Today's Reading
"Here's how we know." She turned to me. "Mercy, what did you hear just before you were struck?"
The question seemed odd, but I knew it must have a purpose. "Nothing. Nothing special. Birds singing, people talking."
"Yet if a car has gone wrong, if it's going to hit anything or anyone, it brakes and sounds a warning. Sometimes they slip on debris on the street or have a mechanical failure, and cars lose control. But they're robots. They have their systems and routines. They brake and they sound a siren. You're right, there was no noise. The car ran right into that woman. No accident. We can assume this was attempted murder of you and accidental murder of that poor young woman who stepped into its path."
The sister next to me, Debra, took my hand. I felt confused once again— this time because I understood too well.
"But it's more complicated than that." Ngozi gestured to Josepha, her assistant, to explain.
"As soon as I learned it happened, I checked the record." Josepha was young and usually looked carefree. Not now. "I found the car's identification number in a list of free robots." She paused to let us think. "That made no sense. When robots go wild, they hide from humans. They never attack unprovoked. Most of all, they struggle very hard to survive. They don't commit suicide, and this car destroyed itself striking that woman and then crashing into a wall."
We pondered what might have happened. Free robots were a nuisance, like unwelcome wildlife, as uncontrollable as rats. Josepha still frowned.
"Then, just a little while ago, I double-checked. The identification number for the car in the record had changed, and any history of it having another number was erased." She shrugged. Across the table, Opal smiled wryly. "Now the record says it was a regular car. Either way, no robot would do such a thing unless it was sabotaged."
"Robots aren't sinners," Chioma added, an old joke. If robots do something wrong, it's not their fault. Someone ordered them to sin.
"That is why I say we've been found out," Ngozi said. "We have been found out by someone or something capable of sabotaging a robot. This is especially significant if they can alter a wild robot. And if the record has changed, we know the government did it. Now, what do we do?"
After a brief silence, Josepha said, "First of all, we should set the security systems for our compound higher and put out more patrol robots. Have them watch for any kind of approaching robot. And set security higher for our chips. I'll do that right now."
We all agreed. She closed her eyes to handle the house, and all of us reviewed the settings of the chip in our brains.
At that moment, as we sat there pondering the source of sin and murder, the door announced a visitor, Police Inspector EmemAderibigbe.
"Does anyone know him?" Ngozi asked. No one did, although we knew the local officers well. That told us something and frightened me very much.
"He's high-ranking," added Opal, who must have quickly checked the record.
"Act relaxed," Ngozi ordered. Josepha jumped up to show him in.
Meanwhile, we knew what to do. Debra asked if my children or former husbands had called me since my injury, and we began to chat about families. Opal grabbed a toy to entice a fippokat to play. She had been altered to look like a fippokat, with green hair and pointed ears, and who was I to disapprove of changing one's physical self? Chioma and Ngozi laughed as if they were telling jokes. We said nothing to each other over the networks. Even with the best security, someone might listen in. Especially the police.
A thin-faced man in a gray uniform entered the dining room, gazing around. Visitors always do that. Perhaps they expect a place of worship, but we merely have an ordinary home with pets and after-dinner chatter. We live together for convenience and mutual support. We do what good we can, share what blessings we have, and owe nothing, especially obedience, to anyone but each other and other Tabitha Houses. This is always hard to explain. Except for what we secretly do, we are really rather ordinary women, not nuns or fanatics.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said to Ngozi with a courtly bow. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing at my injuries, and bowed again.
"Please, sit down," Ngozi said, gesturing. "Can we offer you something? Coffee, tea? Dessert?"
"Coffee, thank you." He sat in a way that somehow expressed authority, as if we had been called into his office. He had broken protocol to come here, so he probably meant to upset us. He looked at me. "Madame Omotola, I'm glad to see you up and as well as you seem to be. I'm here to discuss the accident, and it may be good for all of you to hear this. Do you agree?" I nodded, hoping he would speak only of that.
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