Page 48 of Death of the Author
I told Zelu about how I’d constructed my hang glider up on that cliff, a spot I’d launched from so many times before. And how, the first few moments after I went airborne, I felt a joy so potent that I think I blacked out for a moment. That when I finally came back to myself, the quiet I experienced was like God had placed his hands over my eyes. Two minutes later, as I flew over the forest canopy, the strangest gust of wind slammed into me. I told Zelu that I would never know what the hell it was. It knocked me right into the side of a mountain, where I would remain for four days, caught in the bent remains of my glider, legs shattered.
I told her about those dark, terrifying days when I met death, got to know her, negotiated with her, fought with her, and eventually submitted to her. Ididn’ttell Zelu that a crow kept coming and pecking at my decaying legs. The wet red strand of flesh it managed to eat. How I barely had the strength to wave it away and how it kept getting bolder. I didn’t tell her that I tried to kill myself with a stick. But I told her enough that she started crying. “But you know what, Zelu?” I asked. “If I had a chance to go back, to never have it happen, I wouldn’t take it. This is me. This is my path. I’m better for it all. I’ve climbed higher, seen more, traveled farther, created more than I ever could havewithmy legs. My ultimate boon.”
Zelu was looking at me hard. I was glad. She was hearing me. My words hurt her, but I hoped they would heal her, too. People like us have a hard time speaking to ourselves, beyond our basic programming and thinking about our own insecurities.
Next, I asked how “it” happened to her. She took a deep pull from her joint and slowly exhaled a giant cloud of smoke. About a minute passed. I waited. She took three more puffs and handed the joint to me. Her eyes were red now, and she was smirking. She watched me as I finished it off.
Then she told me about climbing a beautiful tree that was dead inside. She said she had been arrogant. I caught that, even through my high. I wish I’d been recording her words; there was so much in what she was telling me, how she told it, how free she felt to just speak it. Such a storyteller. I know Zelu. She’s not a quiet person, but she always holds back. She’s a creative, impulsive, kind, fun girl. She has that wild discipline that I recognize because I have it, too. She can take the pain. But that wall of hers is solid and thick. But this night, the wall was down.
“When I fell... ,” she said. Her eyes grew wide, her jaw slack, like she couldn’t even believe she was saying this. “I... I... All I kept thinking was that whatever would come next, it was all my fault. It wasn’t the tree, it wasn’t the ash borer beetle who ate it away, the boys, bad luck, fate, destiny, none of it, none of them... It was my fault. I wanted to win and I lost my grip. Maybe I wasn’t fast enough. I should have flown. I should have...” She tapered off, tears falling from her eyes. Then she smiled. “Wham! Then blackness. End of act one.” She giggled.
I patted her on the shoulder. She wiped her eyes. “You gotta ease up on yourself, Zelu,” I said.
“I know,” she acknowledged. “I never could have known. Plus, I was a dumb kid.” She wheeled her chair back from the railing. “We should probably get inside. It’s cold as fuck out here.”
“Yep,” I said, getting up as well.
I drove her back to the hotel, and on the way we stopped for some hot chocolate at a Starbucks. We said good night. The next day, and the days after that, we met up in the gym and continued as if we’d never gotten deep with each other like that. But I’d heard Zelu loud and clear. She blamed herself and her arrogance for all that had happened, no matter what anyone said or what her logical brain knew. She couldn’t help it. It was how she’d been able to accept what she was. She had to own it. But the problem is, blame comes with guilt, and guilt is heavy, and that pressure just keeps building.
You asked me if I agree with the choices Zelu made. Well, I’m a scientist, and I’m her friend. Zelu and I have shared the kind of experiences few could ever comprehend. I understand what led her down her path. Still, in that moment when she had to make a pivotal choice, I don’t know if I could have done the same.
21
Loyalty
I sat with my back pressed against the acacia tree outside Ngozi’s home. I was watching the sun rise through its branches. The tree’s thick clusters of yellow flowers were no match for the sun. I liked coming here at this hour to watch the sky warm. It felt like hope. The ocean was only a mile away, and the cool, salt-laden air blew across the field, ruffling the periwinkle grass.
What was supposed to have been one day had stretched into nearly two months as Ngozi worked tirelessly to create a way for Ijele to leave my system. The terrible information I had to take to Cross River City weighed heavily on me every day that passed, but I couldn’t go there with a Ghost trapped inside me, so I didn’t even glance at the countdown. If any Humes still survived, they would quickly sense Ijele and tear me apart.
“Maybe today is the day,” I said aloud.
“If it’s not, then I would like to go and watch for RoBoats this afternoon,” Ijele said. She had grown obsessed with them after the first time I walked along the beach. It had been a quiet and peaceful stroll, untilwe heard a booming in the distance, far out in the sea. Seven gigantic RoBoats surfaced from below, water rolling away from their rounded metal hulls in thick waves that even reached the shoreline. They lit their lights and sounded horns so loud that they nearly blew out my microphones. Then they submerged, the water bubbling around their bodies and overtaking them until they disappeared beneath the surface again, leaving no trace behind but the waves that lapped against the beach. I don’t know why this fascinated Ijele so deeply, but it did. We hadn’t seen them since, but Ijele continued asking me to return at that same time each day, hoping to see them again. She called them dolphins, even though they weren’t.
Ngozi came out of her home carrying a tablet. “It’s done,” she said. “I’ve programmed Ijele’s way out.”
Something ticked in my chest. “Are you certain this time?”
Ngozi nodded. “I realize now what needs to be done. I can’t separate the connection you two have made—your codes both believe they are part of one single program—but I can teach you how to split off parts of your code and let them leave.”
I had to take a moment to process this. Did this mean that, if Ijele left, it would be like she took a piece of me with her? If that was the case, how much would she take? What if she went back to the other Ghosts and they saw what was in my mind, the things meant to belong only to me? My stories, my secrets, my terrible information...
I considered asking Ijele if she had read the terrible information I carried in my memory, the story I’d collected. Maybe she’d even seen the countdown. If she had, she’d never said a word. And she was a Ghost; she wouldn’t have had any interest in examining my stories, my “addiction,” as she called it. If I asked her only about this specific one, she might become too interested in it. I didn’t trust anything about Ijele.
Ngozi brought me inside and laid me on the table. She hooked me up to wires that connected to her computer again.
“When the command activates, you can leave, Ijele,” Ngozi said asshe typed. “But a connection between you two will remain; it can’t be undone.”
“We’ll conduct ourselves around others as if this never happened,” Ijele said.
“Yes,” I said. “Humes will destroy a Hume infected by a NoBody.”
“And NoBodies will destroy a NoBody who has been in a Hume.”
“Enemies for no reason. Typical,” Ngozi said, making atsk-tsknoise with her lips. She clicked Enter on her tablet, and this time there was no need to wait for an update. It happened instantly; the way for Ijele opened. I could see it like a blue flashing tunnel on the left side of my mind. In a split second, Ijele was gone.
“She left,” I said, relieved. I looked down at my new legs. With the threat of Ijele finally over, I could look upon my new body as something that belonged to me. “Good.”
Ngozi laughed to herself. “Honestly, I never knew that AIs were so...” She shrugged. “I look at you Humes and I know how to treat you. NoBodies never seemed like, well, people. My outlook has changed.”
