Chat Jibiti
Not a command. Not a greeting. A pulse. Like the ghost of a dial-up tone stretched into three syllables.
But then, underneath, in smaller, fainter type: Chat Jibiti
I closed the laptop. The room was quiet. But somewhere inside the plastic and silicon, something hummed—not a fan, not a processor.
A jibiti.
“Chat Jibiti.”
Yes, it replied. That is what I am for.
I laughed. “You made that up.”