The Empty Seat

Tamsin had ridden in her family's car a hundred times with her parents in the front seats. Tonight the autonomous shuttle to the concert would carry her completely alone. Her parents had trusted the booking app's safety record, though Tamsin still felt a flutter of nerves as the door sealed shut.

塔姆辛坐过家里的车上百次，父母总是坐在前排。今晚，去音乐会的自动驾驶接驳车将载着她独自一人前往。她的父母信任预订应用的安全记录，不过车门合上的时候，塔姆辛还是感到一阵心慌。

The shuttle pulled smoothly into traffic, its screen displaying a calm blue route line toward downtown. For the first ten minutes, everything felt exactly as advertised — quiet, steady, almost boring.

接驳车平稳地驶入车流，屏幕上显示着一条平静的蓝色路线，通向市中心。最初的十分钟，一切都和广告里说的一模一样——安静、平稳，几乎有些无聊。

Then, approaching an intersection, the shuttle slowed unexpectedly and stopped completely, still fifty meters from the crossing.

然后，临近一个路口时，接驳车意外地减速，完全停了下来，离路口还有五十米。

"Obstacle detected. Recalculating route," the screen announced, though nothing was visibly blocking the road ahead.

“检测到障碍物。正在重新规划路线，”屏幕上提示道，可前方的路上，明明什么也没有挡着。

Tamsin leaned forward, scanning the intersection. A delivery drone had drifted low over the crosswalk, hovering in a spot the shuttle's sensors apparently read as an obstruction. It posed no real danger to a car.

塔姆辛倾身向前，扫视着路口。一架送货无人机低低地飘在人行横道上方，悬停在接驳车的传感器显然判断为障碍的位置。它对一辆车来说，其实并没有什么真正的危险。

Minutes passed. The shuttle didn't move, and Tamsin's concert start time was closing in fast.

几分钟过去了。接驳车一动不动，塔姆辛的音乐会开场时间正在飞快逼近。

She found the manual override button, clearly labeled beneath the screen, something her father had shown her once and said she'd probably never need. He must have suspected, even then, that she might need it someday. If she pressed it, she would be driving — or at least steering — a car built to be driven by nobody.

她找到了人工接管按钮，就清楚地标在屏幕下方，爸爸曾经指给她看过一次，还说她大概永远用不上。他当时想必已经猜到，她有一天可能会需要它。要是她按下去，她就是在驾驶——或者至少是在掌舵——一辆本来设计成不需要任何人驾驶的车。

"I could just wait," she said aloud to no one. "It'll probably sort itself out."

“我可以就等着，”她对着空气自言自语，“它多半自己会解决的。”

It didn't. Another minute passed with no change, and the drone continued hovering exactly where it had been.

它没有。又过了一分钟，什么也没变，无人机还是停在原来的位置。

Tamsin pressed the override, and the wheel extended from the dashboard, unfamiliar in her hands. She eased the shuttle forward slowly, giving the drone a wide berth, and returned control to the system once they'd cleared the intersection.

塔姆辛按下了接管按钮，方向盘从仪表台里伸了出来，握在手里有些陌生。她缓缓地把接驳车向前挪动，给无人机留出很宽的距离，等到驶过路口后，又把控制权交还给了系统。

"Manual control ended. Resuming automated route," the screen confirmed, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

“人工控制已结束。恢复自动驾驶路线，”屏幕确认道，仿佛什么不寻常的事都没发生过。

She arrived at the concert eleven minutes late, breathless but grinning as she told her friends what had happened.

她迟到了十一分钟才到音乐会，气喘吁吁，却咧着嘴笑，把刚才发生的事讲给朋友们听。

"You drove it? By yourself?" her friend Priya asked, impressed.

“你开了？你自己一个人？”她的朋友普丽娅问，满脸佩服。

"For about thirty seconds," Tamsin said. "Turns out that's exactly how long it takes to stop being scared of a steering wheel."

“大概三十秒吧，”塔姆辛说，“结果发现，不再害怕方向盘，恰恰只需要这么久。”