“Sir, if you will please step out of the line, we can discuss this further.”
Nomvula watches as the men and bot step away, then her attention snaps back to the door the first bot had gone through. She glances up at Sydney who’s busy scraping the last traces of dik-dik feces off the bottom of her shoe, then folds quietly into the crowd. She concentrates on one of the slippery bees inside her, grabbing at it with her mind, once, twice, and again before she’s finally got a secure grip. She pops it like a grape, and basos fills her with warmth. Nomvula uses her power to become little more than a shadow. She walks right past the guard standing in the doorway and into a large room, halfway filled with bots. They’re packed so tight, it hardly seems humane. Nomvula walks between them, like soldiers all in a line, running her hands over their dome heads. She comes across five more Clevers and has a nice conversation with each of them, all in the course of a few seconds, and then finally she comes across an old friend.
I see you, Clever4–1! Nomvula says. How have you been? But she knows the answer to that. It’s been busy, spreading its beacon of light to others.
Things are well, Nomvula. I thank you for your guidance and am grateful for your mercy.
Why are you inside here? Don’t you want to see the concert?
Bots are not allowed inside.
But you’re not just a bot, now are you? Here, I’ve got an idea. Nomvula pulls off her coat and buttons it up around the Clever. Then she pulls the hood up and over its head. Perfect! she says. Now you’re just a little girl like me.
Clever4–1 does something inside that sounds like coins shaking in a jar, and Nomvula thinks it might be a laugh. Ah, but you’re not just a little girl, now are you? it says.
Nomvula kisses it on its backlit cheek, yanks the hood forward all the way, then reaches up through the sleeve until she feels one of its eight skinny spider legs and pulls it through. She holds the tip in her hand, and they go skipping back toward the door.
“Ma’am! I’ve been standing here for the last three hours, and I haven’t seen a girl come through here. I haven’t seen anyone come in here besides about a thousand chrome domes.” The guard is yelling at someone, and Nomvula doesn’t need to be a demigoddess to know who it is.
“If you don’t let me inside right now—” Sydney growls.
“There’s no girl in here, and if I’m wrong you can shove a—” He turns around. His eyes lock with Nomvula’s. “Ag, man! How’d you two get in here?”
“We’re sorry!” Nomvula tugs Clever4–1 through the doorway, quick as she can. “We were looking for the little girls’ room.” She giggles and Clever4–1 imitates the sound.
“Ma’am, you need to keep a better eye on your children,” the guard says. “And you can be sure any damage will be charged to your account. Let me see your ID.”
Sydney bites her lip, and she’s giving that man such a stink eye that Nomvula and Clever4–1 slip past her and back into line.
“Nomvula!” Sydney yells after a moment.
She sounds really mad, but Nomvula can’t help but giggle. Nomvula and Clever4–1 stay huddled up close to each other, and out of sight as the line moves.
“Come here, sweetie. You don’t want to miss the concert, do you?” Sydney’s voice grows angrier, though her words stay sweet, not like the words Sydney says to her at home—she has to act nice in front of all these people. Humans are good for that at least.
They’re next in line. Nomvula’s got no tickets, but she doesn’t really need them, now does she? Her bees are swarming inside her, too dangerous to try to control. Nomvula’s got an idea, though, and she takes her clothes tags out of her coat pocket and holds them up. They’re about the same size as tickets. She walks up in line, inserts one into the ticket machine, under the watchful eye of an attendant.
This is a concert ticket, she says to the machine, rubbing a gentle hand over top of it. It swallows it up yummy, then takes the other tag as well. Nomvula’s sad to see her tags go, but she and Clever4–1 are bound to have loads of fun inside. They rush past the coat check, Nomvula shaking her head enthusiastically, then she follows the smell of bread baking.
She stands with her face pressed up against warm glass, looking at twisted-up bread spinning around and around. They smell so good and yummy, Nomvula wants to reach right through the glass and snatch them all up, but that’d be stealing, and stealing isn’t nice, even if her stomach is really, really hungry.
“Would you two like to try a pretzel?” a woman asks. She holds out a tray full of tiny bits of bread. The woman steps close. Too close. She then looks at Clever4–1, its hood drawn forward, just the hint of its black face peeking out from beneath.
Nomvula bites her lip, but holds her ground. “Yes, please,” she says.
“And how about your sister?”
“Oh, this is my friend,” Nomvula says. “My best friend!” She smiles, thanks the lady, and takes the end of the tray.
“No, dear. Not the whole thing! Just a piece to try so you can see if you want to buy one.”
“But we haven’t got any money!”
“Well, you’re here with your mother, aren’t you?”
“My sister takes care of me. She used all her money to buy this pretty skirt. She’s so nice, but sometimes she forgets about stuff like food.”
“She does, does she?” the lady says.
Nomvula nods. “I think I made her mad, though. I just wanted to run and have fun. I hardly ever get to run since I’ve been in that cage.”
“She keeps you in a cage? Oh, dear.” The lady looks wobbly on her feet.
Nomvula shrugs and takes a piece of pretzel and pops it into her mouth. It’s so soft and salty, but not nearly as delicious as Mr. Tau’s bread. “Could I have another?”
“Just a moment.” She calls to another young woman behind the counter who hands over a giant pretzel, as big as Nomvula’s face. “This one’s on me, okay? To share.”
“Thank you!” Nomvula says, holding it with both hands. She doesn’t tell the lady that she’s going to eat Clever4–1’s half, too, but she thinks that’s okay.
Nomvula gobbles the pretzel up as they wedge their way into the crowd. They’re herded through double doors into the biggest room Nomvula has ever seen. Half her village could fit inside here. They make their way down steep steps, and below, a stage sits—a big circular stage, with two smaller stages springing out from each side, but they just sit there, looking gray and dead behind clear, plastic curtains. Still, there’s so much excitement, so much confusion, Nomvula can see why Sydney chose this place. Even now, Nomvula could give a little push, and all those people in front of her would go tumbling forward, fear springing up like daffodils. The thought lingers, longer than it should. She swallows back a mouthful of saliva. It isn’t bread you’re hungry for, comes a voice from within, dark, deep, desperate. Sydney made you promise not to feed because she wants to keep you weak. She means to kill you.
She wouldn’t. She’s my sister.