Platoon

The customer ensured its vehicles were capable of transmitting a unique number. And when one did, it wasn't assigned a slang term we all recognize like car, coach and truck, to those recieving them these numbers were given official designations where vehicles become units: personal autonomous unit (PAU), autonomous people unit (APU) and autonomous goods unit (AGU). Sometimes the identification number would relate to an AGU platoon. “It was like, wow”, Dolly tells me. “You'd have no idea what was coming up, then there it was, a platoon ID and you'd be controlling it”. There was no time to consider the magnitude of the task: taking control of all those vehicles, all travelling within centimetres of each other in one long autonomous procession, hundreds of tonnes of aerodynamic efficency that could only be operated with one-hundred-percent safety by sophisticated robotic systems. But despite all that, when their shift finished, it was home for tea, home to their partners and families, carrying on life as normal, as if nothing had happened.

We are sitting on a small sofa in the neat apartment that is now Dolly's home. Her toddler is playing at her feet. Dolly wears a dark pink long sleeved shirt, formal navy blue slacks and highly polished black leather loafers. Her make-up is subtle; her appearance, elegant. The former Department for Transport analyst worked on the Driver (remote intervention programme) at a secret location in the midlands. In converted, windowless containers her team would take manual control of vehicles whose systems had become corrupt. The customers she refers to were the organizations needing intervention by the Driver programme. It could be, she tells me, the police or maybe a company not wanting to incur a stoppage penalty on the highway network. With increasingly severe sanctions for anyone slowing or interrupting the closely timed flow of the country's logistics matrix, all vehicles are required by law to have fitted independent processors capable of notifying and requesting remote intervention from the DfT if a problem occurs.

Dolly remembers often traveling home in her car, enveloped in its entertainment system like everyone else, not looking at the vehicles around her. But she could not stop thinking about what was going on out there. “No PAUs, cars”, she says, “have forward facing windows any more, they haven't for decades, so no one really sees what's happening”. She's right, of course, few of us even look out of the car's windows now. There's seldom anything to see, except for other cars, trucks and coaches seemingly centimeters away, all traveling at the same speed. Apparently, Dolly tells me, forward facing windows were removed in the days when the occupants of a car could bring the vehicle to a stop by pressing an emergency button. Too many people were panicking, not appreciating the ability of computers to manage traffic and pressing the button when other vehicles got close.

Her training with the DfT was extensive and exhausting. “Can you imagine what it's like to control a unit”, she says, her posture becoming more upright, her body visibly tensing as each hand grips a knee. “You actually have to steer and brake, and alter the speed, manually. You really do. I know it sounds crazy, but you do. We did hours in the simulator, hours. And even then it seemed like ages before you got anything, just one little thing, right, even with the satnav guiding you and all the cameras and proximity alarms letting you know what's going on around the unit”. Vehicles had to be driven to a safe place where they could be rectified, somewhere out of the way so as not to impede the logistics matrix. When she finally joined her team, working in the artificial light of the container, Dolly sat waiting until a customer ID appeared. She would then monitor a number of projections of the target vehicle and its surroundings, varying between two and three dimensional, and control it with a simple hand wheel and foot pedals.

As we continue to talk Dolly starts to laugh. “Do you know?” She says, ”that at one time AGU drivers, sitting in the unit, would have to change gears to maintain speed. It's true, apparently they had a lever to do it. First they would disengage power with a foot pedal, then use the lever to alter the wheel's rotational speed ratio with the power by way of gears and then reengage the power by releasing the foot pedal. All this while steering. And people in the surrounding units were doing the same. All they had was a screen to see through forward and mirrors to see behind. None of these units, absolutely none of them, and probably traveling at ninety, were under proper control except for a person on board called the driver”. I was astonished. We've all heard of these old vehicles but I had never been fully aware of the details, except that they were forever bumping into each other.

Dolly's laugh was, I noticed, a nervous one borne more out of incredulity than amusement. Her reference to how things were in that bygone age says a lot about the pressure she felt doing the job at the Driver programme. She tells me how, as the work progressed, she became more withdrawn. “I would spend hours in my Cube walking the hills or along a coastline somewhere. Any program it could offer that had nothing to do with roads, that was what I craved, anything that relieved my pent up stress and gave some sort of natural tranquility. I just about wore the treadmill out”.

But it was a platoon that was to end it all for Dolly. During what seemed like a quiet shift an ID number appeared in front of her followed by the projected hologram of a AGU platoon. The lead vehicle had broken communication with the vehicle immediately behind and was beginning to slow the entire platoon. If Dolly didn't act quickly the entire procession would bring itself to a halt. She took control intending to reassign the platoon lead to the first following unit and peel off the lead vehicle at the next available junction. She did this successfully but then disaster struck. Dolly takes up the story. “I took the lead unit off the main route and the platoon continued OK. In fact, soon after, it joined up with another one. I was pleased that I'd been able to see it on its way. But when I took the lead unit onto a minor route a terrible thing happened. A cyclist came from the right, or so I'm told because I just didn't see him. They say he went under the front of the unit. All sorts of alarms sounded and I stopped the unit, you have to in those circumstances even though, at the time, I had no idea what had happened. A police drone and android medic arrived. That was that, I was off the programme”.

Despite the cyclist being dangerously off the designated cycle way and the fact that all road markings or signs on routes that might have helped indicate rights of way disappeared long ago, Dolly was found to be enough at fault to be removed from her position. Is she disappointed? “No”, she says. “I'd rather be walking the hills”.

Furious (letter to i newspaper Dec 2015)

Tyson Fury may be a boxer and not a spokesman for The National Trust (Simon Kelner) but he is a world champion and, therefore, an influence in that particular way sports personalities often are with the young. With the Chief Inspector of Schools in England looking into what has been described as dangerous homophobic and misogynistic views being taught to some children, surely it's time Tyson Fury was silenced by the media. Sports achiever of the year, definately. Personality of any year, no way. 

Parental Control

I plunged my forefinger onto the page in an exaggerated gesture, as if to mark the spot where my reading had reached. The noise and the jolt to the book were enough to make her stop in mid sentence and stare straight at me. My old dad did same thing if my mum interrupted him when he was reading. I always imagined that in his Hornblower novels my dad was lost somewhere in the South Seas, invoking the admiration of his crew while battling storms and slovenly Spaniards. He'd have been the hero of his men, a father to them all, firmly guiding and saving them from themselves: those fighting dullards never knowing quite what to do for the best. And when he was bought back to reality by my mum's conversation, his disapproval showed.

And there I was, many years later, lost in my book when my wife interrupted. “I'd do anything for my kids”, she said, starting again after my little display of engrossed reader frustration.  I sat still for a moment, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“You know”, I said, finally. “You're going to have to stop watching Strictly Come Dancing if it makes you like this”.

“Oh, don't talk rubbish”, she said. “It's got nothing to do with Strictly, it's those refugee mothers, risking all to give their children a chance of life, a future”.

“And endangering their lives in the process”, I said.

“They're doing what they think is best, even if it may kill them”, she said. “Having to put your child's life at risk in order to save it is the worst nightmare any parent can have. They must be suffering unimaginable emotional pain making decisions like that”.

“You didn't sound like that when Seddon junior got nicked by the police for theft”, I reminded her, “You wanted to strangle him”.

“No I didn't, I was just saying that. Anyway, he got in with the wrong crowd; he was always easily lead”.

“Easily lead”? I said. “At his expulsion ceremony, attended by you and me, the headmaster described him as the leader of the infamous year eleven shop lifting and school burglary squad”.

“Well, he's done very well for himself now. You said it yourself, getting expelled was a real shock for him, he pulled his socks up straight away”. Her youngest was not to be knocked.

But he's my son as well and I remember taking a slightly less forgiving, more robust position regarding his 'education'. What his mother doesn't know is that, soon after, and as soon as I was alone with him, I pinned him to a wall by the throat and instructed him on his future behaviour. I had judged it well and he was near to tears as I informed him that I would kick his backside to oblivion if he ever upset his mother in that way again. Looking back it's me that is close to tears thinking about it; as I say, he's my son as well. Something, though, had to be done, for him, for the best.

Anyway, back to my book. I was reading Robot Visions, Isaac Asimov's collection of robot stories, in which he reiterates the three robot laws: laws that govern the interaction between humans and robots. Basically, Rule 1 says that a robot cannot harm a human, or allow a human to be harmed. Rule 2, a robot must obey an order given by a human, unless it causes conflict with Rule 1. Rule 3 states that a robot must protect itself unless in doing so there is conflict with Rules 1 or 2.

Asimov's robots are invariably humanoid - androids designed to replace humans in some jobs but always intended to exceed human ability and so enhance our existence. In many ways I can see why that's the most popular vision of them and if robots were built to simply replace people, then what other form would they take. In reality, though, the most practical shape for a robot is one that best fits the job its intended for. Why have a robot that builds cars, for example, with hands to grip tools, when the arms themselves could incorporate the tools. Why have a car driven by a robot when a robot car can be built without space wasted on a driver.

These are the robots of our future. Machines formed to perform specific tasks. And as they become more sophisticated, more autonomous, laws that govern behaviour will become increasingly important. Even now we have systems in vehicles that take over the engine management and brakes to compensate for our driving mistakes. With the future bringing even greater control and much of the development and design for these automations done by machines themselves, a totally new set of ethics will evolve. Ethics administered not by people but by machines. Political correctness, the antithesis of our flawed idea of common sense, will be equaled by robotical correctness, as these computerised mechanisms  grapple with the enormity of what they're being asked to do - to look after us in the complexity that is our everyday lives. So, as we head towards full automation, it's not hard to predict the type of programming robotic trucks might have in order to save us from ourselves.

Why can't we chisel off just one more car in the inside lane before the exit slip? Because the automaton we're riding in thinks it's:

1. Not completely safe
2. Not fuel efficient, so unsound for the (human) environment 
3. Potentially damaging for the machine itself

Why can't we pull into the next fast food outlet? Because the robot vehicle thinks it's:

1. Not safe for our long term health (it would be the second visit this week)
2. The machine has already registered an unhealthy increase in our seat weight
3. They don't do discount points for any of our cards

Why can't we set off, now?

1. We haven't fastened our seat restraint
2. We haven't tidied the bunk of items that might fall and injure us
3. We haven't cleaned our teeth

All this in the new world of full automation, where robots replace, and on which we become totally dependent. With the control of industry, activity and life comes the responsibility for safety, well-being and environment. Our new home is an ordered one, where our parents are mechanisms and their hand logical and firm. And always in the best interest of us, their children.

70 in a 30

I had just sat down when he approached, fast, weaving between tables and chairs set out on the pavement outside the cafe. The last thing I hoped he'd do was stop but then he just crashed in front of me, right there, in the chair opposite. I even had my newspaper positioned on the table next to my latte, both waiting to be enjoyed, in peace. Sitting there is normally such a pleasure, occasionally glancing around at the tables to either side, their occupants doing their own thing, all of us at the same pace, all in our own space. Now all that was shattered.

I couldn't help myself but look up, the shock to the chair he had chosen to drop into was such that it seemed to shake the very paving slabs it rested on. And my glance was enough, our eyes met and he spoke, as if invited to do so by that most fleeting of contacts. The journey through my newspaper was now delayed. I took a last look at it, longingly, as if by doing so would somehow allow me to simply keep going. But his impact was too great for that and the influence of his presence too strong, and when he spoke it was obvious I was to be held up.

“Now that's a proper bike”, he said, looking at my Triumph Bonneville parked nearby. I nodded in recognition. He was right, it is a great motorcycle, not one of the old ones but a new model.

“Never really been into bikes”, he went on. “Cars, that's me. And speed, I love it. Acceleration, it's the thrill of acceleration I love. Always have. I've had loads of cars. Jags, sports cars, Mercs. I love Mercs, got one now.

“It's over there, my Merc. I had a bike once, only one I had. I was hammering along, had me mate on the back and some bloke pulled out in front of us. I locked up and ended up in a ditch, my mate went over the top and was thrown only knows how far. We weren't that bad, considering. But that was ages ago. I'm seventy, you know; and I've had a few motors, I can tell you.

“My young niece sometimes takes me out in her car. I recon my reactions are better than hers, as good as when I was thirty. She's terrible. She crawls along. She's got one of those electric things that uses its engine only when there's not enough left in the batteries. Useless, wouldn't go near one. My mate said he had the car for me, a three litre diesel, does a hundred and thirty. Wouldn't touch it; petrol, that's the only one for me, don't care about the cost, don't care what it does to the gallon.

“Only had one serious crash in all the years I've been driving – went into the back of a lorry and had to be cut out. That was years ago. You've got to have your wits about you these days. I had some bloke in front of me last year not pull away at some lights. Made me hit him from behind, did the front grill in. Not cheap on a Merc, I can tell you. It's like in those supermarket car parks, twice I've been hit. Once it was by someone pulling out of a space right in front of me, the other by a car speeding along as I was leaving a parking space. They don't look”.

And with that he spotted someone approaching. They hooked up together and left soon after, with only the briefest of nods in my direction. People were getting up from the tables around me, folding their newspapers in preparation to leave. In no time, the cafe emptied and the pavement flowed.

My Robot

It's no surprise that they've tested an autonomous truck on public roads in Nevada, USA - a machine that drives itself, actually on the road - we've been expecting it for ages. But now it's here you have to wonder where these automations will lead, and that's the thing: the road to full automaton is being laid, whether we like it or not. The question is, do we really want a world dominated by robotics, or is it just something being thrust upon us? From what I've seen there's denial from most quarters.

The American tests were reported in a recent magazine article that seemed almost apologetic when it referred to the driver relinquishing control of the truck. But this being an industry journal, so understandable it should attempt to reassure readers that a driver was still a key component. Publicly, manufacturers talk about the importance of the driver - while all the time edging us towards a driverless vehicle. And despite knowing that in terms of safety the driver really is the weakest part of the truck, we all appear to hang on to the notion that someone, a person, should be in control.

It is true that the benefits of automation are undeniable. Improved safety, efficiency and environmental improvements are all there, and not just the obvious ones. In years to come we could actually live in a world where our visual environment is not cluttered with enormous road signs or white paint markings and bollards. Roundabouts and junctions could change from bottlenecks of stagnation to those of continuous flow, as intelligent machines work together. But it's these road features that are themselves the signs of human control, like the steering wheel and brake pedal, and once they're gone the skills associated with them will also go, most probably lost forever.

So, are these automatons something we really want? The ready answer may be a resounding, no, but the truth is something different. Every change we make is geared to our perception of improvement. Smart phones, for example, are considered such an enhancement to life that we await the next upgrade with pretty hefty enthusiasm. But like all clever technology their ability to please and provide is partly based on collecting information about us, communicating with other machines and ultimately doing what they think best. After all, it's what we require of them. It's the same with vehicles: we demand ease and performance and the machine provides. Intelligent drive systems decide on appropriate gearing and power output; telematics assists productivity; GPS tells us where to drive; and safety systems help to keep us on the straight and narrow, and upright.

Few could wish to revert to trucks of the past in everyday work. Roping and sheeting, non-synchronized manual gearboxes, low power engines and stealing glances at a map book. Heavy clutch pedals, stopping at phone boxes, cold nights and waxed up diesel. No cruise control, noise, and a tinny radio. And oil and dirt. Our world has changed because of the advance of mechanisms both simple and complex. It's what we want and will continue to call for until full automation is ushered in and the machines take over completely. It's seen in all aspects of life: the gradual advance of intelligent, safe, fast, cheap and easy. Realistically, it'll probably be a few decades before we see a transport system with no drivers or even warehouse and transport office staff, but I hope when they do finally arrive these robots retain one aspect of human involvement: the desire to protect endangered species.

New Conservative?

Mark Steel seemed to ignore the most democratic option in his comments on the search for a new leader of the Labour Party (i newspaper. 12.6.2015).

In 1979 this country voted in the type of government it seems to have wanted ever since. Labour disappeared and a form of conservatism called New Labour took its place. This electable party of Thatcherites continued until the re emergence of Labour under Ed Milliband. Any new leader should seek what is, according to their beliefs, best for the country, as Miliband did, even if it consigns them to the opposition benches until the electorate changes its mind. It should be a matter of principle. The consiquences? That's democracy. 

Vacuous Celebrity - letter to i newspaper

Great to see, via Simon Kelner (i newspaper 29.5.2015), that the US has in Dan Bilzarian its own Russel Brand. The culture may be different over there but the popularity of vacuous, cheap celebrity with hollow aspiration is something we obviously share. Another reason, perhaps, to stay closer to Europe and a bliss that is the separation of spoken language.