Parched by Georgia Clark Page B

about to turn into an animal right about now,” I warn my uncle.
    He chuckles, pleased. “Go for it.”
    I aim my fork at the rice, about to strike, when I hear something. Distant yelling. I glance up. It’s the news stream Abel was watching. Floating in the lounge room is a holo of a group of Badlanders. They are running as if their lives depend on it. Their faces are strained and terrible. My fork clatters to the table. “Kimiko, turn that up!”
    The sound of the crisp news stream fills the room: “—was attacked today by illegal immigrants from the Badlands. More than thirty outlaws stormed the Northern Bridge border crossing—”
    The Guider’s voice fades in my ears as I stare at dozens of Badlanders racing across the empty bridge toward the white walls of Eden. Bare feet hit the concrete. Some leave stamps of blood. They are being chased by a dozen black-and-silver substitutes, running with inhuman speed. With a sharp charge of fear, I recognize them. “Quicks.”
    Abel nods, face impassive. “Quicks.”
    One of mom’s colleagues in the Innovation department—a bald man with a turned-down mouth whom I referred to as Frog—was working on the design of these new substitutes before I left. I didn’t like Frog and I didn’t like the designs. I’m sure he only showed me the floating schematics to frighten me.
    At six feet tall, with two arms and two legs, they’re the most lifelike of any substitute I’ve ever seen. Unlike Kimiko, who looks cute and helpful, these powerful substitutes are terrifying. Their eyes gleam bloodred. They move like lightning. They are meant for disaster relief—even though there hasn’t been a natural disaster in decades, Eden isn’t immune to house fires or buzzcar crashes. Quicks are supposed to help people, and they do it, as their name suggests, quickly.
    It looks like border patrol also falls into their skill set.
    The Quicks overtake the Badlanders on the bridge. Their metal bodies interlock to form a barrier, an impenetrable fence of black and silver. The Badlanders are at an impasse. Before any of them can begin climbing over the solid wall of Quicks, a dozen Tranquils catch up. The first brings his baton down hard on a man’s leg. A bloody shard of bone sticks through the shin. Another Tranq has his gloved hand around a woman’s throat while she claws at it in horror, choking for breath. My hand clamps over my mouth, stifling a sharp cry. She looks like a younger version of Mileka.
    The voice-over continues impassively. “The outlaws made it approximately halfway across the Northern Bridge before they were detained by Tranquils.”
    Detained?
Yeah, right. I wonder how many of the Badlanders were beaten to death by the Tranqs, right there on the bridge. Substitutes can’t kill people. But Tranquils can.
    â€œGyan called today’s incident a victory for all Edenites.”
    The stream cuts to a meeting of Guiders. A life-sized holo of Gyan stands at the front in his bright yellow robes. He enunciates every word with perfect diction: the voice of a born leader. “Once again, the Trust has ensured that all Edenites remain safe and secure. We will not stand for attacks by criminals determined to undermine our freedom.”
    I feel sick. Those people on the bridge weren’t criminals or terrorists. They were scared, desperate, and dying.
    Gyan continues, “I know some have already called the Badlanders in question terrorists. That’s open to debate, but I can say that thanks to the swift action of the Tranquils on duty, Edenites can sleep well knowing that these criminals are kept far away from our children and our homes.”
    â€œIs this attack a consequence of cutting off Moon Lake?” an unseen person calls out.
    â€œYes, it appears so,” Gyan answers gravely. “The Trust was hoping for a smooth transition as the Badlands became its own