“This is your final warning,” one of the soldiers said. The voice was automated. My government （or more likely Ultimate Corp） couldn’t even give us the respect of a real human’s voice before executing us.
“Stand down,” I said. “All of you.” I didn’t shout, but I spoke loud and clear. Not for them （for they could hear me in my mind）， for everyone else, those human beings watching and broadcasting. I was looking at all the red eyes and they were looking at me. It was as if I’d typed my words and then hit enter. Final. Clear. A command.
There was no moment of pause or processing. It was instant. The soldiers brought down their weapons. The drones retreated. I could literally hear human gasps of shock from somewhere; someone was shouting “What the fuck! How’d she do that? Na witchcraft now?!”
DNA was staring at me. His mouth agape.
“Everyone,” I said. “You’re watching? Good. Watch me do this.” I grinned, looking into the eye of the drone before me. “Move away,” I said to them. It was easier now. All those eyes. I laughed. We were getting out of here. Oh yes we were. And even better than that, we were going to make a hell of an escape because the government （yes, it was the Nigerian government） had been too afraid, lazy, underestimating, reliant on technology to send actual human soldiers.
“DNA, get ready,” I said, turning to him. “Put the masks on GPS and Carpe Diem. And put yours on, too.”
“What’d you do?” he asked, bringing the masks out. He looked stunned. How was I going to explain it all? The certain rupture and bleeding in my brain, the connection. Those headaches, had this been coming? How could I explain that I saw a whole universe that humans didn’t even know they’d created? And that I was now connected to and could control it? Beyond the parking lot, I could see a wake of dust rising as the covered Jeep sped to us. It was one of the several that had brought the automated soldiers.
“My headache’s gone,” I said to DNA, grinning and snapping the mask on my face and ears.
The soldiers moved and made room for the covered truck to drive right up to us. It drove in a semi-circle and came around, its rear to us. The back doors opened and a ramp slowly lowered. We pushed GPS and Carpe Diem in, then hopped in the front, and it drove us right past all the standing soldiers and hovering drones. I poked my head out the window and called one of the drones to us. I could see through its camera as it flew above us. I laughed and sat down.
“What is going on?” DNA asked, the cockeyed grin still on his face. His left cheek was twitching. He leaned to the side and looked out the window behind us as the truck slowed. We were almost out of the parking lot, all the robot soldiers and drones behind us. Then PAFF, the white head of one of the soldiers blew off. Then another, and another. Then the drones fell one by one.
I was doing this. Overheating circuits, melting processors just by giving commands. The soldiers didn’t fall, they simply sat down and did not move again. I stopped the truck and got out to watch. And to keep causing it. It was easy. But I still had to concentrate. DNA got out on the other side.
An audience was lost with each drone that fell. “Yes,” I said, laughing. “Good bye.” Another fell. “You are not entitled to watch.” Another fell. “This is a show you will miss.” Another fell. I laughed. The soldiers were sitting down and the worldwide public was being denied its bloody voyeuristic feast. And I was still standing. With places to go.
* * *
—
The drive across the burned field was smooth enough from last night’s broiling and it would only be minutes before we arrived at the initial dust of the Red Eye. Already the Jeep was getting buffeted around by the wind.
“How’d you do that?” DNA asked yet again. I’d closed the windows and despite the winds outside, it was strikingly quiet in the truck. It reminded me of Baba Sola’s tent.
“I . . .”
“Have you been able to do that all this time?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I . . .”
“Was it Baba Sola?” he asked. “It was juju, wasn’t it? Maybe it was that weed you smoked or . . .”
I laughed. “You really have issues with cannabis, don’t you? It’s just a plant.”
“You were controlling drones and robots with your mind,” he said. He frowned at me. “Are you some kind of government experiment? Like in the movies?”
“Shut up, DNA,” I snapped. “I told you how I came to be what I am. It was my choice. I have these headaches. Remember, I told you about those?”