Bad Moon E-Zine #2 - Blue Moon Read online

  Beside the Hyperrail there were no trees or fields, all was paved, parched concrete, stark tarmac, sheet metal, pristine plastic or glistening glass, the acidic rain hissing as it touched the pavement. Adverts for somaburgers and suchlike added a burst of synthetic colour to the otherwise grey, gloomy slabs on display. This sterile world outside, bereft of life, even any kind of germs or microscopic organisms, completely sanitised, offered no sense of divergence, no difference, just endless, dull uniformity. One place looked exactly like the next, all cities were the same stale typeface. Radio beacons, fuel silos, solar stations, zipvision aerials and drone pod platforms drifted by.

  The magnatrain whooshed through France, taking in the bombed out shells of Toulouse and Liege, heading directly for his and its finishing destination - Brussels - the capital of Europe.

  Nermal decided to go to the toilet to get himself a better view. He wheeled up towards the first cubicle, which on inspection was out of order. He had to go back along the carriage he had just precariously promenaded down, narrowly avoiding elbowing people in the head as he bobbed down the gangway, across a holding area, through two more automated swishing electrical doors, one of which wasn't working properly and nearly crushed him as he attempted to go through it too quickly, past a crowd of cheering electroraver kids, who were cheering rowdily as a live noise-splicer cut its crazy sounds around them in time with the clack of the shuffling magnatrain. They yelled something indecipherable at Nermal. He peered perplexedly back at them. They glared back at him, unimpressed, for some reason or another, as often seemed to be the case with Nermal. He plodded on.

  A working toilet door appeared in sight. It had a huge bolt and barrier system attached to the front, like a space station airlock, with a similar array of flashing buttons next to it. Clearly the old fashioned open and shut door handle method was way past its sell by date and practical usage. Far too simple.

  After a failed attempt to open the door by pressing a variety of buttons, Nermal realised that it was currently engaged. He waited, and waited, and waited. And waited. Whoever was in there clearly had some serious business to attend to. Eventually the door hissed open. Standing there was the enormous, eight-limbed figure of Garganturantula. He had a polkadot purple and orange bandana on his head and a pair of huge eight-eyed wrap around sunglasses. He didn't know who Nermal was, so stepped past him with four of his eight limbs, the ones that acted as legs, the other four serving as arms. Nermal sweated, but stood absolutely still. He didn't like Spiderfolk, but didn’t show it as he was supposed to be liberal-minded.

  "You just have to remember that they are more scared of you than you are of them... or is that wolves? Or bears?" Nermal's memory was never good at the best of times. While contemplating this, an old lady had slipped by him and took the toilet instead. Nermal swore and kicked the door.

  Outside, large Securityballs hung in the air, scanning for any untoward or unwarranted movements. These floating drones had digital equipment on board that surveyed the surrounding area for a full 360 degrees, probing for rogue elements, programmed to notice specific movements that denoted 'unusual behaviour'. Anything that was deemed erratic would immediately get reported through the mainframe to the Central Databank at HQ, processed, and if deemed to contravene the accepted norms, the assailant was picked up, bagged, and bunged into Quarantine, a massive impenetrable concrete complex compound from which there was no escape, as far as anyone knew.

  It was a bad idea to develop a limp, or have some form of deformity, or really show any sort of interest in anything whatsoever. This was frowned upon by The Board. If somebody had a heart attack, don't stop to help - whatever you do!