Muzi exhales. A huge weight slips off his chest.
“Hey!” says a cheerful voice from behind him.
Muzi turns his head and sees Renée standing there, smile wide and bright.
“I brought you a piece of cake.”
Muzi nearly shits himself. “Uh . . .” he says, running over the journal entry in his mind. He hadn’t said anything totally incriminating, had he? Over on the other side of the front yard, Papa Fuzz gives him two thumbs-up. Muzi gulps. “Hi, Renée. I’m not much in the mood for cake right now, but thanks.”
“I’ll wrap it up for you then, for when you’re feeling up to it?”
“Ja, that’d be great.”
There’s a long awkward pause while Muzi waits for her to go away, but she stands there twirling her shimmering skirt, form fitting through the hips, and flaring out at the bottom.
“Hey, I sort of overheard what you said. I think it’s boss that you keep a journal.”
“Uh-huh.”
Muzi looks back at Papa Fuzz who’s gathered an audience now, all his aunts and his mother staring at them with the weakest attempts to look inconspicuous.
“You know if you asked me out, I’d probably say yes,” Renée says, her sweet voice fraying at the edges. “You’re not the first person to think I look like a mermaid in this outfit.” She giggles, then her smooth caramel cheeks flush. “You’ll never look at anything with fins the same way again, that’s what you said.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. She thinks he made that journal entry about her. The red light on Mom’s alphie is pointing this way, recording this for posterity. What the hell is he supposed to do? Embarrass the poor girl? Embarrass himself?
“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” he manages to squeak out. That wasn’t so bad. Just one date, right? Enough to get Papa Fuzz off his back for a while.
Renée squeals, then bends down and plants a moist smack right on his lips. “Call me, okay?” Then she twirls around, her fishy skirt flaring up, and she dances off.
It’s right about then that Muzi sees Elkin standing on the pavement outside their front gate, holding a rather phallic-looking bouquet of balloons, and staring back at him something fierce. Elkin releases his grip on the ribbons and turns to leave, and all Muzi can do is watch as the balloons slowly drift away.
Chapter 10
This Instance
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Status: Full Systems Diagnosis Completed 12 June 2064 09:45:23:44:54; Detected: Anomalous threads running code outside of parameters specified by manufacturer; Detected: Possible violation of free will protocols; Schedule: Warranty Replacement for Human Muzikayise McCarthy (Master); Schedule: Immediate decommission of This Instance; Command Override: This Instance may possess unique characteristics; Query: Does This Instance possess a spark?
Processing . . .
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Chapter 11
Stoker
“My, what a lovely dress, Mrs. Donovan,” Councilman Stoker says, giving his longest-standing supporter a twirl. She giggles like a little girl, then flushes three shades of red. It really is a lovely gown, a Brie Montblanc original—a sleek, mauve sheath with a monochromatic floral print, the flickering sequences of its genesynth bodice advertising her leathery cleavage with all the subtlety of a cuttlefish tripping on acid.
It’s about that time that Mrs. Donovan starts to go into a history lesson about how the Donovans and the Montblancs go back a hundred and fifty years, when her great-great-grandmother had once danced with Brie’s great-great-uncle at a debutante ball, or some such. Stoker listens intently, nodding and laughing and you-don’t-saying. Nothing can bring him off this high. He still can’t believe Riya Natrajan had chosen him. He’d sung with her!
“So, Councilman Stoker, have you given any more thought about the premier’s seat?” Mrs. Donovan takes a long sip from her champagne flute, then she pulls him close, her breath acutely minty. “You’re our great white hope,” she whispers.
Stoker tugs back from her grip and rubs his ear as if he’d been stung in it. He’s nobody’s great white anything, but suddenly he’s hyperaware of himself, surrounded by a sea of influential brown faces. He swallows, blinks, and then they’re all South Africans again—united by pride, and yes hope, but hope for all.