The Hero of Numbani

by Nicky Drayden

  “Naade!” Efi said, waving her hands. “Over here!”

  Naade saw her and his eyes lit up as he came sauntering over. Hassana followed not far behind.

  “Did you see it?” Hassana said. “Stevie versus the Zobo Bot?”

  “It was so ridiculous!” Efi said. “He should have been patient and waited for his drink like everyone else. He definitely ‘pulled an Isaac’ with that one.”

  Naade laughed. “Yeah, he did. Learned his lesson the hard way for sure! Lọ lati sun pẹlu apọju apọju, ji soke pẹlu ọwọ wiwọ.”

  Efi nodded and laughed at the old proverb, but Hassana just stood there, eyes squinting, like she was searching for a translation in the little bit of Yoruba she knew.

  “It means ‘Go to sleep with an itchy butt, wake up with a stinky hand,’” Naade offered.

  “Ew, Naade,” Hassana said, lips curled. “Way too much information.”

  “What? Oh, no … I didn’t …” Naade said, stumbling over his words. “It’s just something my dad always says to me. About how a little problem can lead to a bigger problem if you let it, or something. I promise it’s much more elegant in Yoruba.”

  “Naade, don’t ever change,” Efi said, smiling. “So are we all excited for this weekend?”

  “Yeah, about that …” Hassana said, her smile suddenly fading. She unzipped her backpack, took the Junie out, and handed it to Efi.

  “What? Is it malfunctioning? I’ll take a look when we get back to the workshop.”

  “No! It works great. It was a lifesaver on Wednesday. I sent it to choir practice while I was at my art competition. I would have missed out completely if I hadn’t had it.”

  Efi stood there silently and waited for the other shoe to drop.

  Hassana shook her head, gritted her teeth, and said, “But, I’m sort of double-booked for tonight. I forgot I promised Amber that I’d help her find some outfits for the Unity Day festivities. I was hoping I could send the Junie with you and Naade, so at least I’d be there in spirit?”

  “Ooooo,” Naade said, handing his Junie to Efi as well. “I actually can’t make it tonight, either. But my Junie can.”

  “Are you double-booked, too?” Efi said, only mildly annoyed. But it was growing. Fast.

  “I guess you could sort of say that … I’m grounded.”

  “What’d you do this time, Naade?” Hassana asked.

  “Well,” Naade said. “I’d been thinking of what Efi said about taking my studies seriously, so I came up with a plan. I had my Junie record all my classes, right? So I thought, why not use my time more efficiently? I could do my math homework during history. My history homework in science lab. My science lab homework in language arts. Then when I got home, most of my homework would be done already, which would leave more time for me to play Vivi’s Adventure. Brilliant, right?”

  “But when did you find time to go over the feeds from your classes?” Efi asked.

  “That’s the best part. You know how, in science lab, we learned about osmosis? Breaking down the barriers between molecules so they can move freely?”

  “That’s not what osmosis is,” Efi said, but Naade was in the zone and just kept talking.

  “So I had this idea, see: Why couldn’t I learn by osmosis? Information breaking through the barrier … of sleep?”

  “That’s really not how—”

  “And each night I played the recordings while I slept. And with seven hours of class, and eight hours of sleep, it worked out perfectly, plus I had an hour to spare. I played the recordings again at ten times speed, just to make sure everything sunk in.” Naade tapped his head.

  “Okay, now you’re being ridic—”

  “But something must have gone wrong with your tech, Efi, because these past couple weeks, my grades have been getting worse and worse. I brought home a D on my math quiz, and that was the final straw for my dad. Grounded. But take my Junie with you. Maybe see if you can find the bugs. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to go back to studying the old-fashioned way.” His shoulders slumped.

  “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Efi said. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth: that his plan was possibly the worst she’d ever heard. But she could stall and stall and keep his Junie locked up in her workshop until Naade’s grades had time to recover.

  Hassana winked at Efi. “You’re a good friend.”

  Efi managed to smile, but that didn’t make the twenty-minute ride home on the tram any less lonely. About halfway there, she saw something flicker out of the corner of her eye. She pressed closer to the window and saw at least a dozen OR15 robots marching their four-legged march on patrol around the city’s center. They were built like centaurs, their matte-gray titanium frame covered with polished white chest plating and green plating on four hulking legs. She liked the way they moved together—like show ponies, almost prancing. Massive, heavily armed, and highly lethal show ponies. It seemed like there were more on the street than usual, doing their job of keeping the peace.

  Efi appreciated the security work the OR15s did, but she sort of wished someone would give the entire fleet a nice upgrade to bring them closer to Numbani’s aesthetic. They were sleeker than the old OR14 “Idina” models that served during the Omnic Crisis for sure, but Efi always felt like the robots were missing crucial pieces of Numbani heritage. They were intimidating. Terse. They never bowed to show respect and never used honorifics. Efi hated to say it, but the OR15s had that “straight out of the box” attitude, more focused on catching criminals than they were on integrating into the community. If Efi could have a crack at their programming, she’d make changes so they could fully serve and protect the citizens of Numbani. The OR15s could be the type of heroes that were just as eager to assist the elderly as they were to nullify terrorists. Just as comfortable reading library books to kids as they were battling Talon agents. Efi’s head started swelling with ideas, but a jolt from the tram startled her back to reality.

  Efi didn’t have any business trying to figure out how to better integrate the OR15s. She had enough problems of her own already. Her Junie production was still running behind, and she really needed to get that grant money. She logged on to the Adawe Foundation’s grant website and checked her status:

  She refreshed the page once. Twice. By the time she got home, she must have hit that button a hundred times.

  Don’t obsess, she said to herself. She went to her workshop, then activated both Naade’s and Hassana’s Junies to keep her company. The holoimages stood there, looking at her. Blank stares. Blank smiles. They filled the workshop with nothing but coldness. She turned them off, then got to work.

  Ding. Ding. Ding, her laptop chirped out. More orders.

  Efi sighed, opened a new box of Lúcio-Oh’s, cranked the music to volume ten, and fired up her solder gun.

  Efi stood in the hallway after her calculus class let out and scrolled through Hassana’s feed on Hollagram. There had to be at least three dozen selfies of Hassana goofing off with Amber Oyeba, the coolest girl in their school. They’d gone clothes shopping together, Amber’s arm hanging over Hassana’s shoulder, fancy Aetria shopping bags in their hands. Big, giant smiles on both their faces.

  Would have invited you, her message had said to Efi. But we knew you were busy with the bots all weekend.

  “Why so long in the face?” Dayo said, suddenly standing next to Efi. She realized the hallways had completely emptied. How long had she been standing there?

  “Friend drama,” Efi said to her cousin.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not especially. I need to go. I’m probably already late for my tram.”

  “Wait,” Dayo said. “Why don’t you stay after for drama club? You can help us build sets for the Unity Day play.”

  “Ehhh …” She’d literally be watching paint dry. “Pass.”

  “Come on, Efi. You can make friends here if you try. A couple of them think you’re cool.”

  Efi perked up. “They
think I’m cool?”

  “Genius. Inventor. Entrepreneur. Social activist. What’s not cool about you?”

  “I guess I can stay for a bit,” Efi said.

  Dayo pumped a fist in the air, then led her down the hall to the theater. Efi could smell the paint and sawdust as soon as he opened the door. On the stage, a dozen students were working feverishly on props and set pieces.

  He walked Efi halfway down the center aisle to where Sam was working with a girl Efi hadn’t met before, tall and thin with long arms that looked like they were perfect for reaching up into high cabinets. She wore a colorful hijab loose over her hair, the end of the scarf dangling perilously close to the paint bucket.

  “Efi, you remember Sam,” Dayo said. “And this is Joké, our stage manager. Efi’s going to be helping us out today.”

  “Awesome,” Joké said. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but …” She presented Efi with her paint-covered palms.

  “It’s going to be epic,” Dayo said. “All of the stage props are being upcycled from found objects. The Harmony Key that Gabrielle Adawe presented to the leader of the Numbani Omnic Union is made from pool noodles. And you won’t believe what the Doomfist gauntlet is made of.”

  “Don’t talk about Doomfist,” Sam said, looking up from his project to give Dayo a sneer. “You’ll scare the kid!”

  “I’m not scared of Doomfist,” Efi said. She wasn’t excited about being referred to as “the kid,” either. She did remember some about what Doomfist had done, though. Her parents had tried to shield her from the worst of the atrocities committed by Akinjide Adeyemi, the Scourge of Numbani, but it was difficult to ignore, especially for someone as good at putting together puzzles as she was.

  She remembered their “Super Fun Family Time” game, when Efi and her parents would drop everything and rush into the interior bathroom of their flat over the blare of warning sirens. There was a small box they kept in there, full of bubbles and modeling clay and the sugary snacks her parents usually forbade Efi to eat. They even let her watch Overwatch cartoons back-to-back-to-back, the volume on her tablet cranked as high as it would go. But even with all those wonderfully fun distractions, Efi never felt at ease during those times. Maybe it was the fear hiding at the edges of her father’s smile. Maybe it was the way her mother hugged her just a little too tightly. Maybe it was the thundering sounds of buildings crumbling in the distance in the brief silence before a commercial break. She’d willed herself not to be scared, so her parents would have one less thing to worry about, and that fearlessness just sort of stuck.

  Efi shook off the tainted memory and squinted at the gauntlet prop: a big, bold fist painted gold with metal spikes sticking out from the knuckles. She didn’t have any experience building props out of trash, but she had a knack for reverse-engineering technology. She looked at the gauntlet with her mind’s eye, tracing the lines and angles. Finally, it hit her—looking at the segments and the organic shape with little prongs wrapping under the arm.

  “That’s the giant plastic lobster that used to hang above the seafood section at Bankolé’s Grocery!”

  “You guessed it!” Dayo said. “We rearranged the pincers to make the fingers like an oversized glove. I knew you’d fit right in. You’re well on your way to becoming a theater geek.”

  “I’m just glad Numbani is peaceful again,” said Joké. “It’s nice that my biggest worry now is which one of you is going to mess up your lines on opening night.” She squinted hard at Sam.

  “What?” Sam said innocently. “It’s not my fault villains like to break out into lengthy monologues. I’ll have it memorized by Unity Day, I swear. I’ll be the best Doomfist anyone’s ever seen!”

  Joké shook her head and raised a brow at Efi, like she was asking Can you believe this guy?

  Efi smiled, feeling a little more confident about hanging out with Dayo, Sam, Joké, and the other drama students.

  “You wanna help assemble the bars for Doomfist’s cell?” Sam asked her.

  “Actually, Doomfist’s prison cell is made from meter-thick solid—” Efi stopped herself when she noticed a frown forming on Sam’s face. She bit her lip. Did it really matter how accurate the play was? That scourge, Akinjide Adeyemi, was dead, and Akande Ogundimu, his successor, was locked away for good. The havoc the two Doomfists had inflicted upon Numbani was history. “Sure, I’d love to help make bars,” Efi said as she sat down next to Sam, a bunch of paper towel rolls and aluminum foil at their feet.

  “It’s super simple. Just take three rolls and put them end to end. Add a little tape to hold them in place, then wrap the foil around, and ta-da, a set of impenetrable prison bars. And all I had to do was raid the school bathrooms for two months straight!”

  “Well, I certainly feel safe with Doomfist caught behind those!” Efi said with an awkward laugh. She loved the simplicity of the design. She made seven of them, listening to Sam, Dayo, and Joké talk. She paid close attention to the words they used—lots of theater slang, but she mostly kept up. Maybe she could fit in, if she tried really hard.

  “You know what I love most about Unity Day?” Efi asked. “The festival food! Especially the meat pies and the egg rolls and the boiled peanuts. And don’t forget the kuli-kuli!” Efi’s mouth started to water over those deep-fried treats, best eaten when there was still a chance of them burning your tongue.

  “Oh, yeah, those are so good. And I start shaking as soon as I hear the coconut candy vendor hollering up and down the street, tossing bags into the crowd,” said Sam, looking forlornly at his paint-stained hands. “And your fingers get all sticky and covered in caramel, and you just have to lick them. Even if your parents give you that look.”

  Efi nodded, a big grin stretched across her face. Sticky fingers were a universal experience during Unity Day, celebrating harmony and equality between humans and omnics, who had their own set of indulgences. Organic oils were poured into wineglasses and OmniWorx synthetic greases came packaged in designer tins, smelling of mint or lavender or citrus blends. Efi always put aside a little of her money to buy a few tins for the special omnics in her life—teachers, neighbors, and friends—and in truth, the appreciation they showed her in return made her feel much better than having a stomach full of greasy food.

  Unity Day was only a month away now, and Efi couldn’t wait. She sang the Numbani Harmony Anthem to herself as she worked. Dayo joined in. They were less than harmonic … Vocal skills didn’t run very deep in their family, but Sam and Joké picked up the slack and brought the song to life until Dayo tried to hit that high note at the end with an off-pitch falsetto that made Efi’s molars hurt.

  Efi winced at Dayo, and he smiled back.

  You’re doing great, he mouthed at her.

  Sam counted up the prison bars and deemed there were enough. “Amazing job,” he said to Efi. “Dayo is so lucky to have an awesome cousin like you.”

  Efi looked at Sam and smiled, but then she saw his hand coming down toward her head. She had half a second to react. Of all the things she hated most, it was being patted on the head. She couldn’t let him make her look more like a child. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Dayo’s crew, either. But her ego won out, and Efi stuck her hand up and caught Sam by the wrist.

  “Do I look like a poodle?” she asked him.

  “No,” he said.

  “A cocker spaniel?”

  “No.”

  “A Labrador retriever?”

  “No.”

  “Then please do not pet me.” She said this in her most stern, grown-up voice. The students all started laughing and pointing at Sam, yelling at him that he’d been told off by a kid. He was the one they were teasing, but Efi felt the sting of being different as well. She was a kid, yes, but it felt like more of a part-time thing … Except when the older students laughed.

  She didn’t need this. “Well, anyway, I’ve got to get going. Sorry I won’t be able to make it to your play, but I’ll be out of town. On vacation
for the whole week of Unity Day celebrations.” She nodded to herself. Her parents had said they would take her on a vacation if she got that grant.

  Yes, she still hadn’t heard back yet, but in that moment she was feeling confident. Really confident.

  “Ooh, vacation? Where to?” Dayo asked. “Why didn’t Auntie mention it?”

  “Because it’s big. It’s huge. She didn’t want to sound like she was bragging.”

  “Your mother? Not bragging to mine? Ha!”

  “Well, she didn’t because—because …” Efi fished for something. Anything. And then she remembered Lúcio’s concert tour schedule. She practically had it tattooed to the backs of her eyelids when it was first announced. She and Hassana had wept into bowls of chocolate ice cream when they saw he wasn’t stopping in Numbani until the very end of his tour, still nearly eight months away. They’d stood in the virtual ticket line anyway, to no avail. It sold out in less than twenty-seven minutes. But fortunately, Lúcio’s concert in his home town of Rio de Janeiro was one of the last few venues that still had tickets available. A thousand fourteen seats, as of this morning.

  Not that Efi checked every morning.

  “We’re seeing Lúcio. In Brazil!” she shouted.

  “Whoa!” Sam said. “Sick!”

  They all started crowding around her. “Where are you staying?”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Who are you going with?”

  The questions kept coming. Why had she said that? She didn’t even know if she’d gotten the grant yet, and even if she did get it, she knew her parents wouldn’t spring for a trip across the ocean!

  Efi looked at Dayo for help, but he just stared back and shrugged. She’d dug herself too deep of a hole with this one. “My tram! Sorry, I’ve got to catch the last one before rush hour, or I’ll never get a seat!”

  And then she was off, the stench of her big lie chasing after her through the vacant school hallways. Evening was nearing, and as safe as Numbani was, it made her nervous to go out by herself. She looked back, relieved that Dayo was following her. But he didn’t look upset. Quite the opposite. His smile was as wide and friendly as it had ever been.