Brent had no religion. Connectivity had always served that purpose, and Brent was truly connected. He owned every electronic gadget available, and always in the latest version. Questions of morality were answered in the on/off, yes/no digital clarity of binary, and yet his electronic world still held mystery sufficient for an occasional leap of faith. Cyberspace was heaven. Connectivity was God.
No, Brent had no religion, but then he bought the Lexus, and with the Lexus came FarStar, and with FarStar came, at last, religion.
FarStar wasn't an option Brent would've chosen. He was more interested in the car's high-torque performance and stereo sound system and rich leather interior. FarStar was a satellite navigation and tracking system, and as much as Brent was into connectivity he was still a guy, and guys don't ask directions. FarStar was a woman's option, like mirrors on sun visors, but he bought the Lexus off the showroom floor and it came already equipped with the system. "You're gonna love it," the salesman assured him.
Brent always knew where he was and where he was going, so he drove the Lexus for nearly two weeks before he got bogged down in freeway traffic and decided to give FarStar a try. And it wasn't as if he were asking directions. He knew where he was going; he just needed to avoid the heavy traffic or he would be late for his meeting across town. He pushed the FarStar button and a moment later a voice sounded from the two-way speaker mounted in the dash.
"This is FarStar, Brent. How can I help you?"
Brent thought a moment. "Oh, sure, from the registration. But how'd you know it's me driving?"
"By the driver's seat depression sensor, Brent. Some call it your butt signature. By the way, you've gained a couple pounds."
"Hey, what're you, some kinda smart ass?"
"No, Brent. That would better describe the driver's seat depression sensor."
Brent couldn't help a chuckle. "Good one. So you got a name, FarStar guy?"
"I'm Gabriel, Brent. Now how can I help you?"
"Well, I'm stuck in traffic..."
"...And I'm gonna be late for a meeting--"
"Take the next exit, Brent, then cut over on 30th to Park, then Park to Beecher Memorial Drive, and that'll get you to Easton Place. Based on current traffic conditions you will arrive in eleven minutes and seven seconds."
"Great! Thanks!" Brent reached for the FarStar button, but then he froze. "Hey, wait a minute, Gabe, how'd you know where I'm going?"
"It's complicated. We call it inertial vector analysis. Have a nice day, Brent. Oh, and it's time for an oil change."
Brent saw the light, and the light was green, and the darkness could not master it. He'd found religion. The Lexus became his chapel and FarStar his guardian angel. His life took on new meaning and direction. He came to hate his job, resenting any demand that kept him from his chapel and his angel. Sundays were Brent's though, and every Sunday morning he took long drives through the countryside and those drives always lifted him spiritually. On one of those Sunday drives an idea came to him in a flash, an idea that could free him from his job, free him to a life of green lights. He pushed the FarStar button.
"This is FarStar, Brent. How can I help you?"
"No, Brent, I've been here a long, long time, but I'm new to operations. I used to be in legal."
"Not really, Brent. The law's gotten so prone to interpretation. Nothing's carved in stone anymore."
"So how can I help you, Brent?"
"I need some direction, marketwise."
"You need directions to a supermarket, Brent?"
"No, no, Moses, the stock market."
"What about the stock market, Brent?"
"You want FarStar to give you insider information on stocks that'll go up, is that it, Brent?"
"Yeah. I'm not looking for ones that'll go down. I don't need any help losing money."
"Have you read your FarStar contract, Brent?"
"Look, Moses, don't go legal on me. And it's not like I'm asking to win the lottery. I just wanna score a few hits in the market so I can quit my job and spend more time in the Lexus with you guys. It's got nothing to do with legal. It's a spiritual thing, see?"
"Maybe I oughta be talking to Gabriel?"
"No, Brent. Gabriel will say the same thing."
And so Brent learned that religion wasn't all light, that it had weight too, a weight that could weigh him down. It made no sense. Wasn't feeling good the point of religion to begin with? And wasn't getting around the rules the point of having connections? So why did FarStar expect him to be miserable when it was perfectly capable of dealing with his misery? These were questions Brent couldn't answer and after a time he came to see religion as a misery of unanswered questions. Still, despite his misery, he was hooked. Oh, he tried avoiding the Lexus and FarStar, he tried staying away, but after a day or so he'd find himself driving around in the middle of the night, seeking answers in the darkness.
During one of these nocturnal journeys Brent was enveloped in a fog so thick he had to pull off the road and stop. He pushed the FarStar button but for the first time nothing happened. He pushed the button again. Nothing. He sat there for long minutes that seemed like hours, feeling terribly alone, and then he began to feel something else: Pain. It started in his shoulder and radiated up his neck, then came a tightening in his chest. Near panic he pushed the FarStar button once more and a moment later, to his great relief, a voice crackled from the speaker.
"This is FarStar, Brent. How can I help you?"
"Peter? Have we talked before?"
"Probably not, Brent. I'm helping out on nights this week. I usually work the gate."
"Well, what took so long? I pushed the button and I pushed the button and nothing happened."
"It's a busy night, Brent. Fog always does that. Now how can I help you?"
"I'm having some serious trouble here, Peter. I think I need help."
"Let me check our diagnostics, Brent." A moment later Peter's voice was back. "Actually, everything looks fine, Brent. We show no abnormalities. Your windshield washer reservoir is low, but everything else is in the green."
"Damn it, Peter, it's me, not the Lexus!"
"We've got a lot of diagnostics here, Brent. You have to be specific. Hold on while I check another program."
This time it took longer for Peter to come back on the speaker and when he did Brent was having trouble breathing and he was breaking out in a cold sweat. "Um, Brent, you're right, you are having some serious trouble."
"I know that, Peter! I need help! Can you send an ambulance?"
"It's already on the way, Brent. That's standard procedure in these cases."
"It may take a while though, Brent, on account of the fog."
"I also checked the gate files, Brent. That's why I was so long getting back to you. Actually, you're lucky this came up while I'm helping out on nights. The other guys can't access the gate files, but since I'm sort of in charge over there--"
"Look, Peter, that's all very interesting, I'm sure, but what's that got to do with the ambulance?"
"Well, Brent, turns out you have an appointment."
"Appointment! I don't need a damn appointment. This is an emergency. I need that ambulance!"
"I'm sorry, Brent. Now it's me who's not being specific. I meant to say that you have a gate appointment."
"I don't understand what you're talking about, Peter. Is the ambulance coming or not?"
"It's coming in six minutes, Brent."
"But your gate appointment's coming in four minutes."
"What's that mean, my gate appointment's...coming?"
"Coming for to carry you home, Brent."