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“Remotely guided?” Kurt asked.
Han shook his head. “The vehicle is autonomous. It operates completely without assistance, making its own judgments and decisions.”
“Driving around city streets is fine,” Kurt said, “but navigating a track at high speeds to the limits of a car’s ability is another thing altogether. I’ve raced a few cars myself. Trust me, it’s a far more dangerous proposition.”
Han’s reply came quickly. “I assure you, Mr. Austin, despite your fervent desire to remain at the top of the food chain, robots with artificial intelligence are now becoming superior to humans in every task imaginable. They will soon fly our fighter jets, captain our ships, salvage wrecks from the bottom of the sea. And, yes, even race our cars. And they will do all things in superior fashion.”
Kurt listened politely, but he was more interested in watching Han. The reply had come so quickly and with it a slight edge. The man had been cool as ice until Kurt questioned his machines. The rapid-fire response, a slight flare of nostrils and a deepening of the crow’s-feet around Han’s eyes confirmed it for Kurt. He’d finally found a button to push. And he pushed it no end.
“I’m sure you’ll get there someday,” he said in a condescending tone, “but we’ll both be old men before a robot can beat a human on the racetrack. Machines can do many things, but they will always lack judgment.”
Han held his tongue for a second and then grinned. “Care to test that theory?”
“I’d love to,” Kurt said. “What are you suggesting?”
“We have a track here on the factory grounds,” Han said. “And in the garage we have the prototype of the robot car along with two others still fitted out for human drivers. If you’re willing to test yourself against it, we could even wager on the outcome to make it interesting.”
“I’d jump at the chance,” Kurt said, “but you’re a billionaire and I’m a humble government servant on a fixed income. We’d have to bet something other than money.”
Han grinned. “If you win, CNR will gladly provide whatever robotic vehicles you may find useful for your expedition.”
“And if I lose?”
“Simple,” Han said. “All you need to do is admit that the machine is better than the man.”
35
KURT HAD BEEN expecting high-end sports cars, tuned for the track, with roll cages built onto them, racing tires and anything unnecessary pulled from the frame to reduce the weight. Stepping into Han’s garage, he discovered three vehicles that were far more exotic.
“These are Toyotas,” Han said, “though you won’t find them at your local dealership.”
“Something tells me I couldn’t afford them if I did,” Kurt said.
“Probably not,” Han agreed. “This car was an alternate to race at Le Mans last year. Its twin-turbocharged V-6 makes 968 horsepower, but we’ve tuned it back to a mere 700 for our purposes.”
“I suppose that’ll be enough.”
Kurt walked toward the gleaming orange and white machine. The car itself was a work of engineering art. The front end of the car had a lethal look to it—a pointed nose connected by carbon fiber panels to two swooping fenders that curved over the top of the performance tires and then dropped down behind them like a passing wave. A teardrop-shaped cockpit rested snugly in the center. The front was a graceful curving windshield that gave a near-panoramic view forward, while the tail end held a massive wing and three vertical fins that helped stabilize the car. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this thing could fly.”
“Get it out of shape and it will,” Han warned.
“I’ll be careful,” Kurt promised.
Thirty minutes later, Kurt had changed into racing gear and strapped himself into the driver’s seat. Dressed in a flame-retardant suit with a five-point harness and a helmet pulled down tightly over his head, Kurt was ready for the battle.
The cockpit was snug, a tight fit for someone of Kurt’s size. It surrounded him in billeted aluminum and a padded roll cage. Several easy-to-reach toggle switches sat on a platform to his left. The steering wheel was removable and seemed positively tiny in Kurt’s hands. The twin-turbo V-6 shook the car as Kurt revved it.
While Han’s assistant readied the automated race car, Kurt got used to the controls. The pedals were so close together in the footwell, he could press both with one foot if he wanted to—useful in certain maneuvers, but not something he wanted to do accidentally. The paddle shifter was easy to reach and simple to operate. He flipped a switch and the four powerful headlights lit up the track in front of him, revealing black macadam lined with alternating orange and white rumble strips.
“The robot knows the track,” Han told him. “To make it fair, I’ll give you five laps to get used to it yourself. Take the car out. Work it up to speed. Try not to put it in the wall or into Nagasaki Bay. Turn five at the far end is notoriously dangerous. It’s off camber, so you’ll lose adhesion there. If you hit the fence, the car will flip and you’ll be lucky to survive the impact.”
Han reached inside the car and flicked two additional switches. “This turns on the telemetry,” he said. “And this one will activate the navigation guidance alerts.”
“Guidance?”
“Similar to your phone, although far more accurate,” Han said. “It’ll tell you which turns are coming up and how sharp they are so you won’t be surprised. Like having a navigator sitting by your side.”
“That annoys me enough in regular traffic,” Kurt joked, “but I suppose I could use the help.”
