The Passengers(18)

‘What happened to her crash helmet?’ asked the woman in plaid. ‘Did the impact knock it off?’

‘Yes, it wasn’t fastened properly. It was independently tested and there were no hairline cracks in its shell, no issues with the chin strap or flaws in its manufacture.’

Jack sniffed sharply. ‘Vanity. That will be the root cause of this, mark my words. A silly girl less concerned with her own safety than her appearance.’

Libby opened her eyes and mouth to protest but quickly lost her nerve.

‘What do we know about the Passenger?’ asked the religion rep.

‘Male, thirty-seven years old, works in the financial district of London, has no criminal record or convictions,’ Jack explained. ‘He has two children under five years of age and is the sole breadwinner in the house. Obviously, he was left very shaken by this and out of pocket following the repairs that needed to be carried out to his vehicle.’

‘And the victim?’

Jack shot her a warning glance. ‘You know very well that we don’t ever refer to the deceased as “victims”,’ he said. ‘There are no victims here unless we judge they have been unlawfully killed.’ The religion rep’s head fell like that of a scolded dog as Jack continued. ‘The motorcyclist was nineteen years old, with a similarly clean criminal record, a theatre studies student in her first year of university. No dependents of note.’

Libby reflected upon her own late teenage years, specifically how her attitude towards her life changed the day her brother took his. Nothing would ever be the same again after she found Nicky’s body hanging from a light fitting in his bedroom. The cracks in her family were instant, then grew longer and wider as the years progressed. It was her fault that he had died and she would never forgive herself for letting it happen. Failure to use her voice and speak of her concerns would always be Libby’s biggest regret. She would not let it happen again.

Suddenly, the urge to defend the motorcyclist got the better of her. The girl’s life was worth more than a case number.

‘What was her name?’ Libby asked gingerly.

‘Does it matter?’ the woman in plaid replied, tilting her head forward so her glasses slid down her nose again.

‘Yes, because I’d like to know.’

She rolled her eyes and looked to one of the assistants in the corner of the room. He swiped his screen and something appeared on the plaid woman’s tablet. She was about to answer when Jack interrupted.

‘That’s classified,’ he replied.

‘What were her grades?’

‘Again, classified information, Miss Dixon.’

Libby was reluctant to give up. ‘You said she had no dependents of note. Precisely what relatives did she have?’

‘Classified.’

This time he shrugged as if to apologise. But everyone in the room knew better than to believe him.

‘What about the name of the driver whose vehicle killed her?’

Jack shook his head. ‘I appreciate you have a curious nature, somewhat like an excitable puppy; however, none of this is of any consequence to the outcome of our decision, I’m afraid.’ He looked to the woman in plaid. ‘Any faults reported within the vehicle?’

‘The black box was given the standard examination along with a full diagnostic check and there were no errors reported,’ she replied. ‘From a legal perspective, I have no doubt that this is human error caused by the motorcyclist.’

‘Why didn’t the car try to avoid her?’ Libby continued. ‘All it does is brake.’

Jack looked at the others and rolled his eyes, offering another fake smile. ‘Are you not aware of how an autonomous vehicle makes a decision in a life or death scenario, Miss Dixon?’

‘Yes, of course but …’ However, Jack had little interest in Libby’s reply and spoke over her.

‘Then you will know that if a vehicle, like the one we have just watched, brakes without swerving then it has calculated the risk cost and makes its choice for a very, very good reason.’

‘Look to the left-and right-hand sides of hologram,’ added the dark-haired man. He was less condescending than Jack but still had yet to make eye contact with her. ‘On one side are parked cars, and on the other there’s a stream of moving vehicles. Swerving into the path of moving traffic could have caused more fatalities. Next to the parked vehicles is a pavement – from this angle you can see there are at least twelve pedestrians. Colliding with any of those cars could have pushed them into their path.’

‘Could have,’ Libby repeated. ‘That’s by no means a certainty though, is it?’

The room fell silent and she became aware that even Jack’s assistants were looking at each other nervously. But Libby wasn’t prepared to back down now. ‘Do you have a projection of exactly which cars it could have hit, the materials they’re made of and the force required to push them onto the pavement?’ she asked.

‘I … I … don’t believe we have …’ said the woman in plaid.

‘Shouldn’t we have that kind of information before we can make a judgement?’

‘Miss Dixon …’ began Jack and walked towards Libby, stopping in front of her. She felt small and insignificant as he towered above her. ‘Would you have preferred it if the vehicle had calculated a course of action that sacrificed the life of the driver and pedestrians to save one foolish girl? Should more people have been made to pay with their lives because of her idiocy?’