The Hero of Numbani Page 9

  Unity Plaza was too far to check for wireless signals, but Efi could pull up the incident reports from the Numbani Civic Defense database. She applied a filter, narrowing it down to complaints by humans against omnics and robots, and there were still hundreds over the past week. None of them seemed life threatening, but things were clearly escalating, and it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt.

  “We need to get back to work,” Efi said, feeling the pressure to complete her robot now more than ever. She needed months, but she knew they didn’t have that long. Eventually, Doomfist was going to make his move, and they needed to be ready, especially if civic defense was not.

  Over the next few weeks, Efi felt constantly dizzy from the sheer amount of work they had left to do. Either that, or the paint fumes were going to her head. Hassana and Naade were there dutifully by her side, but they seemed less and less enthused. They wanted Numbani to be safe every bit as much as Efi did, but they had trouble keeping up such a grueling pace.

  Efi tried to combat the pessimism settling over them with upbeat music and jokes and silly memes she found on FacePunch. She took a break from coding to slide the latest Marley the Dancing Coconut animation to Hassana’s tablet. Efi heard it beep across the workshop, then giggled as Hassana took off her goggles and paint-soaked gloves to answer it. Hassana’s eyes lit up, then she exchanged a short laugh with Efi. Efi smiled back, and for a moment, her heart was warmed. But soon after, the moment had passed, and Hassana was back to painting the chassis, and the weight of uncertainty and fear was upon Efi’s shoulders again. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure that she could solve a problem.

  “Agba Aja faded out last night,” Hassana said flatly. “During the opening for her new collection. She slashed five of her paintings before the guards subdued her. All that beautiful work, ruined.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Efi said. There were rumors running around school about omnic teachers that had faded out during class. One had stopped lecturing midsentence and walked to the back of the class. He collided with the wall, and kept backing up and attempting to go forward again until there was an omnic-shaped divot in the drywall. Another left through the door and hadn’t been heard from again.

  Every incident made them want to work harder, but it was more draining than any of them let on. Naade had proved extremely efficient at beating dents out of metal. He was like a metal whisperer, hands running over the rough spots, pounding them with big mallets, then smaller and smaller ones until the metal bent to his liking. Efi wanted to send him the funny message, too, but he was so deep in coddling the robot’s hefty right front thigh that she didn’t want to disturb him.

  So Efi returned to her coding, a cool breeze from the open window nipping at the nape of her neck. It was more than an hour before any of them spoke again.

  “Status update,” Efi barked out into the room.

  “Almost done painting the face and spatial sensors,” Hassana replied.

  “Just the calves and biceps left to refinish,” Naade said, his hands running down the length of the robot’s arm, looking for the slightest imperfections.

  “Excellent,” Efi said. “Let’s work a little faster, and we can start assembly in another hour or so.”

  “What about dinner?” Hassana asked.

  Efi grunted, then slid a box of Lúcio-Oh’s across the workbench.

  “We had cereal for breakfast. And lunch. We need a proper dinner, Efi.”

  “Doomfist could be planning his next assault right now. An hour spent eating is an hour we could spend getting the upper hand on him.”

  “Yes, but how are we supposed to think straight without food? Without fresh air? Without breaks?”

  “Go work closer to a window if you need fresh air,” Efi snapped. She didn’t mean for it to come out so rude, but her mind kept going back to the way her mother looked that day in the airport, blood mixing with dust as it sped down her arm in rivulets. The shake in her mother’s voice as she ordered Efi to stay put while Numbani’s greatest protectors were being mangled under Doomfist’s unstoppable strength. The memories were warping her thoughts, and it was becoming impossible to ignore. She envied artificial intelligence for that reason.

  Hassana was staring at her. Efi bit her lip and apologized before things got out of hand. “Maybe we should take a little break,” she said. “We can head to the kitchen and whip up something fast and nutritious. Only, there’s one problem … we can’t let my mother hear us, or she’ll have us sitting down to an eight-course meal.”

  “I’m willing to risk it,” Naade said. Hassana agreed. So they tiptoed out of the workshop, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

  They carefully pillaged the cabinets and refrigerator for fruit and kola nuts and other easy-to-eat snacks.

  “What’s this?” Naade asked, pulling a ceramic dish from the refrigerator. He sat the lid on the counter, then took a deep whiff. “Chicken curry?” He made a move to dip his finger in, but Hassana yelled Naade’s name before he made contact.

  “Shhhh!” Efi said. Then they were all quiet, ears perked like mice awaiting to see if the cat had heard their antics. Thirty seconds passed before they decided they were safe. “Please use a serving spoon and get a bowl for each of us,” Efi whispered to her friend.

  Naade nodded and scooped three spoonfuls into each bowl, then placed them onto the heating shelf. Efi slid the heat dial right below scalding, and then they watched as the dual lasers crisscrossed over each other like they were competing in the world’s fastest game of thumb wars. Seven seconds later, the bowls were ready, a hint of steam coming off the surface.

  They sat at the stools around the kitchen island, shoveling spoonfuls of curry into their mouths. The windows were closed, and the air was thick and sweet. In here, Efi felt safe from the outside world. In here, she could almost forget about Doomfist.

  “So when the robot is up and running, what should we do first?” Efi said. They may be taking time to eat, but it would have to be a working dinner.

  “Well,” Hassana said, sucking on a wedge of lime. “If the goal is to integrate her into the community, then we should focus on that first.”

  “Target practice,” Naade said, using a green plantain as a weapon. “Community is great, but she’s not going to stop Doomfist with hugs and handshakes.”

  Efi nodded. “We can’t forget training on Numbani’s legal codes.” Even though the robot would have instant access to every law in Numbani, Efi knew confusion could arise on how to interpret them. She didn’t want her robot busting through people’s homes because it was the most efficient route. Efi sucked her bottom lip, thinking. “She’ll need a little of all of them. Maybe we can take shifts? Hassana can take her out for a few hours into the community. Then Naade can work with her on targeting. And I’ll iron out her logical functionality and integrate her with Numbani’s law system. We can spread out the work so we can get her trained quickly and no one gets too worn out. Should be fairly straightforward.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hassana said.

  “Can’t wait to take those Branford arms for a spin. And we can work on some defense, too. See how strong those shields are.” Naade tossed a cashew up and attempted to catch it in his mouth. He missed, and it hit his nose, then tumbled across the countertop. He went to catch it before it hit the floor, but he knocked the lid for the ceramic dish off the counter, and it crashed onto the floor.

  Thankfully, it didn’t break, but there was no way Mother hadn’t heard that.

  Efi and her friends scrambled to clean up their mess. Never in Efi’s life had she seen dishes get washed so quickly. In thirty seconds flat, the kitchen was as pristine as it had been before they’d entered it.

  “Efi?” Mother’s voice called out. “Is that you, dear? Can I make you something to eat?”

  And Efi and her friends tried to contain their laughter as they sprinted back to the workshop, bellies full and spirits lifted.

  They even made time to
take a selfie with the pile of robot parts before they assembled them, trying not to worry over all the work they still had in front of them. They would get it done, bit by bit. Efi posted the picture with an update for her subscribers on Hollagram, but as she waited for likes, she saw something else trending. The hair on her arms prickled as the videos came in. Maybe the government had kept everyone from panicking so far, but all of that … that was over now.

  Efi looked at the amateur video of Doomfist, his massive gauntlet slamming into the side of the statue of Gabrielle Adawe in the middle of Peace Park, turning it into a million shards of bronzed shrapnel. Efi flinched. She’d eaten lunch at the bench that sat right in the statue’s shadow dozens of times.

  Doomfist emerged from the rubble, the camera focusing tightly on him. He wore a casual agbada, a long and flowing robe nearly down to his ankles, like he was just out on a simple errand to the market. He took a seat on what was left of the base of the statue and dusted a bronze fleck from his shoulder. “Numbani, you see me. Today marks a new day, a new direction for this city.” The smooth, deep timbre of his voice commanded attention. He was magnetic. Practiced. His eyes cast just over the horizon, like he could see something coming that Efi could not. “For decades, we have clung to this idea of unity, as if it were the most desirable goal. We humans have opened our hearts to omnics, inviting them into our workplaces, our neighborhoods, our homes. In Numbani, we have bent over backward to make omnics feel equal among us … and that kindness is nothing to be ashamed of. I have the same kindness in my own heart. But in that kindness, Numbani has become weak, reliant upon omnics in all facets of our lives. Their power grows as ours recedes. We let this happen, and we do it with smiles on our faces. Numbani has become as complacent as a herd of sheep, out there in the pastures. You frolic together, celebrating and thinking happy sheep thoughts. You are unaware of the dangers, of the wolves that lurk in the adjacent woods, waiting for their opportunity to feast.

  “You may think that I am that wolf—” Doomfist paused, knowing that by now, everyone in Numbani was watching and hanging on to his every word. He smiled, then slowly and deliberately rolled up the loose sleeve that hid his gauntlet. It gleamed in the sunlight, as flashy as his smile. Sometimes Efi wondered which was actually more dangerous.

  “—I am not,” he finally continued. “You see my sharpened teeth, my weapons. You think I am the threat. I am not. I grew up among you sheep. I know our strengths. I cherish our culture, but I also know what you do not know: Unity is a lie. Unity has always been a lie. There are those with power, and it is their duty to rule over those without it. Right now, humans have that power over omnics, but only slightly.

  “I know it is difficult to act when everything seems so balanced and just. You could wait ten years, and then realize I was right as another Omnic Crisis arises, but by then, it will be too late for humanity. If you will not open your eyes and see what lies ahead, it is my duty to look for you. And just as sheep must have a shepherd, Numbani must have me.”

  Efi went cold all over as another breeze blew through the window. She felt the air flow inside her lungs. Felt it meander through her body. She kept breathing, breath after tainted breath. She turned the feed off. Closed the windows.

  Doomfist had set his sights on Numbani, but Efi knew he didn’t intend to stop there. He would spread fear and discord through the rest of Nigeria, through the rest of Africa, and through the rest of the world. The stakes were higher than Efi dared to admit out loud.

  “We’ve got to get this robot assembled. Tonight,” she said, hands on her hips, stance rigid, trying her best to take up space. She conjured up images of Sojourn from her favorite episode of the Overwatch cartoons, the one where the captain had so effortlessly led her fighters into a battle with Talon, even though they knew they’d be heavily outnumbered. Sojourn and her crew didn’t let up until every single Talon agent was eliminated.

  Failure wasn’t an option for Sojourn’s team, and it wasn’t an option for Efi’s team either.

  “Tonight?” Naade said, glancing at the clock. “But it’s nearly eight—”

  “Now!” Efi cried out.

  “Yes, boss,” Naade said, then hastily returned to his station. Efi pushed her friends hard and pushed herself harder. Never letting up, never slacking off. They worked well past midnight. Efi didn’t know if she’d ever be able to relax again until her city was safe from Doomfist.

  “Faster!” she called out to Naade as he tried to maneuver a leg into its socket.

  “Neater! You’re spraying it on way too thick!” she screamed at Hassana as green paint from the robot’s spatial sensors dripped onto the bronze chest plate. Efi had given the robot two proper eyes, and even they seemed turned down in annoyed slits. Her friends had worked so well together before, but now things were sloppy. Messy. They were having trouble concentrating. “You’re doing it all wrong!” Efi finally yelled, snatching the paint gun away from Hassana.

  Hassana gave her that look again, but there was no time to worry about hurt feelings. “What are you standing there for? Make yourself useful.”

  “We’re not robots,” Hassana said with a huff. “You can’t order us around.”

  “I wish you were robots,” Efi said. “Robots listen and don’t talk back. Don’t you realize what we’re trying to do? How important this is? You’re wasting your time standing there yapping, Hassana. And more importantly, you’re wasting mine!”

  Efi’s head spun at the venom in her words. Where had that come from? But she knew. It was inside her now, the negativity. It was a part of her. She tried to will her mouth to say she was sorry, but her lips just trembled. Her eyes watered. She was afraid. Horribly and terribly afraid, but she couldn’t admit that to anyone.

  “If that’s how you feel, we’ll leave you to your bots!” Hassana hissed. She grabbed Naade by the elbow and dragged him away, too. Suddenly, Efi was left alone.

  Maybe Doomfist was right about one thing: There was no such thing as unity. She’d have to get this robot up and running all by herself.

  Despite Efi’s best efforts, another month of coding, debugging, and piecing the robot together had passed. A bead of sweat balanced on Efi’s nose, threatening to drop upon the OR15’s exposed circuits. She gently wiped the sweat away with the back of her glove, then moved her soldering gun to the last loose capacitor on the circuit board. The tip of the gun lit up purple as sparks jumped, heating a tiny pool of solder so she could set the capacitor permanently into place.

  “Almost done,” Efi said to no one. She was in her workshop, alone. As soon as she shut the access panel on the back of the robot’s chassis, that feeling of loneliness began to fade. Efi climbed down from the OR15 and looked at her handiwork. The personality core still needed to be activated, of course, but Efi did a little celebratory dance anyway, proud of how far she’d come from a pile of scrap robot parts.

  The robot looked so peaceful and serene, even though she was strong enough to blast her way through meter-thick reinforced cement. The metal gleamed. Efi had polished every bit of it herself, taking special care with OR15’s face. Efi bit her lip, trying not to think of the eight coats of paint Hassana had used to give the exact right depth to the robot’s expression. And she ignored the perfectly smooth spot on the robot’s chest plate that had once been a crater nearly the size of Efi’s head until Naade had worked it away.

  She sighed, then returned to her computer and swiped her monitor until she accessed the personality core—a combination of open source artificial intelligence algorithms, “borrowed” military subroutines (don’t ask), and a few of her own modifications. Her hands trembled with nervousness as she typed in the command to upload the personality core to the OR15.

  A big green YES button pulsed on her monitor. Suddenly, the enormity of this project weighed on her. Numbani needed a protector, and badly. There wasn’t much room for error. Had she remembered to convert the logic feedback sequences? To calibrate the deep-learning matrices? Yes, and y
es. Efi steadied herself. She’d been making robots since she was four years old, and there wasn’t a problem she couldn’t solve. There was no need for her to feel so nervous. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  She pressed the YES button. It beeped back at her, a cheerful little tone that indicated the upload process was starting. In twenty minutes, her creation would come to life. Twenty whole minutes. It seemed like that was forever and a day away.

  “Efi, dear?” came a voice. Efi was so lost in thought, she was nearly certain that the robot had spoken to her, but alas, it was her mother, calling from the workshop door. “Efi, we’re out of pears. Could you be a dear and fetch some from the grocer?”

  “Mama, I’m in the middle of uploading the personality core.”

  “And I’m in the middle of preparing the dinner that will keep you alive.” Mother nodded at the monitor, the progress bar crawling slowly across the screen. “And it looks like you have a while …”

  “But—”

  “Efi Rotìmí Opèyèmi Oluwadaré Gabrielle Oladele—”

  Efi stiffened at the use of her whole name, then quickly spit out “Yes, Mummy,” before her mother broke out into another lecture about how Efi was a part of the family, and just because she was a genius, it didn’t mean she could get away with not doing her share of the chores. That part was true, but that didn’t mean Efi couldn’t use her genius to get the chores done by other means.

  After her mother left, Efi went to her Chore Bot, the one that was responsible for taking out the trash and picking up her socks off the floor. She opened her mouth to command it to fetch the pears from the market, but then remembered she’d borrowed its optical sensor to replace one of the busted ones on the OR15.

  “Wonderful!” Efi exclaimed, full of frustration. She still had fifteen minutes, and the grocer wasn’t far. If she hurried, she could make it back in time.