And he is telling me that close to military barracks is yard of abandoned scrap metal. It is place like rubbish bin for broken things. They are putting broken weapons there like gun and tank and mech, and that is where he is finding this piece of metal he is using for boat. And I am thinking of Enyemaka in that pile of garbage, and I am thinking that she is at bottom of pile and maybe she is already broken in many pieces and they are just putting more and more metal on top of her. They are maybe burying her beneath old carcass of ground mech or drone or juggernaut, and I am remembering what it is like to be buried under bodies and I am remembering not breathing and seeing small hole of light like single star in the sky and I am wishing to be there with Enyemaka, and suddenly I am remembering where I am and man is looking at me like he is scared and sadding at the same time. And I am thinking that he is knowing that someone or something is dead that I am not wanting to be dead, and maybe he is wanting to tell me words to make me not sadding but he is saying nothing. He is only continuing to be drawing in the sand and make arrow from where we are to where I need to be, and I am saying thank you. I am making note in my mind and I am saying thank you and I am following arrow.

CHAPTER

17

“Time of death?” Ify says, trying to sound as clinical as she can. She shouldn’t be this rattled. But the sight of the woman in the hospital bed—unconnected from the machines monitoring her vital signs, and with the helmet monitoring her cerebral activity settled on a pillow behind her—has unsettled her.

The attending nurse says in an even voice, “Nineteen hours, forty-one minutes.” She’s been looking at Ify the whole time, and Grace has been at Ify’s side, alternating her gaze between the woman and the tablet clutched to her chest. Grace has seen the deceased before. She’s certainly worked in this hospital long enough. Some of the patients she’s seen have even died of violent wounds. Blunt force trauma to the head or gangrenous limbs. Some of them came in with internal bleeding too far along to stop, or their internal organs had been so damaged they would not have withstood replacement. Even people who had died during the cyberization—Ify is sure Grace must have witnessed those as well. But for reasons Ify can guess, Grace can’t look at this Cantonese woman and muster the clinical distance she’s had to build in this occupation.