Fourteen Months Earlier
Forrest was supposed to be keeping his eyes closed, but this was too interesting. A little mesmerizing, he found. A calming blue glow filled the helmet-like chamber lowered over his head. A subtle electronic hum filled his ears, overlaid with a soft, regular clicking, like the turn signal on a car, but more frequent, as a slender vertical arm rotated rapidly around the chamber. He could see red lights along it flash on and off as it passed his face.
He was enduring his first medical checkup in more years than he should really have allowed to slip by. It was too easy to ignore these kinds of non-compulsory obligations. Why put yourself through it when you feel fine, great actually?
But lately he had noticed changes that were a little unsettling. Random words had been more elusive, he would forget things he never used to have any trouble with. He would go into a room and have no idea why he was there. He would return from a trip to town and find he hadn’t done the thing he had set out to do in the first place.
He just worked harder to focus, created little systems for himself, and that helped for a while. It wasn’t until Ellen also noticed changes that the appointment was made. After thirty seven years of marriage she was used to Forrest’s way of thinking, his way of being. It was quite clear to her that this wasn’t something to mess around with.
So Forrest joined the rest of the world and agreed to undergo diagnosis and treatment the way everyone else did it in the year 2052. He first had local implantations of tiny sensors, injected directly into tissue, and into the blood stream to flow into place. After a few days, when those implants had chance to stabilize in position and begin to accumulate data, he returned for scanning.
This wasn’t a regular checkup, it was a diagnostic visit to assess brain health and function. Let’s get a baseline. Let’s see what’s going on.
—
Forrest had already filled out a wad of papers and answered a barrage of questions. Now the scanning equipment would give an accurate picture of the structure of his brain, and its chemistry.
—
“I’ll be back in a few moments when these scans are processed. Are you okay in here for now?” The doctor was just being polite of course. Forrest sat tight.
In a few minutes he was done reading the posters and signs in the small, sterile room. The one about the structure of the eye was interesting. The holographic diagram labeling structures of the brain was also absorbing for a little while. He reflected on how these posters had hardly changed in decades, as he moved on to the equipment. That was less familiar. More like the biometric scanners they used to have at airports a while back than the typical gear he remembered from his earliest doctor’s appointments. A couple were hand held and mobile, others like the one just used on him, fixed in place, adjusted to the patient. Not much revealed outwardly, it was the internal electronics that were interesting, but invisible.
Waiting around though. That hadn’t changed one bit.
His watch vibrated softly. He glanced at it, not a call ID he recognized. He considered pulling out his screen to answer. If I pick up, the doc’ll come right in. He left it alone. Instead, he gave the watch an instruction,“ Sissie, find out who placed the last call, detailed.”
In a few seconds a couple of short vibrations let him know Sissie had the information ready. Forrest pulled out his screen. His raised eyebrows revealed his surprise. Well that could be interesting. He pocketed the screen, returned to waiting, lost in thought.
In a lab room down the hall, Ashley, a nurse at the later end of her career, was making conversation with a younger aide. “Do you know who that is?” She had seen him go in, and now that she was sure, her excitement was obvious in her voice. “The guy in exam room three. Do you know who he is?” The younger one did not.
“Geez, you young people have no idea. It’s the Traffic Mesh guy.”
“What do you mean? Like what does he do for Traffic Mesh?”
“Only the guy who invented it!”
“Wait, he invented Traffic Mesh?” It hadn’t occurred to her that one person could invent a thing like that. It sounded to her like saying someone had invented roads. Or buildings.
“What’s his name, Forrest something begins with M.”
The doctor swept in, gave the two women a nod and checked a readout on a machine in the bank of equipment on one side of the lab. She dictated a note to her screen, and turned to the aide, “The results are up for Mister Morton, he’ll need a modified preparation. Follow the protocol in today’s record, that’ll be in there now.”
“Yes Doctor,” the aide nodded and consulted the large screen on the lab’s prep counter.
“Hey Carol, that’s Forrest Morton, isn’t it?” Nurse Ashley’s excitement was refreshed with a new person to share it with. “The Traffic Mesh guy.”
The doctor’s expression was a bit too blank.
—
“Oh my god, you don’t know either!” Ashley had to bring her uninformed colleagues up to speed. “He’s famous! No, really… maybe fifteen, twenty years ago, when they were doing the Traffic Mesh everywhere, you couldn’t look at the news without seeing some story about him.”
Now Doctor Riehle was impressed. “Imagine that! … I would barely have been ten. But you’d never know it. He’s the most down-to-earth person.”
“He must be a frickin’ millionaire,” Ashley was imagining what someone who had shaped so much of the modern world must be worth, and couldn’t quite compute it.
—
Back in exam room 3, Doctor Riehle settled across from Forrest with a broad smile, “I’m so sorry I didn’t know it, but I’m told you are a real-life celebrity. Is this true, that you are the man behind the Traffic Mesh?“
Forrest was a little taken aback, “Oh heavens! Not many people recognize me any more.”
“So it is true! One of our nurses told me she used to see you on the news all the time.”
Forrest chuckled, “Yeah they used to keep me very busy. That was a whirlwind back then. A lot of fun. Seems an awfully long long time ago now.”
The doctor looked at him with admiration. “I would love to know more. Really, I was just a girl when it was introduced.” She cast her mind back to her childhood, “I’m trying to remember…”
“That seems to be my problem too.”
She laughed, “Yes, well, let’s see if we can do something to keep that amazing brain of yours in fighting condition.”
“Please.”
“I do have some results to share, and it’s encouraging on the whole. Let’s bring your wife in, and I can explain everything, and go through my recommendations.”
—
With Ellen seated in the room, holding Forrest’s hand in both of hers, Doctor Riehle started in, “First, I need to stress that we don’t have previous scans to use as a baseline, so we don’t know how much has changed and how fast. Other than taking note of the kinds of cognitive changes you both have noticed, which of course is significant. Changes like this have always been part of the aging process, as you know, it’s when there are bigger changes happening over a shorter time that we start to look for conditions that we can do something about. So, I do think you made a very good move to look for advice here. I think what I’m seeing here is still in the early stages where we can do some intervention that will really help.”
The worry in Ellen’s expression softened a little, she looked at her husband’s face. He seemed just as placid as ever. She was the one on edge.
“The scans show two things that would be areas of concern.” Doctor Riehle pulled up an intricate holograph of a human brain and pointed to its outer surface. ”First there are signs of plaques building in the surface membranes of these areas. That’s typical in a number of conditions we associate with aging. Second,” she swiped the hemispheres to reveal the hidden inner surfaces of the cortex, “There are some signs of a growth in this area, and we can see from organic analysis that it would be potentially concerning.”
“Oh God, a brain tumor?” Ellen’s voice was full of alarm.
Doctor Riehle laid a gentle hand on her arm, “No need to worry, Ellen. Really. This is early, we have good options.”
Ellen did not relax.
“I know it sounds alarming, but the new medical technology has changed the way we think about conditions like this, many aging issues too.” The doctor’s calm tone was reassuring.
“This is the MedImplant technology, right?” Forrest was familiar with it, but hadn’t pictured himself needing it.
“Exactly. What used to be a truly serious condition is now almost routine to deal with, as long as we can catch it early enough. That’s what the scanning systems let us do. A few years ago, we would never have been able to detect a growth like this in its early stages. Now we can, and there’s even a new MedImplant therapy that lets us target an area like this, and arrest it. That’s what I’m going to recommend, and I’m confident we can even reverse the plaque deposits. I would expect things to get no worse, and your symptoms could actually improve over the next few weeks.”
The doctor led them through the details, answered many questions, and finally Ellen was able to breathe again. She relaxed enough to joke with Forrest about the upcoming injections of treatment bots, delivering their medication doses and neutralizing suspicious tissue. She was ready to trust that this process really could preserve, even restore her beloved, just as she was used to him. Even if it was only for the time being, it felt miraculous.
—
“Well thank your lucky stars and mine all together.” Ellen squeezed tighter as they walked toward their parked car, arm in arm. The spring sunshine cut through the chilly air. She turned her face up to catch its warmth, to enjoy its promise of gentler days ahead. “I can’t believe I went all the way to despair and back again just then. I think we deserve a treat to celebrate.”
“That sounds wonderful. But first there’s a call I want to make.” Forrest pulled out his screen. “A message came in when I was in the exam room. Why don’t you think about where we should go, while I call them back?”
“I already know.”
“I can make it quick. Just find out what they’re after and set up a time.“
“This call of yours is more important than cake? Must be a big deal Forrest.”
“I don’t know yet, but it might be. Sounds like some people at MIT want to pick my brain, of all things.” He turned to make sure she heard the joke. ”I suppose I should let them know it’s under repair at the moment. Maybe I should say they better hurry or they’ll miss their chance.”
“Cut it out, that’s not funny,” but her scowl softened to an impish smile. There he is. He’s feeling better now. “Maybe tell them if they wait a couple of weeks they get to pick all of your brain instead of three-quarters.”
“Half.”
“Well at least we have a full one between us. And my half knows I want Mirabelle’s. The créme brulée one.”
“That sounds perfect. And maybe a couple of those chocolate macaroons for the ride.”
“That’s a lot of sugar, Forrest.“
“Hey, it was your idea.”
“Go on then, make your call.” They were in the car now, out of the wind. “You don’t mind me listening in do you? I’m not going to put you off?”
“Not one bit. Watch and learn, sweetheart.”
Forrest pulled out a notepad and pencil. A throwback to another era, one he was still most comfortable working in, even as he embraced the advantages of the new.
“Sissie, call back, use the number in the last message.”
The screen purred as the call connected.
“Good afternoon, Quantum Research Lab, Van Sluys office.”
—
“Hello, Forrest Morton here, returning a call from April… er, …” He already knew how futile it would be to chase the fugitive name. “She left a message a little while ago.”
“Ah, yes, hello Mister Morton. I’m April Vernon. I’m Doctor Van Sluys’ assistant. She asked me to get in touch to set up a meeting. She would like to see if you would be interested in helping us with a project here at QR Lab.”
Exactly what Forrest had expected. “That does sound interesting. I would like to find out more about what you are looking for, though I should say I’m not accepting many engagements these days.“
“I understand Mister Morton. Doctor van Sluys will give you a clear picture I’m sure… oh… actually Mister Morton, are you able to talk to the Doctor now? She is available for a short time.”
—
[direct conversation here. F. is not certain he should accept, interested, should he disclose? V.S. is angling to get him on board, she sees his knowledge as a key]Forrest hesitated. He had been planning to push any meeting out for a week or two, thinking that might give the treatment time to take effect. That wasn’t going to work. “Okay, yes. Of course that would be fine.”
“Thank you. Please hold.”
After a few moments the screen switched to a video chat, and the smiling face of Estelle Van Sluys appeared. “Mister Morton, thank you for calling back so promptly! May I say how exciting it is for me to talk to you face to face.“
“Thank you, you’re very kind.”
“I’ve been an admirer since the earliest days of Traffic Mesh. Now I’m thrilled that our professional interests have given me a reason to connect and explore an opportunity to work together.”
“Well, I’m flattered, Doctor Van Sluys.” He was relieved he had thought to write notes.
“Please call me Estelle, no formality here.”
“Alright Estelle, first names suit me too. I did mention to April that I’m not accepting many engagements now.” He spent a moment considering how much to say. “That’s a nice way of saying I enjoy being retired and it will take a lot to coax me out of it.”
“I appreciate your candor, Forrest.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips slightly. Almost flirty. ”I promise this will be an interesting project for you, and I am quite prepared to make it worth your while.”
“Well, for now I’m interested in hearing what you need, what parties are involved, what time frame you have, and also, why me? What do you think I can offer that no one else can?” Forrest looked to Ellen and winked. See, still on the ball.
[V.S. response , more conversation – reveal pressure she is under to solve a new problem, her role in MedImplant, commonality with F’s traffic mesh tech, ]“Certainly.” Van Sluys had facts and figures rehearsed and ready to go at all times. “There’s some background here that makes your Traffic Mesh work relevant to our project, but I’ll skip over the history for now. Lots to talk about later if we do work together. For the moment, you may already know, Forrest, our work in quantum computing led to many new applications in intelligent devices over the last ten years or so, and in medical devices over the last five. That’s the bulk of our work now.” She paused for breath.
“I am familiar with some of that story. I just became a MedImplant patient myself.”
“Oh I’m pleased to hear that. I was a guinea pig early on, and very happy for all it’s done for me. At this point about half the population is using it too. It’s taken off incredibly fast.”
“As a patient, I can see why.” Forrest caught Ellen’s eye. She was nodding in agreement. “So the medical applications are your main focus, are you still doing quantum development?”
“Yes, we are, though I probably shouldn’t say we. My colleague Siddarth Roy, myself, and a couple of others who you will meet, all worked on the quantum side… oh, we clawed away at those atoms for more years than I want to think about… but once we had working technology I took on the search for partners in industry. Professor Roy is still developing quantum computing technology, and teaching, I barely teach at all now, mostly I run the fundraising and partnerships side.”
“Very effectively, apparently.”
“Thank you. We have strong technology to offer. That certainly helps.” Estelle’s modesty didn’t hide her enjoyment of the compliment. “I didn’t manage to avoid our history altogether, did I? Now, we find ourselves with a new initiative from our medical implant partners, with some new requirements and pressing deadlines. We have mostly used our own resources in the past, but this time around I think the best way forward is to pull in outside expertise for some collaboration. I think we can meet some of our challenges with help from people who have solved similar problems before. I think fresh perspectives will help us move forward faster. And that’s where you come in of course.”
“Yes, so what parts of my work do you find relevant to yours?”
“So you are one of several people I’m approaching for different aspects of the project. Part of what we need to achieve is moving a great deal of data from sensors to central processors. We are doing it with far smaller units, but what I remember of the data handling in Traffic Mesh seems like a perfect model for what we need to do. I think the kind of vision you brought to your work is at least as valuable as specific technical skills. Frankly, those are not hard to find, but visionary thinking is. I know you have been retired for a while, but I want to tempt you back in. I think you are my unicorn.”
Forrest laughed, “No one has called me that in a while!”
“I read up on you Forrest, I know what the business media said about you.”
“I’ll be darned.” Forrest chuckled. Twice in one day.
“There are other aspects of your Traffic Mesh systems that we think will be useful, potentially. We can go over those later if that’s alright. My biggest question is are you interested?”
Again, Forrest paused to consider how much he should reveal. It didn’t take him long to decide. Hell, it’s not like I need this.
“I am interested, your project sounds intriguing, quite exciting.” He took a breath. “But Estelle, I should let you know something of my state of health. The reason I’m starting MedImplant therapy is to address some issues that have been troubling me for a while. Cognitive, memory issues.” He turned to Ellen. She gave his arm a squeeze.
There was a pause before Van Sluys answered. “I see.”
“I wouldn’t feel right about approaching a consult like this without you understanding that I am unlikely to be at my peak. So the question becomes, are you still interested?”
“Let me ask you Forrest, and feel free to decline if you choose, what was your provider’s prognosis for your therapy?”
“Actually quite encouraging. My symptoms are not expected to grow worse, they may even improve over a few weeks.”
“Right. Then I would infer you are in early stages. Based on our conversation today, and what I know of MedImplant’s effectiveness in treating aging related conditions, I don’t think I have any reason to be concerned. If you are comfortable, so am I. And you can back out at any point if you need to, but I bet you won’t. I think you’ll be amazed what MedImplant will do.”
“That is very generous of you, Estelle.”
“Ha! Now that’s something people don’t often say about me,” she laughed, “And I think I’m getting the better part of the bargain here.”
“I’m not sure you’re right about that. Perhaps you should wait until you get my bill.”
She took a moment to read Forrest’s deadpan delivery, then erupted into laughter. “I’m going to enjoy working with you Forrest!” That flirty look again. “Listen, I will have April send over a proposed contract. Please review that, and think about what your per diem would be. We can talk again to firm up the details, but let’s proceed. How does that sound?”
“Like a plan.”
“Wonderful! Then I will say thank you, and goodbye, and April will be in touch soon. It’s been a pleasure, Forrest.”
“Thank you Estelle. Same here, until next time.”
Forrest ended the call and turned to Ellen again. “Well, that went pretty well I’d say.”
“Yes hun, well done.” Ellen smiled back, but she wasn’t about to be distracted by trivia. “Now it’s time for cake. Sissie, take us to Mirabelle’s Bakery.”
The screen responded immediately, “Destination is set to Mirabelle’s Bakery, travel time seven point five minutes.”
A couple of the minutes passed before Ellen turned to Forrest, who had been jotting down notes, “You know, I’m not sure I like her that much.”
“Not to worry sweetheart. Cake will cheer you up. Me too.”
In what seemed another life, Forrest Morton had been a very big deal.
He had been one of those guys who is good at many things, and doesn’t settle on any one of them. Most people find they are better at a few things than others, and much worse at most. It makes things like career choices much simpler that way. They just focus on what they are good at and figure out what they can do with it. Leave everything else alone.
A lucky few – or perhaps very unlucky – are good at almost anything they try. For them, almost any vocation is a realistic choice. Law? Sure. Medicine? Why not? Teaching history, or art? Could do either. Geological exploration? Sounds cool. Programming? Blacksmithing? Why not any of them? Why not all?
Faced with a world of open possibilities, it’s very hard to settle on one path and follow it to build a career. And so it was with Forrest, whose resume read like a random sampling of professions rather than the story of a single minded pursuit.
Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about his resume. Instead of persuading others that he was employable, he managed to bring multiple talents together to do his own thing, making a living on his own terms. He was able to identify needs and solve problems for people and their organizations, and built a solid track record doing just that, following the paths that interested him.
He was working on a string of consulting engagements when the ideas for the Traffic Mesh came together in his mind.
Electric vehicles had already become mainstream at the time. They were approaching the point where it barely made any economic or any other kind of sense to own a car propelled by petroleum, but a couple of obstacles remained.
The limited driving range still put some people off, and to a lesser extent, a general distrust of the technology. People had a persistent suspicion of vehicles that were so heavily computerized they could drive themselves, but whose electronic perceptions seemed only a bit less fallible than the human drivers they were displacing.
When things went wrong, it seemed the self-driving car’s judgement was no more reliable than that of the average drunk on the road. Electric cars in self-drive mode were still ploughing into pedestrians and emergency vehicles, years after the short-comings had been solved, supposedly, and officially dismissed.
And of course, it was a complete pain to have to park the car for hours to recharge, when you could just gas and go.
Forrest had an answer for both problems.
He found a local company building computerized equipment to survive use in tough conditions. Things like medical equipment used in the field, or sensors and processors in industrial equipment. They were an ideal client who just didn’t know yet what their most successful technologies were going to be. Forrest set out to educate them.
His solution to the range problem was his first proposition. He badgered the management team of the company, Logic Factor, until they granted him a fifteen minute slot to present his idea.
He laid it out for them.
The problem everyone saw was that batteries had limited capacity. That meant an EV couldn’t go very far without recharging, and when it was being recharged, you were stuck.
The solution everyone was chasing was to achieve incremental gains in battery performance, maybe to get an extra big battery in there without the the expense defeating the object.
The solution Logic Factor was going to bring to the world, under Forrest’s direction, was to offer a universal format for EV batteries, a system for sliding the battery out of a vehicle and replacing it with a charged one, and a franchise network for charging stations using their soon to be patented technology. You would drive up, an attendant would swap your battery in a minute or two, you would be on your way. You wouldn’t even have to take the time to pay: all automated.
Forrest filled in the details, answered every question, and swatted away every objection. The meeting ended up lasting three hours, and by the next week he had a contract and a mandate.
The system was very successful, though it did not become a universally accepted standard. Almost inevitably, the level of competitive maneuvering between manufacturers got in the way. It did launch Logic Factor’s growth from a small scale specialty manufacturer into a national leader.
Forrest’s next idea transformed them into a global behemoth.
He suggested they tackle the difficulty of making self-driving cars safe enough to be completely trusted. Again Forrest convinced the management of Logic Factor that everyone was looking at the wrong side of the problem.
Cars were equipped with sensors, a lot of processing capacity, and software to take all that information and make decisions about how the car should operate in response. The problem was the limit on how much information the software could collect and interpret. There was always some new combination of inputs that it could not recognize, and could not react appropriately.
Forrest’s solution was to forget about having the vehicles drive themselves, at least in any environment where the inputs were complex. Instead, the roads themselves would be equipped with a multitude of sensor and control units, passing information between centralized processing units and every vehicle in their vicinity.
There were immediate benefits. Because every unit on a stretch of road was now governed centrally, speed, direction, lane changes, merging and everything else could be synchronized. Vehicles could travel faster, closer together, and in complete safety. No more traffic jams, no more fender benders, no more catastrophic pileups on urban raceways.
It took six months to set up a development facility, and a couple of years to bring the controlling software up to the high standard expected. Once the system was deployed in test locations, it became clear it was a winner.
Logic Factor turned itself into Traffic Mesh and never looked back.
Forrest might not have pressed for the best possible deal considering how much he had brought to the company, but he wasn’t one to worry about that. He was able to retire and pursue whatever projects he liked without another moment’s concern about money.
Others with comparable success might have bought private islands or social media empires, but Forrest preferred his old family home, and to please himself by doing a little good in the world, here and there.
MIT consult
Forrest, is in a self driven vehicle with Van Sluys and Radbo. He is explaining how the comms work, and about the sensor types and distribution
The scene is of dizzying speed and closeness of traffic, hurtling on a route around Storrow drive along the Charles, over the salt and pepper bridge, back around to MIT campus and to an underground garage
Traffic Mesh is established and ubiquitous
MedImplant has been rolled out successfully – it’s a regular part of life – need action and dialog to demonstrate it, flowing into the story
FM is at MIT for a couple of reasons, they are interested in handling much more data and passing it to central processing locations, they know traffic mesh was built around those concepts
Also encapsulation of sensors for harsh environments, they know the traffic sensors and transponders were made to be damage proof, redundant, small and economical.
The reason is the request for new specs from MedImplant, who are covertly developing the n-n as a surveillance tool, but disguising it as a climate control system.
—
“Instead of just talking about theory, I think we might take a field trip, and bring the subject to life.” Forrest answered questions all morning about how his Traffic Mesh handled data gathered from thousands of sensors as input, processed it centrally, then relayed instructions to thousands of vehicles as output, and did so in each of hundreds of thousands of cells in each city. It was dizzying.
He realized even this gathering of MIT faculty, grad students, and technicians could understand better with a living example. “Meet me at the front of the building in ten, there will be a limo waiting.”
His audience reacted like a group of middle schoolers, suddenly animated and laughing at the novelty of escaping for a little while, instead of concentrating on the usual dry flow of technical information.
“Don’t worry, this will be a fairly quick trip,” he pointed out for Estelle’s benefit. “No need to bring anything, and it’s nice out, no need for coats.”
The group assembled on the steps in front of the lab, and chatted as they waited in the sunshine. It was a mild day. Plantings were coming back to life, with bulbs getting ready to flower, and early trees leafing out in vivid yellow-greens. A few students were passing by, some in shorts or skimpy tops. A pickup game of electro-frisbee was in progress on the quadrangle across from the building. Sure signs of spring. It was a nice day for a drive.
Forrest appeared from the building and headed toward them.
“Where are we going then, Forrest?” Van Sluys tried to seem as pleased as the others for the diversion, but her tone carried some impatience.
“I hope this will not be too disappointing, but this is a trip to nowhere. At least, it’s one of those trips where the journey is the destination.”
Right on cue, the limo Forrest had summoned glided up the driveway in near silence, and parked itself in front of the group.
“Very impressive Forrest. At least it will be a comfortable journey.”
The limo was a sleek, pearly-white, aerodynamic box on wheels, with almost impenetrably dark glass sides. It was a little hard to tell which was the front end and which the rear, though it didn’t actually matter. The vehicle was equally capable in either direction. A short sloping hood on one end covered mechanicals and electronics, and a battery compartment. The other end was styled almost identically, with a space for any luggage to be stowed.
As Forrest led his group towards it, twin glass doors slid apart, opening the limo’s side to reveal the seating inside. It was taller than a regular car, so passengers could easily move around to take their seats on the bench that curved around the entire cabin. They all faced the center, where a console was loaded with a variety of refreshments and entertainment options. There was no place for a driver.
Forrest was able to control the vehicle through his own screen. When everyone was settled and secured, he gave the instruction, “Sissie, let’s go.”
“Sissy?” Evans, one of the techs laughed. “You call your helper app Sissy? ”
“Of course. She’s my assistant, so, Sissie.”
“Oh!” Understanding washed over Evans’ face.
“So what do you call yours then Evans?” Beaufort, one of the professors chimed in.
“I call it, Helper.” Evans offered, meekly. Laughter filled the cabin.
“Oh real imaginative Evans!”
“You’re making fun of anyone else’s app’s name?”
“Maybe you can ask your helper app to choose a better name for itself.”
Evans looked like he was about to defend himself from the onslaught of ribbing when Forrest rescued him. “Sorry to steer the subject away, but what better way to understand the data flow of Traffic Mesh than to experience it in action?”
The limo had entered the street connecting the MIT campus to the main roads of Cambridge. It joined a string of vehicles moving slowly between the tall gray buildings. A vehicle ahead parked itself crisply, and the pace picked up.
“Every vehicle sold in North America is required to be equipped with a comms kit and controller that allows it to drive in a Traffic Mesh. Every vehicle constantly transmits its unique ID.”
The potholes, asphalt ridges, and jutting access covers of the city’s streets had barely changed over the decades, except perhaps to multiply. Newer features of Greater Boston’s roads were less obtrusive and so commonplace they became invisible. The traffic lanes on every street were outlined with embedded lane markings, and most streets were lined with barriers to keep vehicles and pedestrians completely separate.
Forrest continued, “There are checks to validate those IDs, and each vehicle is assigned a token as it travels through a mesh. This way the system knows each vehicle really is that particular vehicle. Someone can’t pass off their car as a different one, or steal a comms kit and ride around with it on their bike pretending to be a car, for example.”
The limo slowed again to make room for a new vehicle to join the string.
“Every section of road is marked with lanes, and there are sensors distributed along all those lanes, on the barriers and in the lane markers. Then there are transmitters along each roadway, though placement is not so crucial. They don’t have to be evenly spaced or even that close to travel lanes.”
“The goal is for them to be as crash and vandal proof as possible, not too hard to replace or maintain and highly redundant, so if even a high percentage goes offline the system can still gather and transmit all the data needed to run.”
The limo made the turn onto Main Street without slowing, accelerated to converge with the heavier traffic from Broadway, and headed toward the river.
“Our limousine has registered itself with the mesh, and is now seen as a member of the pod we’re traveling in. You’ll notice we don’t slow down as we join traffic or turn off, except where needed for safe and comfortable travel. That’s because the mesh has determined a rate of travel for all the members of the pod together. The vehicles are synchronized.”
The group could see the stone towers of the salt and pepper bridge ahead, but instead of crossing the river, the limo slowed to make a tight turn, and joined several other vehicles racing along the bank of the Charles. Heads turned to take in the view. Sunlight sparkled on the wide expanse of water, with Boston’s towering skyline as a glittering backdrop. A few sailboats were venturing out.
Forrest kept going, “The pods are assembled to optimize for the sections of road they will go through, and speed is adjusted so that each pod can travel through intersections without waiting.”
The limo accelerated hard, and barely slowed as it swerved smoothly into the underpass beneath Mass Ave. “I love this bit,” someone giggled as the limo crested the rise on the other side with a moment of weightlessness, and quickly swerved back into the main lane.
“Our limo is transmitting its route settings every few seconds. The mesh computes the best route and recalculates as needed, so we can change our minds and set another destination at any time. The mesh will adjust.”
They were already leaving the pod to turn onto a bridge over the river.
“Flow is managed so that no roads will get clogged. Sometimes the speed will drop at peak travel times, but no one gets stuck in traffic any more.” Forrest looked at Evans and one or two of the others, “You young ones will have no idea what that even means.”
He chuckled, and the elders of the group revealed themselves when they laughed along.
Beaufort leaned to his neighbor, Crossley, “Remember how long you’d be stuck right here, waiting to get across the bridge in rush hour?”
“I went the other way. Getting past Alewife up route two, ye gods. I don’t miss that!”
After crossing the bridge, the limo merged into another string of cars, swooping around a tight cloverleaf ramp onto Storrow Drive.
“The mesh establishes the position of our limo, and our pod, using its sensors rather than GPS or anything remote,” Forrest looked out of the window to get his bearings, as the pod accelerated steadily again. “So our position is known, predicted, and controlled in real time. As a result, no one has to follow the rules of the road for everyone to be safe. Instead, the mesh can decide what rules will allow traffic to flow best at any given time, and all the vehicles in the system follow those rules.”
The limo was hurtling along, with the traffic heading in the opposite direction flashing by. The view of MIT’s iconic buildings was visible across the river.
“Something occurred to us, the Traffic Mesh team… it was a key insight. I’m curious if any of you see it. I’ve been talking about vehicles having tokenized identities, but being handled as members of pods, and the pods being controlled as units. Members can join or leave pods at any time. The mesh sets the direction of traffic in every lane in the system to achieve the most efficient flow. Pods can travel on any conduit in any direction, following the directive set by the mesh, and the directive can be changed at any time as required.” Forrest looked around. “Does any of this remind you of anything?
The group fell silent, expressions turned to concentration on the riddle. “What does the traffic resemble?”
It was Evans who took a guess, “The way you describe the traffic sounds like objects and properties in a program.”
Forrest smiled with approval. “Mister Evans does have an imagination, after all.”
“Take it a step further.”
Evans considered for a moment. “Traffic is an algorithm?”
“That’s close enough to win the prize. After a few months, we came to see that traffic is like data.”
“Packets. The pods are data packets.” Evans was on board. “If you have a registry of members you don’t need to move that information around. You only need to move details about the packet. And you only need instructions for the packet, not the members individually.”
“Bravo! Once we saw it, we found ways to make everything more efficient.“ Forrest grew animated at the recollection. He used his hands to underline his words, “Caching data that doesn’t change was fairly obvious, that freed up resources for passing dynamic inputs for processing, and returning instructions to vehicles.”
“There was another key to reducing processing overhead, an even more significant one.” Forrest was enjoying himself immensely.
“We have this location and vector data for vehicles and pods, and projected values based on the route, conditions, and traffic density. We make adjustments constantly as new vehicles join, or leave. The predictability lets us prioritize certain kinds of inputs, ones that are critical to safety, system wide.”
“Any guesses what kinds of data we’re looking for there?
“I’ll give you a hint, data that sticks out like a sore thumb.” Brows were furrowed again, no one was guessing.
“Mister Evans, think of your algorithms.”
Evans pursed his lips to one side, unconsciously. “Sounds like exceptions. Exception handling.”
“Estelle, this man deserves a raise.” Forrest raised his hand to Evans in salute.
The pod of vehicles veered around a rotary, buzzed across the steel grating of the ancient drawbridge close to the science museum.
“We put extra resources into finding anomolies. Instead of constantly analyzing all inputs, looking for patterns that indicate problems, we just look for anomalies compared to the expected values. This way we don’t have to use historical scenarios to find new instances. And we don’t have to juggle all the data all the time, we can use our resources to do a better job of analyzing the anomalies.”
“Traffic Mesh escalates problems across entire cells, or system-wide. It can adjust all traffic to accommodate any problem that comes up, whether it’s a mechanical failure, a child running into a road, a tree falling across a road, whatever.”
They picked up speed again as the limo completed its loop, joining the traffic from the salt and pepper bridge heading back into Cambridge.
“When self-driving cars first appeared, every vehicle had to do all this calculation individually, with its own sensor readings. There was always some combination of inputs that didn’t match stored patterns, and the car wouldn’t react when it needed to.”
“That’s why self-driven EVs kept killing people before Traffic Mesh,” Crossley added.
“Extremely rare, but yes.” Forrest turned more serious at the thought. ”Self-driving transport couldn’t really take off until that one was solved.”
After a pause, he announced, “I’ve done a great deal of talking, so over to you. Any questions or comments?”
The limo made its way back through the canyon-like streets to the MIT campus, pausing a few times for other vehicles, and finally eased up to the curb in front of the lab.
The trip had lasted a little under fifteen minutes, but the change of routine lifted the spirits of the group for the rest of the day.
On the way back toward the offices, Van Sluys slipped her arm around Forrest’s to steer him from the group. “That was remarkable, Forrest. And when I remember the whole project was your brainchild, really, most impressive.” She let him go as they navigated the security doors and returned to the lab. “I’m not sure how we apply these ideas to our data handling needs yet. I hope Nathan Evans was taking notes, it’ll fall on him to figure that part out. But you shifted my thinking about what might be possible.” She gave him her warmest smile, “I’d say you earned your fee on this little joyride.”
—-
Every vehicle has a unique ID, and
Every pod has members and ID
Core concepts he wants to get across
Validation of id
Monitor all sensors, static, dynamic
Pass from cell to cell
Store data that doesn’t change, monitor for changing states – ie resources used to detect anomalies, not to juggle everything all the time
React to anomalies as priority – escalation across pods
Don’t need entire system to react, only the pod
Pods that affect other pods movements escalate across cells
Pods assembled to optimize passage through intersections, minimal if any waiting
Pods adjust to entries and exits of members