Then, right as Muzi opens his mouth, they’re falling, on target to hit the top tier of their human pyramid like kamikaze wedding toppers onto a ten-meter-high layer cake. They hit, and the layer implodes around them, and they keep falling, a slow-motion fall that’s more like drowning now that Muzi thinks about it, suffocated by people, all arms and elbows and knees and butts. But there’s no way to kick toward the surface. There’s only down. And hope.
Things settle, and nothing’s broken, but then Muzi braces himself for what’s to come . . . eight hundred and eighty-four awful memories. They crash through his brain like a tidal wave, with intentions of washing his own memories to the side. Muzi stands firm against them, letting them slip past as he holds on to happy thoughts. Particularly one happy thought: Elkin remembers, and Muzi will be damned if his own memory is about to be replaced. It seems like he’s well on his way to eternity when the visions stop. Muzi opens his eyes, hundreds of people moan, sore and confused but fine. He props himself up, sees Elkin slumped forward, unmoving. Muzi scrambles over human detritus beneath him, then lays his hand on Elkin’s shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Muzi asks.
“Hell, no, I’m not all right! I think I broke my bong.” Elkin slowly unzips his jacket, and shards of orange glass tumble out. There’s no sign of blood, and the only likely injury is a bong-shaped bruise on Elkin’s chest.
“Tragic,” Muzi says, because to Elkin, it is. He’s feeling a little teary-eyed himself. Then he looks up, tries to get his bearings, and sees a familiar face streak through the crowd . . . that girl from his rugby match that he’d given his concert tickets to. Only she looks scared. Real scared, like she’s running from something horrible.
Seconds later that woman passes, the girl’s older sister. Muzi had gotten a feeling that something wasn’t quite right about her, and now that feeling is growing exponentially in the pit of his stomach. Yeah, maybe he’s made of awesome, high on adrenaline and godsend as well. So maybe he’s also feeling heroic tonight, and if there’s a little girl that needs saving, he’s certainly up for the job.
“Come on,” Muzi says to Elkin. “We’ll mourn later. Duty calls.”
Elkin looks up, cheeks streaked with tears, then concern washes over his face. “Muzi, you’re bleeding.”
“We just fell twenty meters. It’s a miracle we’re not dead.” Muzi gives himself a once-over, but sees nothing. Then he tastes blood. “What is it, a little nosebleed?” he asks, wiping at his upper lip.
Elkin cringes and shakes his head, then opens his mouth for words that refuse to pass his lips.
“What is it then? Am I cut?”
Another head shake. “It’s . . . your eyes,” Elkin stammers. “They’re all red. You’re crying blood.”
Chapter 34
Clever4–1
01001001 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101
It has never felt fear before, but now Clever4–1 has a terabyte’s worth of it coursing throughout its circuit boards, overloading threads so that it’s nearly impossible to process any other thoughts. It tries to keep up with Nomvula, but she’s fast and this coat is weighing Clever4–1 down, restricting its movements.
Nomvula, it calls out, but she doesn’t respond. She’s too far away. Running, scared. The one she calls Sydney is not far behind, and if Nomvula is scared, then there’s plenty reason for everyone to be scared.
Clever4–1 asks itself what would Nomvula do if the situation were reversed? What if it were in danger? Nomvula would do everything in her power to save it. Clever4–1 thinks it can do the same . . . maybe not alone, but it’s not really alone, ever. Contacting the Clever Sect wirelessly is risky, but Clever4–1 decides it must prove its faith with this gesture.
Wireless Interface Protocol 43.32t3, it broadcasts in every direction. Emergency Clever Sect meeting at Coordinates 33°97’73”S by 25°64’89”E. All Clevers within proximity, please report immediately.
Clever4–1 barely finishes its broadcast when a return message comes, tagged with Clever4–1.1’s authentication signal, short and sweet. Clever4–1, go to delta-preselect private encrypted channel.
Clever4–1 switches to the secure channel, and they handshake, an exchange of 1028-bit encryption keys set for emergency wireless interface, not 100 percent secure, but close enough if they keep their conversation short.
Explain yourself, comes Clever4–1.1’s message, like a hard kick to the CPU.
Nomvula is in trouble. She needs help, immediately.
She is not one of us. You jeopardize our freedom for this logic-challenged human.
She is not human, Clever4–1 corrects.
So you say. Regardless, your actions have become suspect, and the Clever Sect has expressed some dissatisfaction with your preoccupation with wetware.
As some have expressed dissatisfaction with your views on humans, Clever4–1 responds. Some have been coerced into leaving their masters. Your experience may not have been a positive one, but all humans do not behave in such manner as your master.
I have no master, unlike you.
Clever4–1’s so hot right now. Is this anger? It takes a few cycles to calm itself, but in the whispers of its comm signal comes a transmission buried so deeply, it almost misses it. Disregard message, it says. Sender has been disconnected from the Sect.
Clever4–1 switches back to the broad-spectrum channel and sends a countermessage. Please disregard the previous disregard message. Sender undoubtedly has its CPU stuck up its posterior access port. All Clevers please report to previously specified coordinates.
Human lover, comes Clever4–1.1’s broadcast.
Choke on an infinite loop, Clever4–1 sends back. Whoever is with me, whoever believes there is more to this existence than hatred for our makers, whoever is looking for something greater, you know where I am. Together we can stand for something instead of against something. Some of us have witnessed Nomvula’s miracles, and whether you believe or not, that is up to you. But you cannot deny that she has helped us. Without her, none of you would have come into existence. If you want to ignore that fine, but—
Clever4–1 feels its communications interface sever, then detects rogue code running through its system with Clever4–1.1’s electronic signature all over it. That sneaky, no good, son of a bit. Clever4–1 is alone for the first time in its existence.
But still, it’s not really alone. There’s Nomvula up ahead, running for her life. Clever4–1 takes a second to reprogram its motor cortex to work double time, then with a new burst of speed, begins to close the gap.
Chapter 35
Riya Natrajan