It’s a strange feeling, getting up to go to the toilet and seeing row upon row of sleeping bodies — all sitting upright, heads tilted, mouths hanging open. Some with eye masks, most with neck pillows.

 

Normally, I only sleep with my wife — one bed, two people — yet here I am surrounded by strangers, in peaceful slumber. All sharing a space when we are at our most vulnerable.

 

The lights are dimmed low with the plane’s engines drumming a monotonous lullaby, and I’m standing and swaying. My eyes bone-dry from the plane’s air conditioning, and my brain on autopilot, still trying to pick up from where it left off. I remember watching the inflight entertainment, eating a meal — chicken or beef — and reading a book. I wasn’t meant to fall asleep. I’ve never liked flying. When others are taking tablets to sleep, I’m taking them to stay awake. How did I fall asleep?

I hold onto the back of a seat to steady myself. I’m dizzy. Shit. What’s wrong with me? I look up, and for a second I swear a fine mist is coming out of the air conditioning vents.

 

“What the—?”

 

“Are you needing assistance, sir?”

 

It’s a flight attendant. One of the AI-powered robots.

 

I look at her, then back at the cabin ceiling, but the mist’s dissipating.

 

“Was… was something happening? The air conditioning looked...”

 

“Just flushing out the system. We do that sometimes. Nothing for you to worry about. Everything’s tickety-boo.” She smiles, her lips twitching, and I hear a slight whirring as the corners of her lips are dragged up. “Please return to your seat.”

 

Her eyes narrow. Probably scanning my temperature, checking my heartbeat, or reading my mind. Never did like these damn things and they’re now everywhere — buses, trains, taxis, planes. Even the pilots are AI-powered robots. They’re never sick, never late, and they make the flights cheaper, but their smiles always look like they’re smirking.

 

“I… I’m fine. Just going to the toilet.”

 

“I’m recording an elevated heartbeat. Perhaps it’s best—”

 

“I need to take a piss.”

 

I’m not normally one to use that kind of language, but something about these new AI models bothers me.

 

I move past her towards the toilet. I don’t so much as walk, but hobble down the aisle, passing row upon row of people asleep. Not one person is awake.

 

I make it to the toilet, pull the door aside and glance down the aisle. The AI’s still looking at me, her lips pursed into a human-like frown. Another one stands behind her, with the same look. They’re always meant to look so happy, and I get that feeling, that no-good feeling that creeps up the back of my spine when something’s wrong. I pull the door closed and slide the latch to occupied. Shit, shit, shit, I say when no one can hear me.

 

I’m so weak I’ve got to sit down to piss.

 

When I look down at the toilet bowl all I see is a bowl full of blood and urine. And when I look up all I see is a half-dead version of me: skin death-white, and eyes sunken into blackened sockets. The prospect of the big C for prostate cancer flits in and out of my mind. Jesus, Gary, you gotta start taking better care of yourself. Gotta get yourself checked when you land. Peeing blood isn’t normal. I turn the tap on and splash water on my face.

 

I stand like that for a while. Just me and the mirror, taking big breaths, when there’s a knock outside the door.

 

“Are you alright in there, sir?”

 

It’s the frickin’ AI again. Christ, can’t they leave a man alone?

 

“Yes. Just needing some privacy.”

 

“You’ve been in there a while.”

 

“I’m fine. It’s just... taking longer than expected.”

 

I can hear them whispering outside. There’s two, maybe more.

 

“You’ll need to come back to your seat soon. We’re expecting some turbulence.”

 

The flight’s been as smooth as anything. Were those machines lying? The big-wigs said AIs couldn’t lie, couldn’t harm us, but it sounded like they just lied to me.

 

“I’ll… I’ll be out in a minute.”

 

God damn. Whatever the Hell was going on, I couldn't stay here, hiding in the toilet like some scared kid.

 

I open the door, but no one’s there. They’ve gone.

 

I cast my eyes to my empty seat. Row 21C. I just need to make it back there, sit down, and see a doctor when we land. That’s it. It’s probably nothing.

 

As I start to walk the plane unexpectedly starts to judder. Turbulence. The AI’s weren’t lying. The seatbelt sign flashes on, but no one moves. They’re already asleep. Already strapped in. Everyone but me. The aeroplane drops suddenly.

 

It’s misting again. I think. It’s my last thought before my head hits the cabin ceiling.

 

* * *

 

When I next wake up, I’m in my seat. Strapped in. A bump on my head.

 

“We’ve arrived at our destination. You can take your seatbelt off now, sir.”

 

“Something… happened?”

 

“There was a bit of turbulence. You hurt your head, but nothing to worry about, you'll be fine.”

 

People around me are waking up.

 

I look up to the cabin ceiling. “The air conditioning, you were… flushing the system?”

 

“Not at all,” says the AI, her face twitching again. “You must’ve been dreaming.”

 

Dreaming? Still, I don’t feel right. My face is beading with sweat, and it’s not even hot. I remember the blood in the toilet bowl. My muscles are weak.

 

A child two rows along vomits blood, as does an elderly man. Someone behind me moans. People begin coughing. Everyone seems sick.

 

That no-good feeling’s back. I don’t think it ever went away. “How many passengers on this flight?” I ask, looking around anxiously at all the pale, sick faces.

 

“We take over four hundred passengers a day to all final destinations.”

 

Soft whirrs pull the AI’s lips into the biggest smile.