The train ripped around an arced track, its metal bottom screeching against the electric rails as it rushed toward a huge, white dome at the base of a lopsided city. On one side of the city stood tall, white buildings and skyscrapers guarded by UEA planes. Flying cars zipped in between the shadows of the buildings. On the other side stretched a flat skyline, barely visible underneath the dome. A brown hue of dust hung over it, almost as if it were permanent. There were no airplanes flying over, no flying cars, no LCD screens on the sides of buildings. Though the city was just next door, it sat like a silent, quiet neighbor. A universe two universes away.
“Never been here,” X said as the white dome neared. He opened his window, letting in dusty air. It gathered on his face and he detected ash and cinder. He tried to fathom what was in the badlands. Even though he had researched the area during the long train ride, he still didn’t know if he understood its storied history completely.
Shortcut sat next to him. When the dust pervaded their cabin and began to coat his arms and legs, he coughed and shut the window.
“What are you trying to do, suffocate us?”
X wiped a layer of dust from his cheek, studying its thickness before sticking his hand over the trash can and flicking the dust inside. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it would be so thick.”
Shortcut’s eyes watered and he wiped them with his shirt. “I definitely don’t miss the dust in this place.” His face wrinkled up as he fought the urge to sneeze.
A huge burp distracted X from replying, and the smell of ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise filled the cabin. Jazzlyn, who sat across from them, crumpled up aluminum foil from the hamburger she had just finished and tossed it in the trash can next to her seat. She slouched down, rubbing her stomach. Then she laughed and sighed with relaxation. Dust had gathered in her rainbow-colored hair, but it didn’t faze her.
“You eat more than anybody I’ve ever met,” Shortcut said, disgusted.
“So?” Jazzlyn asked.
“You ate a filet mignon, chicken curry, two hard-boiled eggs, two servings of green bean casserole, cheesecake, and just now—a hamburger. Ever heard of vegetables?”
“I don’t get the luxury of eating good food that often,” Jazzlyn said. “I stockpile it when I do.”
“Well, you’re eating at the UEA’s expense,” X said. “Don’t abuse your privilege.”
Jazzlyn’s ankle monitor beeped and green lights flashed on it. “Thanks for reminding me,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“It’s calibrating,” Shortcut said. His lens lit up and he studied the monitor, looking at Jazzlyn and through her at the same time. “Headquarters sends a signal every minute to detect your location, so don’t get any crazy ideas.”
Jazzlyn sighed and looked out the window. “We’re getting closer.”
“Yeah,” Shortcut said. “We’re definitely not in the UEA anymore. I thought I’d never return home again.”
Jazzlyn laughed. “You’re lying.”
“What are you talking about?” Shortcut asked.
“You aren’t from the badlands,” Jazzlyn said. “No way a little snowflake like you could live here.”
“My parents moved to the badlands when I was in high school,” Shortcut said. “Trust me, I know the rules here.”
Jazzlyn puffed.
“What’s your interpretation of the history here, then?” X asked.
“It’s more like a novel,” Jazzlyn said. She grabbed a tablet attached to the wall and used it to order a milkshake. “During the singularity, the androids created their own city, Terminus. They managed to stockpile a bunch of missiles. Just after humanity beat them, they launched a round of missiles, devastating North America. Thank God we weren’t alive back then, because they say it was pretty horrible. The UEA was created shortly after that, but there were a ton of people who felt that androids were the cause of humanity’s problems. They didn’t join the UEA—instead, they rebuilt their homes and focused on ‘dumb’ robotics and being eco-friendly.”
“But why do they call it the badlands?” X asked. “I couldn’t find the origin of the word in the UEA database.”
“Because the UEA hates this place. Back then, if you weren’t a fan of androids, you weren’t welcome in the UEA. The missile damage destroyed the roads and communication infrastructures, so it was hard to travel across the North American landscape for a few years. Since there were no android police, crime went up, too. The UEA protected itself and isolated its citizens from the crime. Whatever was inside the UEA walls was good, and everything outside was bad—hence the name. All around the world, people either sided with the UEA or decided to go back to the land and live like humans used to, with limited robotics.”
“Obviously they don’t like androids here,” X said. He frowned and stroked his goatee, his mind mapping out millions of scenarios per second.
“Worse,” Jazzlyn said. The door to the cabin opened, and a robotic server entered and handed her a banana milkshake. She opened the lid and sniffed the foamy surface, filling the room with the dull, sweet smell of bananas. “That’s why you have to keep a low profile, X. There are gangs of android hunters roaming around. Android parts command high prices in the badlands.”
“There isn’t any form of justice?” X asked.
Jazzlyn snorted a laugh. “You’d have to be stupid to take on those guys. The android hunters, when they’re not hunting androids, are bandits and looters. They’re scum.”
“Kind of like you,” Shortcut said, folding his arms.
Jazzlyn threw her milkshake at Shortcut. It bounced off his head and splattered against the carpet.
“Hey!”
“I have to make a living somehow,” Jazzlyn said. “Don’t knock my life choices. You think you know me, but you don’t.”
Shortcut lunged toward Jazzlyn, but X grabbed him by the shirt collar. He slipped on the puddle of milkshake and fell on his back.
“Enough bickering,” X said. “We’re here to catch Jeanette Crenshaw, not fight over our personal lives.”
The train rolled into a station. The building’s concrete walls were covered with moss and creeper that billowed from the wind of the train and gave the area a water-kissed, verdant smell. Crowds of people flowed across the platform—some well-dressed with glowing lenses, others in dusty, regular, unmodified clothes that made them look like walking relics. X had never seen humans without modifications. Not in person.
As they stepped out of the train, an intercom announced their arrival and listed the next departures for the day. Futuristic jazz filled the area, an upbeat, welcoming song.
Jazzlyn wove her way through the crowd on the platform. X and Shortcut followed her down a long metal staircase with a mosaic of the flags of the world painted on its steps. When they reached a sidewalk at the bottom, it branched into two paths.
The first path was clean; it led toward a checkpoint manned with UEA android agents who scanned people before admitting them through the gates. The tall, white buildings of the UEA satellite city rose behind.
The second path continued downward. It opened into a large atrium full of trash and graffiti. X detected a faint scent of urine in the air.
They started down the second path, rubbing shoulders with the locals as they made their way toward the exit. On one wall, broken LCD screens played advertisements for UEA products. No one paid attention to them, as if the screens were just there for white noise. On the opposite wall, paper posters were tacked against the moss, advertising hotels, services and robotic products.
As the narrow path opened up into the dirty atrium, they stepped around a group of cleaning bots traveling slowly in a straight line on the floor, brooms extended from their fronts and cleaning solution trailing from their backs.
They entered a constellation of street vendors standing next to their wooden carts, holding out food samples and shouting to anyone who would hear them.
“Pickles! Get your dusty pickles right here!”
“Fried chees
ecake!”
“Come and get a Bandit Burger!”
“Outlaw Salads, a badlands staple!”
Jazzlyn bought an Outlaw Salad—a salad bowl full of spinach, cut-up hot dogs, eggs, and Tabasco sauce. X thought it was a strange combination, and he could only imagine how a human’s taste buds would react to the explosion of Tabasco sauce mixed with cool, crisp spinach.
“Finally, some vegetables,” Shortcut said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t criticize it until you’ve tried it,” Jazzlyn said, shoveling food in her mouth as she walked.
They approached the exit, a line of metal French doors that ran the length of the building. Above, a giant, circular stained glass window filtered colorful light, creating star shapes on the floor. A long line of people gathered at the doors waiting to exit, but only one door was working. The rest were barricaded with steel beams.
X’s algorithm chip buzzed. “Something’s not right,” he said.
Jazzlyn hushed him. “Listen, X. This place is weird, but you have to trust me: keep a low profile or you’ll cause trouble.”
X acknowledged her but didn’t respond.
“There is a toll up ahead,” Jazzlyn said. “The people who run it are pieces of you-know-what, but whatever they say or do to you, just shut up and pay the toll. Don’t be a hero. There’ll be time for that later.”
“She’s right, X,” Shortcut said. “Be cool.”
X looked back toward the UEA checkpoint. “Since when do you have to pay to get into the badlands? The train tickets included customs.”
A man in a leather hoodie, jeans, and nose piercings was standing at the door with a lapel microphone clipped to his shirt. He had messy blonde hair and a lens—the first X had seen since arriving at the station. Next to him, an android in a leather hoodie collected cash from people in line. He was bald and his scalp looked like a mannequin’s—full of holes and desperately needing hair. The seams on his neck were loose, revealing the circuit boards inside.
“Fifteen dollars to get home, folks,” the hood said. “If you don’t pay, the android’ll make you pay.”
A man in line yelled at them. “You’re just a hoodlum. Get out of the way and let us through. Go rip off someone else!”
The android’s eyes glowed red. He stepped forward, grabbed the man and threw him through a window, cutting him severely. The man crashed to the ground in a flurry of glass and lay in his own blood.
The hood laughed. “Who’s tough now, buddy?” He walked over the man’s arms, the bones cracking beneath his feet. He reached down and grabbed the man’s wallet, grinning. “Now you pay extra. Hope you can afford the medical bills.”
The hood returned to the line and continued taking tolls as if the man wasn’t there, even though he had blood on his boots and had tracked a trail of it into the station.
X started toward the man, but Shortcut held him back.
“But who’s going to respond to that man’s injury?” X whispered.
The injured man rolled onto his side and coughed out blood. After a few unsuccessful tries, he balanced himself shakily and shambled down the street, his broken arms hanging at his side. He walked with a determined look in his face and almost lost his footing every few steps.
“You forgot something,” the hood cried, tossing the man’s suitcase after him. It hit the shambling man on the head and knocked him out.
X expected to hear gasps, to see people run to the man’s aid, but the rest of the line continued as though the incident had never happened. Just a few nervous eyes twitched in the man’s direction.
X whispered to Jazzlyn. “We can’t sit here and watch as he—”
One of the bystanders finally stepped out of line and went to help the man, kneeling next to him. X relaxed a little, and he focused his sights coldly on the hood and the android.
“See?” Jazzlyn said. “You don’t have to be the hero every time.”
They reached the gate. Jazzlyn and Shortcut paid their fee, but X hesitated.
“Pay up,” the android said.
X calculated the possible scenarios: he could punch the android and it would probably break apart, but that would evoke the wrath of whatever neighboring gang ran the toll. He could pay, but that would condone the actions of the gang, and add money to their cause.
Shortcut gave him a ‘hurry up’ look, and his algorithm chip settled on paying the toll. With a quick blink, he recorded the faces of the hood and the android in case he ever saw them again.
He paid and passed into the street, where the wind kicked up a cloud of dust. Jazzlyn and Shortcut both held bandanas over their mouths. Shortcut looked at X and handed him a gray bandana.
“This is to blend in,” Shortcut said. “And too much dust will screw up your circuits.”
Dust gathered in X’s throat and he spit out a spray. He could feel it collecting in pockets on the insides of his mouth; his algorithm chip buzzed and warned him about his dust intake. He tied the bandana around his face and the buzzing stopped, but he could still feel the dust building up around his eyes.
He scanned the street. The avenue of tall buildings and skyscrapers was deathly silent; the buildings were full of broken windows, their bowels empty and scarred with the evidence of fire and bombs. The street smelled like cinder and burning dust—a fire must have been burning somewhere. Some of the buildings sagged, and it looked as if a strong wind would send them toppling to the ground.
“Did they ever clean up this place?” X asked.
“These buildings are relics,” Jazzlyn said. “The badlanders left downtown in ruins because it’s so close to the UEA. It’s an immediate reminder of the devastation of the singularity. This place looks nicer the further out you go. You don’t see as many hoods, either.”
They approached a line of flying, yellow taxis hovering in neutral, their drivers leaning against the cars sullenly.
Jazzlyn motioned to a taxi driver. “We’re going to the Sterling Circuit Hotel.”
The taxi driver, a dark-skinned man smoking an electronic cigarette and wearing a brown coat and baseball cap, nodded and opened the door for them.
The inside of the taxi smelled like smoke and sweat, thick enough to peel out of the air. Glass and bars separated them from the driver. Once they were in safely, the driver rocketed down the street and into a thoroughfare full of flying cars.
X watched as the decrepit city zipped by. He thought he understood the human need for reminders and warnings of the past, but he couldn’t empathize with disorder and chaos.
They sat in silence. Jazzlyn watched the surroundings with cat-like intensity, and when the taxi driver took a left turn down a long, abandoned street, she tapped on the glass.
“You could’ve taken a faster route,” Jazzlyn said.
The taxi driver put on a blinker. “Almost there.”
“He’s not talkative,” X said.
“No one in the badlands is,” Shortcut said.
The driver pulled into an alley with a dead end. X’s algorithm chip buzzed as shadows covered the car. Jazzlyn pulled a gun and pointed it at the driver’s head.
“I knew you would try this. Turn back. Now.”
“Bulletproof glass, lady,” the driver said, smirking.
Almost faster than even X could see, Jazzlyn slipped out of the car and stood at the window, tapping the driver’s temple with her gun. “Who’s bulletproof now?”
A gang of hoods came out of the shadows and surrounded the taxi.
“What do you suggest now?” X asked.
“Be cool,” Shortcut said. He and X stayed in the shadows and watched Jazzlyn. X gripped the plastic door handle so hard that it broke, and he let the pieces fall through his fingers onto the floor, not taking his eyes off the gang.
“Put the gun away,” said the hood in charge. He was covered in tattoos from head to toe. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Like hell you aren’t.” Jazzlyn aimed at the tattooed hood, who grinned at her.
&
nbsp; “We’re just trying to welcome you to this lovely place,” the hood said. “But we have to warn you—it’s awfully dangerous.”
“We hadn’t noticed that,” Jazzlyn sneered.
“We offer an incredible insurance policy,” the hood said. “Peace of mind. Two thousand dollars per person and each of you gets a red sticker.” He held up a roll of stickers with red smiley faces on them. “Wear ‘em on your chest during your time at the hotel and you’ll have a magical stay. Guaranteed.”
“And if we don’t buy your scammy protection service?” Jazzlyn asked.
“No peace of mind,” the hood said, kicking the side of the taxi. “No insurance.”
“How do we know that your red sticker isn’t an invitation to rob us?”
“We’re a reputable gang,” the hood said. “You obviously haven’t been here long enough to know that Lax is king around here.”
Shortcut leaned out of the window and whispered, “Just pay.”
“Five hundred per person,” Jazzlyn said. “And we get the stickers.”
“Ha ha!” the hood said, folding his arms. “Any other fool would’ve paid. So we know you ain’t rich. Fifteen hundred.”
“Seven-fifty, or I’m going to destroy every last one of you.”
She fired a shot into the taxi and shattered the driver’s side window. The taxi driver covered his head, and the gang members jumped and took a few steps back.
The tattooed hood paused, thought for a moment and then said, “Okay. We’ll still make a profit at that amount. Put your gun away.”
Jazzlyn motioned to X and Shortcut to pay, and they handed the hood cash in exchange for red stickers. A small ring of text surrounded the smiley faces: I WAS GOOD AND PAID MY FEE TODAY!
X shook his head as he peeled the sticker off and put it on his chest. “This better be worth it.”
“Ssh,” Shortcut said.
“Enjoy your stay,” the hood said, counting the money. He handed a crisp hundred to the taxi driver.
Android X: The Complete Series Page 26
