Project Devilgama

2119

A solid metal tube was posted on the pavement walks, old, its green paint chipped off.

He had been sitting on it for uncountable minutes. His legs were hung loose for they weren't long enough to place the heels on the ground, and he swings them back and forth casually. He was in the mood for a random towngaze. Watching a fragment of the tiny Nalegam town in a different scope of time. Watching the world run before him. He felt all the coldness, the ambience, the feeling of not getting noticed by anyone. The uniqueness melded into comfort, and he was thankful that he could appreciate the moment. An ability that was rarely found in the world where fancy expectation infects people like a pandemic.

A thick garland of vines with tiny, compound leaves grew on a cage-like structure above, that set him shade and would eventually consume this Halte if left alone. The leaves might seem messy in the days, but people would know that when any devoid of light comes, all the leaves would shine in a colorful neon glow. The night would be a good time for its glimmer. That is bioluminescence in the place it doesn't belong, thanks to genetic alteration.

The boy plucked one of the leaves and put it on his palm. By this time, it seemed ordinary; no glow after all. He then turned his right hand into a sort of funnel and loops it on the leaf to create a darkness. After a moment, the green fluorescence emerges from its nerves and radiates to the whole leaf sheet. He tilted his hands a little to get more shade, and the leaf shone brighter. He eyed deep into it, in wonder, as if his eyes were a microscope. But he really knew nothing after all - he was merely curious. Even in this age, such thing kept appealing eyes.

The place was devoid of the voice of people.

Before him, vehicle of all sorts sped on the two-way road without any wheels touching the surface, sweeping the wind onto his cheek. Transporters. Those vehicles were lifted by the electromagnetic field generated below the layer of blackish asphalt. The upward force balanced with the downward gravity, so the height remained stable throughout the course of the vehicle. With the only friction being the air, there's nothing to prevent them from going a hundred kilometers per hour at a constant speed if the driver wished to. All vehicles were connected to a hive of collective machine mind. It controlled them, directing a safe path that corrects every error in real-time. Accidents were outlandish. Passengers could just lay down, snacking on a piece of fritters, while the robot drive the vehicle.

Aside from the glamorous sight of floating cars, he could see the wheeled ones blending with the evermoving traffic - autonomous cars powered by electricity that had become widespread a hundred years ago. Today, they become cheap man's vehicles. But their value hadn't diminished completely, for its antiqueness which became a prominent attraction for some enthusiast.

Those technologies were not a new sight for him, yet there was nothing that keep impressing him other than how distant humanity had reached. He perplexed at the class-taught history where he learned about the progress that paved way through revolution. And he reminded himself that the world never walked such way before. There was a big change that he sadly couldn't remember.

He looked at the roadside.

Another type of Transporter was used for the movement of every citizen across the city. He would remember the buses or taxis in the past and compare it to them, but he and his friends preferred a more ancient way to call it; A Coll. That nickname is more than a hundred years old. Short and simple, used in a daily basis by the local farmers. And the Halte is the halt point for every unit of them, and the students would gather, sit, and wait for a Coll, then return home.

There were many students at the Halte, normally. He was late to come out of the school, and he was alone. At a glance, he might have looked like a lost or homeless kid hadn't he worn his teal and white uniform. He didn't realize how long he had been hanging around here, for his mind was full of thoughts. Thoughts. That thing snatched his hand and carried him along for a joyride, away from the chasing boredom.

The wind blew on his face. The chill gave him a goosebump that crept through his hands. He gazed at the sky and noticed that the clouds have turned gray, filling up the whole ceiling of sky as they announced rain arrival for all the citizen. He thought that the once two-seasoned tropics had dissipated into one undefined state of the atmosphere. There was always plenty of downpours in the dry, and otherwise plenty of heatstroke in the monsoon. It was a little weird to him.

He checked the Weatherpost - a weather forecaster - that was posted beside him, its interactive display showed that a thunderstorm would come in ten minutes, two hour long.

He opened his cellular and tapped on its screen the application he could use to track the Transporters. The next Transporter would arrive in fifteen minutes, and he has no time to wait. No. He knew for sure that he wouldn't mind waiting for much longer without the weather rushing him. Henceforth, he ordered a private one. It cost considerably higher, but it would get him on his doorstep real quick. Four kilometers, four minutes, a short trip from the city to his home village.

Only several minutes have passed by, and the wind continuously reminded him of going home, kind of whispered in the language of gusts. He stood, peeked right a little, and saw the vehicle speeding in its predestined lane on the roadside. It ran toward him. Its shape is reminiscent of minivans from the front, but the back is a bulging cylinder.

Inside this private Coll was empty, - the vehicle drove by itself the entire time. But it wasn't a look of horror; all normal. Its body was painted in two tones of blue, lighter above the darker in gradient. The pathway of the Coll is displayed in a thin strip of the display, showing several key points around the city this vehicle would pass. And on the body were a hallmark of stickers. Some owners could make their whole vehicle fancier, expressing the machine's trend of fashion; small railings on the headlights, colorful blinking lamps, and fluorescent texts.

"By the name of Mhaz Satdav. Please have a fingerprint confirmation." The machine spoke to him in robotic masculine tone. He moved his hand, then pressed his thumb on a small, translucent pad with the fingerprint sign beside the door.

The door slid open, into which he entered.