It Takes a Full Bus

“Route updated,” the robotic voice for Tortoise chimed. 

“Thanks,” Teal responded automatically, even though the Tortoise systems weren’t sentient. She glanced at the AutoRoute screen to confirm that a pickup and destination had been added to the route before returning her attention to the road. 

The world outside was dark and wet. The windshield wiper swept left and right, and Teal’s gaze danced around the blade. The only people venturing into this weather gathered in little havens of yellowy warmth, like Teal’s bus and the stop up ahead. 

The autopilot decelerated as they approached the pickup location and Teal took a moment to observe the rearview mirror. While her bus typically carried a conversational crowd, her seven passengers were sleepily silent today.  

There was the dad (Teal could never remember his name) and his twins, Gemmy and Teddy, all regular riders. They still hung out in the accessible seating area, the twins still attached to the space from their baby carriage years. The twins were barely keeping their little eyes open. M. Lin sat right behind them. They took the bus on rainy days, and normally had a bicycle to plonk into the bike rack, but … Teal only ever saw them dressed in a pantsuit, with delicate jewelry and professional makeup. Did they really cycle around like that? Their attention was always firmly captured on a tablet screen, and today was no exception. In the middle right seat a hulking passenger kept their eyes closed, maybe dozing to the hum of the electric engine and radiating heat. On the left side at the back an unfamiliar duo snuggled together and whispered into each other’s ears. 

It was a little lonely, having to stay bright-eyed and alert. The lights were off at the front of the bus so she could see clearly out the windows and she felt like a shadowed guardian. 

The bus stopped and Teal ordered it to kneel just as the doors folded open and let in a blast of wet air. 

With measured steps, M. Holman climbed aboard. The older woman could have put a kneel request into her AutoRoute account, but she wasn’t the type to ask for that accommodation. Teal liked to discreetly provide help regardless, and she couldn’t help but notice that M. Holman always ended up on the Tortoise instead of the Hare, despite their overlapping routes.  

“Good evening,” Teal said as M. Holman passed by. She flicked the switch and the bus slowly raised itself back up.

“I wouldn’t call this good.” The older woman dripped profusely. She took her usual seat at the front of the bus, across from a dad and his twins. “Everything’s backed up. I’m going to be late to my meeting.” 

Immediately, Teal checked her time. Not that she was competing in the Hare’s imaginary race, but she was proud of consistently picking up passengers and dropping them off within AutoRoute’s estimated window. Hare might deliver someone early, but at the cost of picking up another rider late. On average, Tortoise had much better times. Today was no exception: everything was green. They were at the later end of the estimated range, but not technically late. She relaxed, relieved to know it was just M. Holman’s usual snappishness. 

Teal continued to review her AutoRoute screen while M. Holman got settled. She tried to be extra careful on days like this. While the bus was self-driving, rainy days were optimal for glitches, and worse, for pedestrians to fail to notice the bus. Since the routes were unpredictable, recalculated every minute based on real demand, it was best to know exactly where the Tortoise was supposed to go so she could foresee problems and “earn her keep” as the naysayers liked to say. 

When M. Holman looked secure, Teal indicated on the dashboard that it was safe for the Tortoise to continue. The bus hummed forward. 

“Hare to Tortoise,” the radio crackled. “I’m leaving you a hitchhiker at the stop on 42nd Street. You can get them closer than I can.” 

Teal reached up without looking to click her radio. “Tortoise to Hare, understood.” Great, and she was already on 41st Street.

She could manually drive to the stop, but she had to log the request into the AutoRoute system at some point regardless. Otherwise, it would ding her times. Not that she was competing with the Hare. 

She pressed down on the brake, slowing to an absolute crawl. After scanning the road to be sure there weren’t any pedestrians or cyclists around and that the other vehicles on the road were behaving, she moved her eyes to the AutoRoute screen, dragging the route so that it clicked onto the bus stop, taking over the stop request that had originally gone to Hare. 

“Route updated.” 

Teal double-checked that Tortoise could manage this sudden change in routes and eased her foot off the brake. The bus didn’t have enough time to get back up to full speed (25 miles per hour) before it slowed back down again for the stop and the doors folded open.

The hitchhiker sat on the cement sidewalk, embracing a busted bicycle, beside the bus stop bench and outside the protective cover of the shelter. Long wet hair and loose wet clothes clung to their skin, deflating their presence.  

Teal could tell the hitchhiker was an adult, but also young — that they were still stuck in a place where they had to embody both, and the “young” and the “adult” were desperately at odds with each other, and desperately trying to push each other down as if their survival depended on it. Where “youth” and “independence” clashed and ended up sprawled on the asphalt, a banged up bike clattering to a stop just ahead. 

Teal shook the projection out of her head. She shouldn’t make assumptions, and either way, the final indignity for her had been when the older adults showed up to say “I understand, I was there, too.” So she would just be a professional, and give this hitchhiker the space they needed to figure themselves out. 

Teal leaned over. “I heard you need a ride?” 

The hitchhiker raised their head. Their face was wet, of course, but also red in a way that implied tears. “It broke.” Their voice sounded tearful too. 

“Good thing Tortoise can fit you both.” Teal parked the bus, eliciting a groan from a member of the snuggly duo in the back. Ignoring that, she took out the key and her AutoRoute screen. Everyone had places they needed to be. Teal accepted that balancing the routes was her responsibility; that it was her job alone to get everyone where they needed to go. “We don’t have any more room on the rack, but you can bring your bike onto the bus with you.” 

“Can you get me home?” the hitchhiker asked.

Teal hovered in the doorway, her fingers posed over the AutoRoute. “Tell me your address and we can figure that out.”

“Woodinville, along the old town center.”

Teal’s heart sank. She should have expected this. Most people in the county had the AutoRoute app and could make their own route requests. The bus stop button for “hitchhikers” was mostly used by visitors to the area. 

Technically, Woodinville was part of the county limits. Technically, the buses could run on those streets, if the demand was there. But the demand usually wasn’t, especially not on a day like this. What had Hare said? Tortoise could get the hitchhiker closest. Hare must have meant just a little bit further than anybody else. “Let me see,” she said out loud, and entered the coordinates. 

“Route updated,” came the digital voice from inside the bus. The disheartening map was in Teal’s hands. Find the positive spin. “I can get you close to Woodinville,” Teal said. “But you’ll have another 15 miles to go.” Great, very positive. 

The hitchhiker let out a sob. “Isn’t there a bus that can get me closer?”

Teal tapped the edge of the AutoRoute screen. “There isn’t … I’m so sorry.” She didn’t want to dump this person 15 miles away from their destination with a broken bicycle and bruised limbs. But what else could she do? “Is there anywhere else you can go?”

The hitchhiker shook their head and stumbled to their feet. Teal pressed back into her driver’s seat while they limped their bicycle up the steps. They paused as they stared down the rows, making a puddle at the front of the bus.

“Can I help with that?” It was the dad of the twins. He stood. “I’ve got the hang of these belts thanks to pushing around a baby carriage for years.” Within moments, the bike was safely strapped in place.

“Thank you!” Teal called out. She wished she could remember his name. 

“Not a problem.” The dad retook his seat. 

But his participation lowered the inhibitions of his kids. 

“Why did the bus driver have to help you enter your route? Is something wrong with your app?” The twin pointed at their wrist, the kiddie version of a holopad strapped on tight. 

There was a moment’s pause. Teal resettled her own AutoRoute screen, twisted the key back in place, and took the bus out of park. 

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a holopad?” The twins were aghast.

“Lots of people don’t,” their dad helpfully chimed in. “You know that bus shelter we waited under?” 

“Yeah?” 

“The shelters are for folks who don’t want a holopad or even the AutoRoute app. They can just hit a button at the shelter, and it’ll let AutoRoute know to send a bus their way! Then the driver can take care of things for them.”

“I thought they were for rain.” 

“They’re good for that too.” 

As the dad talked to his kids, the hitchhiker slunk deeper into their seat and pressed their hands to their eyes. More tears?

The twin noticed. “Are you okay? You look sad. Is it because your bicycle broke?”

The hitchhiker shook their head. “I just want to go home.” 

The conversation petered out after that. The adults had all turned awkwardly to their devices, while the hitchhiker leaned forward and picked at the torn fabric at their knees. Long damp hair obscured their expression.

Teal remembered hiding behind her hair, in a desperate situation of her own foolishness, knowing no one would come to her aid. She didn’t want to leave the hitchhiker there and she shouldn’t expect anyone else to lend a hand. Surely there was some way she could offer help? 

“Um, M. Bus Driver?” 

Teal startled, hands tightening on the wheel. One of the twins had snuck up to the front. Moments like these, Teal was grateful that she didn’t actually have to drive the bus, as much as she disliked having to split her attention. “Oh, hello, hi! What’s up?” 

The twin, probably Gemmy, pointed at the hitchhiker. “Can you help them?” 

“I wish I could …”

“You always help us.” The child stared up at her with large pleading eyes. Teal had never felt so guilty about her job before. 

“Gemmy, get back here,” the dad called and the twin scampered back. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“It’s fine,” Teal mouthed into the rearview mirror.

“Are we going to be able to go home?” Teddy asked, frowning into the glare of the window. Outside, trees and bushes shivered together on the greenway. The buildings beyond sported solar panels, dull surfaces in the stormy weather. Teal could sympathize with the kid’s concern. She preferred her odds in a bus than on a bike.  

M. Lin leaned forward, draping into the accessible seating section. “AutoRoute’s customized routes are what allowed cities to go car free. You guys live in the city, right?” The twins nodded. “So you’ll be able to get home no problem. Outside the city, there isn’t enough demand for regular routes. And Woodinville is pretty seclusive. How often does AutoRoute make a trip into your neck of the woods?”

The hitchhiker jerked, their hands splayed over the torn fabric on their jeans. “Um. Sometimes the neighborhood would get together to request a day trip into the city, but you can’t catch a bus whenever you want. Most folks bike or drive motorcarts.” 

The dad snapped his fingers. “Say, why don’t you borrow a motorcart to get back home?” 

The hitchhiker sunk deeper into their seat, their hands rubbing on raw skin at their wrists. “I don’t have a license.” 

M. Holman tsk-tsked. “It used to be everyone knew how to drive. Plain common sense.” 

“Well, these days we combine our skills to support each other.” M. Lin’s tone was surprisingly defensive. 

“Who has the skill? Not even bus drivers know how to drive these days.”

No one came to Teal’s defense over that. Never mind that she’d been driving since her feet could reach the pedals. Like the hitchhiker, she’d grown up away from the city. Unlike the hitchhiker, she grew up in an old petroleum-loving suburb. She much preferred the city and its commitment to community and clean energy, but she couldn’t give up the driving. 

She liked being a bus driver. Liked being a more efficient driver than the Hare. Liked helping people get where they needed to go. 

But even knowing how to drive, there wasn’t any way to help the hitchhiker in this situation, was there? She couldn’t just borrow the bus for the hour-long round trip to deliver one passenger to Woodinville. 

“Route changed,” Tortoise announced. Changed, not updated. A rider had adjusted their end destination. It happened on occasion, it was just … uncommon.

She would check the change at their next stop. The Tortoise was already slowing down as they arrived at the light rail lines. The sidewalks were full of pedestrians, their heads down, fighting against wind and rain to get back indoors as quickly as possible. The next stop was for M. Lin, just outside the light rail’s entrance. The Tortoise rolled close and then rolled past, the autopilot maintaining a steady pace. 

Teal blinked and then snatched her tablet to make a hasty correction, but M. Lin’s stop was nowhere in the vicinity. Teal had to zoom out to find the changed route: M. Lin was to be dropped off with the hitchhiker, with instructions to bike the remaining 15 miles to the Woodinville Town Center. 

M. Lin was leaning over the divider in front of them, angrily prodding at their tablet. Were they trying to poke AutoRoute into creating a stop at the town center? Two passengers weren’t enough to establish the stop … especially since the return trip would force an extension on Teal’s shift. 

The dad was trying to move the conversation in a friendlier direction, or maybe just trying to encourage the hitchhiker’s participation? “— Really a beautiful place to live.”

The hitchhiker stared at their lap, determinedly ignoring the conversation.

A member of the cuddling duo spoke up. “It’s a suburb, right?”

“Rehabilitated suburb,” The dad agreed, excited to get some sort of response. “Most of the land in that area has been returned to nature. Vehicles can still travel along the main road and it’s lovely.” 

“Route changed.” Again? Had M. Lin given up on adjusting the route? It wasn’t too late for them to make the light rail connection further north. “Route changed.” 

Teal checked the tablet. Two more passengers had requested the Woodinville Town Center as their destination. 

Four passengers versus five … It still wasn’t enough. For a moment, she entertained the idea of speaking up and asking the rest of the bus to change their routes, to go an hour out of the way, to get the bus to Woodinville. But there wasn’t a reason for anyone else to do that. No doubt the dad wanted to get his kids home. M. Holman had some sort of meeting to attend. Teal didn’t know anything about the dozing passenger in the middle seat.

That was okay. Seeing the others step up confirmed Teal’s wishes to see the hitchhiker home. She couldn’t interrupt the routes of the others, but she would find some way to help. 

And just in case she came up with a solution involving the bus, Teal navigated the AutoRoute menu to update her hours for the shift, pushing her availability back by an hour. 

“I doubt it’s scenic in this weather,” M. Holman said. “What inspired you to make a trip on a day like this, anyway?”

Apparently, this was a comment the hitchhiker couldn’t ignore. “The weather wasn’t like this when I left! I just wanted a day in the city, like a normal person.”

“Are you not normal?” Gemmy asked. 

The hitchhiker crossed their arms. “Normal people don’t live in the old suburbs trying to rehabilitate wildlife and live tech-free. But that’s what I have to do because my parents think it’s a good idea.”

“Route changed.” 

“Are your parents going to be worried about you?” The dad asked, as if he couldn’t hold the concern back any longer. 

Teal winced. Oh, that was the one thing he really shouldn’t have said.

“It’s none of your business. Stop asking me questions!” 

That settled it. Teal couldn’t borrow the bus, but she had a license, and motorcarts could fit two. She would offer the hitchhiker a ride after her shift. It’d be a wait, since she’d have to return the bus, clock off, and then borrow a motorcart, but it was the least she could offer. Hopefully, the proud hitchhiker would be willing to accept her help.  

Would a motorcart fit a bicycle? 

“Route changed. System error.” The engine cut off and the bus rolled to a stop all on its own. 

“What happened?” Teddy yelped, sharpening the lazy atmosphere of the Tortoise.

“Good question …” Teal checked her tablet. The AutoRoute screen was stuck in calculations, unable to reconcile the changes that had just been entered. Teal had never seen this before. Normally, the AutoRoute would just direct people to get off the bus if they suddenly needed a different route. 

She pushed the loading symbol out of the way to review the end destinations: Eight of the passengers on the Tortoise requested a stop at Woodinville. 

Only one passenger hadn’t changed their end destination, causing the irreconcilable calculations. En route, the AutoRoute system prioritized promised destinations and guaranteed arrival times. But now the AutoRoute system was trying to find a compromise between the overwhelming majority and the one senior request. 

Teal grabbed the microphone from its hook and stared into her rearview mirror. “Attention, it looks like there’s been a change in plans and we all want to head up to Woodinville.” 

The passengers straightened and smiled. The snuggly duo in the back cheered. Even the dozing passenger opened their eyes. 

“We have one passenger who kept their original destination, so please give me a moment while I make other arrangements for them.” 

“Wait, what does this mean?” the hitchhiker asked.

“It means we’re taking you home,” M. Lin said. 

Teal opened up passenger details, expecting to see M. Holman, but no. The only person who hadn’t changed their destination was the hulking passenger in the middle seats. Which made more sense, given that they had been apparently asleep the entire time.

She made her way over to them. “Hey, so, it looks like the Hare could pick you up in just a few a minutes. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” the passenger stood, yawning and rubbing their eyes. “Did I miss something? What’s in Woodinville?”

“Just a small adventure.”

“Too rainy for that. Let me grab my bike.” 

Teal and the passenger returned to the front of the bus. She grabbed the radio while they exited and unloaded their bike from the rack. 

 “Tortoise to Hare, you have a passenger to pick up at 77th Street.” 

“Hare to Tortoise, roger. Everything okay? Your route is glitching.” 

“We’re good, thanks for checking.” 

Teal moved her finger on the screen, forcing the passenger onto the Hare’s route. One second later, and then … “Route updated.” The path deep into Woodinville glowed on her screen. Perfect.

“Route canceled.” Red warning signs lit up her tablet. 

“Wait, what happened?” M. Lin asked, one foot in the alley.

Teal scrolled for a second to confirm. “The AutoRoute guidance system is down in Woodinville because of the weather.”

“Of course it wouldn’t work.” The hitchhiker didn’t sound surprised. 

Teal held her tongue until she finished checking the traffic alerts to confirm the roads weren’t actually unsafe. “It’ll work,” Teal announced. She entered her passcode to override the cancellation and pulled the lever to shut off autopilot. “All of my passengers want to go to Woodinville, so we’re going there, even if I have to drive you myself.”

She gripped the wheel, moved out of park and pressed the pedals, gliding the bus forward. For a moment, the bus was silent. 

“You can drive?” M. Holman screeched.

“Well it is part of the job description.” 

Teal watched the rearview mirror as the hitchhiker turned until they almost faced the window, as if hiding their face from the other passengers. Teal lowered her gaze to her own reflection in the mirror, and then she returned her full attention to the road.

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