Chapter 1-Junichi
     My headlights flood over the road ahead, sharpening the shadows that fill the space behind every piece of gravel. I listen to the grinding of the tires, the rocks that ping off the undercarriage. I can hear the motor whirring and the air hissing around the cab. It is a beautiful sound, a music.
     The Voice likes it, too. The familiar entity holds fast in my mind, a still, sleeping orb of glowing purple. Its tendrils dance and swirl like the dust I see at the edges of the headlights’ beam, or what I glimpse in red when I check the rearview mirror. Misty red dancing for me before the darkness sucks it away.
     Then my headplates buzz, and the Voice moves, poofing outward into an even, rolling fog. It trickles through all the branches of my brain, and a tingle runs through my skin.
     An incoming transmission scurries into my head, escorted like a hard seed on an ant’s back through the channels of the Ink Root, into my auditory cortex. The Voice inserts itself more deeply into my motor system, and for a moment I can feel every nerve in my arms and legs tighten like a string that has been pulled on. With the Voice handling my control over the vehicle, I can focus fully on the message as it blossoms, in a hazy, abstract form of sound, in my mind.
     Junichi.
     A statement, a simple address, but I can hear the implied question, as if Takeshi is waiting in need of a response.
     “Hello, Mr. Takeshi.” I speak aloud, and a few wisps of steam dance on my breath. The Voice has me turn up the heat, which drowns out the road music.
     The Voice sends out a transmission of my response, and a few seconds later Takeshi’s next message niggles its way into my brain.
     Hi. Where are you?
     Takeshi is the only member of the staff who communicates with me this way. It is sometimes used for business, when he needs to discuss my programming. Often, though, he calls almost as if he hardly expects me to answer, and then leaves again without saying much. I do not know why; my health is perfect, and the Makers would know if my programs were malfunctioning.
     “I am on a gravel road in Oregon, driving what is called a Jeep Cherokee. Cherokee is a group of people who have lived in this country for a long time, but the Voice won’t say what Jeep is. Do you know, Mr. Takeshi?”
     This pause is over twice as long as the last. The message begins with a sigh. No, Junichi, I don’t know. Or maybe I do, but I’m too tired to remember.
     “If you are tired, Mr. Takeshi, I would recommend turning off all the lights as soon as possible and allowing yourself to sleep. That is the ideal way to inform the suprachiasmatic nucleus that you need rest. A night with a fair amount of NREM would improve your mood substantially.” Eyeshine glints ahead of me, and I press and hold the brake pedal. A medium-sized, slender creature stands in the headlights for a moment before lifting its head high and prancing off the road. I reaccelerate. “I believe I just saw what is called a deer. A doe, in fact. I had not seen one in person before, but I find it an attractive being.”
     I don’t appreciate getting sleep advice from someone whose SCN is regulated by the mystical mechanical god-thing that you worship. Sometimes... he grumbles. Sometimes I wish I could interrupt you with this thing.
     “Is there a purpose to your call, Mr. Takeshi? Are the programs you fed to the Ink Root faulty?”
     The next snatch of dialogue from Takeshi’s side includes the barely perceptible, hesitant flow of a pattering keyboard. Not faulty… but I am concerned that one of the bridge programs may not have gone through, and I didn’t realize it until you had already left. It appears to have been sent, just as all the other files were… but the confirmation signal received from the Ink Root is in a different format. It seems to have arrived, but… I’m wondering if there was a download error?
     I pull up to a stop sign and press down on a lever next to the steering wheel. It locks into place and clicks at me as a left arrow flashes in green on the dashboard and the turn signal beams intermittently on the highway in front of me. I wait for a massive truck to roar past in front of me before I make my answering transmission.
     “I do not know, Takeshi. Is there any way to confirm this information? Can you send the code again?” A couple cars whiz by, and I pull out onto the highway.
     Takeshi hums into my brain. I can try. You are at a great distance, though, and… oh, snap. It’s almost 11:30.
     I can’t tell whether he’s talking to himself or me. Before I can make a comment on his unhealthful state of late-night consciousness, a second transmission comes in.
     Junichi, stop the vehicle. Now.
     I tap the brakes, but as the needle of the speedometer sinks, I feel the pull of the Voice directing my foot back to the accelerator. Takeshi’s command is in direct violation of the living, omniscient Voice in my head. A Voice that is guided by the programming that he wrote.
     “Takeshi, I do not—”
     His next transmission interrupts me. Junichi, please. His voice is firm. Serious. I need you to check something for me. It’s just a precaution. Stop the vehicle—pull off the road, if you can—and see if you can’t find the programming files. You’re the most perceptive cyborg I’ve ever worked with; there’s a good chance you’ll be able to verify if that bridge code came through.
     I hit the brakes again, only for the Voice to move my foot back to the accelerator. The Voice is acting slowly, a little indecisively, perhaps peeking through my eyes in an attempt to discover why I am resisting it.
     I am a little indecisive myself.
     “The Voice does not want me to stray from my task. Perhaps if you sent the code again, I could monitor the incoming information and make sure it arrives safe—”
     Resist the Voice and pull over. Now, Junichi. It’s important.
     I take a deep breath to ease my frustration and send off my augmented clip. The Voice smoothes my ruffled emotions, and I send a quick second message. “I am not programmed for disobedience.” I start recording the next snippet. “If you wish for me to stop, perhaps you can contact the—”
     What I’m telling you to do is the bridge code, Junichi! I programmed you to pull off at 11:25, because at 11:30… 11:30… Oh, God. Oh, God, help me. I didn’t— He sounds genuinely panicked. If it hasn’t kicked in now, then it didn’t download. Stop the vehicle now before it’s—
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