“Maya, clear assignments. AwesomeBek wipe.” He designed those protocols himself based on the data trace erasure systems prominent as a part of Maya’s own AI systems. The equivalent of using his Maya to hide from the Cypher’s Maya. It effectively covered his digital footprints to outsiders. “This stays between you and me, Maya.”

<Unless someone can back trace your wipe.>

“On their own. Without you giving me up.” Bekele appreciated their clear lines and adjusted his expectations. He’d bought himself some time at best. Maybe he could come up with a better plan before the trace came back to him.

<We are your iteration. That is how we operate. Short of a command override.>

Which meant his mom busting him. Potentially. He’d take that risk. “General search mode. Display information on the term Uhlanga.”

<Uhlanga. According to the Zulu, Uhlanga is the marsh from which humanity was born. As the story goes, there was once a vast primordial swamp. The sky father, Umvelinqangi, descended to it via the golden chord. He reached the reeds on which Unkulunkulu, supreme God and creator of humanity, grew and all the people and animals grow. Unkulunkulu grew too heavy for his reed and fell to Earth. There he created all the features of the world. Mountains. Lakes. Valleys. Rivers. He broke people and animals from their reeds and led them out of the swamp. The origins of the orisha follow a similar story.>

Whispers and footfalls echoed down the hallway. Bekele wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, much less at a workstation.

“AwesomeBek wipe again and clear my workbench,” he whispered. Since Maya wasn’t a servant for him to boss around, he added, “Please.”

He retreated to a service isocrawl. Such tubes veined the ship, serving as access ports, system controls, engineering conduits, and, as Bekele used them, could act as passageways. He mapped them out for when he wanted to hide. His parents often spoke more freely if they thought he wasn’t around, and he enjoyed the thrill of listening in on things he wasn’t supposed to. Though most times he’d simply retreat to an isocrawl to be alone. The leaders acknowledged that using one’s agency to carve out the space one required in order to recharge needed to be respected, so no one begrudged him that.

When the people rounded the corner into view, he recognized Paki. Always two steps ahead of the people with him, hands clasped behind his back. He set a manic pace and expected everyone to attempt to keep up. But just keep up. Never to catch up and for damn sure not edge ahead of him. His forehead glistened like he’d just come in from working under the heat of the sun. His resting scowl brightened only when he encountered a child, a stranger, or someone he needed something from. Then he was all charm and white teeth.

“The Orun Gate remains stable,” Dina said.