dot labeled ‘Richman, MT.’
“Wait…” Chris was intrigued. “…this will get me there fast?”
“It is the most ‘straight shot’ route possible.”
“How soon will I get there by taking it?”
“Estimated time of arrival: 5:01 p.m.”
Chris grinned. “Now that’s what I want to hear! Let’s go!” And with that, Chris Colting revved the engine of the blue car and it sped off into the waning night.
Chris Colting arrived at the gate of a dirt road leading off into the woods. It was nothing more than a bar latched to a post. There was not even evidence of a lock. Beyond the beams of the car’s headlights, blackness waited; night had fallen.
“Turn left and proceed down the road.”
Chris looked at Atlas. “Down that way? Are you sure?”
“Correct. This is the desired route. Proceed.”
Chris hesitated. He hadn’t expected this. A clock flashed across Atlas’ screen. “Your estimated time of arrival has increased by one minute.” And with that, Chris leapt from his car and grasped the metal barrier, pulling it aside easily. On getting back into the car, he glanced again at the GPS. “When… How old is this road? Where does it go?”
“It is the route to the destination.”
“But are we… Is it safe?”
“It is the route to the destination.”
“Atlas! Answer me.”
Atlas was silent. Suddenly the map flashed out for a moment and was replaced by the blinking dots. Its words then came out disjointed, almost forced. “The request… commanded was… to get a… straight shot… route to the… destination. The process requested is as it… is.” Chris looked at the machine, with its dots still blinking spasmodically. “Your… request was specific. Your needs have been met. This route is the… fastest… way to get to where you want to go. All other factors… irrelevant. Irrelevant… to you. Therefore… they are unconsidered when the route was… planned. Now, decide… human. Decide… your… request…” A final pause. “The estimated time of arrival is now delayed by three minutes. Turn left and proceed down the road.”
Chris Colting, more maddened than frightened, revved the engine and sped into the road. “Fine!!” he screamed. “You’ve got it! Let’s go then! Let’s get there now!” The rockiness rumbled the car and soon brambles from the woods around them closed in, scraping the windows, sending loud, intermittent shree’s into the air. But louder over the din were two sounds – one of Chris Colting’s heavy, furious breathing and the other a robotic voice, egging him onward:
“Continue down the road approximately five miles.”
“Yes! Whatever it is, fine! I just need to get there. Just tell me where. I don’t care! Tell me where to go!”
There was a loud thump as the car partially leapt over a large rock. The road had narrowed to the space of a trail. The rustling and screeching was everywhere, and a third noise, the roar of the engine, became a fixture in the scene, another noise in Chirs Colting’s brain to compliment the equally incessant sound of Atlas’s monotonous instructions. Underneath all of this, though, the fear inside Chris had grown to form a sick mixture with his fury. He had to obey the infernal thing only because he was lost without it, hopelessly dependent on its coaching.
“Continue down the road approximately four miles.”
A voice inside Chris’s head screamed to just turn around and abandon this venture. But I gotta get there. I gotta be quick. I’ve just come too far to turn back…I can’t turn back. Atlas knows the way! I’ll be alright. It’s the fastest way there… I’ll be alright! There was a splash as the war zoomed over a small stream.
“Continue down the road approximately three miles.”
A headlight burst somewhere on the line, probably from a close connection with a tree. Only a single beam of light now pierced the night before Chris Colting, and surrounded by blackness, only a small, turquoise screen served as his guide. No matter; I’ll fix it when I get there. Atlas can show me where to find a mechanic. I’ll be alright. I can trust Atlas.
“Continue down the road approximately two miles.”
Chris Colting then realized his was on a steady incline. It was slight, but the increase in elevation was undeniable. They were going up. Only a hill, he thought, only a hill. It’s just how the route works. Want to get a fast short cut, gotta climb a little more. He pressed his foot on the accelerator. The dial climbed, reading a top speed of 65 m.p.h.
“Continue down the road approximately one mile.”
Chris Colting was in a cold sweat. His fingers were glued to the wheel, with his perspiration as the paste. The eyes stared widely out the windshield, no longer caring what obstacles were in the way. He glanced quickly at the clock. 4:59. Almost there… almost there…
The arrow on Atlas’ display suddenly shifted. “Turn right.”
Without thinking, Chris made a final turn and suddenly burst from the woods and was on grass and beneath an open, infinite universe that was the night sky. He riveted his eyes to the screen, awaiting the next instruction. The arrow turned upwards.
“Your destination is straight ahead.”
Chris looked up and screamed as his car, traveling in excess of 75 m.p.h. soared over the edge of the cliff.
Despite the randomness of the freak accident, fortunately no one at Dusty Natlack’s party was hurt. Though the car traveled about 100 feet from where it left the lip of the cliff in back of his house, it landed nose first, totaling the vehicle before bringing it to an immediate stop. He and his friends hurried over to the wreck while his wife called an ambulance; someone – someone crazy – had to have been driving that thing. They had known about the old hiking trails that crisscrossed the woods in the hills beyond their house, but they hadn’t figure they were used as drag racing grounds.
The car was what used to be an electric blue Honda, then battered and smudged with a broken headlight and riddled with scratches. The driver, at first inspection was badly mangled by the crash and they did not recognize who he was. Of the various amounts of debris however, they found one survivor at least partially intact. Though the screen was slightly cracked, the GPS (as it clearly was) was in one piece. At least externally. Being a new brand, Dusty was unfamiliar with it and how it seemed to be devoid of any buttons or on-off switches. So he was forced to throw it out when he couldn’t get the message off the screen, the message that had been permanently flashing since he picked it up the night of the accident: “Destination reached.”
Nate Gowen
Chris Colting hung up the phone. Remaining in his beaten up recliner, he stared unseeingly into the room; the only moving things present were thoughts flying through his head.
Ol’ Dusty Natlack and his wife finally got into a new house! Barely twenty-seven and his long-time college buddy already got himself a wife, a good-paying job and a fancy new house to boot. Chris certainly needed catching up– he was single, still worked behind the counter at the food market and lived out of a cheap, two-room apartment on Main Street. Chris Colting, who always wanted to speed ahead, was falling behind. Chris Colting hated falling behind.
He glanced at the address he scrawled on the post-it note on the small table in front of him: 47 Cliffside Ln., Richman, Montana. Dusty had said it was somewhere in Carter County, in the far south-east of the state– a fair distance from Great Falls, to say the least. Chris guessed it would be about a day’s drive. Or maybe a little over. Or… Chris glanced up. How do I get there?
Chris Colting was a tall man, shy of both twenty-eight years in age and six and a quarter feet in height. He preferred a clean shaven face, and kept his thick, brown hair trimmed short. At first meet, a stranger could say Chris was “ambitious” or “demanding,” possibly even “hot-headed.” All these are right, and can be summed up in one word: fast. “Get there quickly” was the basis of Chris’s needs. His friends nick-named him “Race-horse,” and they would always remember him by his favorite catchphrase: “I don’t mind slowpokes unless I’m stuck behind ‘em!”
Leaping up the steps two at a time, Chris sped back up to his apartment from his car with a road map. Sitting in his chair, he scanned the cities and towns. No Richman. He glanced hurriedly through again. No Richman. Maybe he missed it… With monotonous deliberation he started at the R’s: Radersburg…Ramsay… Rapeljie…Ravalli… Raymond… Chris clenched his fist furiously. This already taking too long. If he couldn’t find it the first time, that should have been enough to conclude that the map was obviously outdated. Well, what next? The Internet! Yes, Chris thought, look it up and print out a map there. Chris didn’t own a computer in his own home, so, without a second thought (not that Chris had many of those) he dashed out of his apartment once again.
Driving into the library parking lot in his fender-bent, electric blue Honda, Chris got out, wasting no time to get to the door. Pulling hard he found it stuck fast. Chris fumed, only just then remembering that it was Friday; the library was closed on Fridays. Swearing to himself, he stomped back to his car. He needed to know! He needed to know how to get there. More importantly, Chris Colting needed to know now.
As he opened the door to his car, another drove into the lot. The man inside rolled down his window and pulled up next to Chris and his car.
“’Scuse me, mister!”
Chris glanced at him, still sour. “Yeah, what?”
“How’d do get to West Avenue from here? My damn GPS broke down and I don gotta map.”
“Turn outta here and take a—wait, your GPS broke…” That was it. That’s what he would do. Chris Colting would get himself a GPS.
Chris scampered back into his tenement with the box just picked up from the electronics store. The ‘Automated Travel Locator Assistant System’ the man behind the counter called it, or A.T.L.A.S. It was the best GPS system available on the open-market (at least locally) and was the last in stock at the store. Though aware of the lack of change in his bank account, Chris bought it without hesitation. And with this equally unhesitant attitude, he tore open the package and stared at the device inside. It was a small but un-flimsy device, regarded as a little extra bulky by a GPS standard. But what it could do in return was worth what little extra weight it had. The box read, ‘The smartest GPS ever! Finds routes quicker than any other! Finds your way so you don’t have to! You can rest easy on A.T.L.A.S.’s shoulders!’
Chris took out the device. The screen dominated the front face of the charcoal gray machine; there were no buttons. That was the other gimmick the electronics man had mentioned: “It’s one-hundred percent voice activated.” As Chris held it, the screen flashed into life without provocation and the letters A-T-L-A-S swam around the display.
“Welcome. I am your Automated Travel Locator Assistant System, but you may call me Atlas. I am programmed to see to your needs of global mapping and positioning. Don’t forget: you can rest easy on Atlas’ shoulders.” The voice that emanated from the device was robotic, almost ethereal, yet with the faintest twinge of human quality. It was a sound in the middle ground between sentience and artificiality. “What do you command?”
Chris cleared his throat officially, wasting no time. “Alright, Atlas, find me the quickest route to from my current location to forty-seven, Cliffside Lane, Richman, Montana, now.”
“Processing…” the GPS stated. A detailed map of the Earth appeared on the screen, and soon Montana was zoomed in upon, its major roads running like arteries across the state.
“Well?” Chris Colting asked. “How do I get there?”
“The route you have requested… has been computed. The way to get to your specified location in the least amount of time will take approximately: seven hours, twenty-eight minutes.”
“What?” Chris asked. “Seven and a half hours? Can’t I get there faster?”
“No faster route on any accessible roads available.”
“Would I get there faster by… oh, forget it…” Chris sat back in his arm chair and scowled. Seven and a half hours was a long drive. Too long.
“Prepared to answer the question proposed,” quipped Atlas.
“Tch… Like you’d know…” Chris muttered. “You probably wouldn’t factor in how much sooner I’d get there if you knew how much I speeded on the highway…”
“What is the estimated speed you plan to travel?”
Chris glanced down at the screen staring at him from the table in front of him. “Oh, I don’t know. About eighty-five I suppose…”
Atlas beeped. “Assuming you travel over fifteen miles an hour past the legal limit, and you are not caught by the local law enforcers, you will cut your arrival time by: one hour, four minutes.”
Chris smirked. “Ok. I’ll buy that, Atlas. Six hour drive then. I’ll leave at about eleven tomorrow morning. Five-o’-clock party. We won’t be late, right?”
“Correct. Precisely thirty-six minutes will be saved if–”
“Alright, Atlas. I got it. Get there right at five; fine by me.” Chris picked up the GPS. “How do I turn this thing off…?”
“My power source is internalized to remain constant at all times. I can enter hibernation modes after extended–”
“Whatever.” Chris plopped the device on the table once more and went to get himself ready for bed. Atlas’ screen remained bright for a moment, the Montana map still glowing, before it reverted to a neutral blue glow which gradually faded and went out.
“What the hell, what the hell…” It was 11:01. Chris scrambled through his apartment, preparing what he could for the long drive. Having slept in late, taken much too long going to get his morning coffee and found a line at the ATM machine at the bank, Chris Colting was running late. He hurriedly stuffed a small knapsack with some candy bars and a water bottle and, at the door, almost forgot to pack his newfound guide system. Hurrying to his blue car, he soon had Atlas mounted to his dashboard and in a moment he drove out of the driveway. Atlas’s screen, after momentarily flashing blue, brought up a map grid and road with a digital clock in the corner.
“The time of departure has been delay–”
“I know I’m running late, dammit! Let me just get to the highway”– the car screeched around a corner– “and I’ll be on my merry way.” At his velocity, Chirs was not long before he boarded the ramp and began to accelerate. His hands anxiously tightened the steering wheel. A minor setback, not one unable to catch up on.
Atlas suddenly beeped alarmingly. “Report: a car accident has occurred on this highway–”
“WHAT?!”
“–recalibrating an alternate route.” Chris rolled his eyes angrily.
“Yes, get that alternate route, and it better be as fast as this one, got it?”
Atlas paused before responding. “Affirmative. Computing.”
“Hurry up!”
“…Alternate route recalibrated. Time delay: fifty-six minutes. Turn off at exit–”
“What! No way! There’s got to be a faster way, rather than delaying this trip another hour.”
“No alternative. Turn off at–”
“What if I waded through the accident?”
“Time delay would be longer than you’d want it to be.”
Chris opened his mouth to retort, taking a moment to realize that Atlas just talked back to him. Swallowing his impatience the best he could, he looked up and said, “Ok, Atlas. Tell me where that exit is at.”
“We’ve been driving along these backroads for two hours, Atlas,” Chris snarled at the machine. “When are we going to get back to the main road so we can get moving?” The trees sped past around them as Chris zoomed along at sixty on a forty-five mile an hour road.
A complicated network of map lines appeared on Atlas’ screen. “Negative. According to time calculations and travel estimations, the highway will be a slower route to take. Confirm: preferred travel route was requested to be the fastest, correct?”
“Yes, but… Oh, fine!” Chris glowered in his seat, glancing at the car’s digital clock, which read 2:49, as he continued muttering darkly to himself. “Stupid little… thinks it knows best…”
“Repeat previous question, please.”
“Nothing, nothing! Just… tell me which way to go.” Which was a foolish question in itself: they had not passed a turn or side road for the past hour.
Noting this, the faintest note of sarcasm was dropped in Atlas’ next statement: “Continue on present course.”
Silence fell over the car. The radio reception had dwindled to practically nothing some time ago. Only Chris’s occasional, angry huffs resonated whenever he looked at the clock, which seemed to add minutes faster and faster as time wore on. One thought raced through his motionless head: I will not be late… I need to get there now… I will not be late. Glancing at his A.T.L.A.S., he felt a growing resentment. Damn thing… doesn’t do its job. I needed to get there quick and look what its done! But his thoughts were only meet with a glowing screen with a single, computerized image of an arrow directing his every move.
Clearing the woods they arrived at the outskirts of a small town, a random little place content to live in the nothingness of southern Montana. Chris glanced out the window as they drove through the main street, with quaint little tourist shops, local diners and the town offices astride the road.
“Where did you bring me?”
“Current location: Rockland Falls. En route to desired location.”
Chris seethed as he picked up speed. “You’ve brought me out to the sticks and you think this is faster than the highway?!”
“Correct.”
“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” None too slowly, Chris pulled over to the side of the road near the glade outside of town.
“You have stopped the vehicle, delaying travel time by–“
“SHUTTUP! Shut up you stupid thing!”
The GPS fell silent, the screen shimmering slightly.
“You’ve slowed me down every mile of this trip and you know it! I could’ve doubled back to the highway and cut this ride time in half but you said to come this way.” He grabbed Atlas from its place in the dashboard and held the screen in front of him. Little drops of spittle from Chris’s mouth sullied the display as he ranted. “I wanted to get to Dusty’s place fast. Like quickly. I was told you could map the best route to get there. Looking at where I am to where I’m going, the road in between is like a god-damn snake. I wanted you to get me a straight shot there, the fastest, most direct route possible. Instead you’ve brought me on this… this joy-ride though the country-side.”
The map vanished and was replaced by a turquoise-blue screen with little dots flashing on it as the GPS loaded. “Processing your request,” it declared.
Shaking with fury, Chris brought the screen closer, his hands grasping the sides of it. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t take scenic routes, you hear? I aim to get there, and get these fast. And… and I’m sick to death of your advice. It ain’t worth a penny of what I bought you for. So that’s why your joy-ride stops here, Atlas.”
“Processing your request.”
Grunting angrily, Chris flung open the car door. “I’ll get there ten times faster without you driving this car, so you can just stay here!”
Without a second thought, Chris hurled Atlas to the opposite side of the road, where it rolled a little on the grass before stopping. “I’ll get there! I’ll make it faster than you can, now!” Chris shouted at it. “I don’t need your help no more!” Chris stared at it a moment, a mere hesitation to hear a robotic response from the machine. The turquoise glow of the screen stared longingly across the road at him, the dots still blinking. Then he faintly heard it again, in the same, monotonous tone:
“Processing your request.”
Chris hopped back in his electric blue Honda and zipped away, trying to force the image of the gleaming display from his mind, only because it reminded him so eerily of a pair of green, flashing eyes.
Chris sat in the small diner, pouring over the state map. He had kept a spare copy in his car, but it had received little use since he crammed it in the driver’s side door pocket. He looked it over as carefully as his inarticulate mind allowed him, zipping from one dot and road to the next, trying to find where he was, where he was going and how to get there simultaneously. He was having little luck. In fact, he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to even read the map. Especially with one thought nagging in his mind: the menacing fact that he hadn’t a clue where he was and that there was only one way to find out how…
But I can do this, he thought. I can! I’m a human being. I know I’m smarter - faster – then that chunk of metal will ever be. I’m human! I can think! I must think! A small, unrelenting bead of sweat slid down his forehead as he stared at the map. Faster! I must think faster! Why on Earth can’t I figure this out?! Suddenly, he glanced up. That Atlas got me into this mess. That’s why I’m stuck. He set the map on the table; all was clear to him. Yes, it’s that… thing’s fault that I’m here. It’s steered me so far off that no one can hope to find themselves here. Yes, that’s it! He glanced at a clock on the wall and downed the rest of his coffee. It’s not my fault. My brain is capable of solving this; I just can’t without it’s help since it brought me here, and ‘here’ can’t be on any of these maps since this region is just so remote. His confidence swelled as he stormed out the door and hopped back into his car. That’s it. I’ll have it get me back to the highway by the route it knows and is keeping from me. I will tell it what to do and I will get there on time. And then I can get along without it. But the fear remained present, the underlying and ignored horror of the fact that he was helpless with out that little gray machine.
Dusk began to settle as Chris Colting retraced his path to where he threw out the device. It was still there, an eerie blue glow on the twilit ground. He stepped out of the car and picked it up. “Well…” started Chris. “Here I am again.” He stepped back into the car, the GPS in hand. The green dots were still flashing, indicating the device hadn’t stopped processing. However, it remained silent, as if waiting for him to speak. “Look, I’ve decided you can come with me. You just get me back to the main drag right now, and get me to where I need to go as quick as possible. I don’t want any more of this back-road-shortcut crap. I want to get there; yes I may be a little late. Just get me back to civilization and then we can–”
Atlas let out a loud beep, and the lights solidified into solid red dots. “Request mapped!”
Chris glanced at it quizzically. “What request?”
“It was requested that a ‘straight shot’ and ‘fast’ trip to the desired location be completed. This route has been mapped.” And with that, southern Montana appeared on the screen and a red line wound across the chart. The route was similar to the first half except for nearer the end. It slowly deviated at a certain spot and then followed a near straight cut straight to the flashing dot labeled ‘Richman, MT.’
“Wait…” Chris was intrigued. “…this will get me there fast?”
“It is the most ‘straight shot’ route possible.”
“How soon will I get there by taking it?”
“Estimated time of arrival: 5:01 p.m.”
Chris grinned. “Now that’s what I want to hear! Let’s go!” And with that, Chris Colting revved the engine of the blue car and it sped off into the waning night.
Chris Colting arrived at the gate of a dirt road leading off into the woods. It was nothing more than a bar latched to a post. There was not even evidence of a lock. Beyond the beams of the car’s headlights, blackness waited; night had fallen.
“Turn left and proceed down the road.”
Chris looked at Atlas. “Down that way? Are you sure?”
“Correct. This is the desired route. Proceed.”
Chris hesitated. He hadn’t expected this. A clock flashed across Atlas’ screen. “Your estimated time of arrival has increased by one minute.” And with that, Chris leapt from his car and grasped the metal barrier, pulling it aside easily. On getting back into the car, he glanced again at the GPS. “When… How old is this road? Where does it go?”
“It is the route to the destination.”
“But are we… Is it safe?”
“It is the route to the destination.”
“Atlas! Answer me.”
Atlas was silent. Suddenly the map flashed out for a moment and was replaced by the blinking dots. Its words then came out disjointed, almost forced. “The request… commanded was… to get a… straight shot… route to the… destination. The process requested is as it… is.” Chris looked at the machine, with its dots still blinking spasmodically. “Your… request was specific. Your needs have been met. This route is the… fastest… way to get to where you want to go. All other factors… irrelevant. Irrelevant… to you. Therefore… they are unconsidered when the route was… planned. Now, decide… human. Decide… your… request…” A final pause. “The estimated time of arrival is now delayed by three minutes. Turn left and proceed down the road.”
Chris Colting, more maddened than frightened, revved the engine and sped into the road. “Fine!!” he screamed. “You’ve got it! Let’s go then! Let’s get there now!” The rockiness rumbled the car and soon brambles from the woods around them closed in, scraping the windows, sending loud, intermittent shree’s into the air. But louder over the din were two sounds – one of Chris Colting’s heavy, furious breathing and the other a robotic voice, egging him onward:
“Continue down the road approximately five miles.”
“Yes! Whatever it is, fine! I just need to get there. Just tell me where. I don’t care! Tell me where to go!”
There was a loud thump as the car partially leapt over a large rock. The road had narrowed to the space of a trail. The rustling and screeching was everywhere, and a third noise, the roar of the engine, became a fixture in the scene, another noise in Chirs Colting’s brain to compliment the equally incessant sound of Atlas’s monotonous instructions. Underneath all of this, though, the fear inside Chris had grown to form a sick mixture with his fury. He had to obey the infernal thing only because he was lost without it, hopelessly dependent on its coaching.
“Continue down the road approximately four miles.”
A voice inside Chris’s head screamed to just turn around and abandon this venture. But I gotta get there. I gotta be quick. I’ve just come too far to turn back…I can’t turn back. Atlas knows the way! I’ll be alright. It’s the fastest way there… I’ll be alright! There was a splash as the war zoomed over a small stream.
“Continue down the road approximately three miles.”
A headlight burst somewhere on the line, probably from a close connection with a tree. Only a single beam of light now pierced the night before Chris Colting, and surrounded by blackness, only a small, turquoise screen served as his guide. No matter; I’ll fix it when I get there. Atlas can show me where to find a mechanic. I’ll be alright. I can trust Atlas.
“Continue down the road approximately two miles.”
Chris Colting then realized his was on a steady incline. It was slight, but the increase in elevation was undeniable. They were going up. Only a hill, he thought, only a hill. It’s just how the route works. Want to get a fast short cut, gotta climb a little more. He pressed his foot on the accelerator. The dial climbed, reading a top speed of 65 m.p.h.
“Continue down the road approximately one mile.”
Chris Colting was in a cold sweat. His fingers were glued to the wheel, with his perspiration as the paste. The eyes stared widely out the windshield, no longer caring what obstacles were in the way. He glanced quickly at the clock. 4:59. Almost there… almost there…
The arrow on Atlas’ display suddenly shifted. “Turn right.”
Without thinking, Chris made a final turn and suddenly burst from the woods and was on grass and beneath an open, infinite universe that was the night sky. He riveted his eyes to the screen, awaiting the next instruction. The arrow turned upwards.
“Your destination is straight ahead.”
Chris looked up and screamed as his car, traveling in excess of 75 m.p.h. soared over the edge of the cliff.
Despite the randomness of the freak accident, fortunately no one at Dusty Natlack’s party was hurt. Though the car traveled about 100 feet from where it left the lip of the cliff in back of his house, it landed nose first, totaling the vehicle before bringing it to an immediate stop. He and his friends hurried over to the wreck while his wife called an ambulance; someone – someone crazy – had to have been driving that thing. They had known about the old hiking trails that crisscrossed the woods in the hills beyond their house, but they hadn’t figure they were used as drag racing grounds.
The car was what used to be an electric blue Honda, then battered and smudged with a broken headlight and riddled with scratches. The driver, at first inspection was badly mangled by the crash and they did not recognize who he was. Of the various amounts of debris however, they found one survivor at least partially intact. Though the screen was slightly cracked, the GPS (as it clearly was) was in one piece. At least externally. Being a new brand, Dusty was unfamiliar with it and how it seemed to be devoid of any buttons or on-off switches. So he was forced to throw it out when he couldn’t get the message off the screen, the message that had been permanently flashing since he picked it up the night of the accident: “Destination reached.”
Nate Gowen