Peering through the clear, cylindrical canopy of the G37 Care-Pod, Erma Barron saw muscle tremors around her patient’s eyes. That was new, and she didn’t like it.

The ambulance carrying them swayed hard. The pod’s gravity cushion kept the injured man, Jeffrey Walters, from rocking. Erma took a good bounce in her control seat, but she didn’t mind. It meant their driver was pushing hard. 

Walters’ vital signs were a stagger of highs and lows, but each fell just inside normal parameters so the pod’s display panel read STABLE in quiet, blue letters. Erma pressed the comm button on her armrest and spoke to the driver. “Steve, how far out are we?”

Up front in the cabin, Steven Talbot glanced at the overlay projected on the windshield. “Fourteen minutes,” he said, “but I think I can beat that.” He was one of just 53 people in Los Angeles authorized to hold a steering wheel or step on an accelerator pedal outside of a closed track.

All the other vehicles on the road had occupants, but no drivers. MOBILITY , California’s autonomous car system, controlled each one. Steven Talbot’s ambulance was an exception. A live operator behind the wheel was still the best way to get people from an incident to a medical center, so he was free of MOBILITY’s tethers.

Erma scanned Jeffery Walters’ history, laid out on the screen above the pod. He was a second-century citizen, 108 years old. One knee, both hips, and half of his heart were nonorganic replacements. Still, he should have been doing better. 

The surgisealers and self-regulating pressure bindings had stopped the laceration on his thigh from bleeding. He had an obvious bump on his forehead, but there was no sign of concussion.

He made sounds under his breath, nearly forming words. Erma touched the picture of Doctor Gladys Percy on the pod’s interface. “Hello? Doctor Percy, are you there?” Erma’s right hand tapped a quick rhythm on her knee as she waited for her counterpart at Los Angeles County Hospital to respond.

The doctor’s picture changed to a speaker icon. “Hello Erma,” said Doctor Percy. “We’ve got the pod receiver staged for Mr. Walters. What’s up?”

“Just wanted you to know, I think he’s coming around.”

The Abara/Sampath G37 Care-Pod was a self-contained, bed-sized treatment unit. Once the patient was sealed inside, the pod could be loaded into an ambulance, off-loaded at a hospital, and rolled to a holding area, care unit, or surgical suite with a continuous thread of automated care. 

The pod kept its environment sterile, inside and out. Oxygen levels moved with the patient’s vital signs, which were checked constantly. Fluids were administered (or drained) as the unit saw fit. The patient would remain safe inside the plexicrylic canopy until they were delivered to their destination and human intervention was required. 

“Ten minutes now,” said Talbot. Looking at the road ahead, he could tell that MOBILITY would push the Tesla Model Q one lane to the right, but he wanted his ambulance to go there. He pointed at the car, highlighting it on his windshield. With a sweep of his hand, the Tesla moved left, and the ambulance accelerated through the newly empty space.

Two blocks up, a Ford Focus 2H moved into his lane. With Talbot’s lights and siren engaged, MOBILITY should have made that impossible. He reached toward the car, but it refused to highlight on his display. 

“Hang on back there,” he said. “We’ve got to get around a slip.”

MOBILITY parted the cars in front of emergency vehicles while timing the pedestrian crosswalk signals to keep the streets open. If needed, an emergency vehicle operator could take limited control of your car.

Five years ago, the state decided that certain non-emergency vehicles needed a clearer path to their destinations as well. MOBILITY protocols were altered to allow for “special licenses,” including diplomatic vehicles, mail delivery, and cars carrying state, city, or federal employees. These cars were still driverless, but now MOBILITY slowed or detoured regular traffic so these “priority” vehicles arrived at their destinations sooner.

That meant everyone else arrived later, and that created a market for workarounds. “Slip” was the name for any car with rigged hardware that ignored the new protocols and automatically took the best route every time. The process was expensive and illegal, but it was also becoming more common.

And because they bypassed MOBILITY’s tier system, slips also ignored emergency vehicles. To Steven Talbot, they were roadblocks.

Talbot reported the car to Mobility Operations Management with a finger point. “Won’t make a difference,” he thought. “Their identity is probably spoofed.” A hop on the curb got his ambulance around the slip and back into the clear lane ahead, denting the Ford’s door panel as he passed. “Oops,” he said. “Be sure and file a claim. That’ll be fun.”

Erma’s voice came over the comm. “Should I expect more of this bucking?”

“It’s clear now. I’ll try to keep it in the lane for the rest of the trip.”

“How much more ‘trip’ are we looking at?” 

“We’re ten minutes out,” said Talbot. “I don’t think we’ll run into more trouble.” He flinched a bit, knowing Erma Barron wasn’t going to like that ETA.

“That’s what you said before. You said ‘ten minutes’ before.”

“I did, and then there was construction on Fairfax, and I had to negotiate that slip. A bunch of lektro-bikes crowded out Tucker Street so now we’re on Lincoln where it’s clear.”

“Will it help if I get out and push?” asked Erma. 

One of the gauges on the pod’s display turned orange. Jeffrey Walters’ eyes blinked open and darted left and right. “Got to go, Steven. Heart rate’s climbing. He’s waking up.” 

Erma unlocked the TALK function on the pod’s interface.

“Mr. Walters? Hello...Jeffrey Walters...can you hear me?” His gaze drifted around the pod, trying to spot something familiar. Trying to puzzle out where he was. He fought to move his head, but the iso-collar prevented it. 

“Hello? Mr. Walters, my name is Erma Barron,” she said, and waved her hand. “Please, look over here.” 

He held still for a moment and squinted at the apex of the pod’s interior, the source of the voice. Erma continued, “I’m an Emergency Medical Practitioner and you are on your way to County Hospital.”

“What is all this?” asked Jeffrey Walters, panting. 

“You had a fall. You dropped a coffee cup and it broke. You landed on a large piece of that broken cup and it made a deep cut in your leg. You also hit your head on the floor. Do you remember any of that?”

“I’m not...what are these things?” His hand squeezed a tube leading into his wrist.

“That’s a saline line, helping to keep you stable, and please don’t pull on it.”

Doctor Percy’s voice cut in over the interface. “Heart rate’s making me nervous, Erma,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“He woke up confused and anxious,” said Erma, switching off the sound to the pod. “We took his glasses. He doesn’t know what’s happening and I don’t think he can see very well. I’m talking to him but it’s not helping.”

“Maybe he’s got hearing problems,” said Doctor Percy.

“That’s not in the history,” said Erma. “He can hear, I’m just not getting through to him yet.” 

Talbot broke in. “Eight minutes.”

Grabbing at his collar, Walters said, “How does this thing...what is all this?”

“Can you dose him?” asked Doctor Percy.

“Rather not. He’s already got 10ccs of mirrotrapholine on board for the pain. He doesn’t need more meds; he needs someone to sit close and tell him what’s happening.”

“You want to break the seal,” said Doctor Percy. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“We can do it. He’s a second-century citizen, so human contact is part of the protocol to ameliorate an anxiety attack.”

“You know how much I love it when people misquote regulations,” said Doctor Percy. “You said contact ‘is part of the protocol.’ The standard says contact ‘ can be part of the protocol.’ What if he fell because some illness made him dizzy? He could be contagious.”

The gauge went from orange to red. The pod’s display panel read ATTENTION NEEDED in alarming, yellow letters. “There’s nothing in the scans showing fever and his blood counts are solid,” said Erma. “He’s confused and frightened and if that gauge goes purple we won’t be involved in the decisions anymore.”

Any gauge showing purple meant the Care-Pod had to be delivered to intensive care and the patient would remain there under observation for at least a day. No exceptions.

A pump clicked and hummed as it began changing the air in Erma’s compartment. “All right,” said Doctor Percy. “You know I don’t like keeping people if we don’t have to. I’ve tied your breathing mix to the patient’s vitals. You won’t need a mask for this level of oxygen. I’m turning pod management over to you.”

“Thank you,” said Erma, unlocking the TALK function again. “Mr. Walters, this pod is going to open now. Do you understand me?”

“What?” said Walters, clutching at his ECG leads. “Where did you go?” He was sweating.

When the air achieved the right mix, an OPEN icon became available on the pod’s interface. Erma touched it as soon as it lit and the plexicrylic cylinder surrounding her patient rotated into the pod’s base, leaving what looked like a long, complicated bed. “Mr. Walters, over here, can you see me?”

Walters kept his grip on the wires, but his eyes traveled to Erma Barron. “Who are you?” he asked. “Where are my glasses? What’s happening?”

“You are safe,” said Erma. “Please, take a deep breath, then take another one. I need you to think about your breathing.”

“What’s happening?” He grabbed at her wrist, and she took that opportunity to hold his hand.

“You’re in an ambulance. We had to take your glasses, they’re in a case locked up over there with your shirt and wallet. We’re on our way to Los Angeles County Hospital. Tell me what you remember.”

He spent a few moments thinking, taking deep breaths as instructed. “I fell down,” he said. “Banged my knee on a drawer. It still hurts.” He reached down and touched the pressure bindings on his thigh. “What the hell is all that?”

“You broke your big coffee cup when you fell, and then you landed on a piece of it. That piece cut your thigh, deep. What you feel there is a pressure binding, and it stops the bleeding.”

Walters took two more deep breaths then said, “it sounds bad. I don’t know how I got in this thing.”

“You passed out and a staffer at your place found you. Do you know Teri?”

“Teri brings my lunch. There’s usually enough left for dinner, too.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing this happened near lunchtime. You lost some blood and hit your head pretty hard. That’s why Teri called us.”

“Poor thing, finding a mess like that.” Walters’ breathing sped up again and his eyes went wide. “Oh no,” he said. “Trix! Did you close the door? She’s an inside cat!” 

Another gauge went red.

“The door is closed,” said Erma. “Keep breathing. Trix is fine. She has food and water. She was on the couch when we left. Teri said the manager would take care of her.”

Talbot came over the comm. “Five minutes out,” he said. 

Walters’ eyes were searching again. “Now who is that?”

“I’m Steven Talbot, sir. The driver. You can’t see me because I’m here in front. In the cabin.”

“I think I’d rather feel the road,” said Walters. “At least I’d know what’s going on. What kind of car is this?”

“You are in a custom Nissan EPV 5500. Our speed is forty-seven miles per hour, estimated arrival at County is four minutes.” 

“I drive, too,” said Walters. His face relaxed a little. “Got a Benz EPD. It’s from 2033, and that’s the last year on the 800-horsepower engine. Bought it new, had it all this time.”

Talbot’s envy was audible. “Tell me everything.”

One of the gauges settled back into orange. “Yes, like where can you drive it?” Erma asked.

“Oh, there’s a place out in Ontario,” said Walters. “That’s where a lot of us keep old cars. Used to be a military base. They converted the parade grounds to a track. The streets for base housing are still there, so that’s like a little town you can run through. Doesn’t cost much, either.”

“I’ve heard about that place,” said Talbot. “Do you have a car for the city, too? A MOBILITY car?”

“My son does, a nice Chevy. He takes me around, or sometimes I can borrow it. Don’t like that Mobility Rideshare Service. You never know what’s going to show up, you know?”

“You should give them another chance,” said Erma. “I use it all the time, and the more you use it, the better it gets at picking a car for you.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Erma. Call me Erma.”

Walters tilted his chin up and spoke a little louder. “And you, up front...what’s your name again?”

“Talbot. Steven Talbot.”

“I’m Jeffrey Walters.” He shifted again, trying to focus on Erma. “Thanks for opening this damn tube. I’m feeling a little better, I think.”

“That’s good to hear.” Erma smiled as the other gauge moved back to orange. “But that cut on your leg needs to get fixed properly. And that bump on your head needs attention.” The pod’s display panel read STABLE in quiet, blue letters once again.

“We’re here. Mr. Walters,” said Talbot. “Please keep still until the attendants instruct you to do otherwise.”

Over the next twenty minutes, Doctor Percy supervised the process of resealing the Care-Pod. She bent one rule and let Walters have his glasses. Once it was secure, the attendants off-loaded the pod so they could move it to the emergency admissions center.

Talbot climbed out of the cab to meet the patient. Walters adjusted his glasses and peered through the canopy, looking the driver over. “You’re not as big as I thought you’d be,” he said.

“Yeah, the comm system makes me sound about a foot taller,” said Talbot. “I thought you’d be prettier.”

“It’s not my best day. You should see me without these tubes and wires.”

Erma did a final check on the readouts. “Your numbers have certainly improved, Mr. Walters. Let’s see more of that.”

“Thanks. Both of you,” said Walters. “When they let me out of here, maybe I can take you two someplace to eat. We’ll go in my son’s Chevy, not the Benz.”

“Thanks, but you have to get well first,” said Erma. “Goodbye, Mr. Walters.”

Walters’ pod rolled toward the hospital entrance. “I’m serious about that meal,” he called. “We’ll get there quick, too. The Chevy’s a slip.”

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