...because all men are brothers

    “‘Bout fuckin’ time, look, he’s coming up over there.” The man on the bench beside me tapped my thigh and pointed down the darkened maglev tracks. “Twenty minutes out in the cold, Christ… now don’t you think they should run these fuckin’ trains on time? I only gotta go one stop away, might be faster for me to walk at this point, huh, sweetheart?” He spoke in a mumbling slur, shaking his head, swathed in a stained maroon North Face parka.

    I leaned forward and looked down the track. Aside from us, the platform was empty, lit hesitantly by blue OLED panels that flickered on a collection of dirty benches and overflowing rubbish bins. Silent fields of scrubby grass, gray in the moonlight, extended to the hills on one side; the plant lights glowed behind me.

    “I said hey, don’t you think– this shit needs to be run on time? Eh?” The man jostled pointedly against my shoulder, smelling like cigarettes and Mexican food.

    “I think it’s because of the fighting in the hills,” I said, getting up from the bench and taking a step towards the tracks. Holding onto my bag, I leaned out, just making out the glow of a headlamp around the long dark bend.

    “Fighting?” His rough accent was hard to place. American. “I didn’t hear about no fighting.”

    “Yeah, there are, um, French fascists who ran into some Libyan jihadists, I think…” Getting out my tabula made my fingers cold. I put my thumb on the biometric scanner to unlock it and check Xinhua.

    In the darkness, the glowing screen was brilliant in my palm. Anglo-American security forces have been deployed to the Marine le Pen Range in response to reports of conflict between guerrilla groups. “I don’t know. I work for an agriculture company – they told us to go home because it was dangerous. I usually work until six in the morning.”

    He nodded sagely and got up to stand beside me as the maglev came closer. The light glared yellow on the platform, casting long shadows. “Attention. The train to New Alberta via Jemison and Sagan is now arriving,” said the speaker system.

    The maglev pulled up to the platform, three smooth white cars inset with gleaming black window panels. A holographic ad for Stolichnaya vodka hovered in the air above it, Soviet Union silver and red against the night sky. With a smooth whir, the middle car doors slid open and we stepped in.

    “You from China, sweetheart?” he asked abruptly, as we sat down on opposing white benches. Shifting rainbow mood lights backlit the plastic ceiling, changing shade as the train accelerated.

    I put my bag in my lap. “Yeah,” I said. “Um, Tianjin.” Through the window, distant flashes lit up the hills. My grip on the bag tightened.

    A smile shifted his gray mustache. “You know, I went to Tianjin, fifty years back in World War III. Served President Brown five years.” Five callused fingers emerged from a sweater cuff in demonstration. “Yes, ma’am, in the Marines. Squad. Automatic. Rifleman.”

    In spite of six landing attempts, NATO had never been able to establish a beachhead at Tianjin. They’d emphasized it in school: six times they’d pushed, and six times our air force had blown their amphibious assault craft out of the water.

    I smiled back, as authentically as I could but still a bit painfully. “I’m glad to hear it, sir. Your countrymen must appreciate your service.”

    “Ah, they treat me like shit, but thanks. Thank you.” He chuckled and nodded, his coat shifting a bit as he leaned back in the seat. Trees were whipping past outside now, deep red and green. “Five fuckin’ years. Crazy, right?”

    The projection on the ceiling showed a speed of 325 km/h and 90 seconds to the next stop. “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head and giving a laugh about as authentic as my prior smile. “Absolutely crazy.”

    “You know,” he said, “you’ve got a nice smile. Anybody ever say that to you? A nice smile.”

    I was starting to remember why not to take the maglev home at twelve AM. “Yes, people have said it, thank you.” Were the cars automated? They probably were. But there was always a security officer on duty – I glanced through the window in the service door, relaxing a bit when I saw the blue shirt and pistol.

    “Now I’m not going to say more. I’m gonna say you have a nice smile because that’s what you have.” He raised a hand, as if trying to dissuade any other possible interpretation. “A gentleman. That’s what I am, my mama raised me as a gentleman – Mama was born in 2007, can you imagine that? Two thousand and seven? Long before your time, heh? – but yes, she raised me: treat women with respect, Andrew (Andrew, that’s my name). Treat ‘em with respect.” He sprawled across his bench, smiling and looking like he thought he was Lao Tzu after some august pronouncement.

    With a vague nod, I said, "I'm Jennifer." I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked out at the hills rushing by. The timer on the ceiling ticked from 20 to 19 seconds and the maglev PA announced, “Now approaching: Gustavus Adolphus Station, serving the town of Öberg and local transit.”

    “Well,” said Andrew, glancing upward, “looks like my stop.” He set his hands heavily on his knees, then pushed himself up. I wondered if he’d actually been in the Marines. From shooting PLA soldiers in defense of the West to sitting on a Chinese-built maglev smelling like shit and telling me I had a nice smile.

    “Nice talking to you, sweetheart – you take care of yourself, now.” He gripped an overhead rail as the maglev decelerated and stopped. With a hiss and a rush of cold air, the doors slid open. Nodding over his shoulder at me, he stepped out of the car and onto the deserted Gustavus Adolphus platform.