51
Quinault Lake, Olympic Peninsula
September 30th 2034
Nick Moore was glad the Toyota’s AI was driving. He was totally lost. The directions Olav Lassen had provided were hopelessly wrong. Luckily, he had taken the extra precaution of entering the Quinault Lake Trailhead’s longitude and latitude into the truck’s GPS system. “How far?” he asked.
Donald’s mechanical voice answered in both metric and English measurements, “Destination in 850 meters; one half mile.”
Moore looked out the side window at the gray skies to the north and grimaced. Why is Colossus always so damn right about the weather? Kobak’s weather forecaster had predicted light showers this afternoon for the northern half of the Olympic Peninsula. “Hopefully the meeting will be done by then.”
“Is there a question?” Donald
