Reclined

 

As he approaches the station, the knees of the enormous robot lady loom over the platform. Wet leaves are one thing, points failures, a slow moving preceding train, but how are they going to explain this one?

 

"I'm sorry, but the 0744 to Dorridge is delayed by approximately 14 minutes. This is due to a collapsed female automaton on the track. We are sorry for the delay to your journey."

 

'14 minutes'? Perhaps forever. Depends if they are able to figure out how to wake her up and convince her to move on. Depends if she is even 'alive'. You know, in a robotic sense.

 

He consults his timetable, looks at his watch, tuts and sighs, in the manner of delayed passengers everywhere, throughout all time. Time... maybe that's it... maybe the massive metal madam has travelled through time. Maybe the trauma of the journey has tired her out or fried her circuits or something.

 

"Excuse me," he says to a train guard, "is there going to be a replacement bus service?"

 

"It's too early to say at this time," says the guard, sounding for all the world like a surgeon who is being pestered for a premature prediction as to the outcome of a bypass.

 

"Thanks," says the commuter - not really meaning it, but being British, feeling like he has to say it, lest the magnetic polarity of the planet suddenly do a backflip, reversing gravity and flinging them all off into Space.

 

Well that would get the enormous robot lady off the track - thinks the commuter pointlessly.

 

...

 

He consults his timetable, looks at his watch, tuts and sighs.

 

"I'm sorry, but the 0744 to Dorridge is delayed by approximately 26 minutes..."

 

 

Is the train arriving?

 

He holds his breath, cocks his head to one side.

 

 

No, it can't be - what about the enormous robot lady on the track?

 

 

He remembers the Rice Crispies he had for breakfast. Breakfast-time... when the world was a different place... a normal place... where trains were rarely delayed by more than 3-4 minutes and enormous robot ladies didn't suddenly appear to bugger up your chances of doing a bit of overtime.

 

"Maybe I can make it up tomorrow..."

 

"Pardon?" says a female commuter who is mid-tweet on her iPhone.

 

"Nothing."

 

Another snap, crackle and pop, which he now realises is not Rice Crispies or an incoming train, but judging by the accompanying sparks thereto, appears to be emanating from the giant robotic knee.

 

"I'm sorry, but the 0744 to Dorridge is-"

 

"Shut up!"

 

And surprisingly it does.

 

That is to say, as the giant robotic knee begins to straighten and the other giant robotic knee begins to push itself up, the recorded announcement stops midflow, to be replaced by...

 

 

A sort of feminine-ish groan.

 

As of a lady who has slept for a thousand years and is starting to emerge into wakefulness.

 

"Ooh," go the assembled commuters.

 

Groan - goes the voice on the tannoy.

 

"Is that a train I hear?" goes the Rice Crispie eater, as the enormous robot lady quickly stands, her eyes flash a blinding white and an ear-piercing metallic scream is emitted through the tannoy.

 

As the train thunders into the station, the enormous robot lady leaps a thousand feet into the air.

 

...