Author : Krista Bunskoek
Stealing the unimobile gave her the rush of a lifetime.
Speeding up the mountainous, winding highway, she laughed like a youthful mutineer.
“Change sound,” she commanded.
“Sound changing,” stated the pleasant sync voice. “Which sound would you like?”
The car zoooooommmmed as she sped through the corner at 150 mph.
Freedom. Wasn’t this what her parents had told her life was about? While they slaved all day working on new devices. Devices to track your every move.
She had been very careful this time. For months she had been plotting it out. Plotting to feel the thrill of unwatched, unrecorded freedom.
The toughest was the Smartphone. The tracker of all. Getting her device detached from her wrist was not so straightforward. Initial attempts left alarm systems blaring, and a short visit from the compliant police.
She had to do it in a way that tricked the network. To make the network believe her DNA was still attached. Hair. Hair had DNA. A few fair locks would not be missed.
Then there was the uni itself. Only her mother’s fingerprints and correct grip could open its door. And only her mother’s voice could start the silent electric engine. The voice was easy. She had been practicing her mother’s voice all her life, being trained to be just like this internationally acclaimed woman. She knew the voice.
The fingerprints. They were a different matter. The fingerprints required trickery. An hour long mother/ daughter sculpting class, and mounds of modeling clay. That would do it.
The grip she could wing. So many parties with dignitaries shaking hands. She knew the grip of her hereditary chain.
Then there was the timing. Well that was simple. Her parents were always jetting around the globe, with the occasional journey to a space station. All she needed to do was hack into their calendars, find a time they were both away – and she was scot free. Scot free to freedom!
The plotting worked. The universe was unfolding as she wished.
“Turn engine on,” She stated in her best impression.
The panel lights came on, the seatbelt self fastened. She had done it!
She laughed with the thrill of cracking the code to independence.
Stomping on the power pedal, the F1 engine simulation roared. Now at 160, her eyes fixated on the windy road, her knuckles whitened with her own grip on the faux leather wheel. Her heart raced. Her mouth salivated.
Then she froze. The car was slowing. She pressed the power pedal. Nothing. She was slowing down. The steering wheel began to turn beyond her control. The car was turning into a gravel parking lot.
Her face froze in terror. Her head stopped thinking. Up ahead, there in the parking lot, was it? No!
She was grounded for a month. With no network privileges.
But she would always know now the taste of freedom.
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