by Tope Oluwole
The Girl from Maiduguri
Tope Oluwolé
© 2011 Tope Oluwole
for Adetoun and Said
CHAPTER 1
The Kid
Omoaiye crept onto the trunk of the hover-car just as Professor Marc Blanc commanded the driver's door to shut.
As Professor Blanc sped away from the University of Maiduguri in Borno State, he put on some classical French rap music from the early twenty-first century. He enjoyed its flaws in digital re-mastering and oversampling. "Just magnificent," Professor Blanc said to himself.
Down Bama Road the hover-car whipped through night, knocking the market sellers, area boys, students, and okada (motorcycle taxi) drivers out of his consciousness.
If Professor Blanc hadn't been using the auto-drive, he would have noticed a thin figure blocking the view of the street lights visible through the rear window. Instead, he gazed at his black hair with licks of gray at the temples in the vehicular mirror, then wiped his face with a hot napkin from the toiletry console. "What can a professor do, but profess," Blanc mused to himself. His hover-car turned off Bama Road and increased speed. The operating system's monitor displayed, "Destination: Sheraton Hotel"
Omoaiye recalled his orders. Get the map and scatter Blanc, if he refuses to cooperate. The wind whipped over Omoaiye as he now clung to the roof of the hover-car. The compact vehicle whipped out of the city limits, and then came into a thinly settled neighborhood. Finally, the hover-car cruised toward the edge of a rural bio-village, where citizens off the grid called home.
Out of the secret pocket of his bodysuit, Omoaiye pulled out a micro wafer drive about the size of a fruit fly. He attached the drive to the side of the hover-car, on a power strip leading to one of the vehicle's directional hover fans.
After a few seconds, Omoaiye pressed a button on his utility belt buckle, and then the wafer drive turned bright red. The hover-car surged forward, and the hover fans stalled. Then the hover-car nose-dived, flipping Omoaiye onto his back. Omoaiye scrambled for a foothold, while the hover-car struggled to maintain its altitude and velocity.
Inside the hover-car, warning lights flashed and verbal alerts blared from the navigation computer. "Merde!," Professor Blanc cursed. An icon of the hover-car popped onto the heads-up display (HUD), and an inset image zoomed in to the hover-car's underbody. "Front Stabilizer," scrolled below the image. "Switch to manual," Professor Blanc commanded. He grabbed the control wand.
"Close vents," Professor Blanc commanded. All the air vents clicked shut, and an acknowledgment message scrolled across the HUD.
On the roof of the hover-car, Omoaiye had slid forward from Professor Blanc's switch to manual mode. He kept himself from falling off the roof by bracing his boot against the left roof rail.
Professor Blanc gasped when he saw a lean, black figure with huge flickering bug eyes appear outside his windshield.
Omoaiye eased out of his secret pocket, a laser cutlass. He slammed the cutlass into the hood of the hover-car, making just a dent. Sparks flew up and over the windshield, causing Blanc to shield his face with his hands in reflex. Omoaiye tried driving the blade through again, weighing down the machete with his body.
The hover-car buckled, and continued to lose stability. Professor Blanc felt the fans winding down. His eyes widen as he watched the pitch black night of the bush engulf him. Then Professor Blanc clicked a yellow button on the control wand, and began to jerk the wand from left to right, over and over again. The hover-car swerved off the road and back again. Then it bucked into the air with a howl, before losing altitude and groaning back down toward the earth again.
Omoaiye hung on to the end of the cutlass stuck half-way into the roof of the hover-car. He refused to be tossed off, and even struggled to dig the cutlass blade even deeper.
The navigation computer flashed an amber, "POWERPLANT CRITICAL" warning. The hover-car buckled again and began to slow down.
Professor Blanc squinted out of the driver's window towards a collection of palm trees off to the left of the road. He jammed the control wand in that direction. "Lock navigation control!" Blanc commanded.
"Navigation locked," the navigation computer replied.
Professor Blanc smiled. "I've got you now." After reaching across to the passenger's side of the hover-car's cabin, Professor Blanc pressed a metal-trimmed panel in the dashboard. Out swished a hatch containing a heavy-duty stun gun.
Omoaiye felt the sting of shrubbery whipping against his back and limbs. He watched the roadway race off to the right. As the hover-car's electrical systems failed, random hisses and pops echoed in the clearing.
"Lower driver windshield!" Blanc commanded.
"Warning! Warning! Violation of safety protocols," the navigation computer replied. "Warning! Warning! Violation of safety protocols!"
"Safety protocol override!" Professor Blanc commanded.
"Mechanism malfunction," the navigation computer replied.
Omoaiye glanced through the glass of the sunroof and saw what looked like a weapon in Professor Blanc's hand.
Professor Blanc powered up the stun gun with a flick of his thumb. "Disengage windshield," he commanded.
"Warning! Warning! Violation of safety protocols!" The navigation computer replied.
"Safety protocol override!" Blanc commanded.
A second later, the windshield blew out of its molding, letting a blast of air into the hover-car's cabin. The windshield slammed into Omoaiye. It knocked him off the roof, leaving him dangling against the driver's side door. Professor Blanc thrusted his arm out of where the windshield used to be, and fired over the roof. The electricity pulsed and crackled a about meter through the air. Professor Blanc then swung his firing arm out of the driver's window when he heard banging against the side of the hover-car.
Meanwhile, the hover-car swerved off the main road. Omoaiye grabbed Professor Blanc's wrist and slammed it against the b-pillar of the hover-car. Professor Blanc dropped the stun gun, howling in pain.
The hover-car zig-zagged towards a cluster of palms trees by the edge of a man-made basin. Omoaiye could feel the cool, summer breeze against his skin through the pores in his bodysuit. About twenty meters ahead of the palms trees, a large fruit tree with low and long branches appeared. Professor Blanc scrambled to get out of the cabin and onto the hood of the hover-car. The navigation computer blared and flashed in red, "COLLISION WARNING! COLLISION WARNING!"
Omoaiye dove for the first branch he saw, just as the hover-car dipped from the loss of power. He caught the branch but couldn't keep his grip on it. Omoaiye plunged into the darkness of the bush.
Professor Blanc's hover-car exploded against the palms trees and turned the night sky, for a moment, into morning.
CHAPTER 1.5
Bostonia or Bust
Dockery and Churchwell watched as Inspector Morefishco lead Wale-Wale into custody. Churchwell exhaled as the man that terrorized Bostonia for six months, disappeared into a tombstone-gray building in New Lagos', Lekki Point.
"I am so tired," Churchwell said, and leaned against a parking sign.
"It must be past midnight or somethin'," Dockery replied, "I'm hungry. He glanced at his PDA and watched his New Lagos guide app load, and begin listing the closest food joints.
"You're sweating like a dog, and you need a bath," Churchwell said, waving in the air in front of her. Dockery wiped his brow and sniffed towards each of his armpits.
"All I smell is fried meat," Dockery joked.
Even in the dark, Churchwell could still see the haze of dust shrouding the city. "I need a bath too," Churchwell said. "A nice hot bath.
"Can they handle Wale-Wale though?
" Dockery asked. "I'll be damned if I see him on the corner by breakfast." Dockery gazed past Churchwell to one of Morefishco's men. He was Lagosian; no more than twenty-five, Dockery guessed. As the policeman approached, Churchwell noticed that the shirt and trousers of his uniform were ironed to creases. The policeman came to attention and saluted them, once he was about two meters away.
"You don't have to salute us," Dockery said.
"Sorry Detective Dockery," the policeman said. "I am Lawansin. Inspector Morefishco said I should take you to the hotel."
Dockery and Churchwell followed Lawanson to a police cruiser. They placed their bags in the boot, and then then slid down into the cruiser. Dockery in front, Churchwell in the back. "This is a ground car? Pretty damn fancy," Dockery said. He then pointed to the dashboard. "Churchwell? Check out the navigation computer. Not what I expected."
When Churchwell felt the air-conditioning blow against her bare skin, she moaned, then closed her eyes as she slid diagonally in the rear seat. "Thank you Jesus," Churchwell said.
"Hallelujah," Lawanson said.
Churchwell caught Lawanson's eyes in the view of the rear vehicular camera. His eyes darted back to the road ahead. Churchwell watched Dockery doze off. As the police cruiser whizzed past luxury hotels and mega-malls along Lekki Beach, she saw dozens of 3D billboards flashing messages. One of the largest read, "You May Have Been Left Behind, But Not Forgotten. Come To Camp David, For A Second Chance." Churchwell laughed to herself, then began to cry softly.
By the time the police cruiser pulled into Federal Place Hotel, it was one in the morning. "Thanks Lawanson," Dockery said.
"Lawan-SIN," Lawanson replied.
"Right," Dockery said. He shook Lawanson on the left shoulder twice, and then crawled out of the police cruiser. Churchwell was already at the boot heaving out both their bags. A robot concierge clicked as it stepped towards Dockery and Churchwell, with a robot bellhop rolling behind it. The robot concierge motioned to the robot bellhop, who then rolled ahead towards Dockery and Churchwell.
"Mister and Misses Dockery. Welcome to Federal Palace Hotel," the robot concierge said.
"Misses Churchwell!â" Churchwell said. She tossed the bags on the rear cargo area attached to the robot bellhop.
"Room 713 has already been prepared for you," the robot concierge said. "Breakfast is served from seven o'clock to eight-thirty."
"No room service?" Dockery slurred back.
The robot concierge shook its head. "But of course Mister Dockery. I would have the menu beamed to your PDA, but the Internet Service Provider Oligacy, ISPO for shorthand, has instituted a week-long ban on all non-essential Internet traffic while they deliberate their proposed rate increases with the federal government."
"Is-po'?" Dockery asked. "That's funny."
"What?" Churchwell said. "So...what does non-essential mean?"
"If you cannot connect, it is non-essential," the robot bellhop replied.
Dockery and Churchwell were about to board the elevator, when the robot concierge tilted its head to the side. A blue light where its ear would have been, if it had one, now flashed purple.
"Yes Inspector," the robot concierge said. "I will attend to it right away. Good evening." The light turned blue again. The robot concierge turned its attention back to Dockery and Churchwell.
"Is everything all right?" Churchwell asked.
"Your right hand please." The robot concierge first reached for Churchwell's right hand with its left, and scanned it. It then took a digital image of Churchwell. It repeated the process with Dockery. In a few seconds the robot concierge finished. "Enjoy you stay at Federal Palace Hotel."
When Dockery and Churchwell got to their room, Churchwell glanced at Dockery. "There better be twin beds in there, or you're sleeping on the couch," Churchwell said. Dockery chuckled.
"What if there is no couch?" Dockery asked. He placed his hand on the access panel, and the light above it turned green. When Dockery removed his hand, the door slid to the left, and he walked into the room.
"Better pray for a chair." Churchwell yawned and followed Dockery into the suite.
By the time Dockery got down to the hotel restaurant at eight-forty the next morning, Churchwell was already working her way through a dish of eggs and yam. A bowl of ogi cooled beside the dish. Dockery almost didn't recognize her. Churchwell wore a turquoise sun dress, showing off her toned arms. Light make-up and stud earrings completed her look. On the chair to her left was the hat she had worn on their cruise to New Lagos.
Dockery strolled over wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "You couldn't wake me up?" Dockery raised his arms. "You were that hungry?"
Churchwell wagged her finger at Dockery. "I woke you up, and you went back to bed.>
"Really?" Dockery replied. His eyes wide open.
"Yes, really." Churchwell replied. Dockery sat down, and Churchwell pushed the bowl of ogi towards him. "I wasn't sure if you were ever going to wake up."
"Good looking out," Dockery said. "What is this?"
"It's the closest thing they have to grits," Churchwell said.
Dockery shrugged, and then began tossing sugar cubes from the table dispenser onto the ogi. "I don't supposed they have any bubble gum soda?" Dockery scanned around the restaurant, and caught a waiter's glance. The robust waiter scurried over with a smile.
"What can I get you, sa?" the waiter asked.
"Bubble gum soda?" Dockery asked.
The waiter took a moment, and then pulled out a sliver of net-paper out of the middle of Dockery and Churchwell's table. He expanded it with a flick of his wrist. After studying it, scrolling down the page with his index finger, he grinned. "Yes sa. We have some chewing gum-flavored soft drinks that may be to your liking."
"All right!" Dockery said. He raise his hand for a high-five, which the waiter returned a few seconds later. After Dockery and Churchwell finished breakfast, they strolled to the lobby where the robot concierge and robot bellhop were waiting with their luggage.
"Thank you for staying at Federal Palace Hotel," the robot concierge said. "Please come again."
Lawanson drove up to the front of the hotel in a police cruiser. "Thank you," Churchwell said, shaking the robot concierge's hand.
"Nice, nice, breakfast," Dockery said. The robot bellhop rolled up to the boot of the police cruiser, and Lawanson placed Dockery and Churchwell's luggage inside. The robot concierge opened the police cruiser's rear door for Churchwell. Dockery jumped into the front passenger seat.
"Hey man." Dockery nudged Lawanson in the shoulder. "Let's roll." The police cruiser pulled out of the hotel compound, through the front gate.
"When is the ship leaving Porto Novo?" Churchwell asked Lawanson.
"I do not know ma-dam," Lawanson said. "The Inspector said to bring you to the ship for ten o'clock."
Dockery looked at the clock on the navigation computer. It read, "09:45". "We're cutting it close, ain't we?" Dockery said.
"Do not worry Detective Dockery. I will get you to the ship for ten o'clock," Lawanson said.
Churchwell looked out through the tinted glass, as Lagosians zipped back and forth to the their destinations.
"It's too bad you didn't get to look up your people," Dockery said.
"Yes...to come all this way..." Churchwell said. "But this wasn't vacation, and I know Lieutenant Arroyo wants us back in Bostonia yesterday."
"True, true," Dockery said. "It's already gonna take a week to get back home. No point tickin' him off."
"Maybe I'll come back some day," Churchwell said.
CHAPTER 2
When Larry Met Fatima
It was a hot and sticky afternoon in New Lagos; The Gateway to The New-New World, as the marketers promoted it. The temperature was thirty-five degrees Celsius. Larry Huong strolled down Marina in his usual white short-sleeve shirt and black slacks. The hazy and grit-filled air clung to his reddened face as he walked. His thick, black-rimmed glasses and jet-black explosion of hair, made him look li
ke a contemporary, mad scientist.
The ka-la-ku-ta of New Lagos kept the city in the state of restrained chaos. It was a West African symphony of citizens shouting while listening, texting while riding, praying while waiting, clearing and forwarding, and enduring while struggling, that made New Lagos unlike anywhere else on the planet. Swarms of people devoured the landscape of what, from the NIGSAT satellite, looked like a gigantic grate on top of a colossus refuse dump.
What had begun as merely the dumping of refuse in a non-maintenance culture, turned into an environmental catastrophe that threating to swallow the city and its citizens.
A hover-okada (motorcycle taxi), whizzed between a lorry carrying environmental robots and a car overloaded with expatriates, almost decapitating the hover-okada's passenger. The digital paper hawkers and market sellers, lined the front of the municipal buildings that where long ago converted into much more useful structures such as mega churches, commercial skyscrapers, and residential high-rises. The subterranean levels were unsuitable for human life after decades of refuse dumping and burning.
Then the Chinese returned, and pulled New Lagos out of the tentacles of extinction. They invested billions in infrastructure of elevated highways, byways, and walkways, transportation, green energy technology. All in exchange for prime prospecting rights to rare metals and minerals, for one hundred and twenty years.
A woman selling chin-chin was about to pursue Larry, when the fan of a passing hover-okada, bumped her. A weeks worth of potential income flew off her head-mounted, carrying tray, and over the guard fence of the elevated roadway.
Larry never saw the woman climb over the guard fence of the elevated roadway, as her fellow Lagosians pleaded with her. The city could only afford to turn on the electric barrier from dusk through dawn, when it was really needed.
Larry reached the currency point of Seventh National Bank. Beyond his attention span, the market seller lost her footing at the top of the guard fence, and plunged down into the dark depths. Her scream was drowned out by the roar of the ka-la-ku-ta.
