Milagros' Chapter II (pt 1)
The second chapter of Milagros' journey. On our way to "trash duty," we meet a new friend who derails everything and starts this adventure anew.
This ride to Cosmopolytown low-key rules, if I’m being honest. It’s hot, it’s dry and what we can see of the desert skies are lined with fallen infrastructure. Burned-in hospitals, sunken skyscrapers, and miles of once-maintained concrete road now covered with 2 inches of blood orange dust.
But I love it. No one to answer to except for me. I’d take sweating in my outgrown jumpsuit over listening to Horatio’s infinite snoring any day.
E-107 is great company — quiet as a summer breeze when I want him to be, and a perfectly succinct conversationalist when I need a quick distraction to keep me focused. Like whenever dust from the road clouds my goggles, I ask E-107 some wild questions. Stuff like “Who was your first love?” or “What makes bolts boil?”. He always responds so kindly, with just a hint of snark that he definitely, for sure never learned from me. I don’t think he’s every actually felt love, but he pretends like he has whenever I ask. His answers are wild funny sometimes, as if they’re perfectly catered to making me smile. In a world where androids steal your free will, he gives me a special kind of hope.
It takes just over 3 hours to get to the outskirts. After I was done asking E-107 my wild questions, I got him to tune into the radio. There’s a radio tower somewhere out here that I’ve never seen, and I have no idea how it still operates. It has to be close-by enough, considering the signal fades maybe once or twice throughout the whole ride. The High World definitely doesn’t know it exists — honestly, I don’t see how they could care.
Forgotten tech, with a level of whimsy that makes me nostalgic for a time I never knew.
The broadcast is always the exact same, looping heavy metal music interspersed with what was an actual human DJ. I was so confused, so I asked Dorothea about it a long time ago. Apparently, even before Ignacio’s Rebellion, most music and curation was controlled by the High World. Androids, by nature, leaned to artificial artists and algorithmic DJs. It was pervasive enough that many humans in the big cities became desensitized. Everyone stopped paying attention to real-life artists, and music became almost exclusively background noise. Overlord Baris eventually used this ambivalence to his advantage, hiding dark messaging and manipulating listener’s actions. Cyborgs were especially vulnerable if their tech was on the cutting-edge. Keeping up with the latest usually meant free thinking was on its way out.
This radio DJ was always so fascinating to me. She was clearly a rebel, and probably would’ve been taken out (uh, killed) if this station were ever discovered by the High World. She’d go on 2-3 minute rants about the dangers of a coming android takeover, sensationalizing with powerful exclamations like “We are not free. We will never be free” or “Shut down your devices! Turn off your implants!” She barely ever talked about the music, maybe sometimes mentioning the artist name and song title if she really liked it.
It makes me wonder what life would be like, you know, without android overlords. Before discovering this station, I don’t think I ever considered what that could look like.
Basically, this DJ is my hero. I don’t know her name, or if she’s still around today. Soon enough, it’ll be my turn. My chance to clap back at the High World and bring my folks in the outskirts to a better life. Ambitious, I know, but I need something to keep me going. Picking up trash ain’t it.
More and more half-buildings come into view as the terrain gets slightly flatter and more level.
I yell over to E-107, over both the music and the motor hum. “Hey E, I know you’ll never forgive me for this, but I think it’s time to turn the music off.”
E-107 responds after a moment of processing “As you wish, Mili. I needn’t remind you that this does not and will not affect me. You are, however, still forgiven.“
The loud music is silenced. Even over my bike’s mega loud motor, there’s a faint, far away cacophony of clinks and clanks at the waste-yard 2 miles up the road.
“Let’s find a spot so that I can eat my rations away from the sun. I think I saw an old world petroleum oil tanker I could slip under about a half mile back, just off road.”
“Do you think it wise to veer off-road? You’re strong, Mili, but the dangers could be overwhelming.”
“We’ve done this song-and-dance a hundred times, E! ‘Yes, I know its unwise o’ great protector helper E-107, but I must insist’”
“You needn’t mock me. No need to be rude. Your attempt at mimicking my voice is not good. Indeed, it is terrible.”
“Just turn around, my bolt-brained friend. I want a break, my tank could use the petrol, and I’m in charge.”
“As you wish. I reiterate - there’s no need to be rude.”
I scowl just before we pull a 180 toward the tanker. It was a bit smaller than I expected up close, but shade is shade. E and I get up close. He swaps over to his original bipedal form, creating a cough-inducing whirlwind of blood orange debris. I swat the dust away chaotically, glaring my side-eye at E-107. He walks a little ways away to play lookout, unknowing.
I look deranged in the tanker’s reflection. Basically like a cartoon dust bunny after a cartoon explosion when I prop my goggles on the top of my head. It’s high noon, and the sun has done more than enough to blind me today, so I scurry under the tanker and open up my pack. As I set it aside, I realize there’s remarkably few things in here — some water in a canteen, 2 packs of mixed rations meant to last the day, and an old world solar-powered navigator for if I get separated from E somehow. I think at some point the navigator could do a whole bunch of things, but I’ve only ever gotten it to show me directions and tell me “sorry, I can’t do that.” E-107 has plenty that he can do, including navigation, and we’re metaphorically attached at the hip these days.
The rations are a mix of solid nutrient chunks within a gel-like paste, meant to make it easily digestible. It’s edible, but I stop myself from gagging at least twice a meal. I nibble at edge of the first rations pack, being careful to only tear at a small part of its corner. Despite my best efforts, my hand slips and at least a quarter of its contents fall to the ground. I mutter something to myself before quickly shoving the corner into my mouth before the rest falls.
I’m much too busy finishing my slop rations to notice something rustling underneath the tanker. A tiny, pale-green bulb plops out from the sand, going entirely unnoticed between my slurping and E’s lack of sensitivity to tiny dangers. Within a few moments, that bulb sprouts cute little 4-fingered paws, and big piercing eyes that match its now pear-shaped pale green torso.
“Hello friend!” the mystery creature yells next to my ear.
I jump up from my seat and hit my head with a loud yelp. In my headache-induced daze, I turn around to see what I assume to be a tiny artifice. I freeze, completely unaware of what to do next. At this point, E-107 finally springs into action. He dives underneath the tanker and launches his hands toward the creature. The tiny artifice hops nimbly out from E’s grasp, plopping itself gently on top of his head.
“He’s a slow one, isn’t he? He’s what - 7th, 8th gen?”
E-107 and I both scramble up to our feet and inch backwards, facing the tiny creature. It’s a stand-off. Tiny green monster on one side of the tank, me and E on the other. Sweat-drenched and breathing heavy, I slowly shuffle toward my bike while facing the green “artifice”. There’s a wrench I can use as a weapon.
After about 10 seconds of stand-off, I break for the bike.
“Wait! Wait!!!!! Where are you running?” yells the little green guy.
Our mystery adversary starts toward me. E-107 stops it in its tracks, forming a metal body shield between us and the bike. It traverses E-107’s limbs quickly, jumping on and around him toward me.
I reach the bike, but our little green friend gets there just in time to latch onto my jumpsuit. I shake it off furiously.
”Get OFF!!”
It manages to stay attached through all of my flailing before hopping onto my bike’s seat. We both stop and stare at one another, panting.
“This is not how you treat the leading man! Just hear me out, would you?”
“I don’t want to go to a cyborg ranch! I’ll never let you take my brain and I’ll never let you be my android prisoner!”
The green creature scoffs. “I am not, and by nature can never be, a villain. I am no artifice, and am not beholden to any unknown great power. I am the people, after all. The hero here to bring our savior back to our leader, you see. An honorable and dutiful protagonist by all rights!”
I stand dumbfounded. At first I held my ground through my confusion, but then some dust props up into my mouth and I cough violently.
“You! Robot! Get our savior a beverage to quench her thirst. Quickly! With haste!”
E-107 processes, but ultimately stands his ground.
“Ahh, you still see me as a threat. Tsk, tsk, lets get some more processing neurons into that metal head of yours soon, eh? I will not hurt young madam. You have my word, and thus my confidence. You’re welcome. Now please, go fetch!”
E-107 finally moves toward the pack I left underneath the tanker. He returns to me with the water, never losing eye contact with the creature.
I drink the water, cough a bit more, and breathe deeply for a moment.
“I’m not scared of you!”
The small green creature chuckles haughtily. “I would certainly hope not, as I have now repeatedly made my case! For the world to be my stage, I must be the warmth I’d like to see returned. For I’ve learned quite a bit from my human compatriots, on the language of civility and the assurances required to win the people!”
“Human…friends? So if you’re not an artifice, then what are you? Why are you here?!”
The green creature pauses, and straightens up elegantly, still on the bike seat.
“Well, you should by all accounts first know my name! I am Lightwell, a candie of the southern province. I am here for one reason and one reason only - to escort you to the foundation.”