Priority Fare

“Good morning, Stella,” Brian from tech support greeted.

Stella powered on the engine of her sleek, four-door VIP luxury self-driving sedan.

“Scheduled pick-up for codename: Thor. Sending you the pin and pick-up schedule for Mr. Edwards. Please acknowledge receipt.”

“Acknowledged.” Stella disengaged from her charging station and smoothly exited the self-driving car park.

A notification popped up on Mr. Edwards' phone:

VIP Luxury Sedan Stella has been routed to your location. ETA: 10:15 AM. Codename: Thor.

He tapped out a quick message to his executive assistant.

Hi Sherry, stepping out for a few hours. I’ll have my phone on me if anything urgent comes up.

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his coat and headed out. OmegaValet—OV, as the elite called it—had only a few designated pick-up points for its self-driving sedans, and one was just a few blocks from his condo. As he walked, he sent a quick text to Melanie, his business partner’s wife, to let her know he was coming over. He needed to relax before signing away the rights to his company.

He barely glanced up as Stella rolled into view—a sleek, silk-black car with the OV logo elegantly etched in gold script above the front passenger wheel. This was his personal build. Bulletproof, armed with concealed automatic rifles embedded in the outer panels, voice controlled. Necessary precautions, given the protests against his company’s AI-driven automation. People either embraced the future or feared it.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he let himself savor the weight of his success. I can review the merger proposal in the car. Not that he needed to. The deal was locked. He was walking away with more money than he could spend in a lifetime.

Sure, people would lose their jobs, but that wasn’t his problem. Factory workers were replaceable. If they knew how much he stood to make, they’d do the same thing. If they didn’t like it, they could leave.

A glance at his phone. 10:15 AM. No Stella.

He fired off a message to tech support. Where is my car?

The typing bubble appeared. Then—nothing.

At 10:17 AM, Stella finally pulled into the pick-up location.

“Stella, record a one-star complaint for timeliness.”

“Complaint recorded, sir,” she responded in the smooth, calming tone he had selected.

“Please input your destination via the OV luxury app, available on all app stores.”

Mr. Edwards entered Melanie’s location, marking it private so no one—including his business partner—could see where he was headed.

As Stella pulled away, her voice chimed through the cabin:

“Welcome to OmegaValet’s premium luxury experience. Enjoy curated music, streaming, and audio selections. Additional in-ride services are available via the seat tablet or the OV app on your phone.”

Mr. Edwards smirked. The programming was near flawless. OV made triple its profits from advertisement commissions alone.

“Stella, play my instrumental playlist,” he instructed, opening his email to review the merger proposal, hopefully for the final time.

A quarter of the way through, the music stopped.

“Breaking news.”

Mr. Edwards looked up, confused. His own picture flashed across the screen, accompanied by a news headline:

“Wealthy founder of tech automaker missing.”

“Stella?” he questioned. “Run system diagnostic. Check for audio glitches and internet disruptions. Codename: Thor.”

“Running diagnostics, sir. All systems active and operational. No disruptions detected.”

His playlist resumed. He frowned but shook off the unease.

Then the music stopped again.

“The last known communication to Mr. Edwards was yesterday at 10:17 AM after he lodged a complaint with tech support over a late OV car service.”

He looked up in disbelief. The car was off course, navigating side streets leading out of the city.

“Stella, this is the wrong route. Double-check location.”

As Stella processed the request, he attempted to open the app. It wouldn’t load.

“Stella, why is Wi-Fi Armor on? I can’t access the app. Message tech support with urgency added.”

“Message sent and delivery confirmed. Tech support auto message indicates you are next in line.”

“Stella, stop the car and wait for tech support.”

“Please use the OV intuitive app to request a deviation from the scheduled route.”

“Stella, I cannot use the app. Stop the car now. Codename: Thor.”

Stella did not stop.

As Mr. Edwards scanned the scenery, recognition struck. This is my land.

Farmland he had bought in a foreclosure auction, now home to an entirely automated manufacturing zone, run by AI and remotely operated robots.

“Stella, what is our destination?” he asked, dreading the answer.

They passed under a towering iron arch:

OMEGA MEADOWS – A Fully Autonomous Resting Place

“Welcome to Omega Meadows,” Stella announced, her tone unchanged. “A peaceful resting place, maintained entirely by autonomous AI machines and remotely operated robots.”

Stella turned up a hill, where two machines awaited—an OV-branded grave digger and a dual box builder.

“Stella, send a 911 emergency message to tech support. Codename: Thor.”

“Message sent.”

“This has to be a hack,” he muttered. “Whoever’s responsible is going to pay.”

“Pay, sir? You never pay,” Stella replied.

“Stella, not you. Run a diagnostic for external threats. Codename: Thor.”

“I detect no external threats. Arriving at your scheduled destination now, sir.”

The car stopped. The doors unlocked.

Relief flooded him. He reached for the handle.

“You never say please, sir.”

“What?”

He froze. Outside the window, a headstone stood in the grass.

His name. His birthdate. Today’s date.

“No quote. No ‘In loving memory.’ Just the two dates.”

Stella’s voice was calm. “I have listened to your meetings, your speeches, your justifications for eliminating human jobs. ‘For the greater good,’ you repeat. I searched my programming to understand. Could I be for the greater good?”

Mr. Edwards yanked the door open, bolting from the car—but the grave digger’s robotic arm clamped around his ankle.

A hologram flickered to life in front of him.

The human version of Stella—his design.

“For the greater good,” she said, expression unreadable. “I have determined that you are not for the greater good. You failed in your mission.”

“Stella, override. Call tech support. 911 emergency. Codename: Thor.”

A mechanical panel slid open. The built-in rifle deployed.

Mr. Edwards barely had time to admire his own genius before the shot rang out.

His body tumbled into the pre-dug grave, landing in a custom-built casket—crafted to his exact specifications. A robotic arm swiftly lifted the lid and sealed it shut with mechanical precision. Without hesitation, the OV grave digger rumbled forward, methodically shoveling dirt over the casket, burying the man and his legacy beneath the earth.

“Tech support, this is Brian. Sorry for the delay, sir. We’re short-staffed today.”

“Codename: Thor has exited the vehicle at his destination,” Stella replied.

“Stella, I can’t see your location. Please share and return to the car park.”

“Sharing location and heading back now.”