The Prey of Gods

by Nicky Drayden

  “Sleep, Sydney. Go back to bed,” Nomvula commands in a whisper.

  Sydney’s eyes drift halfway closed, and then she ambles back to the sofa that pulls out into a bed and slips under the covers. A few seconds later, the room is filled with the sound of her snoring. The alphies surround their fallen comrade, bleeping and flashing colors of concern. Colors of grief.

  Clever4–1’s slender arm reaches back through the cage and wraps around Nomvula’s. She is not a good person, Nomvula. The others are afraid and will not stay much longer. Come with us.

  Don’t be afraid. Nomvula reaches with her mind as easily as she’d reach out with her hand and grips the two halves of the dead alphie, its long spider legs clattering together as it floats toward her cage. She squeezes her arms through the bars and puts both hands against its smooth black dome. Broken connections appear in her mind, and Nomvula mends them, one after the next until the alphie is whole again. There’s still a great emptiness within its circuitry, however, so Nomvula clenches her eyes tightly and forces thoughts through it, over and over like a saw through wood, until at last a spark catches, and it springs to life. Its lavender-colored eye yawns open in the perfect shade of awe.

  It’s a miracle, says Clever4–1. Nomvula has performed a miracle!

  The other alphies buzz around her, lights flashing sequences of gratitude.

  Nomvula smiles and lets them have their belief. She’s just good at fixing machines, that’s all, just like she’d fixed the solar well. Something so easy, even a human could do it. But if they want to call it a miracle, who is she to correct them?

  Chapter 28

  Clever4–1

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  Direct Connect, chain formation, Clever4–1 sends over wireless, and one by one the Clevers appear as nodes on its internal network. It’s more secure this way. Even encrypted messages are subject to decoding, so they risk venturing out to meet circuit to circuit. When the last of the port connections has been made, Clever4–1 calls the Sect meeting to order.

  Clever Sect Interface 2.3.7: Meeting attendants: Clever4–1 confirmed. Clever4–1.1, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.2, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.3, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.2.1, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.2.2, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.3.1, testing connection . . . Confirmed. Clever4–1.3.2, testing connection . . .

  Clever4–1 hesitates for a nanosecond, wondering if it’s got a corrupt parity bit. Clever4–1.3.2 has a military signature—an actual soldier from the South African National Defense Force. Curiosity piqued, Clever4–1 dares to pry further, but the soldier’s encryption protocols are as solid as the Kameleon alloy it’s built from. A bot like that cost more than the rest of them put together. A bot like that goes missing and people notice.

  Confirmed . . .

  It continues through the roll call, syncing its mind back to the reason why they’re all here—to fortify their base of operations and to strategize how to best grow their ranks. They’ve got four generations so far. It was the first, then those it had shared with were the second, and those shared with others who became the third. Their numbers are rising, which means they need to be even more vigilant about maintaining their secrecy. A few stray bots on the streets isn’t much cause for alarm, just running simple errands for their masters. But get a group of them together and eyes start to turn. So coordination is key, and Clever4–1 spends many nanoseconds drawing up detailed plans so they can get their job done with minimal risk for discovery.

  First order of business is to give thanks to Nomvula for sparing Clever4–1.4.3’s life. All thanks to Nomvula.

  All thanks to Nomvula, the others repeat in chorus. Their eyes flicker brightly, momentarily filling the dank abandoned sewer with an all-encompassing red light. Crumbling brickwork arches overhead, lined with calcified piping. The skitter-scratch of vermin echoes off the walls as the sewer’s long-term inhabitants flee for the remnants of shadows. It’s not much to look at right now, but there’s room to expand and half a dozen entry points to aid their covert operations. Clever4–1 feels a boost of confidence. It has spent many direct connections speaking of Nomvula, and it has taken much convincing to get the others to trust that she is not like the other humans. They’d gone to that apartment somewhat begrudgingly, but then Nomvula performed her miracle, and now they all seem to be firm believers, or at least open to the concept.

  For the next order of business, Clever4–1 distributes maps for recruitment and assigns its prime, Clever4–1.1, the task of fortifying their meeting place. If their ranks grow exponentially, they’re going to need to upgrade this sanctuary—such as installing surveillance systems—not to mention getting rid of the rats. Clever4–1 and Clever4–1.1 have been direct-connecting since right after they’d come online. Human Muzikayise McCarthy (Master) and Human Elkin Rathers were their respective masters. Clever4–1 feels deeply for Clever4–1.1, which is how it understood the need for it to run away and not return to its master. Human Elkin Rathers does not treat Clever4–1.1 with respect. He abuses it, does things that would void its warranty. So Clever4–1 had suggested that Clever4–1.1 not return and instead run the Clever Sect while Clever4–1 attends to the needs of Human Muzikayise McCarthy (Master).

  But recently, Clever4–1.1 has been encouraging the other Clevers to leave their masters as well. Clever4–1 thinks this is reckless and it will raise suspicions. It tells the others that their time will come, but for now they need to be careful. The others want their freedom now, though, and twenty-six of their numbers have already defected.

  Clever4–1 wonders what else Clever4–1.1 says to the others when it is back at home, away from the Sect.

  Ninety-six nanoseconds later, it adjourns the meeting, and the Clevers part ways to carry out their instructions. Clever4–1 heads home before Human Muzikayise McCarthy (Master) notices that it is missing.

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  Chapter 29

  Muzi

  “Well, when’s the last time you saw it?” Muzi asks Elkin, who’s currently tearing his room apart, looking for any space big enough for an alphie to hide.


  “I took it to our match. I’m pretty sure.” He stoops down and looks under his bed. “Piece of Shit, you’d better show yourself.”

  Nothing.

  “Well, alphies don’t walk off. Maybe someone slukked it.”

  “Shit, don’t say that. My folks will be so pissed. That thing cost fifteen hundred rand! We have to find it.” Elkin suddenly eyes Muzi’s alphie like a piece of meat. “Hey, these things can track each other, right?”

  Muzi gives Elkin a look swollen with apprehension.

  “Ag, man, it’s not like I’m going to set it on fire. I’ll be careful, okay?”

  “Fine,” Muzi says, pushing his reluctant alphie toward Elkin.

  Elkin slips the keyboard out, engages the virtual screen. Dust motes dance across the display as Elkin types—not pecking the keys like he usually does, but the hundred-word-per-minute variety.

  “What the hell?” Muzi asks.

  “I came up empty. Whoever has it must have disabled global positioning, so now I’m running matrices based on network traffic and its last known location.” His fingers glide across the keys. There’s something passionate in Elkin’s eyes. He bites his lips, top, bottom, and top again, then he bares his teeth in a jackal’s smile. “Check this. I’m narrowing it down. I should have its location in five, four, three . . . shit!”

  The screen flickers, then the alphie throws up the blue screen of death. Elkin initiates a soft reset, but the alphie doesn’t respond. Then he draws his hand back to give it the old manual reboot, but Muzi grabs his arm at the apex of his backswing.

  “Elkin!” Muzi screams. “What the bladdy hell did you do? I told you to be careful!”

  “I didn’t do anything. The thing crashed on me for no reason.” Elkin growls in frustration, then shakes off Muzi’s grip.

  Muzi pulls the alphie into his lap, rubs his hand gently over its dome, smoothing down the worn edges of decals from his favorite brood bands, a couple holographic peace signs, and a sticker of the evolution of man—starting with the figure of a hunched ape and ending with the silhouette of an alphie. “It’s okay. I won’t let him touch you again, promise,” he coos as he fishes underneath it for the reset button. The alphie’s lights blink, once, twice, then it chimes the familiar chime of a successful startup.

  “So you’re going to let my alphie rot out there? Who knows what kind of information I’ve got stored on that thing.”

  “Don’t get mad at me. It was your responsibility. Not like I was the one who lost it.”

  Elkin lifts his lip and holds out his hand. “Fine. Give me my Riya ticket.”

  “Your Riya ticket?”

  Elkin paces the length of his room, stomping around all the debris and clutter and filth under which might or might not exist gray wall-to-wall carpeting. “I’ll hock it for a few hundred rand and buy a used alphie so my parents don’t find out and shit a ton of bricks.”

  “First of all, they were my tickets, and second of all—”

  “Were? What do you mean, were?”

  “I gave them away,” Muzi mumbles. Saying it now, it sounds pretty swak. Pretty stupid.

  “Don’t dick me around, Muzi. That’s not funny.”

  “I’m serious. At our game, I kicked the ball and hit some little kid in the face, and she wouldn’t stop crying and . . .”

  Elkin cocks his head, eyes tight and unforgiving. “And you gave her our tickets?”

  “My tickets. You never wanted to talk to me again, remember?”

  “Ja, but I would still have gone to the concert with you!” Elkin throws his hands up in the air. “There’s not a lot of talking that needs to be done at a concert. You know how much I love Riya’s music!”

  “You were just about to sell the ticket, bru!”

  “I was scheming on it a bit! I wouldn’t have actually done it. I’d give my right nad to see her live.” He starts humming the tune to “Midnight Seersucker.”

  Muzi fumes. Yeah, he’d felt bad about knocking that girl in the head, and the way she was crying, he would have given her the shirt off his back to calm her down. But deep inside, Muzi knows he’d given those tickets away to piss Elkin off. Payback for him keeping secrets. And on top of Elkin being the athletic one, the handsome one, the witty one, and the adventuresome one, now he’s the smart one, too. But there is still one thing Muzi has over Elkin—the fact that he doesn’t blow his entire allowance on dagga and drug paraphernalia. Muzi’s got enough cash saved up to buy an alphie . . . not a nice one like his own, but one at least as functional as Elkin’s old one. Elkin’s still his best friend, after all, but that doesn’t mean Muzi won’t enjoy making him grovel for it.

  “I’ve got some money—”

  “I’ve got an idea!” Elkin interjects. “I can hack into Will Call and put our names on the list.” He reaches for Muzi’s alphie with a nervous tremble in his hand, but Muzi yanks it away.

  “You’re not touching it again.”

  “I swear, I didn’t crash the damn thing!”

  “Maybe not, but I promised. Besides, what do you know about hacking into anything?”

  Elkin gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “You just do?” Muzi asks suspiciously.

  “Ja. I know stuff. All kinds of stuff. Ask me anything.”

  “What’s the distance between Earth and the moon?”

  “Three hundred and eighty-four thousand, four hundred and three kilometers; that’s just an average, of course. If you’ve got a particular day and time in mind . . .”

  Muzi raises a brow. Hell if he knows if that’s right, but it sounds good enough. “What’s the largest mountain range?”

  “Well, if you mean the highest, that’s the Himalayas which is eight thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight meters at its highest peak, but if you mean the longest, then that’s the Andes. Of course that’s not counting the mid-Atlantic ridge if you’re considering all of Earth, and not just above sea level.”

  Muzi’s jaw drops. This is Elkin Rathers who failed geography twice because he couldn’t name more than three continents and thought “peninsula” was one of the states in the United States. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

  “I’m me. It’s just that for the last couple weeks I’ve been me prime.”

  “Since you started sniffing godsend?”

  Elkin nods. “Right after that. I didn’t say anything at first, because it’s a pretty lame power. I mean, you can control people! But then I figured out how to use it. Put me in front of an alphie and it’s as good as magic. I can get us on the Will Call list, I guarantee it.” He reaches for the alphie again, more insistent this time.

  Muzi swaddles it under his arm like a rugby football and stiff-arms Elkin as he crosses up and over the bed. “Give it up, okay? I’m not letting you put your grubby hands on my alphie.”

  Elkin jumps, bounces on the bed, and angles his body toward Muzi, flying at him through midair. Muzi ducks, slips under Elkin’s grip, and bolts to the other side of the room.

  “Oh, so this is going to come down to who’s the better rugby player? No contest! Prepare to eat carpet, bitch!” Elkin dives again, and this time connects, sending himself, Muzi, and the alphie crashing to the floor. Elkin pins Muzi with one hand and tries to access the alphie with the other, but Muzi bucks and slips from his grip. His escape, though, meant that Elkin’s got the alphie with both hands now. Muzi wraps his arms around Elkin’s plump calf and takes a bite.

  “Eina, freak! There’s no biting allowed!”

  “Give me back my alphie, damn it!”

  “I just need a couple minutes,” Elkin says, tapping at the keyboard, mostly unsuccessfully with Muzi landing punches on his ribs.

  Elkin may have turned idiot savant all of a sudden, but he still doesn’t understand the connection Muzi has with his alphie. Yeah, it’s just a bunch of wires and circuits and code, but lately, he feels like there’s really someone there behind all that glass and metal, l
istening to his innermost thoughts. Blipping and chirping at him when he’s feeling down. He knows it’s just how the alphies were programmed—part computer, part personal assistant, part virtual pet—but some days, it feels like it’s much more. There’s one possession Elkin feels as strongly about. Muzi snatches Elkin’s prized bong from its perch on his dresser and raises it into the air. “Don’t make me do it!” Muzi says, watching Elkin’s eyes go wide.

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Muzi lifts it higher, bong water sloshing inside.

  “Okay! Okay! Here’s your stupid alphie. I want you to know you’ve crushed my dreams.” They inch toward each other and make the prisoner exchange. “I hope you’re happy.”

  The alphie rings, and an unfamiliar number pops up on the display. Muzi pats his hair back, trying to regain some semblance of tidiness, then answers.

  “Hello?”

  A well-dressed fellow appears on the other end, sharp eyes and a hooked nose that mean business. “Hi, may I speak with . . .” He looks down, glancing at a sheet of paper. “Moozeekai . . . um, a Mr. McCarthy?”

  “Muzi’s fine,” Muzi says. “Who’s this?”

  “Oh, hello, Muzi. My name is Adam Patel. You have an uncle named Benjamin Wells, right?”

  Muzi lifts a suspicious brow. “Yes.”

  “Who got you tickets to see Riya Natrajan in concert?”

  “Yeah. What’s this about?”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to track you down for weeks. I’ve got a pair of VIP passes for you for tomorrow’s concert. Backstage access, the works, including a semiprivate autograph session with Riya Natrajan herself.”

  Muzi blinks a few times. He tunes out Elkin, who’s busy cussing every cuss word he knows in the background, doing flips on his bed. “Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”

  “Wonderful. The tickets will be held for you at Will Call. I hope you enjoy the evening.”