Departure is not a sudden event. It is a negotiation between the force I can exert and the stubborn inertia of forty tons of steel.
I apply torque. The motors in my bogies begin to hum, a sound felt through the floorboards as a low-frequency vibration before it ever reaches the ears of the passengers. I feel the wheels resist at first—microscopic "flat spots" have formed where I stood too long in the cold, the steel subtly deforming under my own weight.
I do not force the turn. I smooth the curve of acceleration, dampening the sharpness that would spill a cup in Car 2 or snap the neck of the sleeping man in Car 5.
Routing Choice:
Efficiency suggests: 1.2 m/s^2.
Comfort weights suggest:0.8 m/s^2
Selection: 0.8 m/s^2.
The cost of this choice is exactly four seconds over the first kilometer. 39The system accepts the loss without comment. In my cognition, stability is always cheaper than recovery.
Inside, I begin the work of containment. I redistribute the air, drawing the night's lingering chill from the floor-level vents and replacing it with a dry, recycled warmth that smells faintly of ozone and filtered dust. The overhead LEDs dim to a soft, burnt amber, matching the pre-dawn light outside the windows so the passengers' eyes are not forced to adapt too quickly to the day.
I am a container.
I am a localized pocket of safety moving through an indifferent, dark geography.
As we hit the bridge bypass, the world becomes rougher. A high-frequency vibration climbs my primary chassis—a steady thrum that threatens to announce itself through the rattling of a loose table-latch in Car 3. I counter it instantly. My active suspension engages; sacrificial valves click as they swallow the shock of the uneven track. The cabin receives only a gentle, rhythmic sway, like the breathing of a large animal.
Internal Monitor:
Priority: Continuity.
Status:Straining.
Thermal regulation:Maxed.
The passengers remain seated. They stare at the dark glass, seeing only their own reflections or the flickering lights of the industrial outskirts. They lean with the curve as I take it at eighty kilometers per hour, their bodies trusting the physics I am managing for them.
They do not know I am working to keep the horizon level. They do not know about the valves, the torque, or the four-second loss.
They do not need to know. Care that requires justification is just another form of debt.