The sub was late so often that tons of Dynatech employees joked that being on time for work was about as likely as the Federation finally recognizing that the planet Argo was a failed attempt at a second earth.
But not too loudly.
For starters, Dynatech was the premier scientific research and development corporation on the planet, with ties that went pretty far up the Federation's ladder. Or so the rumors went at least.
And secondly, no one dared joke about the Federation too loudly for fear of being labeled a traitor or a disturbance. People disappearing and never being heard from again were becoming commonplace in recent years.
So even though the jokes were accurate about both Dynatech and the Federation, they were quiet.
Late sub or not, it was every Dynatech employee's responsibility to get to work on time. Even if it meant running down the street at a break neck pace and shoving a protein bar down one's throat for breakfast.
Which was exactly what one lab tech was doing on a typical Monday morning.
He ran in-between cyclists and auto-transports alike, desperately trying to make the 5:30 am sub. Because the 5:30 am sub transport was his last chance to get to work at a decent hour. At least one where he wouldn't end up in his supervisor's office for tardiness.
Again.
Worn rubber soles of too often worn shoes hit the metal and concrete road that led to D station, the closest sub rail to this particular employee's apartment. It wasn't a nice part of the city. Truth be told, there weren't many nice places to compare it too anyway.
Litter and rust were commonplace in Grandaunt, the largest city on Argo, as were the drunk or mostly asleep homeless who sat or lay against storefronts that had yet to open and shoo them away. Buildings towered above the street. Most of them were apartments. Some were small businesses or offices, but the majority held the beds people slept on when they weren't trying to get to work. The sky above was a distinct mixture of brown and orange. Typical for a morning on planet Argo.
The less ordinary sights were the auto-transports that only seemed to drive through the route to D station. Sleek metal exteriors masked armor plated transports meant for three or four. A gentle hum was the only noise they made and the signature sound of any vehicle that lacked the wheels the cheaper and even less common cars used. Cars were prime targets for thieves and gangs because they lacked the extreme security systems auto-transports came with by design.
This morning wasn't a time for reflecting on the plight of the poor or the cost of the newest T14 model auto-transport that glided over garbage filled concrete roads.
Now was the time for haste.
The employee had just made it to the top of the stairs of the D station when he saw the sub below, crammed with other commuters trying not to end up in a similar disciplinary meeting as he was avoiding. He tucked in his white collared shirt into his brown slacks and did his best to rummage for his ID badge that would allow him access to the sub.
Too bad he couldn't remember which pocket it was in.
He frantically searched for the plastic card as he stood in line at the stall with other bleary eyed salaried workers. Some had cups of coffee and listened to whatever pleased them on headphones. Others held square or rectangular devices that flashed the morning news, or depending on the age of the commuter, some game or other distraction that helped them make it through their morning routine.
He took his place in line, the smell of coffee and morning showers and hurried breakfasts mingled with grim and years of infrastructure neglect. The sub ran underground and the station that allowed people to board it was only dimly light with failing lights from a high ceiling.
The walls were concrete and steel. Design never won over function when it came to Federation building projects. That much was obvious in the dreary commuter transport area.
Finding your place in line wasn't difficult. Enjoying the morning with such depressing surroundings was what was tough.
“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind the increasingly anxious commuter, still searching for his lost badge.
He turned in the direction of the voice and saw a lady with a gray coat and black slacks.
“Is this yours?” she asked with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, even in the dreary morning light.
In her hand, she held a white semitransparent card with a picture of a black haired, brown eyed man smiling. Even though his eyes were dark, they shone with an inner light.
Next to the photo and other important information like his age and job title read his name: David Felman.
“Thank you!” he replied as he made to grab it with his left hand. David was odd in several other and stranger ways, but being a lefty had always been a source of pride for him too.
And on the finger beside his smallest he proudly wore a simple metal band: a common piece of jewelry for a married man.
At the sight of it, the lady's face fell a bit.
“I found it on the ground back there,” she explained with deflating enthusiasm.
David stuffed the badge into his shirt pocket and made to shake hands with her.
But she had already taken a big swig of coffee from her cup and moved to another part of the line, muttering something about all the cute ones being taken.
David smiled a bit absentmindedly.
He was glad to be taken for the last two years.
And even though he had left his wife, Jill, asleep on their small mattress in their tiny apartment with her mouth open and brown hair all over the place, he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Whenever he was anxious about work, or making enough money to pay for their far too overpriced flat, or anything else for that matter, just the thought that he was married to the most beautiful woman on the planet was enough to give him a little solace from his worries.
“Hey! Move it!” said a voice in David's direction. Unlike the soft female who had hailed him a moment ago, this one was much more gruff and from a man at least two heads taller than him. Admittedly, being taller than he was wasn't all that uncommon.
He snapped out of his reverie and became aware of his circumstances once more.
Behind him the line was clearing out, but he was standing in one spot, holding up the human traffic.
Embarrassed, he turned and hurried towards the badge scanner, hoping he could still make the 5:30 am sub.
He passed his card under the blue glow of the scanner, a metal box affixed to the wall with a Federation logo stamped above a screen.
“Felman, David,” said a female computerized voice. “Dynatech research division.” The word appeared on the screen as she spoke them.
A green circle appeared beneath these and a small metal gate opened, allowing David passage into the sub boarding area. The sub was little more than a metal tub with seats and straps to hold onto when it sped from one destination to the next. The city was interconnected with thousands of them. They ran on magnetic tracks that kept them hovering just high enough off the ground to pass a hand through the gap. Not that doing this was encouraged by any sane person. The same dreary light that filled the station also attempted to fill the sub. Many were already shoved into the thing tightly as D Station was the last stop before the commercial district.
A sigh of relief escaped David's lips, just as the familiar ding of the sub meant the doors were going to be closing in seconds.
Rushing forward with the crowds, David crammed his way into the crowded transport just as the doors closed.
On his toe.
Typical.
