The Last Honest Automobile

In 2037, every major automaker had gone electric.

Every automaker except Brute Motor Company of Flint, Michigan.

Brute's CEO, Earl Brubaker, had a simple philosophy:

“If electricity was so great, God would've put alternators on horses.”

Brute wasn't merely opposed to electric cars. The company opposed electric motors of any kind.

No electric windows.

No electric seats.

No electric fuel pumps.

No electric windshield wipers.

Not even an electric cooling fan.

“An electric motor,” Brubaker explained at the annual shareholder meeting, “is just an EV that hasn't finished growing yet.”

Instead, everything in the new Brute Sovereign 8500 was powered mechanically from the vehicle's 7.4-liter V8.

The engine had eleven power-takeoff shafts.

One ran the air conditioner.

One ran the windshield wipers.

One ran the radiator fan.

One ran the power seats.

One ran the windows.

One ran the door locks.

One ran the stereo.

This created certain complications.

For example, lowering the passenger window required a rotating driveshaft to travel from the engine, through the firewall, underneath the dashboard, along the transmission tunnel, up through the B-pillar, and into the door.

Brute engineers initially objected.

Management told them to stop thinking like communists.

The resulting window mechanism weighed 74 pounds.

Rolling down all four windows simultaneously consumed approximately nine horsepower.

At idle, they moved very slowly.

The owner's manual therefore recommended revving the engine to 2,500 RPM before ordering at a drive-through.

This led to several misunderstandings.

“WELCOME TO BURGER PALACE. CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER?”

VROOOOOOOOOOM

“Sir?”

VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

The window slowly descended.

“I'LL HAVE A NUMBER THREE.”

Brute's mechanical windshield wipers were considered an engineering triumph.

A small transmission connected them directly to the crankshaft.

Unfortunately, early prototypes made the wiper speed proportional to engine RPM.

At idle, they swept gently every four seconds.

At 6,000 RPM, they became invisible.

During one desert durability test, both wiper blades achieved sufficient velocity to detach from the vehicle and were later recovered 180 yards away.

The production model therefore included a three-speed wiper gearbox.

Changing wiper speed required depressing the clutch and moving a small lever labeled:

RAIN — MORE RAIN — OH LORD

The power seats were even more impressive.

Each front seat contained a miniature transmission, two worm gears, a differential and eighteen feet of flexible driveshaft.

Moving the driver's seat backward while climbing a hill was discouraged because it could briefly reduce vehicle speed.

The Sovereign's premium model featured memory seats.

Brute accomplished this without electronics using a complicated arrangement of cams, springs and punched brass discs resembling a player piano.

It could remember two drivers.

Adding a third required a dealer visit and approximately six hours of machining.

The radio presented another challenge.

Brute engineers quietly pointed out that radios inherently require electricity.

Brubaker stared at them for a long time.

Three engineers resigned that afternoon.

The eventual solution was the Brute Mechanical Entertainment System.

A PTO shaft spun a tiny generator that powered the radio.

Marketing immediately objected that this was technically electricity.

So engineering installed a small gasoline engine inside the dashboard whose sole purpose was to turn the generator.

Marketing approved it.

The Sovereign therefore had two engines.

Starting the radio involved pulling a small recoil cord beneath the glove compartment.

On cold mornings passengers occasionally had to use the choke.

Bluetooth was unavailable.

Brute called this a feature.

The company's greatest achievement, however, was the mechanical backup camera.

Federal regulations required a rear-view image.

Brute refused to install a camera.

Instead, engineers installed a system of mirrors and periscopes running from the rear bumper through the headliner to a small viewing hood on the dashboard.

Backing up looked remarkably similar to commanding a German submarine.

Reviewers loved it.

Car & Driver called the Sovereign:

“An astonishing answer to a question nobody has asked since 1911.”

The truck sold surprisingly well.

Owners praised its ruggedness.

There were no window motors to fail.

No seat motors to burn out.

No electronic door-lock actuators.

There were, however, 147 grease fittings.

Brute recommended lubrication every 2,500 miles.

The dealership's standard oil-change service took nine hours.

Mechanics eventually developed specialized diagnostic techniques.

A customer might arrive complaining that the passenger window wouldn't open.

The technician would listen carefully.

“Sounds like your Number Seven accessory driveshaft carrier bearing.”

“How much?”

“$1,800.”

The customer would sigh.

“Can you just make the window manual?”

The mechanic would recoil.

“What are we, Amish?”

Then came Brute's masterpiece:

The Sovereign Limited Power Tailgate.

Competitors used a small electric actuator.

Brute used a hydraulic pump driven from PTO Number Nine.

Opening the tailgate required the engine to be running.

Closing it required 1,700 RPM.

Brute's television commercial showed a rancher standing proudly beside the truck while the V8 roared and the tailgate slowly lifted.

The announcer said:

“Why trust electrons when you have 420 pound-feet of torque?”

Eventually, government fuel-economy regulators investigated.

They discovered something extraordinary.

A Sovereign cruising down the highway required approximately 38 horsepower simply to operate its accessories.

Five horsepower ran the air conditioning.

Three ran the cooling fan.

Two ran the hydraulic steering.

Nine were lost through accessory shafts, bearings and gearboxes.

And another eleven horsepower appeared to be consumed by something engineers could not identify.

After a six-month investigation, they discovered it powered the cup holders.

Brute had accidentally designed heated and cooled cup holders using a tiny mechanical refrigeration compressor.

They were magnificent.

By 2041, Brute Motor Company finally announced its first hybrid.

The automotive press was stunned.

Earl Brubaker walked onto the Detroit Auto Show stage.

Behind him sat the new Brute Sovereign Hybrid 9000.

“We listened to our customers,” he said.

“We recognize that the future requires new forms of energy.”

The curtain dropped.

The Sovereign now had a second 2.3-liter gasoline engine mounted in the bed.

The audience stared silently.

Brubaker smiled.

“The front engine drives the truck.”

He pointed proudly toward the bed.

“The rear engine runs the accessories.”

A reporter raised his hand.

“So where exactly is the hybrid part?”

Brubaker looked confused.

“There are two engines.”

Brute sold 84,000 of them the first year.