The VW pipes were singing until a bad shift let out a puff of smoke and a shutter. The Dub in the front seat turned his head and opened a yellow smile at me.
"No worries man." He drew out his words. "She is just a little tempermental, but she'l' get us there."
I coughed. I preferred the clean air and silent hum of an electric, but there are no electric taxis around the ground floor.
There was a loud thump as the suspension bottomed out. It was the first ramp down. I looked out the window as the old VW gripped the corner tightly. You couldn't watch a viewscreen in one of these old beasts while taking the turns down -- you'd vomit all over yourself.
The engine wound up again as we hit flat ground. There was a smell of musty dirt in the air. Up ahead, I could see one of the robotic tractors running operations. It was turning over the grass into the soil and planting new. It is the only way to grow soil this far underground.
I looked around inside the vehicle now that we were going straight. It was weird not having viewscreen windows. They were just clear unadulterated glass. I reckon the inside used to have a proper interior, years ago, but it was long since rotted away. Instead the bare metal was covered in macrame made from old newspapers, back when such things really were papers. Someone had chosen the pictures carefully, intently, but I don't know how.
Buildings were coming into sight now.
"Here, down to the left, on the left." I said to the driver.
The car swerved, tires chirping ever so slightly.
My eyes were open.
"Take the alley just past there." I said to the driver. I pulled my hat down tight.
The street was empty except for a woman with a bag of groceries and a man in a old brown suit. He was headed towards The Vintage Inn.
I ran my hands down my sides. My pistols were in place and loaded. I threw the pack over my shoulder as the taxi grinded to a halt in the alley. I pushed a button on the side of my sunglasses and the money for the ride transferred with a small tip.
"Thanks to ya." yelled out the driver as his head tipped down at his small account screen on his dash.
The alarm went off on my MoD and the message flashed on my glasses: "Vintage Room 213".
The backdoor at the Vintage was still key card controlled, even though no one even used key cards anymore. I pulled mine from my pocket and swiped it. There was a beep and a click and I pulled the door open.
I didn't like the way my shoes felt on the carpet as I walked down the hall. There was some odd kind of friction in old thick carpet than made feel like I was perpetually falling down. The hall was empty and I grabbed the stairway door. Every step sounded the whole distance of the stairwell as I made my way up. The door was marked with a giant red 2, like someone would need to read it.
Into the hall and there were more signs, though my glasses were already feeding me the directions and floor layouts as I went. 213.
I stopped a few steps short and flipped my eyes over. Was there one person in the room? It looked that way.
I knocked, standing just to the left of the door.
"Who is it?" As I jutted my jaw out for the word 'it', I heard the crinkle of a bag from the end of the hall.
Some people call it an instinct. Other people call it a hunch. When you are a punk, falling to the ground and grabbing your guns, you call it a necessity. Two shots rang out over my head as my guns aligned with the lady with the bag of groceries from the street. I knew there were no grocery stores around here.
The bullets connected and she was knocked back, hitting the glass window, and falling through it.
"Slick." I said to myself, realizing that only the old windows of the Vintage would do that. I knocked at the door again and gave the password for all clear. "It's the cat's pajamas out here."
I heard a chuckle from the door as it opened. The old ball-headed fence I used for this type of thing found it amusing, me nearly getting shot.
"I can't believe I got to hear you say that." he chuckled again.
I handed him the pack and waited. He peeked inside and walked into the bathroom. A "Kaching" played through my MoD as $20k appeared in my account. I immediately hit the button on my glasses to transfer it on.
He walked out. "Nice doin' business with you again."
"Yeah," I replied. "Call me a cab, will ya." I heard an "Okay" muffled by the door as I walked away.
"No worries man." He drew out his words. "She is just a little tempermental, but she'l' get us there."
I coughed. I preferred the clean air and silent hum of an electric, but there are no electric taxis around the ground floor.
There was a loud thump as the suspension bottomed out. It was the first ramp down. I looked out the window as the old VW gripped the corner tightly. You couldn't watch a viewscreen in one of these old beasts while taking the turns down -- you'd vomit all over yourself.
The engine wound up again as we hit flat ground. There was a smell of musty dirt in the air. Up ahead, I could see one of the robotic tractors running operations. It was turning over the grass into the soil and planting new. It is the only way to grow soil this far underground.
I looked around inside the vehicle now that we were going straight. It was weird not having viewscreen windows. They were just clear unadulterated glass. I reckon the inside used to have a proper interior, years ago, but it was long since rotted away. Instead the bare metal was covered in macrame made from old newspapers, back when such things really were papers. Someone had chosen the pictures carefully, intently, but I don't know how.
Buildings were coming into sight now.
"Here, down to the left, on the left." I said to the driver.
The car swerved, tires chirping ever so slightly.
My eyes were open.
"Take the alley just past there." I said to the driver. I pulled my hat down tight.
The street was empty except for a woman with a bag of groceries and a man in a old brown suit. He was headed towards The Vintage Inn.
I ran my hands down my sides. My pistols were in place and loaded. I threw the pack over my shoulder as the taxi grinded to a halt in the alley. I pushed a button on the side of my sunglasses and the money for the ride transferred with a small tip.
"Thanks to ya." yelled out the driver as his head tipped down at his small account screen on his dash.
The alarm went off on my MoD and the message flashed on my glasses: "Vintage Room 213".
The backdoor at the Vintage was still key card controlled, even though no one even used key cards anymore. I pulled mine from my pocket and swiped it. There was a beep and a click and I pulled the door open.
I didn't like the way my shoes felt on the carpet as I walked down the hall. There was some odd kind of friction in old thick carpet than made feel like I was perpetually falling down. The hall was empty and I grabbed the stairway door. Every step sounded the whole distance of the stairwell as I made my way up. The door was marked with a giant red 2, like someone would need to read it.
Into the hall and there were more signs, though my glasses were already feeding me the directions and floor layouts as I went. 213.
I stopped a few steps short and flipped my eyes over. Was there one person in the room? It looked that way.
I knocked, standing just to the left of the door.
"Who is it?" As I jutted my jaw out for the word 'it', I heard the crinkle of a bag from the end of the hall.
Some people call it an instinct. Other people call it a hunch. When you are a punk, falling to the ground and grabbing your guns, you call it a necessity. Two shots rang out over my head as my guns aligned with the lady with the bag of groceries from the street. I knew there were no grocery stores around here.
The bullets connected and she was knocked back, hitting the glass window, and falling through it.
"Slick." I said to myself, realizing that only the old windows of the Vintage would do that. I knocked at the door again and gave the password for all clear. "It's the cat's pajamas out here."
I heard a chuckle from the door as it opened. The old ball-headed fence I used for this type of thing found it amusing, me nearly getting shot.
"I can't believe I got to hear you say that." he chuckled again.
I handed him the pack and waited. He peeked inside and walked into the bathroom. A "Kaching" played through my MoD as $20k appeared in my account. I immediately hit the button on my glasses to transfer it on.
He walked out. "Nice doin' business with you again."
"Yeah," I replied. "Call me a cab, will ya." I heard an "Okay" muffled by the door as I walked away.
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