Ngozi clears a space in the section of the aircraft behind the cockpit. She works swiftly, dismantling the seats that lined each side, fetching a medkit from her mech, and preparing a makeshift bed for Uzo, with medical supplies in a neat, efficient array beside her, among the supplies a sort of liquid battery that feeds nanobots into Uzo’s prone, motionless form by way of a needle injected into her damaged left arm.
When they’d first brought Uzo into the plane and laid her down, they’d all shared a moment of despairing shock. The synth’s skin peeled in a number of places, revealing metal rusted with corrosion beneath. Pistons and gears and divets the color of blood with dried oil like grease puddles around some of her abrasions. Soot blackened her face, and even now, in slumber, her chest heaves with labored breathing. Watching Ngozi hook Uzo to the external battery and get to work settling cushions beneath Uzo’s head, Ify remembers watching so many loved ones hovering over the hospital beds of patients in her care, whispering words she was sure the patient couldn’t hear or trying to stimulate responses by touch when Ify knew the patient had no way of responding. And annoyance had cut through her, watching that. It was illogical, what they were doing. And yet she kneels by Uzo’s side, wanting to run her fingers over the backs of the synth’s charred hands, wanting to murmur nothings into her ear, not caring whether she can hear her or not.
“Some of these will have to be replaced,” Ngozi says from behind her mask as she takes her tools to the exposed metal of Uzo’s shoulder. Her legs are riddled with rashes and burns as well. These, at least, Grace treats with healing pads and gel from the medkit. “But I’ve managed to restore brain function. She wasn’t out for long before we found her, thank God.” A smirk. “She certainly has Onyii’s luck.”
An ease settles into the back of Ify’s mind. As though a worry has been checked off her list. If Uzo is still alive, that means Ify has a working braincase to examine. That means they are that much closer to helping the children in Alabast.
After a while, Ngozi sits back and hangs some of her tools on hooks in a makeshift stand next to her. Then she takes off her mask, wipes the sweat from her forehead with her arm, and sighs. It’s a large sound in the small area of the plane behind the cockpit. “She’ll live.” When Ngozi says it, Ify doesn’t hear the joy she expects. “We need to talk about how you get her out of Nigeria.”
Grace stops swabbing Uzo’s legs and watches the cream dry, smoothing the ragged edges of the broken skin. “We can’t go back, can we?”
Ngozi shakes her head. “It’s no longer safe for you here.”
“They’ll find us.”
Ify considers them both, then looks down at Uzo’s still form. “We haven’t even asked her yet.”
They both look Ify’s way.
“What if she refuses?” She can’t stop scanning Uzo’s wounds, the story all her markings tell. “What if she doesn’t want to come with us?”
“Where will she go?” Ngozi asks, annoyed. “She’ll be hunted here. And they will catch her sooner rather than later.”
Ify smirks. “You’ve managed to steer clear.”
Ngozi puts her hand to her chest. “I’m a fugitive. No one lasts long as a fugitive here.” She lowers her voice, drains the anger from it. “I’ve made my peace with this. I only made it this far because there were others. If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together. That was our rule. Who will watch over her?”
“We can care for her in Alabast,” Grace says, insistent. “We can give her the best medical treatment. We can help her build a life for herself.” She stops, but Ify knows what she was about to say. Just like you were able to, Ify. “She’s a child.”
“No,” Ify says, almost too soft for anyone to hear but her. “She’s not. She’s a synth. Every one of her kind is here.”
“Every one of her kind is dead, Ify.” This from Ngozi. “All of them.” She reaches behind her and bangs the palm of her hand against the hull of their ship. “No more signals. None. She’s the last one.”
No more. The others. Ify imagines a bevy of young children the same age as the unconscious girl nearby, all of them strangers to themselves, a jumble of memories and information and command inputs, all of them struggling to find a place in peacetime. Ify imagines what they might have been like together. Brothers and sisters. Siblings. Family. All gone. Uzo is the only one left. “So we should just take her to space, then?” Rage builds within Ify. “Just rip her from the only home she has ever known? Drop her onto an island floating in space where she’ll be surrounded by oyinbo? Who will look at her like she is a turd that just dropped from the sky? They will not welcome her. They will challenge her and despise her and try to keep her from getting what they have simply because she does not look or speak like them. Is that what you want for her?”
“If she stays here,” Ngozi roars, “she will die!”
“She’ll have a choice!”
“If I am choosing between gari and starvation, I should choose starvation, then?”
“She’s a synth! They’ll send her back as soon as she gets there. So she’ll have gone through this whole journey for what? To wind up at a refugee camp in the Jungle? A floating rubbish bin in space where people are practically swimming in their own offal? Is that what you want for her?”
“So because Onyii saved your life without asking your permission, you think that was a mistake?”
And that stops Ify cold.
“She saved your life,” Ngozi hisses. “And all you have ever been is ungrateful. The comfortable life you have in the Colonies? That is because of her. Your precious job as a doctor? That is because of her.” She leans in toward Ify. “The very fact that you are breathing. That is because of her.” Those last words turn into a snarl. After a beat, Ngozi settles against the wall. “And you are upset because she did not ask your permission.” She sucks her teeth. “You are mad.” With her finger, she jabs her temple. “Mad.”
Fury bends Ify’s fingers into fists, but there’s nothing she can say. It is foolishness to resent Onyii for what she did, but Ify can’t bring herself to let it go. Then she realizes that a part of her had wanted to stay. Even if it meant being chased by the government for the rest of the war. Even if it meant never knowing another moment of peace. Even if it meant watching Onyii die before her very eyes, she would have been with her. She could have held her hand in her last moments, and Onyii denied her that. Took that choice away from her.
Ify looks to the ceiling. “What do we do?”
“Um . . .” But Grace doesn’t finish.
Ify turns her way, then sees her looking at Uzo, who is looking straight back at Ify.
“She’s awake,” Grace says at last.