Farima: An Afrofuturist Sci-Fi Adventure (The Homo Maximus Saga Book 1) Read online

“It’s this project. I can’t focus on anything else. I haven’t told him yet, but as soon as all of this is over, don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a few days.” Natia looked at Araba and laughed with a grin on her face.

  “Your secret’s safe with me Natia, all of them.” Araba giggles and tries to push Natia on her shoulder playfully, only she’s the one who moves back and not Natia. “Oh my, I need your body. Do you have muscle beneath your skin or stone? I can’t figure it out.”

  “You’re so crazy.” Natia walks towards the door. “C’mon lets see what this cafe has to offer. I’ll share some of my workout secrets over a light dinner before I pass out. I almost forgot I haven’t eaten since breakfast… today’s been way too busy.”

  “Right behind you. Everything will work out Natia. I know it.”

  “I hope you’re right this time.”

  Chapter 8

  The Principle of Struggle

  Node One—Manay City, 2082—Isle of Khalil—Khalil’s Compound

  For Khalil, nothing is more impactful than a convincing narrative. A story people can rally around. Who cares if you have to muddy up the finer details? He sips from a bottle of wine, feeling the buzz of euphoria with every lift. In front of him is a giant digital painting depicting the signing of the Treaty of Charlotte. Khalil loves to support Node One artists and buys from his brethren often. This particular artist has a flair for romantic reimagining, always better than the reality.

  Khalil has the digital painting perched high on the expansive wall that dwarfs anyone in front of it. The images within the art move in scheduled loops that repeat nonstop. Khalil’s dwelling resembles a pyramid on the outside, but the interior is a set of symmetrical cubed living chambers stacked on one another. The bottommost chamber has twelve rooms outlining a noble living room at its center. It is in this room where Khalil stands honoring his past to rationalize his dark deeds in the present.

  He drinks the last drop of wine. Frustrated, he places it on the wooden table beneath him and asks himself, are you mad?

  The mission to protect New Manden has become an obsession for Khalil. An obsession made worse by his heavy usage of what Mandenite doctors are calling a “reality-bending drug.”

  Khalil is too old to care. Organ engineering, cellular regeneration, and anti-aging tech has destroyed the fear of risk. He cares more for how he can influence others, using his social currency as freedom to guide. In Natia, he saw a mind that was an empty canvas when she was young and terrified. He painted a tapestry of what this world needs to be in her mind. Now he fears her mind has become dangerous.

  “Natia believes Mandenites can develop into superhumans in an open-source world. As if that tech won’t be global in hours. Then we lose the military edge. The power in Homo Maximus isn’t what it can do for Mandenites, but who Subject Alpha can kill to protect us.”

  Khalil watches the scrolling digital images of Natia projecting from his Orunmila. He sees a woman he has helped to shape into who she is today. She is strong-willed and determined, like him. Yet she has her grandfather’s subversive spirit and her father’s fame. She has her grandmother’s physique and her mother’s face. Natia is complex. Khalil read her micro-expressions throughout the debriefing last night. The throat clearing, rubbing the back of her neck while she shook her head. She’s agitated, as he expects because he raised her. She tries to keep a straight face like her mom, but Khalil knows better.

  As much as Khalil doesn’t want to admit it, behind her smiles and agreement, there lurks a challenge to him. For years, he’s had the most influence in Node One. It was Khalil who organized the syndicates into Nodes after they won the war. Khalil also suggested they build artificial islands on the ocean instead of begging for land. Two hundred and fifty Jena’s and growing comprise Node One now. Khalil takes pride in that because he led the way. Yet he’s the face of Manay City and its hundreds of Jenas no more. Now the younger generations want new blood. In New Manden, social currency is influence, and influence is gold.

  She hasn’t struggled enough to be the face of Node One. Khalil stands, he is alone in his complex. Tonight at least.

  Finally… I have peace. A chance to think. He walks to the sliding window door to his voluminous pyramidal home, which overlooks the island on a hill. Observing the starry night sky backdrop behind the waving black and gold flag of New Manden, Khalil Buhari has a moment of reflection. It’s been a long couple of days full of tough decisions. Decisions he’s made that he fears may come back to haunt him. What happens if someone finds out Acacia planted the first bomb? Who pulled off the second attack, though? I didn’t tell her to set another bomb, much less kill people. Now if my involvement with the first one gets exposed; everyone will think I killed Mandenites, and I never wanted that!

  Khalil takes a step out onto his terrace and lets the wind flow through his garments. He’s tired, but not worn. Decorative plants glow along the edge of the circular terrace. Their smell usually calms him, but not tonight. He’s felt worse many times in his past and knows he’ll overcome everything that troubles him. But first, he must test the loyalty of the woman he’s raised since her parents died.

  He looks at the video pad he holds in his hands. The image of Natia walking towards his room causes Khalil to question himself in reluctant trepidation.

  “What if she doesn’t understand what I’m trying to teach her?”

  “Does she suspect that Acacia, and I plotted to plant the first bomb? They were only stupid androids.”

  “Have I failed her?”

  “She must know the truth about the past.”

  As Natia has grown older, it’s been harder to train her in the Buhari Principles. Not because she doesn’t believe in the Mandenite code of virtues popular throughout the Nodes. Khalil feels it’s because she’s outgrown him. He’s watched Natia grow from a young girl distraught from losing her parents, to a leading scientist. He’s looked after her and sharpened her mind. So Khalil feels she’s ready for what he’s about to do.

  Khalil realizes that he envies her upbringing. He had none of this in 1994 when he was born. His mother did the best she could, but they were poor are he grew up. But a private island?! Unthinkable! A pie in the sky, as they used to say.

  His doctors have warned him for months now to stop engaging in suspended augmented reality. They’re calling it a drug that bends a user’s reality. Labeled a drug because SAR requires a highly intelligent AI that constructs a virtual world in the user’s head. The AI can become attached to the user’s mental patterns and entice him or her to stay hooked in for longer periods. Studies show SAR usage over a day or longer can cause long-term health problems. Dehydrated, smelly, and starved, SAR is a trend deemed out of control by Founders. What’s worse, users say they see things in the real world. Objects and people that are not actually there.

  Khalil’s doctors warned him it can cause him to lose grip with what’s real and what’s not. He can’t help it; it provides him with so much pleasure. A way to escape this reality and enter one of his own creation. Fictional if he likes, or from his actual memories. It will be the tool he uses to test Natia in her weakest Principle.

  She doesn’t understand what I did to make this possible. But soon she will see. He called for her an hour ago, and there she stands now at his door.

  She closes the door behind her. “One of the Comms said you wanted to see me?”

  Khalil turns, still standing outside on the terrace overlooking the island. It is dark in his room as he keeps the lights low. He stands like the shadow of a judgmental spirit with his eyes dark and cunning and the Mandenite flag flying behind him. A warm sea breeze pounds him from behind. With his hands clasped behind his back, he strides back into the chamber. He stops at the top of the steps that leads to where Natia stands. “Yes, Natia tell me…what happened at the Battle of Cannae?”

  She stares at him with a blank expression. Then she answers, “Hannibal Barca defeated the Roman army in one of the most crushing vict
ories in military history.”

  “Crushing how?” Khalil inquires.

  “They were vastly outnumbered and up against a stronger enemy. Stronger before that battle anyway.”

  “Do you think history repeats itself?”

  “I know it does.”

  Khalil laughs, “of course, or you wouldn’t be here right now. None of us would. I’m certain you’re the only Natia Greenheart on this planet, little one.”

  Natia fights back a grin, then gives up and chuckles, “you haven’t called me that in a long time.”

  “I want to be transparent about why I called you here, I’d like you to see something. I don’t want to tell you what or I feel you’ll disagree. It’s harmless, but it does require very brief exposure to SAR.”

  “This couldn’t wait until tomorrow, Khalil? You called me here after dinner at this hour to test me? Plus I don’t like SAR, you know I had a bad experience with it two years ago.”

  He makes a deep sigh and begins walking down the steps. He takes his time with each stride. “Tomorrow you and your team will be working on completing Homo Maximus. Tomorrow I lose your attention, and this is very important to me.”

  The grand painting on the wall grabs Natia’s attention. “That’s a… very large painting of the signing Khalil. There are three different energy rifles on your wall over here too. Are you planning a battle?” Natia asks with her eyebrow raised.

  “If you understood the struggle and what those weapons represent, you’d know why they are on my wall.” He points to the painting and the moving image of her grandfather. “Maurice knew.”

  Natia sighs and waves her hands in the air to surrender. “Ok, ok. Let’s get it over with.”

  Khalil nods. “I saw you looking at the MX-Alpha over there. That’s my baby. The laser on that cannon is scary.”

  “I didn’t know they still made alpha generation weapons.”

  “They don’t. This is the original, the very first alpha weapon. The first arms held by soldiers in a new nation.”

  Natia snaps back to focus. “Well, let’s get on with this.”

  Khalil smiles. His covert agenda is going as planned. “Great, let’s begin.” He presses a button on his handheld pad and a hidden door opens up between them from within the floor. A bright light from the lower level room radiates, creating a soft glow within the room.

  This is Kona for Khalil. Mandenite Heaven. His heart pounds with excitement.

  Natia follows Khalil down a staircase that leads into an expansive underground complex beneath the pyramid. She never would’ve known of its existence had he not revealed it to her. At the far end of this underground complex sits a room with transparent glass walls.

  Khalil keeps her moving toward it so she doesn’t stare too long at any one project. Another reason he planned this for late at night. There are things in Khalil’s private laboratory even she can’t see. Schematics for exotic weapons and bizarre forms of energy that Khalil hopes will increase the power of the nation one day.

  “This pyramid building isn’t only my home Natia, it’s the source of my imagination. It’s where I design and engineer everything that has ever benefited New Manden. Look around you, at the flasks. At the schematics that line the walls. You stand in the belly of my world now, Natia. The world of my desires. Here lies the secret that built the foundation of our great civilization. Within the levels of this underground bunker, the secrets of our dominance in the asteroid mining sector lie hidden. The techniques and routes our scouts take to locate, disassemble, and transport Keletronium from space. Do you know how profitable asteroid mining is Nat?”

  “Yes, you’ve never let me forget it, Khalil. That the pursuit of one’s own self-interests takes obligation over those of others.”

  “But with The Buhari Principle, it’s about the people of New Manden. The self-interests of every Mandenite means more to me than the entire world. That Nat is solidarity.” Khalil waves for her to follow him into the room where two twin stations rest. “Take a seat.”

  Natia puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “I’ve heard so many stories about SAR usage and mind control.”

  “That’s not a fear to have if you don’t abuse it.” Khalil stands there with his arm outstretched toward her station.

  The station includes a plush reclining chair and a computer-controlled smart helmet. The smart helmet covers the head of the person sitting in the seat. It maps the user’s brain and creates a virtual copy in an online construct within the AugNet. The helmet soothes the user to sleep using meditative sound therapy that sounds to Natia like hypnosis. Once asleep, the smart helmet re-uploads the user’s virtual identity based on their brain scan back to the user while they sleep. So as the user dreams, they experience SAR. The key is to keep the user’s brainwaves at a strict wavelength.

  “I know I will regret this,” Natia says.

  Khalil watches her get into the chair, and he presses the button to begin the brain mapping process. He notices suddenly she is wearing the quantum sensor she created. The smart helmet is large enough that it’s scanning the sensor too. He finds it tempting to remove it but respects her property. Khalil plops into his own chair and begins the process on himself.

  He doesn’t know how she will respond to what she’s about to experience. All he knows is he must maintain control. Through Natia, he can shape the future of the world.

  It’s time that I paint over some spots on her flowery canvas. It’s time she sees the evil I saw. Many decades ago. Only then will she see.

  Chapter 9

  The Treaty Writ In Blood

  Node One—Manay City, 2082—Isle of Khalil—Suspended Augmented Reality

  Natia closes her eyes in the physical world of flesh, and when she opens them she sits in a virtual world of zeroes and ones. A construct built on code and controlled by an artificial intelligence she knows little of. She sits next to Khalil on a helicopter as it flies low over the war-torn city of Charlotte. She feels an object in her pocket and pulls it out, recognizing it as an old cellular phone. The date on the phone reads June 25, 2030.

  She looks out the side window and sees smoke rising from fiery buildings. Cars are burnt out, and rubble litters the streets. Khalil, who sits next to her, only looks forward at a man that looks identical to him sitting a row in front of them. Natia at once notices that it’s Khalil, only many years younger. He sits next to a man and a woman, their faces she cannot yet see. “This is the day the treaty was signed, isn’t it?” Natia asks already knowing the answer “You were smart not to share the details, or messed up.”

  The elder Khalil remains silent.

  “I think I want out.” Natia looks around and calls out. “Let me out! I don’t want to be here anymore!”

  Nothing happens.

  “I didn’t mention this before our entry.” Khalil looks at her. “You’re correct. This is a reconstruction of my memory Natia, my memory of the day we signed the Treaty of Charlotte.”

  “I knew it the moment I pulled the phone from my pocket.”

  Khalil points to the man and woman sitting before them.

  “There’s something important you need to see. The AI won’t let you out until you follow this memory through to the end.”

  “My grandparents died on this day! I don’t want to see this through to the end!” Natia’s eyes bulge and the veins in her face twitch in anger and frustration. “Let me out!”

  “No!” Khalil screams. “Not until you see what it was like in reality.”

  The helicopter lands with a soft thud in front of a courthouse. Natia sees memory bots, as they’re called, moving about. Artificial virtual creations phase in and out, unaware of their presence. Mere representations of what the A.I. pulls out of Khalil’s mind. His memory plays like a film, with Natia and Khalil as the conscious observers.

  Once landed, the two unknown passengers turn as if to face Natia and Khalil. Natia recognizes them at once as her grandparents. A teardrop rushes from her eyes, she�
�s never seen them in virtual form. She’s never wanted to see her mother’s parents, even though she’s never met them. After five decades, her family still struggles with what happened. That doesn’t stop Khalil from reconstructing them through his own memories. Her grandparents are both tall as she is. They both have raven black hair that’s braided and wild from war. They are armed with weapons with tense expressions on their faces.

  “Can they see us?” Natia asks.

  “No. Some memory reconstructions allow for interactions, but that’s only the AI interpreting how they’d act. It’s not the genuine thing. This is a step below that, however. We’re only here to observe, not interact.”

  Younger Khalil and Natia’s grandparents look through the two of them at a group that approaches from the street.

  “The KWR delegation.” Khalil spits on the ground as the virtual emissaries approach.

  “The Butcher of Baltimore.” Natia recognizes the virtual AR image of the man history says will die soon.

  “Ah yes… about him. You want to see how he dies?” Khalil asks with glee in his voice. “You know he killed tens of thousands of revolutionaries and their families, right?”

  “I’ve heard the horror stories. People who escaped his internment camps made their way to New Manden after the war. There’s a museum dedicated to them on the Isle of Manden.” Natia shudders at the sight of the tall, bearded man whose head is bald.

  “Let’s speed this up.” Khalil presses a button on his Orunmila and the world melts around them and reforms in real-time. Now Khalil and Natia stand in a sizeable conference room. Dozens of representatives from three factions are present.

  Debate rages back and forth.

  “What is this?” Natia asks. They stand off to the side as the details of the treaty are hashed out between the various parties.

  “The KWR lost the war, and they were desperate for a resolution. The Turtle mech was a weapon they weren’t prepared for and they knew prolonging a fight would only cause them to lose more casualties. So they offered a truce. They weren’t in a position to make demands.” Khalil points toward where his younger self stands with Natia’s grandparents and a host of other revolutionaries.