Smartystan

“I just earned it. I have my license to my truck and want to start my business,” Fenton Sheltham said. His words flew from his mouth like gifts of diamonds. “I just want to be in a place where others excel. I know I’m just a truck driver and I want to have my own enterprise, but it’s more than that. My two boys and a girl want their daddy to be able to provide for them.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at the backs of them. The dark flesh contrasted with his palms. His gray eyes shot around the room. He felt like a champion just waiting on the judges to score his fight. In all of the ways he could have settled or given up, he rolled past all of that and excelled.

“What we can do is have you take the apt––” A synth started.

“I’ve taken it. I’ve passed. They geared it towards vehicle operators. We don’t actually drive the trucks anymore. We just maneuver the controls and allow the learned machines to do all of the real work. With my business, I’ll have a fleet of trucks under me and be able to pay employees to conduct the various transportation vessels,” Sheltham said.

“Where are your children right now? Where is their mother?”

“They’re being homeschooled. We divorced.”

“Oh. The children are altogether?”

“In their respective grade levels. My son, Barnel is four. My middle son, Fasino, is six. My eldest, Garland, is twelve.”

The synth took in all of this data. It provided a picture of each of them and they showed in front of Sheltham’s face. He didn’t cry. He beamed.

“That’s them. I’ve passed the test for our future. We don’t have much money. But we’ve got enough to live amongst anyone else.”

“Just a moment,” the synth said and then whisked away to the back. Long lines snaked around the inside of the processing building. That’s what drew Sheltham’s attention. It didn’t matter your net worth, it mattered if you were worthy. He sat at a board days ago and demonstrated great understanding of road conditions, tire pressure, signaling, and weather conditions. He aced all fields. No, he didn’t possess a PhD and no he had little schooling to show, but his smarts could be contained in the sphere of a control center. Now, he sat straight with his back like a board and he waited for the synth to return.

At last, it showed up with a digital form. One panel separated Sheltham from his future.

“If you just sign here, here, and here, you’ll be on your way.”

Sheltham looked at the form and frowned. “This isn’t right. This says I have to have even more training. I’ve completed the training.” Then, the place gradually became silent. Dr. Strong had been on the premises and prowled amidst applause and a few boos that had been drowned out by cheers. He strolled over to where Sheltham sat.

“What’s going on here?”

Sheltham shot to his feet.

“Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been trying to tell this synthetic life I’ve earned my way into the country-state.”

The economics professor looked at the digital form. “I understand. What we can do is expedite your claim and put you at the top of the list. You’re going to show just how well you can govern those trucks. You will be conducting in a place where the trucks will be away from the other vehicles, by the way.”

“I look forward to it,” he shook Dr. Strong’s hand with purpose and sincerity.

“I respect you. You’ve taken something and allowed for it to blossom and bloom into a garden of thought and intention,” Dr. Strong acknowledged.

“I’ll see you across that line.”

Sheltham watched the doctor leave from the premises and saw cheers go up once more and then die down again. He felt self-assured. There remained a bit of triumph leaning into his consciousness. The pangs of victory gnawed at him as he sensed that he had won a long fought battle. He warred for merit alone. It didn’t matter if he only had six hundred dollars to his name. After the expenses for his children, he knew he had to be able to push forward no matter the setbacks. He looked down at his watch and up again. The synth gained the knowledge of Dr. Strong’s visit.

“Mr. Sheltham, we’re going to keep going with this position. It is yours.” Sheltham wanted to leap out of his chair. He wanted to shout and carry on with great bombast and fanfare. He, however, remained calm and could see the dream. He envisioned himself with a white dress shirt with his name on it and khakis with his arms folded. In back of him, a fleet of trucks modified for controlling remotely parked behind him. A team of drivers flanked him on both sides. The apparition disappeared from his mind’s eye. In it, though, he felt the difference and the load, the very weight lifted from his shoulders like a truck elevating off him. His kids came into his next phantasm. He looked at them and proceeded to think about the many too many times he had to head out to attend classes and have Garland watch his younger siblings. No more would he have to suffer. He’d still have to combat the various strains of the profession, but never would he have to worry about the money. Their school lessons would be paid for not in credit but in cash. The surge of reality seeped into his bone marrow. It consumed him. The joy of knowing that he would soon be devising his own way of eating off his efforts in a major way. When he found the time he walked away from the station and the synth proceeded to the next person.

The homeschool let out the children from every grade level at the same time. He had