Dark Blue Monstropolis

The thing about Simon was that you heard him coming long before you saw him.

The taxicab hovered around the corner, giving a bit of a terrible lurch and belching a small cloud of inky smoke as it did so. As Argo listened and watched the vehicle struggling to come closer to them, he could swear that the cab was actually chugging in their direction. He didn’t think it was possible for a sky vehicle to chug.

The cab touched down in front of them. Simon pulled himself out of his driver’s side door and sat in his open window, folding his arms on top of his own roof. He was a relatively small man with blond hair and a van dyke that was an orange-red. It was impossible to tell which was his natural color.

“Threnody!” he called out, grinning. “Hullo, love! Might I say that if you were looking any better, you’d be against the law?”

To Argo’s surprise, Threnody smiled at Simon. “Well, you’ve already said it. So I guess we’ll just have to cope somehow, won’t we?”

Simon gave a bark of laughter and slapped the top of the cab, making the poor thing shudder violently. Argo and Mayster exchanged a look. The question passed between them silently, We’re really going to climb into that shitpiece, aren’t we?

They threw each other a mental shrug.

Simon turned his attention to Welsh. “So, what’s the story, big man?”

Welsh grunted and pulled out another cigarette. Where the hell does he get all the smokes? Argo asked himself.

“Home, Si,” Welsh said simply.

Simon gave a sweeping gesture with his hand and the trunk lid rolled back. The four travellers stowed their gear and moved to enter. Mayster turned to Threnody. “Front seat?” he offered.

Threnody shook her head. Was she actually touched at the chivalry of it? She was smiling, after all. “No, go right ahead. I don’t like to sit up there. The door’s up there.”

Mayster shrugged and moved to take the place up front. Argo climbed in back with Welsh and Threnody, wondering, This thing has four doors…what the hell is she talking about?

With everyone in and strapped down, Simon popped in. He pulled his harness in place across his orange-padded jumpsuit and stepped down on the accelerator while pulling his steering wheel backwards.

The cab, with a protesting groaning squawk that sent forth another plume of smoke, rose into the air and into a through-lane, gaining speed.

“There we are, love,” Simon told the cab, patting the steering column with some affection.

“I’m amazed,” Mayster began. “When I first saw this thing I figured it wouldn’t do over seveeeeeee AHHHHH SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”

Mayster had thrown his arms up over his head and was leaning back into his chair as far as he could.

Argo strained to look over, as he was sitting right behind Mayster. Welsh and Threnody didn’t seem to be reacting in the same way, neither was Simon, so whatever it was it couldn’t be too serious.

Sitting in Mayster’s lap was a gleaming silver robot, resembling a cross between a small dog and a huge beetle. It was sitting up in Mayster’s lap, as though begging for a treat. It clicked its mandibles together in something that Argo supposed was a greeting, seeming to disregard Mayster’s reaction to its presence.

Simon glowered at the thing. “Go on, you little bastard: get to work,” he called.

And the thing did. It disappeared back through the cab’s dashboard through a small door, moving swiftly on chittering legs.

Mayster looked at Simon, incredulous. “What…the fuck was that thing?”

“Popbot,” Simon said. “He’s my mechanic popbot. They’re supposed to last for a year but I swear I can only get seven months out of them.”

The popbot in question was now moving across the hood at a high rate of speed. Argo had noticed some rattling going on there. Only stopping for a moment at each connecting bolt, the popbot threw out a leg, snapped a tool into place, and then tightened the bolt.

“Disposable robots for specific tasks,” Welsh explained further. “Simon’s cab is a hunk of shit, so the popbot’s all that keeps him in the air at times.”

“He’s only joking, honey,” Simon said, stroking the steering column again.

“You coulda warned me!” Mayster complained.

“Lady said that’s where the door was,” Welsh said, forcing back a smile.

Argo watched as the popbot finished ensuring the front of the cab wouldn’t fall off, then disappear under the vehicle, where he heard rattling and whirring take place. Seven months, he thought to himself. Amazing.

Then he looked out across the Atlantic Union, which, as he understood it, was nothing but buildings from here to the ocean. Incredible. And the air here was alive with information. He could almost imagine the open spaces around them throbbing with it, every machine passing data to every other machine, tying them all together. Once he understood that the Internet had evolved as the primary means by which the world communicated, over all manner of copper wire and fiber optics. And now that all of that infrastructure was gone, all everyone had was each other.

He let his visor flip over to watch all of the traffic that he was filtering out and all the traffic that was, even at this speed, driving stories above the ground, passing through his pack and to the rest of the Union.

“How about some music, Si?” Welsh asked.

Argo almost missed it, but a look passed between Simon and Welsh. Simon smiled and threw Welsh a wink in the rear view mirror. “Coming right up. Let me just find it.”

Mayster noticed it first. Argo took a second because he was almost hypnotized by the stats of what his pack was passing. “This is Circus Eclectica out of Richmond,” Simon said, then turned up the volume.

“Holy…” Argo began and Mayster finished it for him in the front seat, “…shit.”

The song coming out of Simon’s speakers was “Open 5 A.M.”