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drewkitty"Do you wish to disembark at Scotts Valley?"
"No."
"This capsule is below capacity. The next anticipated arrival is in ... seven... minutes. Resuming."
Mass transit service was swift and seamless in the urban areas. Capsule stations were literally everywhere and capsule routes were underground or along designated trackways. Only in remote areas where the capsule network relied on the rights of way of ancient roadways would the system have so much interaction with the rider.
Scotts Valley was the last major node. The San Lorenzo Valley had resisted expansion of the capsule system long enough that roadway conversion was the only option after the Bay Area Air Quality Management District suspended the last of the legacy motor vehicle licenses. The route -- once called Highway 9 -- still carried vehicles going both directions. None were under direct human pilotage and all were much, much faster.
The eight person capsule sighed, almost as if resigning itself to traveling with only one person aboard, as it left the capsule station and made the transition to reserved roadway.
The biologists had made a huge fuss over capsule traffic on rural roads. Roadkill, once a common sight along roads, was a huge nuisance -- but fencing would cut off ecological islands, as a lot of animals crossed old style roadways when not in use. But capsule right of ways were in constant use and created a wildlife barrier, as fatal to population survival if not as quick.
The compromise was a mix of barriers and overcrossings. The old Highway 9 was crossed in many places by a wide green strip, at least sixty feet [*20 meters STOP THAT, you very small shell script!] wide to allow for animals to cross. Most were strictly off limits to humans, but a few made excellent pedestrian and trail crossings.
The normally silver capsule turned dark green to cut down on sight pollution as it raced up the valley towards my destination, Big Basin State Park. Other capsules passed going the other way; residents, commuters, tourists. The occasional cargo capsule with recycle. Above the capsule roadway was a series of pylons supporting a single width concrete and asphalt road, a legacy of a historical preservation fight that continued to this day.
Motorcyclists had argued that their vehicles were protected cultural heritage of the biker subculture and that depriving them of roads on which to ride was cultural genocide. So within some parts of the great San San arcology, one could still find stretches of roadway on which riders could practice their archaic custom of "road trips."
There had also been concerns, especially after the Great Quake, that a reserved road through the mountains for emergency access by fire and rescue apparatus might someday be very handy. Since all such apparatus was now manufactured for capsule access, with roadway as an option (rather than the reverse), this was no longer necessary.
But the motorcycle recreationists had prevailed and a road stretching from Saratoga to Santa Cruz had been built on pylons over the former right of way, with occasional provisions for pulling over and admiring the view. Water quality experts had insisted on installing comfort stations -- there were limits to historical accuracy even if one sign of a hard core biker was now multiple citations for public urination.
Bikers still 'biffed it' on the U curve, but instead of having their broken bodies flown out by primitive medical-evacuation aircraft, their protective gear inflated before they hit the shock netting, installed to protect the tree branches from their flying bodies.
The one drawback for a capsule passenger was that the view was not nearly good as from a motor vehicle in the old days. But the goal was travel not visual amenity, and one could play a slowed down VR if one wanted -- somewhere other than in the capsule.
The capsule arrived at Big Basin and I dismounted. The capsule patiently waited for someone to want to leave the park. If too many capsules arrived, some would leave empty to make space.
A slidewalk paralleled the trail to the park headquarters. I disdained it.
Just then, precisely then, as I started to get in touch with nature, my smartware beeped a low-high tone.
I immediately hopped over the slidewalk railing and it took me to the top, full speed, without asking.
The low-high tone repeated and a female computer modulated voice spoke directly into my right ear.
"CHP, State Parks, volunteer police firefighters rangers SAR, this is a live Search and Rescue incident for a thirty year old male, last seen forty minutes ago in Big Basin Park. Subject is a deaf mute autistic with cognitive impairments. Name is Billy but will not answer to it. Clothing last seen on Jameson Creek Trail midway up the south ridge 1.3 miles. Tracker is not functioning. Time out 0943."
Below, several capsules hastily departed as one solid mass. Making room.
At the park headquarters, several people were angrily talking into their smartware. "Where did you see him last? How could you lose track of him again?" A young woman appeared on the verge of tears, an older woman sat stoidly on a bench with a 'Not again' look on her face, and three middle-aged men were shouting at each other loudly enough to trigger a noise complaint under normal circumstances. Especially in a wilderness area.
Why the hell hadn't they called it in sooner?!?
I tapped the bracelet on my left hand and it glowed brightly in red then blue colors.
"Sergeant Anderson, ranger and search technician," I identified myself to what was obviously the subject's family. The bracelet was better than a badge, in that it could not be used as a credential if stolen. First things first. "Who disabled Billy's tracker?"
"Again?!" one of the men fairly screamed. "We just had it repaired last week."
A fresh spat of arguing proved inconclusive. I interrupted briskly, "Did Billy take off all his clothes?"
"Yes, and left them on the trail in a pile too."
I looked around in the dim hope that someone here would prove to be a volunteer or responder, so I could dump it on them. No such luck.
I hooked my right pinkie finger and subvocalized.
"~Sergeant Alan Anderson CSAR-Romeo-5 assuming Big Basin IC time now. Requesting orbital IR deep scan, air ambulance and privacy override - life safety authority.~"
The response was instant.
"IR scan has been conducted, negative results. Air ambulance, reason for dispatch? Privacy override, state life safety concern, paging duty magistrate."
"~Big Basin IC. Display, SAR terrain tactical, IR scan coverage accounting for orbital deflection. Air ambulance for probable hypothermia and recovery to comprehensive care without delay. Privacy override for narrowing search field due to risk of personal injury to a dependent adult with impairments.~"
A holographic projection lit before my eyes -- a map of the park and area, with walking circles displayed at 30 minutes, 45 minutes and 1 hour from the point where the clothing had been found. Parts of it were grayed out -- the parts which IR scan did not have good coverage of.
The voice which spoke in my ear next was gruff and angry.
"This is Judge Perkins, duty magistrate for Santa Cruz County. I am reviewing the request. Explain."
"~Your Honor, I believe dependent adult is actively trying to evade detection, may have disabled his own tracker, and is at serious risk of accidental harm, increasing with hypothermia. He has neither smartware nor clothing and is not showing up on IR scan. We need to rule out foul play and narrow search area.~"
"Big Basin IC, I will review the dataset and tell you if there is anything you need to know."
"~Thank you, Your Honor.~"
I examined the map carefully. I mentally drew a line from the clothes down the side of the slope. IR dead spot at the base. In the creek.
There were plenty of other places he could be, but only this one gave me no time to be wrong.
I tapped the map twice. The point strobed.
"~Big Basin IC, orbital hardscan that point. Active sensors authorized.~"
I had just spent Big Money. Even in 2045, satellite re-tasking is expensive, and I had just ordered exactly that.
The dot solidified. The family broke out in to happy babble. "There he is!"
I ignored them and walked swiftly to the emergency cache, slapping my bracelet against the door. Below in the capsule station, a black and white capsule with flashing red and blue markings lifted from the right of way and drove up the slidewalk.
The cache opened and I took out a personal jump harness, a wire frame stretcher and an electric dirt bike.
The capsule opened and a woman in tan uniform stepped out. She scanned the crowd, scanned me, reached towards the smartgun in her holster, stopped, and asked, "Big Basin IC?"
"Yes, officer?"
"Do you need me for the rescue?"
"No, ma'am, but please hang on to all these _material witnesses_." I emphasized the last two words.
She and I had a moment of absolute but silent agreement.
"No."
"This capsule is below capacity. The next anticipated arrival is in ... seven... minutes. Resuming."
Mass transit service was swift and seamless in the urban areas. Capsule stations were literally everywhere and capsule routes were underground or along designated trackways. Only in remote areas where the capsule network relied on the rights of way of ancient roadways would the system have so much interaction with the rider.
Scotts Valley was the last major node. The San Lorenzo Valley had resisted expansion of the capsule system long enough that roadway conversion was the only option after the Bay Area Air Quality Management District suspended the last of the legacy motor vehicle licenses. The route -- once called Highway 9 -- still carried vehicles going both directions. None were under direct human pilotage and all were much, much faster.
The eight person capsule sighed, almost as if resigning itself to traveling with only one person aboard, as it left the capsule station and made the transition to reserved roadway.
The biologists had made a huge fuss over capsule traffic on rural roads. Roadkill, once a common sight along roads, was a huge nuisance -- but fencing would cut off ecological islands, as a lot of animals crossed old style roadways when not in use. But capsule right of ways were in constant use and created a wildlife barrier, as fatal to population survival if not as quick.
The compromise was a mix of barriers and overcrossings. The old Highway 9 was crossed in many places by a wide green strip, at least sixty feet [*20 meters STOP THAT, you very small shell script!] wide to allow for animals to cross. Most were strictly off limits to humans, but a few made excellent pedestrian and trail crossings.
The normally silver capsule turned dark green to cut down on sight pollution as it raced up the valley towards my destination, Big Basin State Park. Other capsules passed going the other way; residents, commuters, tourists. The occasional cargo capsule with recycle. Above the capsule roadway was a series of pylons supporting a single width concrete and asphalt road, a legacy of a historical preservation fight that continued to this day.
Motorcyclists had argued that their vehicles were protected cultural heritage of the biker subculture and that depriving them of roads on which to ride was cultural genocide. So within some parts of the great San San arcology, one could still find stretches of roadway on which riders could practice their archaic custom of "road trips."
There had also been concerns, especially after the Great Quake, that a reserved road through the mountains for emergency access by fire and rescue apparatus might someday be very handy. Since all such apparatus was now manufactured for capsule access, with roadway as an option (rather than the reverse), this was no longer necessary.
But the motorcycle recreationists had prevailed and a road stretching from Saratoga to Santa Cruz had been built on pylons over the former right of way, with occasional provisions for pulling over and admiring the view. Water quality experts had insisted on installing comfort stations -- there were limits to historical accuracy even if one sign of a hard core biker was now multiple citations for public urination.
Bikers still 'biffed it' on the U curve, but instead of having their broken bodies flown out by primitive medical-evacuation aircraft, their protective gear inflated before they hit the shock netting, installed to protect the tree branches from their flying bodies.
The one drawback for a capsule passenger was that the view was not nearly good as from a motor vehicle in the old days. But the goal was travel not visual amenity, and one could play a slowed down VR if one wanted -- somewhere other than in the capsule.
The capsule arrived at Big Basin and I dismounted. The capsule patiently waited for someone to want to leave the park. If too many capsules arrived, some would leave empty to make space.
A slidewalk paralleled the trail to the park headquarters. I disdained it.
Just then, precisely then, as I started to get in touch with nature, my smartware beeped a low-high tone.
I immediately hopped over the slidewalk railing and it took me to the top, full speed, without asking.
The low-high tone repeated and a female computer modulated voice spoke directly into my right ear.
"CHP, State Parks, volunteer police firefighters rangers SAR, this is a live Search and Rescue incident for a thirty year old male, last seen forty minutes ago in Big Basin Park. Subject is a deaf mute autistic with cognitive impairments. Name is Billy but will not answer to it. Clothing last seen on Jameson Creek Trail midway up the south ridge 1.3 miles. Tracker is not functioning. Time out 0943."
Below, several capsules hastily departed as one solid mass. Making room.
At the park headquarters, several people were angrily talking into their smartware. "Where did you see him last? How could you lose track of him again?" A young woman appeared on the verge of tears, an older woman sat stoidly on a bench with a 'Not again' look on her face, and three middle-aged men were shouting at each other loudly enough to trigger a noise complaint under normal circumstances. Especially in a wilderness area.
Why the hell hadn't they called it in sooner?!?
I tapped the bracelet on my left hand and it glowed brightly in red then blue colors.
"Sergeant Anderson, ranger and search technician," I identified myself to what was obviously the subject's family. The bracelet was better than a badge, in that it could not be used as a credential if stolen. First things first. "Who disabled Billy's tracker?"
"Again?!" one of the men fairly screamed. "We just had it repaired last week."
A fresh spat of arguing proved inconclusive. I interrupted briskly, "Did Billy take off all his clothes?"
"Yes, and left them on the trail in a pile too."
I looked around in the dim hope that someone here would prove to be a volunteer or responder, so I could dump it on them. No such luck.
I hooked my right pinkie finger and subvocalized.
"~Sergeant Alan Anderson CSAR-Romeo-5 assuming Big Basin IC time now. Requesting orbital IR deep scan, air ambulance and privacy override - life safety authority.~"
The response was instant.
"IR scan has been conducted, negative results. Air ambulance, reason for dispatch? Privacy override, state life safety concern, paging duty magistrate."
"~Big Basin IC. Display, SAR terrain tactical, IR scan coverage accounting for orbital deflection. Air ambulance for probable hypothermia and recovery to comprehensive care without delay. Privacy override for narrowing search field due to risk of personal injury to a dependent adult with impairments.~"
A holographic projection lit before my eyes -- a map of the park and area, with walking circles displayed at 30 minutes, 45 minutes and 1 hour from the point where the clothing had been found. Parts of it were grayed out -- the parts which IR scan did not have good coverage of.
The voice which spoke in my ear next was gruff and angry.
"This is Judge Perkins, duty magistrate for Santa Cruz County. I am reviewing the request. Explain."
"~Your Honor, I believe dependent adult is actively trying to evade detection, may have disabled his own tracker, and is at serious risk of accidental harm, increasing with hypothermia. He has neither smartware nor clothing and is not showing up on IR scan. We need to rule out foul play and narrow search area.~"
"Big Basin IC, I will review the dataset and tell you if there is anything you need to know."
"~Thank you, Your Honor.~"
I examined the map carefully. I mentally drew a line from the clothes down the side of the slope. IR dead spot at the base. In the creek.
There were plenty of other places he could be, but only this one gave me no time to be wrong.
I tapped the map twice. The point strobed.
"~Big Basin IC, orbital hardscan that point. Active sensors authorized.~"
I had just spent Big Money. Even in 2045, satellite re-tasking is expensive, and I had just ordered exactly that.
The dot solidified. The family broke out in to happy babble. "There he is!"
I ignored them and walked swiftly to the emergency cache, slapping my bracelet against the door. Below in the capsule station, a black and white capsule with flashing red and blue markings lifted from the right of way and drove up the slidewalk.
The cache opened and I took out a personal jump harness, a wire frame stretcher and an electric dirt bike.
The capsule opened and a woman in tan uniform stepped out. She scanned the crowd, scanned me, reached towards the smartgun in her holster, stopped, and asked, "Big Basin IC?"
"Yes, officer?"
"Do you need me for the rescue?"
"No, ma'am, but please hang on to all these _material witnesses_." I emphasized the last two words.
She and I had a moment of absolute but silent agreement.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-04 02:26 pm (UTC)Why did the panther cross the road? Animal underpasses in the Everglades:
Date: 2024-11-21 11:05 pm (UTC)https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/e957803ff872419ca44cea288fb0d4d7
https://myfwc.com/wildlifehabitats/wildlife/panther/wildlife-crossings/
73/best regards de K7AAY