Excerpt - ZamaShort #9 'Everyone is a Robot until Proven Otherwise' by Bongani Sibanda
EXCERPT
EVERYONE IS A ROBOT UNTIL PROVEN OTHERWISE
BONGANI SIBANDA
There was no mistaking it. The globular eyes on the young man’s shiny forehead confirmed Dube’s suspicion that he was a godforsaken robot sent to infiltrate Operation Shanela. Wearing an inscrutable visage, Dube shook hands with him.
‘Ncube?’ he inquired.
‘That’s right,’ Ncube replied, taking a tour of Dube’s spacious office with his enormous eyes.
‘I hope this early meeting is not an inconvenience to you?’ Dube asked guardedly, the air too thick for his clogged nostrils.
‘Not at all! Not at all,’ came the confident answer, delivered with the calmness of one who was sure of his business.
‘In your application you said you are a vet of the Zarnaira war?’ Dube said. ‘I was commander of the Limpopo infantry, and I never knew you?’
‘I was with the Khumalo battalion in Richards Bay,’ Ncube replied. Hands in his tight-fitting trousers, he strolled leisurely, examining the identikits, drawings, and writings, pasted on the white wall. ‘I’m very excited to be joining Operation Shanela, General Dube, and I assure you, I’d run it with the integrity that it deserves.’
Dube moved closer and peered keenly into Ncube’s eyes. ‘How has it been run so far? Whisper me, please.’
‘Very well! Very well! Quite effectively, I should say.’
‘Is that a fact or just lip service?’
‘Both,’ came the answer, accompanied by a sly wink that threw Dube into a momentary rage.
Trying very hard to restrain himself, Dube thumbed his e-smoke and took a long drag. He could feel Ncube’s eyes sitting on him, and they were as alert as daylight. Obviously, this devilish little robot had a strategy, and it wasn’t just throwing a few quips at him. He had to be smart. Exposing and busting it wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.
‘You’re aware,’ he said cautiously, ‘that you’re still supposed to take the Human Confirmation test before you assume the job, right?’
‘Yes, yes, absolutely,’ Ncube replied without hesitation.
‘And if you fail the test, if we discover you’re a robot, we’ll ship you to Mangaung?’ He took another drag of his e-smoke.
Ncube nodded, his expression still guileless. ‘I understand.’
‘Excellent. I thought I should make that clear, you know–’
‘From the get-go,’ concurred Ncube. Earnestly, he asked: ‘Can you take me to the testing station? I’d like to get it over with and perhaps start the job right away.’
As they walked along the brightly lit corridors, Dube said, ‘You’re well acquainted with our basic tasks here at Operation Shanela? I assume we can take that for granted?’
‘This and that,’ Ncube said. ‘Using the powers bestowed on you by Section 46 of the Constitution of South Africa, you’re arresting, testing, and detaining 2nd generation 2099 humanoid robots to prevent the feared rebellion and subjugation of humans predicted by AndroidsWatch.’
They entered a lift. As it carried them swiftly upwards, Dube said, ‘And you’re aware of the shaft of litigations from Avaaz and other postliberal organisations, who are accusing us of committing crimes against humanity?’
‘Read about that. Pure madness if you ask me,’ Ncube countered with conviction. ‘Robots aren’t humans, surely.’
‘But we can’t prove that, can we?’
‘The HC test does just that, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, that’s exactly what bolsters our detractors. You can tell a monkey from a human being without deploying a sophisticated machine, can’t you? But in this case, we have to employ machines to prove the inhumanness of conscious humanoid beings who can laugh, smile, cry, and love, just like us.’
The lift let them out, and they again paced down a white corridor.
‘We call them robots. But they’re so technologically advanced at the nano level that their composition of melded organics and circuitry seems almost identical to ours. The only measurable difference is in their cerebral cortex processing speeds which gives them superior intelligence, which we’re now abusing to target and persecute them.’
Doors opened and closed, and they were in the testing room. Ahead of them rose impressive banks of equipment—the data receptors and the computing mechanisms that tested, measured, and calculated the brain’s processing speed. And beyond the machinery queued a group of uniformed men and women, almost lost to view behind platforms.
‘Here we are,’ Dube said. ‘What do you think?’
The altar-like testing machine, boasting an enormous computer screen mounted on one side of the wall cast the room in an eerie dream-like blue light. Dube pocketed his e-smoke and strode to the back of the queue, motioning for Ncube to follow him. They walked past three positive-tested suspects, who were handcuffed, and being led away, protesting and fighting. Then Ncube’s face lost its bright cheerfulness. Fear and wonder crept into his eyes. ‘They…’ he stuttered, his pitiful eyes lingering on the handcuffed robots. ‘They look so… so…’
‘Human, you mean?’
‘Yes. They look so human…’
‘Perhaps a little more human than us humans, don’t you think?’ Dube teased, joining the back of the queue.
‘And what if the machine gets it wrong? Surely it does, sometimes. I mean, no machine is perfect.’
‘We have an identical one at K. Moyo Biotechnologies, where we send all positive suspects for corroborative testing,’ Dube assured him. ‘In my memory,’ he added after an awkward pause, ‘there has never been a false positive.’
Nodding to the machine, Ncube inquired, ‘And how does it accurately determine the difference anyway? How can we trust both machines’ infallibility? This is one huge gamble with innocent lives.’
Didn’t you bother with a bit of research? Dube thought impatiently. But loudly he said, ‘The machine tests by comparison to humans.’
‘Meaning that we could be sending our more intelligent brothers and sisters to Mangaung?’ Ncube countered, not letting up.
Dube swallowed, but outwardly, he maintained a calm expression. Ncube was hard to place. Before the warning from AndroidsWatch, these conscious 2nd generation robots had served humans in both general and specialised fields, providing groundbreaking discoveries in medicine and extraterrestrial mining, cleaning toilets, and manning toll gates. They were meant to be machines yet alive and conscious, and they were conferred superior intelligence yet expected to be subservient to humanity—two conundrums that existed even in conception and had since exposed the pitfalls of humanity’s unbridled ambition. For many years these robots remained man’s darling. But their own sense of community and passion for self-determination kept the government ill-at-ease. As fervent enthusiasm over man’s apex creation began to wear off, a threat was identified in them, likely to revolt, conquer, and subjugate. Repressive laws were imposed targeting their ability to replicate, congregate, or mobilise. As this stilled their hearts, AndroidsWatch—set-up strictly to determine the amount of danger they posed to humanity—warned of an imminent uprising.
And Operation Shanela was born. To round them all up and lock them at the Mangaung Special Prison. End the apprehension and deliver respite to the fearful nation. Indeed, many were captured and detained and hope for a robot-free South Africa was envisaged. But some fled and facialled, taking up the faces of ordinary South Africans and killing them—a development that made the hunting and identification process tougher for General Dube and his team. Hence Dube knew, more than anybody, that facial features were useless in identifying these robots. Yet his gut remained stubborn on Ncube.
A dreadlocked officer stepped into the cubicle. Every cell of his pinkish-grey and dough-like brain appeared on the dozen screens that lined the wall. With strange sounds, sheets of information rose from screens. Finally, a deep and peremptory voice, calling the officer Subject Eleven, declared him negative for being a robot.
‘For our officers,’ Dube fibbed, ‘The testing happens daily to avoid infiltration by facialled 2nd gens.’ He was enjoying seeing the confused look on Ncube’s face. It confirmed his suspicion.
‘I see,’ Ncube responded, his eyes pinned to the dreadlocked officer. ‘But why does he look so relieved? Did he think he might test positive?’
‘It’s always a relief to be certified human, even though you know you are one,’ Dube informed him calmly.
‘Negative,’ the HC test declared Subject Twelve, as Subject Thirteen followed, the queue shortening.
Finally, it was their turn. Dube confidently stepped onto the blue cubicle and stared straight at the enormous screen of the HC test, his heart pounding with anticipation. He had to go first. Set an example.
Lights flashed from the giant monitors—green and blue. He could feel his brain being examined as he stood, frozen with concentration. Computers beeped. A gigantic dataset rose, creaking and whirring. Then finally came the deep, peremptory voice, declaring Dube, Subject Nineteen.
But it wasn’t what he had expected. It wasn’t what anybody in the testing station, those who knew General Dube, would have expected.
For a few seconds, Dube remained frozen on the cubicle, fear and incredulity scribbled on his thin face.
The HC test had declared him positive for being a robot. It was wrong, repugnant, and utterly deplorable. A travesty. He knew, with absolute certainty, that the machine had been tampered with and that he had been set up. And Ncube was behind it.
But Dube was a tactically astute man; a veteran of the Zarnaira war. He hadn’t come this far through indecision. Such occasions required quick, crisp thinking.
‘All right,’ he cried, turning around. ‘Faulty machine. Tests suspended for today.’
A chair creaked at the far end of the testing station. A machine whirred as if in protest. Even as he spoke, he could hear his voice shaking, crackling, lines of self-doubt and fear popping out palpably. Someone murmured in response. Ncube brushed his shaven head with the palm of his hand, his face inscrutable. An elderly detective coughed. A young woman opened and closed her mouth. But Dube was in charge.
‘I’ll call Dr Thuto at the K. Moyo Biotechnologies, so they come and look at it,’ he thundered, emboldened by his subordinates’ indecision. ‘Captain Pheko,’ he said, focusing on the elderly detective. ‘This is Colonel Khehla Ncube, my new deputy, who would be replacing Mlangeni. Familiarise him with everything.’ He nodded towards Ncube and bowed, a thick bubble of anger roiling inside him.
As he turned his back away from the gigantic cables and screens and exited the testing room into the white-lit hall, Dube knew that he had to run. Run as fast and far as he could.
He walked along the hall, his body tingling with nervousness. It wouldn’t be long before they rose from their stupor and came after him.
But why? Why hadn’t Ncube pounced on him already? Sure, his plan worked perfectly. He only had to put the last nail in the coffin, and Dube would be on the airtruck to Mangaung Special Prison. Could it be that he lacked the killer instinct and would be slow after him? Or maybe it was Dube himself being paranoid and Ncube was just an innocent young man there for work!?
Either way, he had to run.
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Bongani Sibanda is a novelist and short story writer based in Johannesburg, South Africa. He is the author of the collection of short stories, Grace and Other Stories (Weaver Press, 2016), and the children’s fantasy novels, Jimmy and the Giant Insects and The Goat that Refused to be Slaughtered. He has published short stories in magazines and literary journals such as Munyori, Lolwe, Kalahari Review, and many others. In 2018, he attended the Caine Prize workshop held in Gisenyi Rwanda, where he wrote the story ‘Ngozi’, which was published in the Caine Prize anthology, Redemption Song and Other Stories. In 2015, he was longlisted for the Elizabeth Jolley Short Story Prize for his story ‘Musoke’, a fictionalised account of the Ugandan rebel, Dominic Ongwen.
Release 1st Jan 2026.
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