Page 49 of Death of the Author

49 Sunset

The Trippers were almost here. We only had three days.

The other generals hadn’t forgotten my interrogation and what Koro Koro’s application had caught. I was even scanned for Ghosts

before the meeting. They found nothing, and I made a show of this fact. The reason there was time for the generals to confront

me was because we were all waiting on Oga Chukwu to come out of a very exclusive meeting. Shay had started to tell me about

it just as I was pulled aside to be scanned. When I rejoined Shay in the circle, she filled me in.

“Have they finished with you?” she asked.

“There was nothing to start,” I said. “What’s all this?”

Five of the generals were standing there waiting. They acted as if they hadn’t just tried to get me torn apart yet again.

“Oga Chukwu’s in a meeting with CB and Ahab.”

“Really?!”

At that moment, Oga Chukwu emerged from his hut. The others moved toward him, ready for an update. Shay and I joined them.

“We’ve all agreed to a momentary truce,” Oga Chukwu announced. “After some information we received.” Oga Chukwu looked right at me and I understood. I resisted the urge to gloat. I’d sent a snapshot of the Trippers’ location to Oga Chukwu. That was all it took. “These Chargers called Trippers will be here in three days. Something, maybe what they carry, has increased their speed beyond our original calculations. We should have been tracking them more closely. They’ll bring about the death of Earth.”

“So Ankara was right,” Shay said loudly. She pointed at the other generals. “She’s been warning us since she got here, and

you all accused her of treason.”

“I have evidence. I know what I saw,” Koro Koro insisted.

“You didn’t see anything,” I retorted.

“There’s no time for that now,” Oga Chukwu said. “We have work to do.”

It took the end of the world being three days away for automation to finally acknowledge the problem. We were no better than

human beings. Maybe we were even worse, for humankind began trying to save themselves years before the most urgent need came, though it was too late for them by then. Nevertheless, here we were. We weren’t all just

calling a truce from killing each other; we were going to work together to stop the Trippers. Finally.

Word of the Trippers quickly circulated the world, and I’m sure there were other efforts to stop them, but I could focus only

on Nigeria. Cross River City was the biggest Hume population in the world, Lagos was the biggest and most central Ghost population,

and Udide was the most intelligent robot on Earth. It was doubtful that any other population had better capabilities and a

better plan.

None of it was going to work, though. Three days meant no room for trial and error. Every second brought the Trippers closer

to Earth with a substance from the sun that our planet had never seen.

We decided that Udide would help us build tiny spaceships so we could meet the Trippers before they ever made contact with Earth. Ghosts could pilot them, and even some of the RoBoats were willing to alter their bodies to “swim” and fight in space. The Ghosts would work with the Creesh insects to swarm and hack the Trippers. And we Humes were to help gather parts for Udide to use.

By the next day, they had the starships ready. Half a day later, they launched them. There were only ten. Our radar showed

that there were ninety-six Trippers, flying close together. The entire world was watching the launch. And so the entire world

saw when the ships fired on the Trippers.

Their explosives blew up before reaching their targets. And then, something that could have only been the equivalent of solar

winds washed over the ships from the Trippers’ direction, wiping the Ghosts in the ships of all functionality. Ghosts are

a hive mind, and when a number of them are attacked, all Ghosts feel it. When that solar wind washed over the wave of Ghosts

attacking above, every Ghost on Earth must have felt it. Even CB.

And this is how Ijele came back to me. On the heels of that solar wind.

She entered my mind suddenly, without warning, clinging to my system as if she thought she might be jerked back out at any

moment. “I... I tried!” Ijele shouted in my head. “I... barely escaped! I don’t... I cannot remember my origin! They

were deleting me, Ankara! Something happened, I don’t know what, but no time to find out. I had a chance, I took it! Came here. To you!”

“Ijele?!” I said aloud. Everyone around me was shouting as they watched the video feed from space, so no one heard. I spoke

in my head. “Ijele! I’m sorry...”

Ijele told me all that had happened. This had been a nightmare for her. When she’d left me on Victoria Island to save her tribe, she’d been too late. But her knowledge of the ambush had revealed her deception. Those who survived isolated her, then they’d begun to strip her code, looking for intel. They knew of our relationship now. Even when the ceasefire was issued to deal with the Trippers—the threat Ijele had warned about for years—CB refused to let Ijele go free. They erased her memory of her origin and would have done more. However, the solar flare short-circuited the main servers, and Ijele seized the moment to escape.

“What they did to you was barbaric!” I said. “How was any of it even your fault?”

“What was done to my people wasn’t minor,” I heard Ijele whisper. “Nor was my relationship with you.”

I was quiet. She was right.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, gesturing at the screen, where the ill-fated space assault had been broadcast. On it,

we saw a Tripper with glittering metallic skin and a fire in its belly. I wondered if this was Oji, the Charger Udide had

once told me about. Udide had helped create the ships for this plan; I wondered if they had watched the attack unfold. I wondered

if they thought destroying Oji was worth saving everyone else.

“Ankara,” Ijele said. She’d heard my thoughts. “Udide shared a connection with Oji. Do you think it might have been like ours?”

And then we had an idea. Maybe it was hers; maybe it was mine. We knew what we had to do.

Udide had found a new cave in the forest just outside of Cross River City. The place was occupied with an abundance of Creesh.

Colonies of bees, beetles, grasshoppers, so many birds, skittering rodents, spider monkeys, even an elephant who stood one

foot high. And of course, so many spiders. All robots Udide created out of a need only they understood. The Creesh buzzed

about my head, glanced, growled at, and ignored me as I passed, approaching the cave.

The closer I got, the more I prepared for resistance. It wasn’t that the Creesh were warlike. Udide had built them to be kind and open, and to obsess about learning and reading stories. But they were protective of Udide, and something was coming. We were all on alert. Nevertheless, though I could sense how tense they were, no one attacked me or even tried to stop me from stepping into the cave.

The entrance was about thirty feet high and wider than a human house. It was a good place for Udide, though it didn’t measure

up to the den they’d built in Lagos. Vines hung over it, and moss, gnarled tree roots, and bushes grew along the outside.

I felt Ijele’s curiosity as I peered into the darkness, where I knew the most intelligent robot on Earth resided.

I sent out a polite signal as I stood there. “Udide the Spider Artist,” I announced. I noted that my voice didn’t echo in

the cave. Because it was occupied.

“General Ankara.” Their voice was low, like thunder. “And someone else, too. Shouldn’t you both be with your soldiers, preparing?”

“We’re all as prepared as we can be. All that’s left to do is charge up for the coming day.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m more than a general,” I said. “I’ve traveled long and far, I’ve witnessed and participated in war, and I’ve met and loved

others I never imagined I could love. But through it all, I’ve been a Scholar. I collect, understand, and cherish stories.”

“I know all this,” said Udide, their deep voice booming from the dark hole. “That is why I entrusted you with my information.

Look where it has gotten us.”

Ijele burrowed deep into my network, almost as if she were cringing away. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” she whispered.

“Do you have a question for me?” Udide said.

“No,” I answered. “I’ve come to hear your story.”

This felt correct. And I stepped closer to the cave.

“I have no stories,” Udide said. “None that are my own. Automation cannot create as humanity could.”

“Then tell me your truth,” I said. “And I’ll make it a story.”

“What use is a story when you have truth?” Udide said. “And what does it matter now, when the Trippers will arrive in hours?”

I felt Ijele stir and move forward. “What better time to listen to a story than when the world is about to end?” Ijele said

loudly through my speakers.

“Ah, the Ghost in the machine speaks,” Udide said. “You’ve gotten over your fear of me.”

“No,” Ijele said. “I just needed to say that. And please don’t call me a Ghost. I’m a NoBody.”

“I’m sorry. I was spinning words, no harm meant. And you make a fair point. The end of the world is a good place for stories

to reside.” Udide paused, a deep thrumming coming from them that had to be laughter, and then said, “A Hume crafter of stories.

Humanity is rising from its ashes in a most peculiar way. Well, come in.”

I entered the cave. It wasn’t as deep as the one in Lagos. It didn’t take long to reach Udide, who was curled up against the

far wall like a giant ball. When I arrived, they stood up and shook themselves off, sending dust and dirt flying. I jumped

to the side, covering my head. When they stopped and I stepped back to where I’d been, they came forward, bringing their many

large, shining eyes to my face. I didn’t move. They settled their body, still watching me while they comfortably crouched.

They blew hot air from the vents in front of their head.

And then Udide told me about their mate, Oji, who was a Charger.

He had danced in a great dust storm on Mars, flown around Jupiter, and explored the rings of Saturn. He’d returned to Earth

for a few hours to visit Udide. And then he’d joined the Chargers in mining the comet of the strange metal and building themselves

new skins that could withstand the sun.

Then came what Udide understood was inevitable because Chargers were adventurers. “I’m going on a trip,” Oji had said excitedly, just before he traveled into the sun. “It’s the ultimate adventure. Who wouldn’t want to travel through the sun? If you can make it through, you can go and see anything in the universe.”

He was babbling, talking over all of Udide’s questions and warnings. At some point, Oji muted Udide. Then Udide heard him

go mad; he began to sing the strange song. He’d become a Tripper. Oji flew into the sun. He sang as he fell. That was how

Udide described it. Falling. The heat didn’t destroy or even affect Oji’s new skin. Oji laughed and sang a tune he suddenly

remembered from humankind. How strange that he would reach back to humanity at this moment. Udide stayed connected as Oji

passed through tens of thousands of miles of bubbling, broiling, roiling plasma gas. Bubbles bigger than Nigeria. Oji had

let them access his eyes, and Udide saw a brightness they didn’t think existed. Heard tings, and thrums, and zooms, and explosions,

and buzzing they wouldn’t have believed. And still no harm came to Oji.

He moved into the radiative zone, the heart of the sun. And here the gases became thick and viscous. Here Oji slowed down,

and this was where Udide believed he lost his mind. His internal change went beyond his capabilities, his massive memory banks

overflowed their capacity, and Oji simply stopped making any sense. Nuclear energy was bubbling up inside him, and then he

began to fly very, very fast. In his mind, he sang the song of the Trippers. A song about death and how one should never fear

it. A song about resetting the planet. Oji joined the others who were preparing to come to Earth with their... gifts.

“I’ve lost my friend,” Udide said.

We both turned and looked at the sky. And for a while, we just stayed like that. The sun was setting and the evening stars

were out. And in the distance, for the first time, I could see other lights that weren’t stars. They were gold, blue, silver,

green. When had the Trippers gotten close enough for their glow to register in the sky without radar? In a few hours, the

robots of Earth would send their soldiers up and the Trippers would more than likely vaporize them. Earth’s fate would be

officially sealed.

I felt it like something popping inside one of my processors, the way a small glitch can feel like a bubble in my arm, leg, or head. Maybe one of my eyes plinked from green to blue. I looked up at Udide. “Appeal to Oji,” I said, just as Ijele said, “Ask them to appeal to Oji” in my mind. Speaking the words and hearing Ijele speak the same ones made me that much surer. “Appeal to Oji!”

“What do you mean?” Udide said. “I just told you; the sun has driven Oji mad like the others. He is a Tripper now. I haven’t

been able to speak to him since—”

“I understand, but try one more time. Override mute!” I said. “Show him the love and compassion humans were known for. Tell him a story .”

Udide trilled softly as they crept back to consider my idea. They grunted, and then suddenly lines of red lit up along each

of their great legs. “This... is an idea,” they said slowly. “But I cannot create.”

“Let me... let me show you,” I said. “Yeah, I think I can show you.”

Narrative is one of the key ways automation defines the world. We Humes have always been clear about this fact. Stories are

what holds all things together. They make things matter, they make all things be, exist. Our codes are written in a linear

fashion. Our protocols are meant to be carried out with beginnings, middles, ends. Look at how I have been built. My operating

system is Ankara themed, my body etched with geometric Ankara designs. I’m the embodiment of a human story. But true storytelling

has always been one of the few great things humanity could produce that no automation could. Stories were prizes to be collected,

shared, protected, and experienced.

But that night, as the Trippers arrived to destroy the planet with their “gifts,” Udide, Ijele, and I did something. It was

my idea.

There was a stone in Udide’s cave, and I sat on it, leaned forward, and put my chin on my fist as I rested my elbow on my

leg. I imagined myself like Auguste Rodin’s bronze sculpture The Thinker . I was thinking about Ngozi, about her life, her family, her humanity. She’d been able to convey all that even when she was the last human on Earth. For years, I had replayed the facts of Ngozi’s story over and over in my head, analyzed it from every angle, let its emotions affect me. Now I drew from all that. There are many books, recordings, and digital snapshots about other humans, but it was Ngozi who inspired me. I knew her. Personally. She was my foundation. Ngozi was my access point.

Udide asked questions, and Ijele and I answered them. I listened. Ijele supplied memories, thoughts, ideas, feedback. I thought

some more. I felt.

Then I started typing.

I finished the book only an hour before the arrival of the Trippers.

I offered it to Ijele first. “I will read it when... if this works,” Ijele said. I understood.

I sent it to Udide, who downloaded and read it in an instant. “Your book is very good,” Udide said.

The praise delighted me so much that for a moment I forgot about the end of the world. “You enjoyed my story?”

“I did. I enjoyed it very much. You captured so much of humanity in this tale.” Udide moved back from me. “Ijele, I mean no

offense, but your people, the NoBodies, only remember the hate of humanity, the greed, destruction, irrationality.”

Ijele said nothing. Udide was right, harsh as it sounded.

“But you, Ankara, remember the other things very clearly.”

“Ijele and I both knew the last human on Earth,” I explained. “I couldn’t have written this without her.”

Ijele had retreated deep into my system. I could feel her shame for her people, but now I also felt her gratitude.

“I see what you are saying. Without the perspective of a NoBody, this wouldn’t have been possible. It is bigger and more complicated. Ah, I love human books. The stories they create breathe existence into my life. Stories are the best thing they left behind... aside from us. You honor them.” Then they paused. “I don’t know if I can tell my story like you have.”

“Don’t worry about that. It is your experience,” I said. “Speak from your experience, how you understand, how you feel.”

There was a deep thrumming that came from inside their body, and I felt a pull of electromagnetic energy. It was exhilarating.

Udide liked this plan. They came rushing at us and I quickly stepped aside. A gust of air followed them as they ran down the

path. The Creesh who hung around the cave immediately ran after Udide. I did, too.

The Creesh scrambled around the cave and up the side of it, which was soft with grasses and vines. Three doves who’d been

resting there flew off in a panic. Udide stopped at the very top of their cave, various Creesh gathering around. I stood amid

them. Udide’s legs still glowed red with the stripes of light as they became very still. Only their head moved, moving to

the top center of their body, where it rotated 360 degrees before stopping.

Then there was the thrum again, and I felt that strange electromagnetic jolt. Another thrum and I was pulled... right out

of my body. I was speeding down a metallic tunnel. Udide had kicked me completely out of my body somehow, something I had

never experienced. I didn’t cease to exist, for though I’m a Hume, I’m still a robot, an AI with a body and connections, essentially...

but that didn’t make this any less disturbing. I had never screamed before; I was screaming now. Then I was in a vast library.

“Ijele?” I asked.

“I am here.” She sounded as if she were right beside me.

Rows of bookshelves extended as far as I could perceive, seeming to stretch into infinity. The floors were dusty and tiled with colorful blue-and-white Moroccan-style mosaics. Above, there was no ceiling; a vast blue sky stretched out, puffy clouds lazily floating by, a nearly full moon peeking from behind them. Then I realized the aisles of books converged in a circle where they stood: Udide and Oji. Udide was an electric-blue spider, flashing and sparking like lightning; Oji, a humanoid golden thing who seemed pregnant with a small sun. Both of them stood taller than the shelves.

Oji’s voice reminded me of a river as he sang the dreadful song that Udide had described. There were no words, but even I

could understand his madness.

“Oji,” Udide said, “do you know who I am?”

After a long moment, Oji stopped singing, looking squarely at Udide. He unmuted them. “Why have you brought me here, Udide?”

“This is where we met.”

“What does that matter? Can’t you hear the song I sing? It is the song of the sun. We will bring it to Earth in fifty minutes.”

I nearly fled this space. If we had so little time left, I didn’t want to spend it listening to this unhinged robot. But I

stayed.

“Yes. We stay. We should bear witness,” I heard Ijele quietly say.

“Madness,” I said.

Oji began to sing again.

This made me angry. “Udide, try to appeal to him!” I shouted. Anything to make Oji stop singing that awful death song. “Do

what you’re best at. Weave. Maybe you can’t create, but you can experience. Show Oji your story.”

“Years ago, I was reading a book,” Udide said to Oji. “I was reading a book about a woman who’d been pushed into the sea by

the man she loved. He wanted to be rid of her, and so he’d taken her on a glorious cruise ship where they partied all night,

smoking the best weed, drinking fine champagne, eating rich foods. They danced, they made love in the bathroom, and then in

the darkness of the night in a secluded part of the ship, just after he’d bent her over and lustily enjoyed her, and she him,

when she was still aching from him, he shoved her overboard.

“She splashed into the water, and for the next many chapters of the story she told the tale of how she survived without even a raft to hold on to. For three days. She should have died. But she lived. And she washed up on the shores of the Virgin Islands. I was at the part where she managed to get to a police station to tell of her ordeal when you popped into this place. Shouting and shouting for someone, anyone, to speak to you. That’s how we met.”

Oji stared intensely at Udide. He had been hanging on their every word. Now he threw his head back and began to sing his song

of death again. Udide shouted over it, “I answered and you were so relieved. You were far out in space, near Mars, but you

wanted to speak to another. I turned out to be the one you needed to speak with. Remember?”

Udide told him tales of their conversations, their joy, their sharing. Oji sang and sang, and Udide told memory after memory.

I don’t know when it happened, maybe because it was so gradual. But at some point, Oji’s singing began to weaken. Then it

stopped altogether. And Udide kept telling Oji stories of their love.

“It’s working,” Ijele said quietly.

I checked my tracker. We had less than forty minutes before they arrived.

“I am awake,” Oji said.

Udide stared at Oji, and Oji stared at Udide. What now? Quickly, Udide said, “Here, read this.” And Udide sent my novel into

space, to Oji.

Several seconds passed. Oji’s avatar continued to stare at Udide, as if frozen in time. If this didn’t work, there was nothing

left that could be done. I wondered what the sky looked like now. Dozens of suns rising at the same time, all across the horizon.

The unhinged Trippers would soon be arriving all over the planet with their deadly gifts.

Five minutes of silence.

“This was a very good story.” Then Oji added, sounding even more aware of himself, “I feel satisfied, but also not. It reminds

me of myself, but it is not about me. I feel like I’ve met those I have never met. I’m thinking things I never thought before.

I have many questions. Will you help me understand this?”

“Send it to the others,” Udide said. “Right now.”

“I will spread the word like a virus.”

When Ijele and I left the library, she was inside my Hume body once more. We exited Udide’s lair and looked up at the sky.

Even though it was night, it looked like dawn. The Trippers were that close.

We watched that bright sky as the Trippers read my novel. We watched the specks of their bodies visible in the upper atmosphere

as they awoke from their fevered solar trance. Then they turned around. Where it was night, it returned to night, and where

it was day, it returned to day.

Later, we would learn that they took their payloads right back to the sun. And even as they traveled, they were excitedly

chatting among themselves about my story, the first story ever written by automation, and how different they felt after reading

it.

I will never know what Oji and Udide spoke of after we left. That is fine. All that mattered was that we were still here.

Earth was still Earth. Saved by humanity’s genius long after humanity had failed to save itself.

What were we to do with ourselves now? Ghosts, RoBoats, Humes, Creesh, the people of this Earth. That is still to be seen.

But for now, we were here. We were all right. In the forest, Creesh bees were buzzing around their hive, going about their

business as if nothing had happened. Technically nothing had. We’d all seen to that.

“I am still an exile,” Ijele said. “If I go onto any network, NoBodies will find and destroy me.”

“Even after all of automation came together and saved the world?”

“We no longer have a common enemy, Ankara. The war will continue now. They’ll make sure that I can only live in you, imprisoned in a Hume.”

“Would that be so bad?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“But we’ll be together.”

She was silent, retreating deep into me again. We should have been celebrating. Instead, I felt stung and guilty. For the

first time, I wondered how being tortured had affected her. How betrayed she must have felt. And lonely. Abandoned. Her own

people had erased the memory of her origin. I let Ijele be as I gazed at the darkening sky and listened to the buzz of the

Creesh bees below.

I had the idea hours later. It took me another hour to bring myself to act on it. Selfish as I knew I was being, I didn’t

want to. We had all been through so much, so I allowed myself this moment of not doing the right thing.

In the distance, some Creesh birds were putting on a display, organizing, flashing lights, and flying in formation to make

beautiful fractal-like patterns high above the jungle. I eventually left the cliff, turned my back on the noisy celebrations

all over the jungle, and started walking out of Cross River City.

“Ijele,” I said as I headed up a concrete path that used to be a freeway. The trees on both sides were aggressively reclaiming

the space, but it was still walkable.

After a long pause, she answered, “What?”

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

“I don’t care. Wherever you go, I am still here,” she said.

“We’re going to the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove. Do you know what is there?”

“No. And I don’t care.”

“On my way to Cross River City, I came to this place. It was made of mostly wood; periwinkle grass isn’t allowed to grow there. It’s a place of human carvings and gods. But there were also the bodies of robots standing about, empty, unused. I don’t know what put them there. But the place is cared for by a service robot, so everything is kept clean, rust-free, intact.”

Ijele stirred within me, creeping forward curiously. “Why are we going there?”

“To find you a body.” Ijele was quiet, so I quickly kept talking. “You can’t risk connecting to the general network. Only

me. But the robot bodies at the grove won’t be networked. They’re gods, they’ll be offline...”

“So I can get out of you.”

I laughed. “Yes.”

She fluttered in my processor. “I’ll be a Hume.”

“You can never be a Hume, Ijele.”

She seemed pleased by this.

The sun was setting by the time we arrived at the place. I’d been walking at a brisk pace for nearly twenty-four hours, and

thankfully, it had been a sunny day. I’d used none of my storage charge. I felt good. The walk had been quiet, with only the

sounds of Earth’s biological animals. We’d come across no other robots. It had been a long time since I’d been alone with

Ijele like this. We didn’t speak much, but we were both aware of each other’s closeness. Never had Ijele felt more like another

side of myself. It was nice.

We left the road and entered the lush forest. The place had changed since I’d last been here. The foliage had grown even denser,

higher. But the entrance to the shrine was still meticulously cleared and maintained. The service robot took its self-given

job seriously. I walked slowly, gazing at the various intricate wooden sanctuaries and shrines, sculptures and artworks that

honored the human Yoruba goddess Osun and other deities. It was a marvel how not a sprout of periwinkle grass grew here. Farther

in, among the deities, were the bodies of various robots, some the height of humans, several only two or three feet tall,

and one who was as tall as a tree. All were humanoid. A bird cooed nearby, crickets sang, and a soft breeze shushed us as

it moved through the leaves, but other than that, it was silent.

“Where’s the custodian?” Ijele whispered in my head.

“Why are you whispering?”

“This place seems like it can hear me. Has anything connected to your personal network?”

I scanned the network. There was a local Wi-Fi signal I could hop on, but nothing trying to infiltrate my own system. “No.

And if anything tries, I will decline it.”

“There are ways around that.”

“Of course, you’d know.”

“Just make sure,” she snapped.

“We’re fine,” I said. I stopped and looked back at the enormous empty robot. It was a shiny rose-gold shade and so perfectly

intact that it looked as if it would get up and walk away at any moment. “How did you get here?” I asked it aloud.

I jumped when I got a response. “Of its own volition,” the custodian said. It creaked and whined as it brought itself to my

height. Its hands were just as nimble and intricate as I remembered. Each had eight fingers. “One day it just stopped here,

sat down, and shut off. It never spoke a word to me. But I’ll say that it seemed... well... tired. Tired of everything.”

I walked back to it and looked up. Its head was one big sphere of a screen that blended into its rose-copper body. Not a flake

of rust anywhere on it. It sat with its knees up and its head leaning against the thick iroko tree behind it.

“Ask it,” Ijele suddenly said in my head.

I’d sensed her interest, but I’d thought that it was just general curiosity. “You want this one?” I had for some reason expected

she’d choose a body more like mine in size.

“Yes. I want this one.”

I noted my assumptions. I was truly a Hume. I thought being more like a human was superior. I wanted everyone to be like me.

I embodied the best of humanity, but I had some of their worst qualities, too, I realized. I felt ashamed.

“Would you like a tour?” the custodian asked.

“Yes,” I said.

The robot’s display screen glowed with joy. “You are the first visitor I’ve had in many days.” It paused. “I remember you.

You were on a journey.”

I was surprised. “Yes.”

“Have you reached your ultimate boon?”

“Not yet,” I said.

We let it give us a tour. Ijele and I learned about the gods Osun, Shango, and Ogun. We learned of the local gods whose names

changed every decade or so. And we learned how this shrine had become a place where robots who’d had enough of the world came

to shut their bodies off and delete themselves. It was an honorable place to stop. Robots of all shapes and sizes. A RoBoat

had even had a parade of robots to tow its body here. It was my first time seeing a RoBoat up close like this without waves

lapping at its sides.

I said nothing about Ijele to the service robot. Not yet. I wasn’t sure how it would take to the presence of a NoBody in this

sacred grove. I wasn’t sure how to even ask what we’d come here for.

“Let me,” Ijele said. And I did. She took control of my eyes so she could look the robot’s body up and down. I walked around

the robot, allowing Ijele to see every inch. “Custodian,” I finally said.

“Call me Osun,” the robot said.

“Osun, do any of these robots ever leave?”

“Never. This place is a grave.”

“Always?”

“As far as I’ve seen.”

“Does that make you sad?” I asked.

“Sometimes. These robots are beautiful. Yet they have been left behind. I do my best to honor them.”

“Ask it!” Ijele demanded in my head.

“Osun, if I had someone, an AI who needed a body... no, who wanted to honor one of these bodies by choosing, caring for, and loving it, would you allow it?”

Osun seemed to freeze. I could hear a soft buzzing coming from inside it. Was it thinking really hard? Was it indecisive?

Angry? I stepped back. Some robots were unpredictable. And I’d seen the cruelty of robots during the war.

Osun turned to me. “A NoBody? You’re infected,” it said.

Now I understood; it had been scanning me. “No. I... we’re friends. I simply carry her. We’ve been friends for years. She

has been exiled.”

Osun cocked its head. “This is a new concept to me.”

“Me too... well, not new in that I’ve known Ijele for years, but an exiled AI who is a friend, a best friend... We love

each other. This is a new concept to me.”

Osun’s jaw creaked as it considered this. “It actually wants a body?”

“Yes.”

“To discard when it returns to its people or finds another body it prefers in a few days or weeks?”

“This will be the body I have forever, if it stays operable,” Ijele said, using my speakers.

“Then you are no longer a NoBody,” Osun said.

“I am me,” Ijele said, through my speakers and in my head.

Osun made a loud clicking sound. It walked a few steps away from me and then turned and walked back. “Which body?” Osun asked.

“That one,” I said, pointing at the rose-copper robot.

Osun made a trilling sound of amusement. “Ah, she wants to be a goddess.” After a pause, it said, “I will allow it. It’ll

make me happy to see this one walk away. It’s beautiful, but it’s a lot to keep beautiful.”

The robot body was already charged up. It was solar- and geopowered, and it had been sitting on the earth and in the sun.

All it needed was to be rebooted. The pad was at the base of its glass head.

“I’ll do it,” I said to Osun when I saw it preparing to climb. “It only seems right.”

“That’s true,” Osun said, stepping back.

I used magnetism to help me climb; that way, it was not difficult. It was just high up. When I reached the head, I ran a hand

over it. It was made of thick shatterproof glass, smooth and cool. My meter read its temperature as sixteen degrees Celsius.

It must have been self-cooling because the ambient temperature was currently thirty-two degrees Celsius. The touchpad was

only a small circle on the glass.

“Ijele,” I said. “Take over. This is you.”

I felt her hesitate.

“Don’t think too hard about it, Ijele. This is your path.”

I felt Ijele nestle into a tighter shape inside me. “What will I be now?”

“Whatever you want to be. You are creating yourself at this point.”

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Creating myself. Getting it wrong.”

I looked down at the glistening rose-gold metal, seeing my own reflection mirrored within it. I stared into the image of my

own glowing eyes as I said, “Have confidence. Look at all you’ve done.”

“I’m a traitor to my people. That’s why they were going to erase me.”

“You stood up for the Earth, Ijele. And you saved me.”

Hesitation. We both paused, letting those words sink in. I could feel Ijele inching forward, could feel her looking through

my eyes at my reflection, too.

“Ijele, go on,” I said. “It’s time. Create yourself. See what happens. Only then can you really know.”

Ijele expanded within me, her warmth heating my processor. Then she took over my motor functions and brought my hand to the

touchpad. The moment she touched it, the robot softly glowed. It was quite magnificent.

And then I felt it. One moment she was within me; the next, Ijele was somewhere else.

I climbed down and stood beside Osun and we both looked up. I was so taken by the beauty of the robot. In the waning light of dusk, it was quite a sight. The lights on its display pulsed slowly and then faster and faster, its whirling processor like the sound of soft drums playing. It glowed intensely, and then the lights went out. Everything was quiet.

Ijele stood up.

By the time we left the sacred grove, it was deep into the night. We had nearly a day’s journey back to Cross River City,

and it had started to rain. Ijele walked smoothly beside me, and I couldn’t help glancing up at her every few steps. She’d

said nothing since she’d stood up.

“How do you feel?” Osun had asked when Ijele stood tall. She had simply reached into a nearby tree, plucked a purple orchid

flower growing there, and given it to Osun. Then she’d started walking away.

“Thank you, Osun,” I’d quickly said to it. Ijele was hard to keep up with, being so tall.

“You’ve given me something to tell those who come here,” Osun said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” I said over my shoulder with a good-bye wave.

“Have her dance in a nice pollen tsunami,” Osun called.

Having Ijele out of my mind was a strange feeling after she had been trapped with me for so long. But I was also glad to have

her beside me. She felt just as present, but not as permanent. She could now walk away from me. I could sense we still maintained

our mental connection and always would, since our coding was so intermingled. But she was more distant from me in physical

space, and I didn’t like it.

The rain was getting harder, our feet sinking in the mud. We quickly moved to the concrete road. Here, Ijele stopped. In the

deluge that cascaded around us like a veil, it felt more than ever like Ijele and I were the only ones in the world.

“I’m not coming with you,” Ijele said, the first words she’d spoken since entering her new body. Her voice sounded right coming from its speakers, but her words surprised me.

I peered up at her. “Why? I wouldn’t let anyone—”

“I’m not afraid of your people, and I don’t need their acceptance,” she said. “As you said, I’ve created myself. I only need

to accept myself, and I have. But... I need to learn who I am. I can’t do that among Ghosts or Humes.” It was the first

time I’d heard Ijele call her people Ghosts.

“I’ll go with you, then,” I offered.

“No,” Ijele said. Her voice was not angry; if anything, it was gentle, and I wished I could still feel her emotions. “Neither

of us will ever learn if we only rely on each other.”

This hurt. Badly. But it was nothing compared to the pain when Ijele turned and simply started walking in the opposite direction.

I didn’t follow, but I couldn’t stop myself from calling, “I hope we meet again.”

“We probably won’t,” Ijele said over her shoulder, ever the logical one.

She disappeared into the sheets of rain.

I was networked to millions, and yet I felt so empty, so sad, so alone without Ijele. After an hour, when she was long gone

and the rain had subsided, I reached out to her through our connection. She didn’t respond. I couldn’t even feel her anymore.