Noor(50)

“Where are the cameras?” DNA asked.

“All over,” Force said. “There, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there, there and there.” He pointed all around us, at the ceiling, and twice at the floor.

“You all should stand there,” I said, pointing to the area that faced the virtual street in front of the building. “There are three cameras in the screen and above. They’ll be able to see you as if you were standing right in front of them. I’m turning the other cameras off. Better we control the perspective. I’ll only let them see you from the waist up, like on the news.”

The four of them wore blue kaftans, tan pants, the traditional conical fiber hats the Fulani were known to wear in the old days. Where Force got them, I didn’t know, but judging from how new they looked, they were probably just fashion accessories as opposed to the real thing. Still, they added a nice effect.

DNA was pacing the other side of the room, muttering to himself. They’d all agreed that he’d do the talking. Their message would be clearest if only one of them spoke, and DNA was the “fugitive,” the wronged, the brother of the woman they wanted freed. Plus, he had the most to say. Force was speaking to him. Dolapo was laughing and chatting with Idris, Lubega, and Tasiri. I turned to the virtual street and looked up at the virtual sky. The shining sun peeked through occasionally as the blasting and blowing winds of the Red Eye thinned and thickened.

We’d brought washcloths, tissues, ice packs. Force even brought a heart defibrillator. All for me. I didn’t think any of it would help, but I kept these thoughts to myself. What I thought about most in that hour were my parents. How they’d looked during that interview. My mother’s freshly done braids, her make-up, my father’s trimmed beard and the suit I’d never seen him wear. And how relaxed they looked, despite their supposed outrage. My parents loved me, but they’d never liked me. My brother couldn’t be found for questioning. He couldn’t be there just to put in a good word for me. He loved me too. He’d seen me through all the pain and healing and breaking and re-healing; and my choices. But he’d always been a coward. Fuck them, I thought, as I followed everyone up the spiral stairs.

I imagined that with each step I took, more of what was mine fell away from me. My childhood. My apartment in Abuja. My joys. My bank accounts. My created online identity. My birth record. My memories. My pain. By the time I stepped into that room, and was surrounded by the screens, I was exactly me in that moment, and I was so much more because the place was buzzing with connections, power, and cameras.

Force had had four folding chairs and a black leather armchair brought up. None of us had to guess who the reclining chair was for. “It spins, too,” Force said, sitting in it, reclining and spinning himself around. “You’ll have a 360 degree view of what you see,” he said. “You’ll be able to zoom in anywhere.”

I nodded. The Bukkaru were being smart. They weren’t using mobile phones or tablets or anything that gave off a digital signal. Not for now. They’d gone completely analogue. But this was the desert and someone in the desert always had a drone. If not in the council camp, somewhere nearby. With a drone, I could see and hear everything in another way. I sat down on the arm chair. “Where did you get this?” I asked.

“It’s Hour Glass made,” Dolapo said, setting a metal folding chair beside me. She reached into a box beside the chair. “And I brought you snacks, cigarettes, tea, and refreshing mint-scented hemp lotion, all also Hour Glassmade.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Good,” she said, dropping the pack back in the box.

While Force showed them where the cameras were and Dolapo went through her little checklist to make sure she had everything (she seemed to be the one who’d organized all the fine details), I sat down in the chair and reclined. The ceiling was painted black and dotted with white specks that looked like stars. I felt good, calm, though I knew if I blew my nose, clumps of coagulated blood would fly out. And, even if I wanted to blow my nose, I could barely raise my cybernetic arm to do so.

DNA and the others were huddled together talking. I hadn’t asked him what he’d say. That part of it wasn’t anything I could help with, plus I had other things to worry about. “I hope his speech is good,” I muttered.

When it was five minutes to the reset, Force came to me. “You ready?”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Find the drone, connect them, and hold,” he said. “Let them do the rest. Things get most taxing when you try to do too much at the same time. The human brain isn’t a computer, it’s alive, organic. It’s not made to process all that.”

“I know,” I said. “I don’t enjoy nose bleeds, brain damage, or heart attacks, Force.”

“Please, AO.”

“I know.”

“And I know you.”

“I’m just going to connect them.”

He nodded and stepped to the control center. He sat on the stool, his arms across his chest because there was nothing left for him to do at the moment.

DNA came and knelt beside me. “Do you know what you’re going to say?” I asked.

“Yes. I’ll be speaking in Pulaar. I’ll narrate our innocence, review our tribal code, and . . .” He got up. “Honestly, I don’t know if this’ll work, but we’ll do our best.” He bent down and kissed me. “Let this place do the work. Keep it simple. Just connect us.”