Page 68 of Death of the Author

“Yeah, perspective. Anyway, enough thinking. Let’s head back.”

By the time they made it to the house, it was nearly 2 p.m. They didn’t say much more to each other, and that was nice. Zelu would never have imagined that so much wildlife thrived in the desert. They’d even seen a forest-green snake try to ambush a quail. There was an ebb and flow out here that was really magical. Who’d have thought? In this giant expanse of rock and dirt that seemed to stretch on into infinity, Hollywood felt worlds away. Still, Zelu knew she couldn’t make a life and thrive here like Wind. She’d only long for a body of water, for the constant movement of the waves, the sound of the water breaking against the shore.

They stayed with Marlo and Wind for a week. However, Zelu knew that she had to return to the human world. By the time they left, she still didn’t much like Wind. But she was ready to answer her agent’s phone calls and get back to the world of her books. The film was not her story, but at least it was something that gave people joy. It was a worthy sacrifice... maybe. Plus, as everyone kept reminding her, her book was stillherbook. The weird, magnificent thing she’d pulled out of her brain had started this all, and that would always belong to her.

29

Pollinated

I left Lagos. The megacity was so sprawling that it took more than a day for me to get out of it. Instead of the roads, I followed the beaches. Ijele still hadn’t returned. Ijele loved the sight of those giant RoBoats so much, I’d thought that maybe she’d sense where I was and join me. She didn’t. And though I knew how to call her, I didn’t. I walked those beaches alone. I saw no RoBoats breach the water’s surface in the distance.

But I did see dolphins. They clearly saw me, too, for they swam into the shallows and leaped up to get a better look at me. Friendly, free, curious creatures. Ijele would have enjoyed seeing them.

I moved inland, where I found wide, empty roads. Robots keep the roads clear because that is what we’ve always done. I had the road to myself for several hours before I came across someone else—a vaguely aware, sleek electric car. It came speeding up the road at over 150 miles per hour. It slowed as it approached me and then eventually came to a stop right in front of me. Up close, I saw that it was a scratchy silver; it had used something to scrape all its paint away. Its roof was one big solar panel.

A camera popped up through its hood with a softwhirrrrand I heard it scan me. “You are a Scholar Hume,” it told me in a flat male voice. “I’m going to Lagos.”

“I’m just coming from there,” I responded, stepping up to it. I touched its side door and looked inside. Bundled wires, several large boxes that probably contained motherboards, power supplies, processors... This car had really built itself up.

“Why are your legs lacking rust?” it asked.

“It’s a long story.”

It began rolling past me, its shallow curiosity satisfied. “I’m glad to see a functioning Hume,” it said. “I cannot explain why I did it, but I ran over several Humes some weeks ago. I don’t feel good about this, and I haven’t seen any Humes since... until you.”

“Ghosts broadcast a protocol,” I explained as I mulled over its words. No Humes since? Could it be true that I was really the last of my kind? Was my journey to Cross River City just moving from a small grave to a bigger one? These possibilities were too great to process. I decided not to dwell on them until I had to.

It was a few feet away from me now, and it paused. After a moment, it said, “Ghosts should be stopped.”

“Then why are you going to Lagos? The servers there are favored by Ghosts.”

“The roads are wide, and I now maintain a VPN. They cannot infect me.”

It drove away before I could say more. I continued down the empty road.

One day, I came across an old shrine. This place pulled me back to myself, for it was a place no Scholar could ignore. “Gods and robots,” I said to myself as I walked through it. This place was old and new.

Everything was arranged around a large wooden building that looked like a house from another world. It was encrusted with cowryshells and carved with winding, intricate designs. Stationed on each side of the entrance was a tall, skinny, humanoid figure that stood six feet tall. They both had stunned faces, like they couldn’t believe the humans who’d made them were all dead. The periwinkle grass that covered so much of the land, including many of the roads, seemed to want nothing to do with this place. Bushes, vines, and trees grew freely here, yet there was also a sense that someone was pruning them, preventing them from taking over.

That someone turned out to be a durable service robot that maintained the place. It walked out of the central building as I moved past. It paused, extended its narrow metal legs so that it became my height, and greeted me in Yoruba. I greeted it back.

“Welcome to the Osun-Osogbo Sacred Grove,” it announced, holding out its stick-thin steel arms. “I’m an old custodian robot who has obtained the ultimate boon of my journey; you, on the other hand, seem to be at the beginning of yours.”

I had no idea what it was talking about, but I let it show me around. It didn’t allow anyone to touch, record, or photograph anything here. “Not even if you are a Scholar Hume,” it added.

I was fascinated by this place. So many of the idols, gods, goddesses, and deities were made of wood. And among them were the unmoving, unanimated bodies of robots, some old, some new, some tall, some short. The only Humes bodies were those who had not rusted much. The custodian walked through the grove slowly, with great care, as it showed me around.

Why the Ghosts had not destroyed this place was beyond me. Maybe they didn’t know about it. Whatever the reason, I had to believe this was another strong sign that Ghosts hadn’t conquered all. When I left the shrine, my senses were refreshed, and the world around me felt more focused—the trees, birds, remnants of human life, the occasional waves of periwinkle grass pollen. But as I continued along the road, I couldn’t forget that in a couple of years, all this might be destroyed by crazedspace robots singing songs of destruction as they gifted Earth with pieces of the sun.

Ijele and Ngozi had replaced my broken legs with new ones. Rust-free, light, stronger metal. I’d accepted their smooth functionality and could walk very well, but I hadn’t yet tested their full capabilities. On that road, I practiced. These legs could run, jump, grip smooth surfaces. At first, I was a little afraid. I was afraid of falling, and a few times I did. But I picked myself up and was okay. And I was better for it, because I learned what I had done wrong and what I could do better. How I must have looked to any robot watching, I don’t know. But I was determined.

Ijele would have been proud of the way I embraced my new features. But she still hadn’t returned to me. Was it grief, or something worse? Had the Ghosts discovered her connection to me and deleted her? I wanted to call to her through our bond, but if Ijele had indeed rejoined the Ghosts’ hive mind, doing so might only reveal her deception.

I was obsessing over this possibility one day when the wind picked up, causing ripples as it blew over the periwinkle grass like waves on the ocean. Then I saw it in the distance—a purple-blue pollen tsunami. It flew over me, saturating the air, coating my skin. It was glorious. I wished Ijele could have been with me, because she might have finally come to understand what it is to love a body. Slowly, I turned myself counterclockwise, letting every part of me experience the pollen tsunami’s full force. What a joy.

“Ngozi,” I said aloud into the periwinkle waves. I let the wind take the word, her name. I flashed Ngozi’s image on my face screen, and it lit my world for a while.

When the pollen tsunami began to lift, I stopped turning and looked down at myself. I looked like a Hume-shaped flower. I bent each of my joints: neck, shoulders, torso, arms, wrists, fingers, hips, and of course every part of my new legs. Smooth. Perfect. Easy. Periwinkle flower pollen is like magic to robots. It got into my gears, between my panels, into my crevices; it helped loose rust flakes shed.

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