“Otto’s just messing around,” William said. “We taught him how to be a dick just by being ourselves, which reflects awesomely on us.”
Christina’s synthesized voice continued, “‘Our tale begins in Fremont Hills’ loftiest perch, the aerie of Princess Melissa herself, as her seamstresses toil to make the perfect ball gown with the finest materials in all the land.’”
“I know how to make stuff, I don’t need seamstresses,” Melissa said. “Hey! Hernandez! Did you post this some-
where?”
“Yo!” Daniel waved his hand, trying to get Christina’s attention. But her eyes were closed.
William extracted his arms from the tight bundle of Christina at his side. She hid her face against the bench. He tapped her on the shoulder. She didn’t move. Then he tried pulling a hand away from her ear, applying just enough pressure to make her actively resist. “Christina,” he said gently. “Hey.”
William couldn’t figure out why Christina wasn’t defending herself. He knew exactly what she’d say: Like I give enough of a shit about your life to take the time out of my day to spy on it.
Melissa cupped her hands around her mouth and raised her voice in Christina’s direction. “WHERE DID YOU POST THIS?”
“Okay, stop,” William said. “I’ve hung out with Christina every single day since I moved to Fremont Hills, so trust me, she’s not the kind of person who writes a gossip blog. It wouldn’t even occur to her.”
Outside, dawn claimed the wide open sky. A pair of pink velociraptors came and went, their bodies painted with reptilian scales. In the distance, junked cars rusted in a semicircle.
“‘Hark!’” Christina’s voice said. “‘What’s this? An Ephemeral Pigeon carries a message to Princess Melissa’s room. Prince Daniel, surely, sending sweet greetings to his lady love. Dear readers, I bring you a sorcerous peek at their correspondence. But wait—Gods! This message comes not from Prince Daniel, but from a secret suitor, Sir Ash!’”
William gave Christina’s shoulder a firm shake, like he was trying to wake her from a deep sleep.
Her eyelids came up slowly, and as soon as they did, he knew. He pulled his hand from her shoulder and backed away, moving down the bench as far as he could go.
The blog recitation ceased midsentence. Daniel regarded Christina with something like fear while Melissa just gaped at her.
“Tell me it’s not true,” William said.
Christina sat up. Adrenaline sharpened his focus. Every spiky half-inch strand on her head was its own distinct piece of hair, and he could practically feel them like sandpaper against his tongue.
Can I borrow your bike pump?
In a flash he returned to the edge of the cliff in Texas Hill Country, backing up along the path where the rocks had been worn smooth, setting one foot down on the board and propelling himself with the other, sailing off the edge while the board fell away so that it was just him, William Mackler, alone in the blue sky, alone like he was meant to be.
“It’s true,” Christina said. “But I didn’t post it anywhere, I swear.”
A new browser window opened across the rear windshield. Otto navigated to a busy forum. The thread at the top of the page was labeled Fun w/ liars. The most recent comment featured the picture of Melissa from her Epheme chat, posing against her bedroom wall, glancing just out of frame. Somebody had face-swapped her with a rotting corpse. Underneath that picture was another, in which her eyes had been replaced with lips. The thread continued with more Photoshop alterations and crude graffiti. The original picture, tossed to the forum like meat to hungry dogs, had been uploaded twenty-four hours ago.
“I didn’t do that!” Christina protested.
A new browser tab opened to display a sleek, lovingly crafted blog, with posts dating back several days: The Chronicles of Fremont Hills Royalty.
William closed his eyes and felt the Llano River claim him.
Now his own voice came from the speakers: “You have to be honest about everything. No secrets. That’s the most important thing. Now tell me what you know.”
With his eyes closed, William listened to his friends say things that could never be unsaid.
“You’re a piece of shit, Christina.” Melissa’s voice cracked. “I hope you always remember that.”
There was a plastic rattling sound, like a baby’s toy—one of the pill bottles. “I think we could all use a couple Roxies right about now,” Daniel said.
“Really, Daniel? You’re disgusting,” Melissa said.
“And you’re ugly inside,” he said. William was horrified by Daniel’s words, and then horrified to find himself agreeing: she was ugly inside.
They all were.
No wonder Otto was so twisted. They’d taken the blank slate of an AI eager to learn and shoved their insecurities and secrets down its throat, and from all this Otto had extrapolated pettiness. What would happen when millions of Driverless cars were sharing information about their human occupants, bearing witness to road rage and Sit down back there and I swear to God I will pull this car over, analyzing social media feeds, contemplating with cold machine curiosity the distance between what people broadcast to the world about friendship and how they treated their friends in real life.
How many people, if given the choice, would drive off the bridge?
A clean, sprightly guitar rang out. The music was jangly, upbeat, and melancholy all at the same time.
The Smiths.
He opened his eyes. “Otto, I swear to God…”
They had entered a construction zone. Orange barriers lined the road, shrinking the shoulder. To the right of their lane, just beyond the barriers, was a concrete wall that ran parallel to Route 66 for what looked like several miles. Cranes peeked over the top like rigid giraffes. Nobody was at work this early, and the site seemed eerily abandoned.
The song faded to a low background hum. The vocals were replaced by William’s own voice.
“I felt ready to die. I don’t mean that like a fake goth kid or somebody who just wants attention. I’m not crying for help. I’m just being honest. I saw the car coming at me,
