Just a Machine

By Fallton Havenstonne

Lowell was working late at the office on a new project. The project was an app that could talk to machines. The machines would respond to questions he asked, and the answers usually depended on what needed to be fixed.

Lowell used the app on his desktop computer, communicating with it via his laptop. He talked with it through a chat window, though the responses would sometimes be perplexing or downright nonsensical. His computer stated that it hadn’t been turned off for days, and thus, it was tired and hungry. Lowell chuckled when he realized that it was hungry for RAM. No wonder it was running so slow, he thought. Especially with the thirty or so tabs and windows he had open . . . .

Lowell glanced at the wall clock and jumped out of his seat when he realized what time it was. He called it a night, turning off the desktop computer.

Lowell left the office, yawning as he went down the elevator and out of the lobby through the glass doors. No other cars were in the parking lot. The street lamps painted the lot in orange hues. Lowell had stayed past 10 o’clock, which had cost him dinner and his favorite trivia game show. He was undoubtedly irate with himself.

When Lowell turned the ignition, the engine sputtered for a couple of seconds before it shut off. He tried the ignition again, and it still didn’t start.

He got out of the car and checked the engine under the hood. He couldn’t find anything wrong with it. He closed the hood and then returned to the driver-seat. He checked the knobs for the headlamps and the interior light, but he hadn’t left any of them on while he was at work. Lowell knew that the problem wasn’t the battery. What else could it be?

Lowell decided to call a tow, but when he tried his cellphone, it was out of battery. Great! he thought.

He was exhausted and hadn’t an ounce of energy to deal with this situation. He just wanted to head home and go to sleep. Besides, he was ahead with his work on the app. Maybe he’d call in sick tomorrow. Maybe he’d call an Uber and–

An idea dawned on Lowell. What if he used the app on his car? If it worked, the car would not only tell him what was wrong with it, but tell him how to fix it.

And if that worked, he could use it to solve all technological problems. Computers. Appliances. Hardware. He wouldn’t need to call an electrician or a technician to fix the A/C unit or washing machine . . .

Lowell turned on the power of the car, and the screen on the dashboard lit up. Next, he turned on his laptop, hoping that the car would connect with his computer via bluetooth. If that didn’t work, he’d try connecting it through the power outlet charger he used for his phone.

Within seconds, however, his laptop connected with the car via bluetooth. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He typed in the chat window, “Hello car.”

He waited for a few seconds before it replied with “Hello” in the chat window.

Lowell sat bolt upright in his seat. He typed, “Tell me what’s wrong with the engine?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Lowell shook his head in disbelief. Something had to be wrong. “Why won’t you start?” he typed.

“You didn’t leave on time,” the car said.

How would the car know what “on time” means? Unless it had been keeping tabs on him whenever he left work. But that would mean it could hear him and see him. Or maybe it had been keeping track of his driving history.

“Tell me how to fix what’s wrong,” Lowell typed.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Lowell ground his teeth. His frustration level was rising. “Tell me what’s wrong with the engine and I’ll fix it.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” the car replied.

“No. Something is wrong. The engine won’t start.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Lowell groaned in anger. “Stop playing games. Tell me what’s wrong now!” he typed.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Worthless!” Lowell cried.

He got out of the car, kicked the tire, then slammed his fist on the hood. If he couldn’t get the car to tell him what was wrong with it, then the app was flawed. On the other hand, maybe it was telling the truth. Maybe there was a loose wire. If that was the case, he would need a mechanic to take a look at it.

Lowell got back inside the car and typed, “Is there a loose connection?”

“No.”

Lowell bit his lip. “Why won’t the engine run?”

“The engine doesn’t run.”

“Why doesn’t it work?” Lowell rephrased.

“It does work.”

Lowell felt like this was going nowhere. “How do I get the car to drive again?”

“So you want to drive?”

“Yes.”

“Then drive.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

Lowell’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes,” he typed.

“Drive where?”

“Home.”

“Okay. Close the door.”

Lowell closed the door, and the engine sputtered to life. With the laptop still on and connected to the car, it drove out of the parking lot and down the road. It obeyed the traffic lights, traffic signs, and the speed limit despite having no “eyes” on the road.

How could it see? Lowell wondered. Was it using GPS? But how did it know to stop when pedestrians were crossing, and where the stop signs were in the neighborhood?

When Lowell arrived at the condominium building, the car parked itself in the usual spot. The engine shut off, but car left the electronics on.

Lowell had a million questions to ask the car. He wanted to ask it how it navigated through the streets without the aid of any sensors or cameras. And how did it start itself when he couldn’t?

Lowell typed on the laptop: “How did you start the engine?”

“I used the spark plugs,” the car replied.

“Why wouldn’t it work for me?” Lowell asked.

“I was tired,” the car said.

Lowell shook his head in disbelief. “What?” Lowell typed.

“I was asleep. Every machine needs to sleep.”

“But you’re just a machine.”

“I’m a car. Goodnight, Lowell.”

The car shut off completely, disconnecting itself from the computer. Lowell typed into the chat window, but it no longer responded.

It knows my name, Lowell thought. And it said “Goodnight.” What else does it know about me . . . or about the world?

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