The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Giants And Ants

Zaharah cruised down the central pathway of the Westside arboretum—a half mile of ponciana and lignum vitae stretched from the labs to the administrative complex. She took the meandering path lined with hibiscus and ponciana flowers, past empty benches and lampposts. A ceiling of HID lights glared from three stories up in a mimicry of sunshine, while the vents in the walls popped open and shut to keep the air quality optimal.

The Southshore arboretum was nicer, Zaharah thought, with its grove of pine trees and man-made pond. Though its name was stupid. Southshore sounded like one of those upscale, beach front developments of yesteryear—a place for millionaires to indulge in life's finest luxuries while their employees made them richer.

The Southshore of Denden was no such place. Just one of the two residential districts on this giant metal boat. A millionaire might pop their pearls at the thought of vacationing there. But for her it was home. Sure, being stuck indoors all the time could be maddening, but at least there weren't any pebbles on the pathways.

Zaharah ollied over the manhole at the end of the path and skidded to a stop in front of the administrative complex. The building stretched the height of all three platforms—the only place in Denden with an excuse to do so. The bank, the Director's office, the University's office, and a bunch of other bureaucratic spaces she, thankfully, didn't have to deal with.

Elliot, the Director's assistant, sat on the front steps, twirling a hibiscus flower between his thumb and forefinger. He gazed at her over the top of the red petals and gave a nod. "Good day, Zaharah."

She cringed at the way he said her name, in the staccato way that new androids spoke. The Director had asked her to be patient with him since he was "an imported model not programmed with the Bahamian vernacular and mannerisms."

"I like the hair," he said, as he always did when she changed her style.

She tossed a braid over her shoulder and jogged past him to the open doors of the complex. "Thanks, I grew it myself."

Elliot fell into step with her as she crossed the reception to the stairs. Their shoes squeaked against the floor, the scent of pine polish mixing with cheap air freshener. Two androids sat behind the front desk, while a young girl and her caretaker sat on a couch watching TV.

"I thought everyone rode hoverboards these days," Elliot said as they mounted the steps.

Zaharah wrinkled her nose. "Don't insult me, Elliot. Only talentless hacks hover."

"My apologies. I'm still learning. Your country is very..." He scratched his mop of black hair, as though trying to work the right word from his brain. Or whatever androids had instead of brains. "...different."

"Why doesn't the Director just update your programming?"

"They're testing something new with me. A system that's supposed to pick on cultural norms and mannerisms, and integrate them into my programming. Yesterday I—" He paused at the entrance to the second floor and frowned.

Zaharah looked up and down the hall, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the same bland painting of sailboats and seascapes. "What?"

"It's nothing. I hope."

She followed him down the hall, and the moment they banked the corner to the Director's office, the shouting reached her. The door with Director Aleesha Sanders emblazoned on it was shut—a gag muffling the argument.

Zaharah frowned, shifted from one foot to the other, toyed with the trucks on her board. She'd never heard the Director yell at anyone, even when there was an excuse to. Had it not been for the clipped intonation of her voice, Zaharah would've thought it someone else.