“No matter what the date is, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in the future, which is amazing,” Adams says. “Yes, thirty years is further than we expected, but that just means we’ll have even better things to bring back to Aether.”

“But, dude. Thirty years!” Trent says, his eyes wide. “Whoa, future me must be so old. Like almost fifty. Damn.”

He’s right; all of us would be about forty-eight or so. I try to imagine what my life might be like at that age, but quickly push those thoughts from my head. The temptation to find out about my future is strong, but I have to resist it. We have a job to do, and we need to stick to it so we can get back to our time and get paid. That’s what I need to focus on.

“Thirty years or ten years, it doesn’t matter in the end,” I say. “But we need to get going. The clock is ticking and we’ve already wasted an hour.”

I start walking, and it’s not long before the others catch up. After a few blocks of office buildings, we turn onto a busier street with a large strip mall and a giant parking lot. The place doesn’t look much different from any other shopping center from our time—just a chain of bland, beige-colored storefronts and restaurants—except for the strange egg-shaped vehicles parked in front.

“Look at the cars,” Trent says. “No one’s driving them!”

A car slows as it turns into the lot, and I glimpse someone lying on their back, with their eyes closed. In the next car, two people are making out, not paying attention to the road at all. Everywhere we look, those strange egg-shaped cars whip around without anyone at the wheel, like they’re possessed.

“The cars drive themselves,” Adam says. “They must all be connected somehow, some sort of GPS and traffic system, along with spatial sensors…”

“This is the kind of stuff Aether wants to know about, right?” Trent asks.

“Let’s get a closer look.” Chris’s head turns to follow each car that passes by. “I’m a mechanic, so I assume this is the kind of shit Aether picked me for.”

We head into the lot and peer inside one of the parked cars. There is no driver’s seat, no mirror or pedals. The dashboard, steering wheel—everything you’d use to drive the car—are all gone. It’s like the inside of a limo, from what I’ve seen in movies anyway. Plush couches line the inside walls of the egg, with a low table in the middle.

Chris studies the car and kneels down to check under it. “It looks like the entire thing is used for passenger and storage space. There’s no hood. No room for an internal combustion engine.”