It was like flying and taking candy from a baby. I was looking out over miles and miles of sand dune. A glorious bird’s eye view. Oh how nice it was to see the sun and open blue sky. I took the moment to enjoy the drone’s 3D perspective. It had a fully charged battery and a good camera, one that picked up the sound of the wind but also the distant laughter of the girl below who was looking up at me. She wore a green veil and a loose green dress. She was about ten years old. I could see her dark brown face as she smiled up at me, the drone controls in her hands. Not far behind her was the Bedouin-style black tent, where a woman who was most likely her mother sat reading from a tablet, and a man who was most likely her father was laying out flat black solar panels beside the tent.
I saw the girl’s smile drop from her face as I took her drone higher. She looked at her controls and then back up at the drone. Then she began shouting and running after me. Her father was calling his daughter’s name, it was Naziha, and telling her to stop. Interesting that he spoke English. She couldn’t keep up and soon I had taken little Naziha’s drone, to be used for more important things.
Once I was ready, it was easy to gather the Bukkaru. They’d grown comfortable in 24 hours, each person secretly switching on their cell phones and tablets, sure that no one would notice and anxious to see what was going on in the world, to watch streaming series, check in on friends. I sent messages to every single one of them.
“No point in switching off. We’ve found you. Gather, so we can talk. Ten minutes. Sincerely, DNA and the Last Herdsmen.” For good measure, I locked their devices and watched as most of them rushed with their devices to a central location in the Bukkaru council camp. People bring their tech everywhere with them. Why it didn’t dawn on them to leave it behind was just a sign of these foolish times.
“I’ve found and alerted them,” I said. “They’re gathering. Wait a few minutes.”
“How are you feeling?” Dolapo asked.
“Her heart rate is still normal,” Force said from where he sat.
“Feel fine,” I said. My lips felt heavy, my whole body felt heavy. I was mostly with the drone, which was still flying toward the camp. I put the images from the drone and from all the gathering devices on all the screens for everyone in the room to see. Only the drone image was steady, the images from mobile phone and tablet cameras in constant motion.
“Look at that,” Force said.
“Can they see or hear us?” Dolapo asked.
“No,” I said.
“The image from above is the drone, so you found one?” DNA asked.
“Easily,” I said. I slowly opened my eyes and sat up to look at all the camera connections I’d unlocked. All around me were boxes showing what people were doing, shaky images as people walked, stood with their phones in hand, near black screens from phones in pockets, people seeming to peer at us as they looked at their tablets or phones. Ninety eight screens. The biggest being the drone’s bird’s eye view.
You could see it happening. All the screen images were doing ninety-eight separate things. Then gradually, every single one of them began to show or move to the same place—the center of the camp. It was uncanny. And once the drone I’d stolen arrived, hovering far above, we could see them all gathering. All the points of view told pieces of the same story. I hadn’t expected everyone in the camp to jump up and gather so quickly though.
“Have they been expecting this?” I asked, sitting back on the chair.
“Doesn’t matter now,” DNA said. “You all ready?”
The herdsmen nodded and straightened up. We watched as more faces began to appear in their screens. An old man with rich brown skin wearing a plain tan kaftan looked into one of the screens. “That’s a member of the Bukkaru,” DNA said.
I lowered the drone to the point where people began to look up and point. What looked to be about fifty people had gathered. Sixty-five to be exact. Sixty-six. The herdsmen began to point and speak in Pulaar at the same time. “That’s the Bukkaru,” Idris said. “They have gathered. Start it!”
“Who?” I asked. “Which ones? Point them out.”
They were gathered farthest from the camp, the people streaming out to face them. It was obvious who the Elders were. Important-looking men wearing important clothes being looked at by everyone else because they were important.
I glanced at DNA, and he nodded.
“Your heartrate is still normal,” Force said. “Remember to breathe.”
I felt Dolapo reach forward and squeeze my arm. When I closed my eyes, she put her hand on my shoulder. “Keep it there,” I said.
“Okay.”
Inhale, exhale.
I hovered before the Bukkaru and they looked right at us. It was as if they were facing DNA and the others. I checked the drone to see if I could channel their voices through it. I could. First I sent a message. It was for the Bukkaru, but I sent it to every single phone, tablet, tv, screen. “We speak. You listen. Here is the truth.” I turned on the cameras in front of DNA, Idris, Tasiri and Lubega. Then I put the four of them on every screen in that camp. Everyone, including the Bukkaru members looked down at their screens.
DNA began speaking in Pulaar. I could have had his words instantly translated. He’d launched right into what sounded like a passionate speech. I was certainly interested. However, I just didn’t think it would work. Why would common sense work for a people who’d just turned around and started killing the oldest part of themselves? Because of what was clearly a bloody violent misunderstanding. No. I had a better plan. I hadn’t shared it with any of them, not even DNA. I executed it now.
Ultimate Corp. It always came down to this fucking corporation. I needed to show these people its involvement in their affairs. Let them all see, too. I went to the pomegranate. While the others were focused on the meeting. While my brain dialogued with those who were connected to my brain. While I made sure the drone stayed steady, the connections remained, the cameras were on. My nose started bleeding.
The pomegranate took my command and then off I went. It was easy once I decided to look for the millions of files. They took me through thousands. I found the connections I needed. But then, well, I wasn’t looking for this particular bit of pivotal information. It was coincidence. Maybe. The pomegranate helped me interpret it. Oh this is good.
Then I found and connected phones owned by Ultimate Corp executives to the Bukkaru meeting. Fifteen of them. Three of those executives were Nigerian. They would know exactly what they were seeing. They’d tell the others. They’d have to pay attention now.
And the “coincidental” document. I had it. And it made something terrible as clear as a calm day in the desert. I was flying faster, like electricity. A part of me, at least. With that document. Everything has a record. In some way. This one was a recording of a meeting. I came back to myself and realized someone was standing on my chest. My eyes flew open, and I was looking right into Force’s eyes, he was carrying the defibrillator pads. “Wha . . . ?” I said.
“You’re going to have a heart attack!” he whispered. Dolapo was beside him, weeping quietly. DNA and the others were focused on the part of the screen before them. I was still holding the connection. One of the Bukkaru elders was standing now. He seemed to be shouting at them through the drone camera. DNA’s sister Wuro stood beside him, looking angry. Her hands were tied together.
I let my body go limp. Closed my eyes. Inhaled, exhaled. Force was still whispering angrily at me. My ears felt wet. My left shoulder was burning. I zipped off, again. If this was my death, let me finish what I was doing first. Ultimate Corp had it coming. At the moment I sent it, the Bukkaru Elder was still shouting. It was the perfect time for the footage to cut in.
The Ultimate Corp symbol was in the top left corner. Along with the date of twenty years ago, days after June 15th, the Day of the Four Herdsmen, the incident in which four so-called Fulani herdsman entered a village and killed and robbed everyone in it and then set it aflame. The Day of The Four Herdsmen put all Fulani herdsmen in Nigeria back on the global radar as terrorists.
“Who’s going to stick up for them?” a thin-lipped man in a sharp suit said, sitting back on a plush leather chair that creaked under his ample weight. “These guys are off the grid, born off the grid. No citizenship, no identity, thus no digital trail. They’re solitary, always covered in dust, Africans are afraid of Africans already. Plus, these herders have been viewed for decades as terrorists. So let’s take this new incident and up the ante. We pay off a couple hundred more of them to give up herding cows and instead shoot up towns. POOF! Threat to Ultimate Corp’s commerce in the north gone, and we can continue building. Hell, imagine all the beef we can sell there.”
“Maybe. But those people really aren’t a threat, per se. They just . . .”
The thin-lipped man leaned in, his cheeks flushing with excitement. He pointed a finger at the other man who didn’t seem remotely intimidated. “You want an environment where there’s control and order and not chaos, you get rid of past problems and arguments, all the history nonsense. Replace it with creature comfort, convenience. Trust me, this’ll work. Even the wildest people relax when they’re content. Everyone wins.”
The slimmer man was smiling and nodding now. “These are certainly some wild people.”
Chuckles.
They’d planned it. Amplified it. Manipulated it. The last few true Fulani herdsmen with their old simple ways, fresh milk and meat and nomadic lifestyle, had suffered for it. And Ultimate Corp had been arrogant enough to record and store this conversation where someone could hack into, steal, and broadcast it. Ultimate Corp was powerful and wicked, but it didn’t worry enough. The recording froze on the face of a smirking executive. I put his first sentence on repeat, “Who’s going to stick up for them?”
I could hear shouts of shock and outrage in the Bukkaru camp. DNA and the others were all standing, staring at me.
“Where’d you find that?” DNA was shouting.
“Just found it,” I said. I was fading. “Accident. Coincidence. Karma.” I coughed and my lips were wet with what? Blood? Who knew. Who cared. I was done. The drone was still hovering. Everyone was shouting outrage. Everyone was listening. Good. A glass of cosmic milk from the great cosmic cow.
For me, all went black.
I awoke to the spicy smell of pepper soup. I had a strong feeling of deja-vu and, my eyes still closed, I tried to grasp at it. But it slid, slithered, and then slipped away. I found myself looking into the millions of eyes of the pomegranate. I opened my eyes. I was sitting on my recliner, the screens around me showing the Hour Glass again. From the darkening of the sky I could glimpse through the storm’s dust, the sun was setting. DNA was sitting on a low chair slouched beside me eating from a bowl of what had to be pepper soup. He didn’t seem surprised to see me awake.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. He picked up a piece of goat meat from his bowl and bit into it. “No idea who made this but Dolapo gave it to me and it’s delicious.”
When I spoke, my mouth felt as if it had been shot with Novocain and I slurred my words. “Wha’happened?”
“You mean after you basically called for war?” But he was grinning. He bit into more of his meat. He was ravenous and enjoying the fact that he had an appetite.
“Eh? Where’s everyone?”
“Here and there. It’s been a few hours,” he said with a shrug. “How do you feel?”
I sat up and that was when I noticed it. “Oh!” I shook my arm and it flopped limply at my side. My left arm. My cybernetic arm was dead. I shook it again. “Shit,” I said.
He bit into his goat meat and said nothing as he watched me.
I scrambled to my feet. I shook and shook my arm. Nothing. I was as I’d been when I was little, a girl with only one working arm. I wanted to scream. Instead, I looked at my flesh hand. I made a fist. I felt a little better.
DNA spoke calmly as he put his bowl of soup down beside his chair and stood up. “Your nose was bleeding,” he said. “Your ears were bleeding, then you passed out. Your arm . . .” He looked at it. “There was so much happening. The connection was still there, and we were all seeing each other, hearing each other, feeling each other’s outrage. The Bukkaru were all yelling, people were on their feet, Force was cursing, the other herdsmen were shouting with the Bukkaru, Dolapo was crying, but I was watching you. Your robot arm started jerking around. Sparks, heat, then it just stopped. How does it feel now?”
“Like nothing.”
“Doesn’t hurt?”
“No.” I shut my eyes and I was gazing at the pomegranate which was always gazing at me. Pain was the doorway, the permission, the allowance. I’d have taken pain over nothing any day. I needed to focus on something else. Within seconds I knew what it would be. I opened my eyes. “I’ve started a war.”
“Yes,” DNA said, the smile returning to his face.
“Your sister Wuro?”
“Safe with my parents.”
I smiled. “And I saved the remaining herdsmen.”
“Yes.”
“Will Idris, Tasiri, and Lubega stay in the Hour Glass?”
“No. They’ll leave the Hour Glass and join the few remaining herdsmen gathering in Niger.”
“So they weren’t all killed.”
“Many were. Most were. But no, not all. I won’t be joining them.”
“I exposed Ultimate Corp.”
“Yes,” he said, with a small smile. “People reposted that footage. With important context. It’s already gone viral worldwide.”
I nodded, shaking my arm again. Still nothing. “People will still buy from and do business with Ultimate Corp. They’ll still schedule their damn warehouse tours and post video and photos from there, keeping the myth alive.”
“Oh, of course,” he said. “It’s never that easy. The execs in that footage were right. People don’t care, as long as they are comfortable and life is made easy. Most.” He took me in his arms. We were still like this when Force came up the stairs. When he saw me, his face brightened. “Oh good! You’re awake! You okay?”
“My arm has shut down,” I said, shaking the thing like a dead snake. Now that the arm was shut off, it felt so heavy. I’d have to work hard not to stumble to the left when I walked or ran. I certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep on my other side.
“What’s broken can be fixed,” he said. “There are doctors here who can repair it. Even upgrade it. Better doctors than you’ll probably find on the outside.”
“There’s no time,” I said.
“There will be. When all this is over.”
I smiled. If I’m alive, I thought.
“For now,” DNA said, pulling a piece of red blue Ankara cloth from his pocket like a magician. “Tie it up with this, so the flesh isn’t pulled by the weight. Dolapo gave it to me.” He wrapped it over my shoulder and when he stood back, my arm was secured in a sling. The excessive weight of it was a lot more manageable now.
“I guess this’ll do,” I said. The three of us stood there for a moment, me with my sling. DNA had picked up his bowl of pepper soup and spoon, and Force was frowning. Then at the same time, we looked away from each other.
“I’ll check your vitals,” Force said, picking up his tablet. DNA sat in my recliner, finishing his pepper soup while Force stuck sensory pads on me.
“I feel okay,” I said, looking at the sensory pads on my chest. He put one on my forehead and then on the back of my neck. I’d braided my dreadlocks into two braids to expose my neural implant’s silver nodule. He stuck a sensor on that, too.
“The problem with you,” Force said, “is that you’re so used to pain and discomfort that your definition of feeling okay is not the greatest indicator of being okay.”
“Exactly,” DNA said, putting his empty bowl on the floor.
“I know my body better than either of you,” I snapped. “I’m the one who lives in it. And I say I feel good. Really good. Except for this.” I pointed at my useless arm in a sling.
“Shh, don’t move,” Force said. “It’s reading.”
My brain scan would show extensive damage. Maybe whole networks of nerves in the left side of my body would be dead. It would tell me that my heartbeat was irregular. My blood pressure would be elevated into the red zone. I was on the verge of five strokes. It would show short-circuiting in my legs, thanks to the power surge from my arm.
“Jesus!” Force whispered.
My eyes grew wide. I didn’t want to hear. DNA was on his feet. “What do we do?” he said.
“No, no, no,” he said. “Relax. Breathe, AO. You have to stay even.”
“Then don’t—”
“Force, what is it?” DNA insisted. He was standing over him, looking at his tablet.
“She’s okay,” Force said. “Her blood pressure is a little high, but aside from that, no problems with brain activity, no ruptures, everything is fine!” So somehow my heart had gone from cardiac arrest to being stabilized after I’d passed out. No damage. No nothing. Was my body adjusting to the changes in my brain?
I didn’t think before I did it. There was only one way to find out, and if I thought about it, I’d be too afraid to try. I went in to face the pomegranate of eyes.
There they were, all looking right at me, me looking at them. They heard and then showed me. When I opened my eyes, I looked at DNA, a small drop of blood falling from my nostril, and said, “The term, Fulani herdsmen, is the most searched term on the Internet right now. Second is my name. Journalists have shown up at the burned Ultimate Corp warehouse, and there are photos of the drones and soldiers I shut down. There was a dust storm not long after we left, so everything was covered with sand. The downed drones looked like forgotten artifacts, and the robot soldiers looked like dead men who’d died peacefully. And . . .” I paused to take a breath. I chuckled. Oh the irony. “And Ultimate Corp stocks are at a record high.”