The turbo train “The Royal Stephenson Express” hurtled through the waste lands of middle England. It was running late not very late but late, definitely and irreversibly late. Over the last couple of decades the waste lands of Middle England had despite the name been slowly turned back to the idyllic and verdant parklands of yore. With the aid of experimental terraforming equipment and genetic engineering to bring back many species that mankind had absent-mindedly made extinct. The mighty stag, the elegant swan and the majestic velociraptor to name but a few. Now thrived in this reborn countryside. Not that the robotic train driver paid this any mind. The Robot Designated Transport 1 much preferred to go by the name Alan. It was a warm name, a friendly name and most of all a very human name. Alan’s designation was to oversee the smooth running of the transport network system. But deep down in his diodes he just really loved to drive the trains, it was his guilty pleasure. Right now he didn’t have enough processing speed to enjoy it. No he was too busy concentrating on being late. He had never been late before he had always bragged to his robotic brethren that he had even come off the assembly line a fraction ahead of schedule. But now he was running late and all of the emotions that had been programmed into his CPU ran through him at once. Waves of giddiness, anger, fear and joy danced across his circuits. It was done. He was late. Nothing could change that now. He idly played with the wire moustache, which had been welded to his face plate to give the appearance of reliability with a hint of manliness, as he entered upon the global database the reason for this unprecedented lateness. From the dropdown menu he selected "Human Error"
This particular Human error. The grey suited Sinclair Sty. Now Squeezed his way through the mile long Coach Class train compartment. If he hadn't been late he could have boarded the train from the first class docking platform and avoided having to force his way through the plebs. Sinclair Sty hated being late and he hated people. His skinny elbows went to work as he barged, shoved and pushed his way through the carriage of the unwashed masses. He winced as while moving round a particularly rotund gentleman a blob of burger sauce, from the Mega-Burger that said gentleman was merrily devouring obliviously unaware to the fact that the most important person in the world was trying to get past him, landed on the lapel of his suit. His suit. His expensive and favourite suit. He could feel the sauce even now attacking the fabrics of the suit, that malignant grease staining it on a molecular level. His favourite suit was now irrevocably ruined. Sinclair Sty hated being late, he hated people and he hated burger sauce. Salvation came as he reached the entrance to the first class carriage.
"Door." He commanded "Door." He added just in case it hadn't heard him the first time. The door hissed open in front of him and Sinclair stepped into the clean air of first class.
"Thank You" His sarcastic tone bringing the door sliding shut behind him. Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief, suit ruining aside, he had escaped the carriage with relative ease and was now free to enjoy the rest of his journey in solitude. It was then that he saw her.
Cerys Davis was having a fantastic day. During the day she had been excavating a trench in the Northern Waste lands and had recovered many fascinating artefacts. Amongst which was a cigarette lighter, VCR Player (What ever one of those was.) and a near fossilised bottle of Old Spice. All of which were now catalogued and cleaned up and slung in her lucky bag. Now she was on a train heading to the capital so she could jet off and visit her boyfriend in the Americas. Best of all due to some kind of freak ticket mishap she had found herself upgraded to first class and was now tucked snugly away in the cosy seats. However much to Cerys' disappointment the carriage other than herself was empty. Cerys felt most at home amongst the hustle and bustle of people, what was the point of having an utterly fantastic day when you had no one to share it with? She was contemplating this solitude whilst sipping her second complementary Margarita when the doors opened and in came a tall, gaunt and immaculately suited, well apart from a blemish of burger sauce on the lapel, gentlemen.
