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If all stories were written like science fiction stories
by Mark Rosenfelder
Roger and Ann needed to meet Sergey in San Francisco.
“Should we take a train, or a steamship, or a plane?” asked Ann.
“Trains are too slow, and the trip by steamship around South America
would take months,” replied Roger. “We’ll take a plane.”
He logged onto the central network using his personal computer, and
waited while the system verified his identity. With a few keystrokes he
entered an electronic ticketing system, and entered the codes for his
point of departure and his destination. In moments the computer
displayed a list of possible flights, and he picked the earliest one.
Dollars were automatically deducted from his personal account to pay
for the transaction.
The planes left from the city airport, which they reached using the
city bi-rail. Ann had changed into her travelling outfit, which
consisted of a light shirt in polycarbon-derived artifical fabric,
which showed off her pert figure, without genetic enhancements, and
dark blue pants made of textiles. Her attractive brown hair was
uncovered.
At the airport Roger presented their identification cards to a
representative of the airline company, who used her own computer system
to check his identity and retrieve his itinerary. She entered a
confirmation number, and gave him two passes which gave them access to
the boarding area. They now underwent a security inspection, which was
required for all airline flights. They handed their luggage to another
representative; it would be transported in a separate, unpressurized
chamber on the aircraft.
“Do you think we’ll be flying on a propeller plane? Or one of the newer
jets?” asked Ann.
“I’m sure it will be a jet,” said Roger. “Propeller planes are almost
entirely out of date, after all. On the other hand, rocket engines are
still experimental. It’s said that when they’re in general use, trips
like this will take an hour at most. This one will take up to four
hours.”
After a short wait, they were ushered onto the plane with the other
passengers. The plane was an enormous steel cylinder at least a hundred
meters long, with sleek backswept wings on which four jet engines were
mounted. They glanced into the front cabin and saw the two pilots,
consulting a bank of equipment needed the fly the plane. Roger was glad
that he did not need to fly the plane himself; it was a difficult
profession which required years of training.
The surprisingly large passenger area was equipped with soft benches,
and windows through which they could look down at the countryside as
they flew 11 km high at more than 800 km/h. There were nozzles for the
pressurized air which kept the atmosphere in the cabin warm and
comfortable despite the coldness of the stratosphere.
“I’m a little nervous,” Ann said, before the plane took off.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “These flights are
entirely routine. You’re safer than you are in our ground transport
cars!”
Despite his calm words, Roger had to admit to some nervousness as the
pilot took off, and the land dropped away below them. He and the other
passengers watched out the windows for a long time. With difficulty, he
could make out houses and farms and moving vehicles far below.
“There are more people going to San Francisco today than I would have
expected,” he remarked.
“Some of them may in fact be going elsewhere,” she answered. “As you
know, it’s expensive to provide airplane links between all possible
locations. We employ a hub system, and people from smaller cities
travel first to the hub, and then to their final destination.
Fortunately, you found us a flight that takes us straight to San
Francisco.”
When they arrived at the San Francisco airport, agents of the airline
company helped them out of their seats and retrieved their luggage,
checking the numeric tags to ensure that they were given to the right
people.
“I can hardly believe we’re already in another city,” said Ann. “Just
four hours ago we were in Chicago.”
“We’re not quite there!” corrected Roger. “We’re in the airport, which
is some distance from the city, since it requires a good deal of space
on the ground, and because of occasional accidents. From here we’ll
take a smaller vehicle into the city.”
They selected one of the hydrocarbon-powered ground transports from the
queue which waited outside the airport. The fee was small enough that
it was not paid electronically, but using portable dollar tokens. The
driver conducted his car unit into the city; though he drove only at
100 km/hr, it felt much faster since they were only a meter from the
concrete road surface. He looked over at Ann, concerned that the speed
might alarm her; but she seemed to be enjoying the ride. A game girl,
and intelligent as well!
At last the driver stopped his car, and they had arrived. Electronic
self-opening doors welcomed them to Sergey’s building. The entire trip
had taken less than seven hours.
References
1.
https://web.archive.org/web/20040929041451/http://www.shrovetuesdayobserved.com/index.html
