People’s Choice Award Finalist Story in the 6th Annual Warren Adler Short Story Contest.

    The sun was out and the few remaining clouds were scudding away, but the barnyard was still too wet for playing. The grandkids joined Bob and Berta on the porch.      Bob had seen them looking curiously at the dust covered little car in the barn yesterday.  He’d begun wondering about the car’s mysterious equipment failure that had brought him here so many years ago, and his suspicions were on his mind when the kids clustered around him, begging for a story about the old days.

    “Did I ever tell you kids about the time I was kidnapped?”

    Berta’s oscillating chair jolted to a stop.

“No!” she and the grandkids said.

“Oh, Grandpa Bob,” the kids continued.  “Were you really?  Did you get hurt?  Were you scared?” The kids, ages five, six and seven, pressed closer, touching him gently.

“Don’t scare them, Robert!”

“Whoa.  Whoa, everybody.  Just hold your propulsion units! It wasn’t the usual kind of kidnapping.  You know the story, Berta.”

“But I don’t know how you’re going to tell it.”

“I’m not going to tell the kids anything scary.”

Bob said the kidnapping had been harmless, that it would be safe enough to revisit via Time Travel.  “Would you like to do that?” 

“Yes! Let’s go, Grandpa!  Let’s do TT!”

“Your parental units might not approve,” Berta said.  She gave Bob a tungsten stare.

“Grandma’s right.  We’ll have to wait until you’re older, maybe eight or nine.”

Berta shook her head.  “It’s best not to even consider it.  You never know what kind of problems you might encounter.”

“True enough,” Bob said.  “If you do TT sometime, kids, be prepared for surprises, and book through a reputable agent.  I used a discount agent once, and she misplaced me way back in the wrong era, totally unprepared. No pelts. No spear.  Of course, there were some pleasant surprises, too.  Like Zorbie.  Wow!”  Bob gazed into the distance across the cornfield.

Berta cleared her throat.

Bob glanced at her sheepishly.  “That was before I met Berta, kids; so, I was, uh, fidelity exempt at the time.”

“Bob, I think you better get back to your thematic centrality, right now!” Berta said. 

“My what?”

“Your story.”

“Oh, sure.  I wasn’t going to go into details about my, uh, friendship, with Zorbie, Berta.  I was just going to say things looked up when I got the wolf pelt, and hairy legs and body odor are things you can get used to, and .…”

“Kids,” Berta said,  “you come with me to the kitchen.  I’ve got some cookies in the catalytic cooker.”

“No, no!  We want to hear Grandpa’s story, Grandma.  Please!  Grandpa, tell us about Zorbie,” the kids chorused. 

“You will not tell them another word about Zorbie, will you, Robert?”

“No, Berta.  I’m going to tell them about Arti.”

“OK.  Stick with Artie, and the known facts, and we’ll be fine.”

“Right.  So, when I was a senior at California State University, Virtual, back in 2040, I was having some, uh, academic problems.  I’m not proud of that, kids, and I want all of you to study hard.  But I had had a virtual affair, and…”

Berta gave Bob a titanium glint.

“…and, what I mean is that I had an exclusively virtual class schedule, and it just wasn’t satisfying.  Then I enrolled in an Artificial Intelligence lab.  That’s where I met Berta. She was my lab partner!”

“You were a student, Grandpa?  You weren’t always a farmer?”

“I have a college degree.  Didn’t take up farming until I, uh, moved here. Anyway, I discovered I liked hands-on, working with actual objects.  Some people thought it was backwards, even then.  But I still think there’s a place for physical things.  Don’t you, Berta?” Bob wiggled his eyebrows.

Berta shot him a laser look. 

“Your grandmother was one fine looking woman.  Still is.  There’s always been a bit of a tart sauciness about her, too.”  Bob reached over and patted Berta’s arm.

She blushed.  “Why don’t you just tell them about Arti?  And remember your audience.”

“Yes, indeed,” Bob said.  “Berta and I had a fantabulous working relationship. I was the brawn, helpful with tasks such as removing tight lids. She was the brains, unlocking mysteries of science, reading about the linkage between activity in different areas of the brain.  By the way, did you know the brain is 60% fat?”

“Grandpa, you made that up!”

“Nope.  You guys are fatheads.  That’s a compliment.”

“We thought you were going to tell us a story, Grandpa.”

“Well, I am. Just giving a little context first.  Computers back then could analyze MRI data and identify objects a person was thinking about, and actions he was considering.  For instance, they could show you were thinking about a cookie and considering eating it.  What they couldn’t do was predict whether you would actually eat the cookie.  Other areas of the brain might be active at the same time, and they might be saying ‘Whoa!  If you eat that cookie without your parental unit’s permission, you will get your hand tased.’”

Bob explained how their studies progressed and lead to development of a guidance system they installed in a model car, enabling them to  “drive” around the lab simply by thinking where they wanted it to go. 

“Berta cuffed me on the aural unit when I did wheelies around Marilyn’s cubicle.”

“Honestly, Robert.  We’re going to have to put a word limit on your stories!

“The executive summary is, …”

“What’s an executive summary, Grandpa?”

“The short version.”

“I’ll believe that when I hear it.” Berta rolled her ocular units.

“Grandma’s quite the comedian, don’t you think, kids?  Who would guess she was also a pioneer in green energy?  We teamed up with groups from the mechanical engineering and composites labs and made a super-light electric vehicle. Lithium ion batteries, motor regen on braking, solar roof panels trickle-charging the batteries.  Standard stuff for that era.  The new trick was the computerized guidance system, controlled the same as our model car: by thought. That little car was “Arti.” 

“Is that the car in the barn?  Does it still run?  You named the car ‘Arti,’ Grandpa?”

“Hold on.  One question at a time.  Yes, Arti is the car in the barn.  No, she doesn’t run anymore.  Berta disabled her when she started acting strangely, uh, possessive of me. ‘Arti’ was an acronym for Artificial Transit Intelligence.  It became a name when we realized she was thinking on her own and had a personality. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“That would be a first,” Berta said. “At the rate you’re going the kids will be adults before you finish.”

“I’ll try to accelerate.  One thing we learned early about our thought-guidance system was:  look out for random thoughts!  Before we programmed Arti’s parameters to filter out the randoms, we had some wild rides.  Like the time I was driving Arti down University Avenue, and I saw Marilyn on the sidewalk. Took my thoughts off the road!  Took Arti off the road, too!”

“You didn’t pay attention, did you, Grandpa?”

“I paid attention.  Just not to the road.”

“You’re supposed to watch what you’re doing, Grandpa.”

“Yes, that’s right.  Thank you for the reminder, honey.  Grandma was always better at paying attention.  She’s the one who thought of using genetically altered algae cells in the computer chips.”

“Ooooh!  Yucky!”

“Sometimes you have to think outside the cell, kids.   Algae may look slimy, but Grandma could see its potential.”

“I could see potential in your Grandpa, too,” Berta said.

“As I was saying, kids, algae cells were more compact and processed information quicker than silicon or hafnium.  Grandma had a talent for working with the algae cells, enhancing their abilities.  That’s what got her the research job here in Nebraska.” 

“Algae got Grandma a job?”

“In a way, yes.  Her bio-tech abilities did.  She got a job here working with corn.”

Berta nodded in agreement.

“Bio-tech was her field.  But I reckon it was the bio-tech components that caused Arti’s, uh, malfunction.”  He gave Berta a significant look.  “Would you agree with that, Berta?”

Berta stopped nodding.  “You’re telling the story, Robert.  How are you going to find your way to the end of it?”

“I didn’t think the end would be in Nebraska.  Grandma invited me to come here with her, but I said no.  She was disappointed, weren’t you, Berta?  But you brightened up when I agreed to take good care of Arti, didn’t you?”

Berta didn’t confirm or deny it.

Turning to the kids, Bob told them, “Our A.I. instructor, Professor Singh, gave us Arti. All her useful data had been extracted, and he didn’t want her cluttering the lab.”

“But why didn’t you come here with Grandma?”

“I thought the future was in California.  I accepted a job in Hafnium Valley.  Before the Big One.”

“The big what, Grandpa?”

“The big earthquake.  The one that split California off into the ocean.  Nebraska turned out to be a good move.  And this is where Grandma became a pioneer in the photovoltaic corn field.”

“What’s ‘photovoltaic corn,’ Grandpa?”

“Corn that makes electricity out of sunlight.” 

The kids looked puzzled.

“You’ve heard of korn volts, haven’t you?”

The kids nodded and pointed to the kernels powering their iCommunicators.

“Those were invented by Grandma.” 

Bob and the kids looked at Berta, whose neck and face had reddened.

“After Berta left for Nebraska, I used Arti as my commuter.  Worked fine at first.  Oh, there were things that should have aroused suspicion.  Like the time I drove from Hafnium Valley to Chico, to visit a college buddy.  I planned to stay on the main highways, but just north of Dunnigan, Arti turned off I-5 onto back roads through the rice fields and orchards. I’m yelling, ‘Arti, where are you taking us?’  And then I asked a really stupid question:  ‘What are you thinking?’”

“Why was that stupid, Grandpa?”

“Arti wasn’t supposed to think! She was supposed to read my thoughts.  But she’d thought up a route shorter and more scenic than mine!”

“Arti must have been really smart.”

“Yup.  But somehow I convinced myself I’d thought up her route subconsciously and she just tuned in.”

“Did Arti have other thoughts, Grandpa?”

“I believe she did.” Bob glanced at Berta.  “A few weeks later, I’d finished my tofu crunch, and I was ready for work, when I heard the garage door open.  I rushed outside to investigate, and Arti was sitting in the driveway.  No one was around.  I walked over to her, and her door swung open.  Kind of joking, I said, ‘Arti, how thoughtful!  You’re ready to take me to work!’”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t have speakers.  But her headlights turned on.”

“So that proved she was thinking, huh, Grandpa?”

“Yes.  But I thought her electrical system was shorting out.  Or maybe she was responding to my thoughts.  After all, I was thinking about driving to work, and it was a dark morning.”

“Grandpa, are you kind of dumb, sometimes?”

“Well, sometimes I’m a little slow, but I can be educated.  Isn’t that right, Berta?  You’ve taught me a couple of things, haven’t you?”

“That’s right, kids,” Berta said.  “He’ll come when he’s called, and he’ll sit.  Sometimes.”

One of the grandkids said, “Grandpa’s not a dog!” and another said “Here, Grandpa.  Come here.”

Bob let his tongue loll and pretended to pant.  “That kind of backfired on me, didn’t it?  Anyway, Arti was thinking, and she lulled me into a comfort zone, going through the same routine day after day.  But then funny things started happening.”

“Like jokes?”

“No.  Odd things.  One day when we pulled into the company parking lot, Arti’s doors locked.  I couldn’t get out.  So, I said to Arti, ‘I’m thinking of getting out and going to work now.’  Nothing happened.  The thought illuminated in my head that I would have to smash the window, but that was followed with the thought that I might cut myself.  And then Arti just popped her door open.”

“Arti didn’t want you to hurt yourself, huh, Grandpa?”

“Right.  Another day, when we got to the freeway off-ramp, Arti just kept going straight.  But she took the next off-ramp and doubled back to the office.  At times like that I always thought of Berta.  She’d know what to do, how to tweak the control modules.”

“Grandma’s really smart, huh, Grandpa?”

“Absolutely.  Anyway, when Arti did that off-ramp thing again one morning and my thoughts turned to Berta,  Arti just sailed right on.  Before I realized what was happening, we were crossing the Sierras and there was nothing I could do about it.  The doors were locked, and I couldn’t get out even if Arti stopped.”

“You were having an adventure, huh, Grandpa?”

“Yes.  But I didn’t think of it that way.  I was madder than a wet poultry unit.  And scared.  By the time we got to Reno, I also had a serious caloric deficiency.” 

“Didn’t you pack a snack, Grandpa?  Whenever we go on an adventure our parental units pack us a snack.”

“I didn’t know I was going on an adventure.   Anyway, Arti dealt with it.  She pulled up to a take-out restaurant and opened my window just enough so a tofu burger and a soy shake could be passed through.”

“Artie was nice, wasn’t she, Grandpa?”

“Well, after that I knew she wasn’t going to let me starve.  And I was able to use my shake cup to, uh, go numero uno, so I knew she wasn’t going to let me burst, either.”

“Our parental units always tell us to pee before we go on a long trip.”

“I didn’t know I was going on a long trip.  Fortunately, the next time I got hungry and needed to go to the bathroom, Arti read my thoughts, stopped at a restaurant in Wendover, Utah, and let me out. I decided then, ‘Hey!  She’s going to take care of me.’  I got back in voluntarily. After that I just sat back and went along for the ride. Two days and nights later, we pulled up to this little white house on the outskirts of Omaha, and there was Berta, on the porch, waving.”

Bob looked over and gave her a wink.

“It was almost like you were expecting us, Berta.”