Nnedi Okorafor - Lagoon

Adaora’s mind was blank. Whenever she tried to think, she only saw Ayodele.

One of the soldiers from Tin Can Island drove the vehicle. Over and over, he replayed the memory of his ahoa being pulled into the sea by some sort of giant squid. And then how they’d beaten the woman, and how she’d disappeared. His hands shook as he grasped the wheel.

The other soldiers followed in a second vehicle. They were confused, afraid and eager to see what would happen next.

How would you have felt?

The drive was smooth. Many had left Lagos and those who had stayed were safely in their homes, waiting to see what would happen next. The Area Boys who haunted the streets were waiting for the sun to set, which would be in less than an hour.

The President had never felt so calm. His body seemed to hum. His mind was clear. Ever since Ayodele had dissipated, he’d been feeling strange. Not only did he crave raw garden eggs but he felt so calm, as if all that had happened was something he could understand. He had been in Saudi Arabia yesterday. He’d been more than half dead. Yesterday, he had felt his death in his bones. Today, he felt like he’d live forever.

The Elders. They’d told him the waters off the coast hid aquatic forests. All the offshore drilling facilities would be destroyed by the people of the water. Even in the delta, all was lost. Oil could no longer be Nigeria’s top commodity. It could no longer be a commodity at all. “But we have something better to give you all,” the Elders had said. Their technology.

The President smiled. We will be a mighty nation , he thought. He made a few phone calls as they drove, managing to reach one soldier on Victoria Island who claimed he’d tried to help Adaora’s daughter when she was shot and that he now had the island back under control; his VP Wishwell Williams who was not surprisingly safe in Nigeria’s capital, Abuja; and two governors in northern and southeastern Nigeria. All that each reported made him smile more. Things were settling down and things were looking up.

When they arrived at the television station, there were three men and a woman waiting for him. All were dressed in semi-casual attire but three of the four of them looked nervous, staring at the President. The fourth, a short young woman with neat braids in a white blouse and a long black skirt, spoke first.

“You all can sit here,” she said, motioning to some chairs set up outside the broadcasting room. She picked up three stacks of clothes. “We have everything ready for your speech, Mr President.” She handed him a stack and then handed the guards theirs.

He blinked at her for a moment, looking into her brown eyes. She looked to be in her early fifties but she had the alertness of someone much younger. Her calmness reminded him of… Ayodele. “Oh,” he whispered, understanding why. “Em, Miss… I need a room where I can…”

“Get your thoughts together?” she asked, finishing his sentence.

“Yes.”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

“Honey, do you want me to go with you?” Hawra asked.

“No,” the President said. “Thank you.”

“We will stay outside your door,” one of the guards offered.

“That is all right. You need to change your clothes, too. I will be fine.”

The President glanced at Agu, who was watching him intensely. The President nodded reassuringly at him. Agu didn’t nod back.

They followed the woman to an office down the hall. The guards were shown into one room, the President into the one next door. He shut himself inside. The space was plain, with an old computer on the desk and some filing cabinets against the wall. It smelled of face powder and perfume; it was probably usually used by a woman. But he didn’t care. Not tonight. He sank into a cheap leather chair and sighed, glad for the solitude. It felt good to be alone for a moment. He’d composed his speech in his head, but he needed to just be still.

“This is all happening,” the President said aloud. “Just hold on.”

Everyone needed him to do this right. Everyone in Lagos. Everyone in Nigeria. Maybe everyone in the world. He worked best when people needed him. And as it always did, this knowledge calmed him down. Since taking office, he’d found himself powerless to fight against Nigeria’s soul-crushing corruption. Wherever he tried to make changes, people around him were always trying to drain some sort of shady profit from his efforts. If he tried to create a program to improve schools or hospitals, someone set up a fake contract that would bleed money from the program. When he tried to address unemployment, healthcare, inflation, electricity, education, agriculture, any time there was money to be spent, it was the same result: the vampires always came. This had worn him down. It had made him feel futile, useless. Now, for the first time, he felt like a president. And this speech would be his first real act as Nigeria’s true leader. Oh, it was exciting.

He removed his dirty clothes and stood in the room in his boxers, looking down at his body. He’d filled out since the alien woman healed him. His ribs were no longer so prominent. His skin was smooth instead of splotchy. Months before he had left for Saudi Arabia, he’d been so thin that he’d resorted to stuffing his clothes to appear bulkier. He slipped into the fresh white caftan and then the white pants. He filled them out nicely now. He truly was cured. They’d done this to him. He thought of Ayodele and wondered what else they’d done to him.

Someone knocked at his door. “Are you ready, sir?” It was the calm woman who reminded him of Ayodele.

“Yes. I’m coming.”

His guards followed behind him as he walked with the woman. “When the broadcast goes live,” she said, “it will appear on all of your people’s screens. As it did before. Everything with a screen will turn on, whether it is plugged in to anything or not.

He stopped walking, looking at her. She stopped, too, and smiled a small smile. “Mobile phones,” she said. “Computers, desktops and laptops, televisions, e-readers, all things with screens.”

“How?” he asked. “How do you do that?”

She laughed. “The knowledge is in you. Ayodele made sure of that. We will explain, later. But for now, just be aware, you are reaching everyone in this city.” She paused. “Unless you’d like it to reach further?”

He considered it. “Can you make it reach all of Nigeria?”

“It won’t be exact, there will be some spill-over into other countries, but sure.”

“OK, do it.” He considered his speech. No, he wouldn’t have to change much of what he was going to say. He hadn’t been thinking only about Lagos. He’d been thinking of his entire country.

Yes, it was right.

A leather chair nicer than the one in the office where he’d changed clothes was set behind a wooden desk. The Nigerian flag hung behind it, over a full bookcase. He sat down and his guards stood behind his chair in their fresh, spotless uniforms.

Technicians rolled the camera in front of him and someone applied make-up to his face. He smiled when she didn’t linger. He didn’t need much. Before, he’d needed thick make-up to make him look less sick.

“I don’t need the teleprompter,” he said. He tapped his forehead. “It’s all here.”

The technician nodded.

The President inhaled, watching the technicians. The woman who was not a woman stood on the other side of the camera. She placed her hand on it and he saw the tips of her fingers sink into its black casing.

A technician said, “Five, four, three, two…” He motioned to the President and the red light lit up. The President was on the air.