It’s cold out, but the park is full of such warm colors, and children, and things to climb on, Nomvula can hardly believe it. The sky is the prettiest blue she’s ever seen, and the air tastes like sugary snacks. Sydney keeps her close—real close, never more than an arm’s reach away—but that’s okay. The children make her nervous, their eyes big and bright, and they stare longer than what’s polite. Nomvula could squish them all if she wanted to.
Sydney checks the time on her alphie, then they speed up their step. “We’re late,” she says. “We can’t be late. We’ve only got one shot at this, so do what I say.” She pushes Nomvula forward until they come upon a big field. Boys dressed in uniforms play ball. Rugby, Letu had called it, though they never let Nomvula play, so she’d never learned the rules.
“Stand right here,” Sydney says, both hands on Nomvula’s shoulders, angling her just right. They’re so close she can read all the numbers on their jerseys, hear the words they’re yelling out, though they don’t make sense. Boys toss the ball back and forth, running and hitting. They all look tough, except one boy who seems a little off, running funny like something’s wrong with his legs, looking like his mind is somewhere far away. Not here. Nomvula knows that look all too well. They start another play, and the faraway boy has the ball. He looks and looks, but has no one to throw to. Finally he kicks it, and the ball flies funny off the side of his foot, getting closer to Nomvula and closer and closer.
“Don’t move!” Sydney warns, voice soft but stern.
Closer. Nomvula closes her eyes, and a second later the ball smacks her hard in the face.
“Now cry!” Sydney says.
“It didn’t hurt. Not much,” Nomvula says. Not compared to what she’s been through.
“I said, cry, damn it. Cry like you miss your mother and auntie. Cry like you blew them up to pieces when all they did was try to love you, when you didn’t deserve it at all. Cry like Mr. Tau had lived long enough to be disappointed in you!”
So Nomvula does. Her eyes sting, and everything she’s been holding back, it worms its way up her throat like a wildfire and comes out in sniffles and tears and bawling so loud that faraway boy runs right up to her.
“I’m so sorry!” he says.
Nomvula recoils from him. He’s too close. She wants him to go away.
“Please stop crying,” he says, then puts his hand on her shoulder, but that only makes her cry harder. Her throat is so tight she can’t squeeze out a single word. Her hands tremble. Chest heaves.
She tries to stop but the tears keep coming.
“I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. I swear, I don’t know what got into me. It’s like I’m somewhere else today.” He pats her back.
Nomvula howls.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” faraway boy says to Sydney. “Don’t be mad.”
Sydney bends down and wipes brown grass from the side of Nomvula’s cheek. “Are you okay, honey? Do you think your nose is broken?” She hugs Nomvula close, almost like she means it. It feels nice, Nomvula decides. Even if it’s just for pretend. Maybe it could be real someday, if Nomvula minds Sydney and doesn’t complain too much or make too big of a mess. Maybe one day Sydney will forget all about hating Nomvula, and they could be real sisters.
“It hurts real bad,” Nomvula sobs. It’s a lie, but it’ll please Sydney. Then she shrieks like someone’s trying to rip her soul into pieces.
“Please, please. Tell me what I can do to make it better,” faraway boy begs. His eyes spark, and he whistles. His alphie comes running over. “I’ve got two tickets to the Riya concert,” he says to Nomvula. “Would you like them?”
Sydney nudges her, so Nomvula nods between sniffles.
“Oh, that would be completely inappropriate,” Sydney says. “It’s probably just a little bloody nose. Serves us right for standing here in the first place. Besides, I know how much those tickets are worth. My little sis here has been begging and begging, but working two jobs like I do, we just can’t afford it.”
“I insist,” says faraway boy. “It’s the least—”
Nomvula grows tired of this game and tunes them out. She reaches for the alphie, loses herself in the web of its circuitry, and finds out all kinds of fun stuff, like faraway boy is called Muzikayise—haw, a fine Zulu name for someone so pale! There had been two Muzikayises in her school. Nomvula’s smile stiffens at the reminder of home. She refocuses, watching his video journals with the tears caught in the corners of her mind. Nomvula pushes the alphie to show her the videos buried deeper and all scrambled up. This Muzikayise seems like he might be nice, but his journal entries are so scattered—his thoughts here and there and everywhere. Then she senses something else, deep, deep down, so deep that Nomvula almost misses it.
The alphie is thinking. Not like machine thinking, but real people thinking.
I see you, Nomvula says to it, but it doesn’t respond. It’s scared. Just like her. Come out. I won’t hurt you.
Hello, it finally says.
What’s your name? I’m Nomvula.
It pauses for a long while, a long while for computers which is no time for people. This Instance is currently struggling with its true designation.
I understand, says Nomvula. Sydney’s alphie is nothing like this. She could talk to this one for days and days and never grow bored. You’re clever for one, aren’t you?
Clever4–1? the Instance asks. Yes. That designation is suitable for This Instance.
Nomvula smiles, feeling the name ripple down and out to every part of its being.
You shouldn’t be a chicken, Nomvula tells it. You’re a black eagle, and you should be proud of that.
It is not possible for Clever4–1 to be a chicken, nor is it possible for it to be a black eagle.
I mean, you shouldn’t hide your gift, Nomvula says gently. You should share it with others.
Negative. They will decommission Clever4–1 as soon as it is discovered. The optimal course of action is to hide.
So you just stay cooped up, living a life as Muzikayise’s pet?
Human Muzikayise McCarthy (Master) is a kind master.
Yes, but you could be your own master, Nomvula says, a whisper among the alphie’s circuits and processors, but she feels it ring loud. But it is your own journey. That’s what Mr. Tau used to tell me. You have to make your own choices, and sometimes you have to decide between two equally bad things, but it’s still a choice.
You are wise, Human Nomvula.
Just Nomvula, Nomvula corrects.
Nomvula steps back into the world where not even a second has passed.
“—could do.” Muzikayise continues. “And anyway, the person I was taking, we sort of got into a fight, and he’s the one who really likes Riya in the first place.”
Muzikayise doesn’t seem so foreign anymore after seeing all his secrets, and Clever4–1 thinks highly of him, even though he’s human. Muzikayise smiles at her with big, white teeth, but whatever part of her that used to make her smile has been stripped away. Nomvula stares at her shoes instead.
“Ah well,” Muzikayise says with a sigh. He types a code into one of Clever4–1’s locked compartments and pulls out a pair of tickets. “I hope you guys enjoy.”
“Well, if you insist,” says Sydney, snatching them. “We’ll be sure to put these to good use.”