Johnny and the God Machine

Three-hundred years into the future, the best prime real-estate was not to be found on Earth's once pristine shorelines, nor the sprawling country sides. Both terrains had become far too overdeveloped and stagnant for the market. The new 'it' that brought the greatest returns on peoples' investments is now land on moon, both on the lunar surface and underground. John Mahmoud's father had suspected such a scenario several years ago, which is why he bought a good few square kilometers of land with the intent to create as many spacious, domed vacation homes on the property as possible. This is also the reason why John Mahmoud now found himself two-hundred meters underneath the moon's surface at the helm of a monochrome Lunar Grinder G-90, a drilling machine capable of tunneling through more than three hundred meters of moon rock in half a day.

John felt powerful inside the driller, though a little out of place. Clad in a yellow life suit, guaranteed to provide two and a half hours of oxygen outside of a dome or a vehicle, he felt like the only piece of color around. He continued to promote the machine forward through the rock, feeling like a sculptor with an oversized chisel and a great big hunk of rock to work with.

The particular tunnel that John was commissioned to drill through was required by the International Space Federation Agency, an international regulatory body from which an ever-growing list of rules and regulations erupted each year to appease the never ending complaints the world's governments came up with. Among the regulations was the requirement that all colonies, domed or otherwise, be connected to a main tunnel network that branched from Lunar Port One. All this was fair enough in John's mind, as the network provided an extra means of emergency escape. Even if life-threatening lunar emergencies -- usually because of asteroids -- had decreased by 98% since 2280, private companies would never hear the end of it if they neglected to provide extra provisions.

John sighed. The work was technical but dull, and he had operated the driller enough for it to be routine; he didn't have to think about which lever to pull or which button did what. Due to his father's own personal rules, John was unable to entertain himself with a portable TV or even a simple magazine. He was resigned to his thoughts while his hands operated the drill.

John had grown up Muslim, like his parents. Walid, his father, had decided to give him a traditional Western name so his family could appear like they were integrating with the culture they lived in, even if their family had been in the Greater Union of California for the past 150 years. Despite his heritage, John had lost his religion like one might lose a childhood toy. It was something that was important to him once, but over time had become neglected and then forgotten.

His train of thought suddenly crashed as the drill ground against impenetrable rock, bringing the machine to a jolting halt. Sparks flew from the drill with such ferocity that John was nearly blinded inside his cockpit. He switched off the drill to minimize damage to it, though the material it was made of ought to make any external damage impossible. He felt aggravated that that he'd have to exit the machine and look around the rock to see what he'd run up against, especially since he only had a quarter of an hour before he could call it quits for the day. Grumbling, he sealed up his suit and climbed out in front of the drill.