The Network: Chapter Three

Credit: Gemini

We had all dreamed of the day the Motherland would rise, though few of us dared to dream we would actually live to see it. It started in Nigeria, in the year 2027. In many ways, it started long before that. What was missing all those decades was the right spark, the right hope. The demonstrations persisted through every tyrannical onslaught. The boycotts and mass resignations persisted through the endless propaganda. The Uprising – to the degree it could even be called such a thing – sent seismic ripples across our continent, and then across the world. It watched, mouths agape, as a very different breed of African leader rose from the ashes of the old order, as the floodgates of innovation burst open, and a people shackled for generations finally broke free.

Full disclosure… we may have had a thing or two to do with it. Hi. My name is Abinla. I am a Cheetah. And in this series, I will be sharing some uplifting stories about the Africa my friends and I helped build.

This story… is about a young woman named Ngina.

***

“Your Honor… My client has devoted the last 15 years of his life to bridging the development gap in our beloved nation. He brings all of that experience to our still very humble county, which hasn’t seen an influx of investment like this since this district was renamed. The defendant… with all due respect… is a glorified nepo-baby whose ties to the leadership of known terror groups in exile are a matter of pub–”

“Objection, Your Honor!” came this week’s target practice, who Ngina barely graced with a glance. “My client’s family history is irrelevant to this case, and is no more a reflection of his character than anyone else’s of theirs.”

“True,” said Ngina, glad he had taken the bait. “But it’s quite the family history, wouldn’t you agree? The Mungiki Syndicate? The Ruto Regime? Al-Shabaab? And what about the defendant’s recent trip to the Shia Caliphate, right around the time a series of ‘strategic meetings’ were reported to have been held at the Beit –”

“Your Honor!”

“Given these ‘irrelevant’ facts, I, for one, completely understand the defendant’s reluctance to testify under fMRI, despite the trouble it would save us all and the small fortune in damages he stands to –”

“Need I remind the court that my client rejected the fast-track option on religious grounds!”

“Objection sustained,” said the Judge, visibly as fed up with these characters as Ngina was, but bound to due process nonetheless. “Mrs. Anyango… please stick to the matter at hand.”

“Of course, Your Honor,” said Ngina, and turned her gaze towards Obuya, who sat calm and trusting. She had assured him that this would not be a lengthy case. She intended to make good on that. Partly because it was her job, and partly because this was no mere criminal case.

Details were cryptic as they always were, but after 2 years on the team, and all she had seen in that time, she had learned not to ask too many stupid questions.

Obuya’s company was one of the latest targets of the Old Order, a crumbling web of dying tyrannies grasping for resuscitation, united in their hatred of a liberated world that was ironically both their reckoning and their shield. The global crackdown on terror and organized crime that followed the Uprising, for all its payoffs, was far from perfect. Deals were made, compromises reached. Conclusive evidence was often nonexistent, leaving many of the monsters and their progeny free, so long as they refrained from breaking any more laws, or, more accurately, being convicted of doing so.

Wherein lay the new problem.

No one had died in the fire, though a number of staff had been injured. An incident of this nature had not been heard of in Kenya since the purge began, which was why the courtroom was so packed, and why, despite her sure air, Ngina was feeling the slightest bit self-conscious. She didn’t like that this case was so high profile. She didn’t like the eyeballs. But none of them got to choose where the next battle would be.

Quick work. The quicker, the better. She waved her next exhibit to the holo screen, and smirked at the reactions of her audience.

“Mr. Abdukadir and his… able counsel… would have us believe he is being accused of masterminding the arson of March 28th, 2063 because of some personal vendetta my client supposedly has against him. How would his able counsel explain this, then?…” She gestured at the footage now playing. “… Our defendant, at a local bar, 72 hours before this heinous crime – which, I cannot stress enough, put 144 civilians, barely a year into their new jobs, in mortal danger – conversing with not one, not two, but all five of the suspects currently in police custody! Personally… I don’t think they were talking about the beer.”

“Your Honor!!!” barked the defense. “This is a clear violation of the Surveillance Act!”

“Only if the defense can prove beyond reasonable doubt that this surveillance was carried out by the government,” said Ngina, as her eyes met her opponent’s at last. “I’ll make it easy for you. It was not. And I am happy to repeat that statement, as well as any other statements the defense may hold in doubt, under fMRI right now. My source – who became privy to information about the then imminent crime, and who wishes to remain anonymous for the duration of this case – is a private, concerned citizen, exempt from Clause 8, and given this video’s obvious admissibility in this case, exempt from all the other clauses.”

The footage looped. The defense shrunk beneath the jury’s gaze. In her periphery, Ngina saw Obuya’s smile widen.

Check.

Their move.

***

A light drizzle had begun when Ngina stepped out of the courthouse. Not bad for a second session. Her bombshell clip had effectively quartered the time to verdict. The defense would have to come up with something a lot better than its current drivel to bag so much as a lenient sentence. She waved Obuya farewell, eased through the journalists and their coverage drones with no comment, and made her way down the gray-paved path through the lush, open compound, to the bus stop just across the street.

Sitting on the bench, she checked the ETA, then leaned back, tapped on her right temple and closed her eyes.

It was a new technology, still in its beta phase, a matrix of implants that blurred the lines between human and device. For now, only members of the Network and the security and research elites across the various Unions with whom they had shared it were cleared for the procedure. A publicly available version was still a few years away.

“Good morning, Counsel Ngina,” came a voice.

“Hey, IKA,” said Ngina, without uttering a single word.

“How may I be of assistance tod–”

“Network Override Code 112.”

The AI fell silent, and a few seconds later, her inner screen brightened, an inner eye opening as all sensations of the tangible world fell away. She stood now in a white, boundless void, whose only feature was a symbol, hovering at arm’s length before her, a red tree with scales hanging from the lowest branches to the left and right. The Tree of Justice. This was the real IKA, the one her colleagues in the legal profession who weren’t assets themselves knew nothing about.

She reached for the tree, placed a hand on one of the higher branches, and waited.

The voice that came next was not IKA’s.

“Hi, Ngina.”

“Hey, Carringtone,” said Ngina, to the Cheetah who had recruited her, as his own avatar materialized at her eleven.

“How was the login this time?”

“Easier,” she said. “Implants still itch.”

“Yeah. Our friends in Prospera-2 have made some progress on that. How are you?”

“I’m good. You should have seen their faces today. Priceless. Anything new on our favorite jihadists?”

“Indeed,” said Carringtone, and gestured to the space beside her, where a replica of the very bench she was currently sitting on appeared.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“No reason for it to be too weird.”

She smiled and sat, as the bus stop rendered around them, distinguishable from the real only by its desolation.

Carringtone Chembemaji was a founding member of Akili, an AI company that built the Motherland’s first artificial general intelligence, to which public IKA was a precursor. She remembered their first conversation like it was yesterday. She was a graduate, fresh out of law school and on the way to a fruitful career in the real estate space, incapable of even imagining the turn her life was about to take. All in all now, there were 300 active assets across the continent, with 13 gifted in training to lead the Network into the future. She didn’t fully understand the latter or what they could do, but from what Carringtone had done his best to explain, she certainly understood the need for all the secrecy.

“One of our assets in Somalia just passed a tip to the Ministry of Defense,” said Carringtone.

“Oh?” said Ngina.

“Forces are closing in on a cell in Banaadir as we speak.”

“That’s great,” said Ngina. “… How are you?”

“As good as I can be. Looking forward to finally getting to work on a… thing… now that my schedule’s cleared up a bit.”

“Mmm. This ‘thing’ have a name?”

“Why not?”

She chuckled, then heard a soft, distant tone, announcing the bus’s arrival.

“Here,” said Carringtone, a second before a folder appeared in front of her, rendered in hard form. She took it. “The final nail in the coffin. Obuya’s company will be critical in the coming years, as will many others. The sooner we get these animals off their backs, the better.”

“Are you going to recruit him?”

“… We’ll see. You did good today.”

“Thanks.”

“See you soon.”

“See you.”

And she was back in the real, gazing at the parting doors of her ride.

***

Aasir was home early today. The sentry system had logged his arrival. Ngina smiled as she stepped up to the front door, which opened just as she was about to reach for it.

“Hey, babe,” said Aasir, who stood topless in the doorway, with that endearing grin of his.

“Hey, babe,” said Ngina.

“How was the hearing?”

“Great. How’s our county?”

“Surviving,” said Aasir, a second before Ngina pounced on him, wrapping herself around him, pressing her lips against his, and feeling his squeeze beneath her as he whisked her off to bed.

She lay on his chest after they were done, playing with a tuft there, listening to his gentle breaths.

“Hope this makes up for last night?”

“It’ll do,” said Aasir, as she smiled.

“Had a chat with Carringtone in the metaverse. There’s an Al-Shabaab cell in Banaadir about to be taken down.”

“Banaadir…” said Aasir, with a raised brow. “Talk about audacity. What were they going to do?”

“Bomb the Central Market, five weeks from now.”

“… Shit.”

“… Yeah.”

“And the case?”

“Carringtone gave me a file on one of the staff in Abdukadir’s home. She’s going to overhear a call this evening, between Abdukadir and a member of the Mungiki Syndicate. The parts of the conversation she hears will further implicate Abdukadir in the arson. The rest of the conversation will be about a contract offer for one of the syndicate’s hitmen. The target… will be your dear wife.”

“What?!”

She raised her head and looked at him with a touched smirk.

“Goes without saying… I’ll be fine. It’s all part of the dance. She won’t understand what they’re saying – they’ll be speaking in code – but she’ll remember every word. I’ll reach out to her tomorrow, get her to testify. She’ll have all the protection she needs…” She leaned forward, kissing him. “… and so will I.”

“… Okay,” he said.

“Though I might play it a little close… for dramatic effect.”

He stared at her, incredulous, for several seconds.

“… You people are weird.”

“Yes we are,” she said.

***

Ngina slept in the next morning. It was Aasir this time who had to bounce early. She smiled as he kissed her forehead and rushed off to the bathroom. She had made his breakfast last night, just before their third feral bout. She had also received a message. It floated in the center of her visual field as she put the food pack in the fridge. A masked ID. A single sentence:

‘You have no idea who you are messing with!’

Be still, my fucking heart, she thought, waving the bubble away.

When sleep had finally left her, she rolled out of bed and reviewed the new witness’s file. A diligent, reserved, mild-mannered housekeeper and mother of two, oblivious to her employer’s less savory hobbies, as were all innocents in the circles of that lot. She was off work today, spending the afternoon out with her kids at the amusement park. It wasn’t far from Ngina’s neighborhood. She freshened up, headed out to the yard for some quick cardio, then took a proper shower and hailed a cab. She wasn’t feeling like a meal just yet.

***

The woman’s name was Muthoni. She had two adorable little boys, who clearly didn’t take after their mother’s introversion. They were scaling a climbing wall now, as she sat on a bench beneath a tree, occasionally chuckling at their antics. Ngina gave them their space for the most, not wanting to ruin what was clearly a precious moment of bonding. But now that they were fairly separated…

“Mrs. Kamau?”

The woman looked up, with only the mildest apprehension.

“… Can I help you?”

“My name is Ngina Anyango. I’m an attorney for the prosecution of a case involving your employer, Mr. Abdukadir. May I sit?”

The apprehension became confusion, but not at the cost of manners, as the woman gestured to the space beside her.

“Apologies for intruding on your day like this,” said Ngina, sitting. “But it was very important that I speak to you as soon as possible.”

“About Mr. Abdukadir?” said Muthoni.

“Yes. That company building that burned down two months ago… Mr. Abdukadir was the mastermind behind it. He is a very dangerous man.”

“… I don’t understand…”

“I know,” said Ngina. “I’m sure he seems nice. I’m sure you’ve been treated very well. But there’s no way to put this mildly… Mr. Abdukadir is an active member of Al-Shabaab, the very same Al-Shabaab that once set this town on fire. Last night, Mr. Abdukadir made a phone call to a member of the Mungiki Syndicate. I have it on good authority that you overheard this phone call.”

The woman’s jaw dropped.

“… How could you possibly…”

“Unfortunately, I can’t share that information. But I do need your help. I’m going to send you all the evidence we have. Look it through. Then delete it. And then… meet me at the courthouse tomorrow at 7:30. I’ll brief you on the case, and when the time comes, you’ll take the witness stand, consent to an fMRI cross-examination, and tell the court exactly what you heard Mr. Abdukadir say last night.”

“But if he really is –”

“You’re safe. No one is laying a finger on you or your sons on my watch. And I will be watching very closely. You have nothing to fear, and your testimony may just save a lot of lives.”

The woman looked down, and was silent for a long moment.

“… I never even suspected…”

“I know,” said Ngina. “And you should never have had to. No one should ever have to be suspicious of the people in their lives. And I know this is a lot to take in. And I’m sorry. Unfortunately, they’re still out there, still trying to reclaim the power they lost.”

Muthoni sighed, and there was sadness in her eyes now. A painful memory.

“… My grandmother died at Westgate in 2013, you know? My mother never got over it. But what happened after the Uprising, the purge… it helped. I was born in 2026. I had no idea what any of it meant until she told me one day…” She looked at her sons, fooling around without a care in the world, then back at Ngina, this attorney, this stranger, who knew things she should not. “… I’ll testify. If Mr. Abdukadir really is one of those psychopaths, he deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Thank you,” said Ngina.

***

They met on the courthouse steps the next morning. It was Muthoni’s second day off. Ngina spotted her from the bus stop, an umbrella in one hand for the gathering clouds, a steaming cup in another.

“Hey,” said Ngina.

“Hi,” said Muthoni.

“Boys off to school?”

“Yep. Sorry I’m late. Had a bit of a situation in the kitchen.”

“Oh, don’t worry. The crowd doesn’t start showing up till 8. I just wanted us to have more time to talk.”

“Mmm.”

“Come on,” said Ngina.

They headed into one of the private rooms in the building’s East wing that were reserved for witnesses. No windows. No surveillance. But otherwise quite cozy for their purpose, and lit to soothe nerves. Ngina pulled the chair on one end of the briefing table closer to the other, and they sat.

“So…”

“I saw it,” said Muthoni. “All of it. I couldn’t sleep. Your client… was he…”

“He’s fine,” said Ngina. “Everyone’s fine. Nothing some good medical patches couldn’t fix.”

“I can’t believe I ever…” A sigh. “… I’ll send in my resignation… after.”

“That would be wise,” said Ngina, with an empathetic smirk. “So… here’s the plan…”

***

“Will the prosecution bring out its first witness?” said the Judge.

The prosecution obliged, and Ngina could not help but snicker at the look on Abdukadir’s face as Muhtoni stepped out from the East corridor, and up to the stand.

“Mrs. Kamau,” said the Judge. “Do you vow to conduct yourself with candor for the duration of your testimony?”

“I do,” said Muthoni.

“Do you consent to having your testimony cross-examined under fMRI, should any part of this testimony be held in doubt by the defense?”

“I do.”

“Very well,” said the Judge. “Mrs. Anyango… you may begin.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Ngina, and turned to face her witness. “Mrs. Kamau… are you an employee of Mr. Abdukadir?”

“I am,” said Muthoni.

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Going on five years now.”

“Mmm. And what has been your impression of Mr. Abdukadir over these five years?”

“I’ve found him to be a good employer. He pays well, treats me well. We’ve had a good professional relationship. By all accounts, he has struck me as a decent man.”

“And have there been any experiences or incidents in your time working for Mr. Abdukadir which have given you reason to doubt this?”

“None at all… Not until two nights ago.”

A performative pause. “… And what happened two nights ago?”

“I overheard Mr. Abdukadir on the phone with someone. I only noticed because he sounded unusually distressed. I didn’t understand what he was saying, though. It didn’t make any sense.”

“But do you remember what he said?”

“Yes. Every word. I have good memory. It helps with the job.”

“I’m sure it does. Now… will you please share with the court what you heard Mr. Abdukadir say?”

And with a steeling breath, Muthoni began.

***

The crowd shuffled out of the building at 11:00 am, trailing behind the defense team, whose client was now in handcuffs. Ngina was almost tempted to extend an apology to the man for not replying to his text, but it would be gratuitous at this point. All evidence had been presented, and the guilt of the accused rendered beyond doubt. The verdict would be read tomorrow. She had voiced her concerns for Muthoni’s safety, and a police detail had been immediately dispatched to the latter’s service. They would follow her and her sons wherever they went, watching over them at all times, until Abdukadir was behind bars.

She was standing beside Ngina now, just outside the entrance, still shaken from the whole affair.

“Hey…” said Ngina, taking her hand. “You’re going to be okay. You’re all going to be okay.”

“I know,” said Muthoni. “It’s just… This is not how I expected my week to go.”

“I know the feeling,” said Ngina.

“They sent me the profiles of my chaperones,” said Muthoni, smirking at a funny thought. “One of them’s an old acquaintance. Good man. Lived next door from us in our former neighborhood… before I started this job.”

“It’s really none of my business but… their father…”

“Oh, right,” said Muthoni, with a chuckle. “We never married. But we always wanted those two boys, and we are very much a team when it comes to them. He’s on Mars, doing research in the South Pole. They found a pyramid there, you know? A big one. We had a bet about booby traps.”

Ngina smiled. “Good to know.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“Me too. You take care of yourself, Muthoni. And if you need anything…”

“I know.”

A cop car pulled up, halting at the foot of the steps, drawing both their gazes. A pair of officers with the warmest smiles Ngina had ever seen waved from the front. Muthoni waved back.

“You take care of yourself too, okay?”

“I will,” said Ngina.

And with a hug farewell, they parted.

***

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey. How’d it go?”

“Accordingly.”

“Ha.”

“I’m headed to the market for groceries. Want anything?”

“Hmmm. Well, I am craving some biltong at the moment.”

“I’ll get you a pack.”

“Make it three.”

Ngina chuckled.

“Also… I might be home a little late. Talks about the Caliphate have moved to the next stage and we all need to chime in. Anything new on that you’re at liberty to share?”

“Nothing on that. Probably won’t be anything new until the Council green-lights the campaign.”

“… Alright, then.”

“See you tonight.”

“See you.”

***

A few blocks down the street from Garissa Central Market, a black, tinted car sat parked by the sidewalk, its engine still warm. It was non-autonomous, gas-powered, off the grid, as vintage as the silenced pistol held in its driver’s free hand.

The driver was a member of a dying breed, a skilled marksman in an age of target-seeking, standard-issue munitions, an assassin in an age of incorruptible systems.

Which was what made his job so fun, and so, so very lucrative.

It was just past noon when the target reemerged from the market with a sack full of groceries, and made her way to the bus stop. She was quite the specimen. Beautiful. Confident. Almost regal as she sat on that bench and stared into space, seemingly lost in thought.

Shame.

He watched the pedestrians glide across the line of sight, biding his time, counting down with each breath. A quick pull of the trigger. A clean hole through the windshield. A muffled whiz through the air. A dead body. Pandemonium as first responders and law enforcement were contacted by the market’s sentry system.

And then… he would be gone, and very rich once again.

The moment came, a one-in-ten-million rift in the human wave. He straightened his wrist, and took a final, courteous breath, to bid his target farewell.

Nothing personal, darling.

A noise broke his concentration, the sound of the back door of his car being opened. Impossible. It was locked!

Then came the sound of a person sitting behind him, as casually as a passenger would in a cab. His eyes shot to the rear-view mirror, and widened at the face he saw.

Before he could move another muscle, darkness consumed him.

***

The bus arrived. Ngina hummed her relief, swiped the feed from her visual, and just before hopping on, glanced West, far down the street, at a black, tinted vehicle with a lone occupant whose life could have meant so much more.

Shame.

***

Friday. June 1st, 2063. Madaraka Day. The commemoration of the dawn of a democracy that wasn’t always something to be proud of. Ngina and Aasir had spent the morning hours at home, sleeping in, enjoying each other, before heading out to the town square at noon to join some friends for the celebrations. And what a party it was! A Maasai folk group she had loved since she was a child had made a stop on their continental tour to do a few numbers. She was glad she didn’t miss that.

She was sitting in the yard now, exhausted from the outing, watching the fading dusk, thinking about the past week, about the case, about how Muthoni was doing, how relieved the woman must be now that it was all over.

She had walked into the courtroom on verdict day as fashionably late as theatricality demanded, this time happily giving in to the temptation to taunt Abdukadir, noting his odd expression, and inquiring as to why he should seem so surprised to see her. She had told Obuya what had happened, and some version of the real reason she had chosen to be his attorney. It was her call. Though he was not yet a potential, she felt it was important he at least understood what his enterprise would become, and that there were forces on his side, working to secure that future. Reconstruction of the headquarters was already well underway, sponsored by the estate of the newly-convicted.

Returning to the present, she shut her eyes, and connected.

“Network Override Code 112.”

The white void…

The red tree…

She placed her hand on one of the high branches.

Nothing happened.

“IKA?” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ngina,” said IKA. “I’m afraid Carringtone is currently attending to a matter elsewhere in the metaverse. Would you like me to shunt you to his location?”

“Yes, IKA. Thank you.”

And a moment later, she stood in a courtyard garden, beautiful, serene, reminiscent of the Nubian palaces of old. In the center of this garden was a small tree, whose spherical fruits glowed with shifting colors, streams of color… petabytes of code.

Two men stood on either side of this tree, examining the fruits.

She had not seen one of them in a very long time.

“You know…” said Carringtone, still focused on the tree, as she approached. “The Songhai Empire’s greatness did not come from its wealth or its military power… It came from its people. Their ideas, their beliefs, their ingenuity. The perfect marriage of innovation, incentive and faith in a cause greater than any one individual. That is what makes a civilization great. All civilizations rise when they find that delicate harmony. All fall soon after losing it.”

“Hello, Ngina,” said the second man, plucking one of the fruits and turning towards her.

“Roger,” said Ngina. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” said Roger, as the fruit in his hand dissolved into the virtual aether. “We’re entering our next big phase. It requires… a personal touch.”

“I can see that,” said Ngina. “Sneak into the festivities, any of you?”

“I did,” said Carringtone, turning at last. “But I can’t speak for my even more pathologically reclusive friend here.”

“Maybe next year,” said Roger, with a chuckle.

“So…” said Ngina, looking at the tree, which in the real world was a state-of-the-art quantum mainframe. “How far along?”

“We should be pushing out our first version next week,” said Carringtone. “There’s a team in New Dakar playing with the same ideas. We figured we’d join forces.”

“Hmmm,” said Ngina.

“Anyway…” said Carringtone, stepping towards her. “Your next assignment…”

A folder appeared to her right. She took it, opened it up, and raised an eyebrow.

“… Doubts?” said Carringtone.

She read the intel, the canon events, the loopholes, the parties involved.

“Well… My security is definitely going to be working overtime but… Nah! This should be fun.”

© 2024 Barra Hart. All rights reserved.

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