The Hero of Numbani Page 7

  The officer with the zigzag braids reached across the table and cupped her hands over Efi’s. “Based on what you’ve shown us, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll someday change the world. We can’t sell you an OR15, though. I wish there were something I could do to help you, but my hands are tied.”

  When the officer pulled back, Efi felt a small piece of paper in her palm. She gripped it tightly so that none of the other officers or the countless cameras trained on her would notice. Efi nodded, and as soon as she was reunited with her friends, she unrolled the paper.

  It had nothing but a hastily written address on it:

  “Can we go now?” Hassana said. She suddenly looked very young to Efi, tired and draped in an oversized civic defense department sweatshirt. “My head hurts.”

  “My everything hurts,” Naade agreed with a nod. “You okay, Efi?”

  She was hurt and tired, but she wasn’t ready to go. After a couple quick taps on her tablet, a holograph of a boxy gray building wedged right into the heart of the Arts District materialized in front of them. There wasn’t any further information about it. No listed business name. No hours of operation. Efi tilted the screen toward Hassana. “Do you know this building?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s right down the street from my art studio. It’s an auction house, I think. Government surplus. Old furniture. Outdated tech. Scrap metal. That sort of thing. You know Sasha Rhymes, the omnic performance artist? She gets a lot of her materials from there.”

  “Oh,” Naade said, pushing his way between Efi and Hassana. “I overheard a couple officers in the break room saying—”

  “What were you doing in the break room?” Hassana asked him.

  “Taking a break, obviously.” Naade said, lifting a defiant brow.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s for employees only.”

  Naade tapped his chest, right on the Junior Officer sticker badge they gave out to little kids. “Anyway, the officers were saying they wouldn’t be surprised if the whole OR15 program was scrapped after such a poor performance.”

  For the first time since the attack, the tightness in Efi’s chest eased up. She looked down at the scrap of paper the officer had given her and felt like she could breathe again. If all those robots were going to be scrapped and sold off for parts, she would be there, sitting in the front row.

  The auction house smelled of moldy carpet and desperation, like time had long forgotten this place. Just as Naade had commented, the government was trying to quietly off-load the OR15 models to fund their replacements. Efi knew it was shortsighted for them to start from scratch like that. She didn’t doubt the next generation of security robots would be more formidable against Doomfist, but it would be a year before all the requisitions and design and red tape were dealt with, leaving Numbani vulnerable for far too long.

  “I haven’t given up on you,” Efi said, looking down at the sketch of the OR15 she planned to rebuild. She wasn’t much of an artist, but she was good at making wire frames. She tapped her stylus on the ANIMATE button, and the OR15 galloped across the screen, then aimed its fusion cannon at the wire frame of Doomfist and fired. Doomfist collapsed into a pile of line segments, and the OR15 did a little jig in celebration. The faintest of smiles worked its way onto Efi’s face. She’d been experimenting with different personality matrices in the weeks since the airport attack. This one included an empathy module add-on that she’d tinkered with herself.

  “Next up,” the auctioneer’s voice blared through the speakers for the standing room only crowd, “decommissioned OR15s.”

  Efi’s head shot up as she watched an OR15 walk out onto the stage. She’d thought she’d be getting scrap parts, but starting off with a fully functioning robot would knock weeks off her plan. Finally, things were going her way. Cold and intimidating, the OR15 looked so much bigger up close. All bark and no bite apparently, the way Doomfist ripped through them. When the modifications were completed, her robot would look more approachable and be a true citizen of Numbani, ready to defend it in an instant. Efi fidgeted with her bid wand, accidentally hitting the button. A faint holographic halo swirled around her head for a few seconds, then disappeared.

  “Careful, dear,” her father said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. And remember the ground rules …”

  “No weapons testing inside the house,” Efi droned.

  Her father’s brow dipped low, conveying his disapproval. “I’m serious, Efi. This is an enormous responsibility we are trusting you with.”

  Efi nodded. “I understand.” She switched her wand to her off hand, then counted the rules out on her fingers. “One: Schoolwork is a priority. I can only work on the robot in my free time. Two: The robot must comply with all Numbani codes and specifications. Three: The robot must be under my control at all times. Four: I am responsible for the robot’s actions, including paying for any damage it causes. Five: If the robot harms anyone, it will be deactivated.” She finished just as the auctioneer was concluding the reading of the robot’s specifications.

  “… These models will be auctioned off in lots of ten. Opening the bidding at four million naira.”

  Lots of ten? All she needed was a single robot. Bids started escalating as Efi’s head spun.

  “Do I hear five point five?” the auctioneer said.

  Efi pressed the button on her bid wand. She had no other choice. It was all the money she had. The auctioneer’s slit eyes met hers.

  “We’ve got five point five to the young inventor in the front,” he said, his head doing that half-cock gesture that omnics used to indicate amusement. “Do I hear five point six?”

  Efi blinked. Had she just been recognized? She wanted to smile back, but then the bid tumbled right past her, rising to six million naira, eight, twelve. Fifteen. Twenty. A steal for that many robots, but that didn’t help Efi’s financial dilemma. She realized too late that she was a minnow in a pond with sharks: contractors, investors, and government representatives from nations all over Africa and beyond. They wanted these robots as badly as she did.

  The next three OR15 lots were auctioned off in much the same manner, but Efi pressed her bid wand button each time, hoping against hope. And then the bidding was over and people were filing out of the room. She was left sitting there, in the front row, itchy finger on the bid wand, hoping for one more chance. This couldn’t be it. She pressed the button, once, twice, the halo circling and circling around her head.

  “Efi,” Father said, his hand pressing against her back. “It’s time to go home.”

  “We can’t,” she said. “I don’t have my robot.”

  “We knew the bidding would be competitive. We talked about this, remember?”

  Efi nodded. She remembered, but she didn’t think it would leave her heart feeling so empty.

  “Oh,” the auctioneer said as he stepped back out onto the stage. “I thought everyone was gone already.”

  “We were just leaving,” Efi’s father said with a thin smile.

  “No rush,” the auctioneer said, extending his hand. Efi shook it. The metal was warm, and buzzed ever so slightly. “You’re Efi Oladele, right? The ‘Genius Grant’ winner? I saw you on the news.” And then suddenly, the voice coming from him was hers, playing a clip from her acceptance speech:

  “That’s me,” Efi said. “And that’s why I’m here. Only …”

  The auctioneer’s head slumped forward so that all Efi could see were the three dots on his forehead. “I was rooting so hard for you. It’s difficult to watch all those robots get siphoned out of Numbani.”

  “Do you think any of them might sell me a robot? Just one?”

  “Doubtful. They would have bought a hundred more if they could.”

  Efi wondered if that was the real reason the civic defenders wanted to keep the defeat of the omnics a secret, to drive up the prices they got at auction.

  “But …” the auctioneer said.

  “But?” Efi asked. This didn’t sound like one of her mother’s
“buts.” This sounded like one she actually wanted to hear.

  “A few of the OR15s were too battered to put up on the auction block. Didn’t want to send the wrong impression to our bidders. We were going to sell them as scrap metal.” The omnic’s head shot up, then looked around. “Come with me.”

  “Dad, can we go?” Efi asked.

  Father looked resigned and shrugged. “Sure.”

  Efi ran behind the omnic, following on his heels as he took them to a storage room. In the corner, there were several battered OR15s stripped down to their chassis with all of the weaponry removed. If Efi wanted a challenge, that’s what she was getting. One of the robots caught her eyes. The missing front legs, the way the arms were broken off … Efi was sure that it was the robot Doomfist had slammed into the wall at the airport. She bit her lip. It was in worse shape than the others, but something gripped her as she stared at all that mangled metal. This robot. This was the one she wanted.

  The auctioneer nodded, almost like he could read her thoughts. “Of course, I couldn’t just give the robot to you. An official auction needs to be on the records.”

  Efi took out her bidding wand, finger at the ready. “You’re sure you won’t get into trouble?” she asked.

  The auctioneer cocked his head again. “Gabrielle Adawe didn’t establish Overwatch, then sit back and relax. She kept fighting, kept moving forward as long as there was still breath in her lungs. You are continuing that fight with your work. Numbani can’t continue to be a beacon of hope and harmony between humans and omnics without minds like yours. And hearts like yours.”

  Efi smiled, then realized that the auctioneer hadn’t actually answered her question. Or maybe he had in a way. Any trouble he found himself in would pale in comparison to the potential resting within those battered robot parts. Efi would do her best to make this auctioneer proud.

  “One busted OR15 chassis, sold as is, no warranties. Opening the bid at one million naira.”

  Efi pressed the button and the halo twirled around her head. She knew she wouldn’t be outbid this time, but she couldn’t help but check over her shoulders for competitors, just in case. No one stood in her way.

  “Do I hear one point five? Going once. Going twice. Sold, to the brilliant inventor with her heart set on helping Numbani!”

  The chassis hung on meat hooks in the middle of Efi’s workshop like a side of beef—head tilted, one Branford arm and hind legs dangling, and the rest of the parts lying in a pile on the floor. The robot still needed another functioning Branford arm, a Tobelstien reactor to generate graviton fields, and most importantly, a fusion driver—the only weapon that had a chance at subduing Doomfist. As Efi made mental calculations based on all the work they had in front of them, she was starting to rethink her decision to purchase the most mangled OR15. She’d gotten a good deal on the chassis, though, so she still had enough room in her budget to cobble a robot together.

  Naade looked up at the robot and whistled. “Now this I would miss a Kam Kalu movie for. Ten Kam Kalu movies,” he said, then put his finger to his chin and shook his head. “Ooooo. Ten’s too many. Make that seven. Okay, seven and a half.”

  “It’s a lot more busted up than I imagined,” Hassana said, running her finger along one of the cracks on the robot’s torso. A rogue spark struck out at her fingertips, and Hassana jumped back and out of the way.

  “She is a bit dented, but all her circuitry is in working order.” Efi polished off a soot-covered section of metal with her leather glove. It didn’t quite gleam, but it was an improvement.

  “She?” Naade said.

  “Well, we certainly can’t go around calling her ‘it,’” Efi said. “She’ll have a personality and will be a part of this community. Numbani doesn’t need just another security bot. It needs a new hero!”

  “Right now, she has the personality of a dumpster,” Hassana said, staring into the face of the OR15—a white circle with four yellow lights spaced equally around it. “Just look at her.”

  “That’s where I thought you might shine,” Efi said, pulling up some wire-model sketches on her tablet. She showed them to Hassana, who was kind enough not to cringe at the crude attempt at giving the robot a little charm. “The heroes of Overwatch each had their own signature looks. Reinhardt had his mountainous armor. Amari had her overcoat and beret. This robot would have a—”

  “Cool mask,” Hassana said, brow raised with approval of Efi’s sketch. Then she started digging through her book satchel and pulled out a set of colored markers. “I see what you’re going for, a little Numbani vibe, but …” She stepped up onto the table next to the robot and drew a stern yet friendly face onto the white circle, coloring it orange, with yellow for the brow line, forehead, and nose.

  “Hassana!” Efi called. “You’re—”

  “Making her ten times better. And then if we get rid of these bulky side-a-ma-bobs—”

  “Those are her spatial sensors. She needs those to get around.”

  “Okay!” Hassana said. “Well, then maybe we can make them a little less blocky and a lot more stylized. Sloped, like warthog tusks. And we could give the whole chassis a paint job. This bone white and mold green aren’t doing anything for me.”

  Efi got light-headed thinking about all the changes Hassana was making, but she knew they would be worth it in the end. Numbani deserved the best, and that’s what they would give them. “I knew you’d be perfect for this,” Efi said. “You’re in charge of making her look good, I’ll work on finding us a fusion driver, and Naade …” Efi tried hard to think of a simple task that Naade couldn’t mess up.

  “Your safety is my primary concern,” came a voice, a high-pitched chitter with an English accent. Efi spun around and saw Naade on her computer, running simulations through the Axiom vocal processor she’d gotten for free at an omnic expo last year. “Yer safety is ma primary concern,” a voice said again, this time with a North American cowboy drawl.

  “What are you doing, Naade?” Efi asked, then took a deep breath to ease her frustration.

  “Helping,” he said without looking up.

  “Yooit! Your safety is my main thing, bru.” South African surfer slang this time. Efi bunched her lips up. Maybe that kind of talk commanded respect and admiration on the beaches of Durban, but Efi doubted the people of Numbani would be impressed. Besides, Efi really wanted to go through the entire sample of voices herself, so she could find the perfect match.

  “Why don’t you let me work on that,” Efi said, nudging Naade out of her seat, “and you can—”

  “Find us the fusion driver?” Naade finished. “Because I know a guy who knows a guy.”

  “Is it Isaac from science lab?” Hassana asked, unimpressed.

  “… Yes, it is, but he was telling me the other day about how he got onto the dark web to get that military-grade barrier. They only deal in MBCs, though, so you’ll have to convert your naira.”

  “MBCs?” Efi asked.

  “Modulated Biochemical Currency coins. DNA-coded money. Living cryptocurrency. Also known as bio gold. Wiggle notes. Glam clams. Scritch scratch—”

  “Calm down, Naade. We get it,” Hassana said.

  Efi wasn’t ready to dismiss the idea just yet. She’d scoured the net already, looking for a suitable fusion driver, but apparently doing searches for powerful energy weapons gets you put on all sorts of watch lists. After a couple embarrassing conversations with the Numbani government and her parents, Efi got the feeling she needed to take a different route. “You’re close with Isaac? Close enough that he’d tell you how to get in contact with the person who sold him the barrier?”

  Naade nodded. “Sure. I got everyone to stop saying ‘pulled an Isaac.’ He owes me big-time.”

  Efi and Hassana exchanged looks. One of the most epic science lab moments happened right before Naade relinquished his Junie, and Efi had watched it so often, she was having a hard time keeping a straight face right now. He’d ignored the labels on the solutions he was workin
g with and caused a reaction that sent a massive column of neon-pink foam flying all the way up to the ceiling. So now the go-to expression for messing something up with an incredible amount of flair was to “Naade it up.”

  In any case, somehow, instead of assigning Naade the most benign task that he couldn’t mess up, Efi had given him the most critical. “Okay, go talk to Isaac and see what we need to do,” she said, trying to mask the concern in her voice.

  “On it, boss,” Naade said, and soon he was out the door.

  A dark van waited for them in the receiving dock behind the Axiom building, way down on the south side of Numbani. Old shipping crates were stacked all around, behind any of which could lie more danger. Efi swallowed the lump in her throat and willed her hands to stop shaking. The van’s engine revved once. Efi tried to peer through the deep tint of the windows but couldn’t make anything out. The van couldn’t possibly be more nondescript. Faded black. No markings. Utterly forgettable. The kind of vehicle you’d want to drive around if you were trading black market goods … except this van had old-fashioned wheels instead of lev-rims.

  Wheels like those shouted, “too much money and not enough sense,” as Efi’s grandfather would say. Not necessarily the kind of person you’d want to do business with in a deserted lot. A rotten pit settled into Efi’s stomach. Was she really about to do something so reckless? She looked down at the app on her tablet.

  The message had been encrypted five different ways, but Isaac had come through and shown them exactly how to access it. He said it was safe. He said there wasn’t anything to worry about, but Efi couldn’t shake the thought that they were getting advice from a guy who’d spent half a class period with a barrier stuck around his head.