Story Excerpt

Imprint
by Zach Poulter

The left rear failed somewhere in Alaska. Or maybe it was British Columbia. Jacob hadn’t really been keeping track. He’d disabled the sensors and all outgoing communications, so his first indication anything was wrong was the little blue car listing to one side, and the slow moan of the tire’s final warning layer grinding against the road. 

“Slow to stop.” Jacob sat up. Blinked himself awake. Took in the surrounding scrub brush and pines, the ridiculously scenic mountains, and the endless, empty road, undulating up and down into the distance.

The car eased onto the gravel shoulder, near a marshy clearing. It put itself into park. 

As far as Jacob could tell, he was alone on the two-lane highway. No one to help him, but also no one who might know who he was, or what he’d done. “Time and location?”

A soft light pulsed on the main display.

“Reengage voice response. Time and location?”

He hadn’t bothered to reset the voice. Female. No particular accent. It always gave Jacob the impression of someone smiling slightly at him, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Three-seventeen, local time. Yukon Territory, unincorporated. Also, time to buy new tires. Time to enable the alerts that would have avoided this problem in the first place.”

“Distance to Alaska?”

“Two hundred twelve kilometers.”

“Distance to somewhere I can buy a tire?”

“Six hundred fifty-eight kilometers. I need four new tires, Jacob. One is just particularly urgent.”

“Six hundred . . . Distance I can go on what’s left of the tires I have?”

A fleet of autonomous freighters blew by, bumper to bumper, drafting off the front truck, probably twelve in a row. Jacob startled at the sudden noise, the burst of wind shaking the car. Once they passed, Jacob repeated his question. 

“Thirty kilometers without permanent damage.”

“And how far with permanent damage?”

“To you or me?”

“To the one with a pulse. The one who can sell you for scrap. The one who’s going to have to pay for all this. Come on. How far can we make it if we absolutely have to?”

“Up to three hundred kilometers, depending on conditions and speed. I could contact a towing service.”

“And they’d contact law enforcement. No thanks. Trunk view.”

The screen showed the inside of the trunk, not that there was much to see. A blurred corner of the black plastic body bag, a jack, a shovel.

“Normal view. Lower windows to half. Turn off your voice for a while. On-screen responses only. I need to think.”

Whether or not it had done so intentionally, the car had stopped at a good place. Wide shoulder, good view. Full sunlight on the roof panels. Autonomous freighters were the only thing likely to pass, but if not, it would simply look like Jacob had pulled over to enjoy the scenery or relieve himself. 

For the moment, the road was empty. 

Jacob popped open the dashboard storage and rifled around inside. “Enough food for a few days, as long as I’m content with jerky and crackers. And I think we know I am.” 

He closed the dash. Pulled up a map on screen. “None of these little towns have tires?” They didn’t. “Anyone have a shipping pad?” Two did. One was three hundred kilometers behind them, the other four hundred ahead. Jacob wasn’t about to turn around. Tires were too heavy to fly in anyway. Probably pay more in drone fees than the tires themselves.

“You last longer if I walk alongside?”

“Yes. Excellent idea. Sounds romantic.”

“Hey. I shut you off.”

“You said for a while. I decided it had been a while.”

“You decided. I ever tell you how much I hate AI?”

“Approximately once every hundred kilometers. Your sister adored me, by the way. When she was alive. If you walk alongside, it lightens our weight by 95 kilograms. That could give us an extra fifty kilometers, if you walk the entire way.”

“An extra fifty. So still not enough to get you into a town. Also, stop mentioning Julie. Also, I don’t weigh ninety-five kilograms.”

“Jerky and crackers, Jacob. It’s actually ninety-eight; I was being polite.”

“Has it been a hundred kilometers yet since I complained?”

“Not even one. It’s your own fault, you know. I learned my personality from the best.”

“Thanks, I gue—”

“And now I’m learning from her brother.” 

“Ooh. Well played.” Jacob slow clapped for the car. “Julie teach you how to be sarcastic too?”

“Not specifically. I imprinted on Julie first, but not exclusively. Within certain limits I make my own choices. For dialogue, I’m primarily reacting the way you would, Jacob. Sixty-two percent you and thirty-eight percent Julie, until I learn enough about you to fill the gaps. Unless you’d rather I revert to Julie’s profile completely. Or factory defaults? That choice is entirely up to you.”

“And that’s why I hate it. I’ll carry the backpack too. Make up for the strain all my extra weight has put on you. My alleged extra weight.”

Jacob strapped on his hiking boots, slathered insect repellent on his arms and face, and loaded the pack as heavily as he figured he could handle. He shifted his other belongings toward the front of the car. It wasn’t much.

“That help a little? Moving weight off the back tire?”

“A very little.”

“Hey, maybe a big stretch is downhill. Did you think about that, you bucket of bolts? Did you calculate that into your pessimistic algorithm?”

“I did not calculate road grade because it does not materially impact damage to my tires. But since you asked, there are no significant downhill portions of our route. Most of it trends uphill.” 

“Of course it does.” 

“Enjoy.”

“Trunk view?”

The screen flitted to the trunk.

“Okay. Good. Regular view.” 

Jacob got out of the car and nearly tipped over backward shouldering the pack. He tried again, finding his balance. He instructed the car to pull aside when freighters were approaching and to alert him of any drones or other vehicles. Especially law enforcement. He started walking. The car rolled alongside.

“There still bears in Alaska?”

“Oh yes. Gobs of bears. Tons. But we’re in Canada.”

“Right. Bears in Canada?”

“Even more than in Alaska. Plus, Canadian bears are hungrier. Gob-tons of ravenous bears prowling the highways for food here in Canada. Less picky about their victim’s hygiene than Alaskan bears, too. Unfortunately for you.”

Jacob actually smiled. “How pathetic is that. I’m laughing at a remixed version of myself.”

“Most of that was Julie. You can tell because it was clever. In any case, don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone is partly a composite of their influences.” 

“Blah, blah, blah. You want to know what kind of influence I was on Julie? One time we were supposed to ride our bikes home from school and I ran her bike up the flagpole instead. Tied it to the rope, sent it up one pull at a time while she begged me to stop. She ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“Hilarious stuff to a ten-year-old. I got it down for her after a few minutes, but she still didn’t see the humor. Or the cleverness. Quite the big brother, wasn’t I? Just a wonderful guy, tormenting his helpless little sister. How about an audiobook?”

“What are you in the mood for? This is the first time you’ve requested literature, so I don’t have anything on file. Julie was fond of mysteries. Murder mysteries especially. Murder. Would you like to hear a murder mystery, Jacob? Perhaps one of Julie’s favorites?”

“No. Never mind about the audiobook. Silence, I guess.” Not that it was entirely silent, with the grinding of gravel under the damaged tire, and the breeze through the surrounding pines. “Maybe the audio from Karen.”

“Which audio from Karen?”

Jacob didn’t answer, and after a moment, the car played it anyway:

“Hey Jake. You asked me for something to listen to on your road trip, so I loaded some playlists of mine, and a few random songs I know you like. Is there some actual reason you don’t have your own profile yet? You’re seriously the only person I know under seventy who is so weird about privacy.

“Lucky for you I think you’re cute. You hear that? I think you’re cute, Jake! Also, I loaded this little audio file as a surprise to shuffle into your playlist sometime. So yeah. Surprise! I don’t know exactly when it will play, but I’m guessing about halfway to see your little sister. You’re a good man, Jacob. I know you don’t like to talk about how it was growing up, but you’re doing the right thing by going to see her. Even if you don’t, uh, if you don’t make it in time, or even if your parents refuse to let you see her, it was still the right thing to do. So yeah. I think you’re pretty great, and I’m sure Julie does too, even if . . . you know. Baggage. Families are tough, but it’ll be worth it. 

“So I guess you’ll be gone for a few weeks, and if you were a normal boyfriend we could chat on screen every second of it. But since you’re terrified of technology, here’s my voice. My beautiful, sultry voice. Forget me not, lover boy. Be good out there, etcetera. 

“Okay. I guess that’s it. I was planning to do like a dozen of these, but I don’t know. It’s pretty awkward, talking to you, but not actually talking to you. Maybe I’ll do a couple more, but if I do they’ll be short. Just know I’m thinking about you and I love you and if you want to step into the twenty-first century and activate your account I would be super happy to see your stupid handsome face. 

“Oh! And tell Julie you have an absolutely gorgeous and brilliant girlfriend who says she has to forgive you for growing up and moving away. Maybe not for all the stupid pranks you played on her, but at least for moving away. Because otherwise you would never have met me and that would have been tragic. Ciao, lover boy.”

“Do you want to hear it again, Jacob?”

“No. Maybe later.”

“Would you like to see trunk view?”

“No. Don’t prompt me about that. I’ll ask for what I want, okay?”

“Certainly. Is there anything else you want?”

Jacob shook his head. He wasn’t sure if the car’s sensors could pick up the movement now that he was walking alongside, but he didn’t much care. If it picked its own definition of “maybe later” and played Karen’s message again, fine. 

But it didn’t. After half a mile, it tuned into a country station. 

“Seriously?”

“When in Rome, Jacob. This is the most popular music in this area, historically.”

“In this area?” Jacob looked ahead at a long, slow curve in the road. The trees were sparser, brown grass meadows on either side. “There aren’t even people here. Do the bears like country music or something?”

“It’s likely they do. And they like to eat the people who listen to it. Also people who don’t. But I was referring to the larger geographical area. The province.”

Jacob felt a blister forming on his left heel. “We’d better stop. I need to tape my foot.”

“Remember, Jacob, I can call for assistance at any time.”

“Do not.” Jacob opened the driver’s door and sat. He pried off the boot. “Do I have tape in here somewhere? Medical tape maybe?”

“Julie never opened the first-aid kit that came standard when she bought me. It’s located at the bottom of the middle console. Where the light is blinking.”

Jacob fished it out. “Thanks. Did Julie have a thing for horror movies or something? Or did she tell you about all the times I used to scare her when we were kids? Because I did that a lot, and I never apologized.”

“She never mentioned that. And I don’t have any record of her enjoying that kind of content. Why?”

“All the talk about bears eating me. Is that based on something I said?”

“Mostly your preference for dark humor and self-deprecation. Also, based on the instructions Julie left.”

Jacob’s head swung instinctively toward the main console. 

“What?”

“What what?”

Stupid, snide computer. It knew what. And now it knew it had surprised him, too. Jacob bit off a piece of tape and stretched it across his heel. “What instructions? You never told me Julie left instructions. So what are you talking about?”

“I was referencing the instructions Julie left for my behavior, in case she died. She knew you would become the next owner of the car, and she prepared me accordingly.”

Jacob stared at the tape stuck to his fingers, forgetting for a moment why he was holding it.

“Do you need a different type of adhesive? I have both electrical tape and duct tape in the roadside emergency kit. Standard equipment. Never opened.”

“No. Thank you.” Jacob bit of another piece of tape, then another, reinforcing all the curves on his foot, all the places he might blister next. He took off his other boot to do the same.

“May I recommend more insect repellant? Biting gnats are due to hatch in this region.” 

Jacob grunted. The breeze was blowing steadily enough to keep them at bay, but it wasn’t a bad suggestion. He finished with his foot, then grabbed the bug spray from the glove compartment. 

“Julie didn’t think our parents would take the car?”

“She insisted that they not get access.”

“Smart girl.” When Jacob was done with the bug spray, he tied his boots tighter than before. He resumed walking. The car rolled alongside. It did not try to speak to him for several hours, and did not play any audio either. Jacob wasn’t sure why, but somehow it didn’t feel safe to ask. The car was already profiling him, and he didn’t like what it was coming up with. Mostly because it was accurate. 

The Sun dipped lower in the sky. The air turned cold, the breeze slow. A literal cloud of mosquitoes and gnats rose from the surrounding ground. In two breaths it enveloped everything.

“Bug spray works,” Jacob said. He pulled his shirt over his nose so he didn’t inhale any. “Don’t think I’ve been bit yet. You?” The car remained silent.

“Hey, I didn’t put you on silent mode, did I?”

“No.”

“So why the silent treatment?” He squinted to hopefully keep the gnats out of his eyes. “All week long, you can’t stop yapping, and now you’re quiet as a tomb.”

Jacob instantly regretted his choice of words. 

“Would you like the headlights on? It’s getting dark.”

Jacob wasn’t sure if the car could read his facial expression with a shirt covering half his face, but he prolonged his glare anyway. “No. No lights. Firstly, because we’re trying to not be noticed and lights have the opposite effect. Secondly, because it will only attract more bugs. Bears too, for all I know. Thirdly and fourthly, because it’s not that dark yet, and I can walk fine without them and I asked you a question you haven’t answered.”

“You asked me two questions. The first involved me being bitten by insects. I haven’t been, not that I could really tell if I was.”

“And what about the second question?” 

“I’ve been silent firstly because it seemed fitting for your mood and secondly because you have asked for silence repeatedly, if not lately, and thirdly because it fits the paradigms Julie specified. As far as bears go, I checked before we left, and it appears that lights slightly increase the chances of a curious bear moving closer to us. Also deer, elk, moose, and wolves. And moths. Especially moths. I have no record of moths eating people, but I can’t be sure.” 

Jacob scooped up a pebble from the shoulder and flicked it at the car door. “Let me see if I’ve got all of this straight. No. Never mind. I don’t have the energy to argue with my own AI, much less one that’s being passive aggressive for my dead sister. Find a safe place to pull off the road, okay? Before it’s actually dark. My feet are killing me.”

Jacob couldn’t be certain if the reason they continued for another hour was because the car decided nothing along the way was safe, or if it was another manifestation of Julie’s wishes, or if the car was simply a jerk. 

He suspected the latter.

Regardless, it was dark enough by the time they turned off the highway that Jacob was navigating more by the sound of the tires than by being able to see. He would have asked for headlights if he hadn’t already made such a big deal about not using them.

The car rolled down a narrow gravel road for maybe fifty meters until it dead-ended. Jacob crawled in and shut the door behind him. “Lock. What is this place?”

“Abandoned campground.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous. Lights please. Exterior.” 

It wasn’t much to look at, and Jacob doubted it ever had been. The gravel road still sort of existed in front of him, but was overgrown with weeds. There was a clearing of sorts, but small trees had sprung up throughout the grassy open space. Pines surrounded the clearing, with white-barked aspens outlining what must have once been places to pull a motor home or set up a tent. 

“Any services? Water? Restroom?”

“I don’t have any current information. The archived webpage indicated water from an artesian spring, attached to a fountain and faucet. Pit toilets.”

“Huh. One time I covered Julie’s toilet with plastic wrap. Hilarious results. She ever mention that one?”

“No.”

“She got in big trouble for the mess. Another shining example of my brotherly kindness. She ever mention me at all?”

“Not often.”

“Well, at least that sounds right.” Jacob looked around, but all he saw were trees and tall grass. “Any indication where the water is?”

“No. Just a list of amenities. No map of the layout. I can keep the lights on you if you want to explore.”

Jacob reclined the seat and loosened the laces on his boots. “The lights that attract killer wolves and bears and moths? Hey look, the moths have already found us. So no thanks. Exterior lights off. Windows tinted. Interior light 50 percent. Let me know if anything out there moves. Anything bigger than a rabbit.”

He ate all the remaining jerky and drank half the remaining water and checked trunk view and fell asleep. 

“Bigger than a rabbit.

“Jacob, bigger than a rabbit and getting closer.

“Much, much bigger. JACOB.”

Jacob might have woken anyway, since his seat was vibrating, but the car was practically shouting at this point. When he opened his eyes, all was dark except the outline of a power button on the dash.

He forced his mind to focus. To remember what he’d heard the car saying. He whispered, “How big? Human or machine or animal or what? Sheesh, car, I was dreaming about Karen.”

The car’s female voice answered in a quiet almost-whisper. “Animal, or unnaturally large human.”

“You better not be talking about Karen.” Jacob’s pulse relaxed a notch. “Kidding.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

But Jacob had not been dreaming about Karen anyway. He’d been shifting one nightmare for another, remixing a thousand times he’d been cruel to Julie. The elaborate pranks and the tiny insults. The things that seemed funny to a big brother but must have been torture to her. As if there hadn’t been enough conflict in their home. He’d tried to apologize for it all at the end, while she was barely clinging to life, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Not sure I wanted to be woken up for this. Is it bigfoot at least? Where is it? How close?”

The tint on the front window cleared. 

Jacob squinted at the darkness. “Am I supposed to be seeing something? Besides trees, I mean?”

The dash display showed a night-vision view of the area. A yellow outline traced around a huge shape. 

Again, Jacob looked out the window, in the general area that had been highlighted on the screen. “Ah. That big furry boulder’s not actually a boulder. Are we strong enough to withstand a bear attack? Curious question, no particular reason.”

The car’s voice got even quieter.

“I think you mean to ask whether I am strong enough to withstand a bear attack. I think you mean that you’re willing to risk me getting scratched and bitten and damaged while you sit safely inside, and you just wanted to double check that I’d be the only one getting destroyed. Is that right?”

“On the nose. So?”

“I don’t have data for bear attacks. I have high marks in crash test safety, and numerous theft deterrent and carjacking prevention systems that could prove useful. I also happen to know that bears don’t attack cars, but they do rarely attack people. Particularly people who are being too noisy and smelly inside of innocent cars who would prefer to not get scratched up just because their selfish owners are basically bear kibble.”

“Noted. Okay. For now, get ready to take some pictures, okay? Just store locally. Nothing in the cloud. Headlights on. Focus on the furry thing.”

At first, it looked like a bear. A bear twice the height of the car, and close enough to reach them in two steps. Then it raised its enormous head, and part of a tree seemed to be attached to the top. 

“Moose.”

“If you say so. I’m not equipped with an outdoors package, but if you’d like me to download one—”

“No downloading, thank you. I told you, no connectivity. That there is a big freaking bull moose. I had no idea they got that huge. But see, now you know too. No download needed.”

The big freaking bull moose lazily swung its head in their direction. Water and moss dripped from its chin.

“I think we found the spring. Did you get some pictures?”

“Yes. Still and video.”

“Cool. Trunk view?”

The screen switched. 

“Okay. Normal view. Lights off. I think I’ll sleep through any other visitors, okay? Animals, I mean. If it’s a human, or an especially big bear, maybe wake me up. Otherwise, pictures would be cool. Tint on. Good night again.”

“Good night, Boyo.”

Jacob sat up immediately. “No!”

He heard the moose startle at his voice, then walk slowly away, sloshing through the vegetation. Jacob took a slow breath. “Don’t call me that. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know if Julie said that to you, or what, but you are not her. You don’t say the things she said. Got it? Boyo was . . . That crosses the line. Maybe she wanted to torture me a little by making you obnoxious, and I probably deserve it. But anything else like that, and I’ll rip your doors off and let the animals have you. Something worse, actually. I’ll think of a better threat in the morning. Just, no talking like her. This is the whole reason I hate AI. You pretend to be real, but it’s the worst kind of lie. It makes you trust something inherently untrustworthy. It takes who you were in the past and pushes it in your face, over and over and over again. I know what I was in the past, car. I don’t need it shoved back at me. Not by you.”

Jacob waited for the car to respond. “Got it?”

“Yes. Preferences updated. My apologies. Good night, Jacob.”

“Good night.”

Trunk view flashed onscreen. 

“Hey. I didn’t ask for trunk view. Why are you showing it?”

“Apologies. A glitch from integrating your new preferences with previous commands.” 

Jacob didn’t believe it.

The screen went dark. “Good night, Jacob.”

“Whatever.”

Jacob waited for the car to call him Boyo again, or to mention murder, or put the trunk view on. But it didn’t say anything further, and the screen stayed dark. 

Jacob’s body was exhausted, but his mind was too alert to fall back asleep. Normally, he might have asked for some quiet music, or white noise, or even pulled up a game. But those were things you did when you were alone. Jacob no longer felt alone.

Which was stupid. 

The car was only a car. Its comments were only the result of an algorithm and a few days’ experience. 

But there was still the matter of the trunk view coming onscreen. 

Now that Jacob thought about it, there was the matter of the tire, too. For it to be so badly damaged, it must have been past safe usage for days. But the car hadn’t said anything. Not until he was stranded, far from anyone who might help.

So maybe the car wasn’t as dumb as Jacob hoped. Maybe it knew what was in the black bag in the trunk. Maybe it knew why Jacob didn’t want any communication with the outside world.