Page 128 of Death of the Author

“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. Butthe 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.”

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