A Better Way to Travel.

Slender fingers of sunlight parted the curtain of morning haze as they stretched towards their reflection in the dew. Droplets, sparkling like brilliant cut diamonds, adorned the small red roses scattered through the gardens that broke the grey monotony of concrete; a cold oasis in the greenery of the O’bahn parklands. 1

Bill stared out the window that stretched from roof to floor, a great expanse of glass that formed the wall of the bus. How amazing these buses had seemed when they were introduced, he was only 25 then, thirty years sure had passed quickly. It had seemed like a wild ride, flying through the parklands supported only by your seat. Of course the novelty had soon worn off but the large windows provided a great view. The slow darkening of the automatic tinting still amazed him, it was triggered only by the glare of the midday sun which would have been unbearable without it.2

Irritably he rearranged the skull cap that transferred energy from his thoughts into the bus’s fuel grid, it always itched where the adhesive pads were attached to his temples. So far he was the only person, other than the driver, who had plugged into the energy grid and the main problem with these buses was it took so many people to run the things. At least six people had to plug in to generate enough brain energy to make a bus move anywhere, and even then they didn’t move very fast, not until every one of the 25 seats was filled. Turning down the heater control on his seat, Bill watched as people wandered past on their way to their own bus. The rapid clatter of feet as passengers ran, panicked faces dreading to be left behind, was now just a memory. Nobody hurried for a bus any more. They knew it would wait.
Bill’s fingers drummed an impatient tune on the cushioned arm rest of his seat, his mind still held traces of the fashion of his youth when all society seemed to be in a hurry. 3

The door slid open and the sharp morning air sliced through the warm interior of the bus trailing the scent of freshly mown spring grass.4

An old lady smiled as she took a seat across the aisle and plugged herself in. Passengers seemed a lot friendlier now they had to depend upon each other.5

If the World Energy Corporation wasn’t taking an energy tax of 50% from each grid they’d be moving by now. City officials kept very quiet about the tax and most citizens had forgotten, just accepting the way things ran. It always amused him how quickly people adjusted to change once the initial shock had passed.6

Since the W.E.C. had banned the use of fossil fuels there had been many different ideas trialed before they discovered the way to harness brain energy. Solar power had seemed promising but they’d left it too late and by the time they’d perfected a storage system large enough to be efficient, the sun could barely shine through the thick clouds of pollution that had darkened the sky.7

The lights flashed as Bill’s frustration sent a surge into the energy grid.8

“It won’t get us there any faster, mate” the driver turned round with a grin. 9

“We usually fill up in about half an hour; it’s always a bit slow this early.”10

“I’d be there by now if I had a Bubble car; I’d be speeding along on dreams alone!” Bill answered with a wistful laugh recalling the sleek black sports car he’d dreamt of in his youth.11

Bubble cars were the sports cars of the new age; belonging only to city officials they cost a year’s wages for a normal worker. The cars had been built along similar lines as the old Volkswagen beetle, but were so small they looked like bubbles on three wheels. These compact little cars had originally run on hydrogen engines but after concerns about steam adding to the greenhouse effect, the car had been redesigned. Fuelled only by energy generated from the driver’s thoughts they were the prototype of all new vehicles and they sped along at a rate that buses could never reach.12

Bill knew it wouldn’t be long till the bus filled up; a lot more people caught public transport these days. He leaned back in the seat that hugged him comfortably, the cushioning molding itself into the curves of his back as he shifted around. His head relaxed onto the head rest and his frustration was eased away as the massager vibrated into action, soothing his tension. 13

He focused on the poems that flowed continuously along the roof of the bus and let his mind wander amongst the words.14