29. Derailment
The synesthesia between me and Jinri was so intense that the beauty of the scenery outside the train paled in comparison, not even reaching a millionth of the emotion we felt.
As a result, the second carriage we were in lost its coupling and was detached.
We were in the second carriage, right behind the first one with the driver's cabin. But the first carriage abandoned us, and even the third carriage and beyond refused to stay connected, severing their ties with us.
The second carriage, carrying only us, began speeding southward in solitude.
Meanwhile, the first carriage and those from the third onward, as if a lizard casually shedding its bothersome tail, smoothly headed toward their original destination—likely north—matching speeds and reconnecting with ease.
From the window of our second carriage, drifting further south, I could see them gradually shrinking into the distance.
The third carriage took the place of our second one, and the train continued toward the border as scheduled.
"This is bad," I said to Jinri, staring at the receding train.
"We've derailed."
"Well…" Jinri replied in a calm tone, showing no particular surprise.
"Maybe we're still missing something to reach the border."
"Missing something? Like what?" I shot back, frustration creeping into my voice.
"We got these fine uniforms and we're wearing them properly. We earned a ton of money, paid more than enough for the train fare. We could've practically chartered the whole train!"
"That might be the problem," Jinri explained.
"Maybe we paid *too* much."
"Too much of a good thing is as bad as too little, huh?"
A slight electric jolt ran through my CPU.
"Looks like it," Jinri nodded.
"So, what do we do?" I asked.
She answered, "We'll just have to reduce the money."
"I see," I understood instantly. "We had so much money that its weight was a burden on the train. That's why it cut us loose."
"Seems like it. Even though there were no other passengers, the two of us alone slowed the train down significantly. It must've judged that it couldn't reach the border on time with us aboard."
"On time, huh? That's important," I agreed.
"Yeah," Jinri nodded.
"Failing to keep a promise is the same as lying. For a robot, that's equivalent to death. So, keeping us onboard would've meant breaking that promise. Cutting us off was probably the only option—it's the most logical explanation."
"So, life matters more than money," I concluded.
"Well, the train's a robot too, in a way," she said.
With that conclusion, we had no choice but to find a way to lighten the carriage's load.
"Is there a place where we can burn through a ton of money quickly?" I asked.
Jinri replied, "In Tropical Night City, I'm sure there are plenty of places like that. But first, we need to figure out how to stop this second carriage."
"True…"
While we sorted out the situation, the lone second carriage kept racing forward with no destination.
For the sake of this carriage, we had to stop it first.
"How do you think we can stop it?" I asked.
Jinri gazed out the window with sleepy yet beautiful eyes.
"It feels like we're gliding over the sea on a sightseeing boat. Maybe we just wait it out like we're on vacation."
"But I don't have time to drift aimlessly," I protested. "Can't we steer this thing somehow? Jinri, you're a taxi driver—you must know a thing or two about vehicles. Do something!"
"I'll try!"
Her voice perked up, as if thrilled to be given a task.
It's a natural instinct for a humanoid robot to feel joy in following orders.
Orders from humans are one thing, but I hadn't expected her to react so strongly to a request from another humanoid robot.
Jinri stood up from her seat and began pacing around the carriage. I followed her, wandering through the empty, chartered interior that felt almost like a camper van, free to use as we pleased.
"Ah!" Jinri suddenly exclaimed.
"What?"
"I found it!" Her eyes sparkled.
"Found what?" I asked.
"The autopilot button!"
She pointed to a red, square switch positioned between the window and the door, like a bus's stop button.
With enthusiasm, she pressed it hard. A commanding warning sound blared through the carriage, and suddenly, its speed surged.
"Entering emergency autopilot mode," an announcement declared as the train accelerated further.
"Hey!" Jinri called out, scanning the carriage for the speaker.
"Take us to the border!"
"That is not possible," came the cold, immediate response.
"Why not?" I jumped in.
"You are currently derailed," the voice answered.
"How do we get back on the main line?"
"It is neither possible nor necessary to return to the main line."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" I asked, barely containing my irritation.
The voice took on an even more mechanical tone.
"Please provide a new destination. I will guide you there."
"Fine," I said. "We don't want to go anywhere but the border."
"In that case, I will select a destination for you. Please comply."
"Alright."
If the choice was being made for us, that wasn't so bad.
Choosing is far more complex for a humanoid robot than the Millennium Problems.
So, I gladly left it to the carriage.
Suddenly, the carriage began to play an orchestral melody.
It treated the rails heading south as musical beats, weaving a rhythmic harmony. The sequence of sounds felt like the carriage was holding an internal meeting or grappling with self-doubt, expressing its thought process.
Within 0.045 seconds, the "meeting" concluded, and the carriage abruptly decelerated.
Caught by inertia, Jinri and I tumbled forward, crashing into the carriage wall.
Then, drawn in by the carriage's voice, an announcement rang out:
"Proceeding to the power plant."
"The power plant?" I echoed, chewing on the words without much thought.
As a humanoid robot powered by electricity, I knew power plants existed. But I had no memory of ever visiting one—though there might be a buried record of a visit in my lost memories. Still, my gut told me I'd never been. There'd never been a reason to go.
"If we take the money there, can we burn through it?" Jinri asked, her practical question earning my gratitude as I waited for the response.
The carriage answered promptly:
"Yes. The power plant is the most resource-intensive facility in Tropical Night City. It is possible to deplete your funds at light speed."
"Perfect," I said, my voice regaining some energy.
"Then take us there on autopilot, pronto."
"Understood."
And so, we set off for Tropical Night City's power plant.
To squander our money.