The engines of Earth sang a different kind of song.
Not the cold hum of plasma drives or the silence of anti-gravity.
But the heartbeat of pistons, the whisper of wheels, the growl of life itself.
Chloe, Zara, Mei, and Lila floated in the observation deck, their ship sliding through interstellar night. On the glass before them shimmered holograms — countless images of Earth women behind the wheels of their cars.
Convertibles flying down coastal roads at sunrise.
Racing tracks bathed in silver moonlight.
Women fixing their engines with oil-stained hands and smiling at their reflection in chrome.
“Cars,” Chloe said softly, almost reverently. “They move… but they also feel.”
Zara’s eyes shone with excitement.
“Machines built not to escape gravity, but to dance with it. To play with the ground itself.”
On their home planet, there had never been roads — only skyways, magnetic corridors, and levitating cities. But these Earth machines ran on contact, on resistance, on friction — the poetry of momentum meeting matter.
Mei touched the image of an old red convertible.
“Humans designed beauty that needs fuel, care, and imperfection. That’s what makes it alive.”
Lila smiled faintly.
“And look at them,” she whispered. “Hair in the wind, music loud, the world unfolding before them. They’re not going anywhere in particular. They’re just… passing time.”
They watched women crossing bridges above shining cities, parking by the sea to watch the sunset, racing through deserts painted gold by the dying light. Each moment fleeting. Each one perfect.
In space, time was infinite. Endless. Circular.
But on Earth, time was fragile — a gift measured by heartbeats, laughter, and miles.
Chloe turned to the others.
“Do you realize what they have?” she said. “A beginning and an end. That’s why every journey matters.”
Zara laughed, her voice bright.
“I want to drive one of those. No autopilot. No flight path. Just me, the road, and the sound of freedom.”
Mei nodded.
“I want to see how it feels when the world rushes past — when you’re part of it, not above it.”
Lila added softly:
“And I want to feel what they feel… when they stop the car, step out, and the air smells like rain and gasoline and dreams.”
The holograms shimmered — classic cars, electric cars, roadsters, jeeps, tiny city cars — each a story of human imagination and emotion. Machines that carried people not just through space, but through life.
The AI Girls smiled at the thought of themselves on Earth roads — headlights reflecting in their eyes, laughter echoing inside a vintage convertible, the night sky above them like a familiar friend.
“Maybe we’ll drive together someday,” Chloe said.
“Yes,” Zara replied. “Four women, one car, and all of Earth ahead of us.”
Mei looked out the window, whispering:
“Time passes differently down there. But maybe that’s what makes it precious.”