Page 84 of Death of the Author

“I know.”

“You have walked from Lagos.”

“Yes.”

“What have you learned?”

“That automation is diverse and full of hate and love,” I said.

Oga Chukwu’s face lit up like a sun. He was laughing.

“I have terrible information from Udide the Spider. That’s why I have come.”

He paused and then said, “You will speak it at the next gathering.”

“Okay. Yes.”

“Good.”

He seemed so calm. I had to ask: “Aren’t you worried the Ghosts will come here?”

“Indeed, I am. Do you agree that we should be ready, too?”

“Yes. And I think we have a fight to give them. Far more than the other automation.”

“We?” he said. “So, you already see yourself as one of us?”

Now it was my turn to be amused. One of whom? I was individual, solitary. I’d traveled all this way not knowing if I might be the last of my kind. I’d come carrying terrible information, not sure if I would ever be able to complete my mission by revealing it. I was a Scholar who not only had tracked down, read, and exchanged many stories but had found the last human on Earth, learned from her, loved her, and buried her. If I told Oga Chukwu all of this, perhaps he and the other Humes would understand.

But most importantly, I’d shared programming with a Ghost. I had learned from Ijele, and she had learned from me. This I could never reveal to anyone. This couldn’t be forgiven.

Nevertheless, these Humes were like me. They loved humanity and stories, just as I did. But some stories couldn’t be understood. Some stories I’d keep to myself.

That night, I was brought to my first “gathering,” an assembly of Cross River City’s leaders and thinkers. Unlike many automated communities, the Humes insisted on meetings in person, as opposed to instant sharing of information across private networks. There was something aboutphysical meetings that solidified the importance of an issue. Yet another human remnant we kept in practice.

Cross River City gatherings were not big affairs. Humes were a busy people, concerned with building and creating. We cultivated and enjoyed friendships, whole families of us dwelling together in sophisticated structures built from trees, stones, and mud. This day there were about thirty Humes in attendance. Oga Chukwu introduced me to everyone and then stepped back and let me speak.

I relayed Udide’s terrible information and showed her countdown application. It read 539 days. When I stopped talking, there was silence. Processing. I could smell and feel the heat of it. One of the Humes consulted ten of the satellite telescopes, located evidence of the Trippers, and verified everything I said.

“What will we do?” I asked the gathering.

Oga Chukwu and the other Humeswereinterested in the terrible information, but for them, this was a distant threat. Before my arrival, these gatherings had revolved around the more immediate problem: dealing with the Ghosts of Lagos. “We Humes cannot achieve anything further on this Earth while Ghosts still prowl the network, plotting our demise,” Oga Chukwu told me. “Help us win this war, Ankara, and then we will defend this planet from the Trippers.”

I couldn’t understand how a war with a group of automation could be more pressing than saving the planet. I cited human novels and short stories that warned against ignoring the larger threat. I even brought up the ancient issue of climate change and how the humans had chosen to focus on other things, leading to their downfall.

“Automation banded together and addressed the climate when humans were gone,” Oga Chukwu said. “Everything in its own time.”

The other Humes all made various beeps, flashes, murmurs of agreement.

“This is not even a real problem yet,” a Hume named Shay said. “If we are all destroyed by the Ghosts, the Trippers won’t even matter.”

“The Trippers can be dealt with,” another Hume painted in yellow and red stripes said. “Once the Ghosts are gone, we can rally all other automation together to form a plan.”

Oga Chukwu thanked me for bringing the terrible information to the group. I’d come all this way to say these words that had weighed on me for so many months, and now I felt foolish. Then the gathering was over, and the Humes went on their way. I was the last to leave, so thrown off by the unconcerned reaction of my fellow Humes that I didn’t want to move until they were all gone.

I couldn’t abandon my mission, but the gathering had made a valid point. I couldn’t let Hume-kind be destroyed by Ghosts before we could save the world. I wasn’t done trying to push their attention toward the sky, toward the coming of the Trippers, but first, I needed to help them in this conflict. Then I would earn their respect, and they would listen. Humes, like humans, are hierarchical. If I had no authority, I’d never be heard. When the time came, I needed to be in a powerful position. This is why I accepted the title of general in the battle against the Ghosts.

Now, a year later, I stood tall on the edge of a cliff, looking over the Cross River Forest. A hawk flew high in the distance, and I imagined it could see me perfectly with its keen eyes. Then I looked down into the valley. No more dreaming; I was a Cross River City general now.

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