The Hero of Numbani Page 12

  “You’ve got empathy,” Efi said as she picked a piece of okra up from the floor and dusted it off. “That’s a good thing. But we can both mope about it later. Right now, we’ve got a big mess to clean.”

  Efi paced back and forth across her workshop under the watchful eye of Orisa. She was mumbling to herself, mostly about how she was never going to be able to afford a miniature Tobelstein reactor. With all the damage Orisa had caused around the city, it’d be another six months before another naira of her grant money could actually be spent on her robot. But despite the setbacks with integrating Orisa in the community, Efi still had faith that her robot could defeat Doomfist and save Numbani. The reactor would allow her to do that, powering her graviton charge to halt enemies.

  After calculating how many Junies she’d have to sell to buy her missing part, Efi stared at the result. She ran the calculation again, hoping she’d gotten a decimal out of place when the answer flashed across the screen, but no: 2,749 units. That’d take her months. Maybe a whole year, especially since Hassana and Naade still refused to talk to her.

  “All of these community-building exercises are helpful,” Efi said to Orisa, “but there’s no way we can go up against Doomfist without that reactor.”

  “Should I research alternatives?” Orisa asked.

  “No. Nothing else provides that amount of energy in that compact of a space. The Precision Core reactor is cheaper, but you’d be lugging around a unit the size of a car. The Flexxon Pro Micro T1 is tiny but doesn’t have the supply to power your graviton charge for more than a few seconds. We need the miniature Tobelstein reactor. We’ll just have to find a way.”

  “You need more naira to purchase the reactor?” Orisa asked, optimistic and childlike. “Then you should get more naira.”

  Efi sighed. “I wish it were that easy.” She didn’t dare do another Hollagram fundraiser. She didn’t want to risk losing her followers altogether by asking too much of them, but she did have one option left to make a little money. She had plenty of computing power spread between all her devices. If she lent that processing power to Valor Matrix’s distributed computing project, she could make a few thousand naira per night without lifting a finger. It wasn’t much, but it’d add up, especially if she ramped up the Junie production as well and asked her parents for an advance on her allowance for the next year. Or two.

  Of course, Efi wasn’t excited about opening up her computers to an outside entity like that, but they claimed to have tight security, and at this point, she really didn’t have much of a choice. She’d grant them access to her computers to crunch their computations while she slept, then in the morning, she’d check her accounts to see how much she’d earned. It’d be worth the risk, because nothing would cost as much as the terror Doomfist continued to inflict upon Numbani.

  Efi sat at her computer and created an account with the Valor Matrix project, then set it to work. The program downloaded its first data packet to process, represented on the screen with a square block of pixels. There must have been about a thousand of them, all grayed out. After staring for several minutes, the pixel at the top left corner turned green.

  “Well, that’s one naira down. Only ten million more to go.” Efi tried to keep a chipper attitude, but it was hard. She’d known her computers weren’t state-of-the-art, but she hadn’t expected the process to go this slowly. “What about instead of watching this run, we get some practice with laws?”

  “Accessing the Numbani civic code manual,” Orisa said. “Which volume and section number would you like to start with?”

  Efi laughed. “We can’t study laws cooped up in this workshop! We need to get back out into the city.”

  Orisa’s cross-cut eyes widened into circles, like she was shocked at Efi’s suggestion. “I am not certain that would be advisable.”

  “Still bummed over what happened at the grocer’s?” Efi said.

  “Bummed?” Orisa asked.

  “You know, sad. Sorrowful. Feeling blue inside.”

  “My insides are primarily titanium gray, but I do feel sadness for the trouble I have caused.”

  “That’s natural. In fact, that’s what your empathy module is for! You can process those feelings so that your future interactions in the city will be more positive. You’re already learning from your experiences.”

  Orisa nodded confidently. “I have learned. Even though I am programmed to keep people safe, I should not attempt to access their medical data. And I should not attempt to corral people into grocery stores, even if there is a sale on nutrient-dense foods.”

  “That’s right!” Efi held her hand up, and Orisa gave her a high five. “What do you say, just a quick walk around the block? Let’s see what we can see.”

  Orisa agreed, and soon they were on their way out into the city, Mother’s warnings chasing them out the door: “You’d better be careful out there and be back in time for dinner!”

  “Yes, Mama!” Efi yelled back. Efi set a timer on her tablet. If she was late to Sunday dinner, she’d fall to her mother’s wrath well before she ever got a chance to confront Doomfist.

  “Now remember,” Efi said, “we’re here to be of service to the community, not harass anyone. If we see any code violations, we’ll approach people kindly and see how we can assist them. Okay?”

  Orisa pranced on her four legs, like a racehorse itching to get out of the gate. “I am ready to assist,” she said. She pointed at a maglev car stopped across the street. “There, that omnic is in violation of code 34-342b, driving a vehicle with an expired registration.” Orisa dashed out into the road, but Efi yelled at her to stop.

  “See, this is why we practice. You have to take the crosswalk,” Efi said. “It’s dangerous to cross in the middle of the street.”

  Orisa had a far-off look, her cross-cut eyes narrowed, like she hadn’t been paying full attention. Then she nodded and said, “I have violated code 92-574j, pedestrian cross-traffic. I will do better.” She looked up at the vehicle with the expired registration, but it was driving away now. “Should I pursue and apprehend?” Orisa asked.

  “Definitely not. It is a minor violation, not worth scaring someone over.”

  Orisa scanned the streets, then pointed at a man the next stoplight down, washing idling cars with a soapy bucket and a very black sponge that might have been yellow at some point. The recipients of the quick washes looked annoyed, but they tossed a couple hundred naira at him anyway. “That person is operating a business, but I do not detect a street-vendor permit signal on display.”

  “Okay, that’s a good one. Perhaps we can help him apply for a permit,” Efi suggested.

  Orisa went over to the man, but as soon as he saw her eyes trained on him and those powerful legs clomping against the sidewalk at a steady pace, he dropped the bucket and sponge and bolted away.

  “That’s … not the reaction I was hoping for,” Efi said. She picked up the bucket and sponge. “Maybe we should adjust your locomotive subroutines so that your walk is a little less intimidating.”

  A car honked at Efi, and she looked over at it.

  “You raising money for something, kid?” the woman asked, elbow hanging out of the window.

  Efi looked down at the bucket and sponge. “No, I—”

  “Yes, she is,” Orisa said, taking the bucket and sponge and beginning to wipe the car down. She was extremely efficient. “Efi is a roboticist,” Orisa said to the woman in the car, once she was done washing. “She is raising money to help build robots that can contribute to our community.”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, I recognize you now. You’re that girl who won the ‘Genius Grant.’” She swiped her tablet. “Do you take eNaira?”

  Efi nodded. “Thank you so much, but we don’t have a permit to—”

  “According to code 102-542b, children under the age of sixteen are exempt from having to obtain a street-vendor permit,” Orisa said. “And yes, we take eNaira.”

  The woman laughed and swiped her tablet, and mom
ents later, Efi had a very generous twenty thousand naira added to her account. She clapped her hands. “Orisa! This is amazing.” She gave her robot a big squeeze. “You are absolutely the best robot ever. Scratch that. You’re the best friend ever!”

  “I would do anything in my power to help you, Efi.”

  More vehicles stopped to get a wash, and before Efi knew it, they had a sign that said SMART WASHES: SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ROBOTICIST! and Orisa played Lúcio’s “Robot After All” on an endless loop that they danced to between customers. Soon, they had a line wrapped halfway around the block. Then shouting came from the end of the line, and when Efi and Orisa went to check it out, they found that two drivers had pulled in from opposite angles, each trying to be the next in line. One was human and one was omnic, and the shouting through open windows was starting to get ugly, definitely not the kind of language Efi wanted Orisa to be around.

  “Sorry, folks, the car wash is over!” Efi yelled. She picked up the bucket, sponge, and sign. She was sopping wet, and her muscles were tired, but thanks to Orisa’s awesome promotional skills over the last two hours, they’d managed to raise eight hundred thousand naira. They were almost a tenth of the way to being able to afford a reactor. A few more weekend car washes, and they’d be set!

  Orisa turned off her speakers, and the music faded. Then Efi heard a faint beeping noise. She looked down at her timer and saw that it had been going off for the past fifteen minutes. They were going to be late for dinner if they didn’t hustle back right now.

  “Come on, Orisa, we’ve got to go!”

  They started running back toward their building, but on the way, Orisa pointed at an elder trying to cross in the middle of the busy street.

  “May I be of assistance, ma?” Orisa said to the woman.

  The woman smiled. “That would be lovely,” she said, her voice shaky and her smile sure. She took Orisa’s arm, and the robot led her to the crosswalk. Efi felt proud, and even if they were a tiny bit late to dinner, seeing how far Orisa had come was worth it.

  “I will get you across the street safely,” Orisa said, but instead of waiting for the light to turn, Orisa started walking into oncoming traffic. Two vehicles swerved around her, and a bus ground to a halt as emergency maglev brakes engaged, stopping it just close enough that Orisa could deal a quick elbow jab to the windshield. A fourth vehicle didn’t notice Orisa right away and was barreling toward her and the woman. Orisa punched her fist toward it, and the grill crumpled in on itself. Orisa seemed unbothered, as if she’d just squashed a mosquito.

  Efi ran behind them, hands pressed to the sides of her head, unable to imagine how much trouble she’d get into for a dangerous incident like this. The passengers in the car were uninjured, but after a stern talking-to, Efi transferred all the money they’d made from the car wash to the driver, in hopes that it would cover the repairs, and perhaps, show her parents that she was at least trying to be responsible for her robot’s actions. Efi winced. Her parents. Sunday dinner.

  She was definitely more than late now.

  Efi ordered Orisa to her docking bay and told her to stay there until she’d had a good long think about what she’d just done. Then Efi hustled through the hallway to the dining room, running to make up for lost time. She stopped at the door. Her entire family was sitting around the table, dressed in their most vibrantly colored aso ebis and agbadas, like they were on their way to church. Her mother, father, aunts, uncles, and four of her five cousins.

  Efi blinked a few times. Had she forgotten about a holiday? She looked down at her filthy, wet clothes, which were more suds than fabric. She panicked. From the bend on her mother’s brow, she didn’t dare enter the room looking this dirty. From the hungry looks everyone else was giving her, Efi knew she couldn’t afford to go change clothes and keep them waiting to eat dinner either. So she ran to the restroom and toweled off as best she could, making herself somewhat presentable. Then Efi returned to the dining room and slid into her chair, trying to make it less awkward than she already felt. Soon all those feelings were gone as she took in the amazing spread of food on the table. Everything looked delicious. Egusi stew? Her favorite! Served with what had to be a metric ton of fufu. And okra stew, too! It was long and draggy, a consistency that took some getting used to, but Efi had finally developed a fondness for it over the past few months. And cherry tarts for dessert? There was enough here to feed their family four times over.

  “This looks so wonderful, Mama,” Efi said. “Is there a special occasion?”

  Mother gave Efi a pained smile. “There is a special reason we have all gathered here today, yes …”

  But her mother did not finish the sentence. The silence in the room started to stretch thin, and Efi noticed that everyone was staring at her with the same pained look. Then she glanced at the food again. The egusi seeds. The cherries. The okra. The fufu. It was all the food Orisa had ruined at Mr. Bankolé’s grocery. He had said not to worry about it, but had Mother paid him off anyway? Efi swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Mama—”

  “We love you, Efi. And we think you are brilliant and capable of so many things. But we want you to reconsider what it is you are doing with this robot. It is causing havoc in the streets. It has been a threat to public safety. How long is it until someone is truly hurt by this robot?” Mother said “robot,” but it sounded like she wanted to say “monster.”

  “There are always bugs to work out!” Efi said. “Orisa is still learning!”

  Auntie sucked her teeth and shook her head. “And that name! Something so sacred for a bunch of metal scraps!”

  Efi cringed. She didn’t know how to justify it in words, but in her heart, she knew Orisa was so much more than the metal and wiring that made her. Efi saw a savior, and she knew one day, it would be worth all the heated looks she got when she introduced her robot to the people in her community.

  “You are right, Mama,” Dayo said, breaking through the awkward silence. “But you should see Efi working away in her workshop—”

  Auntie Yewande made a zip sound and raised her hands in a clasp, cutting Dayo off. “Bugs are fine when they mean a half-meter-tall robot bumping into a wall. Bugs are not fine when a two-ton robot puts its fist through the grill of a brand-new Steppe Wanderer!”

  “It was a Yoku Voyager!” Efi corrected, the low-end model with lev-rims that barely kept the vehicle from colliding with the street. Efi pressed her hand over her mouth, realizing that her aunt couldn’t possibly know about the crosswalk incident yet. She was just stating a hypothetical situation. A very timely, mostly accurate hypothetical situation.

  “What’s that?” Auntie Yewande asked, in a tone that was both bright and fearsome.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Efi said quickly as she stuffed some fufu into her mouth.

  “We think it would be best if you stop this project,” Father said with a sigh. Him too? “We got a call from Compass Point Insurance yesterday, and they’re threatening to cancel our policy if there’s one more incident. Of course, it is your choice, and we trust you to make the right decision. But in my opinion, you have already proven your point.”

  “Yes,” Aunt Yewande said. “Why don’t you take on a more appropriate hobby instead of making play-play with these robots? Consider drama like Dayo here. He’s never gotten his nose into trouble. He has already received acceptances from the University of Lagos and the University of Ibadan.” Efi’s auntie looked so smug in her designer clothes, her buba and iro displaying an intricately laced print and her matching gele tied upon her head in a complex pattern than must have taken half an hour. A dozen of her outfits would probably be enough to buy a Tobelstein reactor outright.

  “If Dayo is so perfect, then who do you think it was that helped me get a Branford arm for my robot?” Efi slapped her hand over her mouth again, but it was too late. Suddenly, the tension in the room shifted. Dayo’s eyes went wide, and he stared hard at Efi. Everyone else stared hard at him.

  “That’s
Uncle Dayo to you,” Aunt Yewande said, then she turned to Dayo. “And you, corrupting your little cousin?”

  “No, Auntie, it was all my—” Efi started, but her auntie’s clamped hand snapped in her direction, and Efi went silent.

  “I thought I’d raised you better than this!” Auntie Yewande said to Dayo. “And you would go and drag our name through the mud, just like your brother did!”

  “Mama, if you’d only—”

  Efi bit her lip so hard, it started to go numb. Auntie Yewande’s disappointment in Bisi had been so intense that she hadn’t mentioned him once over the past year, and now here she was, comparing him to Dayo. Efi’s actions had reopened that partially healed wound running through her family, and there was nothing she could say to smooth this meal over. She’d let down her entire family, but most of all, she’d betrayed her cousin’s trust, her only remaining supporter. She held her emotions tight and waited for the storm to pass.

  Back in her workshop, Efi had some reckoning to do. She couldn’t stop her project. Orisa was too valuable, too necessary for peace. But she did realize that there was a flaw in Orisa’s code. The robot simply cared too much. Too much compassion was causing her to make bad decisions. Maybe if Efi turned that part of the robot off, it would help avoid incidents like at the grocer. And the pedestrian bridge. And the crosswalk.

  This seemed like a perfectly logical solution, but it left Efi feeling cold. Compassion was something that made Orisa who she was. Did Efi even have the right to decide such a thing?

  Efi knew she could be a handful for her parents. What if they had the ability to change her personality based on their whims? If Efi was in a bad mood or had one of her whiny spells, would they erase that part of her just so she’d be more pleasant to have around?

  Efi shuddered. It was wrong, turning Orisa’s compassion off, but if she didn’t, she’d risk having to boot her down forever, and Efi would avoid that at all costs.

  With a shaking breath, Efi keyed in the sequence to delete the compassion module.