Further Into The Future!

Chapter 12

We boarded the subway at a station about a block from their building. It was as plainly decorated as the apartment. The walls and ceilings were covered with green tiles. The floor was light gray cement. An inch-wide red line squiggled and looped across the walls wildly. I couldn't tell if this was state-sanctioned art or graffiti.

Susan pressed her purse against a metal plate by the entrance and said "two." The machine beeped twice and we walked through.

The trains were fast and smooth. They hardly made a noise when they slowed to a stop at the station, just a soft whooshing sound. They were thin and cased in round aluminum that looked like a turtle shell when it reflected the green tiles on the walls. Video advertisements covered most of the train, making a muted sound.

On the side of the section of the train in front of me a family was sitting on the beach, two sisters throwing sand at each other as their mother reproached them and the father pulled a beer out of an ice bucket and took a swig. Generic tropical music played softly in the background. "FLORIDA" raced across the screen in red italics as tall as the train, slowing down at the end and compressing before bouncing back to pass us again.

I squirmed around in search of an area of the aluminum not taken up by the advertisement that I could use as a mirror. I found an empty spot and used it to adjust my tie before "FLORIDA" came back around and settled right in front of me, as if to taunt me. A freckled, red-haired woman's head popped up, smiling obnoxiously, with a word bubble next to her that said "Would you like to know more?" It must have known I was concentrating on the advertisement, I realized, and it focused on me.

Before I could answer the kind lady's question, the doors to the compartment opened and Susan and I stepped inside. It was clean and well furnished, more than I could say about the subway trains of today. There were tan couches along the wall and in rows in the center of the train, which was larger inside than I expected.

The train was hardly half full and the patrons who were present were mostly robots. Actually, almost all robots, I thought as I looked around. They stood out of the way along the walls, holding bags of groceries or folders of papers. They stared at the wall opposite them with their typical blank expression.

Two robots on the train were very active, however. They were leaning over to pick up trash and sweep the floors. When we got on the train a woman left and one of the robots walked to her seat to pick up a candy bar wrapper she left behind. That explained why the train was so clean. They put two robot janitors in every section, even when there was so little traffic.

After the doors closed and a voice announced the next stop, I heard a screeching and a sad wailing fade in. I looked out the window behind me for sparks or any sign of disturbance. I glanced at the other passengers, expecting for them to be as alarmed as I was, but they were sitting calmly as if nothing had happened. The robots were, of course, standing stoically in front of the advertisements on the walls.

I nudged Susan with my elbow. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The train's screeching. Something's wrong."

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sound.

"I can't hear anything," she said, shrugging.

"You don't hear the train screeching?"

She paused again for a moment. "Wait – are you talking about the music?"

"What music?"

"The music playing in the train right now."

I listened more closely and realized she was right - the sound wasn't coming from outside the train, but inside.

I curled my lip in disgust. "This is your rock and roll? It doesn't sound like the song I heard from the advertisement outside the hospital."

"That was a different band. This is the Strategists. It's from their album Battle Zone. It's a classic."

The song played at a low volume but it still made me feel uncomfortable. I cupped my hands over my ears and concentrated on the lights whizzing by outside the window. I cheered myself up by thinking about the interview I was going to with the editor. I hoped that the article would get me the attention I deserved so I could meet more important people. After finally achieving fame, I would thank the Time Travelers for their hospitality and urge the reporter to include them in the article but I wouldn't sleep on their couch another night.

A few minutes later Susan tapped me on the shoulder and gestured that we had to leave the train, which began decelerating just as I stood. I stumbled, grabbing a bar on the wall to keep from falling on a surprised old woman, who asked if I was all right. I nodded and smiled to hide my embarrassment.

When I walked out the door a teenage boy with long blonde hair who was laughing at my fall shook my hand. He was wearing an equally blonde t-shirt with a red stripe across it.

He pointed at my suit. "Hey, it's Abraham Lincoln!" he said.

"You're off by about eighty years," I said, too cheerful about the meeting with the editor to be bothered by a bastard teenager.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said. I withdrew from the handshake and stepped off the train, wiping my palm on a handkerchief. He was giving his friends high fives on the other side of the window.

"I don't know what was more obnoxious, that kid or his shirt," Susan said.