Jo's great-grandmother Lou stood in the Meridian as the last human-driven vehicles rolled through the nexus. Decades before Jo was born. A crowd from Truever also gathered across the divide. Both groups cheered each vehicle passing from their district. The shouts of the two crowds rang back and forth at the boundary of the old town, which lay in steaming scrap heaps still being sorted by large hydraulic machines. The carriers routed the vehicles into the large collection bins for the printers assembled to build the Nexus.
She didn't cheer.
Instead, she sent the message to her daughter: "Be back soon, picking up dinner." Almost immediately a response in her implant, 'PumpRoll Please!' as her granddaughter Josephine's voice announced itself in her implant. Still too young for an implant, her grandmother could visualize the young girl jumping over the couch and running to the smart speaker in excitement, hoping her request would be answered. Although against better nutrition guidance, the old lady made her way towards the markets near the autoway, away from a crowd that continued to build. Another shout from Truever as she turned to see the last carrier pull into the admin center. The Meridian Festival was just getting started as funding poured in to attract new businesses.
She weaved through the crowd with purpose tapping her cane softly, occassionally peaking to glossy storefronts with digital flashing ads, tech gadgets, and bubble teas. She dodged a couple who had stopped abruptly to observe a street vendor setting up lanterns for the evening. The business district decorations included new streamers, reminding her of the city's spring festival and the tourists not sure where to walk or stand. Finally, a familiar face greeted her at the food market bakery. She picked out a pumpkin roll and paid. "How is Josephine?" replied the worker with a smile. "Find, just fine," replied the grandmother as she adjusted her load to take the package and made her way towards a few artisans and performers playing guitar and practicing some dance steps. It was good to hear the hum of business and the crowd fade as she passed the music but focused. She passed by people gathered for drinks and others enjoying the weather. She pressed on, stopping at her favorite food stall as she inhaled the rich, fermented aromas. The man handed her a carton of stinky tofu as she paid and began savoring the tangy, spicy as it coated her tongue, her childhood favorite that no one else in her family liked. Her list was completed as she neared the end of the open market, picking up warm noodles and the fresh special from the fishmonger. Josephine's mother would not approve of the 'PumpRoll,' she thought to herself as she made her way towards the autoway still reflecting on events of the day.
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On the short ride on the autoway, a warning flashed onto the windows blocking the raised view of the town: "System dependency critical. Social fabric deteriorating in the sector..." She wouldn't have noticed if the message hadn't trailed off with a screen flicker. Then she remembered noticing distortions across other displays in the market, as if a moment of intentionality was reassessed. She spent years researching systems and their dynamics. Recalling several instances now, she took out her old-fashioned notebook and documented everything she could remember.
"Warning," a correction stated as the color softened revealing the buildings and bustle. A message scrolled across the terminals, "Low priority, integration model predicts 17% instability." She took down another note. She looked up to confirm but made eye contact with a man. She shrugged her shoulders as he grimaced and rolled his eyes before looking away. The AI models had been glitching throughout the festival and activities around the old town. The final automation of vehicle transport lauded the transition for months, 'Automation: Ensuring equity, safety, and accessibility everywhere'. Meanwhile, the security AIs adapted their model baselines slowly conflicting with the warning alert system.
"Integration Model," she muttered, writing out her thoughts as the autoway moved gently forward, "doesn't account for what we lose when we forget how to live without machines." She would add her journal to hundreds of others as she documented her days in an ever-changing world. "Someday, someone will need to remember how things worked before networks tied it all together," she wrote adding, "and someone needs to break free." She was already missing the old city center, when they were forced to move into Meridian last year. She was glad Josephine was too young to miss their old home.