Worth It

Hundreds of years earlier…

“There’s never enough fucking cup holders!”

It was the pitch dark of a late winter night on the M25. Coffee in hand, Warren Smith noted that the divot in the central column of his new car was already occupied by a solid pile of coins, and his right-hand side cup holder had a half-empty energy drink sitting in it.

The can of “Green Surge” had only the far flung recollection of carbonated fizz, and was as warm to the touch as an overworked laptop. The loose change was even more useless now, as nearly every parking station could take payment electronically, and Warren had no intention of pulling over.

With that in mind, Warren scooped the currency out of its hiding place and threw it into the back of the vehicle. It bounced off the clean leather seats and rolled noisily around the foot wells, before he put his coffee into its new home.

“OK, car. Show current safety settings.”

On the central column between the driver and passenger side, an embedded screen lit up with a cool indigo hue and bold black lettering, and the sudden influx of light illuminated Warren in his car. In the cold glow of the menu screen, he looked down at himself.

His white business shirt, usually neat and well ironed, was now a far cry from presentable. Lurking in the creases criss-crossing and dancing their way down to his belt was the detritus of a disappointing pastry, a few spots of blood and the drab marks of spilt alcohol. In the mirror, the horizontal slice of his face was unrecognisable — Sunken, raw eyes floating on an ocean of sweat.

***

24 hours ago, he had looked very different.

As the car had pulled off the lot and peeled into nearby traffic yesterday, Warren had nodded with satisfaction and started searching the settings menus to configure it’s driver-less functionality. He cooed at its integration with his phone, marvelled at it’s ability to find his device using GPS to pick him up, and appreciated the entertainment options at his disposal.

One setting had caught his eye in particular — The Worth Index.

He’d read a few social media posts about it, and heard it mentioned on the news… Essentially, when driver-less cars were programmed, the creators were presented with a question: Should the car kill a passenger to save two other people? What about three? Or more?

The decision eventually, after court ruling, was that each car’s setting could be set by its owner, and not by the manufacturer. If you wanted to be cynical about it, the setting basically amounted to the car asking it’s owner “How many people should I let die, if it means saving you?”

Warren hadn’t taken long to make his decision. He paid for this car, he didn’t want it to kill him under any circumstances. He had set The Worth Index to 100% and sat back to enjoy the ride.

The first hour was uneventful.His personal playlist selected the ideal soundtrack. Outside, the world rushed by as his car used its vast array of sensors to navigate the route towards his residence.

Before long, the warm radiance of suburbia has been supplanted by the stale grey of the motorway, his speed increasing until the lampposts and guard rails were little but a blur. His commute meant crossing the bridge. It was a work in progress, but so far it had dramatically cut traffic times in the city, and it was the recommended route.

The next 10 minutes barely registered at the time, although in the hours that followed he would obsess over every second.

As his car sped towards the bridge, the sensors had detected something unusual. Due to the on-going road works, one of the lanes had been closed and the other had now backed up with traffic. Warren looked down at the dashboard, expecting to see the diversion on the map, and saw nothing.

The car did not acknowledge the lane closure, nor did it see a reason to slow down. It careened past the standstill traffic on the ramp up to the bridge, and not a single problem registered within the internal software.

Until Katy.

Katy Moorhouse was driving home too, but she lived in the city limits. Her car was the sort of land cruiser than would sweep through a person without stopping if it needed to — Which is to say that it scored highly in the safety ratings, as long as you’re the person driving. She was thinking about the lasagne she was making for dinner and driving along the newly created lane when Warren’s car detected her, coming over a bump in the road ahead.

Warren’s eyes fell again to the screen in his dashboard. He could only watch as the machine consulted its Worth Index and made a series of quick decisions. Decisions which would be lamented in insurance company board meetings for years to come.

First, it determined that a head-on collision with this vehicle would kill Mr Warren Smith. Not an option.

Second, it elected that at current speed, and in this direction, a collision with Katy’s vehicle was inevitable, even with the emergency brakes.

Third, and finally, in more ways than one, it assessed that swerving left would crush Warren in a fiery cage of debris formed from the motionless queue of cars that lay in wait there.

The only other option was to swerve right, into the railings where the bridge met solid ground.

If, through some miracle, Warren had been given this choice, knowing what he knew now, he would have chosen the emergency brakes. The psychopathic part of his mind knew that his life, and Katy’s, were ultimately worth less than all those lost in the disaster that resulted. She might’ve even survived, because her car had a good record of coming out less scathed than the other guy.

As the front of his car crumpled into the barrier, Warren was assaulted by several boisterous airbags, all competing to be the one to smother him from harm. The effect was instantaneous, trapping him completely and pinning him against his seat. The railings buckled and came apart at the bolts, with the looming beams that tether the bridge to the wire line above suddenly starting to sway.

Warren vainly tried to wrench himself free. He squinted, bleary eyed from concussion, out of the cracked passenger window. He could see that Katy Moorhouse had swerved wildly, but had made it to safety and come to a halt a few dozen yards away.

Beyond her, on the bridge itself, the snaking traffic that had backed up in the other lane was stationary. Some had emerged from their vehicles, stood next to open car doors. Everyone looked so afraid.

And then, it began to collapse.

Each segment fell down into the wide river mouth below in turn, like dominoes. At first, Warren thought the high pitched whine was his own headache. A side effect of the impact. As more people tumbled out of view, he came to realise that it wasn’t just his ears ringing. They were screams. He added his own yell to the chorus for a moment, and subsequently passed out, with sirens starting to sing in the distance.

***

Warren was processed. Interviewed. Checked out of the hospital. And given bail. He even got his car back. The airbags were reset, and bonnet straightened out.

The collision had damaged the foundations of the bridge itself. A powerful gust of wind was all it took to cause the calamity. The structural integrity of the bridge was compromised. The pillars that held it aloft had crumbled. None of these platitudes had given Warren any comfort as they were relayed to him.

Technically, it wasn’t his fault. Legally, he was a free man. But he knew better.

Now, back in his car for it’s sophomore outing, Warren was nearing his final destination.

“OK, car. Current range?”

The screen flashed an answer, in the hundreds of miles.

“That should be enough.”

With his spare hands, Warren closed the list he had open on his phone. It was a Wikipedia entry, entitled “List of most frequent accident areas on the M25”. This was the place. His best chance. He wiped the tears away from his eyes and tossed his phone aside, tearfully asking the car one more thing.

“OK car, confirm Worth Index setting.”

The flashy animation, the one that indicates the system is loading, played for just a moment before delivering the answer.

“0%”