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- Herausgeber: Orpheus Editions
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
David Mason was a science-fiction writer, who published in pulp fiction magazines.
In this collection, you will find three short stories by this author, full of innovation, adventure and mystery.
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DAVID MASON
A COLLECTION OF
THREE STORIES
Copyright © Orpheus Editions 2020.
ROAD STOP
It was like any other car on the road. It was automatic, self-contained—and eternal!
The highway stretched away in ruler-straight perspective toward both horizons, black and shining in the sun like a river of ink. Beside it, the bright pastel buildings of Rest Stop 25 stood among the green trees. Occasionally a car shot past, a flash of metal and a hiss of split wind; but the road was one which was used more often at night, and was nearly empty in the afternoon.
Sam was the only attendant on duty. Stop 25 needed only two human attendants, even at its busiest hours. He sat, staring out at the highway, his elbows on the lunch counter, his round face blank, but his mouth set tightly. The phone at his elbow emitted a small grunting noise.
"You still there?" the phone voice said inquiringly.
"Yeah." Sam said, still staring at the highway.
"Well...." The voice paused. "Look, it might not come your way. It usually turns west at the New Britain intersection."
"Not always." Sam said. "It went by here once before."
"It almost never stops, anyway," the voice said firmly. "It won't stop."
"Some times it does," Sam said.
"It doesn't have to."
Sam shrugged and said nothing.
"Okay, then," the voice said. "I called you about it, anyway."
"Thanks."
Sam turned away, still watching the road.
Far off a speck of metal gleamed, growing larger. The distant high sound of brakes began, as a car decelerated, coming toward the Stop.
It was just an ordinary car, Sam told himself. That other car was still hundreds of miles away. But his hands were damp as he watched it grow larger.
It was an ordinary Talman sedan, with two people in it. It swung into the Stop's parking area, and its doors slid open smoothly. A small red light flashed on its arched front. The repair signal. In response the doors of the Repair shop opened. The Talman waited, as a man and a woman emerged from its padded interior and moved slowly into the Repair shop. The doors closed behind it.
The couple came toward the restaurant, where Sam stood waiting.
"Hi," the man said to Sam.
"Afternoon." Sam moved to the counter. "Something to eat while you're waiting, folks?"
The tall, dark girl glanced out at the closed doors of the Repair shop.
"How long's that car going to take?" she asked in a tired voice. "I wanted to get home tonight."
"Not long," Sam said. "It didn't look like anything complicated."
"How can you tell?" the man asked, sitting down. "It could take all night."
"Like something to eat while you're waiting?" Sam asked.
The woman stared at the lunch racks critically.
"I never like these places to eat in," the woman said, curling her lip. "You never know how long the food's been stored in the robot."
"Oh, hell, Grace," the man said wearily. To Sam he gave an apologetic shrug. "Just coffee."
"Well, you don't know," the woman insisted. "I mean...." She watched Sam drawing the coffee into a cup. "I used to cook a lot, by hand, till Jack had the autokitchen put in. He never had any stomach trouble till then. It's getting so everything's ... oh, I don't know. It's all out of reach. You don't know what's happening any more. Like the car."
"I wish I knew what she's talking about half the time," Jack said, blowing on his coffee. Sam leaned on the counter, looking past the couple toward the empty road.
"I know what the lady means," Sam said, almost to himself. "You get to thinking ... well, I can remember when people used to drive their own cars. Themselves. Steering and everything, except on the biggest highways. And everything got done with people. People made things, and cooked food, and grew plants. Everybody was busy all the time. It was better then."
The man called Jack shrugged. "Sure, sure. Everybody always talks about the good old days. But I don't see many of 'em going to live in the woods. Like Grace—she says she doesn't like the autokitchen, but she uses it."
"It saves time," Grace said. "I guess I will have coffee, too, mister."
"It saves time, she says," Jack said. "For what? She's got too much time now."
"I wonder what it must have been like in the old days, here," Grace said vaguely, staring around the lunchroom. "Everybody running in and out. All the drivers—trucks, with men in them, the way you read about it in the historical novels. Men that drove their own cars, in all kinds of weather ... gee."
"Just like on TV," Sam said, grinning.
"I hope we get the car out of there pretty soon," Jack said anxiously. He glanced out toward the silent garage. "I always wonder what would happen if the machinery stuck, or something. How would you ever get your car out?"
"It doesn't get stuck," Sam said. A peculiar look crossed his face as he added, "Not any more."
"Did it ever?"
Sam shrugged. "Oh, well, you know twenty or thirty years ago all this automatic stuff wasn't quite so good as it is now. Cars, repair shops ... things went wrong, sometimes. Like ... like the Traveler."
"The Traveler?" The woman looked up. "Oh, that's just a ghost story. Like the Flying Dutchman. Isn't it?"
